Tailoring and Monsoons

Delhi Streets before the monsoon

I hate shopping, especially for clothes. In particular, I hate shopping for clothes to wear to the office, where I'm often expected to dress like a jerk.

I ameliorate this chore by getting clothes tailored while I travel.

This has several advantages:

• I only have to do it about once a year
• the shopping experience, while still painful, is made somewhat interesting by the adventures of travel
• the clothes may fit
• I can have special features like hidden pockets to hold a spy camera or a garrote

To Delhi by Train

I bought my train ticket for Agra -> Delhi from a station in Sanchi. Buying tickets is definitely easier in the smaller rural stations than in the big cities. I couldn't get a seat in an AC car, but I really didn't mind. I figured it would be kinda fun.

Visiting the train station is a lot less hectic in a town like this.

This morning I left the Tourist Rest House for the Agra train station, and found that my train was delayed 4 hours. Not fun so far.

Hoping I could avoid spending the morning waiting, I went to the "General Enquiry" window and asked if I could get on an earlier train. The woman at the window directed me to the Reservations counter on the other side of the station.

At the Reservations counter, they told me to talk to the man in the "Commercial" window and ask for a permit to board any train.

I headed back where I started, and found a window labeled "Comml". There I spoke to a woman in uniform, probably a police officer, who directed me to the "General Enquiry" window again.

Back at "General Enquiry", I asked specifically for the magic permit. This time the woman started talking about cancelling my ticket for a refund and sending me back to Reservations. Yikes.

Fortunately, a guy in the office overheard this conversation, and he directed me around the side of the building, to another door at the "Comml" office, this one labeled "Chief Ticket Inspector."

The inspector took my ticket, put a handwritten note on it, and told me to go ahead and board any train I liked, and to show this note to the conductor.

Sanchi Transportation

Magic permit in hand, I then waited on the platform for the 9AM train to Delhi. While I waited, I passed the time by swatting flies, drinking chai, and watching a man lead a train of donkeys carrying open sacks of sand from one side of the platform to the other.

Once the train arrived, I climbed aboard a non-AC sleeper car that was close to the AC cars (high hopes). I took a seat in the first open space I came across, which, judging by the energetic Hindi they exchanged, didn't sit well with the family occupying that berth.

I told them I didn't speak Hindi, and one of them switched to English, asking "Where are you from?" followed by "Can I see your ticket?".

I showed her my ticket, and explained that I needed to talk to the conductor. She agreed, adding that their berth was already full. The conversation then switched to the Taj Mahal, which I told her was beautiful, and unlike anything we have in the states. I find that flattery about India can go a long way.

I snagged a passing conductor, and showed him my note. The family in the berth also had quite a bit to say, though I couldn't follow any of it. I don't think it was in my favor though. So much for the flattery.

The conductor disappeared for a few minutes, and then asked me to follow him. He took me to the other end of the car, displaced some other guy (who didn't seem all that pleased either), and directed me to the upper berth.

I climbed and contorted my way to the berth. I couldn't sit (not enough headroom), nor could I lie down (not enough legroom). I took the only position I could, on my side, legs curled, head on my bag, and reminded myself that I was having fun.

I smelled horrid smells. I felt the sun cooking the side of the train cooking my back. I watched rubble and poverty and scrubby landscapes fly by the window on the other side of the train. I shared a magazine with the displaced guy below me.

After a couple hours, I decided to hop down and stand for the last few miles. Extricating myself drew a measure of curiosity and a bit of fear from the passengers below me, as I half-climbed and half-jumped out of the berth.

As we got closer to the station, the displaced man approached me and let me know that we were arriving at my stop. This is why I don't mind submitting myself to the whims of India. One way or another, I'm always taken care of.

Khajuraho Touts

Jain Temples
Canon A1, 24mm/f2.8, Velvia 50

The Looney Planet guidebooks on India warn that Khajuraho is full of very persistent touts.

They start their training around 5, coached by the older kids and auto-rickshaw drivers. I've seen this in action when a little kid catches me on the street and tries to engage me in conversation.

As we walk, there are people on the street giving the kid advice. I think it's more organized than it first appears.

