This piece was first written on 25th March 2010
In a span of an hour and a half, the brown faces at the bus stand at Fatehpur Sikri were replaced with foreign ones, mostly Caucasian. One had been pacing up and down even before we got there.
The bus may have met with an accident, the guy at the nearby cafe told us. He suggested we round up eight people to share a cab which would cost under Rs 100 each (about 2-3SGD at the time). Another group of eight had disappeared under a similar arrangement.
The other option was to simply keep waiting for a bus that would cost Rs 27. But what if none arrived? How much more would it cost to take a cab on our own?
There were seven of us: my mum, an Irish woman, a trio of Koreans (2 girls and a guy), and a Caucasian man and woman. The same guy at the cafe was most eager to help us, considering the cab arrived within minutes of the end of his phone call. This sounds like a scam, I thought to myself.
The cab, as he called it, was a 6-seater -- one in front, 3 in the middle and two at the back, where a spare tyre meant you'd have to sit in a somewhat squatting position. A French couple, whom I didn't approach to be part of our road trip, were the first ones to sit themselves in the van. I couldn't find the words to tell them to get out, and no one else seemed to bother. What this meant was that the Caucasian woman who was to be part of the group had to be left behind. The Irish woman we'd approached had to squeeze with the two Korean girls (with the spare tyre). Because of this inconvenience, she was asked to pay Rs 50, as opposed to the 90 the rest of us were asked to fork out. I was not entirely pleased with what had transpired, and the other passengers made no effort to be discreet about their scathing remarks about the situation they were in. 'This is India', someone seemed to suggest.
Fast forward to Agra's Idgah bus station: I pulled myself out of the vehicle after having my butt cheeks spread thinly between the passenger and driver's seats. The French couple were the first to pull out two fifty rupee notes and place them in the driver's palm. Thinking the rate had been brought down to 50 per person, the rest of us followed suit.
As we were leaving, the driver held us back, asking for the remaining amount. I realised then that it was indeed only 50 for the Irish woman. We called the French couple back and explained the situation. The man said they were not paying more. The rest of us, who had agreed to make up the difference, were thrown off-guard. Even the Irish woman started getting into a fit on our behalf (I don't understand why she decided it was her business to).
So what next? I was the only person the driver could speak Hindi with and he asked me to help him out. But what was I to do? The others were still standing around, but by this time the prevailing mood was not to take out more money and there was no way I would pay for everyone.
At some point my mum thought I was being harassed into making the difference and told me to leave. But what about everyone else? I started walking into the mass of people and traffic, and told the others to leave. My mum and I shuffled away and hopped into an autorickshaw to go to the railway station.
We did not look out of the three-wheeler. What happened to the others, I will never know. But sitting in the auto, I felt disgust for the French couple. More than that, my mum and I felt horrible for having cheated the driver. How much value did those 80 rupees add to our lives that evening, I asked myself later? But things had happened so fast. There was almost no time to think rationally.
Does cheating someone and then feeling bad about it make it less wrong? Your take on this is as good as mine. But how do you forget a poor man pleading with you for his rightful share, and the look on his face searching for an answer in yours?
In a span of an hour and a half, the brown faces at the bus stand at Fatehpur Sikri were replaced with foreign ones, mostly Caucasian. One had been pacing up and down even before we got there.
The bus may have met with an accident, the guy at the nearby cafe told us. He suggested we round up eight people to share a cab which would cost under Rs 100 each (about 2-3SGD at the time). Another group of eight had disappeared under a similar arrangement.
The other option was to simply keep waiting for a bus that would cost Rs 27. But what if none arrived? How much more would it cost to take a cab on our own?
There were seven of us: my mum, an Irish woman, a trio of Koreans (2 girls and a guy), and a Caucasian man and woman. The same guy at the cafe was most eager to help us, considering the cab arrived within minutes of the end of his phone call. This sounds like a scam, I thought to myself.
The cab, as he called it, was a 6-seater -- one in front, 3 in the middle and two at the back, where a spare tyre meant you'd have to sit in a somewhat squatting position. A French couple, whom I didn't approach to be part of our road trip, were the first ones to sit themselves in the van. I couldn't find the words to tell them to get out, and no one else seemed to bother. What this meant was that the Caucasian woman who was to be part of the group had to be left behind. The Irish woman we'd approached had to squeeze with the two Korean girls (with the spare tyre). Because of this inconvenience, she was asked to pay Rs 50, as opposed to the 90 the rest of us were asked to fork out. I was not entirely pleased with what had transpired, and the other passengers made no effort to be discreet about their scathing remarks about the situation they were in. 'This is India', someone seemed to suggest.
Fast forward to Agra's Idgah bus station: I pulled myself out of the vehicle after having my butt cheeks spread thinly between the passenger and driver's seats. The French couple were the first to pull out two fifty rupee notes and place them in the driver's palm. Thinking the rate had been brought down to 50 per person, the rest of us followed suit.
As we were leaving, the driver held us back, asking for the remaining amount. I realised then that it was indeed only 50 for the Irish woman. We called the French couple back and explained the situation. The man said they were not paying more. The rest of us, who had agreed to make up the difference, were thrown off-guard. Even the Irish woman started getting into a fit on our behalf (I don't understand why she decided it was her business to).
So what next? I was the only person the driver could speak Hindi with and he asked me to help him out. But what was I to do? The others were still standing around, but by this time the prevailing mood was not to take out more money and there was no way I would pay for everyone.
At some point my mum thought I was being harassed into making the difference and told me to leave. But what about everyone else? I started walking into the mass of people and traffic, and told the others to leave. My mum and I shuffled away and hopped into an autorickshaw to go to the railway station.
We did not look out of the three-wheeler. What happened to the others, I will never know. But sitting in the auto, I felt disgust for the French couple. More than that, my mum and I felt horrible for having cheated the driver. How much value did those 80 rupees add to our lives that evening, I asked myself later? But things had happened so fast. There was almost no time to think rationally.
Does cheating someone and then feeling bad about it make it less wrong? Your take on this is as good as mine. But how do you forget a poor man pleading with you for his rightful share, and the look on his face searching for an answer in yours?
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