Perils of traveling in India with a Bangladeshi passport (or a short note on “Islamic terrorism” in South Asia)

April 22, 2009. Dhaka

It was 4 o’clock in the morning in Guwahati, northeast of India. Kanchanjangha Express arrived on time. I landed on the platform and tried to reboot my senses after a twenty one hour journey. I didn’t expect the train to arrive on time (for a moment the face of the “crazy” politician Lalu flashed in my mind, defying the experts he turned around the massive railway in India into a profitable efficient system). 

But what I experienced in the next couple of hours was beyond my anticipation. 

I slept intermittently in the night on my sleeping berth in the 2AC compartment. The aircon worked too well and even in early morning it was hot and humid in Guwahati. I was trying to adjust to the sudden change in temperature. I can’t say that I liked the smell of the station but the crowd of passengers sleep-walking felt surreal. There was an announcement. For a moment I felt disoriented and didn’t know where I was. The announcement was in a language so familiar to Bangla and yet it felt different. But I didn’t have time to think about the origins of Assamese language or its relation to Bangla. I still have three hours taxi ride to Shillong. 

Bargaining with taxiswallas at train stations and airports is never easy. I knew that I have to pay more than the usual fare. Early morning traffic was thin and it took only a few minutes to get to the Shillong taxi stand. Frustration about paying a steep fare to the taxiwalla vanished in a moment when I was told that political parties in Meghalaya called bandh till the evening and there is not taxi to Shillog till evening. Its election time in India and Sonia Ghandhi is scheduled to address an election rally in Meghalaya. Apparently, she wasn’t welcome in the hills. 

I bought all the English newspaper I found on the news-stand. News and information suddenly seemed urgent to me. Its always a little uncertain in the Northeast, I remembered my friends had warned me in Kolkata. I opened my Lonely Planet travel guide. Its not that I ever obey travel guides but I carry my Lonely Planet wherever I go because it does come handy. I leaf through the pages. The first hotel I found in the budget section was only a few pace away. I climbed the stairway with my carry-on luggage which by now started to feel heavy. I had to wake up the old man at the reception desk who was sleeping on a sofa. I couldn’t understand what he said in Hindi. I was used to being taken as an Indian. I replied in English. He showed me a room. It was nothing fancy but the rate was lower than my estimate. I started to fill in the registration form. Sleepy but friendly old man asked for my ID and I gave him my passport and showed him the page where I have the visa. My green passport usually doesn’t crack a smile on the faces of airport immigration. It took a long time but over the years I became used to the indifferent and often hostile reactions to my passport. The sleepy-friendly old man suddenly became alerted as if he woke up for the second time and astounded me, you are a Bangladeshi? We can’t allow you to stay here. For a moment I was blank. I asked, why? There is instruction by local police. He replied, we have problems in Assam all the time and Muslim militants from Bangladesh often come and plant bombs….there are also Pakistani agents carrying Bangladeshi passports. I could argue with him and tell him that till date Indian state hasn’t convicted a single Bangladeshi for acts of “terrorism” in India. Nor did they arrest one! I could plea him but somehow I had the feeling that its not gonna work even if I play nice.

I turned my cell phone on and tried to call my friend from Manipur who would join me Guwahati. I bought an Airtell sim card in Kolkata (had to submit photo and xerox copy of my passport and visa page). There was no signal. I remembered the cell phone advertisement on TV. Air? Yes. Water? Yes. Network? Always. Was it an Airtel ad or was it Vodafone? I turned off the automatic network selection and tried manually. It showed several networks available. None of them recognized my sim card. For the next couple of hours I roamed around the area near train station and tried to check in to nine different hotels. Lonely Planet lost its relevance. They have no section on surviving when you are profiled as a potential muslim terrorist. I tried every decent looking hotel (even a few not-so-decent ones). I was just going in and asking if they were taking in guests from Bangladesh. They all parroted the same instructions from police. 

I thought may be I should go back. The next train to Kolkata was in the evening. Tickets are rare. I can afford to fly back to Kolkata. I decided to take one last chance before I take a taxi to Guwahati airport. One early riser guest at one hotel lobby was kind enough and recommend me a hotel. How did I know that it would be one of the expensive ones? By now the taxiwalla has become sympathetic to me and confessed that he is from Chittagong region in Bangladesh. His family have been living in Assam for three generations. They still have relatives in Chittagong. He started to speak in Bangla but it was a Chittagong “dialect” not so familiar to me. 

The exterior look of the hotel confirmed that it must be in the league of star rated hotels. Reception desk was manned by a person speaking “standard” English and was wearing a nice suit. He seemed familiar with the miseries of travelers carrying Bangladeshi passport and told me that probably they are the only hotel in Guwahati allowing Bangladeshis. But I have to report to local police station as soon as possible. I started to fill in the registration form and tried to imagine what awaits me at the police stations. What if they are not satisfied with my explanation that I am going to meet friends in Shillong? Is it wise for me to tell them that a friend from Manipur will join me? Indian media blames Bangladesh all the time as a safe heaven for militant groups fighting for freedom in Manipur and other states in Northeast. I leave my passport at the desk to be xeroxed and checked into my 2000 Rupees non-ac room. 

I couldn’t figure out how to make a call outside the hotel. I called the PABX operator to connect to the cell phone number of my friend from Manipur. I felt happy to hear his voice. My ordeal seemed not to have surprised him too much. He told me that we are lucky that I could call him because he will enter Guwahati in three hours and his cell wouldn’t work here. If I called him later I may not have reached him and he didn’t know where I was staying. 

I turned on the television and browsed the channels for a few minutes. Its all election news and bollywood songs and dance routines. Some of them familiar to me as the cable operators provide the same channels in Bangladesh. I browsed for a few moment, perhaps trying to find a Bangladeshi channel. 

I couldn’t find one.