Whilst I write this blog, I sit back in my plush hotel room arm chair, sipping on a freshly made Masala Tea (delivered via room service of course).
I’m in India, homies!
I’ve been away from the damp planes of the UK coming up to two months now, and it’s just been a right eye opener, if I do say so myself. I’ve been to Abu Dhabi, Dubai, then back to Abu Dhabi… Then, erm, back to Dubai… Eventually making a firm landing, right here in Kolkata (known as Calcutta to most) and I’ve been drifting from here, to Mumbai, to Bangalore, Bhubaneswar and also Hyderabad.
India is insane. I mean that in the most wonderfulest of ways. Please take a moment to soak up this image:
Chaotic. Diligent. Welcoming. The existence of a well nourished tree has no place in India. Instead, trees remain green and healthy (as they’re fed through the moisture in the humid atmosphere) but sag limply and tired, like they’ve not quite had enough sleep. Nearly every Indian man is shorter than 5 ‘ 5 ” and it’s rare to see an Indian man’s forehead clear from countless beads of sweat. Poor men sit in their underwear on baking hot concrete walls, brandishing a remarkable paunch. Poor women look fragile beyond belief, yet they still manage to look classy in a Sari. Cows and dogs roam the streets freely, much like humans. Cows in particular (being a sacred animal over here) often find the road an appropriate place to chill out, munching on something – it’s definitely not grass. Highway code and horn beeping no longer have meaning or purpose. Cars beep their horn like it’s a musical instrument, in fact, one cab driver sat their smiling away beeping his horn rhythmically, like he’d just won the lottery – maybe he had? Ferry’s cost 5p. Taxi’s cost 50p. Food costs around £3. When the sun is out (all the time, by the way), it burns. When it rains, it pours. And there’s not a single building or structure or piece of brick work that isn’t broken or incomplete.
That’s just a molecule of observation from my time in India thus far. I knew I would like India from the start, but it wasn’t until I walked out of the airport, jumped in one of these cute small, banged up yellow cabs and realised I couldn’t shut my eyes for the sights were too interesting to miss.
Exhausting would be a good word to sum up my experience. But not the ‘traipsing around a disgustingly crowded Oxford Street on a Saturday afternoon whilst I look for the perfect pair of skinny fit jeans type of exhaustion (which often requirers a few effervescent Beroccas, a hot bath and possibly a quick masturbate to relieve the tension (oops, did I just say that?)), no, no, this exhaustion is like a roller coaster, where you just wanna, have a quick break, then head out and see what else it has to offer.
Though I’ve seen a lot, the purpose of my visit has brought limitations to the potential fun that could’ve been had out here. I’m talking about the fact I’m here on work, of course. I was lucky enough to be asked to single handedly Produce, Direct, Camera Operate and Edit behind the scenes video content at the Indian Premier League Cricket tournament. Like a travelling, filming ‘Argo’ style nomad hippy. Now, if you think cricket is boring, think again. In India, cricket is like Tinder without the dirty one night stands. They love it, and it has made the whole working environment as well as the sport of cricket – which admittedly, I proudly disliked before I got the job – a truly phenomenal experience.
So, after two whole months of not reading a single bit of British news, living off restaurant food morning, noon and night, hopping from hotel bedroom to hotel bedroom weekly, drinking nothing but bottled water and not going remotely close to wearing a pair of socks, I have one week left of this glorifying madness.
I hope you’ve enjoyed the read and, even though the photos don’t do the mental imagery any justice, here’s a few more to feast your beady little eyes on…
P.s. I didn’t get Dehli Belly once! Hah. Want tips on how I managed to avoid it? Tweet me @ianpatrickroe