bidip

But before I go to the big apple...

2011-08-30T18:41:00.003+05:30

... I present, a small tomato - the first. Evidence that beautiful things grow in Delhi.

A riot of colour & a short escape

2011-08-29T23:36:00.004+05:30

There'll be no tapping and snapping from India for the next few weeks as I temporarily escape this cramazing place. Back soon.

Last rays catch train

2011-08-27T20:39:00.006+05:30

blur of humanity

2011-08-27T19:51:00.004+05:30

We passed through Mathura Junction station on the day of Janmashtami (Krishna's birthday). Mathura is one of the seven most holy cities for hindus and traces its history back to 1600BC. And given Mathura is the reputed birthplace of Krishna, the platforms were PACKED with people - not so much a sea of humanity as a blur. Family groups clustered close together as the evening humidity hung over the station. We passed by slowly, standing in the doorway of our train, I failed to focus, but you get the idea..... thousands of people sitting in the dim light patiently waiting for their train to take them home.

Wall hole

2011-08-26T22:10:00.006+05:30

I'm not sure what drew my eye to this scene of destruction. First it was the random hole torn through a wall in a street of otherwise intact brick neatness. But then it started telling a story: the two empty chairs, a hint of life interrupted (two wizened codgers were spinning yarns as the bricks fell); the two-tone walls in the background, symmetrically split into pink and blue, yin and yang; and then the pick axe, with its mundane functionality and implied danger (like a horse's head on the doorstep). It just looked so discarded and unresolved. I had to snap it. And because Andy Warhol was born in August, and his name sounds like wall hole, I did multiple editions. Prints available for a million dollars.

And then I realised.....

2011-08-26T00:53:00.001+05:30

... I could goat no further

Lolita in Hindi is लोलिता

2011-08-25T00:05:00.000+05:30

Britney in Hindi is ब्रिटनी. What more to say.

In silhouette

2011-08-24T08:20:00.002+05:30

A China analyst, a rickshaw driver and two street kids in discussion, and silhouette.

Lord of the stares

2011-08-24T08:04:00.004+05:30

There's a magnetic relationship between the wild platform kids on Indian train stations and farangis. Here they look with fascination, half-heartedly seeking cash, but really just staring. I'd love to know how they end up as adults if they survive their lord of the flies childhood. Tough life.

Orchha at dusk

2011-08-23T21:42:00.005+05:30

From our fort hotel looking down on the lush rural ideal of Madya Pradesh: Unhurried buffalos graze with swooshing tails, an ibis riding on back. In the field a family tends their small plot in the cool of the day. A lady in sari carries a big bundle of fresh cut grass on her head, another with a bundle of sticks on her head and a limp. A red tractor passes with a red trailer piled high with people. Beyond the fields, wooded forest, and on the horizon lazy undulations of an ancient landscape. The river meanders slowly across the flats carrying waters warmed by the hot hot day – The stone under my feet throbs with the same heat. A temple singer recites holy words under holy trees, and the pre-dusk spirals of tweeting swallows rise overhead. And parrots. And dragonflies. A pair of vultures swoop from the top of the fort and fly low over the town to a ruin on the other side. In the courtyard a man sweeps the ground in wide arcs. I soak up every gradation of the setting sun and dimming light. And then the golden pre-dusk glow falls from the walls of the fort and the thermals still, the swallows go quiet and the transition to night is complete. After
dinner we emerge to a dark sky full of stars. Another day in the life of a 400 year old fort.

Night rain on my street

2011-08-23T21:25:00.002+05:30

Jhansi station

2011-08-23T20:46:00.006+05:30

Stars of Orchha

2011-08-23T20:38:00.002+05:30

Saturday night, it's hot, and the stars are out over Jahangir Mahal in Orchha. A magic place and a magic night.

calm blue windows

2011-08-23T07:38:00.004+05:30

It's a terrible ex-pat cliche, but there are some shops in Delhi that make it all ok on those searing hot-weathered hot-tempered days. The recent addition of a shop that sells sour dough adds bonus points to Delhi's livability index (good bread, VERY important). These pics are from a cafe upstairs - a little bastion of calm. In Delhi we want for nothing from home bar good friends and family. But be sure that when we go home we'll miss heaps of unreplicatable Delhi things... not much mughal architecture in Melbourne town.

