Riding through Colombo in a tuk-tuk is not just a way to travel. It’s an experience. It’s like watching a movie of real life from a moving window. The streets of Colombo have a rhythm, a pulse, and sitting in a tuk-tuk, you feel every beat of it.
As the little three-wheeler bounces over bumps and weaves through tight traffic, the city opens up in a way that you might miss in a car or bus. You notice people. You notice sounds. You notice life.
Small children run around in narrow side streets, shouting happily as they play cricket. Some are barefoot, some with slippers, but all of them have bright eyes and loud laughter. They don’t care about the dust or the noise. They just play with full hearts, chasing tennis balls between parked scooters and the occasional sleepy street dog.
On the sides of the road, life carries on in full color. Scooters and tuk-tuks zoom past you. Vans and cars honk their way forward. Every vehicle is fighting for a little space on the road. It looks like chaos, but somehow, it works. Drivers understand each other with just a glance or a beep.
You pass by two uncles standing by a tiny tea shop, talking with serious faces. They wave their hands in the air as if solving world problems. Most likely, they are discussing business deals, family issues, or maybe just the rising price of vegetables. It’s impossible to know, and yet you feel like you’re part of their story, even for a moment.
The tuk-tuk stops at a traffic signal. A long line of buses, vans, and bikes waits impatiently. People on buses look tired, their faces full of the day’s weight. Some stare into space, some scroll on their phones, and others just close their eyes for a minute of rest. You can feel their exhaustion. After long hours of work, they just want to get home. But now they are stuck, shoulder to shoulder in the heat, waiting for the red light to turn green.
The city’s smoke has its own attitude. Fumes rise from buses and motorbikes and float right into your face. Many girls wear masks not because of COVID anymore, but to protect their skin from the pollution. It’s something only girls seem to understand, a quiet battle against dust, sun, and smoke. While others might ignore it, they take small steps to care for themselves.
And then comes the smell. Not a bad one, a good one. The smell of food. As your tuk-tuk passes a row of small restaurants, your nose catches the spicy, rich aroma of rice and curry, hot samosas, freshly fried rolls, and sweet milk tea. Your stomach growls. The city feeds you with more than just sights, it tempts you with taste.
Just when you think the signal is about to turn green, the yellow light teases you. It turns to green, and your driver presses the accelerator, only to find another jam a few meters ahead. You smile at the irony. So close, yet so far. Everyone inches forward like part of a slow-moving parade. No one is happy about it, but no one complains out loud either. It’s just how life moves here.
And in all of this, the heat, the smells, the honking, the laughter, the gossip, there’s something beautiful. There’s something real. Colombo doesn’t try to hide its flaws. It doesn’t put on a show for visitors. It just is. And from a tuk-tuk, you get to see it all, up close and personal.
You see the young boy carrying heavy bags after school. You see the old woman selling bananas by the road, sitting in the shade. You see couples holding hands and aunties haggling at a fruit stall. Every face, every moment adds a layer to the story.
And then, just like that, your journey ends. You pay the driver, step out, and the tuk-tuk drives away, taking another person on another journey.
But something stays with you, the moving perspective. The reminder that every street has a story, every person is living a life just as complex and deep as yours, and sometimes, all it takes to feel connected is a 20-minute ride in a three-wheeled motorbike.
