presents from India

Some endings are just too damn good.

I spent my last day in Asia in Paharganj, Delhi, wandering around the backstreets and alleys. I wanted to soak up the cows, sewage, smiles, rotting mud, pollution, weird conversations and occasional brilliant bits of sun and rain. I always feel sad on last days. But hopeful too. Maybe I would get a Free Religious Revelation or A Really Good Deal or something.

I sat in the early evening enjoying a final chai. The tea was strong, spicy and hot, and its uhh bouquet went well with the smell coming from the open sewer running past the vallah's setup. Sitting beside me on the vallah's other stool was an older guy, a Kolkatan lawyer. He asked me the usual-- "what is your salary, my good sir? where is your wife?"-- and then asked me if I had a religion.

"Sort of," I told him.

"You must hear of the revelations of C.C. Govan," he told me. Rickshaws honked, motorcycles blared and three thousand people somehow filtered by through the narrow alley.

"He was in Chicago oen hundred years ago. he was invited to speak at the World Fair but was given only five minutes. He revealed the secret to eternal happiness."

"Yeah?" I said, "so what is it?"

"Listen," he said. "Here it is. Each human being has one heart. One shared heart. And--"

A taxi pulled up at the end of the alley and honked at the lawyer.

"I must go," he said.

"What about Mr Govan's story?"

"You will find it," he said, and was off.


An hour later I paid the hotel for acab to the airport. The cab guy carried my pack through the Paharganj alleys to where three Israelis, about 400 pounds of luggage and one tiny cab were waiting.

"Baksis?" said the cab guy and I gave him my last rupees.

After half an hour, it became apparent that (a) we were not going to fit into the cab and (b) we'd been hugely ripped off. For R$180 you can hire your OWN cab-- here we'd each paid R$180 to share. The taller fo the two Israeli chicks cursed.

"Ma-FA!" she said-- "rip off" in Hebrew and then roundly cursed the driver.

"GET ANOTHER CAB! THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS! I AM DISGUSTED WITH YOU PEOPLE!" she yelled. A small crowd gathered to watch.

"I am driver. No owner" said the small Indian behind the wheel.

"GET ANOTHER CAB!" yelled the Israeli chica. Her boyfriend looked on and grinned.

I finally convinced them that it was all OK, that the rain was over, and that we coudl fit some luggage on the roof. We got in, and drove to the airport, the Israeli chick in stony silence.

The aiport was air-con cool, neon, quiet, organised-- only the soldiers didnt' fit. I checked my bags and sat down and exhaled long and hard. Bye bye India. How perfect on my last day that I got both ripped off and nearly enlightened.

Now I'm home, and this blog is done.