VIPs

We’ve been dogged by the police in Agra for the last three days. It’s not so terrible for us, but it’s funny. Apparently the city of Agra is under the impression that we are very important people. Really, I over head one of the officers say “V.I.P.” in referring to us. It began on the road into town. We had already been forced off our route by construction, stopped to change a flat tire, stopped to buy fruit (that one was our fault), stuck in traffic, and stopped at the Indian version of an old route 66 tourist trap for the driver and his assistant to take lunch. We had given up on stopping at Fatehpur Sikri and hoped to make the hotel in time for dinner, when four khaki-clad men in a jeep marked, “UP (Uttar Pradesh) Police” waved the bus over. What now? The bus had already had its horn forcibly removed by the Gurgaon police two weeks ago. The men, three carrying what looked like antique bolt-action rifles and the fourth with a pistol stuck in his belt, had a short conversation with our driver and Aditi, the project director, then got back into the jeep (a Tata, really) and pulled out, motioning for the bus to follow. “They are our police escort,” Aditi said.

So for the rest of the way into Agra the police drove ahead of us, motioning other drivers to make way with little hand gestures, and generally slowing everything down. Sometimes other vehicles got between us until the gesticulating officers would finally get them to go on around or drop back. I was impressed, but a little worried about how they would feel when they got a look at us. Seventeen bedraggled teachers and administrators in road-wrinkled casual wear doesn’t look much like a delegation of V.I.P.s.  As we stepped off the bus, the officers stood in line, holding their hats in their hands and looking, despite their large guns, shockingly subservient. Never in my life before have I had a cop with a great big gun look at me like he really hoped I was pleased. I smiled and tried to look very pleased, indeed.

They left us at the hotel but were back the next morning as we piled on to the bus for an early morning Taj Mahal tour. They still had big guns. I knew we were safe from rampaging elephants. They stayed outside the gates of the monument, but were there to meet us when we came out.

Our afternoon event was a lecture from the Pollution Control Board in Agra. The police stayed outside, but the whole board, the press, and numerous junior bureaucrats all showed up to the basement hotel conference room for the lecture. There was a period of general shuffling as each functionary found their status-appropriate place either out in the hallway, in the back of the room, or at the table in front of us. Then the lectures proceeded and afterward they presented Aditi and Bhavani with flowers. We all got up to shake hands and nod knowingly and pretend to understand the small talk is a necessary part of the ritual in an Indian Bureaucratic function. Finally they left us with our befuddlement.

Our picture appeared in the local Hindi language newspaper this morning, attentively listening as the Pollution Control Board “talks to American teachers about cleaning up pollution in the Yamuna River.” I gather the article went on to say that what the PCB told us and what the press knew to be true were two entirely different things.  But it was the city that invited the press, so I guess they got what they wanted. Our guide read the paper on the bus and his summary was passed down the rows telephone-style and I don’t claim any firsthand knowledge of anything except that only the top of my head is visible in the photo as I look down to take notes. I was probably writing about how the phrase, “as I have already told you in the presentation” turns up frequently in answers to questions. I think it translates as, “I have said all I am willing or able to say so I will now repeat it and imply that you are stupid to cover up my duplicity.” I have not heard anyone involved with an NGO use it. It is government-speak.

On the way out of Agra this morning we stopped at Fatehpur Sikri and the police joined us for the whole tour. One of them tried to run off a stray dog that Bhavani was feeding crackers to, and she scolded him in Hindi. Unfortunately, she wasn’t nearby when they shoved and slapped the young men trying to latch onto us as “guides” inside the tomb of the Sufi saint Chistie. Sure, the kids were a bit of a pain, and basically trying to chisel us for tips, but that was extreme. We were stunned to see police officers behave that way, but none of us really knew what to do about it. I told Bhavani later, and she said she would have stopped them. I believe her, but she wasn’t there. I’m ashamed to have stayed silent for the most part. I might have said “no” once. It was over too quickly to intervene, and I was too intimidated by the situation and by the police to use whatever leverage my V.I.P. status might have lent me. 

I was glad to see the purple UP Police truck leave us soon afterward. I didn’t want to be a V.I.P. anymore.