I’ve been in India for about one month now (it seems longer but that’s because my e-mails are only published twice a month!).
Sometimes I take for granted how this place just sizzles with life! It’s early morning and women are filling their pots with water from the common taps dispersed along the street. Kids brush their teeth in their uniforms while others are already on their way to school. Old people hobble around everywhere! Colours and the smell of incense fill every space left!
One good thing about spending more than a few days in one place is that you start to get different treatment. The vendors look at you as a person rather than a purse with legs. I’ve been offered saris, shells, bongos, marijuana, chai, paintings, pendants… It’s sad to watch the vendors walk away disheartened and I do feel bad ignoring them, but after two days in a place they recognise you and do not bother trying to sell you anything.
One sad thing about spending time in a place is that you get to see through the scams. There are orphanages in the tourist areas of the village where tourists can go and play with the children and donate money. But these homes are open only in the high season and the children are actually used as a source of income. When the tourists are gone, the kids are back in the street begging in the rain or under the very hot sun.
As you probably figured from my e-mails, one thing I still have not gotten used to is the begging. Yesterday I sat reading a book on one of the fishermen's boats. The book was set in the 1970s in Mississippi and before long I was absorbed in the whole atmosphere the author managed to create. A boy of not more than 15 came and sat next to me, and seconds later, asked me for 10 rupees. Glancing at him from behind my book, I asked him why he wanted them. Instead of answering me, he asked me where I come from. Not wanting to go through the ordeal of explaining where and what Malta is, I took a shortcut and said “England”. (Sometimes it’s Italy, other times Greece… I feel less guilty about denying my motherland since Malta joined the EU!). He sat there for another 20 minutes, every so often reminding me that he wanted 10 rupees. What would you do? Give him the 10 rupees so that he leaves, only to be replaced by the next beggar? Continue to ignore him? Walk away?
That’s exactly what I did. I could not read anymore. The 10-rupee request simply didn’t fit in with the Mississippi story. Besides, an old man with a bucket and spade had caught my attention (surely he was too old to be building a sandcastle?). Upon investigation I found that he was digging for crabs. Now if there is one mystery that has hounded me all this time, it is the mystery of the crab holes. I have personally wondered about these holes ever since I saw one in Thailand in 1999. I saw them again on the shores of Africa and the Caribbean. In India the mystery lingers. How deep are these holes? What exactly do the crabs do down there? I was about to solve my long time mystery. The old man’s hole got bigger and deeper and when he was almost a metre down he stopped using the shovel and started using his hands. Before I knew it this old man was actually lying down in the hole bigger than himself, his arm up to his shoulders plunged into the sand rummaging for the poor crab. It turned out to be a nice big crab and with his face covered in sand he proudly offered it to me!
Immediately, the ten-rupee boy came running towards me stopped at the nearest hole and started digging too. One minute later he offered me a tiny crab for 10 rupees! If nothing else, he was enterprising! I took neither of the crabs but left the beach to make my way to Chennai. I’m meeting Diana today. We’ve had a virtual friendship for as long as I’ve been in India and she arrives from Canada in a few hours. If all
goes well, she should be joining me for some months and I’ll be looking at India with a new pair of eyes!
Take care,
Dery.