Browsing the English titles on the bookshelf I pulled out a tattered copy of Hemingway’s ‘Green Hills of Africa’. Resting the book on the shelf I opened it near the beginning and was greeted with the sight of a small brown scorpion advancing up the margin near the spine. Continue reading
My Cafe Doble Nica was hitting the spot nicely and the covered courtyard of Cafe Libelula – Dragonfly – was filled with the lively buzz of various languages layering over each other in the hot, humid air.
It was 3am in the morning and not a breath of wind stirred. As the shadow of the earth moved across the heavens the white crescent of the moon gradually disappeared and the sun’s rays turned the moon a deep, mysterious orange: a Hunters’ Moon. Continue reading
Watching the lightning bugs flicker outside the window I realised that after 8-months on the road we had only 8-nights left before we would board a plane and head for England and home. Except this time it is different because our ‘home’ is no longer ours to return to, it is rented and will remain so almost indefinitely.
The graves were simple white painted slabs with a matching headstone. There were five in all: two were for the nine English militia killed in a skirmish in 1989 with the Maori rebel chief Te Kooti; the rest were the graves of later settlers.
After 2-weeks, and in spite of saying I was only going to post fresh pieces, I still have a few last thoughts on India. In fact a part of India travelled with me to Australia in the form of an intestinal parasite. Nobody gets to have 4-months of blissful bowel action without some darn bug breaking through the defences. So here it is, a resurrected draft, a ‘to be continued’ post on the ongoing state of Ashby and his relationship to India.
Time’s up! A final hour left before the taxi grinds through the early evening Calcutta traffic to drop us at the airport. There’s still a lot to say about this country and with so little sand left in the hourglass now is not the best time.
Foreword: I have put my shoulder to the wheel of the Dharma and nudged it round a fraction more. A week in near silence as a respite from India was just the tonic. But it was not all silence.
This afternoon I performed my last filial duty and scattered what remained of my father’s ashes at the Taj Mahal in India.
We left Anandwan over a fortnight ago and now, with time and distance under our belts, it is time to reflect on the time there and our transition back into everyday India.
Ashby's World 