Penny for the guy's thoughts

Music is my muse

noreply@blogger.com (Guy) — Mon, 15 Mar 2010 21:29:00 +0000

Music is my muse; I sleep the waking night
Dancing a reverie of dreams,
Longing for the song that haunts and corrupts my soul.
The tune that strikes a chord within me,
Reverberates through the annals of my psyche.
Stirrings of a bass-line seep into my consciousness, cascades through my mind,
Released in an outpouring of kinetic exuberance that I dontate to the dancefloor.
Music is my muse; enraptured by her beauty,
I long for the murmur of a beat which pulsates through my veins,
Blossoms so beautifully into a crescendo,
Spills over and eclipses all that has gone before.
Rapture melts away into bliss, and
Music is my muse, for I know no other.
She of emblematic form, emphatic guise,
Keeps me awake at night because I embrace her lies.
Allow rythym to wash over the synapses that stir the soul,
Infuse a sense of belonging with a clarity that nothing else matters,
For deep down, in symbiotic harmony,
Music is my muse, and I her slave.

Laandon-Town

noreply@blogger.com (Guy) — Wed, 02 Sep 2009 18:29:00 +0000

Break the bank. Go mad. Splash out. Lose control. These are the things we encourage in this country, this ‘Great’ Britain of ours. Go drinking on the King’s Road so we can pretend we’re posh bastards with cash to burn. Why? To put on an act, to make believe a life. Slouching round Chelsea with an exaggerated swagger like you’ve just done a shoot for Calvin Klein. Don’t-care-when-I-get-there attitude, won’t get out of bed for less that 5k-cut the bullshit! Reality check. I

f only people knew how much I was really worth; I am either a millionaire who inherited a fortune, unbeknownst to anyone, or I’m skint with barely a tenner to my name. Which is more interesting, more exciting? Trying to survive in London when you’ve got nothing makes for a lot of fun. Jumping the tube morning and evening, running the risk the pigs will be camped at the top of the escalator’s to your stop one day, hitting you with a fine that you can’t afford to pay else you wouldn’t be doing it in the first place. Scraping enough together to be able to eat for the week-Sainsbury’s Basics has got a lot going for it make no mistake, feeding the poor of the nation.

There’s a surprising amount you can get away with in this majestic, filthy capital of ours. Everywhere you look down-and-outs exist, ones who have fallen off the wagon, the allure of the city proving their downfall. Their transgression? The hope of a better life that gives way all too easily to the harsh reality of getting smashed. Whatever your vice is: gangs, parties, drugs, alcohol, knives, guns, it’s easy to be sucked into the wrong crowd.

Let me paint a scene for you: At a party you’re pissed, offered a line, you need some fresh air and a cigarette, you stumble outside lost in the haze as the fix rushes through your veins. Suddenly you’re going under, not from the drug, but under a hail of blows that you didn’t see coming from the gang that materialises around you, as if from the thin air you try to gulp down, hoping it’ll sober you up, and quickly. But that’s a mistake, and it’s going to cost you dearly. Because now you’re seeing clearly and feeling more confident as you drunkenly weigh up your chances of taking these youngsters, stand up for yourself and teach them a lesson. Not in London. You wade into them, arms flailing, failing to see the glint of the flashing knife until it’s too late, helpless to react as it rushes up to meet your forearm, slicing into the flesh with surprising ease. Blood spurts forcefully out of the narrow, agonising wound, warm, comforting if only for the briefest of seconds before realisation sinks in that this is just the start. You look into the eyes of those deranged kids, high on something, just kids you want to shout, and you see vicious hatred imprinted on their minds.

This botched mugging is about to get worse simply because you fought back; you have enraged the disaffected youth, and they are going to make you pay. Adrenaline disperses the pain in your arm; the brain depresses the distress signal that flickers the body into action. The will to live heightens your senses, manipulating your arms and legs into instinctive action. Although severely impaired, your left hand acts as a shield whilst the right lashes out, hoping to deter the vultures in Adidas that encircle you, fixing you with their twisted grins of amusement, the thrill of the chase. Like a wounded animal you fight on in desperation, all the while being backed into a dark alley by the gang, away from civilisation, if you can call it that. Quietly pleading now, realising the futility of reasoning with these debased human beings, their final act happens so fast; they were simply toying with you before. A pincer movement, a blur of hands and feet and metal whirling as one towards you, and, impossible to withstand, you collapse under the flurry of blows to your head and chest. In those last few agonising seconds you are acutely aware of the contrast between your own sheer horror, and the calm, remorseless nature of the boy that stands over you, whose name you will never know, as he plunges the knife deep into your chest.

There is no escape from this madness of the capital, this disease that afflicts the big smoke, which on this night has chosen you as its latest victim.

The Holi Crusades (Ganga Panga style)

noreply@blogger.com (Guy) — Thu, 19 Mar 2009 20:59:00 +0000

The whistle is all seeing, all knowing. The whistle is your master. The whistle lives round Karan Bhalla’s neck, and that spells trouble for you! You see, Karan is responsible for at least half the fun you have on Ganga Panga. The other half is down to you. If the whistle should wake you at 6 in the morning, calling you from your slumber, then answer its call. The Ganga awaits, enticing you to take a dip at the feet of the Gods. And if you refuse? Well, the whistle will do the job for you. Suddenly you’ll no longer be in control of your limbs; the whistle holds sway over others too-Karan’s trusty henchmen, the ever-enthusiastic Kaamya and Teyjus, and the usual suspects, Tina, Mohit, Hiranya, Adi and the rest, each as exuberant as the Whistler himself in their love for living life to the full. Their boundless energy is infectious, and galvanises a group such as the intrepid souls that happened to chance upon the calling of that magical, pied-piper of a whistle. And when you add the colourful, chaotic festival of Holi into this heady cocktail, you know you’re onto a winner!!

Carrying helpless victims down towards the Ganga has to be one of the most satisfying things about Ganga Panga, especially if you’ve already been thrown in yourself. Grab a leg, or an arm, hold them over the water for a while, draw it out a bit. Dip their bum in first-ahhhh that’s quite cold isn’t it?! Then it’s a 1…….2…...3……CHUCK!!! Watch as they splutter and wake up-in-an-instant in the fresh, icy Ganga Then move on, they have passed the test; they are one of you now.

