Impossible India: 6 Days Of Surrender – PART II

14 February 2009
Writing from Canberra now

Day 4 – On the Road to Jaipur

I took a taxi to downtown to go to the “Emporiums” to buy some salwar suits (pants, tunic, scarf/shawl):

Salwar suits examples

so that I could travel in local clothes, even if I was in a taxi. But of course, they were closed on Sunday and I forgot to check. So I went to the Connaught Hotel to wait in the lobby for my driver (per my arrangement with the travel agent)… I need money, so I get directions to the nearest ATM (tour books say they are everywhere and no problem to get money that way in Delhi). But when I try to withdraw money it says the balance in my savings account is zero. Zero? Zero? I battle against the urge to panic and I check the balance in the checking account. Also zero. Right. What now? What to think? Is this not really the kind of legitimate bank I thought it was (Bank of India) and really it is one of those scam ATMs where they steal your card and PIN information and clean out your account???? (thus the zero balances??) I’m really trying hard not to think that. Really, really, really, really hard.

I punch at a few more buttons and see that I can check the balance of the credit card associated with the account. Also zero. Okay, with this warped logic I am pervertedly relieved. If there’s nothing in my credit card, that means either this is just a broken machine (relief) or they’ve paid off my credit card at the same time they stole my money (also relief). So I head off confidently to try another ATM. Same thing happens. I’m baffled and beginning to lose the battle around being irritated with India and concerned about my finances. ATM #3: same thing. I debate: scream, cry, sigh, hit something, surrender? So many options…what to do? Yes, you guessed it. I choose surrender once again and step out of another tiny ATM room to hike back up the street to the Connaught Hotel. But not before I am inspired to actually take a photo of the string of ATMs on the street which has refused to give me any money at all (in spite of this being their alleged purpose in life). And then, with an electrifying feeling very much unlike joy, I realise that I must have left my camera at the hotel. Not even “my” camera – my friend’s camera (I discovered mine was broken when I was packing a few days before I left). This is the reason why you will get no pictures til the end of this post…

So now, not only is it very late in terms of trying to get to Jaipur before sunset, but I’m going to have to get the driver to help me find an ATM from an Australian bank (or maybe European or North American will work), AND drive all the way back to my original hotel on the outskirts of Delhi to get the camera before we head to Jaipur. I’m not looking forward to this.

When I return to the hotel, I ask the concierge about the ATM thing and he says he had the same problem the other day. I wonder if that’s true or whether he’s just saying that to make nice with me because he’s going to try to sell me something in a minute. I haul out my armour and start disengaging from him, unsure whether or not I’m sacrificing someone who could really be helpful or protecting myself from a half an hour of hassle until my driver shows up.

An hour later I call the travel agent to ask where the driver is, only to be told he’s been waiting outside, in exact opposition to where the agent told me to wait (in the lobby). I surrender once again and am at least grateful that I actually have a car (which I’d begun to doubt).

Finally the car pulls up. Well, this is definitely not the “nice” car. I am amazed they managed to fit four doors on it, and it looks like that was about 10-15 years ago. No matter, as long as it drives (my car back in Canberra is similar-but only two doors- and still gets me everywhere I want to go). Out steps a young man for whom it would probably take a fortnight to manifest a five o’clock shadow. But he’s kind of cute, reminding me of Benjamin Bratt, and seems very gentle and harmless. I note he’s wearing a plastic, engraved nametag that says “Kirpal Singh” – makes it feel somehow more official, safe, and reliable. Why is that? I could get a nametag like that at a county fair. But I’m feeling okay… until he says hello – or rather, until he meekly nods hello and says nothing. I’m not quite sure how to take that. Is this a customary way to great your client?

But I don’t have long to think about it because I’m already on to the next awkward moment – where do I sit? My first hour in Australia I committed a major faux pas by sitting in the rear of the taxi. I had no idea that in this egalitarian country the passenger sits up front with the driver. Only the snobs sit in the back. But what do they do in India? I sereptitiously sneak a peek at the passenger seat and see it piled with Kirpal’s sweater, mobile phone and a few other items. I decide to sit in the back. I get in. Kirpal gets in. We turn to face each other diagonally across the seat backs. “So.” I say. “Agra?” he says. I sigh.