They get truly annoying by around 10 and are occasionally useful when they're a bit older. No matter the age, touts are a fact of life in Khajuraho, so ya gotta make the best of it.

• Assume Genuine Friendliness

Most are just kids, probably pressed into service by their families. They are curious about me, and the world, even if they can't sell me on anything.

I try to start off every conversation as if the kid isn't a tout. Sometimes they aren't.


• Be Honest

As soon as I realize I'm dealing with a tout (that seems to be about 90% of the time), I let the kid know that I'm happy to walk and talk, but I won't be doing any business.

Sometimes they stay, sometimes they go, but keeping the conversation honest makes it easier on both of us.


• Be Calm

Touts can be annoying, but there's no reason to get upset. I just go with it. The touts here, whether I like it or not.

Getting bent out of shape would just ruin the overall experience, and risk escalation or hurt feelings.


• Be Skeptical

A conversation with a tout can lead to an interesting bit of information, an offer for something interesting (a motorbike ride to the waterfalls on some kid's Honda may be cheaper and more fun than taking a ride on a mafioso autorickshaw), or just some interesting cultural observations.

Most of the time, however, they are trying to find an "in". If you accept an offer for tea, or to go hang out and talk at some other place, you're setting yourself up for a hard sell or a gem scam.

I enjoy the many random conversations I have on the street, but I'm guarded enough to leave it there.


• Don't be Dissuaded

Khajuraho is a great place to visit, especially in the off-season. The temples are out of this world and it's a welcome relief from the insanity of the transit stations in nearby towns.

If this place had been described to me by someone who didn't know how to deal with touts, I'd have reconsidered coming. I'm glad that no one dissuaded me, least of all the Looney Planet.

Lost in Chatarpur

I took the train from Bhopal to Jhansi on Saturday. I could have stayed at the train station retiring room, but train stations were depressing me. Instead, I headed out into the steamy night to grab a ride to the Hotel Samlat. I planned to get the 5:30AM bus to Khajuraho, so a simple fan room would do.

At the hotel, one of the guys must have read my mind, and offered to run out and find me a beer. Licensing laws are strange in India and alcohol is surprisingly hard to come by.  With the sporadic electricity, a cold one is quite rare.

He delivered the tall Kingfisher to my room, a small box with a fan and no exterior windows, and I gratefully drank it down, set my alarm and went to sleep.

5:18AM ... there is knocking at the door. I got up, grabbed some pants and opened the door to see the man from last night.  He was waiting to get me to the bus stand but I had overslept.

Amazingly, I was up, packed, out the door, into the rickshaw and at the bus stand by 5:28AM. The bus had already left, however. That's the thing about India - unlike Latin America where tardiness is expected, you can't predict if something will be early, late or on-time here.

Jain Temple at Khajuraho, India
Canon A1, Velvia 50 film

The driver then took me to another bus stand and arranged a ride to another town where I would connect to get to Khajuraho. This involved some crazy local buses - the sort where people ride on the roof, hang out the doors and pack the interior to triple-capacity.  It was ... not fun.

In Chatarpur, after 3 hours of "immersion in local culture," I stood at the terminal in the midst of the hustle and tried to find my onward bus.  After several conversations with bus drivers and random people who had clipboards plus a phone call to Karthik, I gathered that the bus I wanted (to go the last 48km) wouldn't arrive for 2 more hours.

All of a sudden I had time to kill.  I surveyed the scene and realized I was surrounded by an overwhelming scene of chaos.  Wandering away from here was not likely to reveal more pleasant surroundings.  Some people might see the idea of spending two hours in a grimy bus terminal in a town like like Chatarpur as real downer.   I did - but I had to make the best of it.

I took a seat in a plastic chair outside the telephone shop and started to wait and watch.  I elected not to take photographs as to do so somehow seemed wrong.

I saw a cow take a massive shit just a few feet from me.  I then watched a man spit a long squirt of pan parag (betel nut) saliva into the cow patty.

The telephone man bought me a plastic cup of chai tea.  He wouldn't take any money.

One of the other old men finished his chai and tossed the plastic cup on the ground.  The leftovers splashed the cow patty.