We were lucky enough to be ensnared into the wildness of Ganga Panga back in October, so in some ways we were prepared for just how much fun the trip would be, and that only added to the excitement. I recruited Tommy and Booj (Patrick) along for the ride, hoping they’d be up for some Indian adventures, and they certainly didn’t disappoint. In the weeks leading up to Holi Saroj and I met up with some of the Delhi crew, but the fact that we then more, like-minded, fun people on arrival at Nizamuiddin, or even on the train itself, made it all the more special.

What a train journey! I’ve never been on a train when the entire carriage is devoted solely to one group, our group, but that is just what happened, and it was a good job too, that no-one else was trapped in that debauched coach on that fateful night. I would have felt sorry for them, for a few seconds at least. There was easily 60 of us, al tooled up to the eyeballs with a dazzling array of alcohol. It was almost midnight, and a Saturday night too, so you can imagine the mood of the carriage. Tom and Pat had only arrived in India, for the first time ever, that same morning, and we had stayed up drinking and talking till the early hours, then again cracked open the beers a good few hours before we left, so we were in a predictably fired-up state!

A buzz ran through the carriage, epitomising the electric energy of Ganga Panga. The Old Monk preached to the converted that night, dutifully doing his rounds and ensuring all felt blessed by his touch. One thing became clear that night- after a few drinks lads like nothing better to do than take off their tops and engage in a bit of male bonding and showmanship. An image that is ingrained on my mind is Tom, having met everyone just an hour before, stripping off his t-shirt and advancing towards Vishal, a suggestive glint in his eye! The girls loved it, except for Vishal’s wife, Sangeen that is, who was alarmed he seemed to be enjoying it too!

Now, if there was an award for performance that night it would go to one person…the infamous bellydancer Parag! If he should ever decide to give up his job, there is a career waiting for him as a dancer. Moving with such effortless grace, Parag rolled that belly in mesmeric fashion, wowing his onlookers. The Indian Train Service had never seen such behaviour, and it’s probably a good job too because none of us would ever see Parag again; the conductor would have snapped him up to perform on the trains for life!

There was another dancer on board that night, but as I was the only one to see him in action some people believe that he was merely a figment of my imagination. But I know the truth, and it was one of the most surreal experiences of my life! I stumbled out of the toilet, admittedly half-cut, and this music, it was some quality trance, floated down the corridor, catching me completely unawares. I gazed around for the source of the music, peering left and right. Suddenly from nowhere, a leg snaked into view, then a body, and finally a man’s head. He was obviously a Sikh, with a green turban, deep saucers for eyes and a thick black beard. He seemed to be moving as one with the music, and upon seeing me, his body gyrations moved up a notch. He really an incredible dancer, or body-popper (either that or the Old Monk and chapattis were taking effect). Facing him, I replied with some moves of my own, and for a few minutes the real world ceased to exist; it was like we had been sucked into a bizarre music video, honestly it was so good! Who was this guy, and where had the music come from? As quickly as it started, the moment was lost in the sands of time.

How often do you find yourself floating down the Ganga, looking up at the clear blue sky, soaking up the sunshine (and water), drinking in the scenery (and water), without a care in the world? Certainly not as often as you should! The bodysurfing on the first day summed up the leisurely pace of life up in Rishikesh – sit back, go with the flow, and see where you end up, The beauty of this laissez-faire existence is you never know what will happen next; we had no idea we’d lose all feeling in our arms and legs after ten minutes of floating downstream in this fresh, icy water, but that only served to make the sweet chai afterwards taste even better!

There is a strong sense of detachment from reality at Ganga Panga, on that glorious, golden stretch of sand-Shivpuri, that nestles snugly between the river on one side and the steep incline up to the dusty main road above on the other. The accommodation-simple yet luxurious, two person tents set back towards the trees and away from the water’s edge. As darkness falls on the camp kerosene lanterns appear as if by magic, hanging outside each tent and bathing the place is a warm, yellow glow accentuated by the sand underfoot. Perhaps it was simply good timing but the blazing sphere of the sun and the shimmering full moon followed each other in a sweeping arc high up in the sky so that the Snow Leopard camp was always bathed in light. As we stayed up progressively later and later, night became day and day turned into night until all sense of time was meaningless.

Only when there is no means of electricity do you realise just how nice it is without any, and that going ‘back to nature’ is really not that bad after all. It was actually a welcome relief to be without car horns, drilling, music; all the usual sounds that assault your ears in Delhi. Instead, the night is quiet, calm, and, as Asta told us late one evening/early one morning as he prepared to walk back to Camp Panther, the best time to spot a leopard, padding silently through the forest.

I first met the Captain up at the toilets and showers, which are tucked away at the far end of the camp, up a flight of steps carved into the hillside. When this path was beautifully lit up at night, it reminded me of the idyllic setting of the film Mamma Mia. Anyway, so the Captain saw me hitting an imaginary shot and asked if played golf. Of course, I didn’t know him as the Captain then; that would come later, in the haze of someone’s tent…

‘Roger that, we are ready for take off’, said the pilot, making sure all systems were set. On the signal, he pulled back the throttle, felt as the flames hit the pipe and BOOM! WE HAVE LIFT OFF! The F-16 soared high into the Shivpuri sky, dousing everything around it in a warm, orange glow. The B-52 Bombers were next, and Hiranya was in the hot seat.

..I also didn’t know just how much fun Amitabh and his wife Tammy would be. Free-spirited and easy going, the fact that they came on Ganga Panga with their two children is a testament to us all, and if anyone came to symbolise the true nature of Ganga Panga, it was Kaamya and Teyjus! Kaamya, take a bow; who else would do the cliff jump into the icy water five, yes FIVE times?!! Who was always at the front of the queue, willing to try out something new? And who returned to camp after rafting with a HUGE smile on his face, having flipped in the RollerCoaster, but Teyjus! (Tammy did too actually; she was buzzing, now we know where they get it from!) Kids-your enthusiasm and energy rubbed off on all of us - GANGA PANGA DOOM DHARAKA!!! HOOO HA! HOOO HA!

