Final reflections on India

For weeks I have left you waiting, wondering whether I escaped India alive. I know that each and every one of you has been manually refreshing on a minute-by-minute basis for two weeks and I can only apologise for my lackadaisical attitude to the blog.
To keep it short but sweet, you’ll be relieved to know that I escaped another crazy adventure with all of fingers and toes intact. Jack Bauer would have been proud.

Final reflections on India:

· Personal space. This is not a concept with which Indians are familiar. Your space is my space and vice-versa. Fair enough, except that there are 1.2 billion of you and one of me. I am keen on sharing (despite allegations to the contrary) but not sharing my body with random strangers (again, allegations to the contrary are strenuously and vociferously denied).

· Signs. They have lots of funny signs, as demonstrated on many occasions in my blog. However, they are not so keen on signs for massive holes in the ground. Email me for a smell-by-smell account of the Calcutta sewers, and the nuns’ astonished reactions.

· Western aspirations. As anyone who has ever seen me knows, a ‘tan’ is actually a darkening of my orangeness. Still, I like to have a bit of colour, whatever that ‘colour’ might be. Indians cannot understand this desire to look darker and in many moisturisers and shower gels they put (and advertise heavily) a whitening agent. Pastiness is an aspiration. I like this.

· Indians like to have their photo taken with me. I initially thought it might be all Westerners, but then I realised that it must be my charisma drawing them specifically to me. I think they want to show their friends that they have met the famous Rafi (the one who writes that inane insane blog….). Anyway, here’s a photo of me and some new found friends. And a German girl, but she’s not integral to my story and will therefore be excluded.

· Strange claims. This tombstone is dedicated to the ‘Father of Armenian Journalism’. If anyone knows any of the sons, daughters, nieces, nephews or pets or Armenian journalism, I’d love to find them.

· Geckos. I love geckos because they eat mosquitos. I love geckos because they are onomatopoeic. I mainly love geckos because I took a cool photo of one eating a moth and wanted to show you all. Enjoy.

I am now in Sydney. There is less to say about Sydney, other than to say it’s sunny, friendly, relaxed and happy. The same as London, more or less. If anyone fancies a holiday…..

Christmas in Calcutta

It would take an act of remarkable obliviousness and ignorance to turn up in London on Christmas Eve unaware of the ongoing festivities. It is something that I have almost never done.

However, arriving in Calcutta on the evening of Durga Puja unaware of the festival has a similar connotation. As I bounced from fully booked hotel to fully booked hotel, I was simply astounded at the booming tourist industry in Calcutta.

It was only the next day, when thousands of hastily erected temporary temples emerged throughout the city that I twigged that something might be afoot. And, my dear Watson, my suspicions were confirmed with a series of light and magic shows the following evening. The excitement was palpable, akin to when Westlife (or some other newfangled Western band) come to town.

However, the most significant activity at this time seems to be that everyone in the city goes shopping. So, nothing like Christmas then.

So, I strolled to see a show with the two German girls (no comments, please) with whom I was traveling at the time. On seeing our attractive (comments, please) white faces, the three of us were physically hauled to the front of the stage. The lead singer / MC / announcer then proceeded to pay a ten minute homage to the three of us, guests at this auspicious time: "Like three colours of the Indian flag, there are three of you", he gushed. I cringed.

Alongside this, there was some of the most bizarre street puppetry that I have ever seen. I'm not sure of the religious significance, but there was an electric Elvis whose sole show was to thrust forward his nether regions continuously. And a man with an oxygen mask seemingly dying.





















In other news I have joined Mother Theresa's mission for a few days helping sick and disabled people on the streets of Calcutta. Every morning I sing happily to Jesus and then go out and do the Lord's work. Or something like that.