So, how was India?

My journey is finally coming to a close.  After three days of final presentations, I have one more day with the program for our re-entry orientation and the closing ceremony where I’ll get to wear a sari! Wednesday, I head to Mumbai to decompress for a day or so before jumping on my 16-hour flight back to Newark, arriving Friday morning.  After one more short flight back to Boston, I will run into my parents’ arms like I did as a little girl when Daddy came home from his business trips.  I’m trying to prepare myself for the bombardment of questions when I return, so here’s my first shot at answering the big one, “How was India?”

India is a culture of extremes and contradictions.  It was incredible and terrible.  Beautiful and horrifying.  I felt safe and I felt paranoid.  It was an emotional roller coaster, and it was a challenge.  India was an experience I will always remember.

I wanted to step out of my comfort zone by coming here, and I definitely accomplished this.  My comfort zone was repeatedly pushed, prodded, poked and deflated.  I became more patient.  I learned to be flexible and open-minded.  I learned to laugh instead of getting angry (most of the time).  I became a pro at jaywalking without getting hit by the various vehicles and animals on the road.  I got better at negotiating with rickshaw drivers.  I learned to accept the lower level of hygiene whether it was constantly wet and muddy during the monsoons, or constantly dripping sweat during the October heat and not really ever feeling clean because once I took my bucket bath I’d just get dirty again.  I became accustomed to the power outages and using filtered water for everything.  I accepted the fact that I would be sick to my stomach every couple of weeks for any number of reasons.  I became less concerned about cleanliness, for better or for worse, because I no longer had that luxury.  I became more adventurous with my food.  Sometimes a little too adventurous, but I quickly learned my spice tolerance after accidentally consuming a couple of chilies.  I learned to watch where I stepped after falling in a hole, stepping in dung a few times, almost stepping on a homeless man sleeping on the sidewalk, and stepping in fresh cement.  Apparently I’m a slow learner.

I was exposed to so many different things on this trip, good and bad, that it’d be impossible to describe them all.  I visited a couple of tribal villages and I visited the nicest neighborhood of Mumbai.  I traveled to the Himalayas and I did research in the red light area.  I’ve seen wealth and I’ve seen abject poverty.  I’ve seen derogatory behavior and I’ve seen enormous generosity and hospitality.  I will never forget the Kashmiri craftsman who offered me tea every time I walked by in Dharamshala just to chat, or the women who plied me with snacks and chai and protected me while I spent the afternoon in the red light area with them.  I will never forget the girls I met through my internship or the friends I’ve made on this program.  I will never forget how lucky I am to live the life I was given and to have had this opportunity.

People always talk about how they go overseas to “find” themselves.  If we’re being honest, we all roll our eyes when we hear this.  Well, I don’t think I’m done learning about life or myself, but I do think this experience has changed me in a multitude of ways that may be categorized as “finding” myself, if you’re willing to accept that.  I have watched myself adapt and become a new person, and I know there are changes I’ve experienced that I won’t even realize until I’ve been home for a while.  Although India has driven me completely insane at times, I actually feel a lot more sane now than I did before coming here.  I feel grounded, stronger, and sure of myself.  I’ve gone outside of my Western bubble and seen what “development” looks like.  A lot of people say that once you’ve lived in India, you can live anywhere.  I don’t know if that’s true, but I can’t wait to continue traveling and learning.  And I will tell anyone who will listen that if they’re thinking about studying or traveling abroad, they should choose a country that will challenge them and make them question everything they ever knew about themselves.

There are so many things that I will miss about this beautiful country, but right now I am more than ready to come home and be with my family.  Thank you to everyone who has supported me and stayed in touch while I’ve been on this amazing journey! I hope you’ve enjoyed reading about my adventures.  It's been quite the ride, but it’s time for me to come home.  Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

Until the next voyage begins,

xo A

Bureaucracy at its Best

If you asked me to describe India in just one word, one of the words floating through my head would be “inefficiency”.  I’m not trying to be mean, this has just been my experience on many occasions.  In order to visit India as a foreigner, you need to register with the police when you arrive within 14 days if your visa is for longer than 180 days.  Most of ours were not for this long so we didn’t register originally.  Then they changed the rules. So about three weeks before we’re leaving the country, we have to go through registration.  Oh and you’re not allowed to leave India unless you have the proper registration documents.  Like they actually won’t let you leave.

