Travails of Gullible's Travel

By Lunminthang Haokip *

The Small-Towner: Travelling always is a fascination for any level-headed person with a penchant for the good things of life. It's even more so for the educated ambitious and curious small-town smarty reveling in sub-conscious big-city dreams. The itch to step out of one's age-old surroundings is all the more tempting for one who dwells in the remote sub-Himalayan regions of N.E. India. He is the incurably footloose individual well-liked for his flair to spin yarns about the places and people he reads about in print-media.

AV Age: Visuals, of course, are a greater delight to him. Being a shy guy with an eye for the high life fate denies him, he laps up every frame of the picturesque splashes aired abundantly by cable networks like an exhilarated hypochondriac does at a medical convention. But yeh dil mange much more. There still lurks in his heart a strong urge to switch on to real-life channels and surge forward across mountains to indulge in a once-in-a-decade splurge in the glittering shopping arcades of the talked-about metros.

Lunminthang Haokip: The Author

Passage To India: Favoured by the flattering fraternal niceties of a message that adorningly preface the Preamble of the Indian Constitution, the hill-man's passage to India begins in oodles of optimism. After all, he thinks, this is my 'Indiya'; Sare jahaan se achcha, Hindusthan hamara. Considering his country the best of the lot and himself no less an Indian, the balloon of the highlander's patriotism keeps on inflating. But not for long. The deflating pin-pricks of defrauding tricks hawk-eyed hawkers display at the first big railway station amidst the cacophony of human howling and owlish hooting, set the tone for the rest of the journey taken.

Advance Hassle: The platform coolie may put on an attire akin to Amitabh's in "Coolie" but the demeanor is closer to Amrish Puri's. The ticket quota reserved for the hilly states isn't enough for their extremely mobile student communities. Should the T.T. be approached? But every T.T., irrespective of sectors, is a 'Shahenshah' in soiled tunics flaunting the poker-face of a Satish Shah. Even if the gullible traveler has confirmed tickets he isn't entirely hassle-free. Local mawalis slip in from everywhere to exploit the first-timer's inexperience. However, these little discomforts are like Rajdhani luxury when compared to the travails of a trip by train before the eighties when ticket-booking system wasn't computerized.

The Big Catch: A sumo-wrestler of a man, weighing above 120 kgs, had this tickling tale to tell. In the Nineteen Seventies of the last century, he boarded an ordinary Delhi-bound train at Dimapur in Nagaland. In those days trains were changed at Barauni Junction in Bihar. As soon as his coach screeched to a final halt, a giant of a heavy potter lifted the bulky sojourner on his shoulder, jumped railway tracks and platforms dodging crowds on similarly hectic activity. The human carrier, at last, shoved in and parked his heavy catch on the top wooden berth of a general compartment facing the ceiling fan.

Labour Lost: In the hasty confusion, the pot-bellied passenger hit his nose hard on the fan. His nose bled and he saw red. He wasn't willing to dole out the 50 rupees the coolie asked for the back-aching service rendered. When the double -chinned traveler, in bloody fury, bargained the single-berth fee for Rs.20/, the sweating potter's patience wore thin. Hissing through his teeth, he pulled out and piggy-rode the whale of a man and dumped him back at the spot he was picked up from. For a curt delivery from the pestered passenger, the coolie scored two quick runs. Who scored over whom? It is difficult to say. Shall we call it a case of catch-drop?

Local Bossism: The apathy, deceit and wickedness that a travelling highlander encounters in a train-trip across the Hindi heartland is harrowingly indicative of the collective mind-set of his compatriots. Ticketless or berth-less free¬loaders give scant respect for reservation compartments. If the touring 'pahari' gathers enough guts to dare challenge the dada-giri of the trouble-shooting co-travelling local creep and stop him from bulldozing his way into the former's rightful seat, pat comes a threat in Hindi filmy 'ishtyle' from the latter.