Modern mughals

2011-08-19T21:46:00.003+05:30

Tales abound of the decadence of Mughal Delhi, of lavish feasts and a rich culinary lineage that continues to this day in the by-lanes of Shahjahanabad. Delhi in 2011 is welcoming a renaissance of lavishness (there's a lot of cash sloshing around!). This is a restaurant in Connaught Place awash with mirrors (including a glitterball ceiling). The food is quite good, but I'm always a little suspicious of restaurants so dark you can barely see your plate. How is a man to tell his keralan boatman's curry from his tadka dal? And are the mirrors a call for us to take a long hard look at ourselves and our excessive ways? Or one man's fantasy - described by Wallpaper as "a bold collision between Marbella 1976 and a Mughul mirror palace"? Given the owner is a flamboyant fashion designer, I'm guessing the latter.

Prodigious India

2011-08-19T00:01:00.004+05:30

This is a brilliant video... Delhi past, present and future all rolled in one, the Prodigy spaceship landing on planet India, India loving it, everything.

water's edge and a rhyming pledge - Srinigar

2011-08-18T00:19:00.002+05:30

2011-08-17T07:54:00.001+05:30

grace in repetition

2011-08-16T23:53:00.004+05:30

Light and dust

2011-08-16T07:34:00.000+05:30

Jodhpur 7am - shadows and hairdos of a rising sun...

... and later that afternoon through the windshield of an auto.

Jai Hind

2011-08-15T10:28:00.003+05:30

Today is India's Independence Day. And it's wet. The streets are quiet. I was in a rickshaw at the stroke of midnight, that most famous of midnights that divides forever India's freedom day from Pakistan's. The rain pelted down and in the backseat there was no escaping the warm monsoon spray = drenched to the bone, invigorated, stoked to be living in this amazing place.

I was flicking through Salman Rushdie's ode to partition - Midnight's Children - and stumbled across this: "to understand me, you'll have to swallow a world." No more apt description of the challenge for expats landing on Planet India for a few short years. We love you India, but you are such a big world to swallow!

Here's a pic from the original Independence Day in 1947 - people wandering around near the Secretariat Buildings in Delhi. I drive this road regularly, and always think of this image. The people look so happy, free, proud. But you also get the feeling the adrenalin rush was fading, and lives were returning to normal, a better normal. You can almost hear a collective 'what now?' rise up from the crowd. I wonder what that day must have been like: euphoric, exultant, an end day and a beginning day, but the rotis still tasted like rotis and someone still had to do the dishes.

Beautiful

2011-08-14T14:27:00.000+05:30

Disco is everywhere

2011-08-13T12:06:00.006+05:30

I'm gunna fix some of these babies to my pimped up innova and drive around town spreadin' the word... Tonight, one night only, Disco On The Ghat, get on down to a ghat near you and SHAKE IT. डिस्को हर जगह है

Inspiration HERE: Bollywood gold - Jimmy Adja the disco dancer loses his mojo... but the show is saved by his disco queen... but then it all goes awry and disco tears flood the dancefloor ...

Justice delayed, justice denied

2011-08-13T10:56:00.002+05:30

India does big numbers. But sometimes they’re really big. In the paper this morning a report that there are 54,000 cases pending before the supreme court, a further 4.18 million before the various high courts and an amazing 28 million cases before the subordinate courts (or which 20 million are criminal cases). That’s a lot of files.

Pics from the Kolkata court precinct

87654, 2:06

2011-08-12T23:43:00.003+05:30

Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus, one of Mumbai's main train stations has all the clatter you'd expect in a place of comings and goings. It opened in 1888 and 120 years later bad souls cut loose on its platforms and killed 50 people with Ak's and granades. But you wouldn't know it. Like with so many other things in India, people just brush themselves off and get on with it, no memorialising or wallowing. It's still a train station and a gathering place, and a place of hellos and goodbyes. I love that about India - people are so resilient in the face of adversity.

light, platform, people, puddle

2011-08-12T23:37:00.002+05:30

Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus, Mumbai

2011-08-12T23:33:00.001+05:30

I love a city that puffs its chest out

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and then wears its name in gold stars on a t-shirt. Puff-chested BIDIP T-shirts coming soon to a city near you...

Not to state the obvious ...

