Wk 46: Indian Corruption - A Real Disease

Well now, this was quite the pickle. If ever there was a moment to huff and sigh and mutter "Oh, bother", this was surely it. But this wasn’t about a lost pot of honey or a blustery day in the Hundred Acre Wood. No, no, this was far more serious—something called ‘CORRUPTION’, and it made my Dad angrier than I had ever seen him before.

The Great Reunion – But Something Wasn’t Quite Right

After weeks of waiting, sitting, and twiddling my paws, in the container - the moment had finally come—Dad had arrived to get me and Angela back! When they flung open the container doors, there he was, standing there, waiting for us.? My heart skipped a beat with happiness - like a happy little honeybee. Reunited at last!

But something wasn’t right. Dad wasn’t smiling. His face, usually so warm and kind, was twisted into something… well, something rather alarming. His fists were clenched, his jaw was tight, and when he spoke, his voice was sharp enough to slice through a pot of honey.? He was incandescent with rage.

I pricked up my ears and listened. Something very fishy was going on.

A Most Crooked Conversation

Dad: “So you’re telling me I have to pay 10,000 rupees to get my own car released?”

Indian Official (with a most unpleasant grin): “Yes, that is correct. There are duties and taxes to be paid on the items inside your vehicle. They are not listed on your Carnet de Passage.”

Dad: “That’s interesting, because you have a laminated list of every single item inside my car. You already know what’s in there.”

Indian Official: “Ah yes, but if you are importing goods, they must be taxed.”

Dad (voice rising now, like a thundercloud about to burst): “Where exactly does it say that on the Carnet? Show me.”

The official paused. Smirked. Tilted his head in the way that people do when they know they’ve got you in a corner. Then, in a voice as smooth as a honey thief’s excuse, he said:

Indian Official: “I can make this go away… if you pay the importation tax. Or… the car can sit here. It’s up to you.”

And there it was. The great, awful, sticky web of corruption that tangled so many in its grasp. This wasn’t about rules. It wasn’t about laws. It was about greed—pure and simple.

Dad’s face was now the colour of an overripe tomato, and if he had been a volcano, the entire port would have been buried under molten fury. But, with great restraint, he forced himself to remain calm.

Dad (gritted teeth, shaking hands, barely contained rage): “Fine. Let’s pay the ‘importation tax’ and be done with it.”

The official grinned. He knew he had won.

Paying for Nothing – And Then More Waiting!

But even after handing over the bribe—oh sorry, ‘tax’—we still didn’t have the car.

Now came the waiting. And waiting. And more waiting. 1.5 hours of standing in the hot, sticky port, while a group of smug officials pretended to ‘check paperwork.’

Dad stood there like a great, angry bear, pacing, fuming, fists clenched at his sides. I could almost see steam coming out of his ears.

Taxi Trickery – Another Shakedown!

Getting here had been no easy feat either. On the way to the port, Dad’s taxi broke down, and he had to get another.

The first taxi: 690 rupees for the whole journey. The second taxi, for only three-quarters of the distance? 1,100 rupees!

Dad: “That’s ridiculous!” Taxi driver: “Take it or leave it.”

And, because time was running out and the port was waiting, Dad had no choice but to pay.

Yet another ‘cost of doing business’ in Mumbai.

A Sour Taste That Won’t Go Away

It was infuriating. All the goodwill Mum & Dad had built up—the kind shopkeepers, the lively markets, the joy of bargaining for little treasures—wiped out in an instant.

Snuffed out like a candle in the wind.

Three weeks of adventure, of learning, of embracing India’s vibrant, colourful culture—soured in two short encounters with corruption.

And if that wasn’t enough, the principal of a local school had tried to pull the same trick on Mum and Dad! He tried to swindle them. But, unlike the officials at the port, he had met his match.? Dad would have none of it.

Dad had secured the school records of his pupils and refused to return them until the principal honoured his end of the bargain. Checkmate.

We’re Getting Out of Here – Fast!

We’re leaving Mumbai. Early in the morning. Before the city wakes.

We’re shaking off the dust of corruption, heading south toward Goa, then east to the Araku Valley, where the skies are blue, the roads are open, and the greed of dishonest men possibly can’t touch us.

It’s such a shame, really. I now understand why the outside world whispers about India’s business reputation in hushed, knowing voices. It’s a cycle. A never-ending loop where everyone is cheating everyone else, and so, no one trusts anyone.

But at least one thing remains true.

We are together again. Angela is purring.? She is happy to have Mum and Dad behind the wheel.

And We are moving forward.

The Lesson?

Corruption isn’t just an inconvenience. It’s a disease. It robs honest people. It destroys trust. And if you let it, it will steal your spirit.

But here’s the thing—you don’t have to accept it.

Janelle and I built a business that operates with integrity, honesty, and fairness. We coach others to do the same. We teach business owners how to thrive without playing dirty.

Because, as we just learned first-hand, there’s the wrong way to do business… and then there’s the right way.

Our integrity is important to us and we won’t sink to the depths that these Indian officials have.