a writer who draws

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Chalo!
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andyluke
Over the next few weeks I'll be posting my India journal, written entirely on the backside of a crest of a baachanaal. The language is likely to offend all but my regular readers (and probably those too), link interested sensitives to the photo's urls etc remotely. Some of this has been cross-posted to Facebook, but nobody is on Prison Planet right? All the entries will be saved with the tag,

"Hala Boulah Gulah"


1st

Flight to Delhi took off 1:10pm, an hour and a half late. This suited me just fine: less early hours to spend on my own overnight. Someone down the back of the plane was so happy they threw two babies in boiling water and spoofed to them they'd single-handedly been responsible for global genocide. I updated my personal Eng-Hindi phrase book. Given up on spelling I went straight for phonetics. Great sandwiches mum made - so hungry I ate them before I saw any in-flight movies.






Brought to you by Namaste Dosti - The Learn Hindi Podcast and ISpeakHindi.com and my idiot savant grasp.

2nd

I wonder when Brendan McCarthy was composing 'Rogan Gosh' did he use the phrase Psych-Delhi-ha (hey)


They put my lighter in a box, the guards. I'll never see that wee Belfast red clipper disposable again. They have a smoker's room here! A machine on the wall with a button lights. A notice of not depressing it for no more than 10 seconds. The compromise between vans rendering emergency you-can't-smoke-here and here's-your-inhale-sir. The guards at first are a bit intimidating - green garbed, big rifles. "From the dark continent" as Sky News would condition. On further though at least they've got a proper military surplus store for sourcing their inventory. Sky News is for whiteys anyhow and American cops dress in desert gear, even though most of their country is Coke stands. I like to think of British cops as a throwback to cobblers, miners at a stretch. The truth is probably a bit more sinister - crossref Frank Miller Batman, DeNiro Taxi Driver. Oh dear. Sort it out lads.

Guy on the plane takes his laptop out likes he's just got a new dick. (And again to check) We circle Chandigarh for extra half hour before permission to land.


Breakfast is accompanied by two tall Coke Masalas. Hitesh and I chatting times. My mum picks up the phone when I call. Shock, whispers out of distress. It's six in the morning, but a midday rush in Sector 35-C and it takes repeating to assure her I'm not trapped at some any airport..hospital.


I'm beginning to seem like Danny Pongo. (Deranged anti-social blogger pal who does that sort of thing for kicks)

I shower the heat from my blood and sleep for five hours. Then Hitesh takes me for a head massage: an hour of focus and alignment. I'm to be super responsible and aware for the rest of the week I'm told, by the same time-delay epiphanies of repute. My feet are bathed, scrubbed, cleaned, foam heated, oiled, tickled, re-tickled, re-shaped and treated. Before my socks are placed back on I catch a glimpse of my virgin self from 20 years gone.

Zarren's family have a fantastic home. The mother and girls (mater and lurkys) are very sweet. My room for the next few days is like a self-contained flat if a villa apartment could be a bedsit. I like it.



That evening Hitesh drove me out to his pal's wedding at the Resort Laguna... Please enter your email address and password to continue.

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The photo of you and the driver is to die for. Wow, I hope you have good times ahead. (ahead then, in your narrative).

I note that your dil is small in your picture but we know it is in fact large.

And I hope that knowing that 'khopra dee' is your skull is not setting us up for any later events.

Bhonhs raised in appreciation. Keep it coming.

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