“No dhanna no khanna!!” Which translates into: “No singing, no eating!!” If you’re blessed with a good voice (like Saroj, or Kanu), and even if you’re not (like me and Pat), you still have to still round the fire before you are allowed to eat at night. Cue some hilarious performances, an eclectic mix of Hindi and English songs. The Backstreet Boys made an appearance, and Parag the bellydancer was called up on stage again, but it was the girl group of Kaamya, Saroj and Kanu that stole the show, whispering about their dance routine and trying to choreograph it secretly whilst the rest of us watched on in amusement. But good effort girls, it was an impressive number and you earned your food that night!

“Oh my God, I feel like I’m in Football Factory! Every time I hear your voices, especially yours Tom, I think I’m actually on that film set, and you’re gonna do me in!” That was Parag, surrounded by 3 English guys in our tent late one night. It was hard to tell if he was petrified or loving it! “You tryna mug me off?”, asks Tommy, nailing the accent perfectly, and sending Parag into hysterics. It was funny because we were in possibly the least-like Football Factory setting in the world-relaxing on a beach in the mountains of India!

Nikkel and his girlfriend entered the tent, eager to see what Parag was getting so excited about. I hadn’t spoke to Nikkel before that night but I’d watched him dominate the volleyball, and first Ganga Panga game. A real athlete, Parag says you should see him on a basketball court. Anyway, we’d bought some lethal gin and lemon concoction from Delhi, our one variety to Old Monk, and had cracked it open that night. Passing it round, the bottle comes to Nikkel. Like a fish, he opens his mouth and absolutely nails it, quickly going back for more too, gulping it down like water. Suitably impressed, we wondered how he managed it, and the next morning, found our answer, and Nikkel, hiding round the back of the tents! Later that day however he recovered so much that, along with Celine, he ruled the dance floor on the train, the two of them throwing out some very cool shapes. What energy, even after Holi!!

Holi-the festival of colours; I’ve never seen anything like it. Having take an enforced early-morning dip in the river, and taken a swig of Old Monk, I was ready for day. Well, I thought I was. Basically, anything goes, and there is no restraint. Holi is all about enjoying yourself to the full. The colours came out soon after breakfast-brilliant greens, yellows, pinks and purples. Luminescent, they glowed in the morning sun, and soon they could be seen on people’s faces, dying their hair, staining their clothes, covering the beach, it was brilliant! “Happy Holi!” rang out at Shivpuri; I didn’t realise but the way you celebrate the festival involves you walking up to someone and smearing their face with as much colour as possible, then shouting “Happy Holi!”-what a great idea and way to have fun! And the beauty of doing it there was, when you want to get rid of the colour, simply run into the river!

Those fighter jets were back…

The Pink Baba closed his pink eyes, inhaled through pinkened nostrils, contemplated (in pink), then, to the astonished crowd, with a deep, pink voice, he spoke: “Holiiiiiiiii”. “Holiiiiiiiii”, he repeated, just in case people hadn’t got the message. The tent erupted with laughter; to see a man covered head to toe in fluorescent pink is truly something. Hair, face, eyebrows, body; a sea of pink. What possessed the Pink Baba on that most Holy of days? Minutes earlier (and there are photos somewhere), the Baba had blessed the locals as they bowed down before him, as we pissed ourselves, probably the highlight of the trip. His work done, the Baba cleansed himself of wisdom and colour, back into the Ganga, so that others might learn too.

There are many, many ways to enjoy your time at the Snow Leopard camp; games, activities, adventures. The volleyball is a firm favourite, people love getting a face full of sand for some reason....ultimate Frisbee made an appearance this Holi, Shubhra being one of the earliest casualties of battle (great dedication Shubhra!). You can take kayaks or canoes out onto the river, or simply sit and appreciate the natural beauty that is all around you.

Or you could play Ganga Panga! Whilst being the name of this crazy group, Ganga Panga also lends itself to an infusion of football on the beach and rugby in the water, with canoes at either end that serve as goals. The rules are there are no rules. Well there are, but they are soon forgotten in the heat of the moment. Once the toss has been decided (thanks to referee Adi’s invisible coin!), the whistle (yes, the same whistle that sits around Karan Bhalla’s neck) is blown, all Hell let’s loose!

Encouraged to take people out, dunk them, drown them and generally wreak havoc in order to win, Ganga Panga is not for the faint-hearted! I can vividly recall Saroj, in the midst of some much bigger guys, battling bravely for the ball, only to get an elbow in the face for her troubles. She staggered round, unsure of her whereabouts, but like a true solder was soon back in the thick of the action, emerging seconds later having twisted her arm this time. “No more”, she said, the pain plain to see on her face. We had bruised shins, stubbed toes, swollen ankles, but it’s exactly that dedication to the cause that makes you a winner! Funny, I ended up on the losing team 3 times, sorry guys! Although Patrick nearly scored a wonder header; arriving from nowhere and flying through the air at speed, then I just missed with a header of my own, if only…

There were some closely fought battles this time round, but who should step up in the penalty shoot-out of the final and drill his shot, Cristiano Ronaldo-esq, past the helpless keeper? Yes indeed, it was Tommy, the Pink Baba himself! His goal sparked the winning team into wild celebrations, so that the battle cry of: “GANGA PANGA DOOM DHARAKA!!! HOOO HA! HOOO HA!” rang out around the camp, steadily increasing in fervour and energy so it seemed that they would explode with happiness. This is what you get when you combine Ganga Panga and Holi=a criminally satisfying blend of revelry and fun!

P.s There are lots more memories I have of Ganga Panga, but these were the ones I could recall straight off. Watching people spin round so fast they fall over; running the rapids with our wicked rafting team (especially the girls-Tanu, Promita and Saroj), who managed to sneak up on and then soak every other raft in sight (go team!); teaching the locals 21’s in the food tent; seeing if I could become Spiderman in the rappelling; enjoying that first-night cigar with Adi; having a chat with someone in the showers about a Bollywood film star being in town (I’m still not sure if this was a joke or not?!) and many others.