“No, no, we are going to Jaipur first and then Agra.” “Jaipur? Agra?” Oh shit. He really can’t speak any English. I sit back in the seat to collect my thoughts. Well, before we go anywhere I need money and I have to get my camera back. So let me just start there. I drag out my Delhi map and point to where the Lonely Planet says there is a Citibank ATM. “Money.” I say. “Citibank.” I say, pointing to the map. “Citibank? OK.” He acts like he knows where it is. I sit back, relieved that I can turn my fate over to someone else for at least a few minutes and hopefully I will be able to get the money I need.

I turn to watching the city as we drive through it, just absorbing the environment and appreciating all the sights and sounds. Until, that is, I become aware that we are driving past the street where the Citibank is supposed to be. What is he doing? “Citibank?” I point to the street we just passed. “Citibank. Citibank” he says and just keeps driving. I’m at a loss. He stops and pulls out his mobile phone and calls someone. He starts up again pointing ahead and saying, “Citibank.” Okay, fine. If he knows where the Citibank is now, then fine. But there’s no Citibank that direction on my map. We drive a few more minutes, including taking a wrong turn, his having to call his friend again, and retrace our steps half a dozen blocks. Eventually we pull up next to a large office building surrounded by a high wall with security guards at the gate. I look at Kirpal. He points to the building and says “Citibank”. I’m incredulous. I don’t see the Citibank logo anywhere and no signs for an ATM of any kind. Or any signage for that matter. What am I to do? I’m supposed to go into a secure area to use an ATM? I’ve just known this guy for about 15 minutes and I’m uncomfortable leaving my bags in the car, but I figure I can at least step out to check with the guard (carrying my bag with computer, passport, etc.), and if Kirpal drives off with my other bag, all he gets is clothes and some hair gel.

I step up to the gate and the security guards turn to me. “Citibank?” I say, pointing inside. The guard looks puzzled. Shit. “ATM? Money?” Ah yes, he nods in that funny little side-to-side head bobble that means “yes” in India. And he points across a large plaza to a huge staircase up to the obviously closed office building. I can’t see any ATM or any signs. Where is he sending me? Is this all part of some massive scam to kidnap me – it’s all been so unpredictable I find myself getting a little paranoid. But I let him search my bag and head off across the plaza. On the far side I find a small handwritten sign saying “ATM” with an arrow pointing up the stairs. I go up, around to the right, back past another courtyard, until I finally see a very small sign for Canala Bank. Damn! This was one of the banks I tried earlier. I feel like collapsing into the planter. But I’m beginning to get the hang of this press on – encounter obstacle – press on – encounter obstacle – press on model. So I open the rusty metal door to the broom closet that holds the ATM machine and give it a go. I’m astonished to discover that it instantly gives me money! Woo-hoo! I do a little dance in the broom closet.

I make my way back out of the labyrinth and start to wonder whether Kirpal will still be there. Delightfully he is and all is well. Until I get in the car. “Money?” he says. “Yes, money!” I smile the beaming smile of one who has succeeded against all odds. I give him the triumphant thumbs up! “Money?” he says again. What? He points to himself and says “Pay money. Ten thousand five hundred.” Ah, he wants the payment for the trip up front. Somehow I manage to get him to understand that I will pay him five thousand now and the rest when we get back to Delhi. “OK” he says. But this means that now I have to go back and take out more money. Back to the security guard I go, and back to the fertile ATM machine. Another ten minutes and I’m back in the car, counting out five thousand rupees to Kirpal. Okay, 45 minutes down and all I’ve managed to do is get some money. Hopefully getting the camera is not so hard.

Well, it was. I thought I’d explained to him that I needed to get my camera from the hotel, but he thought I wanted to buy a camera and kept driving me to shops. Finally I think I get it sorted and he drives off. Then he drives past the exit we need to take to get to the hotel. I scream. He stops. He backs up about 500 metres on the motorway to get back to the exit we need to take and away we go. Somehow we manage to get to the hotel. I get my camera, scramble back into the car and turn triumphantly to Kirpal.. “Jaipur!”. “Jaipur. OK.” He says. Now hopefully Kirpal knows how to get there.

This turns out not to be exactly a well founded hope, but I think I’ll have to handle that in another post. Suffice it to say, that the remainder of the two and half days of my journey with Kirpal were very similar to this first hour or so. But by the end, even though our success at reaching destinations, achieving goals and communicating with each other did not improve, we developed a friendly intimacy as a result of our shared trials and I was sad to say good-bye to him.

Finally I can take some photos on the way out of Delhi and on the road to Jaipur: