India in 15 seconds

Tuk tuk rank in Jaipur

Guide in rickshaw

Competing for road space

Granny's don't need helmets

Mobile

Holy Cow

Children begging

A tour of India sears into the senses like nothing else. It is easy to pick out highlights like the Taj Mahal or the Ganges but they do not capture the essence of the country. Conversely the sheer exhilaration of travelling in a rickshaw or tuk tuk across a road roundabout takes 15 seconds and dozens of images of India are woven into this scary tapestry of travel. The roads in the cities are tracts of asphalt that dissolve into dirt and maybe a pavement. Lane discipline is chaotic and approaching a roundabout brings no deceleration or fear of traffic coming from the right. India, in theory, drives on the left and roundabouts are tackled clockwise.

So you are in a tuk tuk, a three wheeled chariot which has seating for two passengers but seldom carries less than 4 and whole families of 6 or 7 are often arranged in and on the vehicles. Traffic moves at no more than 10 mph, dictated by the speed of the rickshaws. A smorgasbord of other vehicles comply with the velocity of the slowest. Motor scooters - where white haired grannies bravely sit side saddle in their brightly coloured saris behind crash helmeted males; cars with vintages and dents going back thirty or more years, trucks garishly painted with favourite Hindu gods on their sides and buses which are grossly overcrowded. The odd Police 4WD or Ambulance is compelled to travel at the same speed, they cannot go any faster than the torrent of traffic in which they float. The sound of bicycle bells, horns, noisy engines, and shouting drivers is interspersed with the odd moo from a cow, usually facing the oncoming traffic and grazing on the excrement that is veneered across the road surface. Children of 5 or 6 year old tout their younger siblings as they beg at the passing vehicles. Then, about 15 seconds later the centrifugal force of the roundabout disgorges you onto an exit road where goats are on sale, young boys are changing gearboxes on scooters and motor bikes. Global brands of drinks and electrical appliances are advertised on huge wooden hoardings as if emerging from the roundabout has loosened the grip of your wallet.

Milton Friedman would have been suitably convinced that this is a victory for the free market. There is no discernable regulation, everyone is in it for themselves and they seem to survive. For the disciplined European it feels more like a fairground ride than a part of the journey. You are convinced that you are about to crash or run over someone but the collective sang froid of the drivers is laced with a deep humanity that respects all other users, even the Police. The crescendo of horns and noise suggests that the traffic is chaotic. But it is organised not on a principle of size, or caste of vehicle but by a human collective that respects diversity and ensures that everyone is given equity in the movement stakes. Roundabouts are a moving tribute to socialism. There is only one traffic master and that is the cow.