One night I found myself having drinks with a baby-faced Russian investment banker and a jaded Indian journalist. It was the banker's last hurrah, he was soon to leave Delhi to forage for gold in the bond markets of Canada.
Between loud laments peppered with odd jokes about who spooned whom at whose instigation (the banker and the journalist had been roommates) I managed to inquire how the Russian fellow had enjoyed his stay in India.
"Well, I took a lot of autos," he began. This is not as unusual thing to remember as some people might think. There is no market like the Delhi public transportation market, guided by the most cut-throat economic force of all - brute force.
"And how was that?" I asked, since I, too, have taken my share of autos.
"Well, sometimes they charged me more," he admitted.
"Did they?" I asked, arching my eyebrows as innocently as possible.
"There is a...white tax..." he muttered, smiling pleasantly into his drink. "But I argued it down, usually."
In the Elysian world of post-Obama hipsterdom, talking about something so crass as "race" is passe. (In fact, so passe that I put the entire word in quotes.) But Delhi, I'm afraid, puts the "discrimination" in price discrimination. A black man can be President of the United States, and a white man can pay an obscene markup on the meter price in any part of India. Instead of "white tax" I prefer the phrase "reverse colonialism." (Yes, yes, the sins of the father should not be visited upon the child, you say. But as a person who just learned that she qualifies for a Social Security benefit in the US that exceeds her entirely monthly Indian income but that she will never see a cent of because her grandparents' generation felt the need to procreate wildly in the unexpectedly prosperous wake of the second World War...I lost my train of thought, but something about the sins of the fathers and the children.)
Anyway, India is not an ethnically diverse country, nor is it one where the average white person feels immediately comfortable. The resulting cocktail is 1/2 bitters, 1/2 sweet, and much too strong for some.
Successful (white) travelers, and the banker was one, learn to take India's stares with a smile and an easy joke, with the keen understanding that racism was not too long ago a policy pretty much all over the world. Instead of focusing on the rampant cheating, it's best to see the transportation marketplace (and the larger system that it is emblematic of) as a keen example of economic concepts that people in the US rarely get to observe in action.
Willful naivete, a willingness to excuse, an understanding that the world does not revolve around your convenience. These are essential traits. A good attitude that runs deeper than the frustrations of the moment, of which there are often many. An awareness that being singled out is inextricable from the experience.
But also - an understanding that politeness will only get you so far. That smiling at strangers is neither encouraged nor necessary. That it is okay to hang up the phone or walk away while someone else is talking. That it is even ok - although your conscience will constantly tell you otherwise - to ignore the swarms of starving children who assume money grows on trees in your backyard, not theirs (of course, they are partly right)
An awareness that people will cross your personal boundaries on a daily basis. They will elbow you and scream at you and walk in your path. They will drive their cars so close to you that you will be sprayed with noxious plumes of sludge and refuse. They will grab your arm, even though they don't know you. They will tap your shoulder and step on your feet and kick your knees and never apologize. They won't hold the door, and they won't speak your language. International travel is not "Eat, Pray, Love" it is "Slog, Gesture, Cry."
Those who are able to see beyond these things (and not everyone will) will realize some key things.
Here are the key things that I have realized:
I am luckier than I deserve, and no matter how hard I work this will always be true.
Just because someone lets the door slam in your face doesn't mean they won't help you out when you're desperate.
Sometimes (no, most of the time) you have to ask for what you need.
Or:
I once took a taxi from the Delhi airport to Delhi University's North Campus. It was the middle of the night in winter, and fog was so thick that the air had turned to gray soup. The car's headlights illuminated only a few feet of the highway, and as the road became more and more deserted, the driver often had to get out of the car to make sure he was still on the right side of the road. I was convinced I was driving into the Blair Witch Project, or at least a horrific traffic accident.
It took us two hours to find Delhi University. We had to stop and ask for the guest house multiple times, and each time we were directed down a tree-lined street more spectral and foggy than the last. When we reached the black gate, the person who was supposed to meet me was not there. It was midnight. It was cold. The street was empty. The driver climbed menacingly out of the car.
"Give me an extra 50 Rupees," he told me. (It was a prepaid airport taxi, and I'd already paid for it at the airport)
"No," I said.
"You wrote down the wrong address on the slip!" he screamed.
"You read it wrong!" I shouted back, huddling against the gate and praying for it to open before the angry driver took matters into his own hands.
"Is that my fault?"
"Of course it's your fault!" We stood in the freezing cold street and hollered at each other like a couple in the midst of a messy divorce. Finally, crossing his arms angrily, he got back into his car. Why doesn't he leave, the moron, I thought. At last, my friend came down and opened the black gate. I tumbled inside. The driver finally started the car and drove off.
Idiot, I thought.
It took me until recently to appreciate that even though he tried to cheat me and I didn't go along with it, even though I made him drive to an unknown location on what was later reported to be the most dangerous night of the year, even though he had no idea how to get home and even though we'd just yelled about it - the taxi driver still waited to make sure I got safely inside.
That, my friends, is what Delhi is like. Beneath all the nastiness and competitiveness of a developing, climate-threatened, cash-strapped megopolis, there is still goodwill left in this town. It's just hard to recognize it at first. I imagine this is doubly true for "white" foreigners (and that is the last time I will talk about "race.")
Okay, so its a tax, but its not a race-based tax, its a non-native tax, levied with equal ease of conscience upon the hick village bumpkin, the wealthy socialite who rarely takes an auto, the black, asian or white foreigner, or even the odd slick urbanite from another city. Locals get a discount, nobody else does. That's how the auto driver's kids get to go to english-medium schools, so they can be software programmers or telephone reps for American companies.
ReplyDeleteYou yourself once told me that you get quoted about 10-20 rupees more for an auto ride when you are in a Western dress, as compared to the quote when you're dressed Indian. Same you, the dress suggests a foreign-ness or affluence that can be redistributed Robin Hood style by the auto driver. It exasperates all of us, but I find myself incapable of hating the auto guy - he's being a sharp businessman is all. (and pray explain how this is in any way different from the way energy providers fleeced the uninitiated California municipalities barely a decade ago, and almost drove many local governments to bankruptcy, with resultant obscene energy rate hikes for all citizens...)
But I digress. India does have a chivalrous heart - and it shows up in unexpected places. It also has a wicked sense of humor, which spares almost nobody. And its a very free market economy. India is an impudent, irreverant, impolite young unshaven upstart, who will one day grow up and wear a business suit, but for now, it is what it is - and I love the opportunity to sharpen my bargaining skills whenever I visit. Almost all the good street bargaining is sadly giving way to fixed-price malls. And all you foreigners, think of it this way - overpaying for a cab ride or that scarf is a much quicker, more economically efficient way to donate than United Way....