India

Straining at the zipper on my suitcase, I finally gave up, opened it back up and took another two dozen flyers out of it and tried again.  I was returning from my first trip to India, a trip that had opened my eyes to a world that I never really new existed before.  I had agreed to take some flyers back to Canada with me to distribute so people could pray more effectively for the people and issues I’d been learning about over the past four months.  There were easily twice as many as I had been expecting but, after getting the zipper shut, I went to work shoving the remainder into the external pockets of my luggage wherever they fit.  I grabbed the suitcases handle to pull it back upright and jarred my shoulder doing so.

Right … this was so not going to be under the weight limit.

I mentally reworked the budgeting of my last few rupees.  There were still exactly enough for taxis and one overnight stay in Mumbai before returning to Canada.   Not enough to pay for overweight luggage.  That meant I would have to use my Visa card after all.  I had only arrived with a budget for four weeks and had asked God to miraculously keep me out of debt if He really was calling me to leave traditional teaching in Canada and pursue community development work cross culturally.  He had provided over and over again as the four weeks stretched into four months.  It seemed odd that he would have me go into debt now.

I lay down on the stuffed cotton mattress in my friend’s living room in Delhi and stretched out to try to fall asleep.  I had last been in this apartment three months earlier when my lungs had rebelled against the mould and mildew in Mussoorie were I had been learning about some of the clean water issues faced by the marginalized.  Despite different religious and cultural backgrounds “S”, an acquaintance I had made, had taken me in for a week and nursed me from bedridden back to perfect health.  He’d skipped what few university classes he had during Diwali to keep me company and found an ancient, thumping, air conditioner to run non-stop, purifying the vehicle exhaust and celebratory firecracker smog from the air.  We became close friends, talking about the nature of truth, how to recognize God’s voice, and how scoring works in cricket.

Now, after months of other coincidences and divine appointments, I had returned for one night to say goodbye.  I tossed and turned but wasn’t able to fall asleep.  Was this really happening?  Was I really having my heart broken for India and being directed to spend years investing here?  How did this connect with my desire to learn from and serve in a First Nations community?  Was God going to somehow keep me from debt, giving the confirmation I had asked for if I was to seek for funding to come back here full time?  Was this really possible for a boy whose weakness, naivety and health problems had made him sure that he could be a ‘sender’ but never a ‘goer’? The questions didn’t seem to stop but eventually I did drift off to sleep.

The next morning I smoothed out my north Indian Khan suit and decided that there were few enough wrinkles in it that I could wear it to Mumbai.  No western cloths came close to it’s comfort for traveling in.

The airport ticket counters were delayed as the building was under renovations.  A slight mother in a bright yellow sari was having a terrible time quieting her child a few people behind me.  I caught the child’s eye and stuck out my tongue.  Seeing that I had his attention I bugged out my eyes and scrunched my nose.  I may even have made a noise that rhymes with “blatharatha” but you’ll never get me to admit it.  The child stopped crying and looked quizzically for a few seconds before he gave me a smile.  The mother nodded her thanks and I offered them my place in line.  She clearly had a longer day ahead of her than I did.  As we switched places I noticed that an Indian Airlines employee had seen the exchange.  I probably hadn’t done a lot to detract from any ‘crazy westerner’ stereotypes he may have held.  However, his smile implied that he at least approved of my helping out.

Soon this was the attendant I stood before as I heaved my suitcase onto the scale.  I started to reach for my Visa card but froze as I read the scale’s readout.

‘0.1 kg.’

The attendant and I looked at my bulging baggage and then back at the flashing readout.

“To be completely honest I had sort of expected it to weigh a bit more then that…”

The attendant grinned and started dragging it to the conveyor belt.

“I’m sure … <hurf> … that it’s … <koff> … fine …”

—

Thanks for joining for the first of five blogs about the return trip from my first time in India.  The others will show up over the next four Wednesdays.  I’d love to hear in the comments times when the random act of kindness of a stranger or acquaintance made a huge impact in your life.

Bless you,

Rusty

‘0.1 kg.’

The attendant and I looked at my bulging baggage and then back at the flashing readout.

“To be completely honest I had sort of expected it to weigh a bit more then that…”

The attendant grinned and started dragging it to the conveyor belt.

