When I left you last I was taking an autorickshaw ride in Delhi. It was the morning of my arrival and after a few hours sleep I had some hours to kill before my train was due, so I thought I’d take a wander. I left my hotel and had walked about 50 metres before I was approached by a passing rickshaw.
”Sir, if you are looking for market, it is down that way”.
”Thanks, mate”.
”You are welcome. Or, I could take you there for 20 rupees”.
Good sales pitch, mate. I hopped in.
My driver was Chopra, and he was very keen to show me the sights, particularly the market. I knew he would have friends and rellies who owned shops, from whom he would get a commission if I bought something, so I set him straight early.
”Chopra, I don’t want to do any shopping, thanks. I want something to eat, I want to go to a bank and then back to my hotel, please”.
”No market?”
”No”.
”Ok, ok. First we stop for a free map of Delhi”.
I didn’t need a free map of Delhi, and I knew this would be a scam too, but I had time to kill and, once again, I was curious.
We stopped at an office which bore a title of something like, ‘Official Delhi Tourism Centre’ – which was a sure sign that it wasn’t. Chopra and I passed several other drivers waiting outside and entered. I was shown to an office and given a seat, Chopra indicating to me that he would wait outside. A man soon entered and shook my hand. He sat down and called out to someone in another office, saying to me, “I’ll get you free tourist map”. He then asked me how long I would be in Delhi and what my plans were. I repeated what I had already explained to Chopra, that I was leaving that day. He asked me a few more questions, including if I was planning on coming back and, if so, when.
”I don’t know”
”You don’t know?”
”I don’t know”.
Good on him for trying, but he was barking up the wrong tree. Soon a young man came in with a photocopied map of Delhi. My host handed it to me and wished me safe travel. Cheers.
As I left I could hear a European accent coming from another cubicle, and I wondered how many gullible tourists get booked on over-priced or – worse yet – imaginary tours and trips from this office, but maybe I’m just too cynical. Outside, Chopra looked a bit crestfallen when he saw how quickly I had reemerged. He would’ve gained a commission from anything I had bought.
”All right, sir, we go to market”.
”No thanks, Chopra. I’d like something to eat”.
We stopped at a food-hall establishment that looked bright and cheery and had plenty of people inside. Chopra came in with me and helped me navigate the various menus. I ended up getting a ‘masala dosa’, which is like a pancake stuffed with curried vegetables, and the obligatory chai. Very tasty.
”Now I think you would like to see the market, sir”.
”No thanks, Chopra. I’d like to go to a bank, please”.
”Ok, ok, no problem”.
It took Chopra two attempts to find a bank that would do foreign exchange, so at least I knew he wasn’t trying to rip me off through dodgy mates. Some more rupees in hand, I had already had enough of the chaos of Delhi traffic and was keen to get to the train station. I was about 95% sure I had booked the right train and knew where it was leaving from, but I wouldn’t really relax until I was at the station and saw my name on the list.
”Back to the hotel, thanks, Chopra”
”Not the market?”
Sigh.
”No, not the market, thanks.”
On the way back we stopped and Chopra pointed out the market to me.
”Look, sir, there is the market”.
”Very nice. Hotel, please”.
We stopped at one more office, which Chopra explained was the ‘head tourist office’, not a regional office, like the previous one. I reminded him I didn’t need any tourist advice as I was leaving that day, but he insisted it would be of benefit to me. Maybe it was my casual manner and the fact that I hadn’t gotten annoyed with him that convinced him to give it another shot. I didn’t really mind – I was having fun and felt in no danger of succumbing to any scams. And I couldn’t really blame Chopra – this was how he made his living.
Over breakfast he had told me he had three sons, one of whom was working at a restaurant in England. He showed me his cell-phone, bearing a number beginning ’0044′ as proof of this.
”He is working for 2 years, then coming home”.
I asked how much his son was earning.
The reply was £20,000.
“Is this good?”
In London? Well, not really. But then, I had no idea what his living costs were, or what his prospects or earning potential back here were.
“Sure”.
My visit to this second office was even briefer than the first. I sat, smiling, and explained that there was nothing they could do for me, thank you. This second chap was a bit more enterprising than his predecessor. When he heard I was bound for Nepal he attempted to sell me a flight to Kathmandu.
”No thanks. I want to travel by train”.
He looked a bit incredulous at this, but obviously realised he was wasting his time. As I left I noticed a confused looking Asian lady sitting in an office, being spoken to. I felt sorry for her, but nobody was holding a gun to her head.
By now Chopra had well and truly given up on me. He took me back to my hotel and I asked him to wait while I checked out. He did so, and then I asked him to take me to the Old Delhi train station. On the way we stopped and I swapped auto-rickshaws, Chopra explaining that he had received a call from his wife and had to go. I paid him the fee we had agreed on and he gave some of this to my new driver. I half expected an argument with this guy when we got there, but it didn’t eventuate and I was dropped off with my bags outside the station.
