Hyderabad & a Story With/Without a Moral

In the New York Times travel section this week was a short article on the rise in both tourist and business travel to Hyderabad, India. It reminded me of my first night in India, on a business trip in the summer of 2004, when I almost started a sectarian riot.

I was travelling with a colleague, Amar, a Hyderabad native, and Hyderabad was our first port of call. We had traveled 24 hours from Chicago to Frankfurt to Bombay to Hyderabad. It was exhausting. So, after sleeping most of the day, Amar called me and asked me to go out on the town with him. I was picked up in a Range Rover driven by Amar's real estate developer brother-in-law, his movie-star friend (married), his girlfriend and Amar.

As we walked into the newest dance club in town, by-passing the line, the actor was stopped for autographs and we tried to keep to the shadows to avoid the paparazzi, since his girlfriend was with us. After a long night drinking pricey drinks and dancing, we left the club and my hosts decided I needed a late night tour of the sights of Hyderabad. So, off we drove, drinking Chivas Regal out of the bottle, roof open, weaving around the old women stooped over sweeping the streets. At one point, we made a phone call to a Congress MP who was the friend of the brother-in-law. He and I drunkenly chatted about something or other.

They took me to Charminar, the 400-year old gate in the middle of the poor, mostly Muslim part of town where people were lined up sleeping on the sidewalk. Keep in mind my crowd of rich, drunk Hindus in a Range Rover with an immodestly-clad blonde in the back seat.

There's a small mosque at the Charminar, so Amar and I climbed out to go see it. I was wearing a short skirt, so I wasn't allowed in, but the mosque custodian smiled at me and gave me a small green flag with a white star and crescent. I was happy and climbed back in the car to show off my souvenir. All the guys in the car flipped out and thought is was a Pakistani flag, which it was not. So they climbed back out of the car, woke up a cop and started yelling about being real Indians, etc. People on the sidewalks started waking up. I started yelling "I'm Christian, I'm Christian" and herding my crowd back into the car. By the time we left half the square was awake and starting to move towards the car. And that was how I almost started a riot on my first night in India.

Is there a moral to this story? Is it:

1. Don't drink and drive.
2. Don't go to mosques in short skirts.
3. Understand the history including animosities of the places you're visiting.
4. Don't go out with your girlfriend when there are paparazzi around.
5. Drinking Chivas Regal makes you immune to political violence.
   

Vote, or suggest your own.