The Intruder

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Well a happy 2007 to everyone we hope that the festive season was exactly that and that the start of this New Year is all as you have planned. At this moment, we are both in Kathmandu Nepal, this place is so refreshing friendly, we like it a lot. So much has transpired since our last entry, we’ve been living life to the fullest of late and I guess our blog updates… well, have not been put on a back burner, as such, just not enough hours in a day if you know what I mean.


The Intruder

After being so grounded by the majesty of the view upon Hanuman mountain, our first morning in Hospet proved to be equally memorable only in a not so memorable way, as you will understand shortly. Hotel Malligi is a Govt run hotel, which we thought would be a good spot to take stock and rest considering our impending overnight train journey the next day, well let me tell you it turned out to be anything but peaceful. Hampi was surreal; Hospet on the other hand was a little too real. The next day all planned, up to meet Rajnu and Krishna for an 11am show; where the girls were to perform, then off to the Mango tree for lunch, before checking out just in time to catch our train to Bangalore.

That was the plan, then we woke up and the day really did take a turn for the worse. We got up, order breakfast, Mel went for a shower, when not before long Mel came out and said “rez I think there’s someone in the shower”, so we went back in and Mel pointed to a ventilation shaft which comprised of a rectangle hole cut out of the wall facing the shower, the recess, which was covered by louvered glass slats, had, of the six, only two of intact and in place, leaving quite a sizeable gap, enough for a small man to fit through. Considering this was a brand new wing of the hotel, and I think we were one of the first guests to stay in this room and the finishing touches were still being completed, we thought nothing of it. Until “I think I saw a shadow up in there” said Mel, pointing to the exposed ventilation shaft above. I grabbed a chair form the dining room, went back into the shower, put the chair down, got upon it and peered into this shaft. At first all I saw was the usual things one would expect red pipes, electrical cables and some plumbing, but as I started to turn, I was shocked to see a young man looing back at me. I don’t know who was more startled, him or me. I was furious, just the invasion of privacy alone was just unbearable, to have someone intrude in on your own personal space, is nothing short of an invasion. And invaded we were. He said his name was Ramesh and that he was working on the plumbing and that he was terribly sorry that he had upset us. I went directly to the phone, called up the hotel manager and demanded an explanation as to why there were plumbers within eyeshot of our bathroom. The investigation begins and so the plot, story and our day unfolds into one of the most random, combined experiences that we will always remember.

Mel was distraught, feeling sick and very visibly shaken; after all it was her in the shower, her own personal space that was intruded upon. Just the guile that one would need to undertake such a brazen act is beyond my comprehension. Well I suppose the whole web cam thing hasn’t taken off over here yet and so cheap thrills may still be the only ones available.

After much discussion, frenetic pacing of the corridors outside and up and down the stairs we receive a phone call from the duty manager Mr. Pradesh, a true hospitalitaran if there ever was one. Nothing was a problem for him; all impossible wishes could somehow be accommodated with a courteous nod of the head and always with a smile. He somehow felt our discomfort, owned it and did everything within his power to try and ease a feeling that only those of whom have experienced could only try to explain. Terrible, I can imagine that this is what one would feel like after they had realised that their house had been burgled and their personal belongings sorted through.

We met with Mr Pradesh in the foyer, by this stage some 45mins had past and the both of us were starting to feel the rise of a whole lot of anger, how can something like this happen in a hotel such as this? It was all a bad dream I’m sure, but no it isn’t we are sitting in front of Mr Pradesh, who had called in the Hotel manager Mr Singh, whom we were to meet with next. So off we went, down the tiled corridors, past the multitude of hotel staff and tradespeople, through a series of passages until finally we reached a counter with a sign reading administration above it. Down one more corridor and we finally reach a door, only this time its got hotel manager written on it, we’re in business now. Mr Singh is a Sikh, for those unfamiliar with the term, it’s a religious order most commonly identified by the coloured turbans they wear. A very polite man, who also immediately understood the position that ourselves and the hotel was now facing because of this incident. I demanded that we informed the police and that a report be made, Mr Singh arranged for line up of all the staff that was working in the hotel that morning, within five minutes a line of around 15 men were unknowingly awaiting inspection. One of them, had the misfortune of smirking, well he knew that in these types of scenarios, smirking, when people are charged, was not the most appropriate facial response. All of which was delivered in the most constructive way possible given the duress. Alas none of these men was Ramesh. To twist things just that little bit more, there were no plumbers scheduled to work that day, all plumbing had been completed weeks ago. Ramesh was fastly becoming a man of mystery, with an amazing ability to vanish into thin air. From that point forward we sort of both knew that we would never see Mr Ramesh again, a great thing, once you can sit back and reflect, in the moment we were very distressed.

The boys had been waiting all along, by this stage it was now something like 11 or 12 and Rajnu had gone to the concert, minus these two travelling adventure lovers.

Trying not to let something like this effect you is almost impossible in the moment. It truly is a cloud that hangs low and heavy above your day. Everything is somehow tainted by the discoloration of this experience. We, however, endeavoured to have a good bye lunch with Krishna and Rajnu, even the fantastic food of the crew at Mango tree, could only slightly lift our spirits. We had a great meal and the place is just so peaceful, the time we did spend there just floated by. So much yet to do, we had to sight the police report, confirm our train tickets and pack before jumping on a 7:15pm train to Bangalore. It was already late by the time we left lunch, even later still after contending with the crowds at the reservation counters of Hospet train station. By the time we reached the hotel, met with Mr Singh, and was informed that we had to complete our own statement and lodge it personally with the Superintendent of Hospet District Police Station it was well past 3pm. Two statements were written in the most formal of written english, one by Mr Singh, the second by myself, following his lead, then off to the police station we went. What a trip!