So we go to the local police office to fill out paperwork.  Then we go to the police commissioner’s office to fill out more paperwork.  During this visit, I went to about six or seven different desks and stations each about 3-5 times.  It was like a Monty Python skit.  They wanted to know why I was late, then my advisor had to explain, then we had to pay a late fee, then we had to start over once the late fee was paid.  They not only entered our information into the computer, but then they scanned our documents into the computer as well.  Why do you need that many copies of my information? In addition to the process being beyond complicated and illogical, no one understands the concept of a line in India.  I had so many people shoving me out of their way and throwing their papers into the hands of the officers at different stations.  I finally snapped at one woman.  She was Iranian, a few years older than myself, and she pushed herself in front of me.  Excuse me, I said.  She tried to clarify, “Oh no no, I was here before.  This is my second time with him (the officer).”  Oh yeah? Well this is my fifth time with him.  Move.  The commissioner’s office is where niceties go to die.

After being the first in my group to finish, I go in the hallway to sit and wait.  It smells bad so I look up and look across the hall to find myself staring into the door-less men’s bathroom that clearly hasn’t been cleaned in months.  Lovely.  So I go outside to wait only to get yelled at by the officers.  It was one of those “Keep off the grass!” moments, except all I wanted was some fresh air.  I didn’t even want to stand on their nice grass.  The list of arbitrary rules in this country is endless.

We’re finally able to leave that day and they tell us to come back on December 7th at 4pm.  Great, this will be easy.  We will go in with our passports, pick up our documents and leave.  Oh, if only.  I go on December 7th (Friday) and they tell me my documents are not ready yet, come back on Tuesday.  Are you sure they’ll be ready on Tuesday? You told me they’d be ready today.  Oh yes, Madam, ready on Tuesday.  Okay...

I return on Tuesday and of course they are not ready yet.  I’m told they’ll be ready by 6pm and it’s 430pm at the time.  Sir, I don’t have 1.5 hours to sit here and wait for you to feel like doing your job.  If I come back tomorrow, will they be ready? Oh yes, of course.  I’d like to pause here to point out that the rickshaw ride to and from the commissioner’s office is between Rs 50-70 so it starts to add up when you have to go every single day.

I return this afternoon around 5pm and what do you know? They’re not ready.  I almost began bashing my head against the wall.  I was speechless.  And India is not a place where you can just ask for the supervisor.  Nobody cares if you are happy or not.  They tell us to wait 15 minutes, they’ll do it now.  Are you sure? I have to be somewhere at 6pm.  Yes, we’re doing it now.  Okay... 15 minutes later I go to check in on him.  Yes, we’re doing it now.  15 minutes.  ... 15 minutes later I go to check on him again.  I get pointed to a woman who walks away with our documents but we can’t have them yet.  First they must be scanned.  I literally follow this woman around the office for the next 20 minutes because I don’t want to lose sight of our documents.  Finally, she has a packet of about 15 people’s documents and she makes us actually stand in a line while she has each of us come up, get our documents, and sign for them.  An hour later, we’re done and able to leave.

I have never felt so relieved.  Leaving that office, I felt extreme joy.  Not only was I finished with the most painful example of bureaucracy yet, but I am also now allowed to leave the country.  Almost exactly one week left!

xo A

Going Native: observations about an observation

I made the bold decision to go into the field without an interpreter last week.  Some people may think I’m careless with my own safety for making this decision, but I can assure you I felt perfectly protected.  And no, my parents aren't exactly thrilled about this decision.  It’s a little tricky to become a part of the community you’re researching when that community is women in sex work.  While I was in Dharavi in Mumbai, the Gujarati potter told us about a man from the Discovery Channel who came and stayed with him in the slum for 3 days which I thought was so cool.  The best way to learn about a people is to spend time in their environment.  However, I can’t exactly stay in the brothels for three days.  Well, I would love to but I’m going to make a grand assumption and say that that arrangement could be a bit complicated.  My organization was hesitant about letting me go without my interpreter the other day.  They sent me in with three bodyguards though (elder women in sex work who wouldn’t leave my side).  My interpreter dropped me off and made sure I was okay and then she left me there to hangout for a few hours.  I was sitting on a little stoop with a few of the women who sell rotis in the area during lunchtime.  I was in charge of the tokens.  They count how many rotis they sell every day using a token system.  It occurred to me while I was sitting with them that I was really impressed by their ability to run a business considering their extreme lack of education.  Granted, it’s a very basic business from an outside perspective.  But they’re still handling money and maintaining organization.  It’s great for them.