“I’m sure … <hurf> … that it’s … <koff> … fine …”

Could this be my answer to staying out of debt?  Would I need anything in those bags during my twenty five hour stop over in Mumbai?  I had underwear, socks and a toothbrush in my carry-on … no razor but I could go a few more days without shaving.

“Can I check them through all the way to North America?”

The attendant stopped in front of the conveyor belt and wiped his brow.

“Sure, I’m actually new to this and haven’t done that before but I know it’s possible … just a second …”

He started fighting with the system to get it to do what he wanted and eventually he seemed happy with his progress.  As I walked away from the ticket counter I decide I was finally ‘on my way’ enough to open an envelope that I had been given by a young woman I had met and told not to open until I had left.  Inside was 1000 rupees and a note telling me Alexis felt God had asked her to give it to me to spend on the trip.

I immediately used 200 of them to splurge on a tuna sub sandwich, a treat available at the airport restaurants that I hadn’t enjoyed for four months.

Mumbai was just as big, busy and confusing as Delhi.  While wandering, I somehow found myself in a ‘customs’ area where I was being asked what I was bringing into India.  This confused me as I wasn’t coming into India.  A man in uniform walked up to me and asked to see my boarding pass.

“This is a domestic flight … you’re only coming from Delhi … what are you doing in here?”

“Um … I truly have no idea.”

He led me through all the security points in less then ten minutes.  He flashed his badge at each barrier until we were close enough that he could point out the exit before walking away.  There was one more security guy there who was checking passports and boarding passes.  However, just as I approached him, a pen fell from his desk and he waved me through without looking at anything as he bent down to pick it up.  I found the taxi to my hotel in record time and left.

At the hotel, I confirmed the rates, that meals were included, and then crashed.  When I woke up I had this strong feeling that there was a particular divine appointment that I wasn’t supposed to miss.  This started to become a source of worry as I feared that making the wrong move could mean missing it.

“Stop worrying! Just enjoy ‘real life to the full’ and walk it out.”

This thought had been a reoccurring theme of my life for the past year.  Whether about health, future, ministry, or relationships … it seemed to be the clearest direction that God was giving me.  As I gave in to this ‘voice’, God’s peace hit me like a ton of bricks, though, granted, somewhat less painfully than I would have expected a ton a bricks to feel.  O.K. So I’m supposed to stop worrying … how does one make sure they don’t miss a divine appointment without worrying about it?  I guess by continuing on the day as normal only keeping ones eyes open.  With nothing else to do, and 800 rupees burning a hole in my pocket, I decided to look for a book shop.

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I really appreciate you allowing me to share this part of my journey with you.  Please leave comments about what “Real life to the full” means to you and how you have either experienced it or searched for it.

Blessings,

Rusty

The clerk told me the closest book shop was two blocks away in the Orchid hotel.  Walking there, I dodged the requisite wandering livestock, scooters, and auto-rickshaws apparently attempting to bowl me over, recalling that a friend had warned me that foreigners were worth more points.  I’m pretty sure he just said that to make me more careful when crossing the street …  but not 100% sure.  I walked into the Hotel and froze, staring at a huge waterfall Icicle sculpture in the middle of a reflecting pool beside a spotless glass elevator.

The clerk had failed to mention that the Orchid was a five start eco-hotel with a dress code.  I glanced down at my dirty, wrinkled Khan suit and ran a hand over my unshaven face.  The closest group of people sitting in the lounge area seemed to be two families discussing an arranged marriage contract.  They were dressed to the hilt for this first meeting of the bride and groom.  The contrast made me reconsider my rash entrance.

With an awkward smile on my face I managed to convince the doorman not to kick me out on my rear but rather send me in the direction of the book store, despite looking like a vagabond.

“Excuse me!”

A young, shop owner ran out of a nearby craft store and intercepted me.

“Yes?  Can I help you?”

“I couldn’t help but notice your cloths …”

My eyes took in his perfectly tailored slacks, shirt and jacket.  Perfect, I was going to be kicked out on my rear after all … this was such a bad idea.

“… would you mind telling me where you got them?”

Long story short, It turned out that this shop owner was from the same area that I had spent most of my time in.  He had recognized the style of my cloths and was incredibly homesick.  We had chai and talked for hours about people we both new, justice issues and having integrity with romantic relationships.  At the end we traded email addresses and he gave me a 60% discount on a hand embroidered shawl that was softer than down.  It was the perfect Christmas gift for my mother and came to exactly 800 rupees.

