|
72 Hours
in India
 Author:
Meg Smaker
Posted: 21, June, 2003
I found a friendly, but
basic guesthouse near the Taj Mahal. I only planned to stay one
day there, but it wound up turning into nearly a week. The admission
price to the Taj was extremely steep - a whopping 750 rupees. I
debated whether or not to go, but then decided you can't go to India
and not see the Taj. So I went and it was breath-taking. If your
not impressed by it, I think you would be hard pressed to find something
that would.
Anyway, it was really
hot in Agra at mid day it got up to a whopping 112 degrees! At night
I would lay in bed consumed by sweet watching the fan above move
at a snail-pace speed. Staring at it, I would try and will it to
go faster, but to no avail. All it seemed to do was move hot air
from outside, in.
Every evening I would
go for a walk in Agra, all the while getting bombarded with merchants
and beggars. Beggars with leprosy shoving half a limb in your face,
gaunt and emaciated children holding babies - both strongly resembling
those TV commercials for the charities asking for a dollar a week
to save some starving child in Somalia or some other third world
nation, but the worst were the mutilated children. It might not
have been so bad if I did not know the origins of there injuries.
You see in India, begging is big business, and children seem to
be a cash cow in this industry, but children with deformities and
mutilated bodies are by far the most prized commodity. Many parents
even mutilate the own children pouring kerosene on them and burning
their bodies to resemble that of a mutant, or cutting off limbs
and mutilating the faces.
But the business goes
far beyond that. It is not merely a one person or family vocation
but there are whole organization dedicated to this profession. With
hundreds of employees! The boss, better known as the "Beggarmaster,"
employs hundreds of beggars, mostly children, and in return they
are looked after. This entails, a reserved place on the pavement,
protection from cops (cops will be paid off to leave the specified
beggar alone), theft prevention, food, shelter, and a cut of their
day's earnings. Beggarmasters even buy children with leprosy or
who have been mutilated from families in need of money.This is why
I never give to beggars in India - to encourage such repulsive behavior
would be immoral.
Anyway, getting on with
the story. I was walking down a street and receiving the usual accosting
form the locals when a child, no more than eight, came up to me
and stuck his hand in my face. His face was burnt so bad his skin
had melted down his eyes giving his whole face a drooping, liquid
look. His hand and arm looked like the texture of raisins. "10
rupee.... 10 rupee," he mumbled, moving his drooping face in
one fluid motion - the skin so taut from the scaring it seemed to
hurt for him to talk. I stood there for a minutes looking at him
playing a number of scenarios in my head that could have led to
such a horrific display at present. Upset I shut my eyes and shook
my head "Na', Na'...Chello! (no, no... go away)" I said
waving my hand in dismissal.
But the child persisted
(as they always do. Usually the fist word you learn in a country
are "hi" and "thankyou," but in India it's different.
The words of necessity are no and go away). Tired from the days
heat and the constant overload of the senses, my patience was worn
thin. He followed me for a good block or so, magnetically pulling
other beggars with his display of persistence, raising their hopes
to get a cut from the foreigner’s pockets. I turned around
to find a dozen starving and mutilated children accompanied by a
few suffering severely from leprosy.
"CHELLOW...CHELLOW,"
I screamed in frustration, but they would not leave me be. So I
turned and started to walk fast, then faster, darting in and out
of alleyways. Soon I stopped and turned to look. They were gone,
but I then realized, I was lost. 'Shit' I thought - sun is set and
it will be dark soon. This ought to be interesting.
I aimlessly scurried
through the labyrinth of allies and side streets, but to no avail.
Nothing seemed even vaguely familiar and night would not make it
any easier. With no street lights it would be like being going blind
through a gauntlet of cow shit, beggar, muggers, merchants and every
other raisin under the sun.
After about 20 minutes
of this I entered another alleyway and was approached by a healthy
man who stuck out his hand and demanded "Baheish!" This
is a rude beggar I thought. So I said, "no," and walked
away, but he came after me and cut me off in my tracks. I stopped
and gave him a dirty look. He reach in his pocket and pulled out
a little knife and pointed it at me and demanded again "Baheish!"
