Angels and demons: Part 2

Note: I have changed the names of places and people in this post for reasons that will become clear.

If John was bewildered by my sudden, inexplicable collapse of emotions he didn't show it. He took me into the deserted restaurant, sat me down and asked, 'What happened? What's the matter?'
'Nothing happened,' I replied. 'I just want to get out of here.'
'But why are you so upset?'
I had to think a little. Why was I upset? What terrible thing had happened to leave me so distraught?
'I don't know. Just everything went wrong and I'm disappointed, that's all.' It sounded so stupid, so childish. Things hadn't gone to my vague and ill-thought-out plans, so now I was preparing to storm off in a tantrum. I told him about the disastrous day's journey yesterday and he was textbook sympathetic.
'That's terrible. That's not good. No wonder you were tired and upset.' I could  have hugged him for being so understanding, for just being the sounding-board on which I could vent my indignation and frustration.

He went on, 'I saw you come in last night and I saw that you were angry and tired, so I didn't want to come over and talk to you and upset you more. I thought, "Just let her eat and relax." Then I saw you sitting on your own with a book and I thought you didn't want to talk and wanted to be on your own, so I didn't want to bother you.'
'I wish you had talked to me,' I said sorrowfully, through a fresh bout of tears. John had read my mood perfectly and he didn't even know me. Just the knowledge of his hidden kindness, consideration and thoughtfulness had set me off again.

He was right. I was exhausted - but not angry - and I didn't want to burden a table of Americans sitting nearby with my bad mood and horror tale of transport woes, nor was I in the mood to make small-talk, so I hid in my book.

'I wish you had talked to me then, because I wouldn't have been in this state now.' John's felt guilty.
'I'm sorry I wasn't there for you,' he said with sincerity in his big brown eyes. 'When you arrived I had just had a very bad day and I didn't make time to talk to you. I had just had to fire some of my men for driving my vehicles without my permission and there was some money missing from the day's takings, so I was very angry and everything was a mess.' Now it was me who felt guilty.

He was so open and honest that I found myself being equally honest, more so than I might normally be with someone I didn't know.
'So why are you disappointed?' he asked. I couldn't really explain but I tried.
'There is nothing here in Shivapuram, except your tours and I can't afford those on my own. It just wasn't what I was expecting.'
'So what were you expecting?' Just then John's phone rang and he excused himself to answer it. When he came back be said, 'I have to do something quickly, but I'll be back in 15 minutes, then I'll take you out in my car and show you around. OK?'
'Ok,' I said, feeling better already, as he'd had taken the immediate decision about what to do off my hands. Having a plan of action made all the difference.

As I waited I wondered to myself, what had I been expecting from this place? I knew there weren't going to be beaches or lots of activities, so why did I go there? The best answer I could come up with is that I thought I should. I was in the islands for three weeks and didn't think I should waste them lying on a beach. But part of me wanted to do just that and nothing else. But this made me feel guilty and wasteful and that it would be a missed opportunity not to see some of the other islands.

Another reason was that I did it because I wanted people to think I was adventurous and brave, by going to those less-visited places, even though  it was plain from this episode that I was far from brave. Whenever a little thing went wrong, I folded and took the easy route out, by leaving and going somewhere else. But equally I was right to leave: Why should I force myself to stay in a place where I was not happy for the sake of some spurious brownie points I might get, either from other travellers or the folks back home. Probably neither group would care which specific towns and places I'd been to. Any anyway, at 37, wasn't I too old to care what other people think? All these thought turned slowly in my mind and I didn't know what to think. And I still don't know what I was expecting...

Once John was back from his errand, we got into his car and set off. The town now seemed to look brighter and more cheerful (though not cleaner!) and even the colour of the ocean seemed to have changed, getting more turquoise, more clear, more beautiful thanks to my lightened mood. There weren't really any sights to see in Shivapuram but John took me to see what there was: the jetty and a viewpoint which looked out westwards to some of the outlying islands, marooned like dark green sponges on the pale blue sea. Some were inhabited, some not, but all were covered in dark, brooding mysterious, heavy-damp rainforest. It was a beautiful sight and to see those remote islands made me feel as though I was both in the middle of civilization, looking out into the wilderness, but also miles away from civilization. The paradox of remote archipelagos is that, when you can see the other islands close by you feel surrounded by civilization, yet the sheer distance to the mainland invokes a certain lonely island melancholy, that is both delicious in its sense of distance from reality and frightening for the very same reason.

