

A co-worker and I decided to hire a driver to take us into Delhi to see some of the historic sites. The first site we went to was the Red Fort in Old Delhi. Our driver parked in a lot across the road from the fort. A couple of bicycle rickshaw drivers stopped and offered to take us to the fort. The driver negotiated a fixed price of 20 RS (about 50 cents) each for the service. We climbed in our respective rickshaws and commenced a living game of Frogger. As the rickshaw driver struggled to pull my ex-large western frame across the road, I held onto the poorly constructed rickshaw for dear life. This felt like an episode of Quantum Leap and I had just leapt into someone about to be struck by a car. "Oh Boy!" - Yeah, I just went old school and referenced Quantum Leap.
We managed to make it across the perilous street and were dropped off at the fort. We attempted to pay the drivers but they said to wait until we were finished at the fort; they waited. An hour or two passed before we exited the fort. The drivers had waited for us to return. We again attempted to pay them for their service. They said that they would show us around Old Delhi and we could pay then. My coworker pressed them for a fixed amount. "Oh don't worry, don't worry. Pay not much. You happy, I'm happy." He repeated this several times. My coworker kept pressing for a fixed amount. They dismissed his inquiry again and proceeded to peddle us through Old Delhi. The streets of Old Delhi were less than 8 feet wide in some parts. No one had imagined wheeled transportation when designing these streets. We frequently stopped to allow others to pass. The rickshaw driver, dripping with sweat, would point out landmarks along the way. "Look another piece of rundown shit." - Peddle, Peddle, Sweat, Sweat - "Something inconsequential happened here." - Peddle, Peddle, Sweat, Sweat - "This shop owner has only one testicle." - Peddle, Peddle, Sweat, Sweat - This poorly designed history lesson continued for another 45 minutes. Store owners pleaded with us to stop and buy their wares. We continued down the endless narrow alley way. The air was heavy with the smell of curry, oil, dust, and humanity. Indistinguishable vegetables soaked in spices, breads floated on boiling black oil, and flies feasted on cut fruit.
The drivers finally exited the narrow alleys of Old Delhi. The said they were taking us somewhere. I didn't really know what he said, but figured he wanted a break. We stopped at a shop. This was more of a show room than a shop. The lady in charged offered us drinks and began to show us saris, pashminas, silk paintings, and hand carved items. We informed her that we didn't want to buy anything, but she seemed proud of her goods and kept showing us items. I'll admit the quality seemed much higher than what I had seen in other markets. These goods were export quality, not the same cheap-ass crap I had shown by other vendors. I'm sure these drivers are most likely paid a kick-back by the shop owners to lure in unsuspecting westerners. The owner seemed disappointed that we didn't buy anything.
I told our rickshaw drivers we were done and ready to go back to the car. They drivers peddled back to the parking lot. We hopped off the rickshaws and asked them how much. "Very hard work, hard work. Fifty. Fifty U.S. Dollars - Each." WTF, $50 each? My co-worker handed them a hundred rupees or so. I chipped in another two hundred or so rupees for their hard work. The drivers then got angry. "No. This hard work. Fifty US!, Fifty!" My coworker throws their original offer back in their face. "You said I happy, you happy. I am happy with this amount." Take that. The drivers at this point are livid. "Go, just go." We waves us off. My co-worker and I again try to hand them the money, but they decline. We insist, but they want us to leave. We decide it's time to get the hell out of there. We had better get back to the car and fast. The scenario I see is the drivers telling the cops that the rich westerner has robbed a poor working class Indian or being chased down and lynched by every rickshaw driver in Old Delhi. I am pretty sure I could take at least eight of these bastards, but they probably kick like a freaking ostrich and well I would rather avoid a melee.
As we speed walk to the car I contact our driver via my cell and tell him we are ready to leave. We get within about 25 feet of the car when someone is yelling at us. We reluctantly stop. One of the drivers has decided he would rather take something than nothing. My co-worker informs him that he doesn't like the way we were treated so he offers him less. This guy's got Moxie! The driver takes the money and sulks away.
We get into the car and lock the doors. We begin to exit the parking lot when the other rickshaw driver stops our car. He yells heatedly at our driver in Hindi. This guy really want his $50. Our driver says something to him and opens the door. No, don't fucking open the door. What the hell are you doing? You never open the door. Oh shit. Our driver and the rickshaw operator continue arguing. We tell our driver of the scam and that we tried to pay them a fair amount. The two men continue arguing. I don't understand what they are saying, but the rickshaw drivers seems to blame our driver for the rich westerners stiffing them out of $100. The two men are inches apart and arguing. Our driver shoves the rickshaw driver and gets back into the car and drives off. I laugh nervously and don't look back. Yeah Bitch! Take that - our driver is a chauffeur and a bodyguard. Boo yah! Try catching us on your stupid little bike. Oh shit, don't stop - run the red light.
It's amazing how brave you become in the safety of a locked and moving vehicle. The moral of the story: always negotiate a price first.