[A middle-age Khmer women walks past the row cells at Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum]

Tuol Sleng was a high school before the Khmer Rouge set up a detention center here in May 1976, and it has been open as a genocide museum since 1980. During its life as a prison and torture center more than 10,000 adults and anywhere up to 2,000 children were processed through it, spending their final days being degraded and tortured before being taken to the Killing Fields outside town to be murdered and interred in mass graves.

The details of what happened there are horrific, a reminder of what happens when a regime dehumanizes its subjects. As we entered we passed the classrooms on the ground floor, which were used as interrogation rooms. The doors are locked, but looking through the windows we could see the steel framed beds, car batteries, and iron clubs that were used to dole out punishment to “enemies of the Khmer state.”


[One of the larger cells at S-21 that housed political prisoners of the Khmer Rouge .]

On the upper levels, as I walked through the tiny brick cells where more important prisoners were held, the crooked walls seemed to close in on me. I was overcome with claustrophobia, fear and the desire to cry at the uselessness of it all. I’d never experienced claustrophobia before. I wanted to flee and gulp down fresh air under the blue sky.


[The frame of Khmer women and her son through the barbwire fences of S-21]

Despite this I was drawn back in. I wanted to see everything that S-21 had to offer. I wanted to try to understand what had gone wrong here.

But at the same time I felt uneasy. Here I was, a relatively wealthy individual visiting a third world country still suffering from the consequences of the very events whose notorious landmarks I was visiting as a tourist.





By the time we got to the three rooms whose walls were lined with photos of the victims I was numb. Looking at the faces of thousands of Cambodian men, women and children I searched for something that might tell me their story. The Khmer Rouge had been meticulous in keeping records of their acts, including these photos of each of their victims, which now act as a chilling reminder that real people suffered and died here.


[Defaced and Graffitized portraits of former Khmer Rouge soldiers on the walls of the Toul Sleng Genocide museum. Even after 20 years many of the Khmer Rouge have not been brought to justice for their war crimes]

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[Buddhist monks walk past a giant portrait of the Queen at the Royal Palace, Phnom Penh]

Phnom Penh wakes up early to take advantage of the cool morning breeze before the sun breaks through the haze and invades the country with sweltering heat. Already 6 A.M and the people of Phnom Penh are rushing and bumping into each other on dusty, narrow side streets. Waiters and waitresses in the black-and-white uniforms swing open shop doors as the aroma of noodle soup greets waiting customers.Street vendors push food carts piled with steamed dumplings, smoked beek teriyaki sticks, and roasted peanuts along the sidewalk as they begin to set up for another day of business.Children in colourful t-shirts and shorts kick soccer balls barefoot ignoring the angry grunts of food cart owners. The wide French boulevards sing with the he buzz of motorcycle engines, squeaky bicycles, and small cars for those wealthy enough to afford them. By midday, as temperatures soar, the streets go quiet again. People rush home to seek the relief from the heat, have lunch, take cold showers and enjoy an afternoon siesta before returning to work at 2 p.m.


[Food-carts on the streets of Phnon Penh]


[Cyclos and other traffic outside Psar O Russei in Phnom Penh]




I'm staying on the first floor of the Hotel Renakse, a bright yellow neo-classical French building looking out at the Royal Palace. As you walk out you notice the streets of Phnom Penh do not have traffic signals; instead, uniformed policemen stand on raised metal boxes, in the intersection directing the sometimes chaotic flow of traffic. I've found my favorite way to travel in Phnom Penh is by cyclos. They're the opposite of cycle-rickshaw in India as they pretty much resemble a wide wheel chair attached to a cycle. You just take a seat and pay the driver to wheel around the city as you bounce and laugh as the driver pedals you the congested city streets.

