Simple Things...

... please simple minds!!!

Such as going through a tunnel on an Indian railway (make sure you've got your sound switched on):



This is actually from my return journey from Bangalore to Mangalore on 26th October, but due to the complete inability to upload anything online from Mangalore, I've had to wait till I'm here in Singapore to get the video onto YouTube (UPDATE - blog has been backdated for chronological accuracy). As you can see, your average Indian gets pretty excited about tunnels and the ensuing echos... and the excitement scarcely diminishes for the full minute-long duration. This scene was repeated maybe 50-odd times through each and every tunnel en route. And to think, these are the same people "stealing British jobs"...

The journey itself features some spectacular scenery as the line - carved up, through and around the towering heights of the Western Ghats, passes over gorges, sheer faces, and alongside huge valleys stretching out for miles towards the coast. The journey took the best part of 11 hours in the end - a hefty amount of time for what is about a 400km journey - but it's worth it for what is essentially a tourist attraction in its own right.

Now that I can upload things, you can enjoy a few choice photos of the scenery (click on the image to expand it):

Back in Mangy

MANGALORE, KARNATAKA - 29th October 2009

So I've been back in Mangalore for 3 days after training it from Bangalore with my aunt. The train journey was amazing, but as the tale can only really be told with photos (and one particularly amusing video), the details will have to wait for another day (UPDATE - see here).

My uncle, his wife and their daughter came down from Mumbai on Sunday, so Howzat has been full which is always nice. Howzat, for those who don't already know the story of my Mum's family, is the name given to my grandmother's house by my late grandfather - my Mum's Dad. He was obsessed with cricket, and in particular Australian cricket, and as such named all of his sons after Australian cricketers of the day. As such, I have uncles Neil (Harvey), Donald (Bradman), Clarence (Grimmett), Keith (Miller), Alan (Davidson) and Kenneth (Mackay). I'm fairly sure that if you asked any Catholic in Mangalore about "Howzat", they'd know it was our place... in fact back in 2005 Howzat, complete with a photo of my grandmother, a couple of uncles and my cousin at the gates, featured on the back page of The Times of India in an article about a "unique family of Indians who'll be supporting Australia in the upcoming series". For the record, I'm named after the legend that is Dean Jones.

In terms of stories to be told, the last few days have been pretty chilled - had lunch with a cousin (actually a second cousin) on Tuesday; dinner with some other cousins, and yesterday evening went up to Kadri Park - a fairly large park with on a hill above the city that has a little choo-choo train that runs around the outside of it like a 400m running track (but probably more like 1km all the way round). My earliest memories of Mangalore are of this train - my sister and I and our cousins of similar age used used to always (literally, several evenings a week) come and do a couple of rounds on the train back in '92, '93, '95... basically back when I was a tyke. Then, for many a year, the train disappeared... much to the disappointment of my teenage self. However yesterday, 21 physical years old but very much still mentally 9, we all got to ride around. I'm probably too young to feel nostalgic, but after about 15 years this really was a blast from the past. But thanks to the all-round brilliance of the place, we're going back again tonight!

Parklife

BENGALURU (BANGALORE), KARNATAKA - 25th October 2009

While achieving minor fame on the side, I was able to check out some of Bangalore's sights with various relations (and get some more "Back the Bid" photos). Meeting up with a cousin, we went for dinner to "UB City" - a mini-Manhattan in the heart of Bangalore built by Vijay Mallya - owner of United Breweries (of "Kingfisher" fame)/tycoon/India's answer to Richard Branson - on the site of an old UB brewery.

It is like stepping into another continent. One minute you're driving down a half-built road inhabited by half-brained drivers driving half-smashed cars in what is best described as "classical" India - the next minute you're in the plushest New York city centre shopping complex with clean crisp multi-story parking, classy restaurants and outdoor piazzas and ultra-modern glass towers surrounding you - the tallest of which is a model of the Empire State Building. You've gotta take your hats of to Mallya - the guy's his own self-proclaimed brand ambassador - he doesn't need celebrities to endorse the Kingfisher brand when he's living the dream himself. For example, a few years back for his 50th birthday, he hosted a mammoth party in his bungalow in Goa. As you do, it was decided that a fly-by of Kingfisher Airlines' latest Airbus fleet should be organised, so a few phone calls were made and Goa airspace was closed for half an hour while 10 jet airliners cruised around Panaji. In India, great wealth always equals great power...

