This weeks Reprint is disgusting, and funny. Disgustingly funny, one might say. It’s about that global addiction that rears its butt in so many ways – smoking. Continue reading ‘Reprint: Non-Smoker’
Tag Archive for 'India'
I stare at the newspaper. It wasn’t me. I gawp at the television. It wasn’t me. I trawl through the internet. It wasn’t me! I listen to the radio, podcasts, and conversations on the bus. It WASN’T me! At least — I hope it wasn’t me? Continue reading ‘Trails of the Unexpected’
The nickname of Varanasi is carried on a hushed wind around those muttering it subconsciously at its entrances. Varanasty. This can be interpreted as slightly disrespectful, but I assure you for the benefit of my legal team I have an ingrained respect for the Hindi HQ. Continue reading ‘The Reprint: ‘Fading Memories’’
Zoom in a bit, in a bit more, more, more, out a bit, a touch more. Now focus. Slowly does it. Breath. Easy on the trigger. Look around the frame. Zoom in a bit. In a bit. In a bit. Breath. And. Wait for it. Shoot! Snap? Click? Damn it. Turn it on. Refocus. Pan right a bit. Easy on the trigger. Breath in. Breath out. Perfect. Count down from three, two… get out of the way! Three, two, one. Snap. Click. Whirr. You beauty! Continue reading ‘The Reprint: ‘Taj. You’re It.’’
One minute I turned the Enfield’s engine off to add to the silence of the moment an elephant and it’s baby heaved their shadows across the road, less than an hour later I was surrounded by a bus load of gibbering Indians, while to my side Reb lay on the dusty outer edge of a hairpin bend next to the spinning rear wheel of our stricken bike. One minute I was discussing Calvin Klein and Davidoff with a young Muslim, less than an hour later, without warning I was attacked from behind by a gibbering old man. One minute I’m flagged down by an ego-driven cop, less than an hour later I’m gibbering exaggerated scenarios at Reb, and we’re on the run. All this, in less than twenty-four hours. And twenty-fours before this? One minute I was staring Gandhi in the eyes, and less than an hour later I was discovering ancient hill tribes. Continue reading ‘Blue Jumper Story’
After a quick blood pressure test the gang of nurses rushed me to the surgery operating room. Pain was brandishing my neck and shoulder, a sickening sensation ten times greater than the height of ‘pins and needles’, when it really feels like your stricken limb might just implode. And you might just want it to. Continue reading ‘Heartbreak Hotel’
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’
