Two hundred rupees. I had it. But to offer it, I would have to enter their conversation. I would have to stop being the observer and become the participant. I would have to speak their Hindi — not the textbook Hindi of Mera naam hai , not the Bollywood Hindi of Main tumse pyar karta hoon , but the gutter Hindi of negotiation, of mercy, of the street.
The constable ignored me. He spoke to the driver in a rapid-fire Hindi I could only chase, not catch: " Tera baap ka rickshaw hai? Tu jaanta hai iska maalik kaun hai? " caught in hindi
I wanted to say: To the place where I don't feel like a foreigner in my own country. Two hundred rupees