Are You Experienced?

houses, too – it’s obviously not

such

a poor country.

Then some kid, who I have to admit did look pretty grubby, emerged from behind me and started tugging at my sleeve. She cupped her other hand in front of me.

That reminds me, I thought. I have to change some money.

‘No, sorry,’ I said, and started walking again.

The kid didn’t let go of my arm, though. She just carried on walking down the street with me, tugging at my sleeve.

‘No, sorry,’ I said again.

She carried on tugging.

‘Look – I haven’t got any coins.’

She tugged harder, and whined a word at me that I couldn’t understand.

‘NO COINS,’ I said, and walked off at a brisk pace.

Although she was now half running, she kept up with me and tapped my arm whenever she could reach it.

I stopped walking. ‘LOOK – NO COINS. I’M GOING TO THE BANK NOW. NO MONEY.’

We stared at each other. She didn’t flinch. It was clear that whatever I said, she wasn’t going to leave me alone.

I set off again, as fast as I could without breaking into a run, but still she kept up with me. When I stopped, she tugged at my sleeve again.

‘Get off,’ I said.

She didn’t move.

‘Leave me alone.’

She stared at me, with enormous miserable eyes. I really did wish I had some money now, partly to get rid of her, but also because the sight of her made me feel like a disgusting human being. It felt as if she were an inhabitant of hell who had been sent to haunt me – to remind me how rich and lucky I was, and how I didn’t deserve anything that I had.

I didn’t

want

to be reminded how rich and lucky I was – especially since at that moment I was feeling particularly unlucky: trapped in unbelievable heat in a repulsive, filthy, threatening country, pinned to the spot by a five-year-old girl who wanted my money.

We stared at each other. I tried to stop myself thinking about what kind of a life this girl must lead, and even fleetingly imagined that she was looking into my eyes, wondering what kind of life

I

led. A snapshot of home popped up in my mind, making me feel instantly homesick and guilty.

‘Go away,’ I said, weakly.

She didn’t move. I took a couple of steps, and again she followed me, still tugging at my sleeve.

Exasperated, I turned round and pushed her away, gently enough for her not to fall over, hard enough to make her take a couple of steps backwards. She stayed there, still eyeballing me.

I walked away, and this time she didn’t follow.

I tried not to let myself think about what had just happened. It was just something I would have to get used to. There must be a way of shrugging them off. There must be a way that Indians deal with it. I’d just have to learn.

For an instant, I felt excited. This was going to be a battle. I was at last properly challenging myself.

Then I felt depressed again. The pebbles were back in my stomach.

By now I was in the main street. Over the road, I could see a bank. I crossed over and went in.

They ignore it

When I got back to the hotel, Liz and Jeremy were curled up on a bed with a map of India, giggling together. As soon as I entered the room, they both stopped laughing and gave me guilty looks, followed by badly concealed smirks.

‘Do either of you want to go and eat?’ I said.

‘Why not?’ said Liz, giving me a weak don’t-worry-nothing-happened smile.

‘Where can you get a good Chinese round here?’ I said.

They both frowned at me.

‘Joke,’ I explained.

‘Oh, right,’ said Jeremy. ‘I see.’

‘Where do you recommend?’ said Liz, with a pout.

‘A number of places,’ said Jeremy. ‘I presume you want vegetarian.’

‘Of course.’

‘What?’ I said. ‘You’re not a vegetarian.’

‘I am now,’ said Liz. ‘It’s the best way to stay healthy. Eat what the locals eat. Indigenous food.’

‘Did you tell her that?’ I said.

‘Of course. It’s well known that the meat here is unhealthy. You only have to see the way it sits around covered in flies. Of course, I’ve been a vegetarian since I was five. I never could stomach the stuff, and it took me five years to get up the courage to say so. It’s deeply ingrained in Western culture that the only

real

meal is a meat-based…’

‘Are you saying that the meat here’s not safe?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘You reckon that if I eat it I’ll get sick.’

‘Almost certainly, yes.’

‘I don’t believe this! Are you serious?’

‘Of course I am.’

‘No – you’re joking, aren’t you?’

‘I’m not. It’s common knowledge.’

‘You are. You’re joking.’

‘Look – eat what you want. I couldn’t give two shits. But I won’t be around to carry you to hospital.’

The minute we stepped out of the hotel, the girl who had been trying to beg from me earlier started following us down the street, tugging each of our sleeves one by one. For a while, no one spoke.

Then, suddenly, Jeremy spun round, gave the girl a menacing look, and shouted in her face, ‘NO. NO BAKSHEESH.’

She didn’t move.

‘PSSHHT!PSSHHT!’ He hissed at her, waving her away with his arms, trying to frighten her off as if she were an under-intelligent dog.

Then he grabbed her upper arm and shook her once, quite hard. Her expression remained totally blank, and she didn’t move.

‘PSSHHT!’ he hissed.

This time she obeyed, quietly turning round, and heading back to her waiting spot outside the hotel.

The three of us walked on in embarrassed silence. I was shocked that Jeremy could be so callous. Registering the look on my face, he gave a you’re-so-naïve-I’m-so-wise chuckle. ‘They’re not real beggars those children,’ he said. ‘They just target the tourist hotels. You’d never see an Indian giving them any money.’

‘Looked like a beggar to me. She wasn’t exactly plump, was she?’

‘They’re run by gang leaders who take whatever money they get.’

‘The kids don’t get anything?’

‘Of course not. It’s all run by pimps.’

‘What happens if they end the day without any money, though?’