Roaming around with my uncle during the day(s), we also managed to check out some of the city's historical eating establishments, including Koshy's on St. Mark's Road - around since 1940 and caterers to HM Queen Elizabeth and the late Prime Minister Indira Gandhi; and Mavalli Tiffin Rooms - a quality thali joint on Lalbagh Road that represents the home of the MTR brand, now known internationally for various powdered spices, coffee, and various other pre-packaged bits and bobs. A quick Google search suggests they've even done well enough to have their own Wikipedia page!

Just down the road from MTR is one of Bangalore's landmark sights - the Lalbagh Botanical Gardens. The self-styled "Lung of the City" is a huge park right in the middle of town that features - as you would expect from a Botanical Garden - all sorts of plantlife from pretty much every climate across the world. It is always nice to be able to wander around an area that, despite being slap bang in the middle of one of Asia's busiest cities, has the peace and tranquility of the middle of the ocean - the cooling breeze lifting off the park's lake combined with the swathes of shade provided by towering canopies of tropical trees transport you to a whole new place - open space, clean air, quiet... it's all so anti-Bangalore!

While Lalbagh Gardens was a spectacular showcase for the flora of the region, a Sunday afternoon safari trip to Bannerghatta National Park very much ticked to fauna box. After shifting residence from one cousin's place to another on Friday night, we went on a big family trip - about an hour and a half's drive to the south of the city. The place must be about 1000+ acres, and is divided into various reserve enclosures for different animals. In a manner somewhat similar to Jurassic Park, you hop on board a safari bus and head off into the wilderness. Every so often you reach a gateway that opens up into another gate - a sort of double door mechanism to stop any of the big cats/bears escaping and going on a rampage - but within the gates you are treated to groundhogs and bison; bears; lions; tigers; and white tigers, in enclosures 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5 respectively.

As I say, the enclosures are huge - once you're inside it is very much like you're out in the open savanna, and the bus driver uses his experience to spot various animals at a distance where possible. But occasionally, as anyone who's been on a safari will know, you're lucky enough to catch one up close an personal... and the thrill of my life came as we were approaching the exit gate of the final enclosure.

Kotching on the floor by the gate sat not one, not two, but three tigers. Two white, one red; both looking straight at our bus as it approached. It's worth pointing out that these vehicles are massively re-enforced around the window and engine regions, but you can't help feeling the adrenaline flow as you pull up literally 2 metres away from these three bad boys - sitting, flexing their colossal thigh muscles and generally looking like they owned the joint. The red one in particular had the sort of "I'm the Boss" look of unadulterated power that is blatantly thinking, "I could absolutely munch these guys". There are some killer photos, and they will appear very soon (they're uploaded on the computer, so they actually will be there soon!).


The final chapter of Bangalore before the morning's train journey to Mangalore was a stop at Fanoo's, another famous haunt at Johnson Market. It is no exaggeration to say I've eaten my fair share of kebabs of all varieties in my time, and I was fast arriving at the conclusion that kebabs of the seekh variety obtained perfection at a nondescript restaurant on Drummond Street (near Euston Station in London). However, sitting in the back seat of my cousin's car with his younger son* on my lap, I had a gastronomic revelation on a par with sliced bread. This seekh kebab was perfection wrapped in paper. Apparently the one I had was a "jumbo" size - I could have devoured about 5 on the spot. If rumours of a larger, "mumbo-jumbo" variety are true, my next trip to Bangalore could well be fast-tracked...


* My cousin's younger son - Kevin, 9 - provided an interesting repost to my views on Wayne Rooney. While his elder brother Brian has made use of the wisdom provided by his extra years and supports Manchester United, Kevin has - for some unfathomable reason - decided to support Chelski...

