Bombay and back…
I had a hellish motorcycle journey to get from Bombay to southern
India and Goa. And I was going to try anything to avoid repeating
that when I went back north to fly out of Bombay. I went to a travel
agent and tried to book a train or a flight or a boat or anything
anything besides a bus.
Because of the Duali festival everything was booked solid, but
they could book me on a bus. Great. However the travel agent assured
me that they could book assigned seats on that bus and they could
get me a seat right behind the driver on the opposite side so I
would be right in front of the window with no seats in front of
me. Great I'll take it.
Getting on the bus, I indeed had the first seat on the bus but
the drivers had built a loft and a wall inside the bus to separate
them from the passengers - about six inches in front of my chair,
so when I sat down, and I'm a fairly tall guy at 6'1", if I
sat all the way back in the chair I had a bout an eight of an inch
between my knees and the wall. Wonderful legroom too, I had to tuck
my legs under my seat. Oh yes and the loft for the drivers was built
directly over the first row of seats so that was a good half-inch
above the top of my head. Also my seat was built on some sort of
platform for the engine, only that front row on one side, so that
my seat was about four or five inches lower to the ground than the
normal seats on the bus. All this meant that whenever we hit a bump
or pothole, which is every five seconds or so on the roads in India.
I would first go up and hit my head on the roof and then come down
and hit my knees on the wall in front of me. All this while my legs
were asleep from their cramped unnatural position.
A short fifteen or eighteen hours later I stumbled off the bus
in down town Bombay. I had about another fifteen hours before my
flight left at four in the morning from the Bombay airport. So I
checked my bag in at the train station and went to kill some time.
I sent a package home to the states from the post office, which
was an interesting experience in bribery and bullshit. Of course
you couldn't send that box today, but if you split it in two and
pay this guy to package it and that guy twice for tax on each and
then postage and a little something extra for making this exception,
well then we could do it.
I went to Mac Donald's and ordered a Maharaja Mac, and tripped
on all the signs that said "we do not serve any beef products
in any of our restaurants" the Maharaja (big Mac) was 100%
pure mutton.
I went to a movie and had another experience in extortion. I bought
the ticket and went in and sat down. Then the usher came and moved
me to my assigned seat. Now yes the theater was crowded, but I must
have been seated in the worst seat in the theater. When I complained
about all the empty seats in the theater he very quickly told me
I could buy another ticket.
When I stumbled out of there it was about eight in the evening
and I had no idea what to do until my flight left. I went to an
Internet café and started chatting in a yahoo room. I was
talking to a guy from the Philippines who said he had been in Bombay
a few times. I had heard about a red light district in Bombay that
I heard was a sight to behold with hookers in cages and thousands
of people in the streets. I asked him about it and he gave me the
name of the district so naturally I was on my way.
When I arrived I found my self in a very bad area, and the only
foreigner to be seen. The taxi driver directed me to one place and
brought me in. This was probably the most expensive place there
and I talked for a minute, well she spoke no English at all, so
I sat with a pretty Nepali girl. But I thought I want to see these
damn cages, so I excused my self and went to have a look around.
I walked around the streets and soon figured out that the cages
were actually store front brothels not cells, with bars on the windows,
but they were completely open, I guess cages are what they called
them. Also there were hundreds of Indian girls lining both sides
of the street. Anyone and everyone who spoke ten words of English
rushed me and tried to hustle me off to wherever they were going
to make a commission.
I refused the invitations and eventually made my way back to the
Nepali girl. I negotiated the price with the mama-san. I forget
how much I negotiated for but I took the long time option and was
led back into a little room. I tried to communicate the fact that
I had to leave by two thirty in the morning, and I thought it was
understood.
It was probably around ten or eleven at night and I stayed for
a few hours. Had a hell of a time with the girl, she even had my
laundry done while I was there. Around two I started to get my clothes
on and she started begging me to stay. She was pulling me back on
the bed saying "one more, one more". What's a young man
to do, after two months in the desert I wasn't about to argue with
her. So that was number four. When I got dressed again she still
didn't want me to go so I started drawing little pictures of airplanes
for her so she would understand. I finally got out of the room and
discovered that all the other girls were sleeping on the floor in
the front room and we were all locked in by a big iron gate. Fuck.
They had to call to someone to come down and open it and let me
out. At that point I kind of figured that her affection and attachment
might have something to do with being able to sleep on a bed for
the rest of the night.
I dashed out into the street and jumped into the first taxi I saw.
It was about 3:30 and my flight left at 4:30 or something. First
I had to go to the train station to pick up my bags and then to
the airport which was a ways out side town. I must have jumped into
the slowest damn taxi in Bombay. He couldn't get above twenty-five
mph. We arrived at the train terminal and he wanted a hundred rupee.