The next morning I headed to the airport 2 hours early.  The taxi took longer then I expected but no problem.  I already had a boarding pass, and I didn’t have any checked baggage to worry about.  Unfortunately the Indian Airlines staff didn’t see it the same way.  They kept sending me from one place to another.  The time was slipping away and I was really starting to worry about missing my flight.  Finally, I was talking to a manager.  He came over, looked at my boarding pass and then handed it back pointing at the date.  Sunday, December 12th. Desperately hoping I was wrong, I flipped my wrist to see my watch.  Monday, December 13th.

I had missed my plane. 

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Thanks for reading part 3!  I’d love to read bits of any of any similar stories in the comments.  Times when everything seemed to be going perfectly only to hit an unexpected seemingly impossible roadblock.

God bless,

Rusty

 

Finally, I was talking to a manger.  He came over, looked at my boarding pass and then handed it back pointing at the date.  Sunday, December 12th.  Desperately hoping I was wrong, I flipped my wrist to see my watch.  Monday, December 13th.

I had missed my plane.

—

December 12th minutes after “Russell Tankov” had gotten into the taxi.

“Paging Russell Tankov to Indian Airlines kiosk.  Russell Tankov to Indian Airlines.  Your flight is leaving”

Where had this foreigner gotten to?  All the other connecting international passengers had easily funnelled through the customs’ area to the next leg of their flight from Mumbai to Newark … yet this Russell Tankov had disappeared.  Impossible of course since to get out of the airport he would have had to waltz through rows and rows of customs and front gate security.  If he had gotten through this there would have been a record of it.  There was no record so he must be lost somewhere in the airport.

A half hour later they finally gave up, stopped paging “Russell Tankov”, pulled his luggage off the plane and allowed the jumbo jet full of frustrated, delayed, international passengers on it’s way.

—

December 13th minutes after I realize I had missed my international flight and was broke and stranded in Mumbai.

I quickly pulled out my travel agent’s flight itinerary to compare.  Here it read Monday the 13th as I had remembered it.  How had I possibly gotten a boarding pass for the 12th?  My mind went back to the words of the new attendant at the ticket counter in Delhi.

“I haven’t done that before but I know I can … just a second.”

He must have accidentally changed my flight from Mumbai to Newark a day earlier when he tried to check my baggage through and I hadn’t noticed the change on my boarding pass.  I handed the printout of my itinerary to the manager and looked down at my shoes.

“I thought I was supposed to leave today …”

At this point he must have been taken off guard.  He had finally found the “Rusty Tankov” that had ruined his previous day.  However now, instead of being a belligerent North American tourist who didn’t think that Indian law applied to him, or a stereotypical thug trying to disappear off the radar into the dark underbelly of Mumbai’s crime world, I was just this impossibly naive and helpless kid.

I figured he had two options.

Option number one.  He could try to do everything by the book and try to get my passport fixed to say that I hadn’t left India yesterday after all.  Then he could help me claim my baggage and take it through security and customs so it could be checked again.

Option number two.  He could ignore me.  I’d have to find out on my own what I needed to do if I ever wanted to see his my bags again (possibly still enjoying their lonely journey around and around the carousel that only transit passengers has access to).  I could try on my own to get through customs even though my passport said that I had left India yesterday.

Either of these options would result in me missing a second flight and being stranded in India.  Not to mention all the paperwork it would cause him on how this could possibly have happened in the first place.

Fortunately for me he thought of option number three.  He called in a favour on his cell phone and got a friend to stick my bags on the plane.  He then escorted me to the plane and flashed his own I.D. badge at all the same security people that had had a different badge flashed at them the previous day when I waltzed past them the other direction.  I’m not confident that this was legal, but it probably caused him a heck of a lot less paper work and kept me from the red flags associated with being deported for illegally being in India (even if it was unintentional).

I settled into my seat mere minutes before we were asked to buckle up.

