It was the second dumbest thing I did, leaving India. . . . (The first? Going there alone).
Sunny, a "new friend," had offered to take me to a hotel with him, and I had resolutely declined, and slept atop my luggage instead.When he returned that evening (fresh-smelling and sharp in a clean new shirt), all he did was take one look at my withered appearance and haggard expression and say,"I told you!" Of course he was right; an international airport under construction was a terrible place to spend the night. But I’d known that–my decision was based on preservation of my honor. What girl in her right mind would venture into the unknown depths of Bombay’s nighttime city, headed for a hotel with a strange man? A chivalrous man, but a stranger nonetheless! So I wisely embrace the miserable situation, and stayed at the airport. I prayed all day that the next flight out would have a space for me–even at the cost of my luggage remained behind. . . or, well, maybe. But it turned out to be more crowded than the last flight, and the waitlist of buddy-pass flyers only increased. Fed-up, Sunny went in search of a different route home. But he first gave me some extra money and warned me to eat something, and get out of the airport for some fresher air and "real sleep." So now, this second night, I wistfully watched his tall figure fade into the crowd and felt my sense of security vanish with him, then plucked my small self up to stupidly ventured out on my own for some measure of rest. . . Only to find I was almost about to lose what I had suffered to preserve.
It started out right. Having walked the entire available strip of airport, both outside and inside, I had encountered every individual on ground for more than a few minutes. Five or so immaculate policemen inspected passports at the entry. They were young, proud of their uniforms and weapons, and very talkative to odd, independent American females. So when I decided to leave the airport that night, I asked them to direct me to the safest and cheapest place. They located the airport manager for me. He was a thoughtful, concerned man. He did his best to get me "student price" for a clean, safe hotel nearby. They charged me an extra hundred rupee when I arrived, but that was beyond both our control. And I was tired enough to not care. In a few moments, alone with a hotel porter who wouldn’t leave my room, tiredness vanished completely.
The fiend wanted a tip, after he’d hustled my luggage from my reluctant grasp and whisked it upstairs before I had time to protest. He wanted a hefty tip–another 100rs, which would be almost the last of my money. I was saving that for something to eat. . . I wouldn’t have the strength to take a single step, much less carry my bags, if I went three days without a meal. So I stalled, playing ignorant of their ways to get tipped. It was not customary for locals to tip, but foreigners were easily taken advantage of. After living five months in India, treated as a local, I was not about to give in. That’s when someone should have been there to shout, "Idiot! Pay off!" But no little voice resounded in my head. So I gritted my teeth and thanked him, explained I needed no further assistance, told him goodbye, and busily ignored him. He leaned against the door and busily watched me. That was unacceptable; he had closed and was blocking my way out. Worse yet, he then decided to shown me how to work the switches around the room. He gestured at the light, I glanced up–suddenly we were in total darkness. I was ready to FREAK OUT (alas, I’m calm to I fault–when I should be hollering)!!! I gave up: After frantically getting the light back on, I faced him and asked how much he wanted.
He lit up, delighted to get the outrageous sum he’d demanded, and thanked me at least three times. Yes, yes, no problem, I nodded, anxious for him to leave, and absently reached out to shake his hand when he offered his. He bent down a little, almost a bow, lifted my hand to his lips and kissed. I thought he would do it once and leave, but he pulled my hand nearer and began to kiss it repeatedly. I yanked my hand away in horror. He looked up, mildly surprised, and held out his hand to me again, smiling patiently. Terrified at where my cultural mistake might lead, I shook my head and gasped fiercely, "Enough! Go–now!" To my relief, he suddenly obeyed, backing slowly out the room, his face blank of any expression. The door shut after him. When his footsteps finally faded down the hallway, I leaped to secure the lock, then hastily barricaded the door with my luggage. The heavy suitcases forced between the door and the jut-out bathroom wall, seemed secure. I hoped that whatever events the night entertained would not include me.
