'Twas the night before our intern holiday and I told my friend Amy I would meet her at Dilli Haat to help her sell some things from Village Artisans.
(Village Artisans is a really awesome fair trade organization whose handicrafts are absolutely beautiful. You should check them out! www.villageartisan.com) Anyways, I took the metro and was excited to meet up and help for an evening. Everything was ready to go for our early departure in the morning, I had just gone to the ATM before I left and pulled out money for my travels etc. I settled in at our booth and enjoyed telling people about the different items and learning more about them from Amy.
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| village artisan journals |
We had a system worked out where one of us held the money pouch and the other wrote down the product number to keep track of our sales and inventory. One guy approached the booth, looking sort of strange and acting funny. To be honest I took note of it, but I just assumed he hadn't interacted with two tall, blonde ladies such as ourselves. Seriously, India has me of the mindset that if someone is doing something weird around me or in interaction with me, it's because I'm white and I either fascinate, confuse or intimidate them. So I just assumed this guy was a-flustered by my German beauty and thought nothing of it. He grabbed a few journals without really looking at them and said he wanted to buy them, handing Amy a 500 rupee note. They chatted a second and he decided he didn't want the journals and asked for his 500 rupees back. I had been helping someone else but I had the money bag so I handed it to him and he scurried away. Then Amy started questioning 'did he actually hand me the 500 rupees? I know he held it out but I'm not sure he actually gave it to me.'
I couldn't be certain either, so while we were trying to figure it out, I turned around to sit in my chair. I noticed that my scarf was out in the walkway beside our booth. That's strange, I thought, my sweater was over my purse under my chair... I looked and sure enough, my purse was gone. I went into a full-on, movie-scene panic and started shouting in increasing volume, 'My bag! My purse is gone! My purse! My purse!' There has been one other instance in which I entered a frantic state akin to this: when I got trapped on the metro and separated from my friends around week 2 in Delhi. After that episode, I was totally embarrassed by my behavior. In this case - it was the perfect reaction.
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| village artisan sari scarf |
A man in the stall next to our booth heard me shouting and looked at me for a split second with a puzzled look on his face before motioning me to follow and running off. Follow him I did, at a full-on sprint. It's funny how when you are in a true panic, all the worst thoughts go through your mind faster and clearer than you can ever seem to think when you're really trying. I started a mental inventory: iPhone, regular phone, wallet, driver's license, metro card, debit card, all the money for my holiday, luckily I had removed my passport before leaving the house. At some point during the run, I resigned myself to the fact that all these things were lost - there was no way we were going to find this guy in all the chaos. Bless this guy's heart for trying. He was wearing a salmon-pink button-down with a teal sweater vest over it and he was about 45 maybe? For an older guy, he was incredibly fast and his pace never slowed. I realized I was keeping up with him and was thankful for the fast mile-runs I had been doing to prepare for my 10k.
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| typical day at dilli haat |
We reached the gate of Dilli Haat after what felt like a mile. My fears were confirmed, we were not getting my bag back. Sweater Vest however, was not ready to give up! He kept running out the gate and told the guard outside the gate what had happened. He, too, was up immediately. Sweater Vest was shouting and pointed to a guy. Before I knew it, about 20 men who had been sitting around outside the gates of Dilli Haat had risen, encircled this man and were grabbing and holding him. I pushed my way up and saw him - and he had my bag and my scarf. The next few minutes were a complete blur. One guy grabbed my bag from him and handed it back to me. Another man, I think maybe it was Sweater Vest, started swatting the thief on his head and yelling at him in Hindi - I assume shaming him for stealing from me. Then the police appeared from their nearby hut and the larger of the three officers made his way swiftly to the middle of the circle where the thief was still being held. The guy who had returned my bag drew my attention back and urged me to go through my purse and make sure everything was there. Shaking from nerves and adrenaline, I looked through my bag and wallet. Everything was there.
When I looked back up at the scene in front of me, I saw the taller officer beating the man who had stolen my bag. He was tall and sturdy and his blows were strong, directly into the face of the thief. I had never seen someone be hit in the face in person, let alone 6 feet in front of me. I suddenly had this feeling of guilt, this guy was being beaten on my behalf. I almost felt like it was my fault. The mix of confusing emotions and the violence in front of me was overwhelming and my eyes started to fill with tears, but I was frozen in place and I couldn't look away. I felt hands on my arms turning me gently away from the scene. Two women about my age, maybe a few years older, were leading me away from what was happening. They asked if I was alright and comforted me by saying they would also be upset if they were in my position and that everything was alright. They started leading me back into Dilli Haat to find some water. Sweater Vest and the gate guard appeared and tried to get me to go back and make a police report. My new friends became protective and told them I would think about it but I was going to get some water first.
I suddenly realized I still had the money pouch from our booth and Amy wouldn't have any change if someone wanted to buy something. I thanked the ladies and told them I needed to get back to my booth. When I got back, Amy had thought the guys had also taken the money bag. What a mess. Sweater Vest was back, too, and he encouraged us to make a report. Luckily, Michelle (who lives above us and whose kids Amy teaches) was back at the booth, too. She has lived in India for many years and speaks Hindi very well. She came with Sweater Vest and me to the police booth. I saw my lady friends on the way to the booth and they pulled me aside and told me to be careful, even of Sweater Vest. They said even though he helped, I did not owe him anything and I was not obligated in any way to give him anything in return. They were so concerned and kind and they patted my arm and spoke to me as though we had been friends for a long time.