In-Train Thievery: Sleeper-class journeying often means sleepless nights. Frequently put-on and put-off items like sandals and shoes disappear in moments when the presumptuous tourist grabs some shut eyes. Even chains fastened to luggage give no guarantee of safety. Sharp weapons are used to rip open personal belongings made of soft materials. Heads spin, dreams die, patriotism peters out and fraternity fritter away when vital things of travel-value like money and air-tickets (for onward destinations) are looted. This thriving mid-journey thievery goes .against the spirit of "Bharat joro" (knit India)" movement. Isn't a chain as strong as its weakest link?

Pricking Tricks: A sucker is born every minute How true? The suckered sojourner's sorrows are aplenty. Train bogies are notorious for brazen beggars. Using bizarre musical instruments, some strumming, some clanking, they tearfully play or sing haunting numbers of old hits like 'Milan' or 'Dosti'. Phir hhi dil hai lalaach-lhani. They pose blind postures but can clearly read the value of coins. They even have the audacity to abuse in anger if the aim given is below expectation. Add to this the gullible hillman's gloom when hoodwinking hawkers verbally corner him into buying stale-food-stuff, remixed cold-drinks and shady goods of dubious quality and gloat over the glaring deceit. Tripping over the treacherous tricks of the trade-on trains, the travel of the credulous tourist, at times, turns into travail.

Taken For A Ride: The imposing buildings, the fleet of sleek motor cars cruising on tree-lined streets and visually-pleasing flyovers welcome the weary small-town bugger to the national capital. Alighting himself at New Delhi railway station, the chinky guy from the North East forgets the nightmare that was and expects a better deal from civilized Delhites. But cunningly calculating cabbies, like hungry sharks waiting for the prey, vie with one another to literally push in the befuddled visitor inside the cab. Where would he like to go? Not knowing any venue, all he can fumble out is, "take me to a nearby hotel". Sensing his naiveté, the crook behind the wheels takes him for a ride in a crisscrossing detour to charge a hefty fare and finally unload him at a commission-paying lodge in Paharganj. The next morning, much to his regretting hurt, the "pahari" comes to know that his lodge is just a stone's throw from the premises of New Delhi Railway station.

Fencing After Cattle's Death: Cautious with capital C, the highlander, now, in his passage to Delhi, no more wants to have any truck with taxis. He quickly buys a city map-book and soon gets familiar with the old DTC bus-routes. The local names are written in Hindi. But that's not a problem. His knowledge of middle-school Hindi comes handy. The fare is so low, he guesses. Strategically seated by the window, he gets mesmerized looking at the huge sandstone structures of Lutyen's Bungalow Zone (LBZ) in South Delhi, the architectural diversifications in wonder-posh colonies, the well-maintained parks and the awe-inspiring urbane environs that he passes through.

A Fine That Hurts: In his be-dazzling site-seeing, as a small town habit, the day-dreaming commuter chews up the vital parts of the bus-ticket coupon. Suddenly DTC Inspectors enter for random check. None else but the guilty-eyed highlander becomes the obvious target. He is fined. And he feels badly offended; not by the fine-money which isn't much to talk home about, but by the ruthless manner in which he is penalized for violating a petty local norm he wasn't sufficiently warned of.

Dietary Habits: Dusk comes late in Delhi. So does lunch. But, along with the cock, the North East man in the capital metro, gets up at dawn. Accustomed to an age-old 8 a.m. lunch back at home, our man from the border of tropical Myanmar is cold-shouldered in several restaurants hunger takes him to, for an early fill. Break-fast is not his cup of tea. Tea and snacks neither can serve as substitutes for a full solid meal. And when lunch arrives, the starving hill-man, geared to satiate an awesome native appetite, demolishes hillocks of rice in record time.

The Odd Man In: A couple of waiters simultaneously catering to his needs, can not fully do justice to the demands of the angry hungry man. Second-help is chicken feed to him. When half-a-dozen green chilies are crushed, eaten and swallowed up at one go, with no smokes coming out of the ears, as shown in movies, a forest of eyebrows are raised in the neighboring tables. And while the glutton relishes the food stuff, the onlookers wonder as to whether this man uses his head only to keep his thick earlobes apart.

