Lunch at Anthony’s home and India is such a clusterfuck (Tuesday, 10/7)

Tuesday morning and I get a call from Kumar’s cousin Anthony, asking when we would like to be picked up. Apparently at some point during the previous day he had told me that he would cook us lunch at his house. The previous day he had talked almost continuously, I could not understand half of what he was saying, and I was trying to ignore most of what I could understand, so it is entirely possible. I know this makes me sound bad, but once you have experienced India for yourself, it seems quite prudent.

So he picks us up at 1:00 and we go to his house, where his wife has cooked a delicious meal of beef masala and coconut rice. After the meal, Anthony offers to give me a tour of his home. He shows me the bedroom and then asks me in a round about way if I would lend him 2500 rupees so his kids can go to school. I ask when he can pay me back and he agrees to the following Tuesday. I lend him the money seeing as I now know where he lives and it seems like a worthy cause. We go back into the living room and they show us their wedding album. At this point Grace is about running out of energy, so we get them to take us back to the hotel.

Once I get Grace back to the room, I head back out to continue about my day. What a mistake that turns out to be. Anthony and Kumar tell me to hop in the rickshaw and they will show me around. I decide to see where it gets me, so I jump in and off we go. After a while we stop at a gas station with a long line. Beautiful. I see a roadside cart selling fresh squeezed sugarcane juice, so I decide to give it a try. Over all pretty good. Then Anthony hands me the phone and tells me to talk; something that happens with surprising frequency here in India. I say “hello?” and hear the voice of a British woman on the other end. Apparently the same thing happened to her as happened to me, and neither of us know why we are talking on the phone. Whatever. This is India after all.

Another ten minutes and they finally have gas (apparently all the rickshaws run on liquid propane). We all hop back in and away we go to the next mystery destination. We pull up next to another rickshaw and I see the British woman I talked to earlier sitting in the back. She hops in the rickshaw with me and away we go. Apparently she had given the driver of the first rickshaw 500 rupees and was supposed to get 300 in change, but was told that the driver of my rickshaw had the change. At this point I have no idea what the hell is going on, so I am of little help, but eventually she gets her 300 rupees back. We all agree that a drink is in order, so we drive first to a place that is closed, then to the same “wine shop” that I had gone to the day before. Fantastic. I order two beers, hand the guy 500 rupees, and ask for change. The guy then proceeds to make change, hand me three beers and a bottle of brandy, and hands my change to the driver. Seriously, WTF! The driver can clearly see that I am getting pissed off, hands me my change, and apologizes for ordering extra drinks.

After finishing our drinks in one of the sleaziest places in town, we jump back in the rickshaw and take off for the beach. On our way to the beach a police officer flags us down and motions for us to pull over. Our driver’s response is of course to speed up and swerve around the officer, almost running him over with the rickshaw in the process. Sitting in the back, the British woman and I look at each other in amazement of what just happened, but the driver acts as if this is perfectly normal. We get to the beach and both of us are extremely happy to be out of the rickshaw.

We walk out to the beach and start talking about what a clusterfuck India is. The events of the day were all on par with what both of us had experienced in our times in India and at this point nothing so far during the day had truly shocked either of us. We both vented about how frustrating India is, the patronization that takes place, and how poorly women are treated. About the time we are complaining about the drivers, one of them walks over and sits down next to us. He then starts asking if we like “jig jig.” After a couple minutes, we figure out that he wants us to have sex, to which we both emphatically tell him that we are not going to, and that he needs to get lost. He clearly does not get the point, and continues on about “jig jig.” Apparently this kind of behavior is commonplace in India. Indian men’s attitudes towards women are really fucked up, and as such women here are generally treated quite poorly.

At this point both of us are about through with the bullshit and get up to leave. We walk back to the rickshaw and sit down. She suggests that we should try to steal the rickshaw and drive off, which at this point is starting to sound like a good idea. I check for keys but no luck. Anthony and Kumar show back up and Anthony apologizes for the behavior. I hop in the back and we start driving. I tell them to just take us back to the hotel. We drive in the general direction of the hotel, and then for one reason or another they pull over and stop on the side of the road. Great, now what. They say “you enjoy jig jig,” and start getting out of the rickshaw. Screw these guys. We both get out and start looking for another rickshaw. They run after us, somehow surprised by our actions, and start asking what is wrong. We explain to them that there is not going to be any “jig jig,” and that we are not getting back in the rickshaw unless they cut the crap. They are very apologetic, and agree to chill out.

We hop back in the rickshaw and start driving again. Kumar is driving irraticly, which is pretty much standard for rickshaw drivers in Chennai, but after hitting a couple things in the road, it is apparent that he has had too much to drink. They pull over and Anthony takes over driving. Meanwhile, Kumar gets out, walks around, and hops in the back with us. This just gets better. Next he starts trying to reach across me and feel up the British woman… fortunately I am a professional, and quickly place him in a therapeutic restraint, pinning his hands down so he can’t do anything. He seems to chill out, so I let him go. A few minutes later and he tries it again and receives the same restraint. He acts frustrated, as if he were completely reasonable and my actions were ridiculous.

We finally get to the “Paradise Guest House” which at that point really does seem like paradise, and tell the drivers to get lost. We duck inside, exchange information, and then she heads up to her room. I wait for a couple minutes to make sure they are gone, and then head back outside to get a different rickshaw back to my hotel. What a damn clusterfuck this evening turned out to be.