The Trouble with Paradise

There are so many good things to say about India, the food, the people, the places, the amazing scenery, the vibrancy of languages cultures and religions all packed into one space surviving and coexisting. It can get overwhelming and sometimes it is difficult to see the wood for the trees… like not using rose-tinted spectacles to look at the world with.

Major Tom was robbed in Amritsar on the way to Pakistan on the night of the 19^th May 2009. The newspaper report reads as follows and then he gives an account in his own words:

Foreigner Looted

(Tribune News Service, Amritsar
May 21st)

…

“This was what the paper said, but you can imagine all the details that were missing, like him smashing a rock into my shoulder and me kicking him in the balls and hitting him over the head 9-10 times with my shoes (it makes an incredible clapping sound), old women turning their heads away in disgust, or waking up on the street with no footwear or possessions etc. I just remember his menacing mustache.

Afterwards the authorities were very helpful at keeping me safe and happy as they wanted to maintain the image of Amritsar as a safe tourist destination and holy city. One man, the High Coroner Mr Dalmegh Singh was most generous in offering me food, money and accommodation. I turned him down as I felt that still having my bags in the Golden Temple pilgrims rest at the time gave me enough leeway to stand on my own two feet. This turned out to be a big mistake.

The problems started the next day at the police station. The police filed my report in front of me with much hilarity. They assumed I could not speak Hindi/Punjabi (and I said nothing) and so joked between themselves as they filed my papers. As far as I could understand they said I had probably deserved it being so rich (and maybe they were right, but its not nice at the time), also saying how they admired the other guy for getting away with it, who must be laughing right now, before telling me in English when the laughter had subsided that they would do all they could to find the man and that I should stay calm. Then they offered me tea with hashish in it - they were all doing this – and passed around small balls of opium which they ate and washed down with the tea. I refused as I felt I had not earned their particular ‘privileges’. Plus god knows what would have happened had I accepted if this was what the police were like. I declined their offer for drinks back at the station in the evening and hurried on away from the surreal scene.

2 days later I tried to change a 100 pound sterling travelers cheque. The Punjab had become a very unsafe region as the backlash to a Sikh priests killing in Vienna had caused the Indians all over the Punjab to start burning their own trains buses and various infrastructure (nice one guys!). There was a curfew and the transport was down, but I knew I had to get out as I had to reach my embassy.

The man at the counter spend an age studying my photographed copy of my passport and Indian visa, then told me levelly that he could not change the money because of the risk to his business. I asked why: was there a specific problem with my documents? I did have assurance from the chief of the Amritsar police and a valid police report etc etc. He said no, there was a number missing on my visa copy where it had rubbed off after I had folded and unfolded it so often during my account of the tale to people. But its not needed, I said, you only need a passport to change travelers cheques. He said no and would not change his mind.

After an argument in Hindi and English and with people queing behind getting agitated I said call this number (Mr Dalmegh Singh) and explain, he will tell you it is fine. He did so but whined continually down the phone, and after he hung up without letting me speak to to the coroner, he offered me nearly half of the amount due on the cheque. I was stunned. Here I was miles from home in a dangerous part of India and a man was trying to cheat me out of a great deal of money. Where was his compassion? It turns out no one trusts anyone, not even someone who was been robbed and has a great deal of high level assurance.

Bureaucracy

In the end I arrived in Delhi by bus the following morning and couch surfed until I had a new passport. Actually, the authorities in Delhi were helpful enough, but the system itself was only made possible through my knowledge of Hindi and a 6-month personal ‘crash course’ in how Indian systems like this work. The British Embassy was simple enough and the new passport cost me nearly 10,000 rupees, but the foreign registration office required patience and a certain skill in pleading with the official at each desk to help me out, even in mimicking their body language.

They clearly had other things on their minds, the never ending paper work (they love filling in meaningless forms that no one ever sees in India), family troubles, lunch, or just chatting. It seemed like whenever I got anywhere, someone would tell me that I didn’t have the correct stamp, or the right date, a signature from someone or I had arrived at the wrong time in the wrong place. But the person I just spoke to is sitting over there! Who was in charge? The Classic Asian Chaos was everywhere with hordes of Afghans, Bangladeshis and every other nationality just as eager to be accepted into the mass of humanity waiting outside rushing around us. I had to continuously dodge, bob and weave through people moving around left and right who had their own problems. In exasperation I told an idle woman official in bad Hindi that I had to get on a flight home immediately as my pregnant sister, who was getting married in a few days, needed her plumbing fixed and that our own system was just as corrupt and she needed a Good Man to Help Her Out. There is no corruption at home. I don’t even have a sister. Lies, lies, lies: but suddenly stamp, stamp, stamp and then I was out the door as a legal illegal immigrant on his way home.

Apart from this, the only problems were knowing which situations to avoid in order to not draw attention to myself with the authorities. Even when it does happen, as anything can happen in India at any time, this is easy enough after 6 months in India: calm speech and eye contact along with a smile, a wink or hand contact from a foreigner is enough to make people believe you when they ask questions. Knowledge of colloquial Hindi is priceless. Always compliment a young officer on how smart he looks and respectfully salute the older ones. I don’t want to sound like a brown-noser, but it is so useful to know these things when in trouble.

I can say that now I am in the West I strangely enjoyed the whole experience as I would not have met so many wonderful and interesting people, even if it was just stuck in Delhi for some time. Looking back there are lessons to be learned, like not falling foul of the system and just biting the bullet in India and using other people to help you when they clearly have the power. I guess I can be a masochist some times, but I like to treat life as an adventure, so now I can say that I know what it feels like to be another hopeless soul lost in the sea of Indian bureaucracy. Perhaps just not drinking with strange men many miles from home may have been simpler.

Space was never this complicated.”

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