Priyanka sheds some light

This is Priyanka Chopra back in 2000 when she won Miss World. Miss C was back at Miss World this week but this time as a judge and thank goodness because she had some important things to share with all of us.

Asked about what it means to win the beauty contest she told Indian press agency PTI, “Miss World is not the President of a country, and people should not expect her to be that”. Personally I'm disappointed to learn this sad political news.

Gotcha!

I know this is a serious matter but once again the newspaper has a habit of giving a worrying story a touch of Monty Python ...

NEW DELHI: Kolkata, Mumbai and the national capital, besides Gujarat, (Besides Gujurat?)have been put on high alert following intelligence inputs that Taliban-trained terrorists have sneaked (on tip-toe?) into these cities to target vital installations.
A top Union Home Ministry official today said that Taliban-trained 'fidayeen' (suicide squad) have entered the country to carry out attacks at "specific" installations ... He said the police forces have been put on high alert following the inputs and efforts are on to nab (Gotcha!) the terrorists at the earliest. - PTI in The Times of India

White Tiger

There are alot of people with something to sell in India. No where more so than in the street, or rather on the road. Most, sadly, are kids or teenagers who wait for traffic lights to turn red before brazenly leaping out, weaving between cars with athletic intent to try and get passengers to buy something to alleviate the boredom of being stuck in another traffic jam. They sell everything from mosquito swatters to magazines. The most impressive are the book-sellers who balance stacks of plastic-wrapped novels so high you cant see their faces. "Books Sir, books madam" they insist and persist at the window. It's the bombard-them-until-they-crack school of salesmanship because they only have a few minutes to convince you that life is not worth living without that Salman Rushdie paperback.

Tonight, stuck in Delhi's obligatory evening traffic, I saw an elegantly-suited arm appear from the back of a slick, shiny Mercedes waving around some one hundred rupee notes. The mysterious passenger was buying a copy of Aravind Adiga's "White Tiger". Now, if you have read "White Tiger" you'll understand the bitter-sweetness of the moment.

Loving Mumbai

Slow blogging

Shamefully I have not updated this blog for weeks. However, feeling less guilty after reading about "slow-blogging" in the Times of India today. Apparently it's all about updating a blog only when you really have something to say. Slow-blog is the future.

Delhi half-marathon update (last one)

I made it. Just.

My big crush

I'm in love with an Ambassador. Not a dusty, old, diplomat but the 'King of the Indian roads' - the Ambassador car. Hindustan Motors have been making the plump vehicles for more than fifty years. The cushioned bench-style seats have just enough bounce to protect the traveler from India's generously pot-holed roads and there's something so Ealing comedy about them. Friends think we're mad to want to buy an Ambassador. It may be an Indian icon but it's the bottom of the motor-owners' foodchain just above a rickshaw. A Toyota is most Delhi drivers idea of a see-and-be-seen number not an old school bureaucrats car. The Indian government travel in white ones, taxi drivers pick you up in black ones but I'm in love with a silver one spotted outside the very swish Aman hotel. The hotel has bought a fleet of silver Ambassadors and converted them to meet international travelers' luxurious demands. Cream leather interiors and polished walnut dashboards. All to ferry about hideously lucky guests who probably wish they were in a Toyota.

Sprucing up the city

New Delhi politicians have been falling over themselves to assure the world the city will be ready for the Commonwealth Games, despite most people's better judgement. They're also at pains to point out how the capital is being given a total makeover. For some reason the council is obsessed with repainting the kerbs. Everyday legions of men armed with paint pots crouch in the stifling heat, trying not to get run over, adding the finishing touches to the roadside. Jury's out though on whether the kerbs didn't look better before.

How much sexing?

Open the gossip and social pages of the national newspapers and you'll soon be sucked into a flurry of 'who's dating who' excitement. Bollywood stars vying with each other to date the biggest talent, society princesses playing coy on their current beau.

While there's ceratainly a sprinkling of liberal romance in some circles, India remains a deeply traditional place when it comes to relationships.

A walk around Lodi Gardens bears testimony to this. Hidden amongst shady clumps of trees young couples meet to hold hands or dare a smooch away from a disapproving family gaze.

Last night, A and I were forced to reveal to our landlord that we were not married. Some annoying paperwork issues meant our lease had to be modified to include my name.

On the new document the estate agent typed 'Mr A and his partner Natacha B can legally live at ...'

"Partner?" quizzed our landlord Mr J in his wonderfully clipped Indian English.

"Shouldn't that say wife?"

If only the floor could have opened up there and then.

Months of navigating around the 'marital issue' swiftly unravelled leaving us red-faced like two naughty schoolchildren caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

"So you're not married?" Mr J drilled.

"Not exactly," blurted A.

We shuffled back to our apartment heads hung low.

All this a reminder of a funny conversation A had with some young guys playing cricket near India Gate. After joining in their game a couple of the players in their 20s siddled up to A with a nervous look.

"So Sir, can we ask you question? ... how much, er, sexing is there where you come from?"

