Crime and Punishment

Monday, May 2 2005 11:24 AM

Dear brothers,

We went away this weekend to a place called Kodai Kanal (not like a British canal...there were no rusty trolleys, sacks of dead kittens or dead smack heads) which is a hill station in the Eastern Ghats, a mountain range running down the west of Southern India. It was a really quiet weekend, spent lazing about in the coolness (I even wore a jumper!) and messing about on the lake. About the most interesting thing that happened was when I got stuck in a tree. I couldn't help myself...it was there, and it needed to be climbed. Unfortunately once I was up I was as stuck as a fat kid in a climbing frame, with a crowd of locals and all my friends taking photos of me. Then a street trader came up and started playing My Heart Will Go On from Titanic on a penny whistle, which made me so desperate to get away that I ended up just jumping out. I resisted the temptation to punch anyone this week.

Anyway, nothing else really happened until the last day when we were getting the bus. We checked out and went down to the bus station but unfortunately we were an hour early so we decided to go and get an ice cream. We found a place and we were all sitting outside when this random walked past and flicked something onto Ben's neck. He quickly disappeared into the crowd and Ben's neck began to itch and burn. We thought it was just an Indian teenager being a twat (there're lots of them about, but usually they just hassle the girls) and so we didn't think anything of it. Ben went to go buy some water to poor on his neck and as soon as he left a guy ran past and snatched up his bag. Nat, who I was sitting next to, just said quite calmly "I think that guy just picked up Ben's bag..." and then less calmly "HE'S STEALING BEN'S BAG!!!". We both got up and, I might add with no regard for personnel safety, gave heroic ungainly chase. I used to think I had a relaxed running style, but I’ve now realised I’m just deeply unfit. This is my last clear memory of the incident as everything else seems to be drowned out by Eye Of The Tiger, which filled my head as I legged it down the street. Unfortunately I was held back by my flip flops, and Nat was held back by her general femaleness so we weren't making up any ground. I could see the guy was a very scrawny looking teenager in a nasty 80's style "Acid House" shirt, but for the purpose of this story I’d like you to imagine that he’s a hard-as-nails man mountain with tattoos and possible kung fu skills. Got the image? Right, lets carry on. So kicking off my shoes I shouted instructions at a passersby to look after them and continued my Keanu Reeves in Speed style run. Feeling more and more like a total hero I turfed it down the street after the scrawny little opportunist…er, I mean the trained killer mafiosa. I don't think I’ve ever run as fast in my life, and may never do again, as by this stage I was going on pure adrenalin and heroic egotism. I was caching up really quickly and the guy saw this. Knowing that he was almost certain to be on the receiving end of a throat punch, or at the very least a very articulate and middle class public dressing down, he decided to jettison the bag in front of a bus and go crying wah-wah-wah all the way back to mommy. Luckily the bus stopped and I picked up the bag, but the assailant had escaped and the long arm of my justice went unexercised (In reality I have no idea what I would have done if he’d just stopped running. Probably just kept running, straight past him like I was running for train or something)

We walked back up the still street where everyone had stopped to see the crazy westerner running bare foot down the street in a sarong, and got back to Ben who didn't have a clue about any of what had happened. I was crowned a hero and showered with gifts by the town’s people, who built a statue of me and sacrificed 3 virgins and an old lady who was too slow to escape. Ben had both his cameras (video and digital) his wallet, his cards, his phone, his passport, his ipod and loads of cash in his bag, and still only offered to buy me a pint. I think I should be entitled to half of his stuff really. Er, I mean…I do it to keep the streets safe, not for the financial rewards…

Anyway, the weekend was really fun and everyone got on really well. an Indian man asked if he could have his photo taken with me, so I said he could, but only for 50 Rp. he laughed and got his camera out anyway. I couldn’t see any money making an appearance and was like “no dude, really…pay the man”. I think he thought I was joking, so I kicked him in the shins and ran away. It's really weird, we're all like celebrities even in the tourist areas. This was before my heroic intervention so it’s not even like I was known yet. There was one guy who just came and stood on the pavement as we walked past and his friend took a picture as soon as one of the girls was near him. Great, a picture of you with some blured tourists in the back round. Maybe it’s a new thing I’m just not aware of; going around taking pictures of tourists as part of some weird meta-tourism. they harass the girls constantly apparently, but never when Ben and I are around (remember that I’m about half a foot taller than most Indian men, and Ben is 6 ft 5. Also, I’m pretty handy with nunchucks).

Unfortunately this week hasn't all been adventures and virgin sacrifices though, as when we got back from Thekadie last week Emma found that 60 pounds and $30 had been stolen out of her room. Apparently this kind of thing has happened before with this particular family, though for some reason TPA haven’t thought of maybe not sending young women to stay with them yet. Emma was very upset and the father of the family has been trying to accuse her of being careless and unthankful for all the family has done for her (or all they've stolen from her). Apparently the money went in two goes, the first time Emma just thought she'd lost it, but the second was more obviously stolen. She also says that when she thinks about it, the first time money went missing the family got a new mobile phone, and the second time a new TV turned up. Seriously, I was going to make a joke about them buying a crown and a new chandelier, but they actually did go straight out and buy new consumer products. Emma phoned TPA who have been very unhelpful and the whole experience has put a lot of pressure on Emma who still has to live with the family. TPA have told the family that she rang them and complained, which has caused an awful atmosphere and Ben and I try and spend as little time there as possible (obviously Emma is hanging out at the hospital with us now; we didn’t just abandon her). It all very complicated and has left a bad taste in everyone's mouths. What’s really bad about this is that we all paid large sums of money to come out here, and would have paid more if we knew that the family we would be living and eating with were financially looked after. I’m not sure if they can realistically be blamed for wanting a TV, when they have a constant stream of materialistic rich westerners parading their iPods etc through their house on a regular basis. The problem is systematic rather than the family being necessarily bad. I also wouldn’t be surprised if the it was just the father and the rest of the family knew nothing about it.

I’ve also decided that I have a cockroach nest in my toilet. There's almost always two or three in my bathroom (or “concrete cell with tap, hole to shit in, and hole for water to run down” to give it it’s full name) and if I shine a light down the horizontal drainage pipe there’s usually a few more in there as well. It’s not all bad, and has provided me with some late night entertainment; I went to the local shop the other day and bought some cheap matches and deodorant and I’ve been blowing them up by spraying deodorant down the plug and dropping a match in. It's great fun and keeps me entertained for hours, though I have lost quite a lot of the hair on my arms. Never mind ehy; if you’re going to give yourself first degree burns, a hospital is probably the place to do it. Though maybe not a tiny Indian one…

I’m thinking of coming back to England in July instead of August. I don’t really fancy traveling for two months by myself through the monsoon; I recon four or five weeks will be sufficient. Also, I have so much to do when I get back; find a job, organise all my university stuff, my bank accounts and loans, find one of those body warmers all the Durham students wear and maybe change my name to Rupert.