| The Art of Invisibility |
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| Culture | |
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Richard Ng
"Breakfast?" I asked, coming up the stairs. He looked at me perplexed. "Breakfast?" I repeated. His face went through a contortion of confusion and then it dawned... "Oh, upstairs" he said, leading us up. By the time we got to the restaurant he'd regained his composure and apologised, "Sorry, you look so much like Nepali, I think you are Nepali!". It was one of the best compliments I'd received. It's been a minor travelling goal of mine to blend in to the country I'm travelling through, to take up their culture, habits, styles and mannerisms...to become invisible. I think it's a challenge of observation and adaptability. Going unseen is like the passing of the test. Of course it helps that I share their Mongolian lineage but thinking about it, don't the Chinese go about their business relatively unseen, behind closed doors? It wasn't until I actually landed and walked about in Bombay that I realised I'd prepared all wrongly. All the travel guides I'd read to prepare myself for the trip weren't aimed at your regular BBC setting off around the world for 6 months. For the first three months, I'll be travelling with Mat and Trish, my two British companions, both white, or rather pink now having caught the sun. The travel literature relating to India, our first stop, imparted so much certainty of baggage thievery, pick pocketing and food poisoning that only the most determined or foolhardy would dare venture there. However, while food remains strictly non-discriminatory about the victims it chooses to poison, the same might not be said about the natives. Wouldn't a white tourist wearing genuine Nike shorts appear a far more lucrative target than a local who looked a bit Chinese?
Back at Alice's, the waiter brought his younger friend over, who also couldn't believe I wasn't Nepali. In the past couple of days, my saffron tunic had called forth many Konichiwas and Gen ki des su ka?'s. Today, with my complete Nepali disguise (sandals, long trousers, a really naff shirt and my topi Nepali cap) it looks like I pass the test here. Excellent. Afterword: Quite bizarrely, when I sent a first draft of this article back to Dimsum from an Internet cafe, the cashier asked me in Nepali if I was Nepali, to which I effectively answered 'no' by not understanding the question. The smiling fella behind the counter asked me, "Why do you do like you do? These people..." he gestured to the other westerners typing away at their computers and other tourists standing behind them in shorts and T-shirts, "... these people they do like this?" I explained in Pidgin English, "When these people walk down the street, it's always 'Just look, just look, come see, come see, buy this, buy this.' With me, I can just walk by, invisible." He broke into astounded laughter exclaiming, "You are extraordinary!". The owner who I'd been speaking to the previous day had been listening and, also grinning, walked up beside me and confirmed to them both that I was from England. "In five or six years working with tourists, I have never seen like this before - you have a gentle mind" he said to me, appreciatively. As if that wasn't enough to make me bounce with pride, he christened me after himself, "Ram Bahadir" so that I may ever onwards travel under a Nepali name as well as appearance.
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Mat,
my Kathmandu travelling companion, and I are sat cross-legged at a low
table, digesting breakfast, on the upstairs terrace of Alice's Restaurant.
I just flummoxed the head waiter - 
The
first few days were a feet-finding experience, an avalanche of mistakes
and a continuous stream of transactions where we invariably got ripped
off. More unnerving than anything else were the long, intrusive stares
from Indian passers-by. In fact, more than that - whole families would
nervously approach, ask to shake hands, request group photos and even
ask for autographs. Most just wanted to shake hands or say "Hello". Bizarre
as it was flattering, the touts would come in equal numbers, hustling
us for taxi rides, guided tours or just money, sometimes fuse-endingly
persistent. It wasn't until I occasioned outside alone that I discovered
my own secret India: I was invisible! With the smallest cosmetic effort
(a long sleeved collared shirt, long trousers and a pair of flip-flops)
I passed among the touts untouted, and along the streets with little less
than a glance. I felt safer and actually began to feel like a local, spotting
the tourists who looked particularly in danger. With the help of a few
friendly encounters I picked up enough Hindi to complete simple shopping
transactions - which got me lower, local prices rather than the inflated
tourist ones. Walking around with Mat and Trish began to make me feel
like I had an albatross roped around my neck. 
