Feature: The Indian Job: day three

The traffic is truly appalling today. Buses regularly fire past, often with no warning. Our town-spec mirrors are positioned inside to avoid getting knocked off, meaning they show nothing past the wheel arch. Fine for split-second U-turn decisions, but no good for reacting to overtaking bus drivers, who it's rumoured get cash bonuses for arriving on time. No wonder most vehicles have a plaintive 'horn please!' painted on their rears. Over here a honk isn't antisocial, it's an essential plank of the country's road safety strategy.

Respite comes in the form of the 2000-year-old Vaideeswaran temple, whose inner sanctum is so dark it supports a huge community of squabbling bats. After buying a garland stuffed with rose petals to counter the often gut-retching smells of the road, we continue. But not for long.

An oncoming bus lurches onto our side to overtake and forces us onto the dirt. Simon, who's driving, goes to brake and... nothing. 'No brake, no brake,' he cries, but luckily we just roll to a halt in a tiny, palm-thatched village. Again, that ominous silence. A hour later mechanic Kabali and his team show, and get to work. Was it the brake cable? Turns out no. The right rear drum shoes were so worn that the brake cylinder became overextended and leaked all our brake fluid. The rickshaw is lifted up, and the drum is rebuilt. The brakes have actually been quite powerful and we see why - the drums are the size of a Mini's and they only have to stop 250kg (plus us). We buy a cup of tea from the adjacent cafe and munch on Britannia-brand biscuits. In over-populated, under-paid India it's awfully easy to let everyone do it all for you.

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