The bed was questionable sanitary. I found stray hairs that didn’t come from my head, under the top sheet. Suspicions undeterred, but physically exhausted, after carefully wrapping my hair against possible lice, with the shawl Indian women always wear, I finally flopped down fully dressed (still wearing my sneakers), and. . . No, I couldn’t fall asleep yet. Not so carelessly. It seemed I had just lucked out on not losing my priceless virginity by a silly mistake to a total stranger of questionable health on a dirty bed in a foreign country. I curled up near my God, thanked Him, and had a good hard cry before falling asleep. When I awoke, my feet were extremely cramped. . . I was covered with hairs and balls of lint from the blanket. It didn’t matter. . . I was overdue a shower anyway, ‘cause man, did I stink!
I spent an entire hour letting the water plummet me. It felt great to be clean and cool again. Something about being even a little bit more rested and properly dressed revives a feeling of humanity, vigor, and courage. I still hadn’t eaten, but I was energized enough to get through the morning. I was also angry over the amount of money I’d lost last night, and over the way I was treated. Or the way I had let myself be treated? Either way, it was past time I asserted myself. THIS time, those porters would have to remove my arm from its socket to get a hold of my luggage! Before walking out that room, I would have everything strapped on to my person.
With several hours to waste (it was early morning. plane left at 12 midnight. Must be early 3 hours), the escape plan formulated as I prowled my living space. The windows were large, easy exits. They revealed that I was about two floors up. Not bad. Thick mattress? Check. Long Curtains? Check. Lightweight body? Check. Life was looking good. I mean, survival. But the real test would be whether or not I could pull off the confidant American act at the front desk, when I attempted checkout, demanded a refund, and inquired why my taxi was late. This was the key to true freedom. . .
Or, it felt that way. And I didn’t just mean freedom from the hotel or from the country, although that was the present goal. I knew that my exhaustion and emotions were dramatizing the situation a bit (and more than a bit). But I also knew that the daily reality for countless numbers of people no different from me, is danger and suffering–not half told.
The day was uneventful. I walked right out that place. The taxi ride back to the airport, through winding back alleys of Bombay, was wildly hectic–as usual. But I sat calmly, deep in though. . . I was in reportedly one of the worst cities in the world. Just 12 hours earlier, I had perused a local newspaper and read about thousands of girls missing from their families because they’d been kidnapped and forced into prostitution. I’d heard of brother murdering brother in that city over an argument. I’d met children sold into slavery by their own family’s greed. I’d looked into the eyes of people whose stories of their past would make you shudder. There was no safety anywhere. But I was fine. And so were many others. This was simply home.
The fleeting scenes outside my window were of dirty half-dressed children wandering down filthy streets, looking for food to eat or a stick or scrap of junk to play with. Myriads of people trudged to and fro, coming from who knows what, and headed who knows where. There was no visible beauty. But beauty was there. I had encountered much of it even in India’s cramped and ravaged slums.
It was odd, that balance of aloneness among multitudes, of safety in danger, of beauty in filth. I didn’t know which to close my eyes to in the moment. . . I could revel in the goodness–only, perhaps, to make another mindless mistake and find myself trapped in the evil–along with too many others. Others just like me, who innocently planned a pleasant day, or who were just trying to get things accomplished, or just get from one place to the next, untroubled.
Contemplating my various adventures led to the conclusion that the key to my safety and their possibly freedom was. . . once more: how well I can pull off the confidant act, in situations more inextricable than striding out or slinking past the front desk of a hotel lobby.
How well can I hide my hatred of the evil and filth around me, in order to relate to someone and help draw him or her out from that life?
How well I can mask my own fears and weakness in order to be strong for someone who relies on my strength. . .
How well I really can use the privileges of being an American citizen, in order to improve the lot of someone who otherwise has no voice, and therefore, no rights, no dignity. . .
How well I can fight my own selfishness to help break the inhumane bands that a world’s selfishness has forged around the life of its fellows. . .
The key is me.
And sometimes that means a lot of acting to prevent those sad dramas from taking place.
Okay: It’s true–I’m just a crazy, over-imaginative, frightened girl who can barely take care of myself. But God’s got my back, and He’s taught me a few lessons in the experience. I know I’ll be alright, whatever comes to pass, wherever I go. And now, I don’t plan on going alone!
And it’s true that it those lessons still have to sink in. Confidence will hopefully be more than a mask on my part, deeper than a momentary act.
But today, now that I’m more aware of the risks, I’m that much closer to thinking courageously and slipping a helping arm around someone out there who’s truly alone. In can’t help but ask: Care to join?