Shaking my head in disbelief at my luck thus fair on this trip;
I smiled and made a motion for my rucksack like I was going to give
him his money. But instead I pulled out my knife which dwarfed his
and in the best Aussie accent I could muster, quoted the famous
line from Crocodile Dundee - "that ain’t a knife, this
is a knife," and smiled with victory. (I had grown a bit too
confident and cocky from my provisos conquests in India).
But the response I had
expected (the turn tail and run) from him was not there. Instead
he had a smirk of confidence and was no longer looking at me, but
past me at something behind me. I turned and saw 5 more men all
with knives - around me! "Well, didn't see that one coming,"
I thought. "BAHEISH, BAHEISH," he demanded once more with
an air of confidence. "Dat too" he said, pointing to my
knife. I was weighing my options and narrowed it down to three choices
and outcomes. I could:
A. Give him my money
and my knife, leaving me defenseless, and broke. Thus if, after
they had both, they required more of me I would have no chance in
fending them off. With my knife I at least had a prayer.
B. Take my chances and fight my way out of this. But this didn't
seem likely to be successful given that the numbers were not on
my side.
C. Give them some money and keep the knife. Just in case it came
down to that.
I chose the latter.
I reached in to the outer pocket of my rucksak where I keep pocket
changed for rickshaws. And handed over 60 rupees. His lips winced
tightly and his face seemed to morph almost instantaneously into
pure rage. "GIVE ME ALL BAHEISH!!!!!" He yelled.
I lifted my shoulders
and turned my palms to the sky as if to say that was all I had.
He lunged for me and ripped my rucksack off my shoulder. Spilling
the contents on to the floor, he bent down and searched throw the
scattered items frantically while the others looked on in anticipation.
But all he found was
two books, half a roll of TP, press ID, unsent postcards, one bandana
and a melted tube of chap-stick. He then, more angry and frustrated,
began to search my rucksack itself, throwing out old receipts and
scratch paper with e-mails scribbled on them. I began to get nervous.
I had a lot of money in my rucksack, but it was in a hidden compartment
I had made for it. Would he find it?
Then he stood up with
my bag and angrily throw it to the ground. Then came so close to
me I could feel his breath on my face. He stuck his knife in my
face and then yanked my knife out of my hands. 'There goes that
idea,' I thought. He then began repeatedly yelling "BAHEISH,
BAHEISH" as he patted me down and searched my pockets, but
to no avail. Then he stopped at my waist feeling my belt. 'Oh fuck,'
I thought, 'he found it' (I wear a belt that looks and functions
as a normal belt but on the inside there is a zipper and a hidden
compartment for money and travelers cheques.) He began to undo my
belt. And whipped it off me so swiftly that I stumbled to keep my
balance.
He eyed the zipper with
anticipation and opened the pocket . His companions drew a breath
in unison and silence set in. His eyes got big and I knew I could
kiss that money good-bye. He waved above his head triumphantly four
one-hundred US dollar bills. His friends ran over to him, each jumping
to grab the money and look at it, overcome with joy of there conquest.
I was completely ignored.
I took the opportunity
and grabbed my rucksack and throw what I could back inside and bolted
down the alleyway running the labyrinth once more, with no idea
were I was going. I ran for what seemed forever. Lungs burning,
legs shaking, and out of breath I stopped and turned around to see
if they were still there - no, thank God. But I was still lost and
now $400 and 60rs poorer than when I started.
All the light that had
been there was now gone it was pitch black and I was alone and desperate.
I frantically looked around for anything familiar, but to no avail.
I collapsed to the ground near tears. But, blinking hard I fought
them off. I sat there in the dirty alleyway blinking. Then closed
my eyes and thought. I tried to retrace my steps but that was useless.
I began to feel upset again and then gave myself the pep talk that
had be come oh so common in India.
'This is a small obstacle,
you're smart, strong, you can figure it out. You wanted to travel
and knew what could happen. Suck it up. Don’t let them win.
Stop being a little bitch, get off your ass and find your way home!'
And with that I stood up and began to walk toward a light in the
far off distance.
Well to make a long story
short I finally found my way back to my guesthouse - four hours
later. Tired and angry, I flopped on my bed forgetting it was a
hard wooden platform with a thin pad on it and smacked my head.
I lay there in the sweltering heat. I was overcome with utter frustration
and fury. India was starting to chip away at the strong, independent,
tough girl persona I had for so long clung to with such vigor.
