"I hear DEA's in town."
"I hope they know we have the right of way."
To anyone visiting India for the first time, the country can easily overwhelm your senses. From the poverty, to the cows in the streets, to the snake charmers, all the other animals you see in places you might not expect to see them, to the smells, the food-India is indeed different. It is easy to dismiss it as a primitive country, but that would not be fair. The people are interesting-and I mean that in a positive way. On my first trip to Delhi, I found many of the women to be strikingly beautiful. Of course, in a country like India, a visitor will come back with stories aplenty.
Although I had previously landed in Delhi while flying from Bangkok to New York in the 1970s, my first real trip was in 1990 as part of a DEA International Training team. On this occasion, we spent two weeks in Delhi conducting a drug training seminar for drug cops at India's National Police Academy.
Our lodging was at the Delhi Hyatt Hotel, a luxury hotel that provided us with much-needed comfort over the two weeks. On school days, we were transported in a van to the police academy, which was rather run-down with ceiling fans beating back the heat.
Prior to beginning the school, our team was told by the State Department Embassy coordinator that we should provide a block of instruction on "Human Rights". It was not in our schedule (certainly the Indians had not asked for it), and we pretty much told the diplomat we would "take care of it". We then proceeded to forget about it.
In my first class, I was about 5 minutes into my lecture when one of the students let out a belch. I didn't say anything about it, deciding to let it pass without comment. A couple of minutes later, another student belched. I soon learned that this was considered normal as the students continued belching throughout the class-and during the entire two weeks.
Later, I participated with other team members in a class on interrogation techniques. We held a mock interrogation of a drug suspect using standard American techniques. At the conclusion of the class, one student came up and asked me if I would ever torture a suspect. When I replied that I would not, he asked why, seemingly not accepting my answer. I then explained that if I were to do such a thing, I would be subjecting myself to arrest, prosecution and loss of my job. He then retorted that I didn't understand. "You wouldn't be doing it for yourself, you would be doing it for your country", he explained. At that point, I tried to find a diplomatic way of ending the exchange.
Indeed, shortly before our arrival in Delhi, there had been a controversial incident in the city police station where a suspect, under interrogation, had supposedly jumped to his death from the window of police hqs. It got quite a play in the local press.
On another day, as we were on our way to the academy (just down the street) we came upon the scene of a bus accident. Apparently bus accidents were not uncommon. It was also not uncommon, if there were injuries, for the bus driver to get out and run from the scene, in which case, a crowd would proceed to stone the bus. That was the case on this occasion. As we tried to steer around the scene, rocks were flying. A couple of projectiles came flying into our car, just missing our heads as we retreated into the police academy.
On some days, after class, we would go to the DEA office, located in the American Embassy, one of the largest and most impressive compounds we own around the world. On one occasion, I met a visiting DEA agent and his family who were on R&R (Rest and Recuperation) from their posting in Pakistan. (Does that tell you anything about Pakistan?)
While at the embassy, I was made aware of a cartoon that had recently appeared in the State Department's monthly magazine that depicted an embassy cocktail party. In the cartoon, a couple of DEA agents were chatting with a State Department official. The diplomat was a stereotypical State Department type, dressed in a suit with a haughty-taughty expression and holding a cocktail in his hand. The two DEA agents were portrayed as "cowboys", boots, cowboy hats, cigarette packs tucked into their shirt sleeves and holding beer cans. The caption was, "Yeah, we're DEA agents. How did you guess?" Our DEA country representative in India had reacted by sending a letter to the editors of the magazine protesting the cartoon and reminding them that "diplomacy starts at home". (In a subsequent edition, the editors printed the letter and admitted that they had screwed up.)
Of course, since the Taj Mahal in Agra was only a couple of hours away by train, we spent our Saturday off going to see the Taj. It turned into an exhausting all day affair, rising at dawn to catch a 6am train and returning at 11pm. Once was enough, and on my second trip to Delhi with DEA International Training a couple of years later, I stayed at the hotel while the others made the trek.
The final blow (to me) was en route home. The night after departing Delhi, in Frankfurt, Germany, I came down with a severe case (delayed reaction) of the "Delhi Belly" and had to be taken to the Army Hospital. Fortunately, it passed and I was able to continue home without delay.
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