Monday, January 07, 2008

Liberated from my essay crisis

Unbelievably, despite being nearly 40 years old, I spent my first days in India under the spell of an essay crisis. But now, after a marathon 30 hours non-stop writing, apart from breaks for tea, lentils salads, Walkers shortbread biscuits, chit chats, refuelling of the rosemary essental oil burner (good for concentration apparently - made me feel like a leg of lamb) and of course loo (of the divine seated variety) breaks. I finally completed it. All night I had been on the internet checking references to substantiate my made up theories, it was swift and effortless (the internet connection, no my thought process).

Come the time to upload the bloody thing and the internet connection went down. For an hour and a half so my essay, after staying up all night to finish it, was late.

Since then, however, I have been liberated. I have been wandering around Bangalore soaking up the atmos. I went and bought my ticket to Vellore (home of the trouser suit of course) and felt like such a pro as I cheerily discussed the Brindhavan Express leaving at 9 am and the Lalbagh at two thirty, and deciding what seat types to get. I think men crowding behind me, squishing me against the counter, just trying to get close so they could marvel at my local knowledge.

On the way back in the rickshaw the light across Bangalore glowed like lava. The flame trees lining the roads, became blazing infernos. At a corner, a group of uncertain looking young men were holding cameras next to a tata van with PRESS on the side. One of the men seemed straighter and more confident. He was holding the mike. A couple of lathi-wielding policemen with outrageous side whiskers bristled menacingly. Of course all 12 lanes of traffic strained to see who was coming out to be interviewed.

A bus pulled gently in between me and the scene, blocking it out. I sat back in the rickshaw, where my view was obscured by the umbrella like canopy.

As I did so, I heard a noise. It was like a cross between an expression of astonishment and a burp. There was a pause as I looked up puzzled. The came the most almighty splat as the side of the bus, side of the rickshaw and a tiny area of my toe was redecorated with copious quantities of muttar paneer. The riskshaw driver was most unimpressed and despite being wedged in between other rickshaws in traffic tighter than seeds in a pomegranate, managed to maneouvre himself a full vomit spans distance from the bus. I did have to share the remainder of the trip with a couple of escapeas.

So tomorrow I am off to Vellore and who knows what will be in store. I am looking forward to it and of course I'll keep you pasted.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Vellore vomit, Bangalore barf, Hindu hurl, Rickshaw retch...