The next day I went out
window-shopping at all the marvelous marble shops in Agra (Agra
is world famous for its marble art). Anyway, I came across a little
shop and the owner stated to talk to me. Normally I would have just
walked away, but his English had a touch of California accent to
it and I was curious. We talked and it turns out he used to live
in Berkeley. We exchanged stories about Telegraph (a street in Berkeley
made famous in the 60s). We went into his shop and looked over an
array of things. He of course showed me the expensive stuff, to
which I baulked and said, "Listen mate, I may be American,
but that don’t mean I am rich". I winded up buying a silver
ring with the star of India stone for a friend back home in Chico.
I put on the ring and
went back to my accommodations. I had planned to leave the next
day and had not made it yet to the train station to buy my ticket
and had so many things still to do. Normally I go to the train station
myself instead of going to an agent who charges commission. But
since I was running behind schedule I conceded and asked the guy
at the guest-house to get the ticket for me. I also don’t like
to tell the place where I am staying when I am leaving. Because
at one guesthouse I stayed at the guests would set up a train or
bus ticket with the lodging and almost every time they would wind
up being horribly sick the next day - thus unable to travel. Therefore
having to pay one more night's stay and pay a doctor that the lodging
got a kick back from for giving him the business.
But I had grown to like
the people that worked there and thought that I was safe, - how
wrong I was. I asked him how many rupees it would cost at the train
station. He replied 180 and then I enquired about the price with
commission, he said an extra 5 rupees. I paid him and went out to
run some errands. That night I woke up hotter than normal, my skin
felt like it was on fire, my head was spinning I sat up and was
over come with nausea. I barely made it into my wash bucket. I sat
there throwing up all the contents of that night’s dinner at
the guesthouse and when that was done with, began dry heaving. My
head pounded and my stomach was in knots, making sound that were
not encouraging.
I had to go, and now!
I didn’t have time to run to the bathroom down the hall. I
stood up shaking yanked done my pants in an urgent manner and let
loose in the wash bucket already partly full from vomitus. For the
next four hours this rotation of excrement continued. My head felt
like it was in a vice and someone was drilling a screw between my
eyes and then pounding a hammer into the sides of my temples. I
was in hell. I was shaking and couldn't stand to save my life. My
strength had gone and I was weak and becoming delirious. Finally,
when I had no more left in my digestive tract, I crawled back to
my bed but was unable to pull my self up onto it. I sat there in
near tears, wanting death to come and end this miserable suffering
(like I said I became delirious).
The sun soon rose and
made the room even hotter than before. I retreated under the bed
to the cool concrete in the shadow below. I laid there in the fetal
position, sweating profusely, shaking uncontrollably. Overcome with
fever my brain started to betray me and I began to hallucinate.
Like a troll under his bridge, I refused to abandon the cool sanctuary.
I looked at my watch - 7:32am. My train was due in a little less
than 9 hours. I had still not packed and was supposed to attend
a bride viewing at 1:30. I lay there staring at my bucket of bile
cursing the guesthouse and my stupidity for trusting them.
I rolled over and inch
my way to my bag and pulled out my med kit. Took my temp and lay
there with the thermometer sticking out of my mouth, waiting. 102
- "great," I thought sarcastically. I crawled over to
the side of my bed again and reached up and felt around for my water
bottle. I found it and began to gulp it down. No sooner did it enter
my mouth that it came right back up. I was seriously dehydrated,
my mouth was parched and there was a dried mucus membrane around
my lips. I remembered a German I met in Verinasei who had been in
a similar state and now I knew what he must have felt like.
I tried to swallow some
Dranimeen but that came up as well. Then I just flopped over and
sprawled out on the floor. And waited for death to come. Like I
said my mind was not right and delirium was taking over. I passed
out only to be awoken at 1 o'clock by a banging at the door. "Madam...madam,
your visitor is here to pick you up." Wiping the crusted puke
from my chin I rolled out from under the bed and said in a cracking
voice, "I will be out in a minute." I was still in dire
straights, but determined to not let them "win".
