A tale of two rivers

Every evening at dusk above northern New South Wales' Clarence River, thousands of bats fly downstream to feast through the night on the lush sub-tropical fruit plantations. In the silence you can hear their wings dislodging the warm pungent air. Occasionally they swoop low over the river chasing insects or losing touch with the pack.

I was amazed to find the same phenomenon recently in dust-dry rural Rajasthan. As the sun set over the rough-hewn mountains, an endless stream of large bats flew upriver, sticking closely to a course marked by sand and scrub. The river, like most I saw in Rajasthan, ran dry. Tracing the course on google-maps later, I saw the river rise abruptly in the nearby mountains and after meandering and linking with many other tributaries, disappear again in the glaring white expanse of the Thar desert a few hundred km away. Quite where the bats were headed is a mystery, by my friend (bat boy pictured here) reckons it is a nightly pilgrimage. Perhaps there's fruit in them there hills.

A very cheery chai wallah in old Delhi

To find him and his delicious chai, turn left off chandi chawk near the paratha wallahs, then left again at the shop that sells cloth in ten thousand shades of pink, then right at the parked bicycles, then left at the old man sitting on the steps, then right, then left, then right, thenrightthenleftthenright........

A building I like

Delhi has a glut of magnificent mughal buildings, and plenty of raj-era grandeur, but strangely for a city with such a modern overlay, very few interesting modern buildings. This is one of the few I like - nice and simple, unusual in its sloping sides, and thankfully unafflicted by the air-conditioning outlets which blemish most Delhi facades like barnacles on yachts. It currently houses the Commonwealth Games Secretariat (hence the sporty stripes which I suspect were not part of the architect's original vision).

A half dozen bricks each

I wish to dedicate this International Women's Day to all the women who carry bricks on their heads on building sites across India. There's thousands of them and they deserve to be celebrated, if only for a moment in an isolated backwater of the internet. All I can say is I'm amazed by your balance, sad at your lot, admiring of your dignity and deeply hopeful that your husbands share your work ethic. And may your daughters grow up to find less backbreaking professions. Here's to you sisters!

Abida Parveen

Last night Delhi turned on a sublime evening of Sufi music in the mughal gardens surrounding Humuyun's Tomb. Abida Parveen, a Pakistani Sufi singer, filled the still dusk air with her music of the mystics. As a fat moon rose gently above the dome of the Tomb I leant my back against the monument walls and soaked in their warmth. Summer is here. Delhi is magic.

Get a feel for Abida Parveen here:

Man strolls through a railyard as the Shatabdi Express rolls by

Sachin made two hundred not out...

Snippets of other people's lives

Block printing

If you're ever strolling in the shadow of Jaipur's Amber fort, go visit this chap, a genuine, old school, block printer. I'd never appreciated the effort and skill that goes into the block printed cloth seen in so many Indian textile shops. This one was destined for an Anokhi shop near you.

Petals

I think when India is done with me and I'm living in less-cheap-flower locales, I'm going to miss this aesethic touch. Fresh and fragrant rose petals laid gently on the surface of water in elegant bowls. Very calming and beautiful.

Man on a small town train platform near Jaipur

The all-knowing parrot

The man sat cross-legged on a raised platform with only a caged parrot for company. He carried the weight of the world on his slouched shoulders. A painted stripe on his forehead gave him a quasi-spiritual air - there were clearly important things on his mind. Laid out in front of him were two columns of blue patterned cards, as if he was engaged in a game of solitaire. Intrigued, we enquired. The parrot, it turned out, was able to predict the future. The parrot master said something in hindi (not unlike abracadabra) and theatrically raised the door to the cage. The all-knowing parrot leapt out and after a few seconds of frantic activity picked a card from the pack. And so our futures were told. Some were promised twins, others great wealth. I was told my business (?) would expand in the coming year, but I would have to make it happen on my own. And something bad that was to have happened was no longer going to happen (unclear whether the parrot had intervened on my behalf or not). Another random interlude in Delhi town.

Truck Art in Punjab

Who said truck drivers weren't sensitive souls. I'm sure there are a few Willy Nelson fans on the roads of northern India. But there's also a hellavalot of trucks that flaunt the creative side of their drivers. Take this one for example. A handpainted mural on the back depicts a supersized maiden and her supersized goat, towering over a house and a beautiful lake. In the background mountains rise from fertile plains and the trees hang low with fruit. I'm not sure what the message is, but judging by the steam coming from her backpack, and the goat's stubborn blocking of her efforts to pick fruit, I'm guessing there is something cosmic and profound going on.



The second message is less subtle - BLOW HORN. And for those out there who might be a bit shy about deploying their dipper at night, the instruction is there - USE it. On the side of all these trucks is the firm statement: India Is Great. Quite so.

Whisky is Risky - the sign says so

It's mist they assure me

When you think Delhi you think HOT as HELL right. Well, for a few weeks a year, Delhi pretends it has a winter. Here is the view from my window as I landed in Delhi a few weeks back.

Class warfare on the streets of Delhi

Mr Chai Wallah has become a bone of contention in my street. A new apartment block has been build next door (slowly and generally on sunday mornings). The owners, ready now to rent their swanky apartments, want to wipe away the whiff of the workers who built it. Every day of construction, Mr Chai Wallah kept the spirits of the workers up with his sweet tea. But now the building is complete, and he's built a loyal following in the neighbourhood, the owners want him and his innovative chai-on-wheels trolly out. So I'm starting a save Chai Wallah movement. He now parks his trolley outside my house, close enough to stick it up the apartment block owners, but far enough away to avoid offending the nouveau rich tenants.

I love seeing the world from an aeroplane. Flying back over Australia you see the most magnificent landscapes, impossible to absorb from the ground, but magnificent displays of abstract art from above. Here's one from my latest visit to the gallery in the sky.

Rahman in Sydney

A few thousand miles away, at a concert in the west of Sydney, an Indian musician attracted 70,000 fans on a stormy Saturday night. His message of peace and respect resonated through the summer air. A few raindrops hinted at a downpour, but it held off, as if in deference to the spirit of the occasion.

A sad day

I went to a funeral. It was such a sad day. The mist hung long into the day as we drove through the countryside to a village in Punjab. Crowds were gathered and emotions ran high. In the midst of a family’s profound grief, I got an insight into India and its people that I shall never forget. They’d lost a son in my country and they were understandably angry and looking for answers. But they welcomed me, a stranger, as a guest. I sat with them, and ate with them, and shared their grief. This gesture, of offering hospitality to a visitor even on the worst day a family could imagine, said much about the generosity of spirit of India’s people. I was deeply humbled. I’ll never forget them.

The gap

It’s been a little busy in the part of my life that pays the bills. Far too much serious tapping. But it’s a new year, and it’s sure to serve up some adventures and nice things for my camera to play with. India’s been a little difficult of late. It’s tested my optimism and outlook. But the less said the better. Sometimes I think the world would be a happier if people just turned off their televisions, closed their curtains and put on some beautiful music.