Yesterday I was walking in Chowrastra, the tourist area of Darjeeling. I had just gone by a small, private studio where I’d left some black and white film to be processed, or rather just the negatives.
The photo processing places don’t print black and white, so I searched out a fellow who had a small darkroom for passport photos. He said he’d develop the negatives and then I could have prints made with the negatives on color paper.
Of course when I went to pick up the negatives, they were ruined. I don’t think it was the guy’s fault, but instead of bad film. I had had it for quite a while.
Unfazed, I told him I’d come back in a couple days with another roll of black and white to try again. He gave me discouraging advice, Shoot color.
I was walking back home trying to figure out the man’s advice. Does he not want to print my negatives? Does he think that black and white film in this area is bad? Or is he hinting at his inability/unwillingness to print my negatives?
And then someone said my name. I turned around and saw Venu, a N/196 PCV from Nepal, living/working in Janakpur.
He had been in Darjeeling for the past couple of days with three friends from the US who’d he had met in Delhi and then went touring around India with, hitting Agra (Taj Mahal), Benares (ghats on the Ganges), Kolkata (heat?), and finally Darjeeling (scenery).
We made plans to meet later that night, for a beer, at Joey’s. I was late getting back and Binita’s mother was unimpressed with how I’d ran into someone I knew in a place I’d only been living for 12 days.
She was even less impressed with my plans to meet him back in Chowrastra at 8 PM. I was told stories of people being hacked to death on the streets during the Gorkhaland movement and drug addicts openly using during the night.
Now it was my turn to be unimpressed. I narrated stories from Nepal: office blown up, land mines at the airport when my flight was supposed to land, waking-up to gunfire how many times, bomb near my house that rattled my guts, bombs over breakfast at Himanchal Cabin, Birganj’s major shot-to-death in front of the buspark, being poked with a submachine gun at a school once, et cetera.
Over a couple not-awful Bengali Sand Piper beers, Venu narrated his adventures in India with his friends from the States. One had been working in Namibia as a Peace Corps volunteer and began augmenting Venu’s stories with, And I’ve been to some intense places before.
My favorite was Venu’s story about the Taj Mahal.
See, there’s two-tier pricing in India, which means people who don’t look South Asian pay a higher price. For example, the zoo in Darjeeling. I had to pay Rs. 250 to get in, which Binita paid Rs. 10.
Anyhow, Venu is of Indian heritage, but is essentially to India as I am to Denmark. He doesn’t speak Hindi but he did have a plan to get in to the Taj Mahal for Rs. 10.
The day before going to the Taj Mahal, they’d go to the old fortress of Agra. At the ticket gate he had played the part of the mute Indian and just handed the person behind the counter exact change of ten rupees (the non-Asian price is Rs. 500). He got in without a problem.
So the next day he goes to the Taj Mahal and approaches the ticket counter with the same strategy, mute Indian, change in hand. He hands over the change when the guy behind the counter asks in Hindi, What’s in the bag?
Venu, not understanding, smiles and pushes his money towards the man, who instantly makes his mark.
Go back and get a foreigner ticket,
he tells Venu.
And Venu, defeated, spends Rs. 750 instead of Rs. 10. At some point, Venu leaves the Taj Mahal grounds, let’s say to get something to eat.
There’s a big sign that says, Re-entry with ticket only,
and upon returning a new ticket guy is at the counter. Venu shows him his non-Indian ticket stub.
Go back and get a SAARC ticket,
he’s told by yet a different guard.
Of course, the man says this in Hindi and Venu doesn’t understand, just pushes his ticket closer and starts to go in. Finally, the man clarifies in English that he has to buy the Rs. 10 ticket to get in since he’s Asian, more or less.
Venu spends Rs. 760 on tickets at the Taj Mahal, suggesting that he is neither Indian or American, but both. And for that he must pay.
