by Ning Cai
As I lay in the dark, I was suddenly aware that I was very far away from home. But I was snug under the thick covers with my best friend, and my dad in the next room, with the warmth and protection of a Kashmiri family embracing me. My heart felt full and I drifted off to sleep with a contented smile on my face.
I liked Adil’s family. Although we did not understand their language and they did not understand ours, it was amazing how much we could communicate without words. Hospitality is like that, I realise. It’s the same around the world, regardless of where you are. Actions speak louder than words, and the human heart receives and understands them fully.
We stayed with Adil’s family for three nights and I actually felt sad to leave when the time came. Ning and I had grown quite attached to the girls, who always looked forward to seeing us in the mornings, chatting with us, and sharing with us everything about their culture. They clung to us and hugged us as we said our goodbyes on the narrow street where we’d arrived several nights ago. They told us they loved us, and that they hoped to see us again.
“We’ll see you in Singapore!” I said, sounding as optimistic as I could. At the back of my mind, I wasn’t sure when that would happen, or if it would at all.
“Most definitely!” Shazoo and Saba chorused.
My dad mentioned once to us that no matter how educated the girls in Kashmir are, they usually let their university education go down the drain when they marry and become mothers. Their lives are expected to revolve around their husbands and children, and few of them ever go out to work or leave their homes to travel. It saddened me, looking at these feisty, idealistic young girls who’d promised that they would come visit us.
But I believe that things change with time, and with education. I have witnessed that in my lifetime, in so many countries. I do hope that through us, these girls have glimpsed a bigger world beyond their own. And perhaps that call to see the world might be loud enough for them to break down barriers for. Who knows?
(L to R) Shazoo, Ning, Pam, Saba at breakfast. Meals were always scrumptious!
Kashmiri hospitality: Ning with Shazoo, Saba and Pam’s dad’s business partner Adil, who invited us to stay in his home.
24
legendary love
Agra · October 2011
NING
Closing my tattered copy of E.E. Cumming’s book of poetry, I focussed on the historic monument of glittering white marble before us and sighed at its beauty. Pam and I were at Taj Mahal, one of the renowned man-made wonders of the world, and I was certain that the beautiful poem, i carry your heart with me(i carry it in), was something Shah Jahan might have murmured to his soulmate, Mumtaz Mahal.
“Isn’t it gorgeous?” Pam exclaimed, awestruck by the symbolism of the Taj, perhaps the ultimate definition of undying love and devotion. We were in Agra, the unofficial capital of love in India thanks to the Mughal emperor’s generous gift to his queen.
“Absolutely,” I agreed as I gazed back at the massive mausoleum from the bench where we sat to rest our tired feet. “The Taj has got to be the most romantic gesture any man has shown his woman. What an amazing love story. Sad that it ended rather tragically though.”
The construction of the Taj Mahal saw the employment of over a thousand skilled artisans and craftsmen, and it took more than twenty years to build. The mausoleum houses the tombs of both lovers and is visited by millions each year. Mumtaz had died during the birth of their last child and the Mughal emperor was never the same after.
It is never easy when you’re the one left behind.
Murphy’s Law came to play. Shah Jahan’s power-hungry son Aurangzeb later usurped the throne and banished his father to the Agra Fort, where the heartbroken man inevitably suffered, pined and wasted away, forever gazing out of his window toward the Taj where his beloved’s body lay. When Shah Jahan eventually passed away, he was laid to rest by his queen’s side.
“Do you think an undying love like theirs can still exist today?” Faint echoes of my favourite E.E. Cummings poem ebbed softly in my mind.
“Yes,” the BFF answered confidently.
I turned and looked at Pam, surprised by her quick reply. The BFF returned my stare with clear, bright eyes. To be honest, I had expected her to be a tad jaded about love since her marriage to her university sweetheart did not work out, leaving her a single mum of two young boys. It suddenly struck me that I was the more jaded of us two when it came to love and relationships.