Hospet District Police station is a five room, single storey building, complete with two holding cells, set in a rather large gravel compound, surrounded by 7ft brick walls topped with shattered shards of glass. Just that little bit more effective than razor wire against those who are determined to break into a police compound. Who would want to, let alone why would you..? Anyways the Supt is nowhere to bee seen, and the first person we meet is out of uniform, claims to be a policeman, takes us to a small room, with wooden table and wooden chairs in the middle, filing cabinets on one wall, a window on the other and asks for the whole story. By this stage its getting dark and we just want to pack, hand over our report and get out of here. Not so lucky. Our story warranted more superior ears, off to meet the deputy Supt. We’ll call him BB for now, this time we are escorted into what looks like a cop shop, there cops in uniform sitting around, a few people sitting behind desks doing important things, a couple of cells, with no one in them, and in the middle of it all behind a solid wooden desk is BB Mr S Veenanna the deputy Supt. We are told to sit in the two seats in front of the Dep. who is being swarmed by a plethora of official looking people with official looking pieces of paper all requiring his signature.

Finally we get his full attention, again we tell the story. This time there was much conversation in local language between all in the room. A few uncomfortable laughs and many once overs later, BB says “bloody barshtards, no gentlemen would do such a thing” in his best Indian English. It was truly a moment. It was quite funny at first and now it’s the Hospet catch cry. Well he was not going to stand for it in his Hospet, something had to be done. After all we were foreigners, guests in his city. This doesn’t happen to us… The Supt was asked to return to the station from home to receive our complaint. In the meantime this small room had filled up with at least 12 officers who had lined up along the perimeters of the wall. By this stage we were just a little uneasy about this whole thing, we had been here close to 2 hours already and still no report, it turned out that it was role call. All on duty officers had to be present for evening role call, where they would submit their day books for perusal and reporting. Anything urgent was attended to and the crew subsequently dismissed all of which is carried out with much discipline and a certain sense of ceremony or daily ritual.

It was now past five and Mr Singh had arrived to hand in his report and give his findings so far. Still no Supt. Many cigarettes, a few photos and some sweets later we get word, the Supt is here. Well if you thought the line up was impressive, the reception he got was regal, we didn’t know wether to extend our hands or bow. I opted for a firm grip and sensible introduction. It appeared to work, yet another office, but this one was meticulous, not a paper clip was out of place, if this office was a pair of trousers, then it would be well pressed. Much like the man himself. A younger officer than the rest, he was around my age if not just a little older. Very well groomed, with a tidy moustache resting upon his top lip, the Supt was a policeman’s man, in him he represented all that Hospet District Police officers longed for, he was respected and that showed. Seated yet again we again told our story and finally I thought that this would be the end of this whole ordeal. We could hand over our statement, it would be registered in some book, we would be given a reference or incident report number and thanks for coming. Let me just say that it doesn’t work like that around here.

The statement…… well if we handed that over and it was officially recognised, then in the event of suspects being found and an official line up arranged, we would have to attend and could be detained to do so. No thanks. Further to this, should the matter proceed and a trial date be set, then it would also be compulsory to attend. Again, no thanks. Given that some court case’s have been dragging out for in excess of 10 years and there is a lengthy wait to have a court case heard, added to the fact that we head out to Europe on the 26th both of these scenarios seem somewhat unappealing, for all the right reasons of course. So what do you do, can’t just say oh well thanks for letting us know. Not today, not here in Hospet. The constabulary were only to willing to provide a full police escort back to our hotel, where a re-enactment of my mornings activities was performed, followed by a steeping up and peering into the now deserted ventilation shaft by the entire entourage of no less than 4 officers BB included, before Mr Singh was berated about his lack of security and tardiness of the construction to date. Poor Mr Singh, he now has to report back to the Police, 3 times a week for the next few weeks advising on the completion of the work in our room and any suspicious persons or activities in or around the hotel. I wouldn’t like to be in his shoes.

So its now well past 6pm and we still haven’t packed, the train leaves in about 45mins, the station is 15min away and we just feel like sitting down and having a cold beer. No chance, bags packed, we bundle down the stairs, Krishna and Vishnu still waiting, into the autorick and off to the station. We made it with about 10mins to spare. Another overnight rail journey and Bangalore here we come.

Bangalore station, 6am, both weary eyed, Mel a little worse for wear, tummy troubles through the night, both still suffering from the trauma of Hospet, yet so keen to let it slide, after all it’s a new city with new experiences around every corner. We stayed in an apartment in urban Bang, not too far from most things and within walking distance of MG and Brigade roads, the heart of shopping in the south of India. Bangalore used to be the retirement city of India, yet ironically it is now the IT hub of the country, with more IT infrastructure, software companies and call centre concentrated within its city than any other in the country. The city has a real scene, with some great bars and some even better restaurants. Unfortunately for most of our time here, Mel wasn’t feeling the best and definitely amidst the throngs of Bangalore belly for the second time in India. So our stay here was limited to time spent in our apartment with the occasional jaunt out for some shopping and a meal. A place that’s on our visit again list, there is so much in this city, apart from the dodgy taxi drivers who won’t take foreigners at local rates, to see and experience.

More about our Bangalore to Mysore journey in our next blog, there is still so much more to tell, I hope to keep up with our writing, and we’ve visited some incredible places since here and are keen to share with you all. Don’t worry about us, we having a right old time all on our own!

Sorry, really slow internet more photos later...

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