This morning like mornings in Cambodia I've walked to my favourite noodle soup shop about a block away from my hotel. The tiny confines of the shop come alive to the sound of the clang and clatter of spoons against the bottom of their large bowls, the slurping of hot tea and soup, the smell of garlic, cilantro, ginger and beef broth in the air make my stomach rumble in anticipation. Across from me, a man uses chopsticks to shovel noodles into is mouth. Next to him, a girl dips chicken into a small saucer of housin sauce while her mother cleans her teeth with a toothpick.


[A man looks down at the crowded market scene below in Phnom Penh]

This is Phnom Penh in morning and it feels like home.

Also a big shout out to Tharum, Phatry, Geoff and Joe for making my stay in the city so much fun. Thanks guys !

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[Floating Shop on the Tonle Sap at the Phnom Krom village]

I fell in love with the elemental power and beauty of the waterways of Cambodia . An entrancing waterlogged world, a stream so abundant and all-providing, a true river of life for its millions. Crisscrossing its pale-brown waterways on flitting boats and ferries, I was moved by the grace and purpose of people absorbed in its amphibious rhythms: journeying, planting, harvesting and netting.


[Typical House in the Phnom Krom village which rise and wall with the tides of Tonle Sap river]

Thursday morning I watched life on , sampans, cone-hatted passengers, boat-dwellers steaming and frying their supper to the sound of tinny music.Numerous floating fish farms hug the river's edge, with cages reaching 18 feet into the water filled with fish destined for the factory 40 miles away. My boat wandered among the waterways lined with timber houses perched on stilts others floating on tires.


[Tourist Boat on the Tonle Sap river]

As we slowly move forward past quaint fishing villages, the world floats by in shades of blue and the Tonle Sap seems like a long, wide, lazy, paradise. A pair of brown cheeked Kingfishers perch themselves elegantly on a pole, ignoring us as we slip slowly through endless beds of floating weeds.


[Women at Phnom Krom buys her groceries from a floating vendor]

As I travel through Cambodia I realize that much of the nation's psyche is connected to water – the waterways of the Tonle Sap and the Mekong river.


"Thanks to the water, and thanks to the moon," my guide tells me.

"The water provides many things -- water gives us life."

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Today I learnt that Thai boxing isn't Thai. It is Cambodian.

"You like Pradal Serey (Khmer Boxing)?" my driver,a young enthusiastic man,asked me.

"Yes," [I lied, well I didn't quiet know what it was] I said. "Do you?"

"Yes very much", he beamed

I seemed to have hit a chord here - for my usually quiet moto driver started to spurt out large continuous sentences in broken English about the sport - it was was as if I had asked an Indian if he/she liked cricket. He went on to tell me how he once housed dreams of becoming a boxer himself but he had to stop when his girl friend frowned upon it (a very sad story indeed).

The gym, was a converted open-air garage with all the sweat, dedication, and poor-boy desperation of classic boxing gyms of yore. It had no ring, some punching bags, and padded equipment strewn across the floor. As I was changing in the back, I noticed three students taking a siesta on hammocks tied to a pillar at one end and what looked like a broken down military truck at the other. It was 2 p.m. Given the muscle-sapping heat of Cambodia, Khmer boxers practice early in the morning and late in the afternoon, sleeping the humid midday hours away.


I was lucky to find my instructor - Sang Kim Sean, a Grand Master of Khmer Bokator. Though more than sixty years old, he looked as if he was in his forties, and moved like a man much younger. I was scared.

We started with the basics, which are always the hardest to learn. Khmer fighters start with their hands high and their elbows out to create a cage around their head. When elbow strikes are an option, you would much rather create an impenetrable defense around your skull and leave your rib cage open than the other way around.

It took all of 10 minutes—OK, it was more like 3 — before I was gasping for breath and Sang was sitting me down and handing me a bottle of water.

"Siem Reap is hot," he said, trying to look sympathetic towards this barang [foreigner].

