Chapter 56…
Remembering the Past in India (1)
“What the heck!”
[Why??]
As always, Jo Yeon-ju pounced on her only conversational partner, Woo Soo-han, like a hyena that spotted prey, when he suddenly yelped in surprise.
“This isn’t India, it’s Bali Island, right?”
[Huh?]
Yeon-ju frowned. What kind of nonsense was this?
“Look! Indonesia and India are two different countries!”
[Why are you being selectively dumb? You even went to Indonesia!]
“Well, yeah, but what do you mean, ‘selectively dumb’?”
[Sometimes you seem knowledgeable, but then you lack basic common sense.]
“That’s the illusion of second-hand knowledge. Doesn’t it make me seem more human?”
At that, Yeon-ju’s expression soured. She sighed at the way Soo-han dressed up ignorance as “human.”
“Hm. I think I remember now. Oh!”
[What now—oh, because you can’t eat beef there?]
“You catch on quick.”
So Yeon-ju helped Soo-han study for his trip to India.
Where am I? Who am I?
“……”
I glanced to the side.
To be precise, I was facing an Indian ghost.
Skin and bones, hollow eyes… I’d seen something similar in Korea. Starved to death, maybe.
But why was I seeing an Indian ghost instead of a Korean one?
“What’s with the surprise guest act?”
I thought there’d be a pre-meeting with the group before filming, but nope.
Do-in81, Dennis, and a travel YouTuber named Piny had left first. Apparently, Do-in81 would go first, then the other two would join.
And then—bam—I was supposed to appear suddenly.
That’s how I ended up seeing an Indian ghost. Since we couldn’t communicate, I decided to ignore it.
At least I wasn’t alone—that would’ve made no sense. Someone had to be filming me, after all.
“How do you find India?”
“Half and half.”
A young writer following the shoot asked me.
“Half and half?”
“Yeah. Half familiar, half new.”
“What feels familiar?”
“The clothes?”
“Ah…”
I noticed her expression stiffen.
Apparently, I’d just stumbled into an “assassination gag” territory. It’s a style of humor associated with Jonathan, a Gabonese prince living in Korea, who turns comments about appearance into racial jabs with witty comebacks.
Because of the Park Gura incident, I’d somehow been added to that lineage of “assassination gags.” Even though it wasn’t me—it was the devil’s editing.
Anyway, maybe that’s why the writer flinched.
As for me, I was just pointing out that I was wearing local Indian clothes, which looked a bit old—familiar, like my old work clothes.
Did they have something like clothing donation bins here too?
“And this moment feels familiar.”
“Ah…”
Sitting on the ground like this—it felt natural. I thought it’d feel weird since I hadn’t done it in a while, but no, it was familiar. Not because of “beggar instincts,” but just… experience.
“Actually, in some ways, it’s better.”
“How so?”
“There are more people like me around.”
“That’s true.”
Looking around, I saw lots of people sitting on the street like me. Not all beggars—just resting.
Seeing that, I realized again how good Korea is. Maybe that’s why they say traveling abroad makes you patriotic.
I said it honestly.
“Wow, it’s good we were born in Korea.”
“Yeah, with the economy and all, the difference is…”
Economy? For a beggar? You have to listen until the end in Korean.
“When so many sit out here, doesn’t it make begging more competitive? At least when I lived that life, it wasn’t such a crowded field.”
“Cough!”
“Oh, you’re coughing?”
“Spare me!”
I’m not killing anyone!
Still, sitting here made me hungry. With the money the crew had given me, I followed the smell of food.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m hungry.”
The writer and VJ followed discreetly, filming me.
Thankfully, there was a vendor selling something like pancakes. Cheap, too.
They called it “Dosa.” Sounded like some mystical name, but it was basically a flatbread stuffed with spiced potatoes—like a filled crepe.
I sat down and ate. Then suddenly the writer and VJ got a call and rushed to tell me—
“They’re heading this way now!”
The writer quickly explained the concept: I’d meet up with the group naturally.
I finished my dosa and sat along the street where they’d pass by.
