Monsters and Luggage

Jet lag is fading fast. Last night I slept from 10 p.m. until 4 a.m. Which wasn't bad for the second night. 4 a.m. is already the morning and is not scary. It's waking up at 3 a.m. that is to be avoided. That's when the mommy, daddy and other assorted monsters are at their strongest and hiding under the blanket doesn't work very well when you are alone and far away from home without a two-and-a-half-year-old voice whispering in your ear, "It's o.k., grandpa. The monsters won't find us here. We are safe now." And if I act especially afraid, the voice will say, "It's o.k. The monsters aren't real. They are just pretend." That's the hard part, remembering they are just pretend.

What a day. I got a call yesterday that my luggage had finally arrived in India, but it was in customs and I had to come out to the airport, passport in hand, to retrieve it. I asked when, and they said the office opened at 8:00 and I could go at anytime after that, but that I should call first. I arranged for a car and driver from the hotel and was ready at eight. I called the airline office as I was told to do and there was no answer. There was no answer until nine. They asked me when I was coming and I said as soon as the car arrived and they said that would be fine. On top of this, the hotel had no record of my request for a car and a new request had to be made. They didn't ask for a car until nine. The car arrived and there was a lot of talk in Hindi in which the word "parking" figured prominently. This was suspicious, but waiting time was included in the price, and it seemed to be o.k. About 10:30, I left for the airport. Soon after we started the driver pulled over the to the side, almost completely blocking a side street. He got out and I sat that while cars honked at me and inched they way by. He returned with cigarettes. I considered protesting, but decided the traffic was more life-threatening than second-hand smoke, and if he needed cigarettes to cope with the traffic, he could have them.

When I got to the airport, there was a lot of anxiety about parking. I was taken in charge by a young man, who told the driver where to park and took me to the airlines office. (It's another story, but the young man was eventually turned over to the police by someone from the airlines office.) The receptionist at the airline office said I had to wait for half an hour because a flight was just in and there was no staff to assist me. So I waited for almost an hour. Finally, someone arrives. She proceeds to fill out a very long form. Two long forms had already been filled out when the luggage didn't show up, but we needed another one. Then we went to the Pass Office, the staff person telling me that, of course, I should have arrived after one. I said no one told me. She said well, no. The person I talked to probably didn't know, but she implied that of course, I should have known. The officer at the Pass Office reached for one of the dreaded books of Indian bureaucracyand proceeded to write in it referring to my passport and to the other documentation from time to time. Finally he filled out a pass which allowed me into the luggage storage area. We took the pass into another room where a woman in a sari slowly read it and then signed it. Finally, we arrived in an enormous room filled with lost bags. It gave me the shudders. Another man reached for another book and wrote for awhile. Then he called for another man who retrieved the bag which was directly behind the man who had written in the book. I was given the bag and the staff person and I proceeded to another desk with two men and two books. Finally we went to the customs officer. He sent us to the x-ray machine. Then we went back to the customs officer. The zippers had been wired together in two places. It took him twenty minutes to undo the wires. It was as if he had never seen wires before. Then he rummaged through the bag for a couple of minutes, didn't find anything that I hadn't declared, and then shrugged and told me to close the bag up. He and the staff person went to a desk and she came back and said I was lucky. He wasn't going to charge me anything for opening the bag. I think he was embarrassed because he took so long to get it opened.

After presenting one last slip to one last man, we went back to find my driver. He was nowhere to be found. We had to call the hotel who contacted him on his cell phone and he finally showed up. The ride back was as life-threatening as the ride out but he had his cigarettes and I didn't care.

I had given up on my two projects for the day, but after a long nap, I decided I had to get out a bit. I wandered down to Connaught Place, the large circular colonial shopping center and then was suddenly overwhelmed. I couldn't move. If another tout showed up I was going make a scene. Then I heard this woman speaking English with a European accent. I turned and she was shooing a tout away with one hand and gesturing with the other to the Japanese man she was talking to. She was happy and full of energy. She said to the Japanese man, "Well, I'm just going to hop into a bicycle rickshaw and go get something to eat." I though if she, a woman traveling alone, can handle India, so can I. So I found a bicycle rickshaw, bargained the driver down from 25 rupees to 20, and had a swift, terrifying ride to my hotel. I gave him 25 rupees and he gave me a great smile. I went into the restaurant and the woman I had seen before walked in. As I was leaving, I walked over and thanked her. She is my hero. She saved my day.

Now, back to the hotel and to bed. And monsters stay away. My granddaughter Chloe says you are just pretend.