A Twinge of Home-Sickness: Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Away from home for a few days, the vulnerable son of the hilly soil goes sentimental over his own folks. The grip of a twinge of home-sickness develops in him a weakness to shop till he drops for dear daddy, much-missed mummy and loveably silly siblings. The designer dresses in ostentatious display in up¬-market South-Ext or the circular glitz called CP, suit his cultivated taste but not his fast holed-up pocket. Price-tags shock more than the difference in basic cultures of the upland visitor and the visited urbanites.

Window Shopping: Nevertheless, small-town mentality drags him along the air-conditioned floors of the desi 'Harrods' to window-shop till he is stopped. At times, shrewd salesmen see through the act and show him the door. Snubbed by the snobbish bourgeois boutiques where the only smiling being or thing is the motionless mannequin in the glass enclosure, he seeks his own level of shopping class. INA-market needs to undergo a commercial DNA, he feels. Commodities may come cheap in Sorojini Nagar market but it's money wasted if the buys do not reflect the mega-metro outlook. And his pocket reminds him that he is not molded for glitzy shopping malls.

Seeking His Own Level: So he finally settles for the middle-class paradise known in the shopping world as Karol Bagh. There he bargains to his heart's content. But he soon sulks in malignant silence when insulted by a stray racist salesman's summon by tongue-in-cheek noises or when mistakenly addressed as a Nepali 'Kanchha' in bad taste. And in a haste, he packs his pride up out of the suffocating city and heads eastward for the lush green hill-towns where a flat nose and narrow eyes aren't a liability.

Fated To Struggle: What is not there in a name? The tribal with any other name would have been more respectable. Considerable brown-skinned settlers of fabled origins, in the absence of a systematically chronicled history, had lived in now volatile, now clandestine rebellion, in the serpentine terrains sandwiched by the plains of Assam and Burma for many centuries. It wasn't their fault if they were divided as Indians and Burmese (now Myanmarese) by the political accidents of the 20th century. Successive vindictive crucial political decisions and indecisions stood firm unapologetic between what the otherwise equally civilized ethnic groups of South-East Asian-like people would have been and what they actually are.

NE India Needs A Lift: Ill-connected and hill-oriented, development came late to this distinct racial entity of Mongoloid features. Historical and geographical factors failed by lop-sided policies in key quarters debar them from a conscious awareness that's on par with the mainland brethren. Due to apparent backwardness that conceals inherent forwardness, they were listed as STs. But given equal opportunities, they are second to none.

The Contradictory Pulls: Their plight may be 'Hindusthani' but the pride is 'Japani'. The get-up may be that of 'pahari' but the mental make-up is 'Jewish-thani'. What an irony? The problem with the average N.E. hill-man is that the coverage by scheduled classification puts his societal leverage at a disadvantage; but he stubbornly considers himself inferior to none. Fed Indian Literature in schools and colleges and taught Christian scripture in the Church, and reminded his 'odd' looks at every turn outside his comfort region, the NE Indian is a confused wreck at times when his identity is made a subject of ridicule.

Prejudiced Outlook: The outsiders may have many opinions about the seven sister and one brother states located east of the chicken-neck on the map of India. Policies might have played partial in developmental agenda. The slow pace of progress in the sub-Himalayan terrains had been blamed for the static economic growth percentage of the nation without addressing the mysterious reasons as to why the backward North East had been so and denied certain privileges the mainland counterparts are enjoying.

The Saving Grace: However, compelling impulses to feel alienated had been checked and balanced by the finer contents of the Gospel the seed of which had been sown by the western missionaries in the minds of most of the hill settlers, by and large. The Word of God had a calming effect on troubled times and situations. Believers had been nurtured to imagine and cultivate a sense of humour. For imagination was given to man to compensate him for what he is not; and a sense of humour, to consle him for what he is.

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Lunminthang Haokip

* Lunminthang Haokip, a resident of Old Lambulane, Imphal is a regular contributor to e-pao.net.
The writer self-describes himself as 'an occasional pen-pusher and a regular reader of E-pao!!!' . He can be contacted at minth8657(at)gmail(dot)com.
This article was webcasted on August 30, 2010.

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