I'm not sure I'll tire of riding in the back of Ambassador taxis. They're India's equivalent of the London cab, they're bloody comfortable and they've survivors. Each bears the scars of battle having honked and shunted through Delhi traffic for decades as the chaos has risen around them. Drivers nurse the wearied chassis' down the road and turn off the headlights to save gas. The meter in every ambassador is tastefully cloaked in a small towel - I can only assume this is to build suspense for my benefit. As the newby in town my haggling skills are clearly not up to scratch and Mr Singh can smell a sucker. He happily waits in his Amritsar-themed Ambassador outside my house each morning and leaps out of his seat to open the squeaky-hinged door for me when I emerge. But at Rs150 it's a great deal in these early heady days. The sights and smells of Delhi are rendered richer from the backseat of an Ambassador.