Spending the afternoon with them was a fascinating experience.  First, while I obviously appreciate the ability to communicate via words, it was a great learning experience to be without my interpreter.  I had to use a blend of sign language, head bobbles, and pointing to get my thoughts across.  And I probably smiled and nodded at vastly inappropriate times when I didn’t understand what someone was asking me... oh well.  As usual, I was pleasantly surprised by their extreme hospitality.  They made me sit on the stoop next to the rotis instead of on the bench in front of the stoop because they wanted to keep me farther away from the customers which was much appreciated.  The women even put a few sheets of newspaper down so I didn’t have to sit on the disgusting tiles.  Then I got treated with all sorts of completely unsanitary but delicious snacks.  My first treat was fresh coconut.  Delicious.  They grabbed the coconut, smashed it against the wall and handed out the pieces.  I guess I’m easy to please but I was so content sitting with these women eating my coconut and hanging out.

Next, they offered me chai which I happily accepted.  I got a little nervous when the woman came back with a little plastic baggy full of chai, like the type of bag you’d put a goldfish in.  Please God, protect me from these germs.  When we were done with our chai I tried to hold onto my cup so I could throw it out later but the woman grabbed it and threw it on the ground.  At least I didn’t do the littering myself.  My final treat was raw chickpeas (which according to some internet blogs, you're not actually supposed to eat raw because it can make you really sick...oops?).  A little boy came by with a basket full of the plant and the women bought a handful for us to snack on.  Again, probably not the cleanest plant in the world but it tasted good and I didn’t want to refuse their generosity.

And of course no experience is ever going to be 100% positive.  The fact that I’m a young woman sitting in the red light district with other women in sex work kind of makes it look like I am also a sex worker.  Yes, I am completely insane for putting myself in a situation where I would be mistaken for a sex worker.  I swear I take every step possible to make myself safe in these situations.  Some men would walk by and glance at me, I would look down and then realize that’s what a disempowered sex worker would do so then I would look up and realize that meeting their eyes may convey the wrong message as well.  I really wasn’t sure where to look so I generally kept my eyes on the rotis and the women.  Occasionally, a small crowd would gather to stare at the foreigner and the women would yell at them.  Luckily, the language barrier prevented me from knowing whether anyone actually asked "how much?" but I never felt too uncomfortable.  I felt like I had a wall of protection from the women that were with me, and no one would let any of the men look at me for too long never mind come close enough to bother me.

So was it worth the risk? Yes, absolutely.  The women were happy to have me and I was able to observe and relax without my interpreter itching to get out of there.  It helped me build a better relationship with the women, and I even got to see some of the girls we had previously interviewed at the office.  They would stop by and smile questioningly when they saw me.  We said hi and then attempted minimal conversation until we both realized we couldn’t communicate.  I only have two days left at my internship and I’m realizing how much I’m going to miss these women and their community.  I have learned so much in my short time here, and I know it’s only the beginning of a lifetime full of learning but it’s still sad to see this chapter end.

Just two weeks until my return to America.  Home, sweet home.  See you soon

xo A

This Could Have Been Me

Warning: Sensitive subject matter.  Not for the ignorance-is-bliss reader.

Although I have posted a few times about my internship and my experiences in the red light area or with the women I work with, I don’t know how much you, my reader, actually know about the individual stories of these women and girls.  Perhaps you’ve read about cases of human trafficking in the news or maybe you’re one of those people who likes to pretend these evils don’t exist.  If that’s the case, you can stop reading here.  I hate to share such depressing news with you all, but that’s partly why I’m here—to learn and share my experiences.

