Experiencing India: Sex Trafficking & Gypsy Children (Part 1)

How Did We End Up Here?

It is hard to say precisely how Hannah and I arrived there. Locals called it “Paradise on Earth.” The beauty of the mountains and fresh air was enough to lift anyone’s spirits. But our spirits had experienced a series of lows before arriving here, because making it to Kashmir felt more like “Hell on Earth.” Moments of ups and downs were a common theme during our time in India. The challenge was finding some even ground to stand on when faced with not so ordinary circumstances. Remaining open to all that India threw at us was, in fact, one of the biggest challenges and lessons learned from this beautiful, sometimes terrible new part of the world.

High Blood Pressure In Delhi

Hannah and I began our journey in New Delhi. We flagged down a taxi as soon as we landed after two days of traveling. It did not take long to feel as though we were in another world. This world has no rules when driving. Lanes are non-existent, and horns are encouraged. People surround the roads filled with cows, donkeys, tractors, bikes, wagons, motorcycles, beggers, stray dogs, and trash. The driver’s goal was to carve out their route of choice without hitting any of the above. Driving in New Delhi, or much of India as we would soon discover, is not for the faint of heart. “Where in the hell are we?!” I shouted at Hannah over the noise of the engine and outside chaos. “Looks like we are in India!” she yelled back.

I had handed our taxi driver my pink notebook with the address of our hotel. He acted like he knew exactly where to go. His confidence assured me that our hotel must be a popular place for travelers to stay. Just hours before Hannah and I left for the airport, I had scribbled this address down. We spoke on the phone before meeting at the Reno-Tahoe airport that afternoon. Neither one of us had done any real planning. I figured I better look up a place to stay when we landed in Delhi because I knew we would be exhausted. And we were.

I used an India travel book, which was dense and vague. “Hotel New King” looked like just the place for us to catch up on sleep and refresh ourselves before setting off to our next location. Neither one of us knew exactly where that destination would be. We both thought it was a good idea to plan things as we went. There was no need to be too prepared. That just seemed dull. It became crystal clear as we drove into India that it was anything but boring.

The taxi diver pulled over around 12 different times, pink journal in hand, asking people where our hotel was. I thought this guy knew where he was going? Finally, he pulled over for the last time and pointed to a dingy building in the thick of the mayhem. Pointing became our primary mode of communication during our first week in India. We followed his frail finger into the building that was definitely not Hotel New King.

We checked in anyway, not knowing what else to do. Our room was small, hot, and smelly. Our air conditioner was nothing but a huge box that blew out warm, thick colored air. We immediately turned it off and settled into the humid heat. My allergies were running rampant from the new air. I blew my nose and discovered the debris of Delhi clogged my nose. “What in the world did we get ourselves into?”

Just when our all-consuming hopelessness almost drove us right back to America, a man knocked on the door. He worked at the hotel and needed our information for booking purposes. He arranged for us to go into the city with a man who would take us somewhere to eat. I was skeptical of his proposal. My distrust was mainly due to the book I began reading on the plane that recounts real-life stories of female sex trafficking that take place right here in India. What drove me to pick this as my choice reading during this particular trip is beyond me. Perhaps it was my way of keeping myself informed? Or maybe I subconsciously enjoyed unnecessary suffering? Whatever the case, we were both hungry, so we agreed.

Making A Long, Dark Plan

Our guide, most likely related to the hotel owner, took us to Indian food. He insisted we eat with our hands. No driving rules, no silverware. Note taken. He then took us into a travel agency somewhat against our will.

Hannah had the idea of heading to the northernmost region of India known as Kashmir. Kashmir is bordered to the north and east by China, and to the west, by Pakistan. American relations with Pakistan in 2011 weren’t exactly peaceful. Kashmir also has a long history of territorial conflict between its bordering countries. But the travel agents assured us Kashmir is not only safe but also, “Paradise on Earth.”

We declined the agency’s offer to show us around Kashmir. Mostly because we felt they were trying to rip us off. Instead, we took the route they showed us and decided to head North to Kashmir on our own. Little did we know what that would entail.