Being in the presence of this monument of love reminded me of Plato’s soulmate theory. It is said that at the beginning of time, everyone had four legs and two heads. People were happy and content, but the Gods who watched them from the top of Mount Olympus grew envious and petty.
One night when all the world was asleep, in a storm of jealous rage, Zeus threw down massive lightning bolts to separate every human being. Split into two halves and lost in the confusion, people now spend the rest of their lives searching for their other half to complete them and make them whole once again.
This might go beyond logic but my heart knows, somewhere in a much better place, Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal are happily reunited. And I thank them for leaving us not just the beautiful Taj Mahal but also their beautiful love story.
Us with Pam’s dad at the Taj Mahal.
25
conning the conjuror
Agra . October 2011
NING
Pam and I have absolutely no qualms about using local transportation in India, be it the long-distance buses or local tuk tuks, but our first day in Agra – home to the majestic Taj Mahal – was extremely stressful, thanks to a local tuk tuk driver from hell.
Like an aggressive bloodhound with eyes set on his hapless prey, the slick and well-spoken man had targeted the three of us from the moment we had got off the overnight bus from Jaipur, since we obviously stood out from the other Indian commuters.
Relatively fluent in English, the thin bespectacled man disturbed me greatly because there was just something not quite right about him. I couldn’t put my finger on it just yet, but I was perturbed that the BFF was considering hiring the tuk tuk driver as our guide for our two-day stay in Agra.
“Really?” I whispered to Pam, as “Alexander” cranked up his charm meter and tried his best to impress Uncle Pat, the BFF’s well-travelled father. “Doesn’t he give you a bad vibe?”
Alarm bells had sounded in my head when “Alexander” was driving us to our pre-booked hotel. Fishing out a handwritten letter from the glove compartment of his old tuk tuk, our driver urged us to read it. He gave a crooked smile, showing us yellow teeth stained from years of smoking.
Uncle Pat seemed completely disinterested so the Indian man pushed the folded paper into my hands. He tried a big smile again, but it seemed forced and plastic. “This from family in United Kingdom.”
With the wind whipping through my hair, I unfolded the handwritten letter and scanned its contents before passing it to the BFF seated next to me at the back of the tuk tuk. I turned my head away and watched a young Indian boy feed his thin cow until they disappeared from view.
In the letter, the English family allegedly praised their dear friend “Alexander” for being a wonderfully superb guide and driver, and they completely adored him. His fee was unbelievably low and he completely deserved the big tip they gave him at the end, as a sincere gesture of their thanks. Funny how this family never wrote anything about the iconic tourist spots they went to, but just marketed... I mean, mentioned... how supremely brilliant this guy’s service was.
After reading it, Pam handed the letter to her father, who was seated in front with the tuk tuk driver. Uncle Pat didn’t even bother with it. “Alexander” pocketed the handwritten note and started making small talk about how lousy our booked hotel was, recommending another that was supposedly better, much cheaper and nearer the Taj Mahal.
“ !” I rolled my eyes at the BFF, not bothering to hide my disdain. “OMG. Seriously? I’m sure he’s a con man! It’s d
odgy, I bet he even wrote that letter himself.”
I tuned out as Pam and her dad allowed “Alexander” to engage them in conversation about first bringing us to our pre-arranged hotel and then showing us some recommendations should we not like what we saw. I had a really, really bad feeling about him... and my gut feel has never once let me down.
Without warning, “Alexander” killed the engine and enthusiastically urged us to follow him into the shabby roadside hotel he had stopped in front of. I wanted to object, but Uncle Pat graciously obliged and went in to have a look with our animated tuk tuk driver. He returned after a few short minutes, dissatisfaction written all over his usual jovial face.
“The bathrooms are awful. Let’s go to our original hotel. We’ll decide if we want another hotel after we see it,” Uncle Pat kindly instructed. Gunning the engine and starting his tuk tuk again, the Indian man oozed into a smooth monologue of how the Taj Mahal is best seen at dawn and at dusk, a secret he had discovered when he was a little boy.