As we drove, we talked and John proved to be very good company. He was a  good, attentive listener, genuinely interested in me and my life, about which he asked many questions. But he was generous with his own information too and gave me himself and his life too - holding very little back, although I sensed some of my questions made him feel awkward.

John was 39 and one of a certain breed of Indian man, one who believes he can do anything - and succeeds. He studied Hospitality & Hotel Management at college and worked in several hotels before realising he wanted to be his own boss. To save money to set up his own business he trained in the Indian Merchant Navy and sailed Indian seas for several years before giving this up to set up his own guest house.

'I didn't want to answer to anyone else,' he admitted. 'I wanted to do things my way.' So he did. But John didn't have the mentality of limiting himself to just one area. With the money he made from the guest house, he began to run tours of the local area for tourists and also started up a construction business, tendering for many local government building projects. I was very impressed by his self-belief, dedication, optimism and, above all, confidence. He didn't believe he needed to have the right experience or qualifications to try different business ideas and he had proved he was right with his evident success.

I have met many Indian businessmen who fit this mould and nearly all of them run more than one business - often multiple strands - and think nothing of it. Here, business is business whatever the sector and there is a belief - probably not even consciously-held - that anyone can make money in any way they see fit, whatever their background, just by working hard. It seems to work. Due to sheer hard graft, John now owns his own guest house, tour operator with its fleet of vehicles, construction company and had recently bought another plot of land near the local beach which he planned to do something with, he wasn't sure what.

I was flattered when he showed it to me and asked me what I thought he should do with it. We drove there in his plush air-conditioned car, through thick walls of jungle, banana leaves drooping seductively, like green wings, as we swooped through their shade. It wasn't much to look at, just a large area of fenced-off scrubby jungle but with the key feature of a path leading directly to the beach, about 100m away.

'I might build another guest house here,' he explained slowly, as if giving voice to his ideas for the first time, 'or maybe a house for myself. What do you think? Should I clear the jungle so it has a sea view, or leave the path down to the beach, so people can walk through the forest in its natural state?' He'd obviously given things a lot of thought, right down to details like this. He wasn't likely to throw the building together quickly and cheaply and badly, as seemed to be the norm, judging by much of the accommodation designed for tourists that I'd stayed in.

But John was much more than an entrepreneur, always seeking his next project. He was a deep thinker and ponderer on life and he wasn't embarrassed to state his thoughts. Maybe my flood of tears and open vulnerability had struck a chord with him and he felt safe to share his more personal insights with me. He was frank, honest and open and in his company I soon felt relaxed, comfortable and as though I'd known him for a long time.

When he talked he always made eye contact and smiled. He used my name often too, swinging - to my amusement - between calling me a super-formal 'Madam' and 'Bridget', often within the same sentence. He was trying to keep a professional distance but my crying openly in front of him had somehow unravelled the fabric of etiquette and left him tangled in its tattered fibres, so he wasn't quite sure how to treat me.

He told me he was also a locally elected official for Shivapuram and two other local villages.
'I have a conscience too,' he said, looking directly at me, as if searching for the challenge I might make to the idea that a businessman could be socially responsible too. I didn't need to challenge him. So far, all I'd seen and heard from John was kindness and understanding. I knew he had a conscience from the way he had berated himself for not talking to me the night before. It was almost as if he had been voicing his thought that he should have been a better person. I think he was a better person. And good people usually have good people behind them, supporting them, so I was  interested to know about this family.

He was half Burmese, half-Indian, his father having been brought up on the Andamans. His parents had net at university in Chennai and when his father's parents disowned their son for wanting to marry a girl who was too low-caste, they married anyway and came to live in the Andamans. It was a love marriage, rather than an arranged one. So what about John himself? Had he done the same?

