"Up-begging" in Mysore

Like most visitors to India, I presume, I came here prepared to see a wide and tragic array of street beggars lurching their malformed bodies and emaciated children towards me with open hands and sad pleas. Sadly, this is the case and it is hard to avoid them - on the trains, in the markets, in hotel lobbies before they are driven out by staff. They stand in the sharpest contrast to a country that appears to be vaulting into first world status - at least in some parts and among some castes. What I was not prepared for, however, is the next order of begging - upscale along the value chain, if you will - that one encounters from museum staff, temple guards and in simple street conversations with erstwhile respectable Indians. It is where the tawdry world of begging meets the more respectable requests for tips - with a little baksheesh thrown in for good measure.

Naturally, one wants to engage in as much conversation as possible with the locals while travelling and in India the opportunities to do so abound. Sometimes you are lulled into a sense that your conversation is actually helping someone practice their English when, all of a sudden, he turns out to own the silk store he has subtly led you to or, more brazenly, feels that his conversational efforts alone are deserving of a tip (10 rupees of $0.25 seems to be the opening bid).

Yesterday, I had three separate "haut-begging" experiences - so I am compelled to report on this trend in the present dispatch. In the morning, while touring the magnificent Maharajah's Palace in Mysore, a palace security guard saddled up to us and began a bit of an impromptu guided tour. The fact that he was reciting from plaques mounted under paintings and statues, all of which were in English, did not discourage his attempt to please. As we tried to shuck him off and flee to the next chamber, we were greeted by a knowing wink and an extended palm and the offer to pay 10 rupees for his efforts. When we declined, he stunned us with his second volley - he was, in fact, a coin collector and did we have any coins from our country that we could give him. Who would have thought that India was full of numismatic enthusiasts - but, my friends, I was soon to find out that this is indeed the case. The stunning 12th century Chamundi Shiva temple atop a hill towering over Mysore is a living postcard of all one imagines about Indian temples - complete with multi-coloured flower garlands, sandalwood incense, high-pitched flutes and bells and tumbling with monkeys and roaming packs of freely-fertilizing cows. It is also, as it turns out, a local hotspot for coin collectors . We paid our "special entrance" admission - most generously marked up 100% for foreigners - and entered the temple whereupon we were immediately taken under the wing of a security guard. He escorted us to the front of the line so we could see the solid gold statuette of Chamundi - a sacred Hindi sculpture that looks to me like it was smuggled straight out of the props room on an Indian Jones movie set. As we gazed in awe in the cacophony and splendour, I felt a nudge on my hip. Turning around, I was greeted by the security guard with a whimsical smile and an offer to subsidize him for his efforts. Perhaps deterred by my plea that we had paid what some might fairly consider a rich premium to enter the premises in the first place, he rejoined that he too was a coin collector and might we have any foreign coins to add to his collection. A deft performance of the numismatic manoeuvre - unrewarded nonetheless. The crowning example of this form of begging came yesterday afternoon when I took delivery of my tailor made, shot silk dinner jacket (which, incidentally, I feel will make a stunning addition to my cocktail wardrobe alongside my iconic pure Orlon white dinner jacket). After laboriously negotiating the price of the fabric, then the price of the tailoring the transaction was confirmed with the "nod" (ref. previous blog entry) and I went on my way. Two days later, the finished jacket was delivered to our hotel room by the beaming tailor. So carried away was he with his work that he proudly proclaimed in his sing-song English that he would "now be happy to be having his gift". This offer too was gracefully declined. At least he wasn't a coin collector.

I am not discounting that there may be some legitimate truth behind the India fascination with numismatics. Indeed, on my next trip here I may bring a small sack of pennies - or, better still a sheaf of Canadian Tire money so I can contribute to these hobbyist's collections.

By the way, on a tourist information note, we were luck enough to see the lighting up of the Maharajah's Palace on Sunday night. For one hour, over 100,000 light bulbs are lit making for a magnificent display all over the palace walls, gates and several temples on the grounds. It was all overwhelming and makes the nightly lighting of our legislature buildings in Victoria seem like they are illuminated tea candles in comparison. Not to be missed if you are in these parts.