Eighteen passengers in one rickshaw (tuk-tuk) sounds impossible, but this was one record set on my island of Diwar.

As they say, necessity is the mother of invention. This necessity arose in the eighties, and we had to invent ways to commute. The three-kilometer ride from the mainland to the ferry point at Old Goa was a challenge. Ten of us squeezing together in one rickshaw was the norm, and each passenger knew their role. Newcomers were guided by regulars.

What strikes me today is that it was a genderless society - one could push themselves onto anyone's lap or hold any part for those three kilometers. There were no rules as long as one reached the destination. A variety of smells mixed with sweat created an unacceptable concoction, but one had to get used to it.

Not all passengers were saints; some looked forward to these rides for pleasures other than reaching their destination, often reciprocated. I used to opt for tempo rides, which were equally chaotic and suitable for pleasure - pun intended.

I gave up rickshaw rides after standing in one - yes, we stood! We held onto roof rails for support while standing on either side of the driver's open cabin to maintain balance. During one such ride, my head hit a protruding canopy from a cart while maneuvering a zigzag. Fortunately, it was made of bamboo rather than metal; otherwise, it could have been tragic.

This wild thought of writing these memories occurred when I noticed rickshaws no longer ply this route."