2011-08-11T19:35:00.003+05:30

but how tough are the people who live under bridges... Respect.

2011-08-10T19:52:00.000+05:30

Traffic rainbow

2011-08-10T19:19:00.002+05:30

The following might sound like total hippy nonsense but w'eva. I was in dense bumpertobumper traffic tonight and the sky was dark with an imminent downpour. To my right in the backseat of an old Maruti-Suzuki hatchback sat a green-sari'ed lady. She was twisted around looking up at the sky through an open window with a beaming smile on her face. The light caught the white of her upturned eyes. I glanced at my blackberry and back again - she was still staring up and BEAMING. Check that out - why is she so friggin happy - is she channeling the Dalai Lama? I looked up and there, in the brooding 7pm Delhi sky was a rainbow - not the best ever, but a nice little rainbow. I looked back at the lady and she was totally transfixed on this sky-miracle, a mary poppins look of innocent pleasure on her face. And I thought ain't that nice. All these half-empty-glassers honking their horns and railing at the bullshit traffic and over there is a solitary half fuller soaking up the dramatic sky with its sash of magic colour. So, thanks sari lady - you made me smile. I'll smell the roses tonight.

Kid. car window.

2011-08-10T07:41:00.000+05:30

No taxis

2011-08-08T22:16:00.005+05:30

Taxi rank: Mumbai airport - Friday 7pm. There are no cabs in cooee and a long queue stand in line. The suited bloke next to me is fuming, railing through wild eyes against a system that has failed. He breathes fire in the direction of a tubby policeman who he reckons is in on the scam. The word is rain and traffic have conspired with the mercenary tendencies of Mumbai's cabbies to screw us all. No cabs, customers accumulating, and a bidding war has begun far away from the rank. Another bloke defends the cabbies - 'just rational behaviour... they see an opportunity and they're taking it.' And so we all stand, waiting, arguing, hoping that playing by the rules might deliver us a ride home. The man in suit moves onto politics - 'if we don't do anything nothing will ever change, the criminals just keep getting away with it.' He points at me - the very symbol of foreignness in my farangi uniform of shorts and t-shirt. 'Look at how the world sees us. They know it shouldn't be like this'. I speak on behalf of the world - 'our cabs are crap too'. His anger turns to purple and he storms off to yell at some people in colourful Marathi. In ten minutes he returns with a cab by the scruff of the neck. He points at me and yells 'get in!' I obey and shake his hand in thanks - he yells louder 'get in now!'. And as I ride off into the Mumbai streets, driven by a wizened old driver whose ear is still ringing with the verbal belting he's received, I look back to see the argument continue - raised arms and raised voices jousting in complete agreement.

3pm: Cloud burst

2011-08-08T21:27:00.003+05:30

As seen through a wall of water on a car window - a waftified, defocused, water colour vibe. I love the way Mumbai deals with the rain. It comes down, people find a roof of any kind, stand around, meet some new folks, and then when the rain is gone they get on with their journey and the hubbub of the street returns.

Mahim bay, Mumbai

2011-08-08T20:52:00.002+05:30

This pic is a little bit amped up (no shit!).

Juhu beach. wet

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This kid breaks rocks.

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But he has nice palm trees in his village.

This bloke once ruled the state in which the kid breaks rocks. Here is his NYT obituary which details his exploits as a 'pilot patriot'. Some of the stories are certainly worthy of a statue at the airport. His son is now the Chief Minister of the same state.

Yogic snoozing

2011-08-05T13:58:00.003+05:30

A school in Orissa

Monsoon and the vegie patch

2011-08-05T10:35:00.003+05:30

Things that like Monsoons: Zucchinis, Basil, Delhi street dogs

Things that don't like Monsoons: Sage, Oregano, Thyme, Parsley, Rocket, Capsicum, Chilies, the many cows that pace my street looking pissy

Things that are thoroughly confused by Monsoons: Tomatoes, Me, Indian weather forecasters.

NB: variable could also be my gardening ability ('experimental incompetence'), and my ability to read the mood of wild animals.

You just gotta love a well packed truck

2011-08-04T22:44:00.001+05:30

Somewhere hot and dusty in Orissa

Old Delhi's shemozzle of a bus station....

