the indian adventure

Madras Dramas
Am I the last passenger to exit Madras airport, delayed, as seems to be customary, by additional forms most necessary to complete?
It doesn't matter. On this first visit I quickly learn, time is a blurry medium in India.
As the heavy humid aromas of India close in around me I confront an impenetrable wall of expectant faces poised in the hot scented air. Like a breaking wave a chorus of voices bursts over me.

"Taxi, sir, taxi......where are you going, taxi, taxi..."
" A friend is picking me up," I claim.
" A friend," someone echoes. " Where is your friend?"
" Coming, coming here, to get me. Thank you," I add.
There is a disbelieving murmur but they gradually lose interest.

I turn to the soldier at the exit, a castaway from a 60's spaghetti western, an unshaven Mexican army deserter. He sits there, rifle shouldered, undisturbed by the hubbub around him.
" How much for a taxi to the railway station, " I ask him.
" What! " He glares disapprovingly. Faces turn towards us.
"Take the bus, four rupees!" He indicates the faded crowded buses across the street.
" 400 rupees for a taxi! " He shakes his head. "Take the bus!"

I nod gratefully, inwardly rejecting his enthusiasm for the buses, and move towards some kiosks nearby.
" Where's a money change," I ask at the first one.
" Here," the occupant replies at once.
" Can you change 50 Australian dollars?"

Pulling a bundle of notes from a drawer, he counts quickly and hands them over. I am happy with his exchange rate. Someone arrives at my shoulder. Interested people, you discover, are always close by in India.
" Give a receipt!" this newcomer demands. " You are illegal! Give a receipt!"
Surrendering, my money changer wobbles his hands in the air.
" OK, OK...." He scribbles on a pad, and passes me a slip of paper which the newcomer snatches.
" Not a receipt," he shouts, " a taxi docket. Call the police."
He turns around calling," Police? Somebody, call the police! "
My money changer beckons. " Return that paper". I return it.
" Take your dollars, give me my rupees." I hand the rupees back too.

I retreat to the soldier.
" I need a money exchange." He points inside.
" I didn't see one on the way out, " I say.
He points again. I find it.
On my return to the exit a uniformed official stops me.
" Your boarding pass please."
" But I gave it already. I just came back in to change some money."
The official laughs pleasantly. " Hahahaha, I know all the stories, sir."
I sense trouble, explanations, forms, delays.

My soldier is lighting a cigarette, but I catch his eye, and point at the official, opening my arms in a gesture of helplessness. At once he gets up and walks in. Reaching past the official he grasps my arm and leads me back out through the exit. He points to the buses!
So, I have been in India for 15 minutes!