Yesterday,
two completely unrelated things happened, they would both be considered ‘bad
news’ but one is hilarious and classic and one is annoying and classic.
My
diet here consists almost exclusively of carbs. And that’s not because I’m
following some radical new diet or making an effort to gain the freshman 15
ahead of time. It’s simply because that is what there is to is to offer. Each
meal is a dosa, or paratha, or chapati, or a kati roll, or rice, or appams, or
porees, or idli. Potatoes are always involved as well, so many time I’m eating
carbs on carbs…on carbs. And don’t get me wrong, it’s too awesome and so
delicious. But I also might die diabetes, clogged arteries, or simply sudden
onset extreme obesity. So in a effort to counter the carb culture that I
couldn’t run from if I tried (everything is cooked, and if it’s not, you won’t
leave the toilet for dayzzzzz), I joined a gym not far from the campus and make
an effort to be there at least every other day. It’s air conditioned and they
have real showers instead of buckets (love buckets, but it gets old when you
have as much hair as I do) and they have nice treadmills and equipment. So I go
to the gym and run, forcing myself to keep moving by imagining the chapati and
potato in my stomach being in cahoots to skip digestion together and just
turning straight into cellulite. The air conditioned room is a big motivator
too. So, Thursday was just an average morning at the gym until Olympus got
involved.
I
was running on the treadmill, listening to a sweet playlist, sweating like I
just went swimming and someone got onto the treadmill next to me. The morning
crowd is usually me and then some men over 50 who follow a strict minimal
shower policy (or so it smells). So when out of the corner of my eye, I saw
someone start to run, I didn’t even look over at first. But then, somehow, in
between my ragged I’m-out-of-shape running breaths, I managed to inhale deeply
and I realized that the person running next to me smelled better than clean
laundry in a bed of roses after the rain. I turned nose to face man, and that’s
when I saw him. He was an exact genetic cross between Santoro Rodriguez (google
it, you won’t regret a thing) and a God. My first thought was “would it be
inappropriate to touch his biceps?” but I exercised self-control and kept my
hands forward and my head only slightly tilted towards him. And then it
happened, I fell for him. And I don’t mean love at first sight, I don’t believe
in that nonsense. I mean, I literally was so enchanted by the demi-god that I
just kinda fell off the treadmill. Right knee went down and I threw my hands
out desperately in an effort to stop my body flying off the end and to
potentially catch my dignity. I grabbed the bar and managed to pull my self
back up to standing just as both knees were being dragged towards the end. It
wasn’t one of those damsel in distress moments really, it was just a sweaty
dweeb nearly rolling off the end of the treadmill due to the fact that Gods had
finally reached earth and also appreciated fitness. I got up, left my dignity
for dead and just kept running. It was like I was trying to run away but
actually I was just on a treadmill so…
The
other thing that happened was related to safety and intelligence and those two
things not meaning anything in the situation. The background to this story is
that about two weeks ago, my friend and her wallet were parted from one
another. She had it when she got to the office, she went out for coffee, and
then when she got her stuff to go to lunch with us, it was gone. It had
everything in it. Her debit and credit cards, multiple forms of ID and all her
cash that she had withdrawn for the rest of the month. Gone. Losing your wallet
in the US stinks, but in India it’s kind of a tragedy. You can’t just call your
bank and cancel your cards and get new ones within 3-5 business days. They have
to ship them, there are security checks, reauthorization and time differences.
Luckily, she goes home in a few days and our friends helped her out in the mean
time. But the disappearance of the wallet inspired me to up my security with my
own things. I’m careful but so is she, and I’d been carrying around both my
debit and credit card, and because there is a fee for using a foreign ATM, I’d
been withdrawing in 10,000 rupee increments, which is roughly $200. So on
Friday, April 12th, I took out my cards and 5,000 of the 10,000 I’d
just withdrawn, and tucked them into my American passport, clipped that to my British
passport, put that package in the bottom of a drawer after wrapping it in a
piece of paper. Then I put a ziplock baggey full of medicines on top of that,
and then moved the bag of cotton balls, friendship bracelet sting, leatherman,
first aid kit, spare notebook, empty water bottle and all the other junk in the
drawer around so that my valuable were literally buried. I also live in the
last hallway of the third floor of a hostel that within the closed campus of
St. Johns. My hall is full of friends who are studying medicine or doing public
health research and internships The Annexe has a front desk where Sister Bertha
(the head nun who runs the place) or one of her cronies sits most of time. On
that desk is a little plastic box and above that box is a sign on the wall that
says “MUST LEAVE KEYS WHEN YOU ARE LEAVING CAMPUS” so each morning when I come
down the stairs I drop my key in the box and then pick it up again when I come
home. And it should only be me picking up my key.
Yesterday,
I checked my wallet and thought I better re-stock on rupees before we went out
for dinner. It had been almost a week since I withdrew money and hid half, and
I try and spend no more than 5,000 a week, which is about $100. So I went in my
drawer and dug out all my stuff and pulled out my passports and unclipped them,
took out my cards and took out…no money. I stood there for a second, had I
really put 5,000 in there or just thought about it? No. I did. Because I had
withdrawn 10,000 (an online banking check confirmed that) and I had been to a
wedding all weekend, hadn’t spent a cent there because all the food and lodging
was provided. We cooked on Tuesday night, and I spent only 350 on dinner and
drinks on Wednesday. And there I was on Thursday, going to get out the 5,000
rupees that I had hidden and it wasn’t there. I left my key in the box over the
weekend and I had my room cleaned on Tuesday. I checked and double-checked and
wrote out all my purchases again and refreshed my bank page and then just
realized it was gone. And $100 bucks isn’t nothing for a student like me, but I
was equally uncomfortable with the fact that someone had come into my space,
rooted through my drawer, handled my passports and cards and taken that much
money from me.
Emily
and Pooja came with me for support as I walked down three flights of stairs to
find Sister Bertha and another young receptionist sitting behind the desk. In a
small voice I told her what had happened. And that I had been gone and that the
maid had been and that my key had been in the box. And I didn’t expect her do
anything and I certainly didn’t expect to get any part of 5,000 rupees back,
but I could have used an “I’m sorry” or “we’ll look into it”. Instead, Sister
Bertha turned it right back around on me. She told me I should have hidden it,
that I have to leave a note and give my key to her personally when I go away
and that that is a rule that everyone knows, and that I should have had a safe
in my room. And then I got mad. And I said I did hide it, so well that it
disturbs me how much time someone had to root through my stuff. And that I’ve
been leaving for a trip before and dropped my key in the box with every one
else’s and she’s personally waved and said “have a nice trip!” without ever
asking me to leave a note and taking my key out to put it away. I told her how
when I got to the Annexe someone had asked for my name, handed me a key and
told me no rules and policy what so ever. I told her that safe or no safe,
hidden or not, I shouldn’t have to worry about 5,000 rupees being stolen from
me and even if it was, it was not my fault. She responded by repeating to me
all the reasons I was still to blame and then I just said I thought she should
know and that I wasn’t leaving my key anymore, it would be with me always.
But I still feel weird. There’s no use
crying over spilled milk and $100 dollars in the grand scheme is a bummer but
not a tragedy. The thing that stays with me is how thoroughly someone searched
through my things. My key was out all weekend, and there’s often no one looking
after them. The maid came on Tuesday, but I tip her every time and she seems
sweet. But also, St. Johns is not an easy place to get into as a stranger,
there are walls and gates and security guards, and the Annexe has it’s own
security guard out front. So it just makes me think….it had to have been
someone on the inside. And I don’t like that thought at all.
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