Peculiarities of the Indian character

 

 

Agra

 

“I’m sorry sir, you cannot drink roof of hotel.”

 

“Why not?”

 

The guy standing over me doesn't say anything. Instead he steers me down as I drink the last quarter of my bottle in one go. We got away with it yesterday, today, it only took them an hour.

 

There are around 1.3 billion people in India, and most of them don’t know a word of English. That’s okay; we are in their country after all. It does however, present some difficulties. Our friendly hotel man has a few stock phrases, “Morning, sir,” “[X] Rupees,” “breakfast?,” and the ever present “not possible,” which makes checking one person out and moving a bed into the remaining room quite difficult. It’s not uncommon for a tuk-tuk driver to begin a tour of the city, when we simply want to go back to our hotel. No Hindu, no problem, unless you have somewhere to go!

 

“In India, everything is possible,” Rishi says, chuckling and scanning the roadside. It’s the old adage, in India everything is possible, but nothing is available. In stark terms, you can piss and shit anywhere you like, throw your rubbish on one of the many street-side piles, hang around in the middle of the road – but no, you can’t drink on the roof of the hotel, even though the hotel is practically empty, and the roof has a very welcoming set of chairs and a table, not to mention an awe-inspiring view of the city. You can’t go very far at a temple of fort without a whistle being blown at you and a security guard furiously waving his arms.

 

This is India, and in India you learn very quickly about the Indian character. You love ‘em, you get frustrated, and sometimes, you just need to back to your hotel room and chill for a bit.

 

There are people and crowds everywhere. Delhi alone has 20 million people; the state we’re in at the moment has around 70 million people – that’s around 15 times the population of New Zealand, and it’s only one state! Whilst all the cars, tuk-tuks and motorbikes cram the streets, people seem to walk down the sides of the road like and endlessly flowing river; and the thousands of people on the side of the streets attending stalls, sweeping, shaving – whatever – sit and watch the world go by. You can’t drive for a little while and escape the people – they come out of every shop face, door, garage front, alley, lane, and just about everywhere else you can think of.

What’s more, they crowd around. They crowd around food stalls and chai tea counters; around store fronts and sports fields, around restaurants and side stalls, many just sitting, relaxing, others standing around with no place to go. And when we go to buy food from the side-carts, within ten seconds there will be a dozen or so people standing round. Some just watch you; others participate in the haggling over a pastry or cup of tea. It’s really funny too. The other day we were all getting blade shaves in a little shack with an asbestos roof in a dusty little side street. Naturally, about a dozen people came to watch. You check your right, and there is a guy standing right next to you (it’s common to often have people very close to you), and when you check two minutes later, there is still a guy standing next to you, but it’s a different guy! It’s like they all just check it out on their way past, then resume their business. Odd, if you ask me.

 

For photos, they suddenly drop all the laughing, the curious looks, the talking, the bickering – and go very formal. No teeth, look silently at the camera, stare blankly forward in a well-practiced look, and don’t look away until the photographer says it’s okay.
 

 

At least they don’t tell us off. A lot of people we meet here are real sticklers for rules. There is a rule for this; a rule for that, and we’re forever being told off, with people telling us to get off that thing, to shift from where we are, to stop doing this, or start doing that. Everything is possible, but you’ll probably get told off for it.

 

You learn very quickly, too, to ignore the hustle and bustle. Everyone is trying to hustle you.  Last night, after a nice meal and one too many beers, we were walking back to the hotel on a dark, dusty street. We got talking to a guy a few years younger than us. You joke around; you shake hands, laugh together. That’s a nice little moment – then they ask you for 200 Rupees. 

 

“Come into my shop sir. You know buy, just look.” Yeah, right.

 

Even the guys at the street carts full of oranges try to hustle you. Buying oranges can be an ordeal; don’t get me started on talking to tuk-tuk drivers. What’s more, the little kids at the tourist attractions bug the hell out of you. That’s normal for most well-touristed places, but these little bastards take it to the extreme. They are very persistent, following you for miles on end, and telling you every lie in the book.

 

“Yes, this is real silver.”

 

“Then how come I can chip the paint off?”

 

“This is marble. My family are stone cutters.” Yeah, everyone’s family are stone-cutters. Oh, only 20 for that junky little chess board, seems cheap, about 40 cents, oh wait, you mean 20 euros! Oh right, gotcha! We haven’t been suckered in yet – except for Swags that is, he bought a ‘white marble’ (read: stone) candle case for 500 Rupees (NZD$10).

 

It seems half the county is in a frantic hurry to do everything, and the other half is content to just let everything happen, and aren’t in a hurry to do anything. They’ll just ignore you if you don’t bug and annoy them. The other day we were waiting for our ride to take us to the train station (there’s a fixed leaving time…), and the door to the hotel was locked, locking us in. Oh, no worries, that’ll only take ten minutes to open, half of which is the guy standing behind the counter for five minutes.

 

That’s almost in direct contrast to the way Indians tour. When we go to tourist places – forts, palaces, landmarks, museums, that sort of thing, we’re normally outnumbered ten-to-one by Indian tourists. Once I was in a room with just me and twenty Indians, all crowded round hustling and bustling to look through the glass pane and take a picture. There are the best speed tourists I’ve ever seen: rush in, snap a photo, rush out. Half the time they don’t even stop, just one frantic flow of tourist after tourist.

 

 

They’re not shy about bodily contact either. I guess because they are used to so many people around, it’s normal to be touching five given people at any one time, yet still retain your space. There’s lots of body contact, but there is no eye contact, or expression for that matter.

The other day we went for a simple walk down the street. Without fail, every single person looked up and either laughed at us, said hello, or stared at us with a curious look on their face. I’m often doing something, and I’ll see a guy starting at me from about five metres away. I’ll look away, glance back three seconds later. After a minute or so of this, he’ll still be staring at me with the same blank expression.  
 

 

 

Another trait, I seemed to get lied to all the time. You’ll be at your hotel or something and enquire about your washing. It’ll be ready at 9am, they so, no problem. Then they’ll give it to you still damp. Why not just say it’ll be ready at 10? They’ll tell you directions. Turns out it was the other way. I guess lying is a form of politeness; they would rather tell you something and be ‘helpful’ than simply turn you away.

 

Men also seem to outnumber woman by about 9 to 1, in the big cities anyway. I hardly ever see women out on the street. It’s all men, all males, everywhere. If I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t think India had many women at all. That’s a stark contrast to the Philippines, where there are women aplenty. I must say, I much prefer going to a shop and being welcomed by nine Filipino girls, than have seven seedy looking guys try and convince me to buy some plastic piece of rubbish. One small department store in Delhi, literally had twenty males in it and no customers. Sometimes I walk into a room and have to mass greet people. They’ll all just standing there, waiting for me, probably looking at me a little curiously.

 

I do understand though, that I am a tourist. And in being a tourist I have a role to play. My main contact is with drivers, hospitality staff, and other backpackers.  You just can't help that. This causes my view to be overly biased, and looking back on what I've read, and having experienced more of the country I can see that much of my views above are perhaps unfair; I've only viewed life through a microscopic lens, and it's up to me to break out of that. My view has changed over time - more about that later.
 

I can live without drinking beers on a rooftop. That’s fine. Besides, there aren’t any people around. No one’s hustling me. I can actually hear myself think. This doesn’t feel right. I better get back down to the streets and join the everlasting river of people. And hey, maybe I will take that orange after all.