We returned to the hotel and asked to use the internet cafe. We planned to book tickets to Kashmir for the following day. The internet was slow and had a terrible connection. The humid heat was suffocating, and our jet lag was starting to get the best of our patience and motivation. None of our train or bus bookings would process. Unlike Thailand, where we had traveled together the year prior, India would not be an easy country to navigate. Our only accomplishment was booking bus tickets to Jammu. We knew little about this city other than it could get us to Srinagar, the largest city of Kashmir, and our access point into the Himalayas.

We finally retreated to our questionable bedsheets and cardboard mattresses. Our restless sleep was interrupted at 2 AM by a man pounding on our door and yelling angrily at whoever he thought was inside. We shot up and stared at one another, signaling each other to be quiet. Eventually, he left. We used that as our cue to get the heck out of Non-Hotel New King and head back to the airport after only a couple of hours of sleep.

We booked a flight to Amritsar, and then we were to catch the 10 PM bus to Jammu. Hannah and I finally got some sleep in Amritsar; however, when we woke up, we felt sick about taking a night bus to a town even further away from where we started. Repeatedly questioning our decisions felt exhausting. Hannah’s stepdad, who had traveled to India several times, told us before leaving to “Have Faith.” We somehow found an ounce of trust during those moments when we most wanted to retreat home. Faith did not feel safe, but it kept us going.

Peering Eyes

A driver from our hotel dropped us off in a dark, dirty street flooded with people. He said a prayer for us then drove away as we waited for the bus. We realized we were the only light-skinned females around. In fact, we were the ONLY females surrounded by males. We stood among the crowd of men, and they stared at us but said nothing. I’m not too fond of being stared at. So as soon as Hannah and I made it onto the bus, we shoved our way up into a top sleeper bunk and closed the musky curtains. We were in for another hot, stuffy, uncomfortable night. I could still see pairs of eyes looking at us between the gaps of fabric. I decided not to read my book about sex trafficking that night. Instead, we chose to laugh about yet another uncomfortable situation and slept with our ounce of faith.

The sun was coming up over the horizon, and eventually, our bus came to a stop. Everyone shuffled into the streets, which again were flooded with people and vehicles of all kinds. We made it to Jammu but had no idea where to go from there. Hannah and I were bombarded by men from every direction attempting to sell us some deal. Somehow we stumbled into the direction of a man who wanted to know if we were interested in jumping in his car with other travelers headed to Srinagar. I had a quick flashback of the description of kidnappers described in my book. Maybe he fits the profile? But faith took over reason, and we accepted his offer.

Death Ride to Paradise

It was 4 AM when we began our journey to Srinagar. The state of the Jammu-Srinagar national highway came as a surprise to us. The route is narrow, windy, and unstable. The guardrails are not to be trusted should you veer too far to the right. Loose rocks commonly roll down from the mountainside and violently land onto the partially paved road. This faith thing was getting harder to find with each sharp turn of the jeep.

There was a man sitting by our driver and three younger men behind them. A young boy sat next to Hannah and I in the very back seat. I had passing thoughts that these faces would be the last ones I would see. The boy sitting next to me started to make conversation. His name is Rashesh, and he spoke in broken English but well enough to understand every other sentence. We were the first Americans he had ever met. About 2-hours later, two of the other men started conversating with us in English as well. Their English caught Hannah and I by surprise. We thought we could only understand each other.

One of the men told us the story of Kashmir. It is an ethnically diverse Himalayan region that once stood as a country all its own. In 1947 the local ruler of Kashmir chose to join India in return for its help against a Pakistan invasion. This agreement didn’t fare too well with Pakistan, and a war erupted between the two countries. A couple of years later, India and Pakistan signed an agreement to establish a ceasefire line and divide Kashmir. Now, India, Pakistan, and China all occupy a section of the country.

Today, the Indian military spreads throughout the region. The soldiers hold their guns while scowling at everyone that passes by. They are there to intimidate the locals and exercise their power over the area. They sure intimidated the heck out of me. There is said to be peace in Kashmir today. But the native Kashmiri people tend to disagree.

Road signs continued to point toward Kashmir, exclaiming we were getting closer to “Paradise on Earth.” Rashesh graciously volunteered to show us around our first day there. Hannah and I agreed because we thought it would for once make our time in India easier. We survived the horror of the Jammu-Srinagar national highway and arrived in Srinagar some 8 hours later. Little did we know we would then have to survive Rashesh.