Khmer Boxing Training







The key to Khmer Boxing is shin kicks, delivered in roundhouses to the legs, ribs, and head. Khmer fighters start training in year-round camps at the age of 10 or 11. Many start their professional careers at 13. If they are lucky, they will make it and continue to fight till 25. To turn their shins into weapons, they spend hours beating them with wooden staffs to calcify the bone. Sang's shins looked like they had barnacles beneath the skin.

"Pradal Serey is not karate. Drive through the body," Sang said, as we practiced the full commitment of a Khmer roundhouse.

When I was a boy, we used to have a game where two of us would exchange punches to the arm until one of us quit. This is Khmer Boxing, only with kicks, punches, knees, and elbows.

The Fight







I had had enough by this point and I turned from fighter to spectator. The training was pretty brutal, each fighter had locked his arms around the other's head, and they exchanged brutal knees to each other's chests. Back and forth it went until one gasped for air and then they stopped. I assumed that was it, and they would return to fighting strategically, looking for an advantage to win decisively. Again they ran toward each other, locked up, and spent the next three minutes exchanging knees, one-for-one. Again, they did the same routine. I've never seen anything like it. Their chests were pulped like raw meat, but they didn't seem to care. It was a test of fortitude to see who could remain standing. The fight over, they exchanged smiles and shook hands, the gloves were off and we went on a series of warm-up exercises.

Hopefully I'll get to see a real fight when I get to Phnom Penn - I've been told take plenty of pictures and bet 5 dollars on a Khmer box in a blue shorts whose name I can't quite remember.

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I turn a corner off Bar Street towards Psar Chas. Two Khmer children – a boy and a girl - lay in my pursuit. A loud Khymer confab is exchanged as the children run towards me. The boy has obviously won as the girl discontinues her pursuit. One often runs into children at street corners trying to sell you souvenirs – bracelets, postcards, photocopied versions of Lonely Planet, t-shirts etc.

“Mister, you waannt my pooostcard”, he spurts out in a singsong Khmer accent.

"I have many pictures Mister, Angkor, Bayon …………"

"You’re from India Mister ?" [I nod]

"If I tell you capital of India – will you buy my postcards Mister ?"

"Captial of India? – New Delhi" [Impressive]

"Capital of Finland ? – Helsinki" [He’s good]

"I don’t need any postcards,” I tell him

"Buy my postcards and I’ll leave you alone Mister" [Blackmail – good touch]

"Do you have a girlfriend Mister ?"

"No", I reply

“May be you get girlfriend if you buy my postcard” [he smiles]

I briskly remove my wallet.

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[Khmer Girl cleans the glass front of her restaurent in Psar Chas (Old Market), Siem Reap.]

Khmer food is not usually spicy but what it lacks in spice it adds in fragrance. Dishes are usually dozed with peppers, lemon grass and coriander. Khmer cuisine borrows from many neighboring Asian cuisines and like most things in Indo-china the cuisine is the explosive result of two cultures - Indian and Chinese meeting in a cooking pot or a wok.



[Cambodian Soup being served - straight out of the the pots it was being served in to hungry customers]

The streets in Cambodia are littered with street hawkers selling their particular dish – from fried noodles to baguettes to charcoal-grilled meats and fresh fruit and ice-cream - from hand-carts or from baskets dangling from a shoulder pole. My next snack is never far. When in search for a cheap meal I find myself a market – which I find comes with an entire coterie of food stalls each selling their own specialty dishes – noodles soups, rice dumplings and rice porridge. Turn a corner and I'll find meat being grilled on charcoal, to be served with a spicy raw papaya salad and herbs, best downed with an Angkor Beer. Then there is the Cambodian equivalent of an Indian Dhabha, usually recognized by a row of pots on a slow burner on a table out in front. Who needs a menu when you can choose your next meal by lifting the lids and peering into the various simmering pots of food, pointing out what you like, smiling and then waiting for the meal to arrive at a nearby table and then proceeding to dig in.



[Bananas at Psar Chas Market]

Here is a list of stuff I’ve sunk my teeth into till now.

