Encounter 2!
‘Do you speak English?’. These words brought me to life, from the semidazed state I was in.
I had been using myself up rather too freely, of late. I was sitting in Barcelona Airport, exhausted, fatigued would be a better word, for I had been travelling in different timezones, waking up at the most odd hours, as early as 3 am, just to catch a flight which departs at 6.30 am, for the past three days. One day in London, the next in Brussels and now in Barcelona. How I wanted to remove my shoes and stretch off into a doze. But the circumstances did not let me sleep, as I waited for the British Airways flight to London that evening.
I looked at the dishevelled old gentleman who had uttered those words, and wondered why he had singled me out from the swathe of people around me waiting on their benches for their flights, which would scatter them over various destinations within the next few hours. He certainly was English, for I could make it out from his accent. I contemplated whether to admit my knowledge or not. Then I conceded, realising that no harm can come to me with such admittance?
‘Yes, I do.’, I said with a beaming smile on my face. ‘Thank God’, he said, heaving a sigh of relief. Taking a vacant seat next to me, he looked intently into my eyes. ‘I have been robbed’, he said. ‘I lost all my credit cards, all my luggage. I approached the police, but to no avail. They won’t let me even put in a call unless I produce the necessary Euros’. I got a drift of where the conversation was going to lead.
‘Well’, I said. Then in order to gain more of my sympathy, he pulled up the left sleeve of his trouser, and displayed the swollen knee he had from a fall he suffered while chasing the thieves. ‘Can you help me? I promise to return the money at whatever address you say within the next 24 hours.’, he implored. I kept an impassive face, for I was very much used to such pleas back in India.
‘I am sorry, I may not be of help you’, I said softly. He appeared not to hear me, and cocked an ear at me, trying to make me say it louder so the people around me could hear my denial as well. I promptly obliged, without the least of embarrassment, and he appeared shocked. ‘Any amount, 5 euros or 10 euros would do’, he said. I stood my ground, and he must have realised that these pleas are not going to cut ice with me.
He got up in exasperation, and drifted off to find a new bakra.
A few questions popped up in my mind after he had left :
Why did he approach me, when he could have spoken in English to any of the British Airways employees loitering near the counter?
Don’t the police at international airports understand English?
How did he land up in Spain at all, if he did not have money in the first place?
What is your opinion? Was he a genuine victim, or just another beggar?
I had been using myself up rather too freely, of late. I was sitting in Barcelona Airport, exhausted, fatigued would be a better word, for I had been travelling in different timezones, waking up at the most odd hours, as early as 3 am, just to catch a flight which departs at 6.30 am, for the past three days. One day in London, the next in Brussels and now in Barcelona. How I wanted to remove my shoes and stretch off into a doze. But the circumstances did not let me sleep, as I waited for the British Airways flight to London that evening.
I looked at the dishevelled old gentleman who had uttered those words, and wondered why he had singled me out from the swathe of people around me waiting on their benches for their flights, which would scatter them over various destinations within the next few hours. He certainly was English, for I could make it out from his accent. I contemplated whether to admit my knowledge or not. Then I conceded, realising that no harm can come to me with such admittance?
‘Yes, I do.’, I said with a beaming smile on my face. ‘Thank God’, he said, heaving a sigh of relief. Taking a vacant seat next to me, he looked intently into my eyes. ‘I have been robbed’, he said. ‘I lost all my credit cards, all my luggage. I approached the police, but to no avail. They won’t let me even put in a call unless I produce the necessary Euros’. I got a drift of where the conversation was going to lead.
‘Well’, I said. Then in order to gain more of my sympathy, he pulled up the left sleeve of his trouser, and displayed the swollen knee he had from a fall he suffered while chasing the thieves. ‘Can you help me? I promise to return the money at whatever address you say within the next 24 hours.’, he implored. I kept an impassive face, for I was very much used to such pleas back in India.
‘I am sorry, I may not be of help you’, I said softly. He appeared not to hear me, and cocked an ear at me, trying to make me say it louder so the people around me could hear my denial as well. I promptly obliged, without the least of embarrassment, and he appeared shocked. ‘Any amount, 5 euros or 10 euros would do’, he said. I stood my ground, and he must have realised that these pleas are not going to cut ice with me.
He got up in exasperation, and drifted off to find a new bakra.
A few questions popped up in my mind after he had left :
Why did he approach me, when he could have spoken in English to any of the British Airways employees loitering near the counter?
Don’t the police at international airports understand English?
How did he land up in Spain at all, if he did not have money in the first place?
What is your opinion? Was he a genuine victim, or just another beggar?
talldarkman
posted by talldarkman @ 9:47 AM
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