DR: "Wayne Rooney is the best footballer in the Premiership... he's pretty much God's Gift to football"
KF: "Wayne Rooney is a multi-coloured gorilla. And you're also a multi-coloured gorilla.".

The Oxford Union awaits...

Fame in the Garden City

BENGALURU (BANGALORE), KARNATAKA - 22nd October 2009

5 hours east from Chikmagalur, we cruised up to a wall of traffic marking our entrance into India's "Garden City". The nickname probably came from British - situated on a plateau with one if India's most temperate climates, the Raj's top brass would have felt right at home. Three quarters of a century later, however, and Bangalore is now India's fastest growing city, and recently overtook Chennai (Madras) to become the fourth most populous. As such, the "Garden City" is getting gradually choked - traffic volume matches Mumbai but without any sort of system, and Bangalore presently lacks any sort of effect mass transportation. All in all, driving around is pretty grim.

Our route into the city took as past Chinnaswamy Stadium - home of IPL's Royal Challengers who, as it turned out, were playing their final match of the Champions' League T20 that evening. Personally I've quite enjoyed the whole Champions League bonanza - there's something refreshing about international players playing against one another in mixed up teams, and the tournament has seen some pretty spectacular hitting. The highlight has definitely been the success of Trinidad & Tobago, who were massive underdogs to start with (having no realplayers of international repute) but have proceeded to thump everyone and anyone straight back to last Christmas. I'm sure I'm not alone in thinking that there's a real argument for West Indies cricket to be sacked off and just allow T&T, or any other Caribbean island, to play independently - at least for T20. The way these guys play, they'd beat anyone in the world.

Enough about cricket though. We arrived at Mervyn's place on Saturday night and went over to a neighbour's place for a Diwali dinner. Diwali is, obviously, a massive deal over here, and the three days of celebration (Saturday, Sunday and Monday) are marked with a veritable war of firecrackers. Despite being the "Festival of Light", light-based explosions are fairly rare... "Festival of Noise" is more the theme for the majority of kids running around the streets blowing up God-knows-how-many-thousands-rupees-worth of gunpowder.

The neighbour is an old man called Subhu (spelling could be wrong) who, as it turned out, was a massive fan of Britain and British culture, and a massive fan of cricket. Naturally, I was introduced to him as Dean - comes from London, is a member at Lord's, etc.etc., and within about 5 minutes he was talking to me as though we'd been best friends for years. He'd has quite a few by the time we left, but come 1pm the next day my uncle gets a call asking what I was doing, and whether I'd like to play golf with him! Great character all round.

Golf didn't happen, but instead I was able to catch up with a whole swathe of cousins from my Dad's side of the family - he's one of 6 children, and one of only two not to have a child in Bangalore. We also checked out the famous Bangalore Club, but I'll write more about that at a later stage.

Jumping to Tuesday night though, and my cousin took me to a bar called The Beach (sure enough the floor is sand), where him and his friends meet every week for a quiz-come-music night called "Question Mark". Quality night - despite the fact that I did rubbish (not surprising considering how high expectations of me had been raised) - good music and great entertainment from the Quizmaster/comedian Mark. The night will be remembered for a hell of a long time more, however, thanks to this morning's Bangalore Times - a page 3 feature about the "Question Mark" night included yours truly grinning back at you along with Carry (short of Carissa?) - one of my cousin's friends. International celebrity stardom, here we go...

Unfortunately, they clearly misheard me saying/spelling my name. The caption of the two of us reads "Carry and Team"...

Arabica, Robusta, and Grandfathers' Godsons

KUVEE (ish), CHIKMAGALUR DISTRICT, KARNATAKA - 17th October 2009

Following in the footsteps of my parents from their last trip to India in January, we decided to head up to a family friend's coffee estate in the Chikmagalur Hills, about 120km north-east of Mangalore. 120km isn't really that far, but through an all too Indian combination of poor planning, poor construction, and gross incompetence in redevelopment of National Highways, the journey takes about 5 hours. Ironically, the road quality improves dramatically once you leave the "Highway".