Amok




I'm told this is Cambodia's national dish, which I understand is Baked fish wrapped in a coconut leaf and cooked with green chillis and lemon grass - served in a green coconut curry. It reminded me of something in between a Thai Curry and something you would eat in Kerela.



Cambodian Rice Noodle Soup – Kyteow



This was my breakfast today which I acquired at a food stall in Psar Chas. The Soup, was basically thin rice noodles in a clear broth with chunks of boned chicken swimming in with bean sprouts, potatoes and bell peppers. The soup's other ingredients I couldn't make out initially but later found out to be sliced gizzards and congealed blood – they made the soup appear sinister in hindsight but ignorance being bliss I quite enjoyed my soup.

Well I'll add stuff to this list as and when I do eat something new and interesting - Fried crickets anybody ?

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[Apsaras at Bayon at Angkor Thom]

Just before dawn, the towers of Angkor Wat are ink shadows etched under the paling indigo of blue of the tropical night. The first hint of dawn washes the sky with pink and reveals the mist wreathing the stones. The sun rises behind the temple’s luxuriant forest, and the first rays gild the pinnacle of the central sanctuary. Gradually the light slides down the towers, bathing the walls and galleries, and strengthens from apricot to gold as the sun enriches the spectrum until the great monument glows from within. It is a transcendental experience.


[No photographers visit to Angkor Wat will be finished without this shot. Come on reflection, giant temple do the math]


[A french tour group climbs the inner pyramid of the temple.]

Even without the romance of sunshine, or the most frequently watched sunset, when the towers are reflected in the ceremonial pool in the front of the monument. Angkor Wat is overwhelming. We are awed by vast achievements like the pyramids of ancient Egypt, and by the inspired blend of iconography, form and spirituality of Java’s Borobudur or the symmetry of the Taj Mahal. But none surpasses the Angkor Wat, with its perfect fusion of symbolism, structure and scale.



This astonishing architectural masterpiece in Angkor, the capital of the Khmer Kingdom from the ninth century, was built in the first half of the twelfth century by Suryavarman 2, who reigned from 1113 until the mid century. It is hard to believe that this enormous marvel was built to appease the religious fervor of just one person. It is believed that only Suryavarman itself used the temples to worship devraja during his lifetime and the inner sanctums of which were inaccessible to anybody but him and the high priest. Oh well he was a god king.



The sunrise as I described in the first paragraph was magnificent - going early coupled by the fact that it is low season let me escape the day-tripping hordes. I walked around the temples in Angkor Thom but more about that later. As for Angkor Wat I think I'll go see it again tomorrow.


Tomorrow my post on Khmer Food - Yum !

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Here is a tiny snippet coaxing you folks to go over to go over to our Rickshaw Run blog - Teesra.org - and take a look at the wide selection of posts, mostly Shez and Neha have been posting. Now that we're back I promise the frequency of the posts will be regular and crisp - Photographs, words, video and audio as promised.

Here is a snippet from a post I wrote - Saira [our beloved auto-rickshaw] goes to Kathmandu

Tanks full, jerry cans filled we continued our descent into the Nepalli capital, to Thamel to what our guidebook described as “the intersection of Hippiedom and Hinduism, where Haight-Ashbury meets the Himalayas.”

We spent the next day in Kathmandu exploring the old city, Saira resting in the hotel parking lot – catching a cherished glimpse of the Kumari, or living goddess, a prepubescent girl who was consigned to the upper-floor temple room where she was served as a flesh and blood incarnation of divinity. The pack roamed Durbar square; Neha in her curiousness quizzing our tour guide, Shez playing with smiling children and hatching silent dreams of opening orphanages in the Nepalli country side and me in the corner following them both sheepishly taking pictures of course.

[link]

You could also read about my packing habits as jest fully described by neha. Also show some love and leave a comment will you.