'Are you married?' I asked. He looked very uncomfortable, paused for a second then said, 'Sort of.'
'Come on, either you are or you aren't. Which is it?'
'I'm married.'
'So why did you say 'sort of'?' He looked even more uncomfortable and I felt guilty for prying.
'You don't have to talk about it,' I said, although I was dying to know. Could he be the first divorcee I'd met in India? Or did he have several wives or mistresses who didn't know about each other? Or was he gay but married anyway? The answer was not at all what I expected to hear, but it was just what I should have expected of a caring man like John.

John was married and his wife, Mary, was a local widow whose husband had died young, leaving her to care for her two sons. As she had no income and couldn't go out to work and leave her sons, John had made the decision to marry her out of charity, because he felt it was the right thing to do. I was surprised and saddened at the same time. Surprised that he should go through with something so big, so life-changing on a sentimental whim; impressed that he should be so selfless; and saddened that someone so loving and caring had not married for love or even had a loving marriage arranged for him.

I got the impression that maybe he didn't really love her and was possibly regretting his decision, although I couldn't be sure and didn't feel I could ask such a personal question. I felt sad that a man as good as him should have sacrificed his own potential happiness in marriage in order to provide safety and security for someone else.

'Why did you do it?' I asked. He paused and didn't answer the question directly.
'My friends always say, "John, you're too sentimental, too emotional." I think they're right. I am a very sentimental person.' I could see that the subject was making him uncomfortable, so I dropped it, after reassuring him: 'That's not a bad thing to be, you know.'
'I know,' he said with a sigh, 'but it can make life difficult.'

I changed the subject back to his work and asked him about his construction projects.
'What kind of buildings do you build?'
'Well, it's mainly Government projects,' he said, 'but sometimes it's hard to make money because of the stealing and bribery.'
'What do you mean?'
'Well, workers often steal my steel and concrete so it's difficult to cost things accurately.' He said this so matter-of-factly, as if it were a normal, everyday part of doing business.
'That's terrible! What do they do with it?'
'They usually sell it to other less-honest building contractors, so they can offer a cheaper price.'
I was appalled, not so much by the stealing and selling on, as that happens the world over, but by John's apparent calm acceptance of this situation as an immutable fact of business life. How could he do business in such a climate of distrust?
'Well, what can I do?' he shrugged. 'I could hire one man to watch the workers, but I'd have to hire another to watch him and another to watch him. It would be pointless.' I could see what he meant. If everyone was untrustworthy, as he seemed to be suggesting, there was no sense in putting someone in a position of trust.

And then there was the bribery. 'Do you pay bribes?' I asked. I think I already knew the answer but I wanted to hear it - and not hear it.
'Yes, I pay bribes,' he said. I noted the slight challenging tone in his voice. I wasn't judging him, I just wanted to know.
'Why?' He thought about it for a few seconds, maybe figuring out the reasons himself for the first time.
'I pay certain people to make things happen more quickly, to make life run smoothly,' was his final considered answer. Of course I don't approve of bribery but that wasn't the point really. I wanted to know what made it a necessary part of business for John.

'What kind of people do you pay?
'Managers of the docks or quarries, that kind of thing. If I don't pay them my building materials get tied up for days and if I give them something they are released much more quickly. It just makes life smoother,' he repeated. 'And I can put it down as a business expenditure.' I was even more shocked now.
'Hold on. You calculate bribes as part of your expenditure?'
'Yes, I deduct about 10% from the profits to put aside for bribes.'
'Are you serious!?' I was stunned but I could see from his face that he was totally serious. The ugly reality of bribery was that is was such a pervasive menance, such a fact of life that John even built it into his costings, as just another item to be calculated and accounted for. I felt a bitter anger, both for him personally, and that honest men such as him, were more-or-less forced to buy into this ruinous corruption racket that was making India limp towards progress.

'But the whole government is corrupt,' he said bluntly. He said it not sadly but with resignation and acceptance. 'Even the anti-corruption bureau is corrupt.' I have no way of knowing if this is true or not, or  whether it was just John's personal opinion but if it is true, it is unbearably sad and totally frustrating.
'But what can you do if everyone is corrupt?' I asked helplessly.
'I don't know. If I don't pay bribes it's impossible to do business,' he said with finality. And he explained why.