This story is about a girl my age.  People always ask me why I do the work that I do, and the reason is girls like Mia*.  Most of the women I interact with on a day-to-day basis are older, in their 40s generally.  However, there are a handful of girls I meet who are my age.  As you can imagine, this is heartbreaking and disturbing.  I don’t know what it is about Mia but I can’t get her out of my head.  She is strong-willed, energetic and fun.  She is beautiful and charming.  She likes to joke around and live life on her own terms.  She is a modern-day slave.

Her story starts in her village.  When she was about 15 years old, she was dating someone she thought she could trust.  Her lover told her they could come to the city and live with his family, start a new life together.  He promised her they’d find her a good job and they’d live happily ever after.  When they arrived in the city, he sold her to a madam in the red light district.  She never saw him again and wonders every single day why he betrayed her.  Being the fiery young woman she is, she initially refused to do the work they asked of her.  She fought back against the brothel owner over and over again, challenging the lifestyle her lover had left her.  When the madam was fed up with her opposition, she was locked in a room for over 10 days.  An attempt to break her will.

It finally worked.  She had to give in or continue to suffer.  At 15 years old, she became a sex worker.  When I was 15, I was going to cheerleading practice after school, spending time with friends, going shopping, gossiping, and going on vacation with my family.  Mia was having sex with men for money and then handing over her earnings to her madam, her new boss.  She was living in a brothel with other women in sex work, eating one meal a day and never having any time to rest.  Her arms and neck are covered in scars, possibly from her initial days of refusal, possibly from rowdy customers over the years.  In many cases, the girls are expected to stay until they pay off their debts.  What are Mia’s debts? Rs 180,000.  Personally, I can’t see how she’ll ever pay that off.  Especially because she sends several thousand rupees home every month to help support her younger brother.  She is incredible for supporting her family under these circumstances, rather than focusing on erasing her own debts.  She is incredible for surviving the last 7 years of torture and enslavement.  She is incredible for not allowing her circumstances to destroy her spirit.  Why did her lover betray her and sell her? Why isn’t she at college or even just working in the fields in her village with her family? Why does society look the other way, allowing these atrocities to occur? Why is this her life and not mine? Why was I allowed to grow up in a comfortable home in New England, go to school and travel to India? Why wasn’t I sold into slavery but Mia was?

I don’t know the answers, but I hope that somehow the work that I’m doing will make their lives better even in the smallest of ways.  If I can help Mia survive, I will feel like I’ve accomplished something.  Some people question whether it’s worth saving one person when you’re dealing with such a widespread issue.  I think it is.  I think saving Mia would be worth it.

*Name changed

Rotis, TGs and Hospitality

As the semester winds down, I want to ensure I’ve made the most of my experience here and the opportunities available to me.  I told my internship I want to spend more time in the field to really understand the day-to-day lives of women in sex work.  Today, I went with one of the women who makes rotis (similar to a large tortilla) and sells them in the area during lunchtime.  We walked around for about an hour through all the different lanes going in and out of brothels, knocking on people’s doors and asking if they wanted rotis today.  I was with two women—one who collected the money and another who had a big pot on her head full of rotis and newspaper.  When an order was placed, the pot would come down, the rotis would be counted, and then they’d wrap them in a piece of newspaper and hand them over to the customer.

This visit was a lot more in-my-face than previous ones.  First, the smell was putrid.  I actually thought I might vomit a few times, and I’m saying that with the utmost respect for these women.  I really don’t know how they live in these conditions.  I was constantly stepping around unidentifiable waste on the ground and I could barely see where I was going in some of the staircases and hallways.  I can’t even explain the set up of the area properly.  It’s a like a blend between a slum, the ruins of a castle (broken down stone) and a treehouse here and there (layers of housing in disjointed levels).  That probably makes no sense, but it’s the best I can do to explain it.  Most of the rooms look the same with either cubby-like benches around the walls to sit on or the ‘compartments’ and lofts where the mattresses are.  I came across a lot more men in this visit as well, since we were going in and out and walking around the entire area, whereas the first visit I just walked down one lane and visited two specific brothels.  My visit was a lot less censored this time.  I could feel the men surrounding me, their gaze piercing my comfort zone, making me want to run and hide in my mommy’s arms and never come back out.  But no, I kept my head down, stayed glued to the roti seller’s side, and refocused on other things.

