Oops. I seem to have boarded the senior citizens train carriage. I suppose it is a success at least to have boarded any train.
What better sales pitch for a clearly massive balloon than to point at it and ask “Big balloon?” Tempting…
Mumbai is in a constant period of twilight. Its pollution turns all sunshine into a dull haze.
I’m staying in a suburb that is bigger and busier than London.
Commuter trains remind me of home. It’s a pained yet affectionate memory.
When the curry you ordered arrives with a cooling yoghurt dish you didn’t order, there is cause for concern. When the waiting begin to natter and watch expectantly as you dish up the curry, there is cause for alarm.
Did the hotel porter have to chose 10:30pm to make up the beds in my dormitory? Nobody else is even staying here.
“Quick, a foreign bloke is coming – Cover up the ‘Fixed Price 150Rs’ sign and charge him 350Rs.”
My new XL Indian shirt is a snug fit. Either their sizes are smaller or curries have taken their toll on me.
This is the loudest safari I’ve ever been on. Even the caged animals were no-shows.
Cleaning my shoe soles marks my exit from India.
I wonder how far 20Rs will go at the airport coffee shop.
Tea! 20Rs buys tea.
Ah the hits of Elton John and Frank Sinatra, performed on the mellow Grand Piano and pumped through alongside the aeroplane air con. How soothing.