Hm. It’d been a while since I’d done this.
At first, I thought it’d be harder here than in Korea, more competitive.
But now, another thought struck me—
“Begging is common here, right?”
Unlike Korea, where it’s rare, here it seemed like begging was a normalized occupation. Plus, cash was still widely used, unlike Korea with all its cards.
That changed things.
If begging is common, then giving alms is also common.
“Pros and cons, I guess.”
Looking up, I could see the flow: locals mostly targeted foreigners. Made sense—it was a tourist spot.
I, too, had eventually shifted from locals to foreign buyers back then. They carried cash.
“Ah, brings back memories.”
And naturally, I slipped into “business mode.”
I sat with one knee raised, the other stretched out, one hand draped lazily over the bent knee, the other resting palm-up on my thigh. My gaze went slack, staring into nothing.
Emptiness… Form is emptiness, emptiness is form.
Writer Yeon-na, the youngest on staff, hid with the VJ to capture the moment of my reunion with the group.
But then she covered her mouth, eyes wide in disbelief.
She was seeing in real life what she’d only seen on Running Friends.
Even more confusing, though.
“Sh-shouldn’t we check on him?”
The VJ’s voice trembled.
Yeon-na hesitated. Soo-han slumped like a man ready to leave this world—it didn’t seem normal.
“I—I can’t just…”
She started toward him but froze when she met his vacant gaze.
His hollow eyes radiated sorrow—not that he looked sad, but that the onlooker’s heart ached.
“What are we doing to him…?”
Her vision blurred with tears.
It felt like their “funny concept” had poked at a wound—something he wanted erased.
The phrase slaves to capitalism came to mind.
She bit her lip, ready to stop this.
“No matter what people say about TV producers, this isn’t right.”
Just then, a foreign tourist stopped, hesitated, and took money from his pocket. He bent down and placed it in Soo-han’s hand.
Slowly, Soo-han turned, gave a faint smile, and nodded. The tourist nodded back, said a few words, and left—still glancing back at him.
“No way…”
Yeon-na’s eyes widened. The hand that received the money slipped naturally into his pocket. When it came back, the money was gone.
“What the—”
Her legs gave out and she collapsed.
If she hadn’t seen him stash the cash, she’d have thought something was wrong.
“Writer, quickly, back here.”
The VJ pulled her back. Even as she stumbled away, she couldn’t take her eyes off Soo-han.
“D-did you film that?”
“Yeah. Oh, and look—again!”
Like clockwork, another passerby stopped, gave money, and patted his shoulder.
In just five minutes, three more had given him alms.
“He’s… on another level.”
“Even begging has K-wave power…”
Unlike the local beggars, all the donations had gone to Soo-han.
And now, the group was approaching.
“Wait—did they notice?”
The writer and VJ’s faces stiffened.
Even though they’d just witnessed his transformation, they were startled again.
Do-in81 was slowly, cautiously walking toward him.
The two staffers held their breath as they filmed.
Do-in81 was a sensitive soul—empathetic, someone who tried to understand others.
Seeing Soo-han slumped by the Ganges, he couldn’t pass by this time.
“Hyung? Ah…”
Dennis, following behind, trailed off and also drew closer.
Even Piny, looking uneasy, joined them.
“Phew.”
Do-in81 stopped walking.
Before him sat a man, head bowed, staring blankly toward the Ganges.
He’d seen beggars countless times on his travels, just part of the scenery.
But this time was different.
He reached into his pocket for money.
“Hyung, are you sure—” Dennis began, but then stopped.
Piny, too, silently held out cash.
“Maybe… this too is fate.”
Do-in81 placed all their money in the man’s hand.
And said words that seemed unlikely to reach him:
“Stay strong.”
“…Thank you.”
Do-in81’s eyes widened.
He wasn’t the only one.
Dennis and Piny both jumped in shock.
“You’re Korean?”
“Shouldn’t we call the embassy? Writer, over here!”
Their voices rose in alarm as they stared at the beggar who seemed to be a Korean.