—

I can’t remember a time I felt quite as alien, helpless and alone as those few minutes between the manager explaining my predicament and taking mercy on me.  When I realized that I was illegally in India without a valid ticket out, no cash and nothing on me except a small pack with a pair of dirty socks and underwear.  At the time I didn’t realize the privilege that came with my white skin and Canadian passport.  I have since had a good friend who didn’t have those and who had a very different experience at a different border with a different misunderstanding.  Have you ever experienced grace or mercy in the midst of an environment completely alien to you?  I’d love to hear about it in the comments below.

Blessings,

Rusty

I settled into my seat mere minutes before we were asked to buckle up and enjoy the flight.  The whole thing reminded me of a letter I had written to my sister my first week of university.  A country boy at heart, I detailed how I had gotten totally lost walking around in the ‘big city’ of Kingston, Onario and some of the ironic happenings that occurred as I tried to get unlost.  My mother later told me that when Suzanna read it at home she laughed, shook her head and said “Honestly, how is that boy still alive?”.

I have to admit that as I review sections of my life since then … I sometimes find myself with the same reaction.  As we were flying the next leg from Mumbai to Paris I contemplated my experience and thought about how many ‘coincidences’ had occurred in order for me to have chai with a lonely Islamic man.  And then how many more had taken place to keep me from the legal hassle and missed flight due to the misunderstandings.

I thought about how much of a confirmation that was that I was in the center of God’s will.  I then felt an uneasiness.  What if things hadn’t fallen into place?  What if I had been misunderstood, stranded or even imprisoned? Would that have meant I wasn’t in His will?  Well … no, not necessarily.

“That’s really a good life lesson.  I should tuck that away for years from now, when things don’t go smoothly but I’m still in God’s will.”

I’m sure that the “years from now” part of that sentence made God laugh out loud.  Particularly because he already had a new adventure waiting for me on the Paris to Newark leg of my journey.  One that, among other things, involved Homeland security and a young man in a crumpled khan suit with a four day old beard and goatee and multiple copies of “prayer guides” crammed in the outside pockets of his luggage.

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I think I’ll wrap it up there for now.  Maybe later I’ll tell about how I eventually made it home to Canada.  For now, thanks again for letting me share about this fun part of my naive youth.

God bless!

Rusty

(This post is slightly adapted from a letter I wrote to some friends and family in September of 2005 – while we were still living in India and I was still pretty new to world travel and significantly more naive.  I’m still encouraged by the overall event, though my perspective at the time does make me cringe in spots.  That’s just proof that I’ve actually matured over the past decade though … right?  Right? – Rusty)

I was supposed to be in Leh only one week but my health coupled with travel options and the decision that I was not leaving without flying out based on what the road conditions were like … well it turned into 2 weeks.

The story of my life eh? My struggle with asthma putting me where I’m supposed to be, when I’m supposed to be there for purposes I never would have guessed. I can’t remember exactly the last time that I felt as weak as I felt for much of these 2 weeks. My lungs would have been able to deal with altitude within 2 or 3 days … they’ve done it before … they would have been able to deal with the pollution within 1 or 2 days … they’ve done it before … it was just when it was combined together … plus I had eaten ‘Palak Paneer’ … palak paneer that I expect had been prepared in local water before I had had a chance to adapt. Thus it was that my body decided it was more important to send extra strength and resources ti deal with that aftermath rather than keep my lungs prepared for a fight :p

So we decided that I was going to fly out so I could avoid the pollution on the 2 day road trip that was the alternative. seems like a simple solution right? Well it was … except for a few problems 1) flights only went from there to Srinagar (where our apartment was) once a week 2) those flights were booked solid for almost a month in advance, and 3) Alexis had had a vivid dream about the flight from Leh to Srinagar crashing in a blazing inferno when it tried to land on Sept 7.

Solutions presented themselves in the following ways 1) I stayed in Leh longer then I had planned 2) I had a doctors note and should be able to get on a waiting list for the next flight and 3) we prayed until we had peace … I felt very strongly that we were not just to pray for guidance on to get on the plane or not, but that we were to pray until any assignments against that plane were thwarted.

YESTERDAY

Early in the morning Alexis and the others left by road to get back to Srinagar. I was alone but not worried … the airline manager had told me that when the list was made out today at 3 that it would be made by need not first come first serve. So I went to the office at 2:45 got confirmation from the manager that I was just to wait in the lobby until he called me and then waited. Once, when I heard a bunch of people talking in Urdu I could make out just enough to guess that they were talking about being put on the list so I asked the manager again and he again told me to just wait for him in the lobby. Then after everyone else had left and I was the last person in the lobby he turned to me and said “O.k. so buy a ticket and I’ll put you on the list you will be refunded if you don’t get on … about a 50/50 chance.” So I bought a ticket, came to him and he did put me on the list … number 12 … dead last.