I made up my mind to
go to Delhi and to keep my appointment for the bride viewing. I
poured my water bottle into a bandana and wiped the evidence of
last night’s dance of my digestional tracked away. Pulled up
my matted hair and put on a pair of clean paints all the while still
on the floor. I had not yet managed to stand. I squirted some toothpaste
in my mouth and then spit it out into the wash bucket I caught a
whiff of the smell from it and began to dry-heve once more. It finally
stooped and I collapsed again to the floor, exhausted from the performance.
My head was killing me
it was the worst head ache I had ever had - even worse then the
migraines I used to get as a kid that sent me screaming and crying
for my Ma. But my Ma was not here now and I was all alone and in
horrible shape with no-one to help and no hope in sight. I finally
gathered up the strength to stand and swayed heavily. Once I did,
I fell back on the bed sitting there starring at the door. 'Its
soooo far away,' I thought. 'How can I make it, it is such a long
distance?' (a total of 5 feet maybe 6 at the most).
I sat there in a heap
of sweat and delirium. I finally stood and stumbled over to my camera
bag. I tried to lift it but it didn't even leave the ground. I stood
there staring at it trying to will it to rise. But of course it
just lay there disobediently. I then picked up my day rucksack and
struggled to lift it to my shoulder (at most it weighs 3 pounds).
I unlocked the door and was attacked by the light of day. I withered
in its harshness and blocked the light from my eyes with my arm.
"Madam, you are
not looking well are you ok?" " What do you think"
I snapped and stumbled past him to the front desk where my friend
was waiting. "Geeze Meg, are you sick - you look ill,"
he said. " Ya, I have a little bug," I lied. "You
sure you're ok? I will understand if you can't come - so will my
family - it's ok." 'God I must really look like shit,' I thought.
"No I am fine. Sorry to keep you waiting."
We left the guesthouse
and sped off to meet his family, where again I was greeted with
questions of my health. I seriously need to find a mirror. We piled
in to the white Ambassidor car - the air conditioning was a saving
grace form the heat of the day. The drive to the prospective bride’s
house was hell on wheels. Zigzagging around cows and corners played
a torturous game with my already incapacitated equilibrium. My body
kept bringing up bits and peaces of vomitus and I was forced to
swallow them back down. I did not want to hural all over their nice
white car.
After what seemed like
forever, we finally arrived at our destination. I stepped out of
the cool car I had so quickly acclimatized to, only to be attacked
by the intense heat of midday Agra. We met with the bride's family
but without the bride and they discussed and bartered over a dowry
amount. All the while we were fed nibblies and drinks. I did not
want to be rude so I ate them, but just a few minutes later had
to excuses myself to the bathroom to bring it back up.
This ceremony continued
for over an hour. They would bring food I would eat it and then
a couple minutes later say, "hi," to the masticated remnants
that lay in the toilet. " Hello chapatie, nice to see you again
lassie," I said in my delirious state of mind. The families
must have thought I was shooting up in the bathroom or something.
I did not know how much longer I could hold out.
Finally the prospective
wife was brought out dressed to the nines, in henna, silk, gold
and flowers galore. She was in the room for a total of three minutes
and then left. The family gave an approving nod and then discussed
more about the dowery. I was at my wit's end. I wanted out and NOW!!!
'Please, god no more food,' I mouthed to myself, but it just kept
coming. And I just kept going.... to say hello again.
Finally it was over and
we said our good-byes and left. They invited me back to their house
for dinner I almost threw up at the thought. I politely declined
and said I had a train to catch. They dropped me off back at the
shabby guesthouse I was staying at. I still had to pack and somehow
get my bags (that I was still unable to lift) to the train station.
I stepped in my room and was attacked by the smell of last nights
excrements from my digestive tract. And all that was left in me
came instantaneously flying out. I began another episode of dry-
heaving that once again left me exhausted and on the brick of passing
out.
I told my self I could
shut my eyes and rest just for a few minutes then I had to pack.
But a couple of minutes turned in to a couple hours and I awoke
and hour before my train was supposed to depart. 'Oh shit,' I thought,
and stood up too fast only to be thrown back down by my equilibrium.
'Gotta pack, gotta go.' I kept repeating this mantra 'till I accomplished
the task at hand. I took off the ring I had bought for my friend
only to discover a dark green circle around my finger. "God
dammit," I shouted, "will this shit never end... Ripped
off again. Cheated once more for the umteenth-billion time,"
I mouthed, the blood boiling in my veins from fever and fury.
