News Of The World
I order a coffee in my room and read The Times Of India - otherwise known as TOI - that has been slipped under my door while I slept. 'Eight Killed In Train Accident', a short piece in a side-bar on page five. A coal train in Ranchi derailed as it crossed a bridge on Friday night on it's way to Panipath; the brake van, guards van and two wagons fell into the rivulet below, taking the eight people 'travelling unauthorisedly' in them to their deaths. Most of them were in the brake van; the Divisional Railway Manager is trying to 'ascertain if any more are still trapped'. Was this the same derailment I passed on the way to Allahbad? I take a cycle-rickshaw to Hazratganj and find an internet cafe. Halfway along Vidhan Sabha Marg we pass the state government's palatial seat of power; the enormous white building isn't marked on my map, or any others I come across. The security is stupendous: sand-bagged machine-gun emplacements; military, police and Rapid Reaction Force units ringing the high, broken-glass topped wall, armed to the teeth with every light weapon imaginable; water-canon trucks and jeeps with racks of tear-gas launchers. There is enough firepower to start - or finish - a full scale war; perhaps that is exactly what they are expecting. I spend the day working at the internet cafe, breaking off for an hour to walk down to the Royal Cafe for lunch; I order some chicken Tikka, salad, popads and chutneys, and watch a group of plump, middle-aged Indian women in expensive saris playing a game of bingo at their table on the other side of the room. One of them calls the numbers in precise, mechanical, nasal English, while the rest mark their home-made cards; I wonder if one will shout "haveli" rather than house - they are obviously well-to-do. There is an air of tension in Lucknow, too; it has nothing to do with an influx of pilgrims and the associated threat of terrorism, but everything to do with the state elections. Stories of corruption are rife; the opposition parties have mobilised student and peasant support. There has been trouble: clashes between demonstrators and the security forces. The TOI reports that the police have instigated a shoot-on-sight policy in the worst affected neighbourhoods. As I walk back to the internet cafe, groups of young men shout "Hallo", or hiss at me then laugh amongst themselves. A beaten-up white Toyota slows next to me; a fat man in a black leather jacket mouths something at me in a low voice from his open window, threatening words spat from thick, moist lips, eyes filled with hate under a quiff of oily black hair. I dodge my way through the insane mix of rickshaws, Vikrams, handcarts and tongas thronging the street and walk through a lane on the opposite side. It is hot and dry, the temperature creeping up day by day, nudging 30 degrees.
I finish at the internet cafe and take a cycle-rickshaw back to Charbagh. Just before Lucknow station I see the Northern Railways Officers Club; it is almost a scaled down version of the government building - a gleaming, opulent and exclusive edifice. Tender Notice No 01/2007 in the TOI - placed by Northern Railways - invites 'approved' contractors to bid for 'Various Types Of Work'. Indian railways are state owned: they spend public money and are obliged to publish tender notices for every procurement. The list of work includes improvements to Officer's Bungalows - replacement of the mosaic tiles in their bathrooms, new roofs, resurfaced parking areas; provision of a wooden shed at the swimming pool; new flooring for the badminton court; repairs to the cricket pitch. The list goes on. Costs are estimated in millions of Rupees; for each section of the tender, 'Earnest Money' is required from the bidder - hundreds of thousands of Rupees to be paid to Northern Railways by the contractor who gets the work. On the road outside The Railway Officer's Club people live in shacks made from scavenged bits of plastic and cardboard tied to stick frames; the even less fortunate sleep on the station platforms, dressed in rags, begging for a few Rupees. How can state-funded extravagance be justified while people starve and die in the street outside?
I drink a Kingfisher at the Deep Palace Hotel. A young, well-dressed man enters the bar and walks unsteadily to the counter; he orders a White Mischief vodka and stares at me. I ignore him. D-5 Bungalow, Sector 31, Noida village: the remains of more than 30 bodies - mostly children - are found in and around the building. Hacked-up torsos in the bedroom and kitchen, the drainage ditch outside filled with heads and limbs. Of the adult victims, only the body of the maid is positively identified. Organ-trading and sexual abuse is mentioned. The police ignored the missing person reports made by local people: they made no investigation into the disappearances; they took no action whatsoever.
"Can I sit?". The drunk young man is at my table. I tell him no, but he begins to pull out a chair anyway. I stand up, lean across the table and push it back into place.
"I do not want you to sit at my table", I tell him, "so just go away". He stands back at the counter drinking more vodka, swaying slightly and looking at me resentfully. When he leaves, he turns back to hurl some verbal abuse at me. I ignore him.
I walk back to my hotel and take the TOI down to the dingy basement bar. I order a Kingfisher as three Indian men sit down at the table next to mine. I check their drinks - Silky Stallion vodka, McDowell's rum and Haywards 5000 Super Strong Beer - and avoid looking in their direction.
A senior police officer dies in a suspicious 'road crash' in Allahbad; he was investigating a 'sensitive' case involving a cabinet member when the 'accident' happened.
"You must join us", the older of the trio calls over to me, "I will pay your bill. Please come and sit". I tell him thank you, but no; I notice this advertisement in the TOI: 'Do you need a Private Detective? If so contact: Introspective Detectives Private Ltd.' My laugh is cut short by the persistent man at the next table:
"You must come to my home. You must meet my family. I have motorbike and it is only ten-minute drive". He is very drunk. I tell him not to bother me again, closing the TOI on an advertisement from The Northeastern Coalfields offering whole trainloads of coal to anyone who can afford the 2455 Rupees per Tonne - 10 rakes at 2,500 Tonnes each - including rail haulage.