When we got to the booth, the man who stole my bag was there, sitting on the floor. Michelle and I sat and Sweater Vest stood. Sweater Vest told the story to the police in Hindi. He said that the man had stood next to the booth and while we were distracted by the man with the 500 rupee note he had pretended to drop some rupees on the ground. He bent to pick them up and Sweater Vest was sort of confused and thought it strange but was busy with his own sales. When I started yelling, however, he knew exactly what had happened and he knew who it was. Michelle then started asking the thief questions, also in Hindi. She translated a bit but for the most part, I sat in silence just absorbing tone and body language. The thief was fairly rude to Michelle and interrupted her frequently, which really suprised me. When he did this, however, the older officer, who I assume was the chief, would smack him. After a couple of times Michelle asked the officer not to. She spoke to him with a sort of patient authority.
I found out later that he had denied what he had done a couple of times and finally admitted that he had taken my bag. He said he hadn't eaten that day and what was he supposed to do? Michelle told him she understood, but it was not right to steal to provide for his needs. She scolded him for stealing from foreigners, telling him that his actions would shape my view of his people and his country (I think a big shame in a collective society like India). She asked if he had a wife and children, to which he replied yes, and did they know what he was doing, to which he answered no, and what would they think if they knew? She told him that they may never know what he had done or was doing but that God knows and God sees. After a while, she told him that we would not file a report, but not to do the same thing tomorrow or the next day. He of course tried to touch our feet and thanked us theatrically. He was not a young man and I had to wonder how long he and the other man had been bamboozling. Would Michelle's words and grace reach him or would he, in fact, be doing the same thing tomorrow? It's a difficult situation because on the one hand, I feel pity for him. He was hungry, maybe, but at the same time, it costs money to get into Dilli Haat, money that could be used for food elsewhere. And there are so many ways to make money in India without stealing. Maybe not a lot of money, but there seem to be so many services to offer, that someone wouldn't need to steal unless they wanted to. I think God has been revealing the judgment in my own heart in these ways. The truth is, I have no idea his position, his situation and all I can do is pray for the people of India and be thankful that it was my purse that he stole, and that Michelle was there and had the words to speak to him and the mercy to withhold a formal police report and pray that her kindness gives him pause and makes him think or at least plants a seed.
I asked her later what it would mean for him if we had filed a report and she confirmed my suspicion. He would have been taken to the police station and just held where he would likely be given beatings like the one he had taken in public that night. I'm sure they would be worse behind closed doors.
We went back to the booth and rearranged where we kept our bags and other personal items. For the rest of the night Sweater Vest and the two men at his stall kept a close eye on us and came over frequently. I wanted to give them money or some sort of compensation, but Michelle said that the sad truth is that to compensate them now may encourage them, even if they were not a part of the act initially. If they knew they would receive payment they may get a friend to come over another time and reenact the event. Probably not, but it's always better to err on the side of caution. So we got them an extra plate of momos when we got our dinner and then I bought several scarves from their stall for gifts. The people at the booths and stalls were also so kind and kept making sure we were alright, etc.
What a crazy night it was. I have to say though, I would have imagined that something like this happening would completely fuel my disillusionment with India and stir up dark feelings about its people. It had just the opposite effect. As strange as it sounds, this whole situation deepened my love for India and the people here. If I imagine something similar happening in America it goes like this: I realize my bag is stolen, I shout, people pretend they don't hear me, I cry and do nothing, my bag and all its contents are lost. As much as I love America - I am ashamed at the realization that our desperate need to look out for ourselves and our fear of making anyone uncomfortable, offending anyone or overstepping our boundaries has paralyzed us into an empathy that isolates us. Even if someone saw the whole thing happen, I feel like they would likely think '
I don't want to get involved' or '
what can I even do to help?'
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from our day in old delhi
photocredit: alyssa |
I have been touched by the kindness and protection of the Indian people so many times since I have been here. I feel there is some measure of extra care because I am very obviously a foreigner and they want me to have a positive experience because they have pride in their country and want me to also have a high regard for India. But I really think it's just the culture, I think they help each other as well as outsiders. We joke about the fruits of our skill at looking like we need help, but really, all the time people will stop briefly and ask where we are going and if we need help, point us in the right direction, and carry on. There was one afternoon that Alyssa and I were in Old Delhi. It was so crowded in one alley that people were at a complete standstill but motorcycles and bicycle rickshaws were still trying to get through. We were just trying to hang on and roll with it. A bicycle rickshaw came up behind me and didn't stop soon enough. His tire hit the back of my leg. I turned and gave him a stern look but I didn't say anything. A Sikh man who was also waiting with his family saw the tire mark on my black legging, turned and started giving it to the rickshaw walla, pointing at my leg and shaming him for hitting me. I felt protected and looked after. And, though my mother may not believe it, I often feel safer here than in American cities. I am certainly still cautious but I feel as though someone would say something or do something on my behalf if need be.
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the crowded alley in old delhi
photocredit: alyssa |
This is one of many reasons why I love India. And I can't believe I leave here in 8 days.
Disclaimer - I didn't take any pictures that night at Dilli Haat so the photos included are googled images.