Finally, I was packed
- it was sloppy, but it would do. I asked the rickshaw driver to
help me with my bags. The guesthouse handed me an envelope with
the ticket inside. They said, "You sure you want to go? You
don’t look so good. Stay one more night and rest and we can
even get a doctor for you." "No thanks, but I did leave
you a little present in my room in the wash bucket for all your
wonderful hospitality," I said with a smile. "Oh thank
you mam most kind of you, we will cherish it always." 'I bet
you will,' I thought.
I was off, but first
I had a pit-stop to make. I told the rickshaw driver to stop at
the place where I bought the ring. I entered the shop ready to do
bodily harm. In my fever fury I had no tolerance to day for this
shit.
"Hi madam, back
so soon?"
"Listen you little
shit, you see this?" I shoved my finger in his face. "Fucking
green, you cheating mother fucker. This is not real silver. Real
silver dose not make your hand look like you've been fingering Kermit
the mother fucking frog!!"
"Mam, please, I
am an honest businessman and...."
"HONEST!!! HONEST!!
Then what the fuck do you call this?" And I shoved my finger
a millimeter from his eye, causing him to flinch.
"Mam, maybe you
are allergic to silver, your skin is..."
"My skin is allergic
to silver? I can’t believe this shit. You rip me off and then
tell me it’s my skin’s fault. The audacity of you people."
"But mam, it is
100% good silver. It is your skin and..."
"Hey fuck face,
today is not the day to screw with me, if I am allergic to silver
then why isn’t this green?" I removed another real silver
ring I got in the states and shoved it in his face for examination.
"See no green so now give me back my money you cheating son
of a bitch"
"I am no cheater,
I am good man. Maybe the ring was not polished right I will polish
it for you and it will be ok..."
"Listen," I
grabbed his hand with the ring in it and squeezed with all the strength
I had,"you do not want to fuck with me TODAY! I have had the
week from mother fucking hell. So take your shitty ring and shove
it up your cheating ass and walk you scrawny cheating ass over to
that contour and give me back my god damned MONEY!!!!!"
He went silent. I released
my grip and he got the money. I left, still pissed as all hell.
India was taking a serious toll on me this week. Got to the train
station and opened my ticket to double check the time the train
was going to arrive, and then I noticed it, the real price of the
ticket - 82Rs (as apposed to the 185Rs I was charged)
"Ahhhhhhhg,"
I yelled in frustration, " not again." "I hate this
fucking place everyone either tries to rob, cheat, grope or hustle
you," I thought. I went to hire a porter (which at most should
coast around 15 to 20Rs). "How much?" I said.
"130 rupees,"
he replied
"Is anyone in this
god-forsaken country honest? Don’t insult my intelligence.
I have been in India for a month now. I pay 15 rupees - that’s
it"
"Ok, 75."
I walked away. Steaming.
I would drag the bags my damn self if I had to, but no way in hell
was I being cheated one more time! He soon came running up to me.
"50." I waved my hand in dismissal and kept walking. I
got to my bags and he stood there looking at me and trying to barter.
"35, but that is lowest," he stammered in pidgin English.
"If that is lowest then.... NO! I said 15. No 15 rupees - no
business." I pretended to start picking up my own bags and
he stopped me. "20," he said.
I was exhausted and desperate.
I nodded my head and followed him to the platform. "Is this
right platform?" I inquered. "Yes, yes." But I was
not convinced. He set my bags down and left. I frantically searched
for anyone who spoke English and asked them - most did not know.
Then two people in a row told me it was three platforms over. 'Shit,
will this day ever end?' And I once more began to look for a porter.
I finally found one and negotiated a fair price. We scaled up and
over and back down the three platforms. By the time we reached the
right one I was ready to pass-out.
He made a hand signal
for money. I said, "No not until the train arrives and my bags
are put in the right seat." I handed him my ticket and he looked
at it we had to walk farther down the platform. My body was beginning
to give out and my mind was not far behind.
The train arrived and
the porter showed the ticket to the tie-tee. But he pointed down
toward where we had just come from. Tthen the tei-tee looked at
me and signalled the car that was standing behind him. I sighed
in relief. We entered a compartment with airconditioning and the
cleanest car I had seen thus far. All of the occupants were well-dressed.
