Novel: LIKE, MISUNDERSTOOD (arrival in India-Jan 1968)

[Guest guest]

CHAPTER 93: Land of Peace

 

I arrive at the Indian Embassy to get a visa. After completion of my

application I submit it to the Indian Consul. The Indian is surprised

to see me wearing an Indian tilak – two vertical lines of white clay on

my forehead, the sign of being a Vaishnava (devotee). He can’t control

his curiosity. ‘I say, vhy you are wearing our Hindu tilak? Do you know

the meaning of this tilak?’

 

I start to reply. ‘Well, I think it…’

 

He cuts me off in mid sentence. ‘But of course you must be knowing.

Othervise how you are putting such a thing?’ He seems like a nice guy.

 

‘Thank you, sir, I am looking forward to visiting India; I can hardly

wait.’

 

The Indian Consul smiles broadly. ‘I know vhy you are visiting our

country. It is seeking out the peace, isn't it? You are seeking peace!’

 

 

‘Yes sir! I must admit - I am seeking peace.’

 

Ooops. Now he’s really on a roll. ‘Well you von't be disappointed! In

my India we are having the one thing the world is lacking! We are

having shanti. We are a land where one can find peace of mind. We are

the land of peace. Yes, I am sure you will find peace in my mother

India!’

 

After a change of planes in Egypt we’re finally ready to land in India.

I’m seated next to a pious Indian lady who is dressed in a sari. She’s

also praising India as the Land of Peace. ‘Yes, I am sure you vill find

vhat you seek. Ve are famous as the land of peace. You vill surely find

peace.’

 

Ouch! Just as she says ‘peace’ there’s an intense screech as the tires

touch down too hard on the runway.

 

As I disembark, the flight hostess who is opening the plane door looks

at me, bows her head and says, ‘Welcome to India, sir!’

 

Man, it really is quiet here, I surmise. At Immigration I’m having my

false passport genuinely stamped by a smiling official. I notice on the

wall of the airport is a sign saying, INDIA THE LAND OF PEACE. Om

shanti! It’s so quiet here.

 

I only have a carry-on bag, so after Immigration I head for the exit

doors, feeling completely at ease with the world.

 

Aauugaaa! I open the exit door and the scene greeting me outside is

total madness: hundreds, thousands of shouting, pulling, squabbling,

hoards of Indians swarm the exit, all shouting in Hindi. I’m stunned.

As I step out the door I’m pulled into the crowded mob and dragged away

hanging onto my only bag. I manage to yank back my bag. Utter bedlam.

Somehow I must cross this mob of humanity and reach the Delhi railway

station.

 

Om shanti? Gnarly!

 

 

CHAPTER 94: Land of Madness

 

Somehow I manage to get a half-naked coolie cycle rickshaw driver. He

takes me to a very crowded area of old Delhi right by the Delhi Train

Station at Pahargunj. I’m scared to death and clutch tightly to my

small bag of clothes, money and my false passport. The bumpy rickshaw

jerks to a halt in front of the station. There are hordes of people and

animals everywhere.

 

I get down from the rickshaw with shaky legs. Setting my bag on the

seat, I remove my passport and transfer it to my pocket, then I pull

out the small amount of English pounds I have in my bag. I show the

pounds to the coolie and try to pay him. Jeez. He looks at the pound

notes like they were play money from Pluto.

 

Suddenly, a young boy grabs my bag off the seat and runs away into the

crowd. At first I chase after him, but he has disappeared. Then I turn

back to get change from the rickshaw driver but he’s also disappeared,

with all my little fingerful of money. Bummer! Must have been that damn

Ali Baba.

 

Just imagine the look on my dumbfounded face. Now I’m standing in front

of the Delhi Train Station with no money and no belongings. I reach

into my pocket and I’m relieved to find that my passport is still

there. I walk over to the ticket counter and try to explain myself to

the ticket clerk. He finally waves me toward the tracks.

 

I begin asking people, ‘Where’s Vrindavan?’ and they all point to

platform number three, so I walk down the terminal to the designated

platform.

 

I walk up to a stationary train, grab the door handle, and step inside.

Being ticketless I’m sitting as a third class passenger on the train to

Agra via Mathura, which is the birthplace of Lord Krishna. The car is

packed solid with people and animals. As the ticket collector squeezes

through the mob he finally asks for my ticket.

 

‘Ticket dijiya!’ (Give ticket).

 

‘Gulp!’ I indicate I have no ticket. The collector scowls at me and

then points up, to the roof. Oh no. With a sh*t-eating grin I point up,

like, you want me to climb up to the top?

 

A few minutes later, there I am atop the train sitting cross-legged

facing the engine. Smoke is belching from the smokestack and I’m coated

in black soot. The other passengers mime for me to turn away from the

smoke. So I turn around. Now I sit with my back to the smoke, like all

the other people on the roof. Dumb sh*t!

 

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