Three Stories of Delhi: Part One

My plan had me headed to Jaipur, but there was a massive transportation strike, blocking all routes from Agra to Jaipur.  Instead, I tried going to Mathura, a very holy, Hindu city between Agra and Delhi. After attempting of board a bus, I was tossed off, "No Western!" the driver yelled. So, I was forced to go with plan C, Delhi, a place I will never go again.

The bus broke down about halfway there, so I got a refund and waved down another that was already packed full of people. While driving into Delhi, I was excited, fueled by the my great experiences in one of India's other megalopolises, Kolkata. The bus stopped at a different place than I expected and it was not close a subway stations, so I hopped on the first city bus I find, hoping it led into the city instead of away.

After have backpacked for years, I'd become quite skilled at figuring out where I was in place I'd never been. Using maps and landmarks, I deduced that I was on the Ring Road, heading South into New Delhi. According to my map, Indiraprathstra station would be the next stop; I was right. My kuhkuri posed too much of a security risk for me to board the metro, so I caught a rickshaw with a functioning meter (I've been in India waaaay to long to trust the honor system.) and headed to Pahar Ganj, Delhi's tourist ghetto. I was right about my location, but wrong about the direction. At first I thought the driver was taking me the wrong way, but when I arrived, I knew it was I who was disoriented.

My hotel was 300 rupees, a bit high, but acceptable. I took off on my ritual exploratory walk and was assaulted by every person on the street.

"See my shop!"

"Rickshaw!"

"Hello friend. Excuse me, Hello!"

"Something to smoke?"

"Where are you going?"

I stopped to photograph a sign for the landmark Hotel Decent, when a man started talking to me.

"Hey, why is that nobody will have tea with me?"

"Because everybody knows that Indians never invite foreigners for tea unless they want something."

We started a nice conversation and eventually, I did feel comfortable enough to join him for tea fraught with caution. He was a musician from Mumbai and was coming up for a gig. His tea shop of choice was five minutes walk, but the chai was cheap (actually, he paid) and good. He left for the toilet ("Even Indian's get Delhi belly", he said.), but not before another man, Raviv (we'll just call him that), apparently his friend, came and started to chat me up about religion. Our conversation was soaring. We'd unpacked many of the philosophical mysteries of the world. He invited me to dinner, an invitation I declined. I didn't hide my trepidation of leaving public places in the company of a stranger.  However, I did accept his offer to join him for some sightseeing the next day. He was from Mumbai and he told me it's been a while since he saw the Red Fort.

At nine the next morning, he arrived and we continued to talk over more chai. Finally, tea with an Indian was a friendly gesture, not business.

"Before we go, let's stop for breakfast at my friend's office."

I followed him, not recognizing the signs. We arrived at closed store front and he invited me in. I hesitated at the pull-down shutter over the door.

"I've seen this movie before," I said.

"We'll leave the door open. It's going to be a hot day."

Our breakfast of Puri Baji was shared over a conversation of religion and its effect on Indian culture. With a mere hour knowing the man, I felt quite comfortable. I'd finally made a friend.

"So, let me tell you about my business."

Apparently, the man was a jeweler, selling cheap handcrafts from India and Thailand to the US and other countries for a profit. When the company maxes out on their duty exemptions, they find tourists to mail the goods overseas.

The procedure was simple. The tourist packs the box, declares the goods and their value, then sends them to their home country to be stored at the post office. When they arrive home, they give the products to the overseas representative and receives a cut of the money saved in taxes. Overall, it was a high profit, low risk scam that would be tempting to many people, myself included. He looked at my passport and said that I'd have no problem with the authorities.

I sat for an hour, thinking of all the ways that this company could scam me, but I could think of none. I thought of all the ways that I could get in trouble by the government, but could think of none. I though all the moral objections I could find of screwing the government out of a few thousand dollars of tax money, but could think of none either, but something didn't sit right. I couldn't pull the trigger.

"Would you like to see the jewelry?" he asked.

"I guess." I have no idea why I agreed.

We headed downstairs where I was shown about five bracelets, while another less-friendly man, explained the process to me again. I'd make $4000 profit on my first round of jewelry smuggling and if it went well, I'd have more opportunities to make even more on the next trips.

"Next trips?" I asked.

"Yeah, you can do this again and again. It could become a very lucrative job for you. And us."

 When I explained that I was traveling for four more months, longer than the post office would hold packages, he offered to fly me back to the United States, then back to Asia again. A one-time deal was tempting, but to become a jewelry smuggler as a job was too far.

