Traveling in India, Part 2: Duty
Varanasi was one of the larger cities
our tour group visited during our trip through northern India. We were there for 2 days. After our boat trip down the Ganges river, we got off at one of the ghats and walked through a market to get to some rickshaws that would take us to our transportation. At the top of the ghat, there were several vendors selling various items: henna, bindis, postcards and such. The vendors spoke good enough English and followed us around trying to sell us something. Some of us talked to them and looked at what they had.
I wasn't interested in the colorful henna and I had already bought bindis and postcards at a previous location. I thanked the vendor and walked away. He followed me, calling out lower prices on his items. I turned and smiled and said no thank you. He lowered the price yet again. I expained to him that it wasn't the price. He was already selling things to me for mere cents. I just wasn't interested in what he was selling. We arrived at the rickshaws and I got on and started rolling away. The vendor called out to me, "Maybe tomorrow." I replied, "Maybe." That was a mistake.
The next day, our tour guide took us to the market we had walked though. We were thrilled because this was a large outdoor market with stall after stall of interesting Indian jewelry, shoes, clothes, handicrafts, household items, perfumes, henna, spices, and essential oils. We walked through the market in groups of 2 or 3, for safety as well as to not get too lost. As I was walking down one corridor, the vendor from the day before saw me and came to me. He reminded me that I had told him the day before that maybe I would buy something from him today. He eyed the bags of items I had purchased. I asked him what he was selling. He showed me the same things he showed me the day before. Things I wasn't interested in buying.
I tried to explain to him that I didn't want what he had and he insisted on lowering the price on items I didn't want. I was confused by our exchange. Was this some kind of language issue? Or was something more going on? I knew that I could just buy something from him, give him some money that didn't mean much to me but probably did for him, in exchange for something that didn't mean anything to me. But that felt wrong. Just then, I saw my tour guide walking through an intersecting corridor. I called out and walked over to him. I asked if it would be appropriate to ask the vendor to take a picture with me in exchange for some money. A tip. My tour guide said why not. I asked him how much was approrpiate to give and he told me an amount that seemed ridiculously low.
I walked back to the vendor. I told him there was something I did want. A picture with him. This seemed to cheer him up. Another vendor took our picture together. I thanked them both, gave the other vendor the amount my tour guide recommended and gave my vendor about double that amount, which was still a ridiculously low amount. The other vendor said thank you and walked away. My vendor stared at the coins in his open palm. Then he looked up at me and said he didn't want the money. He gave it back. Then he asked me to delete the picture and he insisted that I show him that I deleted it. Then he turned and walked away from me.
All the air had left my lungs when he gave me the money back. I felt myself drowning in shame, although I didn't know what I should be ashamed of. I left the market then with my bags of purchases which suddenly felt a lot heavier, walked to the rickshaws which took me to our tour bus, and got on. I sat in a seat towards the back, next to the window. The bus was big enough that we had the option of sitting with someone or sitting alone. I wanted to be alone. I put my iPod earbuds in and turned to stare out the window. I sat there crying silently, trying to figure out what I was feeling. The other members of our group started to board the bus. My yoga teacher passed by my seat and touched my arm. I turned to look at her and she saw that I was crying. She asked if I was ok. I nodded. She looked concerned but trusted my answer and said, "India is intense." I nodded again and after a moment, she kept walking.
As our bus started making its way through the crowded streets of Varanasi, I kept staring out the window, thinking about my vendor and his reaction. I thought about the beggers we saw on the streets. The children who would follow our group, hoping for some coins.
I believe that one of my duties as a tourist is to help the local economy of wherever I'm visiting. I love shopping and I have no problem paying for things I want. However, India was different. I was by no means a rich woman, but compared to the local people, I had so much. I could give every last penny I had to everyone I encountered and in the end, it wouldn't even make a hint of a dent in the poverty that characterizes much of India. I felt an impotence and - there it was again - shame. I questioned my role as a tourist. What responsibility did I have here? I thought about my conversations with my vendor and how confused I was by the fact that he didn't seem to understand that I simply didn't want what he was selling. If he had had something I wanted, I might not even have haggled with him over the price. But he insisted on lowering the price, as if that would make me change my mind. What if the vendor felt that my responsibility to him was to buy what he was selling, as long as the price was low enough? What if he felt that I was breaking an unspoken agreement?
And what about his refusal of the tip for the photograph? What if I had offered him more? Would that have offended him more or less? Why didn't he take what I gave him, when the other vendor walked away happily with the tip I gave him for snapping a picture? What did he feel I owed him? And did I actually owe him something? I hadn't asked him to follow me around the market on two separate days. I hadn't promised to buy anything.
I don't have answers to those questions. But this experience with the vendor in Varanasi was the most emotionally charged experience I had in a country full of experiences. I witnessed a cremation ceremony at the Ganges river in Varanasi. I saw a group of young Buddhist monks doing their morning exercises in Dharamsala. I went to an Aarti festival with fire and chanting on the banks of the Ganges in Haridwar. I had lunch at an ashram in Rishikesh. I walked through the Golden Temple in Amritsar. I met the Dalai Lama's sister. I walked through the Taj Mahal. And yet, it is this experience with the vendor in Varanasi that can still make me cry, 5 years after the fact.
A friend of mine told me, after he knew I was going to go to India, "No one who goes to India come back unchanged." How right he was.
