Jump from the nest

Well, I’m writing from the train heading to Delhi. I spent one Long Day in Varanasi and saw much of what it has to offer. First let me back up though.

The last two days at Parijat were magical. On Saturday, the last day of school, classes 6, 8, 9, and 10 each gave me gamusas and gifts (class 7 gave me theirs a few days earlier). I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. My favorite gift came, as I was hoping, from my favorite class 9. It was a small, simple, solid brass goblet. Each class had collected money amongst themselves to buy these and Aimoni told me it was the first time they had ever done this for a volunteer. I didn’t know what to say. Some of the gifts I wanted to keep but could not take with me, so I shipped a package home. The ones I didn’t want, though given no less sincerely, I took with me and gave to the nice family that ran the guesthouse where I stayed in Varanasi.

When the final afternoon prayers had finished, I gave final hi-fives to all the kids as they left school and distributed the last of the pictures. Hard to believe that even if I come back, I will never see most of those kids again. That evening Sankar organized a ceremony with the hostel students. Sankar said good things about me, Swarnamika and Bijyunti read Assamese poems and several other students sang songs. Rasan spent most of his time disrupting the event. The hostel students presented me with a big beautiful journal, a pen, and a shoulder bag like everyone wears. Aimoni gave me a Parijat-made Karbi gamusa, bright orange with green embroidery. Then we cranked up the stereo and danced to Assamese music and Gangnam Style. I was the chosen partner of Bibha and she wouldn’t let me take her off my shoulders, which was fine with me. When dancing was done Paul and the hostel students served us chicken and I went to be happy though uncomfortably full.

The next day I ate my final breakfast and drank my last cup of coffee at Parijat. I chatted with the new volunteers from Germany – they seem like great people and I would have liked to work with them. They will take over teaching computers. When it was time to go, I gave everybody a hug. Reboti, the weaver who hardly looked at me for the first 6 weeks but with whom I had gotten very close without a common language. Dulumoni and Bibha, mother and daughter, crying together. Despite being two years younger than I, Dulumoni is the older sister I’m always searching for and her daughter is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Sankar, my roommate and best friend at Parijat. Aimoni, the best thing that ever happened to Uttam. And all the wonderful girls and boys in the hostel. I miss you guys. You’re making traveling hard because now I have two families to miss. Uttam and his brother Prasanta put me on the train, said their goodbyes and I pulled away.

The train ride to Varanasi was 28 hours. I spent most of my time watching movies or sleeping. I met some nice people who helped me arrange an affordable taxi, which (unsurprisingly) took me to the wrong end of town where I met a man names Lakshmi who got me an affordable room and showed me where to eat and get good lassi. He offered to show me around the next day and since I didn’t know much about Varanasi and I only had one day to explore, I agreed. I understood it was a business arrangement – he made commission off getting me a room and he expected payment for showing me good stuff. But the room was fine and I wanted to see Varanasi.

Next morning I woke up at 5:30 and he arranged a boat to show us the ghats along the Ganges. It was beautiful to see these giant colorful buildings towering over the stone steps in golden sunlight. It is THE thing to do in Varanasi but of course people do it for a reason. We ate breakfast and agreed to meet back around 10 to see some of the city. At that point he asked for 200 rupees so he could recharge his phone. I balked but didn’t want to argue and I figured it would come out of the tip at the end. I rested. At ten we walked to the University which was clear and cool and not too crowded. We went to the museum and walked around a big temple. We went to a silk shop where he was irritated that I didn’t want to buy anything (thus no commission) although I told him before I went that I already had too much stuff. We agreed to meet back in a few hours so I went and wrote in my journal, read my book and people watched at Assi ghat. In my whole time in Guwahati I only saw one foreigner walking the streets, so the foreigners were fascinating to me. At this point I didn’t want to spend much more time with Lakshmi but he was taking me to see a show on the ghats which I wanted to see, so I met him at 6 and walked through the ghats full of naked babas and smoke of every flavor. The show had lots of fire and Hinduism that I could not relate to but it was a spectacle and I’m glad I went. On the way back we walked through the tiny alleyways of Varanasi that I never would have seen without someone to show me.

When we got back it was time to leave. Lakshmi wanted 500 rupees (in addition to the 200 earlier). I was going to give him 200-300, so 400 seemed like a compromise. This is where being a Westerner in India gets tricky. I fully understand the value of dollar but the rupee I am only just learning. Would I have paid more than $14 (700 rupees) for such a tour at home? Of course. Is $2 (the difference between 600 and 700 rupees) enough to worry about? No. Does it make me a true American if I can afford it but don’t want to pay? I don’t know. But I wouldn’t pay him what I would at home, maybe $50, almost four times more than he asked. That leads to other problems.

I had this conversation with Tets, our Japanese friend that came to visit a few weeks ago. He has traveled the world for several years now and he seemed wise to me. His advice was to just be fair and don’t be arrogant. Of course everything in India is negotiable, we didn’t agree on a price beforehand, 600 seemed fair to me given what I do know about the value of the rupee, and I didn’t want to be the American who pays whatever is asked because I feel guilty and I don’t want an argument. So when we were in the taxi going to the train station I gave him 400.

WOOOF he was pissed. Once he figured that I wouldn’t give him what he wanted, he told me that he would f--- other people because of me, he would f--- somebody’s mother because of me, to f--- off myself. He didn’t have much leverage – how couldn’t refuse me services – so he told the driver in Hindi to charge me double. I paid 150 instead of the 200 he wanted and walked into the train station. It’s tough to know what to do. It’s pretty unlikely that I ripped off someone who does this for a living. I just wonder why he was SO angry…I think either he’s just crazy or he desperately needed the money for ganja. Will I worry about the 100 rupees next time? Maybe not. I dunno. I DID learn that I don’t want to pay another guide in India. Needless to say it was a good day and I’m glad to be out of Varanasi.  

One day later, I’m now relaxing in Bhaswati’s fourth story studio apartment in Delhi having enjoyed morning chai and breakfast. It’s good to see a friendly face.