2011-08-03T18:39:00.002+05:30

Space invader on the ganga

2011-08-03T00:21:00.003+05:30

In one of the stranger artistic interventions I've seen in India, Space Invader did his thing in Varanasi. 100 points. It kind of fits in...

See more HERE

Some days the bottlo can't open early enough...

2011-08-01T21:41:00.002+05:30

There are 17,014 people in Suriawan

2011-07-31T17:39:00.004+05:30

Suriawan station is a place where the shadows lie long and the pace is slow. We stopped for 2 minutes en route to Varanasi. Wikipedia (citing the 2001 census) informs that 57% of the 17,014 residents of Suriawan are literate and that 17% are under 6 years of age. I would add that the people seem friendly (measured by 3 waves in 2 minutes) and many of them ride bicycles. So a shout out to Suriawan - seems like a nice sort of town.

The sign says line circle line.

2011-07-30T20:20:00.001+05:30

Somewhere in Uttar Pradesh, 6am.

Beer shop - Delhi

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overhead the wax-winged circle ever closer to the sun

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Dog on the tuckerbox, Goat on the doorstep

2011-07-27T18:56:00.002+05:30

So many people ....

2011-07-26T22:21:00.002+05:30

.... well, actually only one person in this pic. India will never stop blowing my mind with its immensity.

Man. bowl. morning.

2011-07-26T00:08:00.002+05:30

It takes three to push and one to pull

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Ten fat sacks of Ganesh brand jeera (cumin) make their way through an old delhi street...

I hear there was a time when eastern block was cool in India...

2011-07-25T20:23:00.004+05:30

And I'm guessing that's where these mannequins in old Delhi came from. Speaking of Nikita dolls, later in the afternoon I passed a bus in Chawri Bazar that had 'Donated by Elton John' emblazoned on its side in red paint.

They say there's a song for every moment (this is the first and last time Elton John will be featured in bidip - promise!):

Neat...

2011-07-24T19:40:00.004+05:30

On the sidewalk in Chandi Chawk the salesmen place their tools of trade in front of them and wait patiently, cross-legged, for customers to appear: a nice statement of neatness amid the complete chaos of old Delhi.

From the collection of the Indian National Museum: Chicks who love guns

2011-07-23T12:47:00.004+05:30

Which sort of reminds me of this nugget of gold:

I'm feeling the urge...

2011-07-23T00:45:00.002+05:30

... to get on a train and travel far far away from Delhi... and then come back. Just for the journey.

Where the brave shave

2011-07-22T08:11:00.002+05:30

The cold water hater

2011-07-20T20:04:00.002+05:30

File this under irrelevant. I have an office conundrum. I’m a simple man, and I like chilled water – it keeps me focused and refreshed through long work days in this HOT HOT country. But my penchant seems to be clashing with one of the more ancient inherited wisdoms of India: chilled water it seems is widely believed to be VERY VERY bad for you. Who knew!

Things have taken a turn for the worse in recent weeks and I find myself engaged in a silent Battle to the Death over the water cooler. Somewhere in the vicinity of the cooler sits a Cold Water Hater (CWH). First I found the cooler was occasionally turned off at the switch (I assumed it was a mistake).... then it started being unplugged (and I first sensed the intervention of the CWH)... today the plug itself was wrapped in electrical tape in a way that made connection with the electricity thing pretty much impossible. Sabotage! The warm water fundamentalists are taking over and I’m blaming the CWH.

I've googled to find evidence to substantiate the coldwaterisEVIL theory - nothing. But now I know why every waiter in this country asks if you want chilled or room temperature water. They’re scared of the CWH too! (Maybe they've heard the rumours about waiters being found in dumpsters wrapped in electrical tape). I had dinner with an otherwise sane bloke recently who insisted on warm beer.... mysteries wrapped in riddles, wrapped in electrical tape.....

On second thoughts file this under ‘India: answers are not there’.... It’s a large file.

2011-07-20T18:50:00.001+05:30

The choice

2011-07-19T21:14:00.003+05:30

Not a great pic, but an interesting sentiment: "India, love it or leave it". It's a binary choice, black or white, hot or cold. I feel it loses something not being attached to the bumper of a gas guzzling car. For the record, India, I love it. And I love that the hinge of this doorway appears to be held together with a piece of string.

Has a cow ever been accused of eavesdropping?

