Picking a pocket or two (I hear you've got to)

Caucasian folks (even ones who look kind of Kashmiri but not quite even though they’ve been trying) have it rather easy worldwide. Let’s face facts, “globalization” is basically a euphemism for pervasive, white people mercantilism. So, while I have no grounds or desire to complain, one must observe that my pigmentation puts me at a disadvantage here in one major way: I am a marked man.

A few weeks ago I was walking down a major street in Delhi and maybe 50 meters ahead I saw a woman sitting on a curb grab her two half-dressed children (neither older than 5) and point at me. Suddenly they raced towards me and began tugging at my clothes, “Sir, please, sir. Hungry, sir. Very hungry.” They motioned towards their stomachs and mouths in case the message hadn’t come across, or I was French. As usual, I kept walking with my eyes straight ahead, but swiftly glancing downward every so often. I saw them look towards their mother as we passed her and she pointed at me again, more vigorously this time. At that point they stood right in front of me and stopped so that I almost tripped over them. I changed direction and they ran ahead and nearly tripped me again. This carried on for another minute or so until their mother released them from this familial obligation.

The tenacity exhibited by the juvenile mendicants made this instance notable, even in India, but in Delhi, people still have lives. Beggars, grifters, taxiwallahs, lawyers etc. usually give up without doing anything too outrageous. You aren’t worth all that much time to them. There are other fools and other ways of acquiring Rupees. They may be hungry, but they aren’t THAT hungry… most of the time. In Agra, this is not the case.

Delhi is a metropolis, though I wouldn’t call it thriving whereas Agra is a small town that happens to have a population of 1.5 million. The impoverished in Delhi are more desperate than people I’ve seen anywhere else in the world, Agra’s poor exceed them. People may be fewer in Agra, but the opportunities are fewer still it seems. Agra has two major industries of which to speak, plus the ubiquitous subsistence agriculture, tourism and chemical manufacture. For some reason, however, the latter seems to negatively affect the former, so growth in that sector has stalled in the last two decades. The end result is that the existence of most people in Agra is directly linked to how well they can part tourists from their money. And yes, in such a situation, things get ugly. It’s the kind of environment that destroys one’s rationality. A young man standing at the end of a block saw me reject 10 of his comrades selling identical whips (what would I do with a whip? I was told by one it would make a nice gift for my wife. Dear Allah.) without pausing, yet he still thought I might go for his pitch. This is desperation.

My surrogate parents, the Kapoors, told me that even when they go to Agra, brown skin and all, they face similar hounding. Apparently this only affects well-dressed Indians for the most part. I had hoped dressing down might take some of the pressure off. After all, nothing says, “I’ve no money to spend and wouldn’t spend it if I did,” like used, cut-off camouflage shorts and a denim vest with 6 weeks’ worth of India staining it. I did not find any of it made an appreciable difference.

The hustle starts before one even emerges from the train station. Over 20 taxi and rickshaw drivers surrounded me on all sides as I attempted to walk out, each assuring me his vehicle was the only reliable way to travel. Think about that. A whole train unloads, and there are 20 drivers pursuing me alone. I mean, I know I look good, but certainly not good enough to explain that.

Any street one turns down in central Agra leads to dozens more shop owners and restauranteurs (and their progeny) who all insist you really should discard your money at their establishments. Even worse are the guerilla salesboys who bring their decrepit merchandise to you.

Then you finally reach a monument. There is an entry fee. “At last,” you think, “free of the grift.” Wrong again. Sitting right by the entrance are a great many “licensed” guides who really don’t think you’ll know a floor from a ceiling if they don’t explain it to you. I tell them straight up that I’m a historian, but they are ready and reply that they know, “the history of the heart.” Perfect, that sounds just like something I can do without. Due to the inadequacies of the Archaeological Survey of India which I discussed in an earlier post, the functions of most parts of most of India’s historical sites are unknown, so “guides” usually make it up as they go. These fellows don’t find it lucrative to perch at the less popular sites, but don’t worry, security guards will happily show you down the only corridor in the building (which you can see), tell you the name of the monument (which you already know), and request a dollar for their invaluable insight. The most annoying of the guide scams is that many just start guiding you unasked and when you say you don’t need a guide, they either insist they are provided free with the ticket (they aren’t, and they demand payment when they have finished) or ignore you and keep trying to follow you hoping you will just give up and allow them to explain things. As with many scammers here, they tell you that you can pay them “whatever you want. You decide fair price.” Your initial payment, no matter how much, is not a fair price and they will decide to either badger you for cheating them (the audacity is incredible) or tell you about the eight or nine children they have to feed.