Apparently he had once been accused of and charged with opening the bar of his guest house 15 minutes before the legally allowed opening time. He alleges that the charge was fabricated. He could have pursued it through the courts to try to clear his name, but this would have taken months, cost money and he couldn't be sure of being found innocent in any case. Or he could just pay the protection money the police allegedly wanted and the charge would quietly go away and they would leave him alone in future. He paid the money. The charge went away and he carried on with business as usual. This, it seems, is the reality of being a successful businessman in India. If you have made money through hard graft, you cannot hide the fact and there are always others who are keen to relieve you of it through devious means.

I didn't know what to feel about this. Of course John shouldn't have paid the bribe: to do so only feeds the voracious monster of corruption and keeps it alive and hungry for longer. But to not pay could have resulted in John losing his licence, a profitable line of business, his income and his ability to look after his family. Standing up to bribery is all very noble, but if you and your family stand to suffer as a result and you are only one drop of honesty in a dark sea of corruption, it would take a strong man to consider it a price worth (not) paying. And who am I to understand and judge the actions of one man?

But of course it isn't just one man. John alleged that the police are also heavily involved in bribery and corruption. He told me about the local chief of police who he claims has to wine and dine and entertain his superior officer when he visits the area. He is expected to offer him the best food, whiskey, accommodation and entertainment, all from his own personal salary. As he apparently doesn't earn anywhere near enough to provide all this luxury, allegedly he himself calls in favours and protection money from local businesses to furnish the needs of his boss. And so the wheels of commerce, protection and bribery turn. When those people who are supposed to protect others from such lawlessness themselves turn lawbreaker, what can be done?

John didn't know and appeared to have no faith in politicians to change things either. He made some shocking claims in support of his belief.

'There is a lot of illiteracy in India, so many people don't know who they are voting for. Some politicians pay poor people just 150Rs (about 1.80 in pounds) to vote for them. These poor people desperately need the money for food for their families and have no interest in the politicians themselves or their policies, so they take the money and vote for that man or woman.'

I was sad that John had no faith in the system and that he was also party to the apparent corruption. He, of all people, as an elected official, should have been in a position to do something about it and challenge the culture of bribery, but equally he had more to lose than most so, loathe as I was to admit it of such a lovely man, maybe for John is was in his best interests to keep the status quo...

As we sat, cool and protected in John's car, looking at the beach I began to feel so much better about myself and my insignificant woes. Despite the heavy turn our discussions had taken, I felt lighter and more positive in myself as I'd been able to forget myself for a while. John could sense it too.
'Do you feel better now?' he asked, looking slightly anxious, in case the answer was not positive.
'Yes, I do,' I smiled. 'You know, it's strange, but after I met you, and you were so kind to me, everything here looked better. The sea looked bluer, the sky was brighter and the trees were greener,' I said with a smile. He looked very pleased and touched.

'Thank you,' he said. 'That's such a nice thing to say.'
'I mean it,' I said. Maybe it was just a trick of the light or maybe it was the unexpected gentleness and kindness of a stranger who I felt was now a friend that had filled me with the ability to see again and appreciate what my frustration and expectations had prevented me from seeing before. I told him this.

'We all have expectations, said John, 'but if you do it can sometimes lead to disappointment. I always try not to have any expectations of anything, then I can't be disappointed. If you hope that a thing will happen to you or that someone will love you back, you can be disappointed, so it's better not to expect anything.'

I sensed there may have been another potentially sad love story behind this last comment but decided not to pry this time. I could at least take that little piece of wisdom with me and try to apply it in future: No expectations; no disappointment.

When we got back to the guest house John had to go off and sort out some business because he'd given up his whole afternoon to spend it with me. I felt guilty about wasting his precious time and told him so.
'No, it was not wasted at all. I enjoyed every minute of it and talking to friends is never wasted.' He turned his big brown eyes on me and smiled such a sincere smile. I ended up staying in Shivapuram that night after all. When I left the next day, I may not have done anything much but I'd learned a lot and gained a friend.