Flowers and the Taj Test

I was surprised by how happy I was to see Mary when she arrived from the states. I think I expected the time apart to sort of dull my reaction, but I was wrong. I was also surprised how much of a mountain-woman she looked like (don't kill me, Mary, for saying that in public). Vasque hiking boots, 2 backpacks, camo pants and a sleeping bag. Serious gear.

We got to our homestay in Delhi - a very nice mother/daughter family - and Mary promptly fell asleep. So I took the chance to finish a few errands and snag us some dinner. The next day we hung around Delhi and let her get acclimatized to the "pure chaos," as she would put it that evening. We also went to Akshardham and I played tour guide. I think it's funny that I actually have a "tour-guide" mode. But it was still a slow day and we turned in early because we were going to see the Taj Mahal the next day at the crack of dawn.

As it turns out, the area in front of the Delhi Tourism office is a wholesale flower market from 4 AM to 9 AM. So when we arrived, we were assaulted again by Delhi's many scents - but this time of roses, marigolds, birds of paradise, chrysanthemums, anthuriums, and other assorted plantlife. Not so bad. As we wandered around in awe of this massive wholesale market, the air filled with shouts of prices and the deeper buzz-like tones of chai vendors selling chai, garam chai, we came across one chap wanting to sell us flowers. Odd, I thought, considering this was a wholesale market. So I started talking to him about his business and how flower sales in India worked. Turns out it's the same concept as in the USA but carried out differently. At home wholesalers keep stock in big refrigerant houses based on expected need and deliver based on orders from flower vendors with prices changing as the stock ages over a period of days, the wholesale market is emptied and restocked virtually every day, and prices change by the quarter-hour. But because flowers don't wither immediately even if they're not in a fridge, but have to be sold by end of the market because they won't last unrefrigerated till the next day, prices RISE slightly over the course of the market day as more vendors arrive to purchase flowers, and by stocking less anthuriums than are needed, wholesalers can push the price up as vendors bid on the flowers. Then as the vendors begin to leave, prices fall rapidly toward cost as the remaining stocks must be eliminated. The economist in me was utterly confused. But the best description I can give is that of a currency market. During trading hours, the prices of various currencies stays bouyant, but as the market begins to close, the rates begin to drop and stay low overnight till the next market opening.

We discussed flower market over tea that he brought for me and Mary and suggested that if we REALLY wanted to see something truly fantastic, the Taj was all good and well but we really should visit this amazing place - "it's not exactly a temple," said the man, "it's more a place about old Indian culture. But it's called Akshardham temple. It's really great." Hehe.

Of course there is no way to compare the two. My criticisms of the graveyard-esque kind were put to rest as the Taj rose above Agra in all her splendor. But after about 10 minutes, I was done with it. And so was Mary. So the highlight wasn't REALLY the Taj, it was how I got in. See, make-rich-tourists-pay-more-because-they-are-rich mentality isn't only espoused by rickshaw drivers. At all the sights in India, tourists are regularly charged 10X the amount that Indians are charged (except at Akshardham, of course). At the Taj, however, Indians pay Rs. 20/- and foreigners pay $20. That's almost 45X more. So I decided I would be Indian. I bought the ticket without a problem, but as I was entering, the ticket taker asked the Indian man in front of me (who really was from India but had on a baseball cap and a decent jacket) where he was from. He said "Visakhapatnam" and the taker asked to see his I-Card (Gov't. ID). Great, I thought, I'm screwed. And so when I came up, he looked at my jeans, shoes, and beanie and said,

"Where are you from?"
"Gujarat."
"Where in Gujarat?"
"Vadodara."
"Can I see your I-Card?" The moment of truth.
"I don't have it as it's not required by law and I don't want to lose it."
"Then how am I supposed to know you're Indian?"
"The same way you do most everyone else - I look Indian."
"NRI's have to pay foreigner ticket."
"I'm not an NRI." A bold-faced lie.
"Then who is the CM of Gujarat?"
"Narendra Modi," (whew! glad I knew that!) then, feeling emboldened, "but everyone knows that!"
"Who's the PM?"
"Manmohan Singh. And the President is Abdul Kalam and the Congress leader is Sonia Gandhi."
"Fine fine. I just have to check, go ahead."

Victory!