Like a petulant teenager stuck in a boring class, I closed my eyes and yawned loudly, tired of the man’s bullshit. The BFF caught my eye and stifled a giggle.
Stopping at the nice hotel that we had rung up days ago to reserve two rooms, Pam got up and went inside to check things out first, at her father’s suggestion. My eyes narrowed when “Alexander” quickly scampered in after her, like a big rat up to something.
All our belongings were with me at the back of the small tuk tuk, so I took the chance to move things around to provide a bit more leg room. Uncle Pat sat in front, deep in thought. I leaned forward and asked his opinion about the situation. The savvy businessman shook his head wearily.
“This tuk tuk man is only interested in one thing. Money. He wants his 30 percent commission from the hotel, which comes from us. That’s why he’s pushing these hotels so strongly. 30 percent is a lot of money for them. These tuk tuk drivers all know they can make so much more doing this middleman role than actually driving their tuk tuks.”
I waved away an irritating fat fly that was buzzing around us. “Uncle, I’ll go check on Pam, in case she needs some help. I really don’t like that guy, he makes me uneasy.”
“He’s too smooth,” Uncle Pat agreed.
As it turned out, there was a late group check-out
so our reserved rooms would not be ready until at least about three hours later. Pam decided not to wait, since there were plenty of other choices in Agra.
While walking back to our ride, the BFF mumbled under her breath about “Alexander” trying to claim full credit for introducing the hotel to us, despite us already having made a prior booking.
“Good on you. He just wants our money,” I told Pam about the standard 30 percent commission. Hotels would charge tourists more to pay the local driver who convinced them to stay there. “Alexander” was following quietly behind us but I didn’t care to speak in Mandarin. I figured, all the better if he heard us and understood that we weren’t dumb, naive tourists.
As he gunned his tuk tuk to life this time, our driver was clearly not as smiley and enthusiastic as before. But he perked up again when Uncle Pat mentioned a hotel, a particular place he usually stayed at when he was in the area.
We were given an earful about how there were many quality places to stay at in Agra and how he could recommend us some. Before we reached our destination, however, Uncle Pat got him to stop and on his cue, we all got out of the tuk tuk with our bags.
“But where will you go?” the Indian man demanded, unhappy with the money I had handed him even though it was much more than what we had agreed on prior. Following Charlie Sheen’s philosophy about not paying for sex but paying for the girls to leave, I wasn’t paying “Alexander” for driving us around; I was paying for the guy to leave us alone.
The dark-skinned man pocketed the money but still looked obviously upset and dissatisfied. “Where will you stay?”
“Don’t worry,” Uncle Pat coolly replied. “My business partner is nearby and will drive over to pick us up. Thank you.”
I was really impressed with how Pam’s father handled the situation. We crossed the road and left the brooding “Alexander” and his tuk tuk by the side of the road. I felt so relieved to finally be rid of the man. Walking into the nearest decent hotel, we enquired about rates but were turned away because it was fully booked.
“Let’s go grab some lunch,” I suggested, since Pizza Hut was just next door. “It’s already past noon anyway. We’ll find a hotel after.”
We were ushered to a window table and it was only after ordering our food that we realised how famished we really were, having missed last night’s dinner and today’s breakfast. That was when I looked out the window and noticed a man standing outside, spying on us.
I choked and snorted soda up my nose. Ouch.
I thought my tired eyes were playing tricks with me, manifesting a nightmare that we’d just escaped from in broad daylight. So I blinked again but there he was, hiding behind a rusty old truck, watching us like we were unsuspecting game at feeding time. Unnerved, I felt a shiver despite the warm Indian weather.
With his dry mouth gaping open and thin wrinkly neck craned, “Alexander” really reminded me of an old snapping turtle. I can now say that I am completely able to relate to the absolute horror and disgust that Sam experienced when he realised that Gollum was tailing him and Frodo, in JRR Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings masterpiece.