"And this would be a secret business. I want us to sleep well", the less-friendly man then looked me directly in the eyes, "and I want you to sleep well."

I looked at the jewels and looked at the two men for five minutes in silence. The stared at me the whole time, waiting for my response. Easy money. I could continue my travels with no worries of my already tightening budget. The only thing they would have of me was a photocopy of my passport, which many hotels and internet cafes have already, and my trust, but I still couldn't shake that heavy feeling in my gut. Why was this involving so much thought? I wasn't bothered in the slightest by their illegal business; it was actually quite clever. But something was holding me back.

Then it hit me: they'd betrayed my trust, the one thing they wanted me to give them. The man came to me under the guise of friendship, then lied to me of his intentions, and if somebody lies once, they'll lie again.

I cleared my throat then began, "I don't see anything wrong with what you are doing. It's a clever scam and from your records, I see that many have done business with you, having no problems. Thank you for trusting me enough to give me this offer, but I can't do it. I'm an honest man and I can keep secrets when I need to, but I'm too honest to want to carry something like this with me. Though I do not feel any moral wrong with this business, this is not the person I am. I live my life in a certain way, and this isn't it. I'm sorry."

"But you showed us your passport. I thought you were interested." the second man said. "You've handled our goods."

"I was, but I had to think. I decide things slowly. You talk of wanting me to sleep well, but if I do this, I won't sleep well. I don't like carrying secrets. I'm sorry."

The second man clutched the bracelet. "So, let me get this straight. You just sat here listening to us explain our whole illegal business plan and you think you're just going to leave?"

"Yeah. I do. You asked me to trust you. Well, now trust me. I don't care about this thing you have going on here. I'll keep quiet. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry. We can find others who would easily do this. We don't need you."

I tried to unpack if that was a threat and then put on my best smile. "That's good to hear. Thank you for the offer."

I sat in tense silence, not leaving, weighing my choice.

Ravi, who'd not said a word through this whole thing was looking down at his feet. Finally he looked up at me. "Are you disappointed in me?"

"Yeah, I am. You came to me claiming to be a friend. You said you had no motives. You just wanted to talk. We shared tea and food and some great conversations. I thought you were my fast friend. Then it becomes, like it always in India, about business."

"But it's best to do business with friends," said the second man.

"No, business gets in the way of friendship. They don't mix. So, sorry, Ravi, you're clearly not a friend. Now, I've already spent half of my day here and I'd like to see the Red Fort like I originally planned."

"You're not going to tell anybody in the marketplace about this?" Ravi asked

"I may be an honest man, but I'm not a stupid man. Goodbye.

I left quickly and headed back towards my hotel. As I left, there was a man in a green hoodie leaning against the door, clearly keeping watch. Suddenly, the true weight of what had happened hit me. I had sat in and heard a lot of information from an organized crime racket.

I started walking faster. I checked for tails; suddenly everyone was following me. Orange striped shirt. Green hoodie. I took a left, then a right, deeper into the unknown streets of the ever sinister growing city. I stopped for a moment and there was green hoodie again.

So I ran, twisting around the corners indiscriminately, hoping I could find something I recognized or some tourist site I could lost in. After about ten minutes, I popped on the main market street and became just another white face in the crowed. I floated on the mass until I was about two blocks from my hotel. I wasn't dumb enough to go straight there with a tail.

I ducked into an alley, stopped for chai and waited for the green hoodie to appear. When finished without seeing a familiar face, I continued down the street to my hotel. I walked towards my hotel, then went past it and then waited in the doorway of another hotel. Nobody came, so I turned back and went straight to my hotel and locked the room.

An hour later, I walked the two miles to Old Delhi to see the Red Fort, but it was closed. Instead, I headed over to Delhi's grand mosque, the Jama Mastid. There was a 200 rupee camera fee, so I buried it deep in my backpack and decided I didn't need photos. Just through the gate, I was shaken down by a large, bullying Muslim Indian.

"Where's your camera? Give me 200 rupees!"

I emptied my pockets to show him I had none on me, then he grabbed my bag and scattered the contents onto the ground until he found my camera.

"Now, give me 200 rupees!"

"I don't want to take photos, I just want to see with my eyes."

"Give me 200 rupees!"

"I think I'd rather just go home."

Some house of God!

My first twenty-four hours did not leave a great impression.