A Cautionary Tale

We took an overnight train to Agra – economy 2^nd sleeper, which means you get three tiers of bunks, and the aisles are busy with food and drink sellers going up and down, and cries of “pani water pani water”, “chai chai chaieeee”, “samosa samosa samosa”. We snatched a few winks of sleep in the gently rocking carriage, and arrived early in the morning to the bustling station.

We had decided to buy our tickets on to Dehradun while we were there, but as the general allowance of tickets had run out (as per usual), we had to wait for the 'tatkal' tickets, which you pay a bit more for. There was a girl managing the line and letting everyone know what was going on. For a while we were able to keep track of who was where in the line, but in the hour before the tickets came available we had to go back and keep our place in the line.

I stood there, people elbowing, packed together (even though there was so much space behind us!), with a short stand-in by Jasmine K after they got some breakfast, until finally we got our tickets, wedged ourselves into a tuk-tuk, and headed for our hostel. We got there, he asked for our passports, I started digging through my bag, and then with a mild puzzlement dug through it again, and then carefully took out everything and put it back.. with a growing sense of alarm I did the same again, ad checked my other bag. By this time the others had realised something was up: I had lost my passport.

Back to the tuk-tuk driver (who was hanging about cos he was still trying to sell us a tour), and back we flew the way we came. We had stopped on the way to take a picture of the Taj Mahal, and I remembered my bag being quite full and juggling things when I fished out my camera, so I thought maybe my passport bag had fallen out there. If it had, there was perhaps one chance in a million that it would still be there. Jasmine and I went up and down the road to no avail. Next stop: the train station. Off we sped, my mind running over all the possibilities and courses of action, trying to work out how bad the worst scenario was going to be.

I went into the ticket room, looked around, and was directed to go ask the station manager. On the way out I saw, mud-stained, crumpled, in a pile of rubbish, my passport packet. My heart just dropped. It was empty.

I continued miserably to the office, and told the manager my story. He nodded, told me to sit down and asked my name. “Jasmin” I said.

He went over to the cupboard, opened it, and handed me my passport. I nearly cried with relief. Thanked him roundly, and left. He said that the sweeping lady had handed it in. I had had a cash card, and US and Thai baht adding to about AU$75. I imagine either someone took it, or it somehow dropped out of my bag when I was in that crazy ticket line.. and whoever took it for some reason just made off with the money and not the passport – even though the passport is worth soo much more on the black market. Crazy. I couldn't believe it.

So yeah, keep being careful with your passports, ok?

Life on the Sunny Side..

When we were in Varanasi, we had a guy jump into our taxi on the way from the airport, who then led us to our guesthouse. We bumped into him a few times after that during the week – he would hang out near a stall that did the best mango shakes in the city (or so they say. Despite our limited experience, we were happy to agree).

Anyway, this small, dapper little man was named Sunny. He showed us around a couple of times, winding through the cobblestoned alleys of the Old City, pointing out 'cheap and best' restaurant places, sighing heavily if he thought we had been ripped off by someone.. The first time or two we were obviously a bit skeptical of him.. Georgie, with a mix of anxiety and annoyance, burst out asking what he expected of us.. He seemed a little surprised, and simply said that he didn't have any expectation, and that he thought that friendship was more important than money.. Which is of course a little unusual for a self-proclaimed tour guide, but which, in the safety of a group of people, I was happy to accept.

On our second-last day we bumped into him again and he helped us find a good pharmacy and then another good restaurant.. anyway one thing led to another and he ended up inviting us to come and eat at his home the next day and meet his mother! Ok, we said. What could go wrong?

Anyway, after a whole series of adventures the next morning trying to find the River Ashram – which is a story in itself (we trekked along the whole length of the ghats, circled temples, went all the way to a cricket stadium, stopped at a 'bread of life' cafe for food, almost gave up but then a random guy in the cafe ended up knowing it and leading us there.. and it was a beautiful oasis of flowers and rugged old arched walls and interesting, people-loving folks..). So yes, then we met up with Sunny and a Chilean friend he'd made the day before, he hailed a few cycle-rickshaws, and we headed to the other side of town.

While we were waiting for lunch (which was delicious puffy fried puris, vegies and sambal) he told us all about his recent trip to France. He had met this french couple a few years ago, and they became best buddies – he called the woman his french mama. Then last year they organised everything for him to be able to come and visit them in France. He showed us photo after photo of his time there, and it was so beautiful. You could just see the joy shining in his eyes.. We'd ask him what he thought of this or that over there, and it was always “too much, I liked it too much!”

My favourite episode was when they were travelling out to the border with Switzerland, and the train stopped at a station where he saw his first snow. He and the guy jumped off the train to take a couple of photos of him in it, and the next thing they knew the train, and the french mama, were chugging off into the distance without him!! Oh dear. “I'll never forget that day, and that town, where I miss my train..” he says.

He told us that some of his rich relatives were jealous of him, because he has just his little house with his mother - and they have so much - but they have never been outside India, and it would be near impossible for them to get the visa to go to Europe, like he did. And so Sunny, just through his friendships, had been given all this..

“You know,” he says, “some people are hungry for money, but I am hungry for love.” And as funny as that sounds, you can see where his valuing of relationships took him!