Tag Archives: India

The Fatal Accident

Posted on June 18, 2012 by subincontinentia

Debu the Astrologer was on his third whiskey. He gestured with his glass in my general direction narrowly missing hitting the bottle with his right elbow. “Stop seeing that young man!” he shouted across the room at me. I was … Continue reading →

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No pass (or when mountain gods get eremetic)

Posted on June 17, 2012 by subincontinentia

At last they entered a world within a world—a valley of leagues where the high hills were fashioned of the mere rubble and refuse from off the knees of the mountains…”Surely the Gods live here!” said Kim, beaten down by … Continue reading →

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The world according to Jude

Posted on May 25, 2012 by subincontinentia

“Tell me anything that’s ever happened to you. And I can improve upon the story.” From The World According to Garp by John Irving The waiters hovered in a corner, numerous but dutifully unconcerned by the culinary aspirations of their … Continue reading →

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They all died in a pink submarine…

Posted on May 7, 2012 by subincontinentia

I have no idea how old it is, but it looks like it could have been designed in the 17th century by the submarine’s inventor, Cornelius van Drebbel himself, whose craft reached a depth of 15 feet during trials in … Continue reading →

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The lop-eyed astrologer

Posted on May 2, 2012 by subincontinentia

“Look, what beautiful silks he has! He’s inviting us into his shop!” Daniel stopped and spun around on one foot in a bouncy half pirouette. For the past half hour, Lucy and I had been practically chasing after him through … Continue reading →

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India’s real superpower

Posted on May 1, 2012 by subincontinentia

In monsoon, she gets up at 5 o’clock, cooks breakfast for her family under a tarp. She then walks one hour and fifteen minutes in rain that doesn’t so much fall as gush like a fire hose, across half a … Continue reading →

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One man’s hell…

Posted on May 1, 2012 by subincontinentia

“Varanasi is a shit hole. If you can’t see it’s a shit hole, you’ve got your hippie shit-loving head screwed on backwards. Varanasi is a holy heaven. And if you can’t see that, you’ve got your tired tight-ass world upside-down.” … Continue reading →

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Postcard from preconception…

Posted on May 1, 2012 by subincontinentia

“Remember me?” I did. It was the same kid who had ushered me into the gift shop, probably the nephew or son of the owner. “Sure,” I said, but kept walking. “Do you have everything?” “Yes, thanks.” We were in … Continue reading →

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The second juice

Posted on April 30, 2012 by subincontinentia

The waiter brought her a second mango juice. “Oh, that’s okay thanks. I only wanted one.” “If you sit ten minutes more you can have this one too.” “You mean, I can’t drink it now?” “Just ten minutes more.” “So, … Continue reading →

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Burning is Learning

Posted on April 29, 2012 by subincontinentia

Twice I’ve tried to write about Varanasi. The first time my notebook mysteriously disappeared from my hotel room in Pahar Ganj, New Delhi. The next time, I dropped it in the Ganges. Varanasi is like that. Resists anything that tries … Continue reading →

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