Boats And Rashesh

Rashesh started out innocently enough. He instructed us to book a room at the same place he would be staying. We instantly went to our bed and were relieved to get some rest finally. Then there was a knock at the door. Sleep in India was not going to be a thing. It was Rashesh. We had just spent eight terrifying hours in the car with him. Hadn’t that been enough for a while? But he eagerly wanted to show us around, AND he booked us a boat ride for a screaming deal. We politely yet begrudgingly grabbed our things and followed him.

We found our boat, took our seats, then began floating away for an unknown 2-hour long boat ride. Rashesh stuck to us like glue. “Hannah! Kristin!” He would yell as he followed us around. “What, Rashesh?” Then he would point toward something unknown. The cycle repeated an untrackable number of times for the remainder of the day.

Sleep-deprived and hungry, we had eventually had enough and told Rashesh we were headed to bed even though it was only 7 PM. Rashesh has a hard time grasping the concept that we no longer wanted his company. I said a final goodbye and gently shut the door on his puzzled expression.

Hannah’s backpack of snacks was keeping us alive. We needed to sleep more than we needed a real meal. But sleep still was not a part of India’s plan. Rashesh came back later that evening and woke us up from our slumber. He was back, hoping we changed our mind about dinner. “HANNAH! KRISTIN!” he yelled. Again, I declined his presence and not so gently closed the door on him. We woke up again around midnight by a chanting prayer that came blaring through the city’s loudspeakers. Again, my heart stopped for a few beats as Hannah and I shot up out of bed from another unexpected disruption. I was not feeling any better about India.

Our Mysteriously Questionable Guide (Kidnapper?)

That morning Hannah and I were in low spirits. We hadn’t had a proper meal, and food quickly became our priority. We stumbled into a tourist office, hoping it would direct us to a good meal. It was there that we met Shabrose, a local Kashmiran male who conveniently served as a guide of his hometown. Shabrose began chatting with us in perfect English. He offered us some chai and acted like he could help us get our lives together. Shabrose was easy on the eyes, but I kept thinking, could he have other intentions of selling us into the sex trade? I felt uneasy about going with him, but at that point, everything about India made me feel uncomfortable. We accepted his offer and followed him down a path, past a line of boats, and into his family’s houseboat. The entire walk, I looked in all directions to see who was around to hear us scream if Shabrose was, in fact, our captor.

His mother and younger sister greeted us inside their home. Their presence instantly put me at ease. Shabrose informed us that he was the only male in the house. His dad had died in the war. Hannah made it clear we needed food NOW, or things could get ugly fast. He graciously made us a meal and served us chai. After getting to know the family a bit, we decided to stay there for the night in a room they rented out. We shared we hoped to go trekking in the mountains. Conveniently, Shabrose took tourists into the mountains all the time for a reasonable price. I still felt uneasy going with a stranger so far away from civilization. But the faith thing took over again.

That next morning we piled into a jeep at 6 AM that drove us 2 hours away from Srinagar to the base of the Himalayan mountains. Shabrose told us of the many gypsies that lived in the mountains. He said they were mostly good people but warned us not to get too close. The trek began with a three-hour uphill climb followed by a few more hours across ridges to the campsite. Shabrose started setting up camp and insisted we sit down and rest. My kind of trekking. 

Consequences of Gypsy Children

Slowly, gypsy children appeared from a distance. They began to scoot closer and closer to us. Eventually, they made their way right next to us and stared at our every move. We pulled out our cameras and started taking pictures of them. They gestured to take over the cameras. Shabrose scolded us not to get too close. “Don’t play with the gypsy children!” he warned. “You will get sick!” Hannah and I ignored his suggestion and started running with them into the mountains, cameras in hand. We played with those sweet, filthy, gypsy children until we grew tired. Shabrose emerged some hours later and directed us back to the campsite for dinner.

Our campsite consisted of a couple of ponies carrying our supplies. There was another man there to help cook. Another camp was nearby, and for the first time in India, I saw another blond girl. We ate a fantastic meal prepared by Shabrose and the cook. Things were looking up. Until shortly after our dinner, we started to feel sick. “I told you not to play with the gypsy children,” Shabrose scolded. We immediately retreated to our tent for rest. Hannah and I both agreed we would play with those darn gypsy children all over again if we had to.