Thank you to everyone-the guys up at camp; Mohit and the Bhallas for organising this incredible adventure, and most of all, to you!!! :-)

Ganga Panga!

guy.fowles@in.penguingroup.com (Penguin India) — Wed, 15 Oct 2008 16:15:00 +0000

Where to begin? Four glorious, adrenalin (and alcohol) fuelled days on the stunning Snow Leopard beach camp by the mighty Ganga river. Mountains steeped in dense, lush greenery all around, sand underfoot, and out in front, the hungry, constant flow of the Ganga, yards from our tent. The camp lies on a bend of the river, giving an unparalleled view upstream to your left, (where the hazy mist would roll down the valley at dusk), before the Ganga sweeps past you away to the right at a 'rapid' pace, its strong currents visible from the beach.

Over 50 of us, all ages, all nationalities, thrill-seeking, nature lovers, converged to produce the time of our lives. Merking (English slang for playing practical jokes on each other) took place at every opportunity, the main culprits being those ultimate pranksters, Karan and Hiranya. Nothing was beyond Karan-dunking people in the river, pouring water over unsuspecting heads, waking people up at any hour of the morning, his energy and enthusiasm to make sure the rest of us enjoyed the trip was truly remarkable, thank you Karan!! Hiranya, I loved the fact you flipped in two different boats, and came up smiling both times (Flipchart King!). Or when on the last day your voice had gone and your shouts of ‘Get off the road!’ were strangely hoarse and high-pitched, very unlike the Harinya we were used to!

And then came the rapids.

I wasn't prepared for the sheer thrill of rafting, the buzz you get in that split-second after paddling as hard as possible towards a raging wall of water, before you realise, 'uh oh, we're not going to make this', and all of a sudden you're submerged under the raft and everything goes eerily silent, only the gurgle of water around you before the life-jacket forces you back up into the swirling chaos and mass of water puling you this way and that, before, 'where's the raft, are they rocks?' goes through your mind then suddenly something's tapping your arm and it's your mate holding out his oar desperately trying to reach out to you and FINALLY, after what seems like forever but what was probably just a few seconds you're back in control, holding onto the overturned raft and shouting and whooping with satisfaction over what just happened!

Yes, we flipped on the 'Rollercoaster', and what a ride!

Add to this, cliff-jumping, gorge-scrambling, kayaking, waterfalls, walking through the forests, volleyball and 'Ganga Panga' on the beach (I really liked that game!), and you only begin to scratch the surface of the action side of the trip. If you loved all things natural, this was the place for you!

Back at the camp throw in a healthy dose of great banter and evenings getting pissed on the beach round a fire talking about the day's events, then maybe throwing a few more people in the water before waking up for an early morning dip (or a bucket of water) feeling refreshed and ready to do it all again, and you begin to get near the feeling in the camp!

The Snow Leopard camp, and all the staff there made for the most perfect venue and occasion for non-stop action and serious amounts of fun. A special mention on how good the guys working there were: led by Asta, our team of raft instructors and water enthusiasts made sure the rafting and other water-related activity was not only thrilling and varied but also safe. Planning and preparation were the key to this, and I’ve never seen someone move so fast as to jump back on the rafts and pull the non-swimmers out of the water-impressive stuff Raju! So thank you for keeping a watchful eye on us on the rapids and in the river by the camp, you have my upmost respect.

In the camp itself it often felt like we were the only people there, and yet behind the scenes there were people cooking three big meals a day, plus snacks and drinks, and others keeping the tents and the washing areas clean and tidy. Then at night, serving and looking after us and keeping the fire going-to everyone there, thanks.

To the person who made Ganga Panga possible, Mohit, your powers of organsation amaze me. Every minute detail that ensured the trip was so good had been thought of and taken care of under your watchful eye. It is incredible that you have gone on so many trips yet seeing you in the water or at the camp with a huge smile on your face tells its own tale; your joy was infectious and rubbed off on us all I think!

Lastly, the reason I think the trip was so special was down to every single person. When the youngest and the oldest members of the party are two of the most fun you know it's going to be good. So many interesting characters and personalities; such enthusiasm, energy and warmth from genuine people who looked out for one another and were willing to go out of their way to ensure Ganga Panga was such a memorable experience.

Roll on Ganga Panga in December, when the Ganga is meant to be freezing!

My very own David Attenborough moment

guy.fowles@in.penguingroup.com (Penguin India) — Sun, 12 Oct 2008 14:17:00 +0000

So we’ve managed to change the microclimate of our roof balcony, simply by introducing a few lampshades. And then there was light…and some creatures profit whilst others suffer, and all under our watch.

Last night this grasshopper, a black beast of a creature, at least by grasshopper standards, appeared with a snapping of the legs on our balcony, and proceeded to pay homage to the lamp. Now I thought it was only moths who have this unfaltering obsession with light, but it seems grasshoppers also can’t help but throw themselves towards it.

As soon as Saroj saw, or rather heard the grasshopper, that was it, our evening on the terrace was over; she escaped to the bedroom and would only peer round the door to plead with me to get rid of it. I actually really like grasshoppers-I must have chased and picked up hundreds over the years in France. I feel bad thinking back to the times I used to catch them just so I could feed them to the huge spiders that lived in our cellar under the house, wrong I know, who says we have any right to distort the natural order of things? And yet here it was happening all over again; a cruel sense of deja-vu.

The grasshopper hurled himself into the glass covering that encased the lamp, bouncing off it with a dull thud. That’s got to hurt, I thought, as I prepared myself to rid the flat of yet another bug. This seems to be one of main roles I have taken on; anything that moves, Saroj will scream and run a mile, then it’s down to me to catch it and throw it over the wall-cue relief and praise for being ‘brave’, so it’s not a bad deal really, considering most of them are harmless.

This time however, the grasshopper was a big lad; about the size of both your thumbs put together, and jet black. But I wasn’t so concerned about his size, just the fact he had a long, curved tail, which, fair enough the ones in Europe also possess, but this is India, where things are a little different. So, you could say I was a little apprehensive about picking him up, just in case. But what about ridding the flat of this dangerous villain, I hear you cry, and gaining the hand of the fair (and lovely) maiden? As it turned out, help was at hand.