Ok that's too much but whatever. I didn't have it on me. I said
how much then to the airport. Three hundred rupee, ok that's four
hundred all together, here's fity, wait here while I get my bags.
I ran into the terminal and weaved my way through hundreds of people
asleep on the floor of the terminal. I had cash in my bags so I
had to wake up the attendant and get the bag. Thirty rupee for the
bag check. I dug out 500 and handed it to them, oh no, of course
they don't have change in a public transit building with several
hundred fuckin customers every day. So I run back out and get the
cabbie and haul him into the terminal to pay the guy with the fifty
I already gave him and then back out to the cab. The cabbie thinks
this is all very strange.
At the cab there are two Indian guys that ask the cab where he
is going and then turn to me in English and say "We are going
to the airport also, can we share the cab with you." I tell
them that I am late for my flight but if we can go to my terminal
first then its ok by me. I also tell them that I have already negotiated
the price so if the cabbie asks for more then they can just cover
that. Very generous of me I thought.
So we set off. It's almost four. And then the cab starts breaking
down. It's a three on the tree transmission and everytime this guy
gets it into third the car dies. We get onto a main road and he
starts to rattle and bump along and gets to about 30mph and pops
it into third and the engine dies. Now he won't pop start it again
in second so every time it dies he coast to a stop and starts the
engine again. This happens about fifteen times. I'm pulling my fuckin
hair out, and the Indian guys are looking at me like I'm crazy,
which I am almost there. Now they tell me also that they are going
to another airport, the domestic airport which is about ten miles
from the international. They also don't have tickets yet, so I figure
this means that I will get dropped first and then they will double
back. I offer to give them the money to pay the cabbie when they
get dropped off, they smile and say that's ok. I didn't get it.
Meanwhile the cab continues to stop every two hundred feet and
now it won't start right away again. We are dead stopped in the
fast lane of the main road to the airport. Cars are coming at us
and honking and swerving out of the way. I realize that the driver
has turned the lights off to save batteries for the starter. That's
it I think I'm getting the fuck out of this moron's cab. When I
voice my decision the Indian guys won't open the doors; of course
I'm in the back seat of a two door. "Were almost there"
they insist.
We finally pull into the domestic airport, I realize with much
shock. The Indians jump out, don't pay, and wave goodbye. I jump
out too and grab my bags, thinking like hell am I riding the rest
of the way with this retard and his broke ass taxi. I flag another
taxi over and he pulls up, my driver yells something in Hindi to
the other driver and he drives away. I'm stuck with this retard.
I get back into the taxi and we start breaking down our way to
the international airport, ten miles down the road. We make it about
four. The cab stops and wont start again. Just then a took-took
driver comes along and my driver talks to him. Then he tells me
I ride with him the rest of the way. I only have a five hundred.
I go to pay my taxi the four I owe him and he says, no five hundred.
Why! "Taxi broken, must pay to fix, you pay more." "I
pay you to go to airport, where the hell is the airport" they
understand me perfectly. "You go with him to airport, you pay
me five hundred" bull shit I think to my self. The took-took
guy speaks English also and asks me how much I owe him. I tell four
hundred rupee. The guy says he will pay him and I pay him back at
the airport. OK. Now I'm on a deserted road on the outskirts of
Bombay at 4:30 in the morning with two of Bombay's most upstanding
citizens, they could have asked for anything. However, the good
news is I probably weigh as much as both these vegetarians put together
and if I'm a miss this plane, god damn I ain't gonna miss this guys
chin. I think they must have sensed it because the took-took guy
piled me in and drove away with the taxi guy holding onto the back
screaming.
We pull into a gas station and the guy needs to get gas first.
A hundred rupee in gas and I pay him for the taxi at the same time.
I go to pay the attendant and he tries to hand me 300. What? Now
I see the dude has my other hundred in his other hand but he wants
keep it. I'm so over the edge now I climb out of the took-took and
keep elevating above these gas station attendants as I stand up.
Then I look down and grab his arm with the 100 first and then the
other one with the 300. Smile and climb back in. The guys laugh
and smile and say, "You big, we kill big." And were off
again.
If you don't know what a took-took is it's basically a motorcycle
converted with a bench and an umbrella cover. We pull into the airport,
I give the guy the other 300 I owe him and then he asks for another
hundred for the ride. I am so pissed, my flight probably already
left and I generally feel like murdering someone. The guy looks
me dead in the eye and says "hey man, don't stress, you just
pay so you can go." I do. Climb out, talk to the curbside guy
and of course the guy brought me to the wrong terminal.
