So, what's Alex been up to?

Well, various things. Time for a photo-dump and an update.

Sitting in an internet cafe I met an Australian named Bruce (easy to remember).


He's doing an oral history research project in Mumbai. Cause I'm starting to get a sense of things, I asked if it was about the Parsis. Bingo. Well, actually the Irani's, who came more recently from started up cafes, bars etc with a little help from the Parsis.

Bruce met a lovely guy named Pheroze who runs a bar, who offered him his spare apartment while he was staying. Since he was leaving the next day, he invited me around for a drink with Pheroze and his bawa-ji friend, Dara. Sure enough, I'm offered the apartment for as long as I want. And Dara knows Hoshan and his wife.

Dara:


A seedy looking Pheroze in an amazingly empty, modern and clean tunnel complex near his apartment:


Secret Parsi ritual taking place in the temple next door. Shhh, you're not allowed in!


Unfortunately, after a few days the building manager complained and I had to skip the place to let things cool down. Oh well, a few days rent free courtesy of the kindness of strangers.

Hmm what else? Today I went to an audition for a daily tv show here, all about the independence movement circa 1942. I was to play the Lieutenant General's son, ie: evil Britisher. The pay would've be great even by Australian standards. Anyway, I got to the moment before the audition before I remembered that I CAN'T ACT AND IN FACT ACTING TERRIFIES ME. I bombed badly and left in disgrace. Production company, if you're reading this, I'm sorry (and female producer, give me a call).

Depending on a few factors, I could possibly get a follow-up story in the Mumbai Mirror, this time written by myself and for actual money!

I got some 'visiting cards' as they're called here printed up cheaply, took the pic in Goa:


TV news is eplilepsy-inducing, any actual footage competes with at least three news-bars:


I had my first real India train experience - I was kind of dissapointed at not being crushed at first, but sure enough, being on this train meant I overshot my destination by three stations, it was just impossible to get out.


For contrast:


I hurt my foot playing cricket, here's a pic of me in my hotel room in one of those shirts my mum wanted me to get, plus a boomerang necklace (to remind me to go home), and a stick. It's as touristy as I get.


How did I hurt my foot? By making the mistake of mentioning I was Australian in the street. Instant cricket game, good spirited but everyone wanting to get me out. The log we were using as the stumps fell on my toe. Everyone plays or is obsessed with cricket here, here are some street kids playing with a shuttlecock. Normal begging was suspended while I joined in, as soon as the game was over it resumed.


It took me a minute to work out what was going on here. That bike wasn't going anywhere!


Pretty flower.


I chased down a group called the Siddis, Africans who have been in west India for ages and still have similar drumming rituals. Either everyday is party day for the Siddis, or I got there for some festival. One of about 20 drumming troupes that came by the mosque:


Crazy African/Indian drums:


Mmm festival food:


That's it for now, tomorrow an old friend arrives to show me round.

The next episode of Indian Idol will be the last, cancelled due to lack of interest. It will be replaced by a series I call "people carrying things on their heads".