Vignettes of Delhi

Anil says he’s walking with me to Connaught Place because he wants to practice his English, and I don’t know yet that he’s a tout. We talk about the police that were out in force the previous Saturday night (New Year’s Eve), trying to stem Delhi’s big drunk driving problem. “I like that there were so many cops out, since I’m always walking by myself. It makes me feel safe,” I say. He warns, “Don’t go out by yourself at night. The police would not do anything to help you.” I’m surprised. “Really?” He says cheekily, “Haven’t you heard of corruption in India?” I think, but don’t say, “I’ve seen Slumdog Millionaire. Does that count?”

***

As I walk down the street, I see a man and woman digging through the trash ahead of me. Earlier I had seen a man collecting plastic bottles from the trash. Since I’m almost done with my water, I decide to give them my bottle. I drain the water just as I reach the woman and hand the bottle to her. She takes it and gives me a hard look. I stop, unsure of myself. “Oh! Are you not collecting it? Did you—not want it? Should I take it back?” I hold out my hands but she doesn’t move. “I’m sorry,” I say, and race away to catch up to Anil, certain I did something wrong.

***

At India Gate, I sit down to read my guidebook. A ragged little girl comes up and tries to sell me a bead bracelet. I shake my head no. She insists; I resist. She hands me a pencil and pad, which has other people’s names written on it, so I write my name. She then starts making a beaded bracelet with my name on it, even though I tell her no. When she gives it to me, I give it back to her along with 10 rupees ($0.20) and say, “I don’t want it.” She hands the bracelet back. I sigh and say, “How much?” She says, “One hundred rupees ($2).” I tell her, “I really don’t want it,” and try again to give the bracelet back. She runs away. I take a few steps after her and it’s almost like a game, I think she even laughs. Then I put the bracelet down on the steps where she found me and walk away. She must have taken it back. I don’t feel very good about myself.

***

I bargain for the first time on my second day. A teen had given me instructions to India Gate from Connaught Place but told me it was too far to walk. “Take an auto rickshaw. Thirty rupees ($0.60),” she said. I find a driver, tell him my destination, and ask how much. “One hundred rupees,” he says. “Yeah, someone told me thirty so you’re gonna have to come down from that.” “Fifty rupees,” he says. “Forty,” I counter. “Fifty,” he insists. “How about 44?” I say. He looks confused. I explain, “I have four rupees in change that I want to get rid of and—you know what, 50 rupees is fine.” When you find yourself taking a stand over 12 cents, you’ve sunk pretty low.

***

That being said, I did argue over 40 cents. Later, another rickshaw driver wants 100 rupees ($2) to drive me back to my hotel. I say 50. He says 80. I say 50. He says 70, it’s a long way. I go to another guy who hears my destination and turns me down flat. The first guy comes up and says 50. We drive through crowded traffic, narrowly avoiding pedestrians, cars, motorcyclists, and other rickshaws. When we stop I give him 60 rupees and say, “You’re right, it was a long way.” He smiles.