"Sexing?" asked A slightly baffled.

"Er yes, we hear there's much sexing in England, is true?"

Another sad news story

Must stop obsessing about newspaper stories but ...

Chennai: A 45-year-old man suffered an injury on his left leg and bleed to death at the gates of the Government General Hospital after 20 days ... "I saw hospital staff dump him on the pavement more than 20 days ago ... he often cried out in pain," said a worker who witnessed the man's dying moments.

Punjab's children

Just back from a village in Punjab. Filming a story on how cotton farmers say their community is becoming increasingly sick because of the pesticides they are spraying. At this school children as young as eleven have grey hair.

Taking a rickshaw stand

After two months, I have a deep resentment of rickshaw drivers.

I'm totally over paying (and usually getting ripped off)

for the privilege of another near-death, white-knuckle ride.

Like most naive newcomers, I thought rickshaws were cool.

Twitchy-eyed men, navigating traffic like a chess game on speed.

Weaving, ducking, diving, cutting each other up with sadistic and unnecessary addiction,

At first, I clenched the sides, broke out in sweat and tried not to

think about slapping these small-time Schumacher's

with a copy of the Highway Code.

But somewhere along the line, I started getting used to it,

barely raising an eyebrow as we switched lanes and hurtled

full throttle, into on-coming traffic.

But after nearly getting flattened by a bus yesterday I've decided

to reassess my mode of transport.

Firstly, because contrary to popular belief they do crash.

And often.

Two, if they do crash, I'm sitting in a tin can.

Taxi!

Priyanka's pizza

Priyanka's revealed her secret to looking fabulous. “Eat pepperoni pizza with extra cheese, and take lots of stress to stay fit.” Hard to imagine this Bollywood beauty stuffing her face with a Dominos but then maybe she's turned to junk food to help her cope with the hardships of being "in the top slot" recently. It seems no one understands how tough it is being a mega-star these days.

Half-way there

Half-marathon update: Making slow but steady progrees. Ran 12km in Lodi Gardens this morning. Sort of half-way there. Still puffing and panting cardiac-style in the heat though. Humiliatingly overtaken several times by women in full salwaar kameez and trainers.

What's in a name?

You have to feel sorry for Delhi's Chief Minister. Not only is she busy in damage-control mode over the capital's dismal efforts to be ready on time for the Commonwealth Games but she has a name which, without fail, prompts stiffled sniggers, Shelia Dikshit.

Eh?

It takes a while to decipher Indian newspaper english. Something about the art of under-statement. Take a recent story about a tourist boat sinking which killed more than 30 people. British papers might have called this a 'tragedy' Indians papers call this a 'mishap'.

"The mishap occurred around 5.15 pm when the double-decker boat was returning after a two-hour cruise on the Periyar" - writes the Hindustan Times.

Then there's that other favourite, "Eve-teasing".

No, 'Eve-teasing' has nothing to do with schoolgirl playground antics.

Far from it, this creative euphemism seems to cover everything from public groping

and sexual harassement to rape and worse quite often young women or girls are

'Eve-teased' to death.

"The alleged involvement of local youngsters in the gang rape of a

college student came as a shock to villagers of Maljipada,

even though the youths ... were notorious for eve-teasing" - Times of India.

No hiding

Mysteriously every salesman

within a twenty km radius seems to

know we have just moved in.

Not a day goes by without another

random ringing the doorbell

offering everything from cooking

services, children's books to rattan stools.

I've started avoiding the balcony for fear

of being spotted

by these industrious hawkers who

frantically wave from the street.

Got caught out today though.

Opened the door and some guy

bundled in with oily canvas bags

stuffed with curtain

and blind samples.

They must have noticed our

seemingly Scandinavian approach

to open living.

Or the guy in the corner shop told them,

he did seem unusually interested in our

home furnishings.

Anyway Monu's managed to convince

us to let him make blinds for the

apartment.

Not sure how, he did not seem to

have a clue about taking measurements

and looked vaguely baffled when I

asked if everything was okay.

I dont think it is okay.

In fact I dont think he's ever made

a blind in his life but he has made

a quick bundle of rupees.

have the sinking feeling I wont

be seeing him again.

I have entered the Delhi half-marathon.

I'm not quite sure what prompted such idiocy.

But it is idiocy.

I saw a poster for the run in a shop and suddenly became consumed by a romantic vision of 

gliding around India Gate in the early morning, swept along by a tide of fund-raising excitement in a Save the Children T-shirt.

Tragically, I'll probably be the one who needs saving.

I'm already waking up at night after visions of being stretchered

away wrapped in that aluminium stuff.

So far, my training runs (all three of them) have seen

me splutter my way around Lodi Gardens, only a breath

away from cardiac arrest.

I'm up to 8km.

The run's in four weeks.

Another 13.5km to go ... who am I kidding?

I concede, my running peak is far behind me. 

Read recently Hussein Bolt swears by yams.

Maybe that will help?