It all starts with Prem in the train from Haridwar to Varanasi. Prem was one of those who – like us - had a waiting list ticket. During the night, he was very caring that we all get a seat. He came with his wife and son (8 months old), and was very proper in every way. He is this nice chap, round faced, a very touching and sympathetic fellow. We thought then that he could be the ideal father. In the morning he was very friendly with us, spoke a bit of French or anything you like. We really believed we met our first Indian potential friend. As he used to be a tourist expert cheaper, guide in Varanasi, he gave us all the tricks we should care for so that our stay in Varanasi is safe and enjoyable. He told us to come to visit him at his house on the day after. And here we are, the day after – a Sunday – at his place which happens to also be his music shop. After offering us a tchai, he takes out a few albums (wedding album, work album…), so that we feel that we are getting to know each other. Then starts a new long monologue. Every time we ask a question, to enjoy the dialogue-form of communication between human beings, he doesn’t answer anything, but follows his line. His line is simple : “What can I do for you ?”, which means, “How could I make some money out of you ?”. Cecile being slightly sick (because of an allergy to kind-of-clean bed sheets), he offers to find an ayurvedic doctor. Unfortunately, Perrine’s mother is an ayurvedic doctor. First miss for Prem. Then he explains that he and wife give courses in tablas, cythare, harmonium, yoga, meditation, Hindi, dance, singing. As we say that one hour is too short for any of these, he answers that everything can happen, time doesn’t matter. Obviously we are not going to take any lessons, so he tries to find what he could do for us… Do we need postcards ? No. Do we need tea or spices ? N. Do we have something extra in our bags that takes to much space or weight, because his wife has a charity and could take care of it… No. Two hours later, we come out, fairly angry at this man for being such a opportunist and at ourselves, because we wanted to believe we met an Indian manta last. We knew there was something fishy about his kindness, but didn’t want to understand it, we rather believed he simply is a nice man.
The thing is, we don’t want to believe that every time people come to talk to us it is to cheat us. But we are white pigeons wearing 2 bagpacks, one on the front, one on the back. Life is not always a nice piece of cake…
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