Once you're off the highway, the drive to the estate is pretty special - in particular the stretch of road the winds its way up and over the Western Ghats. We hit this section just before sunset, and the views looking down were pretty impressive. Think Alpine ridges covered with Amazon jungle plantlife. Again, photos will appear at some stage...

Anigundi Estate is over 100 years old, and has been in the Saldanha house right back to 1899. Mervyn, who is running it now, took over from his brother, who took over from his father, who had taken over from his father... (and possibly another generation in there - I forget). Modernisation has, obviously, gone hand in hand with development as the years have passed, but it's pretty awe-inspiring to think that a sizable proportion of the coffee plants on the estate today are those same plants planted decades ago - Robusta plants, in particular, just keep churning out the produce, year after year.

I don't want to turn this blog into a written lecture, so will brush over the details of the science of coffee-growing - suffice to say that it is very much a science (vastly more so than tea, as I saw first hand). It's seriously interesting stuff though, so consider yourself lucky if, come May, you're on the receiving end of an early version of the soon-to-follow Rodrigues Lecture Series on Coffee Plantation Methods in South-Western India.

Mervyn gave me a thorough tour of the estate, explaining the way everything worked, and pointing out the coffee estate next door (next door being about 3km away) where, about half a century ago, my grandfather (Dad's Dad) used to be Manager, and where my Dad and family used to come and spend their holidays. Pretty surreal experience, especially getting my photo taken with a plant that was almost certainly planted by my late Granddad. Things got more surreal, however, when we stopped to pick up the paper at the local store. I should emphasise that coffee estates are basically in the middle of nowhere, so this one store was pretty much the only place you could get a newspaper within an hour's drive or so. Thomas "Hound Dog" Hughes would appreciate what I'm saying...

Anyway, buying the paper, Mervyn explained to the old lady at the store that I was visiting from England, and my Grandfather used to manage the estate over the road. "What was his name?", he asked me - I reply, "John Rodrigues". The old lady's face nods - "Ah, ya - John Rodrigues!" Her son, Vivian, pipes up - "Ya - he's my brother's Godfather!". Sure enough, they call Chandran (the brother) from inside, and completely out the blue I get to get my photo taken with the Godson of my Grandfather (see right)... a Godson no one in my Dad's family seems to have any idea about! Good times.

Saturday means departure for Bangalore, but early morning we enlisted the help of Kyemala, one of the farm's labourers, to guide us up to the top of the estate's mountain peak - about 4000ft up. Thinking back over my long 21 years of life, I've met some pretty memorable people on my travels - last summer alone brought characters such as "Jonny Depp" (over-sized British backpacker with ideas above his station - think Runciman with a beard), "Mr. Sam" (dodgy tailor in Bangkok who claimed to have ties to the Bombay Mafia) and that crafty devil Akhmed (or something like that) in Jaisalmir - but Kyelama is without doubt my new favourite. First up, he's no ordinary labourer - he's about 75 years old but still fit as a fiddle, and has worked at Anigundi for several decades, before which he worked at the estate my Grandfather used to manage, as well as some stints at other places. All that while, he's never been further than about 10km from that place - but his wife and he are happy as Larry. Every Saturday afternoon is pay day, and by 10pm on Saturday night they've both spent their allowance on liquor and are both high as kites. The wife moreso, as she commands 60% of any alcohol purchased! Below is Kyemala "Backing the Bid":


Anyway, Kyemala secured his reputation in my eyes when we asked how old he was (translated from Kannada/Konkani/Tulu).

K: "What can I say - very old!"
Us: "A hundred?"
K: "Oh yeah, at least a hundred..."
Us: "Reallly?!"
K: "Yeah - lets see, the first place was 50 years, then 50 years here, then
30, then another 50... lets see... it's at least 175..."
...
K: "... and then there's this, and that... I think finally about
275?"
Us: "Ok - excellent!"
K: "Wait! There's another 10 years at the beginning - you've got to
add them too!"

Brilliant.