'Pretty nice for second class,' I thought. I was shown my seat and
paid the porter and he left. I crashed down in the chair with exhaustion
and went to sleep. But of course, that is not where it ends. Oh
no, that would be too easy a train ride and we all know trains in
India hate Meg with a passion. Well this one topped them all. No
more than 20 minutes later I was woken up by the tei-tee wanting
to see my ticket.
"You already saw
my ticket," I grumbled half-awake.
"Ticket," he
demanded.
So I pulled it out of
my pocket and handed it to him.
"This second class
- 5 cars down. You want stay here in first, you give me 200 Rs."
And with that I cracked.
The lying cheating son of a bitch had purposefully ushered me into
the cabin to squeeze money out of the foreigner. I had more than
I could take and lost it like I never have before in all my life.
I stood up on the seat
hysterically screaming at the man with a car filled of Indians and
one Aussie looking on.
"TODAY IS NOT THE
DAY TO FUCK WITH ME. YOU THINK I AM GOING TO PAY YOU? YOU GOT ANOTHER
THING COMING, YOU LYING, CHEETING FUCK! YOU WANT ME TO MOVE? YOU
GET SOMEONE TO CARRY MY BAGS AND MOVE THEM FOR ME. LIKE HELL I AM
GOING TO GIVE YOUR ASS MONEY."
"No, you carry.
Your mistake."
"MY MISTAKE!? MY
MISTAKE?" I was on the verge of tears. I started to blink,
but it didn’t help. This time the flood gates were open and
I couldn’t stop it." FUCK YOU! AND FUCK INDIA." I
had lost it. Not the smartest thing to say in a car filled with
Indians. And with this, a yelling match between me and the whole
car ensued. One guy came out of his seat and got right in my face
yelling
"YOU SAY FUCK INDIA,
I AM NOT STUPID I CAN UNDERSTAND. I SPEAK ENGLISH. FUCKYOU!"
"LISTEN YOU ASSHOLE,
YOU DON’T WANT TO GET INTO IT RIGHT NOW WITH ME, NOT TODAY!"
"YOU THNK INDIANS
ARE STUPID. WE KNOW WHAT YOU SAY. YOU HATE INDIA SO MUCH - LEAVE.
LEAVE RIGHT NOW. I WILL HELP THROW YOU AND YOUR BAGS OFF THE TRAIN."
The train was moving
at break-neck speed and a picture of the two men I saw thrown from
another train flashed back into my mind. The Aussie was trying to
calm everyone down, but had no success due to the intensity of the
situation. People were screaming things at me left and right. But
I was so out of it I did not grasp the severity of the situation.
I just kept giving it right back. Then the man yelled.
"GO BACK TO WHERE
YOU CAME FROM," and gave me a shove.
"That’s just
what I plan to do as soon as I get to Delhi! Get out of this, BEGGER
RIDDEN, WOMAN HERASSING, PEOPLE CHEATING, FOREIGNER HUSLING, GOD
FORSAKEN COUNTRY!"
And with that he hit
me across the face. I did not feel it due to the hysteria or adrenaline
or both. I was about to retaliate when the Aussie jumped in and
grabbed me. I was hysterical. I could no longer control myself;
the weeks of built up frustration in India came flooding out in
a sea of tears and rage. The Aussie grabbed my bags and ushered
me toward the second class car. As I was walking, people were shouting
horrible things at me and a man reached out and grabbed my arm I
could not defend my self because I had my hands full with my other
bag.
"What country?"
he demanded. I cussed at him is Spanish. "What did you say?"
he barked. "If you're so smart and you can speak English figure
it out." With that he slapped me and spat in my face. The Aussie
ran back and retrieved me from my harassers and hustled me out of
the car. As soon as I was out, the reality of what had just transpired
hit me like a ton of bricks. I stood there balling like a little
bitch, hating myself for being so stupid, for crying, for being
weak, for letting my emotion win.
I was a mixture of so
many feelings, it hurt. The Aussie looked at me and wiped the spit
from my face with his sleeve. "Come on lets find your seat,"
he whispered in an almost inaudible voice. We struggled with my
bags down the narrow ailes in the over stuffed cars and finally
we reached where I was supposed to be.
