Can India Take A Tuk-Tuk Example From Sri Lanka’s New Age Old Travel?
In 2016, a quiet disruption arrived. A small start-up named TukTuk Rental, launched from Katunayake, didn’t only offer tourists a chance to see Sri Lanka; it handed them the keys to write their own adventure. No pre-packaged itinerary. No tour bus window filters. Just a self-drive tuk-tuk, a valid license, and the open road.

In Sri Lanka, it’s a journey that refuses to be rushed, where time slows, not by force but by rhythm. This is the kind of road trip where the engine hums like a busy bee and the wind smells of cardamom, dust, and something familiar you can’t quite name. You could take the highway in a sedan, windows up, AC humming, eyes on the destination but in a tuk-tuk, you feel the pulse of the street, the sway of each pothole, the banter at every chai stall, and the unfiltered poetry of place.
Sri Lanka understood this long ago. The humble tuk-tuk, or “three-wheeler,” may have arrived with an Indian badge ( Bajaj Auto’s noisy, nimble machines from the late 1970s) but over decades, they’ve taken on a life of their own. Today, more than a million of these mechanical beetles crawl across the island’s sinewy roads, functioning as family cars, taxis, delivery vans, and even mobile bakeries. They are not mere vehicles but serve as lifelines stitched into the fabric of Sri Lankan daily life.
And now, they’re also storytellers.
Because in 2016, a quiet disruption arrived. A small start-up named TukTuk Rental, launched from Katunayake, didn’t only offer tourists a chance to see Sri Lanka; it handed them the keys to write their own adventure. No pre-packaged itinerary. No tour bus window filters. Just a self-drive tuk-tuk, a valid international license, and the open road.
The Roots Of Entrepreneurship
But this wasn’t just a clever tourism gimmick. It was, perhaps quietly, yet powerfully social entrepreneurship in motion. Every tuk-tuk rented was not a company-owned; but belonged to a local, often someone for whom the vehicle was a second source of income. Each rental meant money flowing directly into Sri Lankan homes, over Rs 30 crore (US $1 million) distributed to 1,000 families so far.
Thus, it was travel with soul and purpose where tourism didn’t just look at poverty from the rearview mirror, but offered a way to chip at it, one ride at a time.
How It Happened?
What began as an accident on a cycling trip in India for Australian civil engineer Thomas Cornish turned into an idea that’s now shifting livelihoods. Along with cofounders Richard McKeon and Wietse Sennema, who grew up on the island, they tapped into something rare: a model that benefits the tourist, the local, and the environment, all in one breath.
The tuk-tuk became a bridge. Between traveler and native, income and dignity, modernity and nostalgia.
Now here’s the question worth asking, not just as a rhetorical musing but as a serious challenge: If India gave the tuk-tuk to the world, can it now borrow a better idea from its tiny island neighbor?
Similar Model In India – But What About The Risks?
India, after all, is the birthplace of the very tuk-tuks that have become icons of Sri Lankan travel. And with cities like Jaipur, Varanasi, Kochi, and Pondicherry seeing a boom in experiential tourism, the idea of self-drive tuk-tuks for travellers doesn’t seem far-fetched. It offers both a quirky, immersive way to see the country and an opportunity to empower local tuk-tuk owners through micro-entrepreneurship.
But India is also a very different beast from Sri Lanka. The traffic is denser, rules more chaotic, and insurance regulations more layered. Unlike Sri Lanka’s relatively more controlled and cooperative tourism infrastructure, India’s scale and unpredictability can pose significant risks – from road safety and liability issues to corruption and a lack of uniform regulations across states.
There are also deeper societal questions.
—Will Indian tuk-tuk unions support such a model, or resist it out of fear of losing income?
—Would tourists be prepared for India’s often challenging driving conditions?
So then why has India not taken the same leap?
We’ve long been the factory, the exporter, the global provider of these sturdy machines. But when it comes to innovation in how they’re used – especially for tourism and social upliftment – we seem to stall.
Experiential travel is no longer a hipster niche – it’s the new normal. Foreigners crave authenticity, and what’s more authentic than steering India’s madness from behind a rickety steering handle, dodging cows, chasing sunsets, and discovering stories tucked in roadside dhabas?
The potential is intoxicating. Imagine: tourists renting self-drive tuk-tuks to meander through Rajasthan’s golden dunes, Kerala’s backwater towns, or Sikkim’s prayer-flagged hills. Imagine the direct income that could flow to drivers and owners, who, like in Sri Lanka, could choose to park their vehicle and still earn from it. An additional stream of revenue. A reason to stay home for dinner with their children instead of chasing passengers into the night.
But the road to this vision isn’t smooth.
India is a nation of scale and with that comes scale of complexity. Legal liabilities. Insurance nightmares. Road safety issues. Different state regulations. Union resistance. Even the idea of a foreigner driving in Mumbai or Bengaluru traffic can raise eyebrows or induce mild panic.
Yet none of these are unsolvable. What’s needed is intent, not just infrastructure. A partnership between innovation and policy, where ministries of tourism, transport, and entrepreneurship actually talk to each other, not just in headlines, but in execution.
Romance of the Ride vs. Reality of the Road
But before we wax lyrical about road trips and rustic charm, there’s another sobering truth India must confront: Safety isn’t a feature, it’s the foundation. And without it, even the most beautiful idea will crash at the first corner.
Sri Lanka made tuk-tuk rentals work because they built safety into the system. But more than process, there was a sense of trust—that the roads, the people, and the law wouldn’t betray the traveller; can India promise the same?
Let’s be honest. While our tuk-tuks are tough, our roads are not kind. Fatalities from traffic accidents in India are among the highest in the world. In 2022 alone, over 1.5 lakh people died in road accidents, many involving two- and three-wheelers. Tourists unfamiliar with Indian traffic logic (if there is such a thing) will find themselves in a storm of unpredictability.
And then comes the larger concern, one that cannot be sidestepped or softened with optimism:
For all our progress, India continues to battle an undercurrent of gendered insecurity. Street harassment is not a myth, it’s a daily, exhausting negotiation for millions of Indian women. Now place a foreign solo female traveller, on backroads or breaking down outside a small town, will help come swiftly, or judgment faster?
Safety is not just about crime. It’s about perception, preparedness, and response. It’s about building a system where support is a call away, where tourist helplines actually work, where police don’t question the victim first, and where local communities are trained not just to host but to protect.
If India wants to turn its tuk-tuks into a tool of social impact and sustainable tourism, then it must first build a culture of safety, for both locals and visitors; this isn’t just a checklist item, but the make-or-break factor.
Yes, we have the roads, the romance, the rickshaws. But do we have the resolve to make the experience safe, inclusive, and empowering?