They were a bunch of brightly dressed people, in a sea of grays and off-whites.
“It is a village dammit.You don’t have to show off your Guccis and Pradas there.Wear something sensible .”Her sister had cautioned , but human nature always triumphs. “Sensible” for her meant wearing the new Swarovski encrusted “Ghagra-chunni” she had bought from a show -room at Jaipur. She was a multi coloured macaw in this drab hill station of Hardwar.
When grilled later on, she would parrot the same explanation to all, "I was wearing ethnic -Indian wear, wasn't I ?"
She was accompanied by a bunch of like-minded cronies , wearing Manish Malhotra creations to a place of pilgrimage , visited only by dusty, tired villagers , or National Geographic teams .
They were neither. Hence , they created quite a flutter.
First they were gawped at, and everyone kept a safe distance , as one would from a wild animal. Then they were besieged, by taxi-drivers , and beggar-children . Both out to fleece them , each in his own pitch.
A party of eunuchs materialised from some where, and mistaking them for a bridal party, sought alms , clapping and dancing, aggressively around them .It took half an hour of translated threats and negotiations , plus an unwarranted baksheesh of 500 rupees to get rid of them.
Then, Jane was bumped by a country bumpkin. She turned in alarm, and the guy made a sweeping gesture of fake contrition,his grin revealing rows of paan-stained teeth. The crowd laughed, till an elderly taxi-driver shooed him away.
“It is a village dammit.You don’t have to show off your Guccis and Pradas there.Wear something sensible .”Her sister had cautioned , but human nature always triumphs. “Sensible” for her meant wearing the new Swarovski encrusted “Ghagra-chunni” she had bought from a show -room at Jaipur. She was a multi coloured macaw in this drab hill station of Hardwar.
When grilled later on, she would parrot the same explanation to all, "I was wearing ethnic -Indian wear, wasn't I ?"
She was accompanied by a bunch of like-minded cronies , wearing Manish Malhotra creations to a place of pilgrimage , visited only by dusty, tired villagers , or National Geographic teams .
They were neither. Hence , they created quite a flutter.
First they were gawped at, and everyone kept a safe distance , as one would from a wild animal. Then they were besieged, by taxi-drivers , and beggar-children . Both out to fleece them , each in his own pitch.
A party of eunuchs materialised from some where, and mistaking them for a bridal party, sought alms , clapping and dancing, aggressively around them .It took half an hour of translated threats and negotiations , plus an unwarranted baksheesh of 500 rupees to get rid of them.
Then, Jane was bumped by a country bumpkin. She turned in alarm, and the guy made a sweeping gesture of fake contrition,his grin revealing rows of paan-stained teeth. The crowd laughed, till an elderly taxi-driver shooed him away.
It was much later, in the hotel room, when she was rummaging in her purse to tip the bell-boy, that she discovered , she had been deftly pick-pocketed. The purse was intact, the contents weren’t. Everything, from her passport to her cash had been stolen.
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