A Poem: Watching A Fly On A Slate Table: A Fly Tetralogy

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With the full privilege of a month in a Himalayan hut, I was granted the rare liberty of observing a common fly for a period not too removed of two hours.  I’d avoided flies in Rishikesh: they’d usually flown hot, straight from a homeless and vomiting cow’s arse.  But here in the flowery mountains, I imagined this one had just danced from a pink rose or at worst had been pestering a butterfly.  You may think that flies are just black dots that you brush off, but I firmly advocate closer inspection.  A whole world is waiting in the minutiae.  My protracted period of muscidae monitoring resulted in the following poem.

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Yurik’s Prisoner: An Excerpt from Red Moon.

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Whilst in India I have started to write a book.  I’m calling the book Red Moon and here’s an early excerpt.  The book centres around disappearances of young people in Goa.  The initial inspiration was supplied by some spooky events in Pondicherry.   This is the second post related to the book.  You can read the other by clicking the link at the end. Enjoy!  Or not as the case may be… Continue reading →

To Achieve On Merit, Should I Vote Tory?

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I want to achieve on my own merit. I want to work hard and be the best person that I can be. So should I vote Tory?  After all, a vote for the Tories is a vote for, ‘The Great Meritocracy’.

Hailing from a poorer family but having half a brain, I’ve always felt that the idea of a meritocracy is a good thing. Encouraging people to achieve whatever they can achieve and finding their place in society by their own endeavour. I think it’s healthy to promote values of entrepreneurship and effort. It seems I align with a mainstay of traditional Tory themes here. Continue reading →

Meditations from Jibhi

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Our bedroom is in the attic of a handmade house. All wood with a slate roof, there’s nothing we are wanting for. A comfortable mattress on the floor, some make-do pots and pans in the kitchen, a place to meditate and practice asana. Beyond the rough hewn door is a balcony that frames the most extraordinary view. Bougainvillae creeps around the struts and beyond are the steep sloping terraces of Jibhi. Green upon green, the pines rise up to the peaks, and dotted irregularly are the pink and green homes that remind us we are still in India.

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What is Progress?

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There are misconceptions that: only ‘Big Business’ can generate the lifestyle that we seek collectively; in order to make the poor richer, we must make the rich richer, if we regulate the corporate tax avoiders no-one will have a job and that support for a welfare state undermines the efforts of hard-working tax payers. Failed communism is often referenced as the only alternative and the suggestion is that without the golden chalice of capitalism we will suddenly live in a commune, with no lighting, cuddling a goat. The Russian’s had a space program too. They just didn’t fake a moon landing. China did. Don’t get me started.

My phone is gone. It has bounced out of my scooter basket when I hit a speed bump in Rishikesh. It was then picked up by a monkey, who ran into the woods. Funny symbolism that. It’s like a comedy remake of the opening scene of 2001: A Space Odyssey. Iphones are big here. Iphones are a symbol of capitalist success. The youth here sit glued to them watching videos of billionaire pop stars and fast cars. However, I can’t help feeling that proper sanitation, decent schooling or an affordable hospital would not be a greater symbol of progress here.  Continue reading →

Hello To The Queen

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Dessert has arrived. It’s confusing. An industrial block of ice cream. Some broken biscuits and a few bananas nudged in. Snapped Oreos are jammed in the side of the block and it’s finished with five butterflied satsuma segments, four raisins and a squabble of chocolate sauce. I’ve seen, ‘Hello To The Queen’ on every travellers’ menu since Fort Kochin. It seems to have some heritage here, but a quick Google suggests that no-one knows what it is, where it came from or how to make it. There was no, ‘Up Yours Elizabeth’. I’d have preferred that. I’m reminded of Blighty and I consider the forthcoming election. Continue reading →

Pot of Gold

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From the counter at the front of his hardware shop, Sudhir’s eyes vacantly stare through the passing traffic. A look we have seen so often here. A man in the abyss. Our arrival nudges him to consciousness. He rubs his eyes and recognises us from two days ago.

“It’s crazy out there.” I blurt as we stumble in. Our nervous systems are in tatters after the chaotic journey.   We sit opposite Sudhir at the counter. He seems resigned and he shakes his head. There is a sadness with him. A sense of futility. My comment seems to have prompted something.

“It is crazy.” He replies in time. He inhales slowly, still climbing from his brain-death. But he fixes to talk. Collette and I both sense we are about to get more than we came in for. We lean in to listen as he talks: Continue reading →