Trail of Ants

As we spluttered to a stop, I never imagined that fifteen frustrating minutes later we’d be buying a bottle of petrol from a man who at first glance, only peddled tyres. As we pulled the bike over to inhale a glorious vista, I never imagined two seconds later the Enfield would forcibly lay down, casting my pillion and I into a fumbled knot. As we realised my pillion had lost my beloved sunglasses, I never imagined just ten minutes into silently retracing our route a poor village man would return them, without mention of a rupee or reward. When we ran out of fuel, the second time, I never imagined the number of no-strings offers of rest and solutions from concerned strangers I heaved my sweating brow by. As we agreed the rate of yet-another-hotel, I never imagined a boy of seven would appear to tell us to ‘have nice dreams‘ in his tiny poppy English. The bottom line is, on returning to India, I never imagined the people to be so far from my Indian truth. Continue reading ‘My Indian Truth’