I passed through immigration no problem. I Proceeded through to the baggage hall and I collected my ruck-sack. This is a bizarre juxtaposed routine now - worryingly yet comfortably familiar. I then ‘haggled’ a taxi from one of the booths. Agreed price - 250 rupees. I found my cab. I waited for the driver. It may be the middle of the night but there are no dramas to report.
As I made my exit from the pre-paid taxi stand I bumped into a lady - or did she bump into me? She had shoulder length fair hair, she sounded Scandinavian and she looked flustered. I asked her if everything was ok? She replied, “yes, I’m ok”. It was her first time to
She stared at me through her rectangular ‘D&G’ designer sun glasses - she was old but pretty. She had a annoying squint though. Her nose pointed purposefully to the night sky and she asked me. “What is that smell?”. I replied, “don’t worry, that's just ‘
I decided a change of tack would be necessary. “Do you need help?” Her shrill nervous, “No” belied her her response. Her squint annoyed me even more.
I looked staight at her, into her dark sun glasses and I smiled. At first I thought fuck you then. Then I remembered the distrust you are programmed with by seasoned campaigners who warn you of everything especially seasoned campaigners. She didn't want my help, and I wasn't going to force her. I knew she would learn as everyone does, that once you've been ripped off, driven 15 km out of your way by an opportunist from ‘Nizzamudin’ in his desperate attempt to earn another 200 rupees from you before he goes home to bed. I just politely replied, “ok then”!
I watched her as she walked aimlessly through the car park. Why wear sun glasses at night? I callously chuckled to myself as I realised she had no idea that the ‘three digit number’, that was clearly printed on the front of her taxi cab ticket, related to the same three numbers that were also printed on the number-plate of the taxi cab that she was supposed to find. Perhaps she couldn’t see the number? It took me three visits to
I wanted to help her, I really did, but perhaps it’s best for some people to find out about
01.28am
My driver eventually arrived. He was a young man, slight in stature but his eyes exuded confidence. His brown shirt worn thin from Dhobi Wallahs attempts to remove the chutney stain around the belly. I asked him is name. “Hussain, sir”, he replied and together we both lifted my heavy ruck-sack on to the back seat of his cab and we left the airport.
As we drove away he turned his head towards me and as he stared at me he said, “welcome to
"No, this is my seventh time in
He was surprised, “Oh, so many times’. Although he smiled and wobbled his head happily, I could tell I’d thwarted his plan to fuck me over and drive me to a hotel of his choice miles away and gain a hefty commission for his services from the hotel.
Never let these cab driving bastards at the airport know you are ‘new to this city’. Once they know you are ‘green’ here, you stand no chance. They will eat you alive!
For those of you thinking who is this bigotted idiot, who turns up with a colonial hangover and thinks everyone is beneath him, India has a cruel way of biting you on the arse and showing the true nature of humanities' smile. India has a view of the west, and in one of the world's fastest growing economies people see no reason why they shouldn't join in with the rest and make as much cash as they can when the opportunity presents itself. The average Indian cabbie has no interest in showing you the path to inner fulfillment and happiness. If they have to make you look like a mug to help them buy out the lease on their cab, and send their kids to school they will. And quite frankly, why not? If you don't want to hand over your entire wallet though, treat it as a game, otherwise you will have a burning desire to throttle every cab/rickshaw driver you come across.
The drive towards, ‘Main bazaar’, was uneventful for the first five minutes, Hussain was a good driver. He did not drive too fast! There were no cows asleep in the middle of the road for him to avoid.The roads were quiet.
After fifteen minutes we approached the diplomatic area of
I turned my head and I looked out the back of the cab, all I could see behind me were flashing blue lights. I lost my head! I panicked. I dropped my fag, the red embers flew around the cab like a ‘Roman candle’. For a few seconds it looked like a bonfire night party. I yelled, “drive!”
That poor little sod looked at me with terror in his eyes. He put his foot hard down. The cab did not change its speed though. It just groaned. He tried his best to speed up but his cab had no grunt.
I leaned out of the cab through my left hand window. The flashings blue lights were slowly catching us. They really were chasing me! I’ve done nothing wrong. I haven’t brought any illegal drugs or contra-band into this country, I’m not a fucking terrorist or fucking murderer, I’ve only just arrived here! Why were they chasing me?
It was too late, the game was up, we were at an island and we had to stop. The police pulled up behind us. Two police me got out of their car, they ran towards us screaming brandishing rifles. They were shouting at Hussain. I didn’t have a clue what was happening, neither did he. One of the police men lifted his rifle and butted the windscreen with handle. The windscreen cracked in the corner. To my astonishment Hussain calmly applied his foot to the gas and pulled away from the police, he crossed the island, he calmly pulled over onto the grass verge at the side of the road and we waited.
We sat there, it was quiet again. Hussain asked for a cigarette. I gave him one. Then as I passed across the matches a huge ‘goods vehicle’ screeched around the corner behind us. The smell from its burning tyres filled our cab when it passed. The lorry was closely followed by a police car a few seconds later, then another, then another, then another. We both sat there open mouthed and we watched the blue and red flashing lights disappear into the distance towards the dark centre of
