Rickshaws exist in large quantities on the roads of Karachi, not unlike the hordes of running zebras on the African savannah you see on the National Geographic channel.

During busy road hours, they happily fill the minute cracks in traffic, weave through crowds of impatient vehicles, and spew out enough smog to make Karachi one of the most polluted cities of Asia.

Now that concrete plans for a mass rapid transit system has been shelved till 2050, rickshaws serve as a tenuous replacement for affordable urban transport in Karachi. Collectively, they form the veins of the city, complete with noise levels that I quickly found to be characteristic of Karachi roads.

Many Karachiites must be unmindful to the presence of these chugging three-wheeled fascinating monsters, but as a wide-eyed foreigner, I feel drawn to this mode of transport in equal parts frustration and fascination, and perhaps a dash of the surreal.

At first, I could not comprehend the efficacy of these vehicles. The drivers too don’t actually know where you want to go. Too many times have they nodded in earnest, got me into their vehicles and subsequently gotten us lost in the very next district.

Lesson #1: Know the roads yourself.

Lesson #2: Learn some basic Urdu to get through to the driver.

Also, expect bumpy rides that make the lower half of your body feel like it’s been in extended battle. Expect to be enveloped intimately in a cocktail of exhaust smoke from neighbouring cars. Oh, and don’t be alarmed if the next car is so close you can exhale vapour on its windows and draw a smiley.

Then again, the free-spiritedness of rickshaws can be addictive. How many times do you get to sail down the road … straight into a sea of oncoming headlights? I have grown to enjoy how rickshaws can U-turn on streets like it’s an afterthought and scrape through gaps in road dividers. I once sat in a rickshaw which went on reverse and snaked out of a massive traffic jam just like that. Try doing that with a fancy car!

Of course, some drivers take it too far and signal by sticking their left foot out into busy traffic ... but let’s not go there.

I have commuted via rickshaws close to 50 times over the last month, but not once have I encountered a rickshaw that looks exactly like another. With the variety in appearances, I sometimes wonder if the vehicles themselves are objects of self-expression.

Case in point: I once caught a glimpse of a rickshaw with Imran Khan’s regal smile on a faded poster stuck on the back of the vehicle. A statement of political allegiance, perhaps?

Another had seats lined with comfortable (faux) zebra fur, a can of air-freshener and flapping doors which stayed firmly shut even as we hurtled across the PIDC flyover. These are sure indicators of a driver with customer-oriented business sense, and would very likely squeeze more rupees out of me.

Nevertheless, rickshaws have never failed me. Sometimes they take twice the time, or twice the fare, and twice they have broken down on me, but I always get to the place I needed to be. Each ride is never the same as another, and I look forward to many, many more.