FEBRUARY 14, 2022 – Two posts ago I left off at the close of “the swindle.” It was the only time I’d be conned in a land where scams were a way of life.
After my third “Gold Spot” where I’d been abandoned by the con man and his American accomplice—whose participation was salt in the wound—I invoked the traveler’s imperative, “When in Rome . . .” To recover my $500, I devised my own deceit to counter the fraud.
As the sun reclined over the Arabian Sea, I walked to the AmEx office in the very hotel where the con man had said I could buy replacement cheques if he didn’t return with my money. I told the staff person that “some of my cheques had been lost or stolen at the airport.” (emphasis added)
“You’ll need to get an official report from the airport police,” said the representative. “Then we can issue replacement cheques, if you have the serial numbers.”
I’d see little else of Bombay.
I retraced my way to the domestic terminal where I received a long-course in Indian bureaucracy: “Go there; wait here; talk to junior officer; wait there; explain to slightly above-junior officer; go over there; explain to supervisor; go over there; go back to start; talk to another officer.” Two hours later I walked away with a hand-written report on flimsy paper, signed and stamped by . . . the boss of ’em all. In retrospect, the most notable part was the missing one: baksheesh. None was required; none paid.
Of my tired walk back to the hotel, I remember the unrelenting energy of motor traffic. “Rush hour” in India, it seemed, was “always.” I noticed that at red lights, everyone turned off their headlights and engine—more, I’m sure, to save money than to save the planet.
After a granola supper—and another “Gold Spot” from the hotel lobby—I collapsed on my bed. Day one “in country.” Price: $500 + cheap hotel + five “Gold Spots.”
Day two would be consumed by fighting my way back to the AmEx office and delivering the “official police report” . . . with serial numbers of the “lost or stolen” cheques. Reward: $500.
In my letter home from India, I agonized as much about my own deceit as I dwelt on the con that had prompted it. Fortunately, manipulation of the legal principle I’d lifted from law school (“As between innocent victims, he who deals directly with the fraudster loses”) didn’t send me down the slope of moral turpitude. When I reflect on the deep guilt that I spilled into that letter to family, however, I see how individuals, organizations, whole societies can become corrupted. If the con, the swindle, the deceit becomes habitual because it’s deemed necessary, humanity’s most critical resource—trust—vanishes.
At the close of that first day in India, I stared at peeling paint above my bed in the light of a bare ceiling bulb. My thoughts turned to matters more basic than money: food and water. I couldn’t survive much longer on granola and “Gold Spot.”
(Remember to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.)
© 2022 by Eric Nilsson