2011-07-19T19:38:00.001+05:30

11pm, Old Delhi

Mumbai: a few months back

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Mumbai: a few weeks back

2011-07-19T18:48:00.003+05:30

The ocean is angry today, all churning brown-grey water and unfulfilled currents. Waves rise and fall without purpose, swirling pissily. I wonder how much I impose my mood on the ocean. It is, after all, just going about its millennial business in obedience to the moon and the moods of the seasons. The other day, a similar view evoked images of romance and hope with the lingering aftertaste of danger. I saw young couples holding hands in the stiff breeze as though the feisty weather cut raw the strength of their partnership. I saw elderly couples looking newly alive as the weather played with their loosefitting clothes. And I saw kids, playful like dogs, as though the wild wind finally authorised their wicked ways. But today, without people to mediate between the ocean and me, I see only enormous, horizon pushing anger. Perhaps it is the colour of the water, stained by the very city on whose shores it beats, spoiled and gritted by the Mumbai millions. Were it dark blue and matched with a biting breeze I’d interpret it differently, perhaps as a statement of the primacy of nature. But here nature is beaten, and no matter how impressive its fist it can’t impose itself without stirring up the weakness in its shallows.

Seen from the top of the Bombay Stock Exchange building this city is Manhatten. Stretching north from Colaba and the old colonial buildings, built in foreign styles with long term colonial intent, the city disappears into a high-rise horizon, misted up by the monsoon.

On marine drive couples stare out through their wild hair at the sea. Behind them on the pavement, an old shrunken woman in greased clothes carries a wrapped bundle of possessions on her head. And I find myself wondering what she’s thinking, and whether the brutality of her existence has wiped thoughts clear from her mind. She stares straight ahead and shuffles in a northerly direction parallel to the gutter.

The stuff is everywhere, discarded stuff, no doubt placed with reason once but that reason long since forgotten. Roadwork signs, rusted around the edges and fading, once commanding traffic but now part of the streetscape like the bitumen and the street traders and so many feet. In India I sometimes dream of white rooms. Floor to ceiling white. I’m sure I’m not the first.

DIY vs GIDBS

2011-07-18T23:18:00.005+05:30

I come from a Do-It-Yourself country, and after 30 months in India I'm still struggling with the Get-It-Done-By-Someone way of things. Exhibit A: my fledgling attempt at establishing a herb garden on the balcony (with a notable shoutout to someone ace who purchased some pots and got things rolling). There is an intangible satisfaction in planting things, tending them with occasional bursts of attention, and seeing them blossom - all the more-so in Delhi's intense weather. But my efforts are clashing with those of the weather-beaten old bloke who comes to my house every day to fight the dust. His higher order skill is gardening, but I've never had a sprig of green in my house so he's been stuck dustbusting for 29 of 30 months. Not that that's an insignificant task - if he went on leave my driveway would turn into the Thar Desert in about three days. But now that there are pots and promising green shoots he's all over them. Today he re-potted the week old zucchini sprouts, killed off the less promising tomatoes (sob) and de-symetricised the pot layout (de-symetricised I tell you!). Now I don't want to sound like I don't appreciate his hard work, but I'd almost double his salary if he'd just ignore the pots and let me have the simple cause-and-effect pleasure of seeing my seeds turn into tasty vegetables with no inputs other than the sun, the air and my hand on the watering can. These are not big issues (indeed they are pathetically small), but I'm learning I like doing the little things myself. Driveway dusting however is all his!

another mall rises......

2011-07-18T19:27:00.003+05:30

When I arrived in Delhi there were no malls in Vasant Kunj, a part-scrub suburb nearby my house. A few monsoons hence (just add water and bounteous cheap labour) and now there are three massive malls side by side, with another sibling rising fast. It may sound snobby but malls are the death of culture! Nothing interesting comes out of them. But just like sweaty-palmed consumers the world over, India's rising middle-class love em. While this is a little bit sad, it's also a marker of how fast this place is growing.... Malls = disposable money = prosperity = higher wages = buy more stuff. But also: Malls = screaming demonstration of what 'the haves' have and the 'have nots' don't. One day, all the world will look like a mall and we'll reminisce about the time when getting on a plane led to exciting adventures in far off lands. Prove me wrong world. Please!

Sometimes...

