An Exclusive Audience with a Guru

So I went with the young man to a little place on the Main Bazaar Road. There are literally hundreds of tiny shops lining each side of the road. I was led inside and introduced to a fairly elderly man. I can't describe him now. It's not that I don't have time, I just don't remember. All I can remember is the way it all went. The first thing I was shown was a old black and white photograph of a group of men in white loincloths and I was asked to simply point to one. I have no idea why I was asked to do this. It had some bearing on the outcome of it all but I never quite understood what.

This was the first of two memorably enjoyable occasions when I was knowingly conned into parting with money that I had sworn I would not part with. The Guru asked all kinds of questions and I provided him with the correct answers. The questions were personal but not intrusive and the answers I gave were not secrets. All of this was a kind of softening up exercise to get my confidence and perhaps get me to give away some information of use later. I don't think I told him anything that made me particularly vulnerable.

It was obvious the performance was not going to be for free. It was a private audience with a supposedly wise old man. It also soon became clear that I wasn't going to learn anything about the two women in England who were supposedly thinking about me. I began not to co-operate very much.

The best bit about it was when the old man told me to think of the name of a colour but not to tell him what I was thinking. I thought hard about a colour. He then took a small piece of paper and wrote something on it and folded it up tightly and asked me to hold it in my right fist. I did as he said. He then proceeded to ask me a great deal more questions leading nowhere in particular and then came back to what colour I had been thinking of. I told him the colour I had thought of was the colour puce.

The old man looked genuinely surprised. He asked me what colour puce was. I think I was half right when I told him it was a very dark red that bordered on green. In fact it is a dark red that borders of greyish purple or browny red that borders on brownish purple. Whatever it is, it is a genuine colour and I felt pretty confident that I had foxed the old man. He even asked me to spell it.

He then asked me to open my hand and open up the piece of paper. I did. I swear that there was no way he could have interfered in the process. If he did distract me while I was opening my hand and unfolding the paper I don't know how. Written on the piece of paper was "PUCE". I often think about this trick and wonder how he did it. Surely he needed me to spell out the colour's name so that he, or perhaps his young apprentice, could write it down on another piece of paper and replace what I was holding but my fist was closed tight until he asked me to open it and reveal what was written on the paper I had been holding. I was impressed.

Shortly after that I was asked to choose between three numbers. I think they were 50, 100 and 150. After I had chosen he told me that number was going to be the number of rupees I was going to give him. I was less impressed. I had to disappoint the Guru. I assured him I was going to give him something because I had enjoyed the experience very much indeed; the sleight of hand involved in the piece of paper and colour trick had been completely and amazingly unnoticeable. I think I decided to give him 20 rupees. I think I actually did give him 20 rupees. To be honest I can't remember exactly what I did give him but whatever it was it was exceptionally good value for the entertainment I had had. However, I don't think I turned out to be as good a prospect as the young man, the Guru's disciple, had thought.

Posting My Parcel

When I got to the Post Office with my wicker basket stitched up in white muslin and sealed with sealing wax I presented it at the counter for weighing and the calculation of postal cost. A large friendly Sikh man did the honours and declared that the parcel would cost 625 Rupees to send to the UK. At official rates this was about £18. At least the contents were worth more. The stamps were purchased and affixed. The Post Office official then told me in a matter of fact way that the parcel was over sized and wobbled his head. I said I did not know that there was a regulation size. He assured me there was one and he told me that the maximum size for a parcel was the equivalent of two cases of Mr Pik drinking water and he wobbled his head again. I told him again that I had not known that. He assured me that it was the case and again I noticed the head wobble slightly. All the time the man had a very pleasant smile on his face. I told him that I was sure it wasn't very much larger than the regulation size and that it wouldn't be a problem. The Postal worker had the air of a man who had been trying to make a very subtle point and with a resigned sort of look he franked all the stamps and removed the parcel to a shelf for parcels that were to be posted. I left the Post Office and made my way back to Paharganj. As I walked it began to dawn on me that the official had been hinting that my parcel would miraculously become of regulation size if I were to give him a little incentive. His approach had been just a little too subtle. The head wobble was supposed to be the unspoken sign. I worried for a little while that my parcel might not actually be posted, but what could I do?

As I reached the junction where I had been accosted some while earlier there was the young man who had done the accosting waiting for me. He greeted me joyfully reminding me of the appointment I had made. There was no avoiding him and I really didn't have very much else to do so I agreed to go with him to see his Guru.