A huge comfort to me when I go in is the hospitality and curiosity I receive from the women and girls.  Of course they’re all wondering who the strange white girl is as I follow the other women around wearing Indian clothing even though I’m from the West.  On the other hand, I’ve had several experiences here that make me question just how “white” I really am.  On numerous occasions, I’ve had people tell me I look like a Bollywood actress, I look Arab, I look “brown” etc.  It’s been quite confusing for me.  Anyways, there were two groups of women today with whom I felt particularly happy.  The first group was in a brothel above a restaurant so it was quite warm from the kitchen but I could smell the delicious food being made.  The women kept offering me water or a cold drink and were wondering how I liked India and what I thought of the area.  The best I can do is say I love spending time with them and I want to learn about their lives.

I am always invited to sit down and chat, often with the offer of a cold beverage.  The second group I enjoyed spending time with today was sitting outside of the brothel on a little ledge of a bench.  Again, they wanted to know why I was there, when I was leaving, how much my flight cost to get to America, how long the flight was, and when I’d be returning to India.  I better return soon, one of the women said.  They were really funny.  The one who told me to come back soon was very talkative, telling me I’d look good with a nose ring and that I looked very pretty and delicate.  She was the one who told me I looked like a Bollywood actress.  They all found it very amusing that I was wearing bangles and we talked about the exchange of cultures.  They thought it was interesting that the West was obsessed with yoga and meditation and wearing bangles, for example, while on the other hand Indians are dressing more Western etc.  I also met a transgender (TG) sex worker.  She was very nice and spoke a little bit of English so we were able to communicate without an interpreter.  She was wearing a tight yellow t-shirt and jeans and because she had had breast injections it was hard to tell immediately that she was transgender.  We were actually in the TG lane of the red light area, so there were many TGs there, as well as women and customers, but I only really spoke with this one.

While I was talking with one of the TGs she stopped suddenly and walked towards a group of her peers.  I had been ignoring a man standing nearby who had been staring at me for some time.  The TG I was talking with went to her peers, gathered a group, brought the man over to me, made him stand in front of me, and yelled at him for several minutes.  How dare you look at her like that, she is our guest, you have no right to disrespect her like that, you should be ashamed of yourself, you have no business looking at her, etc. etc.  This is a weak translation after the fact from my interpreter of course, but that was the gist of it.  It was incredible.  I have never been so humbled.  A group of complete strangers went completely out of their way to protect me and my honor.  I was speechless, unable to express my gratitude.

Once we finished our laps around the area with the rotis, we went to sit on a little bench in one of the busier parts of the area to sell the remaining ones before heading back to the office.  I saw a handful of women who I had interviewed previously and we said hi to each other.  Although the environment itself felt a little more intolerable this time around, I always enjoy interacting with the women and gaining a better understanding of their everyday lives.  I wish I had more time left, but for now I will try to learn what I can in my last few days with them.

An Open Forum with Afghani Students

Yesterday, we had four Afghani students (two girls, two boys) from Kabul join us for our Contemporary India classroom discussion.  Honestly, it had nothing to do with Contemporary India but it was one of the best classes all semester.  We were able to get together with the students because they were from another program that our Professor is involved with.  We sat in a circle and had a discussion about a variety of topics, but it was more us asking them questions rather than the other way around.

Naturally, our first questions were about their feelings towards Americans, the USA in general, and the war.  Student A explained that generally Afghanis had a good opinion of the West and the USA but in areas with more fighting etc. the opinions were more mixed, which is to be expected.  Student A and B (the boys) explained that sometimes when they go home late at night, there will be a few officers/soldiers telling them they can’t enter the area because there is fighting going on.  They have to just go home earlier or wait until the fighting is over to go home.  They said it usually ends after 2-3 hours and then life goes back to ‘normal’.  I think their idea of normal is a little different than mine.  They can hear the fighting from inside their homes, they see it on television every day and night.  The Taliban will pay a visit to the restaurant they went to last night or the shopping mall they frequent.  But it always goes back to ‘normal’ a few days later.  Things get cleaned up and they’ll still go back to eat at the restaurant or go shopping at the mall.  Student C added that during holidays they don’t go outside to celebrate.  They have to celebrate inside because they don’t feel safe.