Whilst I was weighing up my options, sizing up my opponent, another creature enter the fray. Out of the corner of my eye, on the wall opposite the grasshopper, a gecko moved silently, stopping when he reached a flower pot on the floor. There was purpose, method in his movements. Hang on, I thought, something’s going down here. So I’m watching the gecko, trying not to move and frighten him off, whilst he’s watching the grasshopper, also trying to stay still to avoid detection, and then finally there’s the grasshopper himself, quite literally blinded by the light.

In the calm before the storm, I carefully sit back down and watch nature take effect. Far be it for me to meddle with the survival of the fittest, even if it was our light that lured the grasshopper here in the first place. The gecko is smart; he doesn’t come out into the open at the risk of exposing himself, but skirts around the side of the balcony, using our plants as an effective shield, before doubling back on himself so that he is now just a few metres away from his target, who again crashes headlong into the lampshade.

The grasshopper jumps once more, and, as it lands on its side, quick as a flash, the gecko has darted forward and grabbed the grasshopper up in its mouth, clamping strong jaws tight over the black, writhing body. Seeing them both close up the gecko's move was ballsy; he's not even that much bigger than the grasshopper! The gecko’s pale green body is longer but the grasshopper certainly looks the fatter of the two. This could get interesting!

The grasshopper’s legs are all over the place, trying desperately to get a hold of something, anything. Sensing this, the gecko runs up the nearest wall, perhaps hoping to gain an advantage by this. His motive soon becomes clear, as with one vicious flick of his neck, he brings the grasshopper’s head crashing into the wall. The grasshopper however, whose head and torso resemble body armour, has been charging headfirst into the lamp all evening, so this move does little to debilitate him.

This epic battle of miniature proportions rages on. It seems an impasse has been reached. The gecko keeps trying to knock the grasshopper out, whilst the grasshopper refuses to give in. The gecko knows it cannot drop the grasshopper, whose legs are still a blur of frantic movement, but having no teeth or size advantage, it cannot hurt the grasshopper sufficiently to take control.

The struggles affect both creatures, who at times pause, recover their strength, then begin again, but the gecko’s mouth remains firmly clamped around the grasshopper throughout. However, as the grasshopper seems unaffected by the gecko’s hostility, there may be no way for the gecko to succeed in his ambitious plan. Just as I’m about to declare it an honourable draw, pull them apart and lets all go home, the gecko delivers his masterstroke.

First the gecko positions himself so he is looking directly upwards, taking a firm hold of the wall with his web-like feet. Then, summoning all his strength, he brings the grasshopper’s head down against the wall three times in quick succession, somehow moving his prey round so that after the third blow he opens his mouth wide, retracts his jaw, and forces THE HEAD OF THE GRASSHOPPER into his mouth.

Once the grasshopper is in this position, upside-down in the gecko’s mouth, there is very little it can do. Obviously its legs are still working furiously to push against the gecko, but all leverage and fight seems to have gone out of it. Imagine being head first inside another living thing as they try to swallow the rest of your body. Not a pleasant thought.

Yet you could still see the grasshopper struggling. The gecko's bulging mouth moved in contorted ways; the outline of a leg would push against it, wildly, recklessly as the grasshopper made one last ditch attempt to save himself, but it was not to be. What started out as a nice quiet night for the grasshopper quickly escalated into the joy of discovering that hypnotic, pure white light, only to end in despair as the predatory gecko took full advantage of the lamp. Our lamp.

Slowly, inevitably, horribly, those long, black legs slid into the gecko's hungry mouth, and just like that, the grasshopper was no more.

The gecko seemed a little unsure of what to do next It must be strange with no teeth to break down your food, especially when they are almost as big as you and still alive inside your stomach, what would you do? We half expected the gecko to fall off the wall with all that extra weight suddenly thrust inside him, but finally, after a few tentative steps, having made the mother of all kills, he waddled off into the night, surely one very, very, happy bunny. In a perverse, morbid sense, I was also glad to have witnessed such a kill take place right there in front of me.

It was like having my very own David Attenborough moment.

Back from where I left off...

guy.fowles@in.penguingroup.com (Penguin India) — Wed, 08 Oct 2008 18:06:00 +0000

For some reason when I looked on here today I realised I've not posted a single thing in all of two months! So firstly, apologies to those who have asked when I might appear on my blog again. Secondly, I don't really have an excuse, which is pretty disgraceful! I will try and explain what I've been up to in that time, only briefly of course, wouldn't want to bore you but trust me I've been having a great time here! Then in the next few blogs I'll go into more detail about the more interesting things that have gone on...

So...in no particular order, we've:

Held two flat parties. The first took place on Independence Day over here, ie the day the Indians celebrate their independence from the British, and what do we do? Invite them round to ours! As we'd only recently moved in we thought it'd be fitting to show off our decorated, renovated flat by having an India flag theme, so people were only allowed to wear white, saffron or green (see left).

The second party was actually to finish off all the alcohol we didn't get through on the first-people drink a lot less over here! Buying three crates of Kingfisher and then realising there's only about three lads who will actually drink the stuff is good on principle, but when the fridge is still full of beer a week later, a second party was called for. Anyway, both were good fun, we got to meet new people and say thanks to those who had made the move to Delhi so easy, and we kind of gave the neighbours a taste of what was to come from our awesome roof balcony. It makes a great place to chill, play some music and enjoy being outside.

Been to Delhi Zoo

The Zoo was incredible. No really, the best I've ever been to by a country mile. I'll put another post up about the Zoo and our afternoon of fun there in a minute, it's worth it!

Celebrated Krishna's birthday

On a special Sunday what feels like a long time ago now we went to several nearby temples in the afternoon to celebrate Jamnastame (sp?), the birth day of Lord Krishna. In the cool covered area of one there must have been about 30 men, chanting, banging drums, singing, dancing, burning incense, constantly moving around a central point as they offered up their gratitude and thanks. It was certainly impressive to watch, and I was told they would keep up the celebration right up until midnight, when Krishna was supposedly born. It was about 4pm, and after we watched for about half an hour, this whirl of human energy and emotion, continue with no let up, I could well imagine another 8 hours of this. Good effort, I thought, these guys can teach the party-goers of today a thing or two about stamina...