He had lied to me – was all that was going through me mind. He hadn’t wanted to deal with me so he lied to me. And now I was alone with very few alternatives. I could wait a week and try my luck again now that I ‘knew how it worked’ (had I really seen that one guy bribe the manager or had it just been my imagination?). I could wait half a week and try the same thing to Jammu (and get a ticket from there to Srinagar). Or I could shell out maybe 6 times as much and buy a ticket to Delhi (the only other destination from Leh) and then from there to Srinagar.

So … I went home and packed … you never know maybe 12 (out of the sixty some passengers that I heard that those planes were legally able to hold at that altitude) wouldn’t show up. … that’s possible … right?

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Have you ever been in an unknown environment and assumed the worst about someone (like I did about the airline manager)?  It’s easy to do when you feel out of your depth and out of control.  I’d love to hear in the comments about an area that feel you have matured in over the past decade and how that encourages you.  Thanks for reading! Rusty.

(Reminder that this is adapted from a letter I wrote home over a decade ago.  Still worth reading I think 🙂 )

TODAY

I get up at 4, share a Taxi to the airport with a german I just met from my hotel, am one of the first people in line and then am ushered to the side to wait for hours while they wait to see if there will be enough extra seats (along with many others … many with wait list tickets hadn’t bothered to get there names on ‘the list’ at all … hmm with all the army officials etc getting on in front of me maybe the manager hadn’t lied to me after all .. maybe there were 11 who had to take precedence) I hear a rumour that the increased security at the airport today is because the Dali Lama will be flying out of Leh later in the afternoon. I wonder if God is going to let the plane crash after all and is deliberately keeping me off it. I wonder if I’m supposed to tell someone about that dream. I decide to pray instead.

It feels like hundreds of people have gone by in front of me … dozens of wait listed passengers. I have once again already asked the man currently in authority twice if I am supposed to do anything other then sit and wait to be beckoned. He tells me “no” both times. A man with more authority comes out and uses his influence to get 3 or 4 of his friends through who were not able to get through before. He says something to the other man that I take to mean that one more passenger can be accommodated. I am resigned by now that I am not going and am making new plans in my head when the man looks at his list, looks up, and points to me.

They take my ticket, I get rushed through checking my bag, security frisks, etc. and end up in the room where all of the passengers are waiting to be allowed to board the plane. I’m taken outside where I identify my baggage to be put on board the plane, it is loaded and I rejoin the other passengers.

And we wait.

and wait.

and wait.

Finally an official comes into the room that we are waiting in and says.

“It is doubtful that we will be able to fly … the engineer just noticed that the wing flaps are broken and he is trying to fix them. If we do fly it will be at least another 15 mins.”

God answers prayer.

They serve us Chi and little plastic wrapped fruit cakes.

I go to the rest room.

As I come out I see that the passengers are finally being allowed to board ‘flight 448 to Srinagar and Delhi’. I look at my ticket to confirm again that I am on flight 448 .. yup .. I get in line and board the plane.

The flight is rather uneventful although I find myself thinking about crashing more often then usual on a flight :p strangely though the thoughts are not accompanied by any fear. I overhear a bit of the conversation of the passenger in front of me discussing his travel plans with the stewardess regarding visiting both Delhi and Srinagar. Finally we begin our descent.

I look out the window.

That is NOT Srinagar.

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Have you ever had a prayer answered in a way you didn’t expect?  I’d love to hear about it in the comments.  Thanks for reading!  Rusty

(Still that letter from 2005 🙂 Half way through.)

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I look out the window.

That is NOT Srinagar.

Nope definitely NOT Srinagar.

In fact it looks strangely like Delhi.

I tap the man on the shoulder in front of me.

“Excuse me … did I overhear you say that you were going to Srinagar?”

He smiles “Yes.”

I look out the window “This is not Srinagar.”

He laughs “No we will still have to get directions from the Indian Air desk once we arrive … I don’t know what will happen though since we already had to pay so much more just to get here when those others stayed in Leh.”