As for now I'm heading East bound to Cambodia - this time for real - not like last time when I fell sick at the opportune moment.

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By now I’m sure you bunch have grown pretty tired of my incessant rickshaw ranting. Sadly this will do nothing to dull our words, our pictures and audio – and we have been working hard in the sidelines to find a home for are adventures. Therefore, it gives us much happiness to announce the launch of Teesra.org . A blog that chronicles all our rickshaw escapades, which Megha (she is such a sweetheart) happily volunteered to design for us and what a beautiful job she has done.

Yes so ahead give Teesra a spin, grab a feed and be dazzled by our collective greatness.

Pictures on Flickr as always

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It makes me proud to present to you Trivial Matters first ever Guest Post - by none other then our very own New Argonaut Shez .



[Our Logo - Illustration : Mom]

When Neha bounced up to me (with all her usual Neha exuberance), announcing that Akshay and her wanted to go on this race called “the Rickshaw Run” and they thought I would be the ideal third person for this adventure. I thought she had more screws missing in her head than I do. Which meant she had to be stark raving mad, because I’m pretty damn crazy!

Well after a couple of hours of cajoling and convincing (which Miss Dara excels at), I bent. I gave in and asked my boss for permission to throw caution to the wind and ride a three wheeled demon machine into the unknown.

That was sometime in May. Since, Akshay and Neha have done remarkable things to raise funds for this adventure. While I (the lowly third and left wheel of the team) took my begging bowl to every friend and family member I could think of who loves me enough to slide a hand into their pockets and find all the lose change jangling about and part with it. Between us we have almost reached our target figure. We are still short, but adventures hang on hope and guts…and the three of us we have plenty of both.

All that said. The most important stage of preparation has begun. Our rickshaw lessons.
Well for those of you who have read my full name or know it…you would have guessed that I’m from a Muslim family. I’m not a practicing Muslim myself but there are moments when Islam waggles an index finger at me, followed by a wink and a nod. The first step of our journey was just that sort of occasion.

It was a Friday and I had hardly slept the night before. I was shacked up in a friend’s flat in the South. Rickshaw class had been scheduled for 10:00am in the morning, at a motor school near Lucky’s in Bandra. At about 9:15am I called Neha to tell her I would be late. Turned out my phone call woke her up. Friday is Miss Dara’s day off. On Friday Neha sleeps. Wild horses can’t drag her out of our flat.

So I tried calling Mr Mahajan. Suprises, surprise…Mr Mahajan had yet to rise!
Well in groggy tones we decided to catch breakfast and then a lesson. Giving our front wheel (Miss Dara) time to spin into motion and arrive.


[The Afzal Motor School Rickshaw sputters as Shez revs the engines at Bandra Kurla Complex]

Akshay and myself are hungry monsters all the time. We parked ourselves at a restaurant in Bandra with a salad bar. Pilled one plate with the veggy salady things, one with the non-veggy saldy things, took two empty plates and between us ate enough salad for five people!


Neha finally walked in. Just as the rain began to break…she was also just in time to eat leftovers that might have gone to waste. Akshay and myself have found Neha’s can be very useful to have around (Wink!Wink!)


After a little more procrastination and lazy stretching we made our way across Bandra to Afzal Motor Training School. We trudged through a slow Bombay drizzle, slush filled and crowded, squeezing along allies, passing mosques, vegetable sellers and butcher shops. Till finally we caught sight of the Afzal’s board and the little grey stead that would take the beatings of our inexperience.

Faisal a lanky friendly guy with the patience of a Sufi saint (and a comfortable easy manner that remains unperturbed by anything his students may do), was to be our Rickshaw Guru.

He seemed amused by us at first. As the lesson progressed caught he was infected by our enthusiasm to learn. In fact he soon developed a beam of pride because he had a guy with a fancy camera and two girls learning in his rickshaw.


