bidip

10 August 2011

8 August 2011

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

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

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

Juhu beach. wet

7 August 2011

This kid breaks rocks.

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.

5 August 2011

Yogic snoozing

A school in Orissa

Monsoon and the vegie patch

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.

4 August 2011

You just gotta love a well packed truck

Somewhere hot and dusty in Orissa

3 August 2011

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

Space invader on the ganga

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

1 August 2011

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

31 July 2011

There are 17,014 people in Suriawan

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.