Witnessed a religious ceremony right outside our house!

A pooja (again sp sorry) is an impromptu celebration of God. It can take place at any time, any where. So imagine our surprise when we woke up one morning to discover a makeshift hall had been erected on the road outside the flat! Bamboo sticks held the white fabric in place, and they'd even made a little exit for us to come and go. That evening, the music, and singing, and the lead guy shouts Jai Mar Tadi! (Peace be with you or something similar) and we all follow suit, raising our hands in the air.

The women sit on one side, perfectly cross-legged, whilst the men sit across from them, also cross-legged (except for me that is), each sex pretending not to look at the other but occasionally throwing sideway glances at the other. Some women got up to dance in front of the rather garish lights (sorry they do look a bit psychadelic, all purples and pinks) whilst the band play for them.

Experienced our first trance party in India!

We'd both been dying to have a proper dance since we got here and when we heard about this night, which took place in the club of a 5-star hotel (the only nightclubs are based in hotels in Delhi), we just had to go. It was surreal walking through the marble reception, down past the elaborate waterfall and elegant chandeliers, to the heavy beats of the music below. And the dress sense! Girls in high heels and expensive dresses, the men wearing flash designer shirts and smart shoes, this is not your average trance party I was left thinking! No wonder noone was dancing, it seemed more of a place to be seen and people watch. None of this mattered to us though in our frayed jeans and casual wear- after nailing a few drinks about 6 of us took to the dance floor and didn't leave for about 3 hours straight, by which time the club was largely deserted. Great progressive music though, it turned out the guest DJ, DJ San was from a chill-out shack in Goa, have a listen here.

Speaking of Goa, we've been there for a week! (see separate post)

Had three different people come and stay, two of whom we'd never even met before! (have a read of 'Three ships go sailing by')

Last, but by no means least, in fact the most amazing experience in India to date, we just came back from four days of extreme fun-white-water rafting on the river Ganges! Staying just north of a place called Rishikesh (have a look on the map here) right on the beach, taking in the stunning scenery then taking on the might of the Ganga! But that trip deserves its own special post, which I'll put up shortly. But honestly, if there is one place you should go to in India, go to Rishikesh, or more specifically, the Snow Leopard beach.

There have been many other things going on, not least my job which is proving extremely challenging juggling numerous tasks and actual skills at once, but I'm happy to say we are making progress and taking the Penguin India website to new horizons. Talking about Penguin India, I'm excited that Chris Patten, ex-Governor of Hong Kong etc etc, is in Delhi next week to deliver the Penguin Annual Lecture on Globalisation and where we can go from here, should be a cracking event.

Out. But will be back soon, promise. Tomorrow's a holiday here so I'll write some more then.

Hauz Khas Deer Park

guy.fowles@in.penguingroup.com (Penguin India) — Mon, 11 Aug 2008 15:48:00 +0000

Thought you might like to see the Deer Park right on our doorstep-it is stunning! A huge park with many different areas to explore, the entrance is just at the end of our road in Green Park, and leads into a section with several pathways, covered by trees. These paths wind a mazy way through the undergrowth, and every so often you come across a tomb as below, rising up through the greenery:

All of a sudden the trees dissipate and a fence runs the length of the wide expanse that opens out in front of you, what could this house I wonder? Of course I failed to think the clue could be in the name of the park- DEER!

Over bridges, through more foliage, past the award-winning Belucchi Park restaurant, and the park surprises you again, for as you look left something shimmering catches your eye, the calm, peaceful waters of the enormous reservoir that dominates this section.

Built during the Murghal dynasty in the 14th Century to provide water to the second city of Delhi, called Siri Fort, over 5 kms away (you can still see the ruins of this fort, I see them every day as I work nearby). There are 8 incarnations of Delhi in total (New Delhi bring the last), and the reservoir marks an impressive feat of engineering, especially as it is still standing and teeming with water, wildlife and trees!

Take a stroll round the 'tank' as it is known, past the Indian kids and many courting couples who secretly come to hide underneath the bushes around the reservoir, and you soon spy the ruins rising up from across the water. This is my favourite part of the park-what used to be a mosque, learning centre and tombs of the great leaders who built Hauz Khas.

Nothing is closed off, meaning you can explore every dark passageway, alcove or flight of steps. This would truly make the ultimate paintball setting, as it is the locals bring picnics and prayer mats, a slightly more civilised appreciation of the history around them.

Sitting in one of the many archways with your legs swinging over the edge of a sheer 40 ft drop, looking out over the reservoir at this little slice of paradise, as bright green parrots squawk past and yellow-brown striped squirrels scamper amongst the ruins with consummate ease, it is hard to imagine you are in the capital of India, frantic, chaotic, Delhi. Here, nature and the past have combined to create the perfect haven-Hauz Khas Deer Park.

The New Delhi Heroes

guy.fowles@in.penguingroup.com (Penguin India) — Fri, 08 Aug 2008 11:37:00 +0000

I recently had a trial for the New Delhi Heroes, a football team who play in the Second Division of the Indian National League. Here's what happened:

First off let me just say these were the hardest training sessions I've ever done! Got there at 6am, just getting light in Delhi, the only white guy there, lots of Indians, quite a few Africans, and a Brazilian. And me. There were only 3 of us on trial, the rest were already members of the Heroes!

I'd seen the coach, a guy called Chima Okorie (former Nigerian pro, google him, makes for an interesting read), in a bar a few nights before where he'd been eyeing up Saroj, so I'd been staring back at him! Anyway, he didn't seem to remember me...

I thought he said 'let's play' so started jogging towards the pitch, looked round and everyone else had formed a circle, heads bowed, silent. I suddenly realised he'd actually said 'Let's pray'! So had a little prayer, 'please God let me do well and get offered a contract'etc etc and then we began!

Thorough warm-up, including some ridiculous stretches, how are they all so flexible? Circuit training, in threes, dodging, hopping, jumping, dribbling, sprinting in-between cones, even at 6 in the morning the heat was there, ever-present, so that my top was soaking wet in minutes. Then some faart-lecking round the pitch, where you sprint in groups to the next lot, for a good twenty minutes-absolute killer.

