From Dharmsala, I fly to Delhi. Even though the flight departs fifteen minutes late, we arrive on time. Uneventful. Nice job Pilot! From the airport, I arrange a taxi to the Delhi railroad station. I have a pre-purchased ticket for the Delhi to Varanasi train. The taxi ride is uneventful. Again, nice job taxi-cab driver!

Then the “incidents” begin. As soon as the taxi door opens, several men approach me. “Need help.” “No.” As I walk towards the boards listing the trains and their platforms, I notice what appears to be a security check-point with a baggage scanner. Before I decide whether to move in that direction, a nicely-dressed man asks “Where are you going?” I ignore him. The man repeats, “Where are you going?”  I reply “Varanasi.” A second man comes over, “Oh, that train is 9 hours late. I can help you.” I begin to move away. He follows me, and then says: “Here, I’ll write down where to go.” He quickly writes “’D.T.T.D.C. Reserved Office.’ Get a government tuk-tuk. Pay him 20 rupees. He’ll wait and bring you back.”

As my anxiety escalates, I reply. “Thank you, I’ll check the board.’ The second man says, “See, your train isn’t listed on the board.” A bit concerned, I say: “But I see only trains before the hour mine is leaving. Too early to be posted.” Although not real confident, my observation appears correct.

The second man continues. “I don’t take any of your money. I’m trying to be helpful. Go to the D.T.T.C. Sell them your present ticket. They’ll issue you a new ticket on a different train.”

As I am still focused on my planned train, I ask, “Why is this train not showing. Is it late?” I am sinking into the trap of trusting this man. The man has an answer, “Probably some kind of trouble between Hindus and Muslims.” I’m weakening. “Hmmmm….OK.” With that the first man leads me to a rickshaw and instructs the driver my destination. Right before the tuk-tuk leaves, I’m further befuddled when a third young-man jumps into the tuk-tuk, “I’ll direct the driver to the right place.”

Fortunately, it takes one or two minutes to navigate the maze of tuk-tuks at the entrance to the train station. As we have moved only one or two-hundred yards, and we haven’t reached the exit to the station, I realize that I am disregarding a basic rule for dealing “touts.” The rule is:  “Never leave the station!” I shout to the tuk-tuk driver, “Stop. I’m getting out.” The third young man protests, “But we are here to help you!.” “No, Stop.” Before the tuk-tuk came to a complete stop, I grabbed my bag and I had one leg out of the tuk-tuk.

I begin walking back to the train station. Magically, the first and second men re-appeared. Persistent buggers! “Why did you not listen? We are trying to help you.” I have a sense of where I needed to go. “I want to find the International Tourist Office.” The second man replies, “Oh it has moved across the street.” I’m regaining a sense of what I should do. “No, the sign points in this direction, and I also want to see another train information board.” As I walk toward the board, I don’t see the train listed. While the third man, with too much of a “smirk” on his face, says, “See the train is not listed”, I notice that there are a set of windows with agents. One window has “Cancelled Trains.” Although the window is closed, there are two men behind the window. Before I reach the window, a fourth man comes up to me. “Can I help you?” “I’m trying to see if my train is cancelled.” “Which Train?” “The Shiv Ganga Express to Varanasi.” “Yes, it is cancelled. Follow this man, he’ll help you with the cancellation.”

Since I’m starting to see that I’m being played, but sensing that I need to find an actual “official”, railroad employee, I push to the window. Reaching the closed window, I push my paper through the slot in order for it to be read by an official. One man ignores me. Nice guy! The other man answers my question: “Which platform is the Shiva Ganga Express?” “Platform 12.”

I have an answer. I begin backtracking toward the area leading to the platforms. The second and third man confront me. Looking offended, he asks: “Why you do this? Why do you not believe me?” Being truthful, I reply “Because I don’t trust you.” Trying to have the most beatific smile possible, the second man, responds with a classic line, “But you must trust sometimes.” Classic! The third man responds, “Here look at his official credentials. You can trust him.” Another Classic!

I continue walking, hoping that I’m going in the right direction to the platforms. I need to put distance between these two men, and the other two men who also seemed to be in on the scam. I now know that I have time on my side. If I don’t give in, I’ll have time to figure out my options if the train is actually cancelled.

As I walk, another Indian man asks “Can I help you?” Skeptical, but sensing he really is trying to be helpful, I say “I’m trying to find Platform 12, the Shiv Ganga to Varanasi.” “I’m heading that way. We’ll pass Platform 12 on the way to my train. The train isn’t posted yet, but this is the normal track.” Wow, a fellow giving me a straight answer!

As we talk, I learn that he is a retired Indian Air Force officer. Before moving toward his platform, we talk for ten-fifteen minutes. He has a daughter attending dental school; his son attends college with the hopes of entering the business world. He helps them out financially, until they become married. “My son accepts my money, but not my advice.”  I really enjoy the shift from nervously justifying my “lack of trust” to this more casual bantering of one father with another father.

Quite a nightmare. I am trying to be conned by four men working together. I am the target, the man with a bulls-eye on my back. I am their prey and they smell blood, especially at the beginning. When I don’t show any recognition that they are conning me, they know to strike.

They feel my anxiety. I am anxious about being at the train station. I am anxious about not knowing the layout of the train station. I am anxious about where to find an accurate listing of trains and their schedules. I am anxious about not knowing who are legitimate “railroad officials.” Simply and totally anxious! But, in that anxiety, I have the nagging thought which guides me “Don’t leave the train station!” Sometimes remembering one little truth can save a person!

These men are predators. They play me well. They are quite convincing about their willingness to “help me.” They are so intent that I am the unreasonable foreigner. “Listen to the facts. I’m telling you the facts that the train is cancelled.” They were quite shocked and hurt when I say “I don’t trust you.” Of course, they completely misrepresent themselves. Their true intent is to harm me, not physically, but financially.

In responding to this situation, I’m reminded of the importance of a firm “No.” Normally, it is not difficult to say “No.” But here, where I am vulnerable, when I am uncertain, to say “No” is harder. Fortunately, I found the wisdom and courage to disentangle. Whew!!! I’m so thankful that that nightmare ended with no greater disaster!!