Tag Archives: journal

Fire on the water, Christmas on the Ganga

Posted on December 28, 2012 by subincontinentia

Rakesh found some tape from somewhere, and we set about decorating the boat. We hung coloured streamers and strings of marigolds from wire stretched across bamboo poles, finished off with a pink and silver paper star. Huddled in our coats … Continue reading →

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At the end of the world we are all Delhites

Posted on December 11, 2012 by subincontinentia

The end of the world is nigh and it’s starting in New Delhi. How do I know this? I have incontrovertible evidence. I paid 250 INR for Christmas lights – a shocking price even by ‘Second Coming’ standards. I rode … Continue reading →

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This explains everything…

Posted on November 26, 2012 by subincontinentia

Why some people love India… Because when you’re on your way to a meeting, the taxi driver stops at a temple half way up a hill, parks two inches from a thousand foot drop, disappears for ten minutes, and upon … Continue reading →

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Shopping in India: where change must come from within

Posted on November 24, 2012 by subincontinentia

It took me a while to find the right coffee mug. You know, the one that feels right and has handles made for humans over six. Now, which to choose? The teddy bear holding a rose and champagne bottle or … Continue reading →

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The same son

Posted on November 19, 2012 by subincontinentia

It’s not easy to find out how someone died in India. You invariably receive the most meager explanation. Sometimes simply a body part. “Stomach,” or “Heart” or “Liver.”  So, when I asked Sunil how Rakesh’s father died, he didn’t feel … 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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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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