“Oh. My. God. He hasn’t given up!” I looked down at my empty plate, my face turning a shade of green. “Don’t look now but he’s there, outside. Watching us. By the green delivery truck.”
Indiscreetly, Pam and Uncle Pat both immediately turned to look outside the window. (Having studied Psychology, the BFF always says people can never process the word “don’t”, like DON’T THINK OF A PURPLE AND GREEN MERLION DANCING IN YOUR LIVING ROOM RIGHT NOW!!! And I must say it’s quite true... you did think of it, right?)
Our relentless tuk tuk driver “Alexander” must have noticed us staring back at him, because he physically shrank away. I sighed, weary and annoyed that we hadn’t successfully shaken him off. The wily Indian man was still hot on our tails, relentless about his 30 percent.
“Never mind,” Uncle Pat shook his head, placing both hands over his tummy. He looked so endearing in his traditional Kashmiri kurta and jutas. “Let’s just take our time here and enjoy lunch.”
“Hopefully that stupid man will get tired of waiting and leave us alone,” Pam frowned, glaring daggers at our stalker through the glass that separated us. “What an asshole.”
Thankfully, the tuk tuk man disappeared after our pizzas arrived. I felt incredibly relieved and that I could enjoy my lunch better, without some dark evil spirit loitering ominously and watching me chew my food, as if this would be my last meal on earth...
I noticed that “Alexander” was not in sight even when we paid our bill and left the restaurant. Uncle Pat flashed his easy-going grin, which made him look like a good-natured gummy bear. “Let’s go!”
We walked a short distance until we came to a decent-looking hotel. Since their rates were very reasonable, we took two of their available rooms after checking them out. Just as we were filling in their registration book and making the upfront payment, a stranger walked in, claiming to be our tuk tuk driver who had recommended the hotel.
“But who is he? We’ve never seen him before!” Pam blurted, completely incredulous that someone would try to claim credit just like that. She turned to face the hotel manager, who had met us outside at the gates. “You saw us walking in alone, we just came from lunch!”
The opportunist was quickly chased out of the hotel by security and we continued filling in our particulars in the registration book, more annoyed than anything. I had just picked up the pen, when a familiar bespectacled thin man cockily slunk into the hotel and smiled his horrible yellow grin.
Loudly so everyone could hear, “Alexander” greeted us warmly like we were old friends. I
felt my stomach lurch. Was there no escaping this crafty tuk tuk man? “Alexander” had somehow found us and now knew where we would be staying for the next few days. The thought made me deeply uncomfortable and nervous.
Drama ensued when our tuk tuk driver was aggressively adamant about having brought us here from the bus station, and demanded his 30 percent commission from the hotel. However, despite all his shouting and taunting, the staff managed to forcefully wrestle him out. “Alexander” was furious but there was nothing he could do. He finally skulked away and I prayed that this would be the last we ever saw of this awful man.
* * *
On the day we were leaving Agra, we purchased evening bus tickets bound for Delhi, where Pam and I were to board our plane for Cochin, Kerala. Our bus was slated to leave at 7pm, but Uncle Pat wanted to try exchanging our tickets for the earlier 2pm ride so we checked out of the hotel at noon and rode a tuk tuk to the bus station.
After queuing up for a long time at the bus station, we found out from the ticket counter staff that the 2pm bus to Delhi was already full so we had no choice but to wait till 7pm for our ride. I shrugged, figuring that there was nothing we could do about it and that I could always scribble in my journal or read a book to pass the time.
I quickly realised that the three of us Singaporeans were the only foreigners at the bustling bus station, and we stood out like white coconut milk on dark pulut hitam (an Asian black glutinous rice dessert). Foreign tourists usually chose domestic flights over long-distance bus rides. And for good reasons.
Locals sat on the dirty bus station floor, which looked like it had not been cleaned since the 1950s when it was possibly first constructed. I noticed a few people getting up to urinate on a wall several metres away, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.