[Neutral, Clutch, First the gear change - a gentle tug at the accelerator and shez is off. Neha watches on and gives encouragement - quizzing Faisal at every opportunity. ]

Akshay and myself were both nervous and a bit petrified before lesson number one. We had finally made our start at about 3:30pm. I had an appointment at 4:00pm. Despite the lack of time I couldn’t bring myself to be the first one off the starting block. Akshay mustered up his brave side and was the first one to learn how to start, change gears and take turns. He wasn’t bad. Thanks to him my yellow lily livered feeling subsided. I slid into the front seat next to Faisal. He ran me through the gears. The importance of letting off the clutch slowly as you accelerate and leaving the accelerator when you change gears. It was a quick lesson. I learnt how to take turns and listen to the engine for smooth gear changes. I rode through the relatively calm areas of Bandra Kurla complex before I ran off to an appointment I was already late for.


[Neha studies the inner heart of our little toaster.]

My first lesson alone was at 4:00pm on Saturday. Neha and Akshay had skipped town for some fund raising and a break. So I grabbed a hold of my bestest friend in this lifetime. The lovely Miss Tara Sapru and marched through the slush once more to Afzal motor driving school.




The ever punctual Faisal was there waiting for me with a Salaam Ailekum and a smile.
He ran us out to the main road and handed over his trusty stead to me. He perched himself on the wide seat next to me. In case things got hairy.



Through the thick of Bandra traffic I puttered along, blocking off car and bus drivers at intersections, while I sweated through gear changes.

Then came the real acid test. Faisal grinned and informed me it was time to make his baby climb in second gear up Bandra’s steepest slopes and roll down in third without killing anyone! I succeed 

So do I think we are ready? Hell yeah! Race Rickshaw Run say hello to team Teesra Paiiya!


[Teesra Paiya Photo : Faisal Quereshi ]

The Donations are still open - so if you wish offload some extra change to charity - here is something to help.

Next Stop Calcutta, expect updates....

Previous Post here

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Update :

Thank you

Beth, Karmadude, Babasko (twice), Nick , Megha, Kaushik , Sivashankar, Ash, Gvenum, Naveen*,Shiva, Shane,'Peter and Emily*',Krishna*, Farah, Prem, Kathryn, Rajeev, Richard, Tehmina and the Pai Family in Mysore for sending us some money. Who's next


Also thank you Amit, Rash*, Megha, Desipundit*,Chugs*,Shiva* Sonia , Peter and Prem for the shout out.

And Yes you can also find us on Facebook

Expect pictures and notes from our first rickshaw lesson soon !!!

Sponsors

Mobiance is a tech start-up that is letting us give their fleet tracking technology a whirl and Hence allowing you to track our progress real-time during the duration of the run. Check them out.





Listen to my Podcast Interview on the Kamla Bhatt Show. [mp3]






A Few months ago me and two of friends of mine got the crazy idea of volunteering ourselves into a race that involves driving over 3,750 km across India in the Monsoons over the Himalayas - if that wasn't harrowing enough we thought we'd do it in an mobile toaster on wheels - 3 wheels to be exact - yes we plan to ride an auto-rickshaw across India through torrential rains across the Himalayas.

No seriously - it is called Rickshaw Run

The run will take us deep into the heart of India. Once there we will travel through the Indian heartland in a transport that by all means Indian. By reaching a multitude of challenging way points through large stretches of grueling terrain, completing physical and intellectual exercises, we hope to complete the Run to our satisfaction.

The event, organized by the London-based Institute of Adventure Research, is intended to raise money for charity (learn more about the organizers - here ). The Run started last year with a drive from Cochin to Darjeeling, but not one of the participating teams was Indian. We’re trying to change that this time.


The Route :

Starting from: Calcutta along the length and breath of the mighty Himalayan range, we will be taking on mountains, forest, jungles, wild plains and just about everything India can through at us and our almost useless vehicle. We can A spend your whole trip on tiny dirt tracks in the Nepalese mountains at or B thunder over to the deserts of Rajasthan before making the final push to the north and the hills.

