Two hundred rupees. I had it. But to offer it, I would have to enter their conversation. I would have to stop being the observer and become the participant. I would have to speak their Hindi — not the textbook Hindi of Mera naam hai , not the Bollywood Hindi of Main tumse pyar karta hoon , but the gutter Hindi of negotiation, of mercy, of the street.
I looked at the constable. "How much is the fine?" I asked, still in English. caught in hindi
The driver stared. The constable blinked. Two hundred rupees
I opened my mouth. The words came out wrong, twisted, my tongue a foreigner in my own mouth: " Usse… mat… do. " (Don't… give… him.) but the gutter Hindi of negotiation