Cruising the streets

MANGALORE, KARNATAKA - 14th October 2009

As I've already described in earlier blogs, driving in India is so notorious that it's bordering on cliché. But Mangalore drivers have, in the last 48 hours, had to deal with a whole new form of chaos, having been treated to the behind-the-wheel stylings of yours truly. Through a combination of vast over-confidence and circumstantial necessity, I've been taking the wheel of the family Qualis - basically a 7-seater 4x4. Compared to my usual ride - "the Little Beast" - it's quite a step up, both literally (it's a damn sight higher than my Polo) and in terms of general value/power/size/respect. The respect element is crucial in India, and on Indian roads respect is directly proportional to size. Buses rule, 4x4s like the Qualis come second, then anyone in a "normal" car, and and auto-rickshaws or generally timid drivers come rock bottom.

Back home in England, many of you may have been lucky enough to hear my views on people who drive 4x4s. Needless to say it's far from positive - and while typing this I remembered writing a blog on the topic many a year ago (Jan 2005). Searching Google uncovered this particular rant which, considering I was pretty young at the time, made some entertaining - if somewhat demented - reading:

...What is the problem with [4x4s]?

The answer is seen twice daily. The infamous "school run" - when all the women come out from their idylic lives to unleash their fury on the road and anything else in their path. They're choice of weapon? The plush 4x4 that is designed for off-road travel must be the only choice! The small hatchback that could do 50 miles to the gallon? "Oh no we can't be seen in that! Imagine what so-and-so would say..." And considering that the road is in near-perfect condition, then it's easy to see why a 4WD is the obvious choice. Welcome to the realm of the Chelsea Tractor. (read whole blog here)

I recommend reading the whole of the above blog before reading on here - it touches upon why I'm not being a hypocrit by driving a 4x4 here...

Long story short, this is not England, or indeed Delhi (where, last summer at least, the roads were impressively well maintained). Much like the aforementioned concept of a "light lunch", the notion of "smooth roads" arrived in Mangalore so late that you'll rarely see people driving fast down a good road - so certain are they that there'll be a mammoth crater of a pothole somewhere around the corner. As such, having a vehicle with the bulk of the Qualis is not just useful, but pretty necessary, if for nothing else but the sake of the passengers' backsides.

I've gotta say though, you feel like a pretty big cheese driving around in a massive car with a 3 litre diesel churning out crazy torque under your arse. It's pretty damn sweet.

Back Home!

MANGALORE, KARNATAKA - 11th October 2009

Something I've always struggled to explain in England is my attachment to Mangalore. A relaxing afternoon drink on Bangkok's Khaosan Road last summer descended, as many of our conversations tend to, into enigmatic debate when I - born in Westminster, raised in Kent - said that I considered Mangalore my home. Simon, supported by Dows, was having none of it, taking the view that your home is unambiguously the place where you grow up - it's a statement of fact that isn't open to interpretation (or something along those lines). My argument, supported by Jamie, is that you can't understand what it's like to have a home away from home unless your family circumstances are such; that the feeling of attachment you have to what you call "home" is something that has to be felt to be appreciated. E&M/Operations management students reading this might want to consider this in terms of Garvin (1984)'s "transcendent quality" - something has a quality that "can be understood only once you have been exposed to [it]"...

Long story short, despite the fact that I've never lived here and was born in the UK, the moment I've landed/arrived in Mangalore I've always felt naturally at home in a way that is unlike anywhere else in the world. It's beyond simply being surrounded by family, or being on holiday - it's something that I really cannot explain, but is pretty much set in stone. One of my uncle's friends asked why we were in such a rush to leave Mumbai - to quote my uncle, "his heart and sole is in Mangalore".

So, as always, I was brimming with excitement when our 16 hour bus from Mumbai rocked up in Balmatta (centre-ish part of Mangalore) on Thursday morning. Arriving at "Howzat" - my grandmother's house - is as wonderful a feeling now as it has been any of the previous 13 times I've been here (albeit I don't really remember the 1988 or 1990 editions). And, as is the way, I've been fed like a pig being fattened for the slaughter since the moment I arrived. The information age has well and truly come to India, but the concept of a "light lunch" or "light dinner" has made little or no headway in Mangalore - breakfasts are huge, lunch is huge, dinner is huger still. God knows where it all goes.