Sites like this make it all worthwhile.
Canon A1, Legacy Pro 100 film

A man on a motorcycle came by to add credit to his pre-paid phone.  The telephone man did brisk business but I imagine his margins are pretty thin.  The motorcycle guy lowered his kickstand, and planted it right in the shit/spit/chai slurry.

After conducting his business I saw the man talking to a young boy, about 12 years old.   He seemed to be encouraging the kid to come talk to me.  The kid was shy though and wouldn't do it.

I just stood up, reached out my hand, and called out namaste.  The kid beamed but was still too shy to say anything.  I asked him his name and his age and got him talking.  He asked me where I was from, saying "which country? country sir?"  I told him where I came from and to the rest of the men standing around I said "Barack Obama".  Everybody smiles at that.

The kid took a seat next to me and I showed him some photos of my family.  He told me that he also had a brother and a sister.

During a lull in our short conversation, I pulled out my MP3 player.  He was curious about it but didn't want a listen when I turned it on.  I shrugged, put on the earphones and started to groove.  I was playing off his curiosity.

It worked and within about 30 seconds he just had to know what I was listening to.

I'm pretty sure I just introduced drum and bass to Chatarpur.

I Spend All Day Talking to Kids

Everywhere I go in India, I interact with kids.

I'm photographed by kids, photographing groups of kids at their request, talking to a kid about where I'm from, telling them I won't buy them pens or give them money, giving a kid autographs, waving at the shy ones, and shoeing away the touts.

Sometimes it's fun and sometimes it is depressing.

Yesterday, after visiting the thousand year-old Buddhist stuppas at Sanchi, I sat down on a bench to write my notes.

Before long, I'd attracted a kid. He wanted to show me a rabbit. I wanted a few minutes of peace.

He waited me out, however, and after a few minutes I looked up and gave him a cheerful namaste. I soon found out that he is Muslim, and while he understands a bit of Hindi, he's an Urdu speaker, so namaste became Assalam-u-alaikum. He pointed out the rabbit, and we got to talking. He told me about his school, how sad we were about what had happened in Iraq, and how boring these old monuments are :)

Soon his brother and cousin came over, and his cousin took a picture of me and the brothers. I showed him the photos of my family that I carry in my wallet, and he asked if he could have one, to show that he really did meet an American. I gave him a picture of my sister and I, and the kid just beamed. I gave him an autograph too (that's a first for me), and then went on my way.

Back in Bhopal, I headed for the train station so I could get to Jhansi, and eventually Khajurajo. I arrived at the station a few minutes early, and rather than wait inside with the seething, swarming, stinky masses, I stayed out in an open lot.

Surveying the scene, I saw some older kids playing cricket, a few impoverished homeless families cooking over wood fires, and a bunch of really young kids playing around.

Watching the cricket match, I soon attracted an on-looker. She was a curious, but shy girl, about 10 years old. I acknowledged her with a wave, which led to a cheery namaste.

Her friends gathered, and there were more smiles and more curiosity. The ones who'd been to school asked me lots of questions, in broken English, and I answered, mostly to their delight.

Pretty soon, however, the child beggars arrived. They asked for school pens (which they promptly sell back to the shops that tourists buy them from), and for rupees. I'm pretty stoic when it comes to child beggars. You have to be, to travel in many parts of the world. I donate to temples and and honorable charities when I can find them, in the hope that someday the cycle of child begging will be broken. I'm not all that hopeful.

However, one little boy, about 5, was in a particularly sad state. He was completely naked, and playing in the filthy lot. He held his hand out, like the others, but didn't speak. I smiled, waved, and offered a cheery namaste. I need to learn more Hindi. He didn't answer.

I have to admit, at this point, that the pathetic state of this kid was starting to get to me. When he motioned for my water bottle, I was compelled to hand it over.

As I walked into the train station, I looked back at the naked boy, who with his little hands wrapped around the water bottle I gave him, tipped it way back to take a big gulp.

I've traveled through a number of poor countries, and interacted with a lot of poor people, but I've never seen so much soul-crushingly down-trodden humanity in my life as I have in India.

Still, there is something fascinating about a place where people of all classes want to interact with you.  They never seem to tire of gathering around for a photo with or a giggle at the funny-looking stranger.  India is a place where you're never alone.