2011-07-17T19:05:00.001+05:30

... India looks like Italy (well the scooters do anyway).

Seen in haus kas village...

2011-07-17T18:55:00.003+05:30

pink. discarded.

2011-07-16T14:43:00.001+05:30

Mumbai commuters hanging out

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For two minutes the monsoon moon emerged from the clouds

2011-07-14T23:04:00.001+05:30

Shanti Shanti

2011-07-14T22:25:00.001+05:30

A sad night for India

2011-07-13T22:47:00.005+05:30

An almost full moon shines gently over the country tonight - may it shine a searing light on the cowards who do such hideous things. 7pm is a deeply sinister time to blow things up, right when people are commuting home to their families or shopping for their dinner. It's a magical energetic time of night in markets all over India - no place for IEDs or the mofos who plant them. 21 poor souls in the wrong place at the wrong time. Rest in peace.

2011-07-13T07:45:00.001+05:30

I present, after much research, the cleanest back-end of a bus in all of Delhi.

The midnight balcony

2011-07-12T23:34:00.004+05:30

First line of an unwritten novel: "She left me with a lettuce spinner and a two jars of pickled onions."

Last line of an unwritten opera: "love like a bird flies away."

It's late. I'm sitting on the balcony of my delhi apartment listening to the sounds of the night. A radio plays shrill hindi songs in a guard house down the street. The suburb hums softly with the baratone of a generator and the tenor of planes in thrust taking off from the airport nearby - machine harmony. The monsoon is here and the air is juicy and hot. And so still. Delhi is sleeping behind its walls. A dog barks. Another plane roars overhead. Another dog barks. Another silence. The manic city rests, waiting for a new day. Dust settles.

Ways to make a buck

2011-07-12T23:17:00.003+05:30

This bloke, the picture of melancholy, made his living wrapping and unwrapping his head scarf for the entertainment of foreigners. As magic tricks go it was completely crap. But as acts of sheer desparation go, it had a fading scent of creativity. We gave him ten rupees. Geez this place can be tough.

2011-07-11T23:12:00.001+05:30

blinking or dreaming?

2011-07-10T19:36:00.004+05:30

Sure, I got the guy blinking, but I reckon this captures the sleeplike state required to handle manual labour in delhi's heat. He looks very zen. There's a book in it Mr Rickshaw wallah - "what i think about when I think about rickshawing" Or "zen and the art of rickshaw maintenance"...

2011-07-10T19:24:00.002+05:30

I toyed with buying one of these babies today and getting down and dirty with the delhi traffic. Wonder what the locals would make of a honky on wheels.... "farangi's a nut job" or something like that I'm guessing. I'm definitely going to buy one before I leave.... those springs and old skool seat will turn heads on Melbourne streets. But I want a black one with a lightning bolt. If it says 'super' on it as well, then so be it.

2011-07-10T14:22:00.001+05:30

Dear Delhi, I know you’ve always been a bit confused about who you are. But this is taking the piss. Last night you pretended you were Paris and rolled out French wines and quiche Lorraine. This morning you were dressed up as Singapore, all steam and sweat and rumbling thunder on the horizon. And now, at 2:17pm on a Sunday afternoon, you’re trying to pass yourself off as Dubai, hot baked and boring. What’s with that. Would the real Delhi please stand up. Thanks.

The award for astronomical observatory most likely to become a skatepark goes to....

2011-07-08T00:01:00.002+05:30

Jantar Mantar, Delhi (chance of seeing stars through the smog: zip)

Hero or villain?

2011-07-07T19:33:00.004+05:30

So I'm stumped whether the artist behind this portrait is trying to paint the subject as hero or villain. Clearly the bloke is significant, and the portrait captures his gravitas. But the bursting red veins and steely eyes hint at danger. Should we respect him or be scared of him. Should we vote for him or watch his movie? Wish I could read Tamil.

Goddessfone

2011-07-07T19:18:00.001+05:30

Two small piles

2011-07-07T19:13:00.001+05:30

2011-07-06T19:01:00.000+05:30

Who has right of way?

