India is just one big game of "Chicken"

It seems like everything in India is one big chicken match – let's see who will back down first? It’s cars vs mopeds and rickshaws, pedestrians vs pedestrians, beggars vs tourists; it just never stops. The drivers just drive straight at each other, head-on, until someone moves. Amazingly, I have yet to see an accident. And all the pedestrians just walk towards each other, waiting to see who will move first. Usually it’s me, because I don’t want to collide with them. And then there are the beggars and the sellers. They just keep on you until you walk or drive away, or cave in to their offers.

In the cities, especially tourist sites, people (usually children) surround you trying to sell you things – jewelry, trinkets, postcards, tour guide services, rickshaw rides. There is no end to the offerings, and no end to the pushing. Saying no doesn’t stop them – they follow you. They say “No, listen to me. This is very good deal, very cheap.” Uh, just because it’s cheap doesn’t mean I want it!

When I asked Andy what he missed most about the United States, it wasn’t his bed, or certain food, or even me (well, I’m sure that went unspoken, right?), but he said that he missed being able to just go outside and do something, anything, without being hassled. After being here for only one day, I can totally see that.

Not to say anything mean about the Indian people, but I really hated being followed everywhere. We were followed by men begging for money. We were followed by men selling us things. When we went into a store, we were followed around the store, and they made us try on every shoe, look at every belt, and when you said no, they said, “Oh but very good, very nice shoe/purse/belt/bangle. I put it with the items you have already chosen.” Andy said it made him want to just walk away from the entire sale, and I agree.

At one point on our drive to Agra, we stopped to pay a road toll, and were surrounded by several beggars. Some of them were selling things, one of them had a monkey who would do tricks for money, and some of them had physical deformities.

My heart ached for them, but after saying “no” once, they kept coming back, pushing, pushing, pushing, until we either said “yes” or drove away – just another form of chicken. One man had deformed legs and sort of walked on his hands, dragging his legs behind him. His eyes just barely showed over the bottom of the window, and he came over and peeked in our car, asking for money. When we refused, he started tapping on Andy’s window – tap, tap, tap, over and over for at least five minutes, until our driver came back.

Another man pretty much threw his monkey on my window to make him do a trick. Oddly enough, he was standing across from a billboard that said “Do not pay street performers using animals – it is cruel. Not paying them will get them to stop.” And it had a picture of a chained up bear, a snake in a basket, and a chained up monkey. We didn’t pay them. And we are usually the ones to back down in our game of chicken - it just takes too much energy.