He stashed away my bags
for me on the above rack. Embarrassed, I had managed to fight off
the tears but they where ready and waiting at the helm. "Thank
you," I said in cracked voice, "you must think I am a
nut or something, eh?" He shook his head and said, "Don’t
worry about it - I understand completely." 'Oh, if only you
really did," I thought. He smiled and left. After he was out
of sight the floodgates openned again - uncontrollably. I tried
to make them stop but they just wouldn't. I felt so alone, so depressed,
so defeated I had made up my mind. As soon as I get to Delhi I am
catching the first fight home. I had had all I could take. India
had won.
I sat there staring out
into oblivion watching the lights in the night whiz by in lines
of brilliant colors and shapes. My vision blurred by the water in
my eyes making the lights take on a new shape of brilliance. Then
I blinked them back to their original shape. I sat there for a while
thinking and blinking.
I tried my normal self
pep-talk, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears this time. It just
didn't work.
'God Meg, if only your
friends could see you know. You… the strong one. Independent.
The pillar that everyone leans on. You have crumbled. They would
laugh if they saw you sitting here crying like a little bitch. Defeated.
For God's sakes Meg, you’re a fire-fighter - get a hold of
yourself. If the guys at work saw this they would be laughing their
asses off too. So now what? Go crawling home to Mama like a little
baby. Give up and pack it in so easily. God, I thought you were
better then that. Guess not. '
I sat there hating my
prejudice thoughts and my defeated attitude. I tried willing them
away, but was no match for my emotions. 'Well for God's sakes woman,
pull yourself together. At least stop your childish crying.' I took
a deep breath and slowly exhaled the broken air in quick congruent
puffs and closed my eyes. The whole car was staring at me, but I
didn't care. I didn't care anymore at all. My compassion had left.
And it seemed never to be found again. I started to calm down. The
adrenaline was wearing off and my face started to throb from where
I had been hit. For the first time I noticed the taste of blood.
I licked my lips. My tongue found the salty open wound. I touched
it with my finger and the stinging pain made me wince. My eyes still
were watering, but not from the pain of my injuries.
I took off my sunglasses
from my head and stared at my self in them. Observing my swollen
face for the first time. I put them over my eyes even though it
was night to hide my shameful tears. I was going home. But the thought
did not bring me any joy. Quite the contrary - it made me angrier
with myself. Despair, desperation and depression had set up camp
and showed no signs of vacating the premises any time soon. No matter
what I did, I could not shake the mood I was in. A feeling of being
at the bottom of the abyss and having the world throw its trash
at you. Drowning you in it. Suffocating your "Self." You
claw at the sides of your prison, but the walls are too steep -
your fingers bleed, salty. You die suffocated by the world’s
garbage. And you, you had no shovel for such a job. Merely a spoon
and a dream.
The train pulled into
Delhi and the Aussie came running back. Out of breath, he laboredly
said, "Better wait here for a while. I will come and find ya
when it's safe. If not, you'll be walk'n into WWIII. I’ll get
a taxi and come and help you with your bags."
"No, I am fine.
I have troubled you enough already, but thanks." I felt horrible
for getting him tangled up in my web of problems.
"Hey mate, it's
all right. I understand. No worries. But I will have to insist on
seeing you to the taxi."
"Fine," I conceded.
And with a jolt, the
train finally came to its final destination. Delhi. The car quickly
unloaded and soon after, true to his word, the Aussie came back.
We took the scenic root to the waiting taxi to avoid the angry mob
waiting at the main exit.
The taxi growled into
the city well after midnight. Along the road sleeping shantytowns
polluted both sides of the highway, ready to spread onto the asphalt
artery. Only the threat of the many-wheeled juggernauts thundering
up and down restrained the tattered lives behind the verges.
We exchanged small talk
and I politely entertained his questions. However, my thoughts were
not on his inquiries about job, and country. They were far away
from such, what seemed at the time, trivial things.
Headlights picked out
late-shift workers and beggars, tired ghosts tracing a careful path
between the traffic and the open sewer. The taxi finally reached
the main bazaar. "Well this is me," I said as cheerful
as I could
"Here let me help
you."
"No, I feel bad
enough as it is already."
"Don’t be silly."
And with that he huffed my bag on his shoulder and waited for my
lead.
