Part 2: My China Diary

Reading prequel is mandatory before the sequel ;) !

“WHERE'S THE FLIGHT?” DEBACLE
This is bound to happen in any humongous airport, and might have happened afore. 

Location: The never- terminating Indira Gandhi terminal
Air India, as is regulatory for them, was 5 hours late. In the wee hours of dawn, we slept on the waiting couches. An hour and a half before boarding time, couple of us woke up and proceeded to the gate. When our ever-caring friends woke up later, they found us missing. Satish (one of ‘em) advanced to the ‘Announcements’ receptionist and convinced her the boarding time had started. I was hopelessly taking photos, when the speakers echoed, “This is the last and final boarding call for K.Aditya Das for the flight AI 349. Please proceed to Gate 3 immediately.” Stunned as I obviously was, I checked the gate and the time and the flight label. All were correct! How come they didn’t tell me to get in earlier? As I kept wondering, rest of the fifty odd passengers waiting at the gate, who were already infuriated with the delay, started yelling, “Where’s the damn flight? Why dint they inform us? How come we dint get in? WHO’S DIS ADITYA AND DAS?!!” I receded from the mob, at times I too repeated, “Who the HELL is this guy?” The AI officials arrived and were at a loss in trying to calm them down.  I took pity and raised my hand. The relief on their faces when the blame shifted to my friends…man, don’t Indians love the blame game!

“Bhai, aap ladka hai na?”
Tired and sleep-deprived, Satish walked in vain in search of a toilet in the Indira Gandhi Terminal. I found one of those he/she signboards and pointed it out to him. He strode forth and then turned around to ask me if it was a male toilet. Before I could say ‘yes’, he looked inside and saw a guy doing his business. He asked him, “Bhai, yeh guys toilet hai na?” (Bro, is this the guys' toilet?")

Yashpal Singh- The Negotiator
We had this grand individual among us; he was several years elder to us but never expressed his seniority – but such people I strongly advise to demand the required respect – ‘cos sooner or later, we, the younger twerps, are gonna treat you like sh*t! He had several names – the priest, the cook, angry young man, photo-man etc. But his ultimate trait that we came across was during shopping, or precisely, price-negotiating. On a usual weekend we were at the hub of electronics duplication, Hua Qiang Bey (in Shenzhen) - Thousands of stall-like shops in over ten buildings, possibly  hundreds in a single building itself, sprawling to at least 6 floors, strewn in a single shopping street of not more than 300m.

The intention was to buy a fake iPod Nano. We were 10 in number. More the amount, better the discount. Negotiating is a skill possessed by few. When they say 1000 (yuan), we start at 100. Presto comes the exchange of tempers. They tell us to go away. We begin the slow motion walk backwards. They might swear at us but that’s the one time you are happy to not know the language. Then they call us back. To stay, prolong the process and eat their head till they stumble to our final price; THAT’s where the skill lies.

We were in for a treat; we were to hear some of the most ridiculous comments ever.

 “You, mai goood fraaaannd” (Some of us do this; speak English alien-ly thinking they would understand it better!)

“We buy 10 now, 100 tomaaaro.”

“Prraaaij bery haai…Make low, make low!”

“I am from ZTE, look theeeessh. ZTE baaay mooore.” (shows off our tag, in what weirdest of dimensions would a telecom company want fake IPod Nanos?!)

Finally the vendor pulled his hair and a couple of strands came out. I thought Yashpal had sealed the deal. No nonsense, 100 minutes had passed. When he gruffly packed them, Yashpal blurted…

“I WANT THREE YEARS INTERNATIONAL WARRANTY!!!” (Heh, not one, but three and that too an international one, for a fake! Wonder if they duplicate warranties also…)

Very few giveaways!

“Can I have your…WAIT A MIN!!!”

We went to this highly Indian-recommended club; most clubs we had visited till then had girls in their late teens – most of them either college students or party freaks. We witnessed a scene beyond the wildest of nightmares; 40-year old ultra-despo  white-bearded Indian buddas on the dancefloor with plump stationary bellies covered by extremely-stretched shirts, unbuttoned at the top where their overgrown chest hair danced alongwith the flabby arms like flapping chickens, tight jeans with heavily-buckled belts and to top it all, leather boots. It was one of the times I would have preferred watching the worm-eating in AXN Fear Factor. We belched and looked around for female company. There were Russians, Americans and Chinkis; all slightly aged but gorgeous and sexy. Weren't they getting bored not dancing? Anyways some of us proceeded to try our luck. Ashwin spotted one and got cosy with her after exchanging few words. Rest of ours eyes on Russian belly-dancers, a sight we knew we might not relish again. Ashwin on the other hand came back after a while.
“Kyun, kya hua? Jaake chance maarna?” (Why, what happened? Not flirting?)
“I thought I was charming. Kuch der baad woh mere ko boli – 100 USD for one hour!!”