I Was A Walking Rupee!
This is the fourth installment of my India journal from late 2004.
Sunday, November 14, 2004
I don’t mean to sound paranoid, but people are out to get me. They are out to waste my time, steal my smile, and relieve me of my cash. And they wait for me at every tourist hangout, coffeeshop, ATM machine, and newsstand around. Hell, some of them don’t even wait. They’d just as soon find me before I saunter in their direction. They are the touts and beggars.
Touts are trying to sell you a service. A tour, a place to stay, a scheme. The beggars are selling intangibles- sympathy, spirituality, guilt. They both must a sixth sense, some kind of Firang-dar if you will, telling them that I was the dude straight off the plane. I wonder what it is — the unpurposeful walk, the looks into the sky through bleary jet-lagged eyes, the constant hand check of the bag to see if my belongings are still there. Or maybe it’s just that nanosecond of eye contact I make with them to let them know I’m their mark. Maybe it’s because they recognize me as the kind of man just dying to own their crappy bongos, stupid squash-shaped balloons, useless plastic products, and hilariously large hanging maps of India.
Yes, some are selling sympathy. Some are selling spirituality. Some are selling guilt. But I’m not buying it. Whatever it is, I’ve developed a hard outer shell that must be more discernible now than I realize. I’ve been here a little more than a week, and they all but leave me alone now.
It wasn’t always this way. My first day in town, I decided to take a walk to one of the biggest tourist destinations in town– The Gateway to India. Big Mistake. Although it is not one of the foreign tourist-only destinations, like Leopold’s Cafe on Colaba Causeway, and it does attract Indian tourists on the merit that it is a bonifide National Monument and symbol of their Independence from the British, the touts and beggars are not hassling them. They are looking for The Great White Firang, the biggest catch in the Ocean. And I’m there with a smile on my face.
The first thing I get is tug on my hand, I look down to see a filthy little urchin, no more than five years old, in a sullied sari, trying to place a bracelet of tiny blossoms on my wrist. I instinctive pull away. She starts the spiel.
“I don’t want money. Won’t you buy me some Rice and Milk,” she pleads in a cute little British accent.
Here, as in many parts of the world, cute sells. And I’ve just made the big mistake. I looked her in the eyes.
“Um, no thank you.” I keep walking and resume staring up into the sky.
“Please Sir, I don’t want anything more than Rice and Milk, just a little. I’m so hungry, and it would mean nothing to you for you to buy it for me. Please Sir.”
Oh man, I’m walking faster. I’m heading fast around the towering monument. Feet don’t fail me now. She is running to keep up with me. I noticed a even smaller, dirtier little boy trailing behind her.
“If you will not buy me anything, will you buy something for my little brother? He is very hungry too, and if you will not buy me a little rice and milk, then you could buy it for him.”
I wonder to myself if these are the only words of English she knows, taught to her by her scamster father who owns the rice and milk stand nearby. Her little Oliver Twist voice recedes into the distance.
Next up, the holy man comes at me with a disarming smile on his face. His style is direct, and I don’t have the good sense to keep walking. Who knows, maybe he sees into my soul and knows that I’m lost and need some guidance.
“I’m Holy Man. Take my blessing. No money.”
I think “No money. Work of God. Good.” Brain shuts off.
Before I know it, this guy has put a tikka on my forehead, has given me a customized travelers blessing (I know this because he’s asked me my name), convinced me to eat some kind of candy prasad (blessed food) and has tied me up with a special good luck bracelet in three seconds. He’s Cowboy Baba at the Firang Rodeo, and he’s just hogtied a big steer. Yeehaaw!
“I only ask you for a donation to my cause.”
Sure, says I, I can give this guy a little something. He’s just so happy. I reach into my pockets and jangle some rupees to give to him.
Then the stunner. “Only paper money, please.”
The spell is broken. This is ridiculous. Get me out of here. Get me back to my room.
I didn’t return there for a week.
Needless to say, times are better now. But they keep getting under the radar. The techniques just become more and more nuanced.
I just hope there aren’t any real mind readers out there.