El Hombre en Llama

4:45am. It’s my parents second day in Delhi. I wake up, jolted by the telephone and the man on the other line telling me the taxi’s waiting. The taxi drops us off in a dim maze of coolies and crowds.This will be our first train ride in India, a symbolic means of transportation any traveler in India should experience, or so my guidebook claims.

I can tell my parents are shocked by the crowds and the dirt and the hazzling, which is even worse than at bus terminals back home. I’m determined to board us on that train as soon as possible.

We’re approaching the platform when a man in a button down asks to see my ticket. He looks official. At the airport you need a ticket to even enter the airport. I show him my print out.
“Madame, you need to reconfirm your ticket. Come, I show you.”

Reconfirm what? He tells me that electronic tickets need to be reconfirmed, and walks me and my parents out of the Delhi train station and into a tourist agency. I notice that nowhere on the agency is there any official certificate linking its services to government tourism services. The person there informs us that my mom and my dad are reconfirmed, but that my ticket says WS.

“Waiting Seat.” He says. Because I didn’t reconfirm, it’s not possible to get me on the train or on any later trains that day. There are no seats available to Agra, he claims. What he can do is arrange for a government tourist taxi to take us to Agra and show us the sights at 90 USD a piece.

“No way,” I say. I’d asked at our bed and breakfast the night before how much a taxi there and back would cost. About $100 total, I’d been told. We’re half asleep and nervous, but the whole thing sounded unreal.

He then said there was one more chance we had. Why didn’t he tell us that in the first place? The first man walks us back to the train station, up some stairs to the “Tourist Information Bureau,” which I notice opens at 8:00am. It’s 5:45. Outside stands a man fumbling with his keys as if about to open the door. He claims to be a train official whose signature will ensure my seat on the train, even if I haven’t reconfirmed my waiting seat. The signature will be ours for the meager price of 200 rupees ( around 50USD).

My dad’s not falling for it.

“You work here?”
“Yes, Sir”
“Then show us your badge.”

The man pulls out a faded piece of laminated paper we can’t read. We murmur to each other in Spanish that this is a scam but maybe we should just pay the money to make it to the train. I tell my parents not to do it; 2000 rupees is more than we paid for the tickets in the first place. We decide to go to the train anyways, even though I have a waiting seat, and figure it out there.

We pass through security, straight onto our train and into our seats, which are empty and waiting for us. Even though we haven’t paid for anything we still feel frustrated at being taken for fools. My dad hands the first guy, the one who started us on this entire loop 400 rupees and I don’t understand he’s paying someone who just tried to scam him but at this point nothing matters. We’re on the moving train, gazing out as people use the railroad tracks as public toilets. I have never seen something like this.

We’re all so angry and frustrated at the supposed scam, and then we arrive in Agra and thinks don’t look up. We’re harassed and followed by individuals offering us help, tours, and cabs.

That was a rough morning, the roughest of the trip. My parents are angry, I’m overwhelmed and scared because I planned all of this, and it feels like my fault that they’re not enjoying themselves.

Finally, trying to book a return train ticket back to Delhi, an Indian woman who lives abroad takes pity on us and helps us arrange a taxi to show us around the Taj and the Red Fort and then drive us back to Delhi in the afternoon.

Here’s where Shak Cha Khan comes in. He’s our driver, otherwise known to us as “el hombre en llama,” because of the shocking shade of his hair and beard. Many men and women in India use henna to dye their hair, often turning it an interesting tone of maroon and cockroach. El hombre en llama is lovely, warning us beforehand of the scams we’d encounter at each place and taking us to several restaurants so we could pick our favorite. He’s the guardian angel of the day, proving to us that even in tourist hell there are kind people who feel proud to show you around their homes.