I honestly can't remember what all I did this day. I guess
maybe after the satisfaction of the Taj I was just in a kind of giddy daze.
I do remember strolling through markets, more interested in gazing at the
handiwork and the people than in shopping.
I think it was this day that I asked a street vendor for a banana. She handed me an entire bunch. I handed them back, asking--and gesturing--for only one. She put the whole bunch in a bag for me and began cutting an orange. I grinned, thanked her and tried half the orange. Yes, it was good. How about ONE orange and just ONE banana?
Before I left the bag had about five bananas and four oranges. I paid, complimented her on her skill in sales, and walked along. Up to this point I'd been a little torn on how to treat the beggars. Everywhere I went little starving children, old feeble people, brutally disfigured cripples, and shabby vagrants would hit me up for money. Generally opposed to such handouts I turned them all down.
But now as I walked along and felt my sleeve tugged by a little hungry child, I looked down to see something other than a plea for money. He wanted a banana.
Realization hit me with a grin as I found both a way to deal with the beggars, and to get rid of all this extra fruit I'd been laughingly pressured into buying. The little boy walked away with his banana and was instantly replaced by another. A third one who wanted money grudgingly took an orange, and one who wanted the last orange I was going to eat had to settle for a banana. The fruit lasted less than two minutes. While these handouts momentarily increased the attention of the beggars, it also made it much more palatable.
Later in the day I strolled through New Delhi's central park, Connaught Place. I sat on a lawn for a moment, and just as I was marveling at how no one had come up begging or trying to sell me anything in a minute or two, a very nice man sat next to me. He asked if I wanted my ears cleaned.
Prepared for my laugh and skepticism, he hauled out a notebook of testimonials from past customers. He picked out a few raves from very satisfied Americans. Apparently he had a skill with a Q-tip unrivalled in the western world. I declined, thanked him, and wished him well. Then I turned to the Lonely Planet travel guide's description of the park, which included:
The very heart of Connaught Place is a park with lawns, gardens and fountains. It's a very welcome place to relax, or would be if you were not constantly pestered by hawkers--shoe cleaners, ear-cleaners and masseurs seem to descend from nowhere as soon as a foreigner sits down, and each has his own book full of glowing reports from satisfied customers. (Delhi, 1996, p. 186)
The description--a couple years old--was as true today as ever. My next visit was from a shoe cleaner.
A friendly man complimented me on my shoes (modern yellow Salomons, a far cry from the cheap, traditional sneakers available in India), and as I thanked him and looked down, we both noticed a huge goose turd on one shoe. He noticed it with a seemingly genuine shock and rushed over with--Lo and Behold!--a shoeshine kit!
Despite my protests he began cleaning the shoe. He had brushes and solvents and eagerly advised me of the corrosive nature of excrement as he scrubbed vigorously away. He chatted away, asking me about home and how I liked India, just like every other Indian I'd spoken to. When he was done, I was prepared to hand him 100 rupees. I was debating giving 200. He asked for 500. I laughed and said "no way!" He stood firm and indignant and insisted that he was a reputable shoe repairman with a shop around the corner which I could visit to see the published prices.
I offered him 200 and saw the disgust well up in his eyes. "But I touched shit for you!" I decided it was going to be 200 or nothing, and I began to walk away. He was fuming. As far as I could tell from my experiences and purchases so far, 200 was generous. I walked away. When he finally--reluctantly--followed and took the 200 rupees, I watched him for a while to see if he had any form of retaliation awaiting me (did he have a pact with the goose?). I got away cleanly, so to speak.
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