rainbows in curved air (or curves in rainbowed air)

You Are Either On the Bus or Off
the Bus

I’m not sure whether the drivers had some kind of bad experience of Pakistan in the past and this was why they flew through that country, but I would rather believe that they had some type of timetable to reach India by whenever. Obviously by this time if the latter were true, then they were way behind schedule.

On Friday 21st December we came upon the frontier separating Pakistan and India, but once again our path was paved with obstacles. It seems to be a fact in life, that whenever one wants or needs something badly, one has to struggle in order to achieve it. The more one wants or needs this desire the harder the struggle will be. The British Raj have a lot to answer for in India and the one legacy they have left in their wake, to pay the Indians back for their struggle for independence, is a solid system of bureaucracy. This bureaucracy now has a historical tradition behind it, thus the early foundations are firmly embedded in cement. Upon this rock I will build a bureaucracy, sayeth the Raj. Paperwork permeates throughout India, particularly within the railway network. The only blessing I can add, is that Indian paper is very cheap and nasty, thus most of this paper has a short lifespan. Official rules and regulations are the norm and clerical staff are, in reality, the most superior class in the Indian caste hierarchy. Consequently, the Pakistan-Indian customs post was, on the surface a net of airtight security. An additional nightmare resulted from the fact, that there would be no acceptance of bribery and we found this difficult to fathom, as we were now well-educated in the gentle art of backsheesh. The official in charge of the Indian side of the border was a Sikh and obviously above reproach.

This presented many problems for us as most of us were carrying some form of contraband. We were now in a different world and over the past few days we had gone from extreme cold to moderate heat and here at the border we were enveloped in the subcontinent's lush vegetation. Unfortunately our mantra for the day would be the Beatles

'Everybody's got something to hide except me and my monkey.'

My own problems took root back in Afghanistan where I had bought some black market rupees. The exchange rate in Afghanistan was a good deal better than it would be in India, so I had changed quite a bit of currency in Kabul. We were also informed it would be simplicity itself taking the money across the borders. Perhaps the men behind the deal at the Afghani end informed the border post in India and they would pick up their share of the profit. Thus the Government officials at the frontier were having a field day, confiscating drugs and money. The official­-in-charge, proclaiming himself to be a reasonable man, gave us the benefit of a lengthy, speech, explaining that if we owned up and surrendered whatever we were smuggling, nothing would happen to us, no reprimands would occur. We were all a little wary of this statement, albeit the truth, however he repeated his request, and eventually the lack of response convinced him that he would have to have both the vehicles and the passengers searched.

The buses were literally goldmines as many of the other travellers had similar ideas as my own and had brought Indian currency with them, these were confiscated. Thank goodness,