The Lonely Old Reprobate

This journey has been a fantastic experience for me in so many ways, especially as a spiritual path of self discovery which has been as much about my inner experiences, because that was always my true quest, and insomuch it has not disappointed one little bit. But there are practicalities to consider as well, and whilst the spiritual side of my experience has been wonderful, we also live in the material world as well, and in India, if you forget about that, you do so at your peril. The poverty here is damning, even life threatening, not that physical threat has been a thing I have experienced, but the threat of poverty itself.

When I started my journey, I had reached  a point in my life where I could no longer pretend that it fulfilled me, nor could I try to be happy with how things were for me in my life there. Life in the West is stressful, especially if your inclination is to spirit. We are not encouraged to look into our selves, or to seek our individual spiritual alignment, rather, we have formal Religion imposed on us, where we are meant to appeal to a higher authority, a Godhead who if we surrender to our given faith will ease the troubles in our mind. God will save us, if we have enough faith enough to hand over control to Him. 

In India with it’s many Gods, we are reminded that they represent a reflection of all that which is within us, facets of the reality we share with each other, a God for every good, and every bad sentiment or real life experience we have on life’s path.  I mean no disrespect to any one of religious conviction. I don’t pretend to have the answers, I have only my own direct experience, and I am not here to preach, and this blog is merely my own reflection on what I have witnessed for myself.

I stepped into the void, with my pension which I can live off well enough, but without extravagance. I had imagined I would have enough with that, and my savings to set up a new life here, and whereas I can afford to, the reality is I can’t. India has a population of 1.5 BILLION people, many of whom are dirt poor, and I mean that literally. You might have heard that India is a land of extremes,  where dualities are juxtaposed, yet accepted, unapologetically, as the natural order, of life, as is in nature. 

For westerners, living in India is cheap, it is ripe for exploitation, and it is for this reason the Indian government have imposed bureaucratic restrictions on people like me. Sure, I can afford what I want. But why should I have it? I have enough saved that I can buy the car that I want easily within my budget, but that removes it from the market set up so that Indian nationals can afford it. 

I would love to buy my own car, I had my sights on a Mahindra Bolero, the Indian equivalent of Landrover Defender, easily maintained and adaptable. My plan was to rig it up for living on the road as I tour the country looking for somewhere to settle down. My logic was that it would be cheap as chips, I could go where I want, at my own pace, see, and do what I like, when I want to. If only it was so simple. But I not even allowed open an Indian bank account, without a PAN card (permanent account card), but to acquire one you have to be an Indian national. As a none resident you can have one, under certain conditions, i.e. if you are a permanent, working, tax paying resident, or a foreign national who has business interests in the country. It’s basic Keynesian protectionism politics, like those employed by Clement Attlee following the 2nd World War War, it ensures that the wealth generated within the country is not dissipated, but kept within its own borders, so that the economy can grow naturally from within. I understand the philosophical reasoning, but it is really frustrating, when you are seen as a parasite in the system you are excluded from.

An example of how debilitating it is, was my journey from Alwar, to Jaipur. I did my research. I found the times of the trains, and the prices, which are incredibly cheap. I wanted to get away from Alwar. I had gone there for Ayurveda treatment, which again was incredibly cheap by western standards, but because I took a taxi both ways, from the hotel every day, and which the driver waited the 2 hours duration for me for the return leg, all for the equivalent of £6 for a 6Km round trip, I got the impression that some of the hotel management thought I was loaded. In Britain, people receiving benefits take a taxi to do their weekly shop at Tesco, or wherever, and no more is thought about it. But in Alwar, the perception was I could have taken a Tuk Tuk, to the clinic and back instead of a taxi, but when every trip is a white knuckle ride, and considering, for the treatment I was receiving to be affective and beneficial, you need to arrive relaxed, taking a taxi, which by the way was ordered by the hotel, wasn’t an issue. Mistake. For those I mentioned, it was an extravagance, my two week treatment was, another, but that fails to appreciate the Indian perspective, but I digress.

When it came time to leave Alwar, I took a Tuk, Tuk to the railway station to buy my rail ticket for the journey to Jaipur, to where the ticket office is, but I was told there, that I had to go to the reservation office, another 200 meters down the road. So I walked the short distance, in the failing light, trying to avoid the rubble in the road from recent roadworks, cows laid across my path, and cars parked indiscriminately, to the office I wanted. When I got there, a crowd of perhaps 15 people were all vying and jockeying for position around the small window where a lady sat trying to give them what they were asking for, all of them waving pieces of paper, which it turns out was a booking form, I had no idea I needed. By the time realised this, filled my form in, and managed to speak to her above the melieu, she told me my information was wrong, and the only train for Jaipur, which incidentally needed a train change along the way, was during my appointment time at the clinic, which meant staying another day at the Hotel, I had already had enough of. 

I couldn’t take it. Whether it was the knowledge I would have to rethink everything, and then have to go through the same routine all over again, or most likely my ABI kicking back at the stressed out convolution I had experienced, I thought to myself, ‘Just get a taxi Toni! Whatever the cost, just go and leave this place’. So I returned to the Tuk Tuk, then back to the hotel, and asked about the cost of a taxi to Jaipur, booked it, went to the ATM, accompanied by the chef who gave me a lift there on his scooter, and stood with me while I drew £300 to cover my final bill, the taxi fare and to be sure I had some cash when I got to Jaipur, and then back to the Hotel.

On the day of departure I  asked to pay my bill, and hey, guess what, in total, it came to just over £300! Perhaps it was a coincidence. Here in Jaipur, a major city, I spend less than £5 per day on food, eating out in a brilliant vegetarian restaurant across the road from my hotel in, and because I am conscious of not overspending, there is nothing extravagant about the way I was eating at “The Bond Well Hotel”, I spent the first week eating daal and rice, as cheap a meal as you are likely to get. But in the hotel in Alwar, where all of the staff are looking for better jobs, they cleaned me out, I probably had less the £2 left in small notes, not even enough to give the taxi driver who drove me nearly 70 miles away, a decent tip, so thank you very much “Bond Well”. I won’t be coming back.

I blame no one of course but myself for being so dim and unaware. It’s no good feeling sorry for yourself in that situation, I left myself open to exploitation, letting the hotel feed me for a start. And then trusting the lad who took me to the ATM, not to be checking out the amount I withdrew. It was a tough lesson, but I should have known better. This is India, and you need your wits about you, it’s no good complaining, because that is all it is, you having a whinge and a moan, with nobody is listening.

I have to say though, the staff at the hotel are all nice people, all of them are looking for a better job, so it’s my belief they are just as exploited as anyone, and as such they all have my deepest sympathies, the lad who took me to the ATM really is a nice guy, and a great chef, but he was most likely under strict orders to check out what I had withdrawn  and report back, so I hope the Management at the “Bond Well Hotel”, Alwar are pleased with themselves as I reserve a special record of how miffed I really am.