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April 21, 2007
As
soon as you walk off that plane the cultural
differences jump at you from all directions.
Armed soldiers everywhere and bare foot workers
swinging hammers.
At the
baggage carrousel I stood in awe as two hundred
men, women and children aggressively pushed into
an area suited for fifty. There was something
about it that struck me as odd and it took
several moments for it to dawn on me, what would
get you punched out or even shot in an airport
in New York was met with quiet disinterest in
India. Personal space and benign pleasantries
were non existent. People pushed and budded
their way to the carousal and if they happened
to miss a bag as it went by, rather than wait
for it to come again, would launch themselves
after it. If some old gal got knocked over it
was her fault for being there. It occurred to
me the fierce determination to be reunited with
your luggage might be more than just
impatience. There were a lot of sketchy looking
dudes hanging around. A bag might not make too
many turns before it was claimed by someone
other than its owner.
Once
we had our bags we proceeded to customs. We
hadn’t taken four steps before DJ was approached
by three dodgy looking guys. It seemed they
wanted to help expedite our trip through
customs. I didn’t really understand the issue,
as we weren’t bringing anything in illegal but
DJ said it was better to enlist their aid
because we had electronic equipment. $20 later
and we walked past the officers without a
sideways glance.
Outside the airport DJ and I were met by Kabir,
DJ’s partner who had re-stationed himself back
in India a month ago. I’d met Kabir in
Vancouver when I’d first interviewed for the job
but this was a different Kabir meeting us now.
The dude had lost a good fifteen pounds since
I’d seen him six weeks ago! He’d joined a gym
after moving back to India. This boded well for
my plans to stay fit.
Also
with Kabir was a big man named Nochaud. He had
an honest face and a firm handshake. I liked
the guy instantly.
Outside the airport the boulevard was lined with
the poor sleeping and cooking. Small dogs ran
everywhere. I’d read somewhere that you can
tell the state of a society by the state of it’s
dogs. These ones looked happy enough, if a bit
thin.
It was
around 8:30 PM local time and I’ve never in my
life seen such traffic. Nochaud did the driving
and I swear the dude should have been a rally
car driver. Lanes mean nothing. There are no
speed limits and the road is shared by cars,
trucks bikes and rickshaws. Nochaud weaved and
wended his way through what seemed impassable
grid lock. All the time tapping his horn
regularly – as all drivers do. The horn is used
to alert others on the road that you are going
by. It’s hit without anger and hit often.
Despite the madness of the situation, I felt
safe.
It
took almost an hour to get us to our hotel where
we would stay the night. It seemed the
production office had rented an apartment for us
but the apartment wasn’t ready yet. There had
been some two day labour strike a week earlier
and everything was a day or two behind.
Apparently there had been trouble finding a
hotel for us as a wedding between to Bollywood
actors had taken place the previous day and all
the hotels were fully booked. We ended up at
the Atlantic Hotel. The room we stayed in was
tiny and the bed were each the size of a small
sofa. No problem for either of us. I knew I’d
sleep like the dead.
DJ is
one of these tall thin guys who can eat enough
for four and never gains a pound. Bastard. He
was hungry again and I despite the fact that I
was asleep on my feet I was keen to see some of
the sites so we made a plan to have a quick
shower and then go out with Kabir and Nochaud
for a late dinner. DJ couldn’t’ get the hot
water to work no could he make the phone operate
so he cinched a towel around his ass and headed
down to the lobby. A few minutes later he came
back with a fourteen year old boy who managed to
get some warm water flowing. We tried to tip
him but only had Canadian money and he didn’t
want any of that. He didn’t seem to care
anyways.
My
first Indian dinner was a sumptuous buffet in a
five star hotel. There was another wedding
going out just outside the window and I got to
see some pretty colourful dress. They’re sure a
good looking people. The dinner went down well
and I’m pleased to report is stayed down.
Nochaud retired for the night and Kabir’s cousin
Meyer showed up to join us. Meyer would take
over the driving. He had big boots to fill.
It was
past midnight at this time and surprisingly DJ
and I both had our second winds going on. It
was suggested we go to a bar and have a few
drinks. There was no argument from me – in fact
it may have even been my suggestion. We drove
for about five minutes to another hotel. Meyer
was no Nochaud. He almost killed us all three
times in that five minutes. Sadly we were
turned away from the bar there because it was a
couples night.
No
problem, Kabir had a friend at another bar just
down the road. Back to the car. It took us
twenty minutes to get the car from the valet and
by now it was past 1 in the morning. We finally
got our car back and Meyer was back behind the
wheel. The drive to the next bar was almost
thirty five minutes. I’m certain this was a
record for longest I’d driven just to have a
beer. It was also the most life threatening
thirty five minutes of my existence. Meyer was
a madman. He hit speeds on those crowded
streets that you wouldn’t witness this side of
the Autobahn. When we finally got to our
destination I was instantly uneasy. We parked
in a dark back alley – no lights – no other cars
and no bar.
But
Kabir was certain this was the place. He’d
never been before.
We
walked over some piles of dirt. It was pitch
dark so I’m hoping they were dirt and finally
came to a narrow flight of stairs leading down
to darkness. Kabir flipped open his cell phone
to give us enough light to see our footing and
we emerged in tiny little lounge that looked
like something from Vegas in the Sixties.
Madonna was playing. I was instantly at ease.
There
was only one table occupied. Four Indian men
and two woman, both woman were on their cell
phones. The men got up and introductions were
made. Swupnill, Kabir’s friend, ordered a round
of beers for us and we sat to enjoy them. It
turned out Swupnill was a fairly well known
Indian actor. They soon got on the topic of the
various skill levels of the top Indian actors.
The conversation was passionate but never even
edged to anger. I enjoyed it immensely but
could not, of course, add much. It was past
five in the AM when we finally left that place
and by now DJ was hungry again so it was back to
a 24 hour café for sandwiches.
I
finally was able to lay my head down at six in
the morning – day full days after leaving my
home in Victoria.
I
slept well. |