Mangalore for me usually means chilling out, which is pretty much all I intend to do, but I have lots of family from both my Mum and Dad's sides here who I always catch up with. One such visit on Friday resulted caused a chain of events that resulted in a pretty novel experience. One minute I was visiting an aunt (my Dad's sister) - naturally in shorts and t-shirt like a standout foreigner - the next minute I was getting a lift with an uncle (Dad's brother) and his wife to their younger daughter (my cousin)'s school to give an impromptu talk about English life to about 150 schoolkids. The whole thing happened in about 20 minutes, so my "talk" was pretty much as ad-libbed as it comes... but seemed to go down pretty well. The headmistress asked for a show of hands at the end about who'd like to visit England, and everyone was up in the air... good to see!

My cousin's put some photos on facebook which you might be able to see (such as here)... if not my ones will turn up at some stage in the future (UPDATE - they've turned up!).

Till then, I'll probably still be kotching here, working my way through yet another Flashman.

Rain, rain, go away...?

As has been previously mentioned, after a dry, humid and all-round stuffy first 24 hours, my arrival in India saw greeted with some seriously mega rainfall, with dire consequences for all forms of transport.

Northern Karnataka - immediately south of Mumbai - does not usually experience heavy monsoon rainfall as it is largely on top of a plateau by the Western Ghats. On this occasion, however, it bore the brunt of a massive late summer monsoon, wreaking havoc in the region and resulting the closure of Goa's international airport, the suspension of long-distance rail services down the west coast, and the closure of the main highway linking the southern states with Mumbai.

My uncle, taking an overnight coach from Mangalore (in southern Karnataka) to Mumbai to meet me, basically raced the storms - his coach was unable to return to Mangalore as 4 landslides closed the highway just minutes after they had passed them.

The floods from the rains have caused untold damage and several deaths... but represent one of India's annual ironies - without such heavy rain, the suffering in a few months would probably have been a lot worse.

The day I arrived in India, the headlines in the media concerned the "worst drought in Mumbai since 1972" - a summer of failing monsoons had left the lakes that provide the city with water more than 30% below on required water levels as the monsoon season drew to a close. With next-to-no rain falling between November and May, an urban area the magnitude of Greater Mumbai requires all four of its feeder lakes to be overflowing come the close of the monsoons; the massive failure to do so brought fears of a shocking lack of water next summer.

So while the downpours brought suffering to Karnataka, as those same rains headed further north they brought untold relief to Mumbai's 15+ million inhabitants. Some sort of pun involving clouds, silver-lining, etc., can probably be inserted here.

Training

MUMBAI, MAHARASHTRA - 6th October 2009

With our bus tickets to Mangalore booked for Wednesday afternoon, the latest episode of "D-Rod" on tour saw us take the opportunity to go gallivanting around Mumbai's city centre. Stage 1 of the plan, however, involved the not-so-simple task of hopping onto one of Mumbai's infamous suburban commuter trains.

I've been in some pretty damn crowded places in my time - being rammed against the metal barrier in front of 40,000 people at T in the Park to the beats of Kasabian was pretty mental, though in transport terms I always thought the Jubilee Line towards Canary Wharf at 8.45am would take some beating. That was before I saw this video of Japanese "train pushers" ramming a few extra passengers onto the Tokyo Metro:



But - and I'm sure everyone can guess what's coming - Mumbai trains take the metaphorical biscuit. The train pulls up into Borivli station, already with people hanging out the doors. Before the train stops, the wall of waiting passengers engulfs each and every doorway and ram-roads their way into the carriage - it's dog eat dog and anyone left by the wayside gets no sympathy. Tokyo-style train pushers are not necessary not because there are fewer people - there are probably more - but because nobody has any qualms about quite literally rucking their way into the carriage. "Into" is probably an exaggeration - as long as they are close enough to put one foot inside the carriage and have one arm around a handlebar, they'll be happy as larry just dangling outside the door frame. Contrary to popular beliefs, closer examination at a later stage revealed that the trains do, in fact, have doors... but are left perpetually slid open.

