Dancing peacocks

Cor blimey, guvn’rs and guvn’sses, it is awfully hot in southern India right now – though it is, as our genial hosts never tire of telling us, actually rather cold. I’m writing this in a former French principality called Pondicherry (the computer has already had a Blue Screen of Death; no escaping Windows) under a very large and wonky fan. Any interruption will be due to decapitation and normal service will not, I’m afraid, be resumed.

Too much done already to be fully recounted here. Thanks to the generosity of our host, Nagarajan, we’ve been privileged enough to visit the inner sanctum of a Hindu temple (had to take my shirt off for that one), been driven the wrong way up a dual carriageway (first clue: driving over a large painted arrow that seemed to be rather too upside-down for comfort), drunk many Indian teas and coffees, visited a charming college, and spent lots of time with Nagarajan’s immediate, extended and very extended families. Everyone has been friendly, courteous and treated us like royalty.

Here are a few photos – sorry, time for captions. A fuller report when we get back in a couple of weeks. Happy Christmas everyone!

No captions to follow apart from the next very important photo: baby Madhangi!

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Ian Hocking

Writer and psychologist.

4 thoughts on “Dancing peacocks”

  1. Thanks, Tim, I always wanted to be one of those – and a celebrity chef, too. I think there’s a photo of me making rice cakes somewhere…

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