It's a strange country to do business in, and it didn't take me long to realise that. But who would explain that to the bosses in Beijing? The cities had been captured by the West, the small-town invasion had begun, what remained to be conquered were the hill stations – and 'Northeast India'. These latter words meant a lot to Mrs Yang – like most Chinese, she believed that the phrase was a lie. That part after the Chicken's Neck was China's – the chicken's head comprising what India calls its Seven Sisters – and she wanted to claim it for her country.
I am a salesman and I sell elastic. I work for *****, Inc and I'd been sent to India on an assignment. Yes, I know that I'm a curiosity, for though almost everyone in the world (and even astronauts in outer space) has used a Made-in-China product at some point of time or the other, not too many can claim to have seen or met a Chinese salesman. And yes, we also deal in fake originals. We do Prada better than Prada and Gucci better than Gucci. And we do more business in one year than they have in the last fifty.
Before I came here, I looked up some market surveys, and I found that the Hello Kitty syndrome that drives the fashion industry in Japan fuels the 'I want his T-shirt' fashion temperament of Northeast India too. Mrs Yang thought it would be easy. And so I arrived in New Delhi on a September morning and, from there, took a plane to the tiny Bagdogra airport, and a taxi to Darjeeling. And though I'd been taught in school never to value nature for its beauty, I couldn't help admiring the lovely scenery this side of the Himalaya. I came to know that many tourists come to Darjeeling to see the beauty of the tea gardens, and I'd like to take this opportunity to remind them that even these tea gardens were actually Made-in-China; it was from China that a foolish monk had, many centuries ago, brought a tea bush to India.
The drive to Darjeeling wasn't easy. The roads were bad but I couldn't complain – some of ours back home are worse. What made the journey longer was what the taxi driver called "roadblocks". I hadn't ever encountered these things in the small town I came from, and it made me nervous, this audacity of the people to protest against the government in so open and challenging a manner. At first I thought they were policemen and -women, for they dressed alike; but since I'd only seen the Indian police force dressed in khaki, it struck me as odd.