When asked about their interactions with US troops, I was surprised to hear that Student B is Facebook friends with some of our soldiers.  Talk about cross-cultural friendships.  Student B explained that in his village there are a few thousand US soldiers, 500 Turkish soldiers and 300 French soldiers.  Student A added that when he was in younger years of schooling, some of the US soldiers visited his school to talk to the students.  I thought this was really nice that there is friendly interaction between our troops and the general population in Afghanistan.  It’s hard to picture what really happens in a conflict area, so it was interesting to hear more about their day-to-day interactions and experiences with the war.  Of course we asked what they thought would happen in 2014 when our troops start getting pulled out.  Student B said that when that happens, the Taliban’s main priority will be to topple the government and try to get back to the way things were in 1996/1997.  The main thing to look for will not be the military transition but the smoothness of the political transition, he explained, and whether it will be a truly democratic government.  He said Afghanistan cannot afford to have elections like 2009 again.  I guess the whole world will be holding their breath to see what happens in 2014.  Well, those of us who follow the news anyways!

So, have their perceptions of the conflict changed at all since coming to study in India? Student B explained that while living in Kabul, he was very ‘tit-for-tat’ about the conflict.  “If they do something to us,” he explained, “we should do something back to them”.  But now that he is living in India, he realizes how tired he is and just hopes for good news.  He said that he checks BBC News every morning before he does anything else.  “We want peace.  We have suffered enough.  I really want to see something good.”  He wants to see news of reconciliation talks and dreams of being able to travel through the country without any problems.  I really can’t even imagine what it would be like if your home was in the middle of a battlefield.

All of us girls were very interested to hear about what it was like to live in Afghanistan as a woman.  However, they more or less evaded the question.  Student C said that women have a lot of opportunities—even more than men.  Especially with scholarships, women will get chosen first, she said.  Then Student A jumped in to say that was only because she lived in Kabul and that the villages were still very backwards and experiencing problems such as illiteracy, violence against women, and child marriage.  When asked about marriage, Student C said that in the villages girls are married around age 14-16 and in the cities it’s usually 20-22 years.  We also asked about arranged marriages and they said this is the most common practice in Afghanistan.  The bride and groom meet on the day of the wedding and that’s that.  Their families arrange everything.  When asked if they would have an arranged marriage, Student C said she would prefer a ‘love marriage’ but Student D said she’d prefer an arranged marriage.  This was funny seeing as Student C seemed more conservative and kept her head covered while Student D was dressed more Western and did not have a head covering.  She explained that when she goes back to Afghanistan, she’ll have to cover her head not because of her family but because of society.  They did mention that families are getting less strict about marrying at an early age.  This is because of situations like Student C’s cousin-sister who got married before she finished her education and then had no way to provide for her children when her husband died in a bomb blast.  So now education is a priority before marriage for most progressive families.  When asked how many children they would have, Student C commented that “we don’t have a population problem, so number of children is not an issue”—poking fun at our Indian professor and his country’s booming population.

We wrapped up the conversation by talking about Afghanistan’s culture in general and any interesting traditions they have.  They told us about Afghani hospitality.  They told us that when you’re in disagreement with someone, they will invite you to their home and offer you tea and food.  If you eat and drink, all is good between you.  If you do not, then you remain in disagreement.  In more extreme cases where you seek revenge, the offender sacrifices a sheep or goat on your doorstep to seek forgiveness.  He also told a story from years ago of a traveler who received the gift of a special scarf from a tribesman which put this traveler under the protection of this tribe wherever they went throughout the country.  At the end, Student B joked about how whenever he tells someone he is from Afghanistan, their first reaction is to ask him if he has read or seen The Kite Runner.  He explained that reading that book does not give you any authority whatsoever on Afghanistan.  He did, however, suggest reading A Thousand Splendid Suns instead because it’s a better depiction of Afghani life and culture.

We only had 1.5 hours so we learned as much as we could about each other in the time provided.  They asked similar questions about the USA, our perceptions of Afghanistan, and whether or not we had ethnic groups in our country.  This one kind of took us off guard considering America is a melting pot and all but I guess they wouldn’t really know what our country is like if they’ve never been there.  In the end, it was incredibly interesting to speak with them and I’m really glad we had the opportunity to actually interact with them considering how little we really know about Afghanistan even though we’ve read so much about it in the news.