The man at the next table will not leave me alone - he is pleading and begging for me to come to his house.
"Please, please come. Just stay for one minute," he whines. "Why should you worry? You have no bag with you, no big money." He can see my daypack on the seat next to me, and saw the camera that I quickly put back into it as he sat down; I also have 15,000 Rupees in my safety-wallet. He is drunk, unpleasant and irritating. I call the waiter for my bill; he apologises and says he is ashamed of the trio's behaviour. I gather my bag and stand infront of the men's table:
"Thank you so much for spoiling my evening," I tell them. "Are you satisfied with yourselves?" All three of them stare down at the table; the older one begins some high-pitched, maudlin apology. I cut him off: "I thought not."
I order a vegetable Thali in my room and re-pack my bag for the morning train; the room-service waiter brings a bottle of Kingfisher, too - a gift from the barman who shook his head as I left the bar, murmuring: "Indians and drink - no good."
I finish at the internet cafe and take a cycle-rickshaw back to Charbagh. Just before Lucknow station I see the Northern Railways Officers Club; it is almost a scaled down version of the government building - a gleaming, opulent and exclusive edifice. Tender Notice No 01/2007 in the TOI - placed by Northern Railways - invites 'approved' contractors to bid for 'Various Types Of Work'. Indian railways are state owned: they spend public money and are obliged to publish tender notices for every procurement. The list of work includes improvements to Officer's Bungalows - replacement of the mosaic tiles in their bathrooms, new roofs, resurfaced parking areas; provision of a wooden shed at the swimming pool; new flooring for the badminton court; repairs to the cricket pitch. The list goes on. Costs are estimated in millions of Rupees; for each section of the tender, 'Earnest Money' is required from the bidder - hundreds of thousands of Rupees to be paid to Northern Railways by the contractor who gets the work. On the road outside The Railway Officer's Club people live in shacks made from scavenged bits of plastic and cardboard tied to stick frames; the even less fortunate sleep on the station platforms, dressed in rags, begging for a few Rupees. How can state-funded extravagance be justified while people starve and die in the street outside?
I drink a Kingfisher at the Deep Palace Hotel. A young, well-dressed man enters the bar and walks unsteadily to the counter; he orders a White Mischief vodka and stares at me. I ignore him. D-5 Bungalow, Sector 31, Noida village: the remains of more than 30 bodies - mostly children - are found in and around the building. Hacked-up torsos in the bedroom and kitchen, the drainage ditch outside filled with heads and limbs. Of the adult victims, only the body of the maid is positively identified. Organ-trading and sexual abuse is mentioned. The police ignored the missing person reports made by local people: they made no investigation into the disappearances; they took no action whatsoever.
"Can I sit?". The drunk young man is at my table. I tell him no, but he begins to pull out a chair anyway. I stand up, lean across the table and push it back into place.
"I do not want you to sit at my table", I tell him, "so just go away". He stands back at the counter drinking more vodka, swaying slightly and looking at me resentfully. When he leaves, he turns back to hurl some verbal abuse at me. I ignore him.
I walk back to my hotel and take the TOI down to the dingy basement bar. I order a Kingfisher as three Indian men sit down at the table next to mine. I check their drinks - Silky Stallion vodka, McDowell's rum and Haywards 5000 Super Strong Beer - and avoid looking in their direction.
A senior police officer dies in a suspicious 'road crash' in Allahbad; he was investigating a 'sensitive' case involving a cabinet member when the 'accident' happened.
"You must join us", the older of the trio calls over to me, "I will pay your bill. Please come and sit". I tell him thank you, but no; I notice this advertisement in the TOI: 'Do you need a Private Detective? If so contact: Introspective Detectives Private Ltd.' My laugh is cut short by the persistent man at the next table:
"You must come to my home. You must meet my family. I have motorbike and it is only ten-minute drive". He is very drunk. I tell him not to bother me again, closing the TOI on an advertisement from The Northeastern Coalfields offering whole trainloads of coal to anyone who can afford the 2455 Rupees per Tonne - 10 rakes at 2,500 Tonnes each - including rail haulage.
The man at the next table will not leave me alone - he is pleading and begging for me to come to his house.
"Please, please come. Just stay for one minute," he whines. "Why should you worry? You have no bag with you, no big money." He can see my daypack on the seat next to me, and saw the camera that I quickly put back into it as he sat down; I also have 15,000 Rupees in my safety-wallet. He is drunk, unpleasant and irritating. I call the waiter for my bill; he apologises and says he is ashamed of the trio's behaviour. I gather my bag and stand infront of the men's table:
"Thank you so much for spoiling my evening," I tell them. "Are you satisfied with yourselves?" All three of them stare down at the table; the older one begins some high-pitched, maudlin apology. I cut him off: "I thought not."
I order a vegetable Thali in my room and re-pack my bag for the morning train; the room-service waiter brings a bottle of Kingfisher, too - a gift from the barman who shook his head as I left the bar, murmuring: "Indians and drink - no good."
posted by Paul O'Halloran at 1:01 AM
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