2011-07-06T18:34:00.003+05:30

Looking out my window right now, traffic on my suburban street is stuck. Coming from the left: one black sedan, one three-wheeled rickshaw, two bicycles and a long-horned brown cow. In the right corner: one white sedan, one motorbike and one cyclist. In the middle, standing still, one high-humped white cow, not quite sure which way it is headed. All the protagonists are frozen trying to figure out who has right of way: does biggest vehicle win or are the cows - the jokers in the pack - free to flaunt their superior road rights? Answer: everybody goes at the same time, and like a sofa through a doorway, inch by inch, progress is made and 20 seconds later the street is clear. Nobody has blinked.

India: endlessly and incredibly India.

Poser?

2011-07-05T22:45:00.002+05:30

A case of explosively tasty mangoes

2011-07-04T22:45:00.006+05:30

My mate told me I was crazy when I said the mangoes from Mumbai were the best in India. I was spouting conventional wisdom and thought this was safe ground. But mangoes are a controversial topic in India, particularly in the flush of the mango season. To prove his point he promised me a special delivery of mangoes, freshly picked from the tree in the courtyard of his family home in Bihar. And sure enough, this magically rustic box arrived today (and freaked out the security guys at work). Only in India could a package of fresh fruit, wrapped like this, and placed on a train 1000km from Delhi arrive in one piece and on my doorstep... a love India moment. And for the record they taste absolutely amazing! No more the sweet superficial Mumbai mango for me... henceforth I'm a Bihar man.

This shop sells exclusive ribbons, all kinds...

2011-07-03T22:23:00.002+05:30

A bucket, a P and two hands

2011-07-03T00:59:00.002+05:30

India tends to throw up more questions than it answers. Take this for example: a small unadorned doorway in a quiet corner of old delhi. The scene is utterly unremarkable and yet so many questions leap out... like 'why the red P?' and 'what's with the blue hand prints?' and 'who left their bucket behind?' Of course there is danger in searching for meaning, and even constructing meaning, where there is in fact none. Either way I'm intrigued by the P. Answers/ guesses welcomed.

Man and wall - old delhi

2011-07-03T00:30:00.000+05:30

Three doors

2011-07-02T11:39:00.002+05:30

A little part of me wishes I was an architect. But I'd have two massive crutches - computers to do all the sums, and a bias for symmetry. Which is why this picture grates a little. Three doors, not the same, not happy maharajah. I bet it pissed him off too.... flog the architect.

Two ladies

2011-07-02T10:20:00.001+05:30

Their home overlooks the Ganges near a temple in Rishikesh.

"What are you all doing?"....

2011-06-30T03:35:00.005+05:30

.... asked the man in the high pleated pants. This picture kind of reminds me of a low density 'where is wally/waldo'.... he's probably mixing cement and pouring it in the path of the oncoming Haridwar Express. And probably not wearing a red striped top.

2D me and Ganges sand.... near Rishikesh

2011-06-30T03:25:00.000+05:30

What is the collective word for bags of things?

2011-06-30T03:08:00.002+05:30

A train rolled laconically into Haridwar station and caught the late afternoon sun, but there was no explaining the bags on the platform.

two concepts meant to meet....

2011-06-30T02:51:00.002+05:30

Dots and a timeline to coolness

2011-06-28T21:25:00.003+05:30

I bore people at parties with my theory that India will be the coolest place in the world in 15 years (sometimes when its getting me down I say 20, and on shit days 100). Then occasionally I find evidence to back up my bluster. This is a new hotel in Jodhpur.... magic design that references local architecture and stone but with a healthy dose of minimalism. In fact that sentence probably captures my vision of cool India - the best of Indian design in minimalist form.

Miles Devi has promised to play my brother's wedding....

2011-06-28T18:45:00.001+05:30

I'm not giving him a wedgie....

2011-06-28T18:15:00.002+05:30

no smile zone

2011-06-28T18:04:00.003+05:30

So you're chatting to a kid about Ricky Ponting and he's all raw smiles and you see a nice backdrop and ask to take a picture. Stoked, the kid stands tall and stern. You ask him to smile. He stands taller and straighter, but no smile. This gritted teeth effort was the result. It must be passed down the generations from the day when photos took seconds to expose and people were told to STAND REALLY STILL AND LOOK REALLY SERIOUS BECAUSE PHOTOS ARE IMPORTANT! The stunned-mullet effect is replicated all over India - one of those quirks. Who would want to be remembered by their smile?

There's a story here....

2011-06-28T17:57:00.003+05:30