Clean Ears' Debacle?

It took a pair of New Dehli ear cleaners and a pesky shoe shining teen to finally teach me the power of a woman. Yes, I admit that women have power that I, as all other men, shall never be privy to.
Fresh from some fine South Indian cuisine at the Banana Leaf after a long walking day through the Delhi National Zoo, Misha and I thought it a pleasant plan to rest in the fast coming evening sky on some non-descript grassy knoll smack dab in the center of things, that is Connaught Place. Backpackers aren't usually welcomed in the chic center of New Delhi's shopping and fine dining, but neither Misha or me think much of invitations - we flat out don't need them. Travelers such as ourselves are ping'd as stingy and have their own seperate corners to wallow in where injured wallets alike bask in as close to local prices as any foreigner is allowed.
Turned out the Center Park doesn't allow cameras inside it but really, I think, we didn't fit the part so we settled upon some more public grounds across the street...near some bazaar brimming with cheap gaudy shiny things that don't kill the wallet but fail to impress a mind of class (such as my own). Of course, mind you, such bazaars often kill the wallet so hide the big bills and realize everything you buy is similar to the rubbage lining the streets.
So the new grassy knoll wasn't so grassy- I'd say closer to mud sprinkled with peach fuzz, so little peach fuzz that the broken bench leaning against the tree at the foot of it was all the most appealing.
It didn't take long for the hounders to come, the guys that don't distinguish from a sucker rich Westerner from a mostly frugal can't-use-your-services-mister-because-I'm-broke-broke-broke traveler such as yours truly. Oh sure, the first man offered me the cleanest ears in the world but my ears are fine thank you very much. I can't forget about that boy that promised to polish up charge free my..."very fine English, no, Canadian, no, American, yes, fine American leather shoes...just to look, clean for free because you've never cleaned them sir, I'll bet you that. Look at these scuffs this leather is sick and I must," because in his trade it's just plain hurtful to allow such inhumane treatment to go on.
"No thank you my friend I like them just fine and really it's kind of you to say we're a couple of movie stars but its the sunglasses friend. It's just the sunglasses."
By this time there was something of a hounders' convention about and they happened to choose a quiet broken bench to convene at, a familiar broken bench at the bottom of some peachy knoll. No doesn't go. No it doesn't.
After reading for fun the odd scriptures of tourists of yesteryear that the ear cleaner touted about as a fine trophy, that is a testament to his "doctor-like" skill, my ears began to itch. Well, maybe a chance for a funny picture and something to write about. I broke the confident heritage of noes, the fine fortifications that we had built, by inquiring to how much an ear cleaning costs these days.
"You're not getting your ears cleaned!"
Yes, mam, yes Misha mam. You heard the lady and I must answer to somebody. Of course it was about that time that I felt something cold and peculiar probbing my left lobe. Dammit, here we go.
Misha take the camera and roll this please and by the way sir I'm a poor-boy so as long as you're happy when I am as you said things won't get difficult...
Who knew the gunk that was buried inside, clogging up the passageways of sweet melodies!?!? I tell you it made me sick when the dark mess of jerky looking loot came tumbling out with the fine maneuvering of Raj's spoony-looking thing. Made Misha sick too, so now she was thinking her ears needed cleaned. Luckily there aren't shortages of hounders. Soon we had a convoy moving on up the hill to catch the last bit of sun and my ears were tickling with the sensation of cleanliness.
Of course about the time we were done, still kicking away the shoe cleaners even after their (a father and two sons now) unwarranted attempts while having my ears cleaned (man hounders prey on the weak), they dropped the bag that they were looking for Rs1000. Sure convert it now and we've got $20 but damn that's money going the distance for us and something I plain didn't have. I told him Rs100 and he'd be happy but, "...no, no, no, 1000!" I said that's generous but my stomach was churning because I got one reaction to being suckered and that's a concoction of unadulterated anger with all it's surprises and the oddly paradoxical uneasiness of a child in trouble without his mommy.
I grabbed my belongings and looked to Misha for support, after-all she's part Israeli and they don't put up with shit. Her ears weren't as clean as mine because she didn't hear the numbers, but the man wasn't done with her yet. I drooped over like some puppy who shamefully pee'd the rug and mumbled to her that my guy was hounding for something way more than we had.
She looked over with pure disdain and put a show on that I haven't seen the likes of. First it was anger mixed with projected shaming to the convention and their tactics, then the magic, the reddening eyes, the short hiccup breaths, and boy did those hounders retreat!
"It's okay mam, 100 is fine. Very nice. Thank you. Everything is fine."
And I was holding back laughter as I padded this injured soul, watching those touts back up and scram, retreat to some old business man who doesn't care about money and hasn't the emotional complexities to cry in public.
I stood there happy to be free from conflict as a nervous happy ear-cleaner assured us of his love to negotiate his rate with the financially deprived.
Cleaned ears and hassle free, not two minutes later, Misha laughed and so did I...of course until thoughts of this stratagem exercised against me prevailed so I was hearing madness's laughter and power at work and suddenly I shook, took her bags and became a tad more chivalrous...

-sam