Ending: in Manali high up in the hills.

Take a more detailed look at our Route here.


Meet The Team :

It's a four member consisting of bunch of rather interesting personalities. I'd think you'd agree.

Firstly there is this chap called Akshay - namely me.



Akshay Mahajan began his freelance career at the age of 19, when he quit engineering college and jumped on to a freight train for 200kms and sold photos about the experience on the internet . Two years later, Akshay is still wandering the country with camera and pen in hand. He mostly earns his money as a self schooled photojournalist, versatile in style with a natural eye for colour, tone and composition (sic!). His work has been published in a number of local and international publications and has documented a number of events culminating in an exciting and varied body of work. Akshay blames his parents for his restless feet; at every opportunity, they were off exploring the country but for some reason never made it to Goa, an omission that he put right recently [I'll put up some picture soon I promise].

He hopes to take a lot of pictures and expects do a lot of the navigation not by choice but because of the fact that he is the only male member on the team.


And we have Shez

Shaizia Jifri is the oldest in the group age wise. But definitely has all symptoms of one suffering from Peter Pan syndrome. Which means she'll never say no to an adventure. Shaizia or Shez, as she is fondly known, works in a film production house. Which means she lives a life filled with crazy hours and is constantly pushed to make the seemingly impossible, possible. From the age of eighteen she has driven vehicles long distance and is no stranger to long hauls and basic mechanics. In fact she has calculated that she has driven approximately 260,000 kilometres in her lifetime. Which for a wee woman of twenty-five is quite an impressive figure.

Shez is full of energy and has the stamina to go on and on. She takes much pride in the fact that she is stronger than she looks. Pint size and full of beans Shez is the left wheel on this three wheeled adventure.

Outlook magazine called her a New Argonaut - whatever that means.

And there is Neha


Neha has always been the sensible one. All rounder in school: good in studies, basketball team member, magazine editor. She's the friend everyone's mother loved. She always liked writing and started interning with the Hindustan Times when she was in class nine, so it was no surprise when she started working with the paper right out of college. But that's when things got a little random. After about a year and a half on the job, she decided to move cities, "so she could see a new one", and landed in Bombay. Now, she wants to do the Rickshaw Run and she has a good many reasons that she used to sell the idea to Akshay and Shez.


The last member of this team doesn't even know about their participation in this event yet but this last member also happens to be the most important one - Sorry to spring the surprise but the last member of our little team is YOU. How you ask ? Well we do need someone to sit at home and look at the pretty pictures, read the words and laugh at videos - it is a tough job but we know you are a team player.


Calling online Philanthropists

As I said earlier we are trying to raise money and awareness through this exercise - the money will be donated a NGO called Mercy Corps - which has helped organize Rickshaw run.

Mercy Corps is a non-profit organization engaged in humanitarian aid and development activities. Mercy Corps works amid disasters, conflicts, chronic poverty and instability. Since 1979, Mercy Corps has provided more than $1.3 billion in assistance to people in 100 nations. Supported by headquarters offices in North America, Europe and Asia, the agency's unified global programs employ more than 3,400 staff worldwide and reach more than 14.4 million people in more than 35 countries. There are working several Indian NGOs - the list to which you can find here.

The rickshaw themselves will be donated at the end of the race to people who gain meaning employment through their use.


Here is where I ask you for a small donation - so please do donate us some money.
To make the deal sweeter - for those nice people out their who give us money - I will personally send them a good-sized print of a photograph of their choice.

Here are some pictures you could have hanging on your wall.










So yes support the cause and make a donation through paypal

If you have questions or need information on the run or want to send us some money in another way- you can email me at akshaym[@]gmail.com - I also have document and a presentation ready which I can forward you upon request.


And Oh yes before I forget the team is called Teesra Paiya and stay tuned for updates.

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