What goes around comes around. Though occasionally what goes around comes around before it even goes around, which can rather leave one wondering whether they are coming or going… in a round about way.
My partner, Deb, and I were fortunate enough to experience karma’s more subtle workings while on an attempt to navigate the unpredictable seas of India’s postal, banking and other bureaucratic systems.
Our previous postal experience had been a disaster leaving us convinced that the term ‘postal worker’ is truly a contradiction in terms in India. Neither rain, nor hail, nor sleet, nor snow actually inside the post office itself could have possibly added to our confusion.
In seeking to mail our package, we had to decipher a puzzle which could give Rubicks a new masterpiece. We had to battle our way through a complicated series of queues.
First, we lined up for the ‘package weigher’, then the ‘package inspector’, then the ‘package assessor’ and then back to the ‘package weigher’ again who doubled as the ‘package stamper’ (could the modern marvel of multi-skilling possibly be catching on?).
Just when we had paid the assessed amount of 550 rupees and it appeared that the worst was over, we were handed an enormous sheet of 10 rupee stamps! The ‘postal workers’ seemed as perplexed as we were by the puzzle that now confronted us. They giggled in bemusement watching these two crazy foreigners attempt to rewrap their package entirely in stamps.
Back once more to the ‘package inspector’ (of course) who rejected our package! “Make your package bigger” he muttered “to fit the stamps”, and no, we could not return our stamps for a refund. We left, deluded and dejected, but sadly not de-packaged.
Our package artificially enlarged, we set out for another bout of postal insanity, attracting the attention of three scruffy young boys along the way. Despite our warnings that it would be a long and boring day, they insisted on accompanying and helping us. We were suspicious that their company would come at a price, but also thought that it may have just been (natural) Indian curiosity. The locals can sometimes be unduly attentive and affectionate. I once had a fresh faced 18 year old lad miss his doctor’s appointment just to spend time with me. He held?my hand more than any girlfriend ever has and on parting shed more tears than my mother on my leaving for India. “Time waits for no man!” he sobbed running alongside the bus that sped me from his life.
Our new young friends were indeed helpful and patient while we traipsed around town from one tiresome errand to the next and so during the course of the day, Deb and I secretly conspired to buy the skinny things lunch. Miraculously, as if in reward for our intended generosity, things progressed much more smoothly from this point. The bank stayed open late for us and the post office (a different one) was efficient and even sane.
We offered our three faithful companions a snack for their silent endurance. They politely declined asking that we buy them schoolbooks instead. How touched we were! We quickly trekked to the bookshop, the darlings selected their books and then the rupee dropped – it was a scam! The boys intended to return the books and keep the proceeds. We had seen this before in Mumbai, only with milk powder bought for ‘babies’ by unsuspecting foreigners.
Disappointment and disillusionment all around as we stormed off, our three junior Faigins meekly bleating last minute requests for “maybe just a few samosas then?”. The long faces of the three would-be scammers reflected the pain of an even longer day invested in boredom for no reward.
Karma: what goes around comes around…