Some ball skills, really good one-touch drills, keep ball, shooting, triangles, pass and move, attack-defence etc etc. Slowly building up into more players on each team, bigger pitch then finally a full size game, but still one touch! Very tricky indeed, great training though...heat was unbearable by now, my lack of fitness showing. The African guys, all stacked, could run all day as could the Indians...

Before the warm-down, more bursts of sprints, by which time I could see stars. To finish, 400 mini sit-ups, and 200 mini press-ups, again, killer. More unbelivable stretch work before collapse and mini heart-failure.

Then they said we'll see you all tomorrow at the same time! F**k me, I thought.
But, went back again at 6 and felt a bit better that day, improving stamina. Different drills, still hard and more good exercises...felt I played alright in the
mini-match, prob 4th best CM there, told us we had a practice match with the Indian Air Force the next day. The standard was high, every player (about 25) was consistently good, especially their first touch, able to spread the ball round with ease, quick, fast etc etc easily the best squad I've trained with, except the Invincibles that is...

Got chatting to the Brazilian, who had just signed a contract. He used to play for Sao Paoulo, said he was mates with Pato and Ronaldihno, chatted to them on MSN!! Then a Ghanian said 'Michael Essien, he is my friend.' I was in awe.

Went to the match, blazing hot afternoon, didn't start, then didn't come on half time, or in the 2nd half, gutted but told I'd get a full game on Tuesday...so once again back at 6am training, definitely able to run round much more and keep up with the game...I was looking forward to the game the next day, until they said it was at 3pm. After training, told them I couldn't make the match as I had a job....a job? they asked, incredulous...yes a job I replied, does noone else work here? This is their job, I was told...

They said I'd get a chance at Saturday game but to be honest I think that's the end of the trial. They train every day, 6-9am, with only Sunday off, and if that was my only job, then fine, I could do it no probs...but seeing as I'm working at Penguin I think to try and do both would destroy me, plus give me no social life, or weekends to go exploring India with Saroj.

It would be great though if that was my job! Training every morning, then the rest of the day off to write...I wonder what they get paid? The first division pays around 100k RS a month, an absolute fortune over here, but I guess the second, where the Heroes play, is considerably less. The Brazilian, who looks a quality striker, told me 'football is my dream', and I know what he means, but for me, for now, I think the dream is over. A lot of fun while it lasted though!

Shantaram and other books on India

guy.fowles@in.penguingroup.com (Penguin India) — Wed, 06 Aug 2008 04:29:00 +0000

When I first read Shantaram two years ago, I felt inspired to experience life in India first-hand. Although as author Gregory Roberts says: 'the characters and the dialogue and the narrative structure are all creations', the descriptive eloquence of the people and places around him is so obviously drawn from real-life that the far-fetched nature of the plot becomes a mere aside to the inherent qualities of Shantaram; the depiction of everyday life in 1980's India, and more specifically, Bombay.

'The colours were vibrant. The fragrances were dizzingly delicious. And there were more smiles in the eyes on those crowded streets than in any other place I'd ever known.'

Roberts writes best when observing the interaction between the dazzling array of Indian and foreign characters in Shantaram, and the city in which they inhabit - the vivid, bustling, beautiful Bombay.

There have been many other books written by foreigners on living in India; Sir Mark Tully's intensely emotional insights immediately spring to mind, William Dalrymple's City of Djinns, Chasing Rainbows in Chennai I have heard, but Shantarm was the first I read about India and as such it had the most profound effect on me (except perhaps Midnight's Children, but then again Salman Rushdie was not writing as an outsider looking in).

I'd be interested to find out which books on India you would recommend, and why? Are the characters in Shantaram an accurate portrayal of Indian people, and life in India? Have reading books like Shantaram enhanced your own experiences of India?

An Indian turn of phrase II

guy.fowles@in.penguingroup.com (Penguin India) — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 10:26:00 +0000

Learning curve for teacher, taught
"You cannot expect to wrok in comfort when you step out to help the underprivileged."

Public Notice
Public at large is hereby informed that my clients X have disowned Y, son and brother of my clients...(who are not responsible for any acts, deeds, things done by Y as he is not under their control.

Guess who Baichung's been playing with?
Baichung (Indian football team captain) has come home charged with newer goals, pun intended, and plans. He had a ball, literally, at the tournament.

Reeks of success
An advertising world first has been launched in London - pitvertising. The innovative new concept uses digital TV screens built into the armpits of shirts...some were clearly impressed, but others thought it was the pits...

Subservience

guy.fowles@in.penguingroup.com (Penguin India) — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 07:57:00 +0000

I still can't get used to some aspects of life over here.

For example, if you want to get something done, even the most menial task, you can usually pay someone else to do it. In the office we have an army of men who bring us tea or coffee whenever we ask for it, and will fetch our food should we order it in. I have started buying a simple lunch from across the road, a mixture of rice, beans, curry, 15Rs (bargain!) and whenever I go to pick this up myself I am greeted with looks of astonishment!

Firstly, my fellow workers say I should just call the guys up and get them to collect it. Then, the guys themselves smile and laugh at me when they see me walking outside. And lastly, the men standing around at the corner eaterie can't take their eyes off me! It's like they are all shocked that I would make the two minute trip out of the comfort of the office when I could just send someone to do it for me! Then when I carry the plate of food back in I attract more stares and amusement!

The thing is I enjoy going out of the office, even if it is only for a minute. It's nice to take a break and see what's going on in the outside world. Sometimes it'll be pouring down with sheets of rain, others it's baking hot sunshine, either way, I enjoy it...and I feel kind of embarrassed at asking someone else to carry out such a simple task for me, you know? If you've got legs, why not use them!

An Indian guy I met over the weekend told me he was so used to a maid doing his washing, cooking, cleaning etc that when he moved to Dubai with his job within days he was at a complete loss of what to do domestically! He couldn't figure out how to wash his clothes, and so he bought just new ones. After a few weeks he realised this was proving far too costly so called up another Indian who was also working there, BUT who did know how to cook and clean, and begged this man to come and live with him for free as long as he would do the household chores! There was genuine fear on my friend's face as he told this; to him it was just a way of life that if you afford to pay someone to do something, why do it yourself?

