Maps for Sale
I found myself drifting around Cannaught Place in New Delhi prior to a
conference. Fancy things like democracy and the partition of India
were on my itinerary, but presently I was occupied with the humble
quest for United Coffee House, my old haunt from 1995. Once I found
it, I realized that cash was scarce in my wallet, so I went to the
nearest machine.
As I entered my card and code, the machine froze. A blue screen of
death told me that it was temporarily defunct. No amount of jabbing
and cursing would get my card out, so the security guard suggested I
ask for help at the bank, since the machine was attached to one.
"The machine ate my card! Your machine ate my card!" I started in
anguish when I saw the employees. They kept their patient, plastic
faces on and told me that I should call my own bank (IDBI), even
though the card was stuck in their bank (Standard Chartered). On
hearing my ruckus, a big, tall fellow with a limp and goatee walked
up to me and said, "Calm down. What's the problem?"
"Your machine ate my card, for no fault of mine. There is some money
in that account yet, and I did nothing wrong. It's my only card, and I
can't even call anyone. I'm not in my city! It's an emergency! I'm not
in my city!" The big fellow looked around for a bit. "Relax," he said,
"...you're still in your own country."
He asked me to wait, while I wondered if I should shove my conference
paper in some dustbin, considering I was now at the mercy of a
nationalist zealot. After a few hours of waiting at the Coffee House
(I borrowed Rs. 500 from a friend, and forced her to buy me lunch) he
told me that protocol required certain signatories, who will
eventually arrive. However, it would be no good unless I could prove
my identity.
"Well, your security guard saw me put my card, this card, into that machine!"
"No, we will need a passport, or..."
"Okay," I recalled, "I think I have my election card back at the
hotel. It will take me an hour to go and get it. Will that do?"
"I'll be here 'till six, you have enough time."
At six I arrived dressed for the evening's reception, and as he gave
me the card, he winked, "Always remember what I told you, it's still
your country." At the reception, Professor Pranab Mukherji, the
Defence Minister, argued for a European model for South Asia — "soft
borders" and all that. I had a lot of whisky and stalked the smoking
corner for the next three days.
Back in Bombay, in the warm belly of a local train, I saw a man selling maps.
"I have two kinds of maps," he was saying. "In the map of India, you
can find all the states there are, and the languages they speak, what
places you should visit. In the world map, you can see what other
countries exist apart from India, should you wish to visit them. Now,
both the maps are ten rupees each."
"But..." started a young man, "...is the map of India included in the
world map?" He turned it over again and again, trying to find it.
The map seller looked at him as if in dismay. "Of course, here it is,"
he said, pointing out a small peninsular wedge in the Indian Ocean.
Satisfied, and having weighed his options, the young man pulled out a tenner.
"Good, I'll take the world map," he said.
— Rohit Gupta (fadereu@gmail.com)
