From the travel factory of my heart

Scams are nice!

“Five minute only madam, no buy” baited the man in battered khakis, with a grin and chronic shake of his head.

Guidebook say, Marina Beach is second largest in the world. I say, it’s the place to find best banana fritters anywhere on the planet. It’s also home to a thousand thugs - Murugan, boss of the local tuk-tuk mafia is one of them.

It is day after Holi, festival of colors and streets are still jostling with people in rainbow faces. As if, pages from a kid’s paint book became true, every passing face appeared a gamut of colors, choice of strokes arbitrary yet so congruent.

Amidst this mayhem of mad reds and tangy purples, white is still in demand – perhaps why, Murugan is offering to drop my white travel partner and me to our destination, absolutely free! His only ask as a favor in return – to visit seven Curio Emporiums on the way. Clearly, by ushering her in those shops he wants to earn some gifts as commission for his family. The deal is metered along a very thin coast of trust yet for sake of some adventure we agree to it.

Soon, we pass through posh lanes of Chennai; Murugan relaying touristic details in fractured English. For lack of radio, he even sings for us, albeit in Tamil. At every approaching pothole, a bunch of bangles hanging behind his seat juggle to a perfect musical note; an inner voice constantly drumming inside my brain – “Scam!” It is true; often ironies take musical proportions inside a three wheeler.

Every descent leads to a multi-storey, multi-star Curio emporium. Inside, scores of gods, animals and handicrafts; in ivory and wood, silently compete with each other for endorsements. India’s art and faith, everything is on sale, price tagged in dollars. The dimly lit classrooms of antiques and wealth are offering us tutorials of fine living, while the truth remains - at the glacial end of our shoestring venture we’re virtually graduating into bankruptcy.

After five hours, seven pauses and countless sales requests; all stalked by the stable threat of being cheated, it’s now time for a refreshing soda. We are twenty five kilometres away from city centre and quite close to our destination. Murugan is throwing grateful, almost devotional, glances at us, his empty soda glass and gifts. Courtesy us, he is returning home with a doll, two cheap wrist watches, an in-expensive sari and some petrol coupons. If truly, our adventure seeking has touched heart of a man of few means.

Honestly, incredible India is not just about trapping the white marble wonder in between eyes and lens or firing up your belly with spicy curry, it’s also about discovering innate smiles in harsh lives and desperate scams. Murugan, his wife and two little daughters are the best anecdote from southern leg of our adventure. Looking beyond obscure walls of that rip-off, I can now see a family smiling. I think scams are nice, in a way!