51. Report - Agression 1

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Bijapur (Vijayapura) in northern Karnataka: Gol Gumbaz looks modest in photos, but now one can see the gigantic proportions of the mausoleum of the former Muslim ruler Adil Shah I.

 

I stand in front of the ticket counter and see that the entrance fees for foreigners are 12 times higher than for Indians. This has happened many times on my pilgrimage. And I think that's unfair because...

 

- ... because in my country the same entrance fees apply to foreigners as to locals (sometimes there are even discounts for them)

 

- ... because during my German lessons at Max-Mueller-Bhavan (Goethe-Institut) in Bangalore I received only the same hourly rate as the Indian colleagues but often had to pay more than the locals.

 

- ... because I think 12x more expensive is simply excessively profit-oriented

 

- ... because 300 rupees instead of 25 rupees is clearly too high for my pilgrim budget.

 

As often I have stood at such a ticket office on the pilgrimage route, my arguments have almost always been useless. So I resort to a ruse. There is someone in line ready who takes my money to buy the cheap ticket for me. The plan works.

 

I walk over to the front gate with the illegal ticket. I can feel some tension in my stomach. That's good, even though it sounds strange: ‘I can feel that I'm not feeling well, and that's a good sign!’ - Only if I pay mindfulness to my inner realities can old knots in me be loosened and I can find myself protect against new ones.

 

The ticket inspectors work quickly and I can see that they don't look too closely at the people in front of me. Well, someone tears through my ticket and immediately sees that something is wrong. GRRR…. . He has a brief discussion with his colleague and uncovers my attempt at fraud. I argue with pathetic reasons that are completely irrelevant to them. The supervisor is called. He speaks plain language. I don't know what I'm talking about anymore, anyway he takes me to the office and presents my situation to the manager. He also speaks plain text. I also react to him full of my felt injustice.

Something about my insistence on frustration suddenly seems too much for him. Then, with an ignorant, dismissive tone, he allows me to enter the memorial. His painful face shakes me awake and I look at him honestly: ‘I'll only go in if he allows it with a positive feeling!’ - Then his face lights up: ‘Then you can even go in for free!’

 

On the way back to the entrance gate, my stomach feels better. The controls let me through now. But there will be other pains.

 

I'll think about the manager's strangely noble attitude later.


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