Bombay International Airport is about as big as SFO. I'm on the
wrong side. So I run. Five minutes later I sweat up to the terminal
with my big ass bag and find the ticket counter for check in. I
find it all right but there is no one there. The counter is closed
and all the people are gone.
I see a door behind the counter that has the name of the airline
on it. So naturally I hop the counter and go through the door. I
am in an office, and there is a wall and desk in front of me but
off to the right there is a hall to another office where I hear
voices. So I yell hello and walk in. There are two women there who
I tell that I have a ticket for the flight to Bangkok that night.
They basically laugh and say, "that flight is gone, where were
you."
I briefly explain the taxi broke down and establish the fact that
the plane is still on the ground. I ask if they can radio the plane
and see if I can still board. They say no; there is another fight
on Thursday, its Sunday. I beg. She said she would send a man to
see if we could still go through immigration because the plane was
still on the ground. I followed the man out of the office and out
from behind the counter, through a door this time. We walked down
through the terminal to the immigration and customs counters. There
were about ten counters open and huge lines in front of all of them.
The man from the airline told me to get in a line and then he walked
up to the front by the counters. He came back two minutes later
and said that it was impossible and I should come back with him
to change my ticket.
Back at the office the woman wants to see my ticket again. I'm
still begging. Please get me on the plane, please call some one.
Please help me. Maybe there is some sort of problem and they can't
go yet, maybe maybe I can still get on that plane. "Why would
there be any problem sir?" This is India; there's always a
problem.
She grinned at this, shook her head, and picked up her radio to
call someone. A brief conversation about, what- another passenger-
why is he so late- ok let me check. I forget the woman's name on
the other end of the radio but I remembered it at the time. The
lady in office was telling me that she could book me on the flight
next Thursday and I insisted that I couldn't do that and begged
her to put me on the plane. I was desperate. I recounted more of
the story of the taxi to her, and she shook her head at me some
more.
The voice comes back from the other end of the radio. The woman
says that the flight is already boarded and they cannot accept any
more passengers. That's it. Then the woman in the office tells me
that the woman on the radio is the operations manager for the airline
and if she says no, then the answer is no.
I loose it for real now. I walk over and pick up the radio and
start calling to the woman who had just called and said no. But
some how I realize that this is not cool. I have really overstepped
the boundaries of acceptability now; I am on their radio interfering
with an airline after they have already done favors for me. I put
down the radio and apologize and turn to walk out. I walk out of
the office and down the hall to the front office and I realize I
am going to have to go back to Bombay. I just can't do it. I mean
were the fuck am I going to go at five thirty in the morning. Go
back to the brothel and say, "I'm back" or go to some
hotel and pay for another night. And then what, I just want to get
out of India, I cant bear the thought of another five days in Bombay.
I sit down on the desk, well sort of collapse might be a better
word. I couldn't go on. I just gave up. I said to my self, "God,
I can't do it, if you're really out there what should I do. Please
help me." I said it in the most sincere and heartfelt way,
I was licked, beat, done… stick a fork in me. I felt like crying.
And then I hear the radio in the other room. "Hello, is the
passenger still there?" The woman in the office says, "I
don't know, I think he left" NO I'M HERE, I'M HERE. "Does
he have baggage?" "Yes he has a large rucksack"…
NO, I mean no, I can carry it on, it's carry on size, see. "O.K.,
send him through to immigration I'll meet him at the counter, make
sure he has his boarding pass."
Halehluia!!! I was saved. Now I saw the most efficient airport
work I had ever seen in my life. I had one woman filling out my
boarding pass and processing my ticket, and another filling out
my immigration and customs exit forms for me. Another guy, the one
who had walked me over before helped me separate my small bag from
my backpack and put security tags on them. This all took about thirty
seconds. Then they guy grabbed my bag, forms and passport and ticket
were thrust into my hand and the guy says "RUN". We run
up to the front of the line at the customs counter, I throw my passport
to the guy who catches it in the air stamps it and tosses it back
without me or the baggage guy breaking stride. No, I'm kidding.
But the immigration guy really didn't even look at my passport,
he just grabbed it, randomly opened it, stamped the first page he
saw and handed it back with a "Tank you for vishiting India,
seir."
The lady from the radio was waiting there for me, grabbed my ticket
and boarding pass and said "RUN". We ran down through
the terminal and right onto the boarding gate, where there were
still some passengers waiting to board. I realized that I had not
been through any metal detectors or x-rays at all. I could have
a gun, knife bomb or ten kilos of heroin. Whatever, no matter. I
found my way to my seat and settled in between two gentlemen, a
Muslim in prayer robes and a Hindi in traditional clothes. So I
sat my big, on the buss all damn night, no shower, running through
the airport, unshaven, sweaty, smelly, ass right down and watched
the Bruce Lee movie all the way to Bangkok.
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