Credit where credit's due though - the trains run like clockwork, and the train leaves the station no more than 30 seconds after it arrives - regardless of what anyone is doing or attempting to do along its 16 carriage length. The economist in me appreciated the true efficiency of it all.

Anyway, about 30 minutes later we'd pulled up to Churchgate Terminus in the heart of Mumbai's old city centre - the moment you step outside you see the British influence on all the architecture. Most spectacular is Victoria Terminus - still called VT by everyone despite being renamed Chhattarapati Shivaji Terminus a few years back. VT is up there with St Pancras for grandeur - its outer facade mimics the London termini on which it is based, but towers above its surrounding in a way far more impressive than its British cousins.

Some of you may have heard of/noticed the England 2018 "Back the Bid" campaign on Facebook, where 40 *lucky* supporters got a free scarf in return for sending in photos of them "Backing the Bid" around the world. I managed to snag a couple of photos into the album from my pre-travelling sojourn to Switzerland (here and here), but the real snappy snaps have been here in India. Some classics in Mumbai town included one with one of the world-famous dubba-wallahs (see right). To quote Wikipedia (the source of all knowledge),

More than 175,000 or 200,000 lunch boxes get moved every day by an estimated 4,500 to 5,000 dabbawalas, all with an extremely small nominal fee and with utmost punctuality. According to a recent survey, there is only one mistake in every 6,000,000 deliveries, statistically equivalent to a Six Sigma (99.9999% accuracy) rating.

Photos of this, and several other Backing the Bid cheesy grins, will probably appear on Facebook in due course.

Anyway, we had a fairly comprehensive wander around downtown Mumbai, swinging by the historic Crawford Market (whose structure was designed by Lockwood Kipling - father of Rudyard) for a falooda. Somewhat an acquired taste, faloodas are made by soaking tapioca seeds in water, then mixing them into rose syrup with vermicelli and adding milk, basil seeds, sugar and ice cream. Bloody terrific for digestion.

Moving slight away from the touristy region, we wandered through "Chor Bazaar" - literally "Robbers' Market" (I'm fairly sure it's an unofficial name), where you can pick up pretty much anything under the sun for a bargain price that is solely attributable to the good old five finger discount. I'm reliably informed that if you go there wanting something that they don't have, they'll get it for you within half an hour. I'm fairly sure that whatever economy Liverpool has is built on this principle, but they clearly haven't perfected it quite to the same extent as these guys.

We made time to stop for a pint at Leopold's in Colaba - a tourist hotspot that was one of the places gunned down during the 26/11 terrorist attacks on Mumbai. They've left the glass with bullet holes ridden in as a reminder to all its vistors (see right) - it's always chilling to think that a couple of months before then Simon, Jamie and I were in there being the very English tourists that those nutters were looking to murder. From there we had lunch at a brilliant Goan place called Martin's - off the tourist trail but damn good food. The afternoon passed with various journeys around Mumbai's districts - Worli (to add Mumbai to my collection of Hard Rock Cafe t-shirts), Sion and Bandra were all visited before the forced our way onto a train back up to Borivli. End of days for Mumbai - next stop, home - Mangalore.

96 not out

NASHIK, MAHARASHTRA - 5th October 2009

A day that began with a 4.30am alarm to catch a 5.30am, five-and-a-half hour bus, and finishes with a seven hour return journey back to Mumbai, really doesn't sound like one to write home about. The latter part in particular included one of those painful experiences that is made infinitely more infuriating by the fact that there's absolutely jog all you can do about it (an experience it seems I have the pleasure of revisiting on a remarkably regular basis).

Much akin to getting smacked in the groin and recovering, only to get repeatedly smacked again, we were making great progress on the road until we hit Mumbai. From 6pm to 8.30pm, however, we proceeded to move in the sort of stop-start manner that is arguably more annoying than idiot drivers hogging the fast lane on the M25 (and, as anyone who's been a passenger in my car knows, that is saying something).