I’ve saved the best for last. The most successful grift of all is that of the tourist “emporium.” These shops look very official and the prices appear to be set. This is not the case. First of all, you’ve done something stupid to end up here. Either you booked a tour (never a good idea) or you allowed a taxi or rickshaw to take you there on the way to somewhere else, “10 minutes only, not for buying, just for looking.” The system of kickbacks for whoever brings you to the shop is well-established. The doorman writes down the driver’s number and he is paid a couple times a year. The remuneration for each extra person increases and they toss in some of their stock that hasn’t attracted tourists’ attentions. Once inside, the clerks are slicker and calmer than the street vendors. They exert pressure with much more subtlety. It is very easy for them to take things out to show you, but after they’ve started doing it, they begin to act as if it has been quite a laborious hassle and it would be rude not to make a purchase. These places sell all manner of garbage, but a lot of it is big-ticket garbage. Although they actually sell things, they are in many ways the biggest thieves of all because when one buys something like a rug or sculpture, even after bargaining, they ensure their profit margin is absurdly large.

It’s enough to make one sick… or it would be if we had any right to be sickened by it. How many of us are capable of passing judgement on Agra’s poor for trying to make a living, no matter how dishonestly. It is often said that manners cost nothing, but unfortunately the polite street vendor in India will never make a sale with all his colleagues rushing out to hustle each comer. There simply are not enough tourism-dollars to support everyone trying to earn their living that way. While I would agree that price gouging is no different from bag snatching, I would not blame the bag snatcher either. Although few of us have ever been truly hungry or without shelter, I’ve read they are powerful incentives to do just about anything. That does not mean we should allow ourselves to be treated unfairly, but we should also not meet such attempts with anger. Not only is it inappropriate; it is not productive. Also, we must realize when bargaining that the sticking point is often over a dollar or less in U.S. currency and that whomever we dealing with needs that sum more than we do. Vanity should not be allowed to drive us to absurdity. So, when you’re amongst people a poor as poor Indians and their ploys offend you, think about how grim their lives must be that this is their best option. That said, I have a lot less sympathy for the middle-class folks working the more upscale emporia. I know that in a capitalist system, there will always people willing to do that crap for enough money, but I’m not going to forgive the people who make that decision. They swindle for profit rather than subsistence. The line is rarely clear, but it is still important.

Despite my less than flattering description, I must say Agra has many fascinating and attractive sites. Check out the photos in this entry. I would’ve taken more pictures of the poverty, but that feels grotesque. A poverty tourist I will never be because voyeurism is just not my scene. Still, I wish I could show you all the things I have been describing.

One note about the Taj Mahal. Everyone talks about how great it is, so I naturally assumed it was not so hot. Surely, people resort to hyperbole to mask disappointment. Not so, not so. That place is sick. I take it all back. This is a good place to end this entry because it will bridge into tomorrow’s entry on dinner with Romila Thapar. I WILL actually post it tomorrow. It’s the least I can do after my week of digital inactivity. Oh, by the way, thanks to anti-biotics, youtube, some strange photos I was sent, and animal sacrifices I have largely recovered from my illness.

Now playing: “Kill the King” – Rainbow. Ritchie Blackmore on guitar and Ronnie James Dio (yea, Dio as the Latin for God, right on) soaring to mountainous heights of vocal intensity. Fact: I know a guy from Athens, OH who takes a lot of hallucinogens and his only goal in life is to get Blackmore, Dio, and Tony Iommi on the same stage for one night to play Rainbow and Sabbath songs. Cool idea, but I would feel totally ripped off if I had spent that much money on shrooms just to come up with that.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=HOVK4Q4jMhg