I must have looked shocked.

“You did pay more to get here didn’t you?”

“I have no Idea what is going on …”

Once we disembark I lose sight of him as I try to find the desk. When I do find it i arrive just after they have sent 3 of my fellow passengers away.

“Are you like them? From Leh trying to get to Srinagar?”

I nod and hold out my boarding pass and ticket receipt. They wave it away.

“Just go get your luggage first then we will take you over to the flight to Srinagar.”

So I go, stand by the luggage carousel and wait …

and wait …

and wait …

I start singing quietly to myself the snails “have patience” song from the ‘music machine’ album I had as a kid.

I lose track of how many times I have sung it.

An Indian Airlines man comes up and asks me if I am going to Srinagar. I nod and show him my ticket receipt, boarding pass, and luggage stub.

One other passenger is waiting with us.

The carousel is empty.

“Did you recheck your luggage when they loaded us onto the new plane?” This from the other passenger.

“I saw them load my bag onto the plane … ” I start

“… Your luggage must be in Leh. They took it all out and rechecked it so that those who decided to stay in Leh could have their luggage.”

“It must have been when I was in the rest room …”

“Well if we don’t leave right now we are going to miss the connection to Srinagar.”

So we left.

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Any memories come to mind of times you had to race to catch a flight?  I’d love to hear them in the comments.

God bless,

Rusty

(The final section of a letter I wrote in September of 2005.  Thanks for taking this trip down memory lane with me – Rusty)

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It took forever but we eventually made it to the other terminal, I eventually got through the right security checkpoints and security processes in the right order (eventually) and eventually I was standing in front of a new Indian Airlines attendant behind a new Indian Airlines desk.

“Ticket please”

I handed her my ticket receipt and old boarding pass I think.

She looked down at it and looked at me. “I can only send you on the one that stops at Jammu.”

“That will be just fine.”

The plane was about to take off.

She made a decision.

She ripped the receipt part off of my ticket from Leh to Srinagar, fed it into her machine and manually printed off a boarding pass from Delhi to Srinagar. She handed me the pass.

I thanked her, thanked my guide and raced through the final legs of security in time to get on the plane.

Then the plane was grounded for another half hour …

but we did take off eventually, land in Jammu (after a conversation with a handful of ‘Times of India’ journalists that I think that I handled quite wisely), take off eventually and then land in Srinagar (after a conversation with a Pharma-marketer that was quite informative and fun).

I think that maybe the reason I wasn’t getting a specific answer about which city I was to try to fly through to get back to Srinagar earlier is because if He had answered ‘All of them’ I would have gotten too confused :p

By the time I arrived in Srinagar I had resigned myself to the fact that I would never see my bag or it’s contents again. It didn’t actually feel that bad … maybe God was taking me through a season of showing me how little ‘stuff’ actually matters in the long run compared to relationship etc.

However, I felt that it was only responsible to at least make what looked like an attempt to get it back. The thing with the Srinagar airport though is that it has no ‘Indian Airlines’ offices, it has no visible offices period. It has a runway, security checkpoints, a ton of heavily armed army personnel, road blocks, barbed wire, high walls, camouflage and almost as many taxi wallas as army personnel. But it doesn’t have anything that looks like an airlines office. The closest thing it has is a desk where foreigners are supposed to register. So I asked the lady behind the desk if she had any Idea who I should talk to. She looked up and seeming a little surprised said “Actually that is the Indian Airlines manager right over there.”

So I walked over to him and briefly explained that I thought that perhaps my baggage had been left in Leh. He took a description of the bag and the number on my tag. Then he pulled a cell phone out of his pocket, had a conversation in Urdu (I assume with someone in Leh) of which I understood only the word ‘foreigner’ (I also assume that the word stupid was used right before it). When he hung up he turned to me and said. “It will be in the Indian Airlines office at Dal Gate waiting for you Tomorrow at 4.

In case I didn’t make it explicit yet I firmly believe that God revealed to Alexis about the need to pray for the plane and then answered our prayers that I wouldn’t go down in the fiery explosion of an airplane by making that engineer ‘happen’ to see that the wing flaps were broken.  The free airline flights to get me home and retrieval of the lost baggage was just the “over and above” part of the answered prayer. 

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What are some “over and above” prayer answers that you have received?

God bless,

Rusty