"Well, guess I don’t
have a choice."
"Nope." He
smiled.
We walked down the narrow
allyway and I finally spotted the place.
"Kinda shabby, eh?"
"That’s how
I like them, shabby, but cheap." I grinned.
I was shown my room.
The cracked plaster walls left remnants on the rims of the floor
of white and yellow memories of what used to be. The water stained
ceiling bowed center resembled that of a giant Buddha belly.
"300 rupees,"
barked the man
"Listen, I pay one
hundred or I am going to the place next door. Now do ya want my
money or not?" I snapped not in the mood to haggle.
We set down our bags
and I walked the Aussie to the door.
"How long ya stay'n?"
he inquired.
"I am going back
home tomorrow," I said with a forced smile.
"Well, that’s
to bad. It was nice meeting ya." And stuck out his hand.
"Ya, and thanks
again for the help." And I stuck mine out too and shook his.
"Bye," he waved
as he left
"Bye," I whispered.
And with that, I flopped
on the hard bed and lay staring at the flicking fluorescent light
above, until sleep finely came.
The next day I went out
looking for a ticket office to see about a flight home. As evening
came the power cuts started, and generators from all the shops crowding
the streets were turned on filling the road with the polluted smell
of exhaust. I had been in and out of ticketing offices all day,
but for some reason couldn’t bring myself to buy one.
I was still horribly
sick and had to constantly go to the bathroom. I grew tired and
went back to my room. I lay there, looking at the water stain on
the ceiling, making animals out of the patterns. Was I really ready
to go home?
Well to cut this tremendously
long story short, I am still in India. What changed my mind? Tenacity.
Some call it stubbornness when they disagree with my objective,
but in the same breath say it is determination when it suits their
purpous. But I prefer tenacious. It has got me this far and I am
sure will carry me the rest of the way.
Brains will only get
you so far (especially in a place like India) and luck always runs
out. But tenacity is as reliable as the person that possesses it.
And I have never quit anything in my life, so why start now? The
past few days in Delhi with its 13 million plus population has been
(well as a Kiwi friend of mine would put it) full-on. But I seem
to be in better health (almost 75% anyway) and in turn, in a better
state of mind.
I remember a professor
told me once that prejudice is not formed through experience, but
through conditioning. His logic was that if a man was prejudiced
against a certain race - let's say black -because he had been jumped
as a child, would he also be prejudiced against all women if they
had been the culprits? Probably not. I pride myself in being a person
free from prejudice, but was tested to my limits these past weeks
in India. How easy it would be to hate all Indians because of what
has happened to me. But that would be the weaker man's path. The
stronger and wiser man would look at the bigger picture.
There are a billion people
in India and to judge them all by the action of such a minute fraction
of the population would be not only wrong, but unjust aswell. I
try to remember the family in Khashrho I stayed with, and how many
others there are just like them. Yes, at times it is hard to keep
the slate clean, free from past experiences. I am not saying to
forget, but rather to learn. Learn from your mistakes and make them
part of your strength. That is the only way to keep from suffering
a pessimistic melt down as I did.
Ya, I was muged. Ya,
I was cheated. And yes, I was lied to and beaten. But so what? Shit
happen to every one. And if we all throw in the towel every time
an obstacle was thrown our way, wehre would we get in life? Not
far. Not far at all. And if attaining one's dream were so easy,
it wouldn’t be a dream in the first place. We would already
have it. No, I think it is a little simpler than that. Sometimes
it seems that the goal is the most inportant treasure. It seems
to be coveted relentlessly. But what we sometimes miss is the journey
along the way. The journey, more often than not, becomes what makes
us who we are, forms us in mind, body, and soul. And isn’t
the "Self" the most important treasure of all?
I look back at my life
and have no regrets. Sound like a lie? I have no regrets because
all that has happened to me and all the decisions I have made have
shaped me into being who I am today - both the good and the bad.
And the person I am today I like! Hell, I downright love! So what
is there to regret? Nothing. So I leave you with this. Follow your
dreams no matter how obscure they may be or what people may think.
Remember this is YOUR life so live it well. And take the obstacles
that may come your way as bumps in the journey of following your
bliss. After all life is never a smooth ride.
Author: Meg Smaker
Contact: news@polosbastards.com
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