Healing Mountain Air & Sheep

We woke up feeling more under the weather. Maybe we shouldn’t have played with the gypsy children? It was raining and cold. We stayed in our tent for most of the morning until Shabrose called for us to come out. The sun was starting to poke out. We stumbled out of our tent and saw the beauty of our surroundings. Shabrose gave us more warm chai and proposed trekking up to a glacier. Slowly, we got together a day pack and began walking.

Our surroundings lifted our spirits. The Kashmiri Himalayas are a vast range filled with pristine glacial lakes, lush vegetation, and large meadows. The air is clean, unlike what we experienced in the cities. The area also has sheep—hundreds of them, which magically came sprinting over the mountainside as Hannah and I ate our lunch. Soon we were encircled by numerous “baa-ing” fluffy, white woolly mammals. They got a pretty good laugh out of us. India sure is a fascinating, exhausting, terrible, absolutely wondrous place.

Leaving Our Captor & A Bumpy Ride

We returned from the mountains a few days later, feeling the best we had since arriving. I was beginning to find some middle ground in India. Hannah and I both felt ready for the 4-weeks of ashram living that lied ahead. Shabrose helped us book a bus from Srinagar to Delhi. We had no idea that was even an option. We tearfully said our goodbyes to Shabrose and his family as we boarded the 7 AM bus.

The bus ride was projected to be 24-hours. It ended up being around 29 hours. The bus only broke down twice. People loved practicing their English with us. I loved it less so. The man sitting in front of us stared at Hannah and I for a good hour before he attempted his first English words. He must have put together every English word he had ever learned and said them to us for the next hour. The only phrase I understood was, “I heal people with sticks.” I signaled to Hannah that it was time for us to pretend sleep. Eventually, he got the hint and turned around in his seat.

Sleep was difficult between all the honking and snoring. The driver also liked to go fast and failed to slow down with approaching bumps on the road. Several different times during the night, Hannah and I were thrown from our sleep into the air. We caught each other’s shocked expression midair. This sleep disruption was my least favorite so far.

Every time the bus stopped, we had no idea where we were or what we were doing. We followed various gestural points to exit the bus and shuffled into shacks off the road for chai and bread. A hand gesture would signal us to get back on the bus with the rest of the crowd. Then we were off again.

Delhi Take Two

The bumpy ride continued after we exited the bus. We still had to tackle Delhi a second time. Our next step was to make it to the train station. We were going to take a rickshaw, but the driver’s price was too high. Hannah loves a deal, so she flagged down a stick-figure like man on a bike hauling a rusty carriage behind him. She haggled with him until she felt she got us a good deal. We both piled into the unstable chariot. The size of our backpacks is comparable to two small children. This poor, feeble man pulled the four of us across the city to the train station. He peddled us to our destination and left without a goodbye. It turns out we had arrived at the wrong train station, and we ended up taking a rickshaw back across the city anyway.

Hannah and I spent the next few days seeing more of India’s sites before our days at the ashram. We visited the Taj Mahal and various temples and wore the most fabulous garments. We spent a lot of time being lost and finding our way, watching Baliwood productions while waiting for public transportation, and finding our groove in this new world. I finished my book about sex trafficking and left it behind for its next victim.

We met several people who were curious about why two single girls were traveling alone without their husbands. They came up with their own stories about us. Many concluded we were running away from a broken home. They weren’t too far off with the running away piece. Whole families would pile into empty seats next to us on the train and share their food with us. No silverware included. Not once did we encounter a person who put us in real danger. Any danger we experienced was made up in our minds.

Out of Danger… Or were we?

There was nothing easy about India, but we weren’t there for a glamorous vacation. Dark bus rides, spending time with unwanted company, catching a cold from gypsy children, and falling in love with our imagined kidnapper, was all just a part of the experience. We began to find more evenness of mind among the chaos and grew more confident in our capabilities each day that passed. India was indeed another world, and one I needed to step into during this particular period of my life. With each experience, we developed trust and perspective. Just when we started to find our groove, we boarded yet another train to take us to a secluded ashram where we would spend the next 4-weeks surviving Yoga.