Between 12 hours of bus rides, however, we were in Nashik to visit my great-aunt - my oldest living relative and indeed the oldest person in the history of our family. Auntie Martha, going strong at 96, was in great form - albeit form that lacked any memory of who we were or pretty much anything else. I think it's the first time I'd seen Auntie Martha in about 15 years, and I was simply speechless at her physical fitness. Bar memory loss, her body is as fit as a fiddle - she gets up and down and walks around without any help, and even kneels at Mass without anyone telling her to do so. My conversations with her were pretty entertaining for all present - what with my accent and her confusion about who we were, neither of us really had any idea what the other was saying. Nevertheless, she knew a good joke and still has a hearty laugh to accompany a heart-warming toothless grin!


All in all, those 30 minutes were worth 12 hours of traffic times 1000 - to see someone that fit at her age, and that happy to eat Cadbury's Dairy Milk chocolate bars without a care in the world ("Do you want some chocolate?", "Yes!"), was absolutely incredible. Great stuff.

Incidentally, the journey there involved a continuation of the mother of all monsoon storms. But more of that to follow.

Step 1. Mumbai.

MUMBAI, MAHARASHTRA, INDIA - 3rd October 2009

Sitting down to write this, I didn't think I had much to blog about at this stage. However, it will be scant surprise to anyone that, when push came to shove, I had a fair amount to say...

Arrival in Mumbai turned out to me more action packed than I realised at the time. Sure, there was your bog-standard one hour delay at Heathrow thanks to some numpty who checked in his bag but didn't get to the aircraft in time. Instead of letting him on board a few minutes late, whichever genius runs British Airways' operations decided the best option would be to unload the entire baggage store in search for his one bag. 45 minutes later, they were still searching. I couldn't help thinking that Eamonn would not be impressed.

Eventually we were moving, albeit moving in no systematic direction as we rolled around the Heathrow airfield for 25 minutes. Still, we caught a jet stream and landed only a little late. The real action was a few hours later when the BA plane started its return journey...

A British Airways Mumbai-London flight with 207 passengers on board made an emergency landing in Mumbai early Thursday following a fire.

The captain of the BA-138 flight, which took off from the Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport at 3 a.m., heard a fire alarm in the cockpit about 30 minutes after take-off.

He immediately decided to return and a full emergency was declared at the airport.

Great entertainment for everyone on board, no doubt, but a shame it wasn't 24 hours earlier. Then the real entertainment would have been my Mum's blood pressure!

Anyway, as has been the norm for every one of my previous 12 visits to Mumbai, everything has changed, but everything is still the same. The former, in that every other building you pass, down every road you drive down, is brand new. And everything new is modern. But the constant change is equally the thing that stays the same. Everything is always changing here - the one constant is the chaotic traffic. When I say "every road you drive down", "drive down" is used in its loosest sense. "Plough through" is probably more appropriate. Its stated so much that its pretty much cliched, but Mumbai traffic tops anything, anywhere. Particularly in the suburbs - in the main city limits auto-rickshaws are banned, so things are relatively (at least by Mumbai-standards) civilised. The moment you're outside - all hell breaks loose. Yesterday we saw a guy in a Merc attempt a three point turn on a two lane high street that had 3 lanes of traffic moving in both directions. And that way remarkably normal. It has to be seen to be believed.

The other constant is the heat. We left the plane at about 12.45am local time, and were greeted by 29C heat and 98% humidity... so pretty toasty really. 3 days in and you're used to it though - and the healthy combination of fans and air-con do their bit as well.

A new experience for me was hitting Mumbai by night with my cousin. A few beers and some nice food preceded a walk along one of Mumbai's infamous beaches. Golden sand, check. Adjacent slums, check. A healthy level of dirt in the sea, check. But it was night, so it was still beautiful... though we did end up getting stuck at a dead end between a river and the slums. Good times.

Plans for the next few days include a trip up to Nashik to see my eldest surviving relation - Auntie Martha is going strong at 96, and the odds of her remembering who I am are about as remote as England winning this year's Champions Trophy (which, as of last night, are pretty remote).

Right now though, it's off to the pictures.