Next week we will be going to Kutch and visiting a fabric producer in Bhuj. We leave Sunday afternoon and take a 16 hour train ride! Our supervisor booked our tickets and did not realize at that moment that my nickname is not the same as the name in my passport. This is a problem. As it turns out, when you travel in India and book any kinds of tickets, you must make sure it matches your identification exactly.
We contacted the railways and asked if they could change the name, but that was not possible. It was also too late to cancel my ticket and book a new one because there were no more seats. Now what!?
I contacted my consular in Minneapolis who knows me personally and explained the situation. I asked them to contact the consulate in Mumbai and this morning I went in and got a written confirmation that I am (also) Bonnie. For that privilege I paid a hefty consulate fee, but at least I should be able to board the train.
We tried to visit the Handicraft Board one more time but again no luck talking to the person we needed. He is now on leave. We were then heading to meet our supervisor at the Ministry of Textiles, something we were looking much forward to. We were supposed to call her and we finallly found a payphone. Unfortunately, she was not feeling well and the appointment had been cancelled.
The train ride back today was really tough. We ended up getting off much earlier because I feared to be caught in the middle of a pretty nasty fight with no where to go. I know I have written about this before, but the rush hour commutes are so ridiculously packed, it is indescribably. The argument started when women on the platform were trying to pull out some of the women who had made it unto the train. I gather that some of the “platform” women’s friends had made it into the train car and they were furious that their friends couldn’t get in. Hanna and I were in the middle. When at the next station even more people tried to board (still don't know how that happened), we were so squeezed and the atmosphere was so bad, I looked at Hanna and without any words we knew exactly what we were going to do. Fortunately, we were close to the doors that faced the platform and we got off as quickly as possible, but not without bruises.
We took a very expensive rikshaw ride back and were mentally really tired. I couldn’t help but to think about the women for whom this is daily life. I get to write about it and on good days chuckle at the insanity, but as I looked at their faces today, it suddenly hit me that they do not get to go home and write about it on a blog, they live it. Every day.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment