Khajuraho: Mr. Nice Guy?

After letting things settle in my head for a few weeks, I have decided to post this. I wrote the majority of this post right after it happened, but I have removed the personal details and added some observations in retrospect. Enjoy. 

September 12, 2012, 12:49 am. 
On the train from Khajuraho to Varanasi.

Indians continue to be utterly baffling—as soon as we think we’re starting to figure them out somewhat, they go and do something that throws us off, or we just meet someone that changes our whole conception of what to expect.

First, we meet nothing but crooks in Delhi and think we need to just keep our heads down and avoid everyone. Then we meet people like Badal out in Khuri, and our hope in the Indian race is restored.

Streets of Jaisalmer

Next, in Jaisalmer, we met Kuku, the first guy to approach us on the street and offer us chai without trying to sell us anything. We had a great conversation with him about a great deal of things, but his most revealing quote as it relates to this topic basically boiled down to it all being about “putting food in mouths”—basically, he meant that it’s all about the money.

The more we get around, I think he might be onto something. The more people we talk to, the more we find that the poorest people tend to be the pushiest about trying to get you to buy something you don’t want or to get you into their shops, while many of the relaxed conversations—including that with Kuku—were with the relatively more affluent (middle class). This adage held true in Jodhpur when talking to the family that ran the guest house we used.

Probably our most confusing encounter to date, however, was a guy we met at a cafe in Khajuraho. We’ll call him Kumar. Kumar was our waiter and gave us some good information, so we left a good tip and went on our way. We came back the next day for lunch and talked to Kumar again, and he invited us to dinner in his village. After having an excellent experience when invited into someone’s home in Egypt a few years back, I figured this might be our best chance to see some of the kindness of Indian village people I hear others raving about so much. We exchanged numbers.

Sunset at the Khajuraho western temples

Kumar met us later in front of our hotel and took us back to his home. We had a traditional Indian dinner with him and his family; afterward, his wife and sisters showered Akemi with gifts of jewelry, dressing her up in Hindi fashion. He asks our plans for the next day, so we wind up making plans to go to nearby Raneh Falls with him and his wife. At this point, we felt we had found a truly kind soul.

The next day, Kumar arranges the rickshaw and we head to the falls. We had a great time—I planned on paying for everything to make up for the gifts the night before, and he seemed fine with that, almost as if he took it as granted.

In hindsight, I think his feeling may have stemmed from my response during a conversation the previous night in which he shared his meager salary and asked about mine. [Note to self: avoid this question like the plague as money can only obstruct friendship.]

On the way back, he told us we had to pay for the rickshaw too—400 rupees, a bit steep. “He’s taking a commission,” I think, but he’s a nice guy, so I just chalk it up to him doing his job and pay. After all, with all the beggars and sad kids out there looking for a handout, my conclusion has been that, short of volunteering, paying people to do their job and tipping when appropriate is the best way I can contribute to the local economy. Besides, getting an authentic glimpse into the household and everyday lives of a local family is easily worth a few hundred rupees.

Us at Raneh Falls

Back to our story, Kumar insists we come to dinner again; we accept, thinking this was the end.

At dinner, Kumar again asks our plans for the next day. We just wanted to relax for our last day, so we say we might get a massage. He insists we come to dinner again the third night, which I thought I politely refused, but told him it was ok to call the next day (to say goodbye). The nice guy is starting to overstep his boundaries. [Note to self: be firm in refusals with Indians, leaving no room for misunderstanding.]

The next day, things just got weird. We wake up and check out of the hotel, then go set up what turned out to be a rather pleasant Ayurvedic massage across the street from our hotel at one Ayur Arogyam. As I’m running to the ATM, Kumar calls and I tell him our plans. He again seems hellbent on setting something up for us himself. I tell him that we had already paid and will call him when we’re done.

After starting the massage he starts blowing up my phone, calling at least five times in the space of as many minutes. I shut off my phone as he was killing the battery—besides, talking to him then would just kill the massage vibes. When I finally do call Kumar back, he insists on dinner again. I refuse and turn the phone off a second time.

From that point on—all through dinner and until we left for the station—Kumar permeated my every thought. We arrive at the train station, ready to leave Khajuraho and put some space between us and Kumar, still wondering what this guy’s deal is... THEN HE SHOWS UP AT THE STATION!!! Not only that, but bearing more gifts!!! Let me tell you—that was an awkward hour, sitting with him waiting for the train.

He kept us guessing until the very end whether he was just being nice with this final visit or making one last push for more money. In the end, however, he just left us with a handshake and a farewell. A pleasantly confusing ending to a confusing story.

So I sat on the train, wondering. Was he just a nice guy, or was the whole thing a low-pressure ruse to get some commission out of us from the get-go? Did he just want to play the generous host, or was Kuku right and this low-wage guy was just being blinded by the prospect of rupees? Should I have just totally ducked the money talk when it started aiming my way, or was his preoccupation with money in the first place to blame? (I’m going with yes on both counts to that last one.)

I don’t think there has to be a clear-cut answer to these questions. My current guess is that like so many other things in life, the answers are not black and white, but rather shades of gray. Kumar is a nice guy with an interest in the world outside Khajuraho who is trying to put food on the table for him and his fledgling family. Maybe he’s also a bit of a salesman—hell, everyone else in India is—but no one just out for the money would go through all the trouble of inviting you into their home and introducing you to their wife and mother. With Kuku in the back of my head, I also can’t help but think that Kumar would be more pleasant if he weren’t making just 2,000 rupees a month (plus my tips and commission).

I also want to shake some sense into him to let him know when he just needs to back off. While I do realize how much a tip of 50 rupees here and a 100-rupee commission there can mean to someone in such a situation, it’s truly a shame that the prospect of a few rupees can corrupt such a nice guy.

On the flip side, I think other Indians could take a lesson from young Kumar in giving tourists an experience they’re willing to pay for. This requires more effort and a bit of interest on their part, but it pays off. I’m sure he got something out of it as well, or else he wouldn’t have gone through the trouble. We got to learn more about each other’s cultures, and I don’t mind paying a commission for the experience.

I’m not sure if our experience with Kumar has changed my impression of Indians for better or worse. After all, at the end of the day he’s just one guy out of 1.2 billion in a country wide enough to take 36 hours to traverse east to west by train. He did somewhat shape our impression of Khajuraho though.

I guess if there’s anything to take away from this experience, it would be how much people shape our impression of the places we go. Seeing the highlights and attractions somewhere takes a few days at most; seeing the people can take a lifetime if you let it. I don’t think I’ll ever go back to Delhi after our experiences there, but I’d go back to Jodhpur in a heartbeat and regret not spending more time in Jaisalmer. The jury is still out on Khajuraho, but it would be interesting to see if Kumar grows any with more experience. Live and learn.