How To: Get Cheated by a Rikshaw

In many ways, rikshaws are just like cabs in a big city like Washington, D.C. They’ll try to take the long way or get “lost” so that you end up paying more and they’re way more likely to rip you off if you look like you’re from out of town or out of country.  Some cab drivers will even try to get you to pay a flat fee instead of using the meter.  A man tried this on me in D.C. one night when we were heading back to campus after going to a club.  He nicely suggested we just give him $20 instead of using the meter because he was trying to help us.  Ha.  I told him to kindly stop trying to screw us, that our trip was not going to cost anywhere near $20 and he should just use the damn meter.  How much did our trip end up costing? $12.  Told you so, jerk.

Anyways, rikshaw drivers are even more creative in their ways of ripping people off or just generally trying to make your life complicated.  First, most of them do not speak English so there’s an automatic barrier.  You better know how to properly pronounce where you want to go because otherwise you may be disappointed.  I thought I was saying the landmark correctly when I was trying to get to my internship and the rikshaw driver nodded and told me to get in so I was like okay, great - I’m all set.  Wrong.  He pulled over after a few minutes to ask for directions.  Why would you let me get in if you have no idea where I want to go, silly man?! I told the old man on the side of the road where I wanted to go and he didn’t understand me.  I showed him the address on my cellphone but he got confused because the screen kept going dark after a few minutes.  Finally, I called my interpreter and tried to give the phone to the driver but he gave it to the old man on the side of the road... what? So then the old man tells the driver where to go.  The best part? The meter was running the entire time.  Then we start driving and he takes a wrong turn which I notice because I take this route every day to go to work.  I tell him he’s going the wrong way and he either doesn’t understand me or pretends not to so I call my interpreter again.  I force him to take the cellphone this time and he reroutes and finally starts going the right way.  It ended up costing me 20 or 30 rupees more than usual.

In the above example, I was a foreign resident getting ripped off.  But when I look like a foreign tourist, it’s even worse.  I like to go to the café at the Marriott Hotel to do work because it’s really nice, the service is fantastic, and they have real sandwiches, real coffee, and real cheese.  All of these things do not exist in your average Indian eatery.  Unfortunately, the Marriott in Pune is extremely nice and fancy so if you’re going or coming from the building it is assumed you have money.  To be fair, I do have money compared to many Indians but that doesn’t mean you have a right to rip me off.  I walked out of the Marriott the other day to catch a rikshaw home and they gave me a flat fee at first: 60 rupees (the ride normally takes 20-30 rupees depending on traffic).  I burst out laughing and said no.  They started whining, why madam? 60 rupees madam.  What price you pay madam? I said 30 rupees.  No, madam, 30 rupees not right madam.  Well then I will find another rikshaw SIR. I walked away from them, crossed the street and found a rikshaw that would actually use the meter.

Today, on my way to the Marriott I got in a rikshaw and by the time we had reached the top of my street the meter already said 20 rupees.  Um, sir... I believe your meter is fast.  What? Oops, madam.  Sorry, madam.  How much? I told him 30 rupees and he agreed so we went along our way.  Easy solution, no trouble.  On the way back from the Marriott, I got another fast meter.  But this time it was electronic instead of the little clicky kind.  About halfway home I realized that it was going too fast and I was so tired, I almost didn’t say anything.  In the end it came to a little over 30 rupees so I paid the price but was feeling irritated so as I paid him, I said ‘you know your meter is fast, right?’ He looked shocked and offended, no madam! Not fast.  Yes, sir.  Your meter is going fast.  And then I got the best response yet - ‘it is electronic, madam, what can I do?’ Yes, sir... because electronics have a mind of their own.

In the end, the best way I've found to deal with cheating rikshaw drivers is to laugh at them when they try to tell you the wrong price and give them whatever amount you think is reasonable.  If they start a fight with you, then gain the support of bystanders and you'll probably win if he really is being unreasonable.  You may occasionally have to just pay more and be more careful in the future.