And this, I think, is something I'll never get used to.

Can anyone tell me the worst, or most bizarre task they've ever paid someone else to do?

Delhi street-life

guy.fowles@in.penguingroup.com (Penguin India) — Tue, 15 Jul 2008 08:15:00 +0000

Weaving along the busy, thronging streets of Delhi a sweet, smell suddenly envelops your nostrils, displacing any other sensation of the body. It is the smell emanating from cobs of corn slowly being cooked over endless rows of recently created coal fires, the embers of which glow and crackle in the dark of the night. Old women; young men; boys; a disparate group, fan these coals to encourage the heat, many using the faded green leaves the cob began life within. Nimbly turning the blackened cops atop the hot coals, I wonder, who this sweet-smelling delicacy is for?

I have yet to see one being eaten, could they be purely for self-consumption? Surely not, else why set up these ingenious, makeshift stoves by the side of the main roads? My guess is they are sold to the auto-drivers; a early form of the drive-through, for the men who maintain the autonomy of Delhi through their constant ferrying of men and women to work. This allows us to achieve a progression of sorts in our jobs; we earn our monthly income which enables us in turn to pay the richshaw-wallahs. Where does their money go, I ask myself? To support families living in makeshift houses, slums or villages outside the city?

Coming home from the bar late at night last week I saw many drivers asleep in the back seat of their rickshaw, so do they serve a double purpose then as sleeping quarters also? Probably. I think they must work as often or as long as possible, only returning home for brief respite to wash and see loved ones, before once more back into the saddle. Do they own their rickshaws? Highly doubtful, they must rent these clever, little machines, whose engines are made by Harley Davidson no less, I learnt the other day, which might explain why the auto drivers work all hours of the day.

After a while I have become sick of haggling with them over 10, 20 rupees. Although I understand they shouldn’t be allowed to get away with ripping off a foreigner, I do respect that they will try to raise it but at the end of the day what is 15 pence really worth to me? Certainly a lot less than it means to them, that’s not being arrogant but just simple fact.

So the street sellers supply the rickshaw drivers who rely on us fro service as much as we rely on them to get around. Thus mouths are fed, lives are led and the wheels of this wonderful city, like my rickshaw, keep on turning.

A farangi in Delhi

guy.fowles@in.penguingroup.com (Penguin India) — Tue, 08 Jul 2008 11:10:00 +0000

To be engulfed by the incredible scenes of Delhi by rickshaw is an exhilarating experience; a sensory overload bursting forth, giving the city a vibrant, organic feel. The air, heavy with water, becomes an extension of the ground, so you feel you are pushing through some mass all the time; it’s hot, it’s humid and it’s sticky.

I managed to lose myself down some dark streets deep within the underbelly of Delhi yesterday, see what I did there? Stubbornly refusing to admit I was lost, or going in the wrong direction, I continued, the light abating with every step. But the people were happy, negating the shadows; smiling, shouting at me, ‘Good morning sir!’ ‘Gora, come here!’, going about their daily lives, with no sense of struggle or hardship, no, these Indians were a joy to behold, especially the children. Playing in the water, barefoot, oblivious to the harsh reality (as it appeared to me) around them. Inventing games using only tiny stones on the side of the road; theirs was carefree, uplifting existence.

All kinds of inanimate objects- girders, fresh fruit, wicker baskets, clay pots, loaded onto every mode of transport you could possibly imagine, before setting off, through the mud and puddles, with seemingly no hope of reaching their destination, either the rickety contraptions falling apart entirely or being knocked off them, but I bet those people do make it you know… no pavements, so people walk on the roads, oblivious to the trucks, carts, bikes that go flying by…rickshaws competing for the smallest possible gaps, dusty old buses, crammed full, with no windows or doors, moving at full speed as passengers jump on and off. A cacophony of horns beeping CONSTANTLY. The transport system shouldn’t work, but it does, somehow…

Cows everywhere! Wandering, free, all powerful! Groups of cows simply standing in the streets, it’s an incredible, wonderful sight, it certainly makes me think about how the cows are perceived here, revered. What is the significance of the cow?

It’s been a fascinating, eye-opening first week in Delhi to say the least. The disparity of Delhi to London is far greater than I imagined, I think it’s because the divide between rich and poor is greatly accentuated here, and that only a very small minority of people here are well off, but to the extent of such immense wealth that allows them to live like royalty, not that I’ve found any of these socia-elite Delhiites yet!

I have however, engaged, at least on some level, with a multitude of the Delhi population, of which there are probably 15 million. In my nightmare quest to register as a foreigner living here I also met other similarly unhinged people who have chosen Delhi as their home. An eclectic mix of races, nationalities, colours- Buddhist monks, a Chinese girl (I kept the peace), a student from the Congo, a girl from Tuzbekestan, a highly amusing American guy. I only got to know them due to the 6 hours we spent queuing in the cramped, stale office, watching helplessly as the power cut out maybe at least 10 times, disabling lights, computers, fans-not ideal.

The beauty of Delhi is you learn something new every day…I’m busy observing the head-wiggle at the moment; the Indian sign for agreement, acknowledgement, happiness, just about any positive expression combined into one, continuous, emphatic movement!

An Indian turn of phrase

guy.fowles@in.penguingroup.com (Penguin India) — Mon, 07 Jul 2008 11:20:00 +0000

A selection of phrases that appeared in the Indian newspapers over the weekend:

Blame $146 oil on speculators, US house told
'The US has been burning the midnight oil trying to find...'

Schoolboys shoot at man, loot Rs 6 Lakh
'...the bag contained a list of phone numbers. This helped us identify the students, whom we shall soon nab.'

Man who fired in Priya complex after row held
'He is allegedly of bad character of Bhajanpura.'

Six injured in clash at Vikaspuri
'Police attributed the violence to an attempt to settle old scores...'

Penguin's falling victim to showers
'It's not just melting ice. It's actually killing these cute little birds that are so popular in the movies.'

A life lost and found
'At a time, he even slept with a dead body and ran wild to catch a running train. But he fought and survived.'