One of the contrasts, and it's not so bad.
In one stroll around any part of Delhi, it is obvious Delhi is a city of extreme and innumerable contrasts. Modern cars cruise past sputtering rickshaws, tent communities exist not far from opulent gated communities, and the virtuous mingle amidst touts. Nearly three weeks in Delhi, the contrasts are a comfortable, yet still confounding element of Delhi life. Say many, “live and let live.”
And then yesterday, after an exhausting afternoon in the markets of Old Delhi, I realized that I present and experience contrasting identities in this city, too.
As a volunteer with Vidya, I relish the respect students demonstrate to teachers, and the hospitality women show to guests. The young women call me “Ma’am” or “Teacher,” never allow me to carry my own chair, and are generally pleasant and exceptionally kind. After teaching in DC, where my name was occasionally something other than “Ms. Henderson,” and respect was a daily lesson, the girls’ kindness is welcomed and invigorating. Their eagerness, as I’ve said before, motivates me to work harder for them, and I look forward to our classes.
And this humble identity vanishes the moment I attempt to catch a rickshaw, as I am seen as “the Unsuspecting Silly Western Tourist.” Travel guides warn tourists about the many scams that lurk the streets, mostly the rackets between rickshaw drivers, hotels, and gift shops. Says the rickshaw driver, “I know a very nice place with good prices. I’ll take you.” For every tourist they bring to the shop, they earn a commission. The scams vary, but follow the same principle: convince the tourist they’re knowledgeable and trustworthy, and then scam them for a few (or a lakh) rupees. I read that part of Lonely Planet, and expected the minor annoyance. I was not prepared for the extreme frustration my co-volunteers and I experienced several times over in Old Delhi’s main market, a thriving bazaar frequented by both tourists and Delhiites. The worst of it? Two young men annoyingly chatted us up for ten minutes, and nearly unleashed another identity, The Angry Black Woman. They followed us from a creepy distance and had the tenacity to attempt collaborate with rickshaw drivers we approached. Several hours later, I retreated home, exhausted and resentful.
In any big city, I know, you’ve got to keep your game face on, as danger regularly courts the unsuspecting. Walk the streets confidently, and show no fear. Though we’re regularly inundated with scams via email, face-to-face cons come far less frequently. Yet in the Old Market, Connaught Place, or other tourist spots, there is no delete button and the touts won’t disappear into oblivion. Am I bitter? Yes, at this moment, very bitter towards these guys (because each one has been a male). To be fair, and not become completely frustrated, I have to remind myself that it is confined to a particular community.
My dad always told me you are where you go. Club-heads hang out at clubs, culture-vultures at museums, etc. Hang out at tourist traps, I’ll easily be perceived a tourist and the touts will just happen to stroll up, prepared with five suave English phrases, and initiate their scams. For the next couple weeks, I’m laying off the colorful bazaars and ancient ruins. In a way, this is Delhi’s challenge to me to explore the city as a native. Growing up in a tourist city, avoiding the traps is a game I know well. This evening, I’m headed to dinner and jazz at an out of the way bookstore in South Delhi. I doubt I’ll run into a tout picking up a Lonely Planet. Maybe a teacher for Delhi Public Schools.
And then yesterday, after an exhausting afternoon in the markets of Old Delhi, I realized that I present and experience contrasting identities in this city, too.
As a volunteer with Vidya, I relish the respect students demonstrate to teachers, and the hospitality women show to guests. The young women call me “Ma’am” or “Teacher,” never allow me to carry my own chair, and are generally pleasant and exceptionally kind. After teaching in DC, where my name was occasionally something other than “Ms. Henderson,” and respect was a daily lesson, the girls’ kindness is welcomed and invigorating. Their eagerness, as I’ve said before, motivates me to work harder for them, and I look forward to our classes.
And this humble identity vanishes the moment I attempt to catch a rickshaw, as I am seen as “the Unsuspecting Silly Western Tourist.” Travel guides warn tourists about the many scams that lurk the streets, mostly the rackets between rickshaw drivers, hotels, and gift shops. Says the rickshaw driver, “I know a very nice place with good prices. I’ll take you.” For every tourist they bring to the shop, they earn a commission. The scams vary, but follow the same principle: convince the tourist they’re knowledgeable and trustworthy, and then scam them for a few (or a lakh) rupees. I read that part of Lonely Planet, and expected the minor annoyance. I was not prepared for the extreme frustration my co-volunteers and I experienced several times over in Old Delhi’s main market, a thriving bazaar frequented by both tourists and Delhiites. The worst of it? Two young men annoyingly chatted us up for ten minutes, and nearly unleashed another identity, The Angry Black Woman. They followed us from a creepy distance and had the tenacity to attempt collaborate with rickshaw drivers we approached. Several hours later, I retreated home, exhausted and resentful.
In any big city, I know, you’ve got to keep your game face on, as danger regularly courts the unsuspecting. Walk the streets confidently, and show no fear. Though we’re regularly inundated with scams via email, face-to-face cons come far less frequently. Yet in the Old Market, Connaught Place, or other tourist spots, there is no delete button and the touts won’t disappear into oblivion. Am I bitter? Yes, at this moment, very bitter towards these guys (because each one has been a male). To be fair, and not become completely frustrated, I have to remind myself that it is confined to a particular community.
My dad always told me you are where you go. Club-heads hang out at clubs, culture-vultures at museums, etc. Hang out at tourist traps, I’ll easily be perceived a tourist and the touts will just happen to stroll up, prepared with five suave English phrases, and initiate their scams. For the next couple weeks, I’m laying off the colorful bazaars and ancient ruins. In a way, this is Delhi’s challenge to me to explore the city as a native. Growing up in a tourist city, avoiding the traps is a game I know well. This evening, I’m headed to dinner and jazz at an out of the way bookstore in South Delhi. I doubt I’ll run into a tout picking up a Lonely Planet. Maybe a teacher for Delhi Public Schools.
posted by Rhonda Henderson at 6:55 AM
1 Comments:
Hello,
just passing through, but had to comment. I just got back from France and experienced much of the same things you have. Two weeks after my return to the states, I am just now appreciating my trip and am actually feeling a little nostalgic. Much of the time in Paris, I was worried about being taken in by the many scams and hustles. I ignored some, yelled at many, and literally got physical with someone trying to pick my pocket in the more touristy areas of the city. I was fortunate to be staying about 10 minutes outside of Paris and it was a much needed respite. You have the right idea: get away from the commerical and you'll enjoy your journey more.
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