Paranoid about being cheated in India, Part I

(See Part 2 here)

They say travelers either love or hate India. I’m leaning more on the side of “really like.” But I can tell you what I hate—the notion that I’m being cheated, that I can’t trust what I’m being told, or that someone has a hidden agenda. I hate to admit how much it colors my interactions with locals.

AGRA

I climbed a few stairs to one entrance of the Jama Masjid to be greeted by an old man with a piece of paper. He told me, “Donation for the mosque, for renovation,” and then showed me the paper, which had people’s names, countries, and a monetary amount written down, usually 500 or 1,000 rupees. Confused because my guidebook said nothing about an entrance fee, I dazedly handed him 100 rupees and added my name to the list. As I wandered around the mosque, I started thinking I’d probably been cheated. My realization was confirmed when I left the same way I came and the man was nowhere in sight. I took some comfort in the fact he looked like he really needed the money.

(NOTE: I met some travelers who ran into a similar situation in Varanasi. Ellie reluctantly gave the requester a small amount—something like 10 rupees—and added her name and amount on the paper he carried. When Nigel got hit up by the same man later, he saw that in different handwriting, someone had added two zeros to her total so that it looked like she’d given 1,000 rupees.)

UDAIPUR

I wanted to get one of my shirts shortened a bit and took it to a tailor. I was asking for so little—just cut off about two inches off two tails. The man said, “100 rupees.” Since I thought 20 rupees was more appropriate, we haggled and agreed on 50 (US$1).

But after I left, I thought 50 rupees was still too high and decided to do what some of my fellow travelers do—just pay what they think something is worth. They don’t bother with agreeing to a price ahead of time. If he didn’t want 30 rupees, I’d walk away and leave the shirt.

The tailor greeted me with a smile and had the shirt in a bag; I think he also ironed it. But his smile faded when I said, “Look, I’m not paying you 50 rupees. This isn’t what it’s worth. I could get a brand new shirt made from scratch for 500 rupees. I’ll give you 30 rupees.”

He said, “No, miss.”

I said, “Fine. Keep the shirt,” and walked away.

Looking back, I know I was wrong. Even if I felt the price was too high, the time to walk away would’ve been before he did the work. Once you make an agreement, that's it. Believe me, I was punished too—I actually liked the shirt.

JAISALMER

As I wandered Jaisalmer’s back alleys looking for the famous havelis (historical mansions), a man saw me and approached. “Are you looking for the haveli?” There was nothing else a tourist could be looking for in that area. He said, “I will come with you and show you.” “Um, OK,” I said. He said, “Don’t worry, I do not expect anything.” I didn’t know whether to believe him; I’d met people who assured me they didn’t want a thing, only to then try to steer me to a travel agency or shop where they’d get commission.

The man, who said he was a yoga teacher with mainly Indian clients, accompanied me to the haveli and explained its history—how it was built by five successful merchant brothers, how they’d build new floors for their growing families, how the brothers moved away after the border with Pakistan went up, effectively closing the trade route so crucial to Jaisalmer’s success. He was nice and informative, but I couldn’t shake the suspicion that our chat would end with him asking for money. Finally I said, “I don’t think I’ll go inside the haveli. Thank you.” He said, “Have a nice time, and nice to meet you.” We shook hands and parted ways, and I thought, huh, he meant it, he really didn’t expect anything.