Popagandhi

Churchgate station, Bombay, according to Sebastiao Salgado (from “Migrations”). Salgado is my hero. I was here today. For more Salgado.

I’ve moved to the ‘burbs, where it’s easier to breathe, there are no firingi (foreigners), and nobody to ask me if I want to buy a map of India or a pashmina shawl while I’m crossing the road. I hung out with a diamond broker last night, and tomorrow I’ll go hunting for old cameras at Chore (Thieves) Bazaar. If I find a local, or plenty of courage, I’ll go to Dharavi (the biggest slum in Asia; there was a brilliant cover story about it in Nat Geo in April) to look up their famed leather men with my MacBook measurements for the cheapest and nicest custom made leather laptop case ever. And that’s after visiting my favourite Bombay haunt, the Yazdani Bakery where a Parsi family bakes the loveliest breads and apple pies together with a charming little slice of history. Bombay is amazing.

On Sunday I commence a semi-epic journey — not as epic as others I’ve dreamt up, but rather long nonetheless. I board the Kushinagar Express from Mumbai at 10:55pm, travel 1688 kilometres in 32 hours and 30 minutes. After two nights on the train, I arrive at Gorakhpur Junction, hop into a bus ride to travel 2-3 hours to the border with Nepal at Sunauli. Hand over US$30 and 2 passport pictures, then take a 9 hours’ bus to Pokhara.

Why? Because I can, I have plenty of time, and I have S$25 to spare (estimated total price of my transportation to Nepal).

Besides, the view will be worth it, every bit worth the princely sum of S$4. Am I good at stretching my paise or what? I’m going to nest myself there to cut myself off from the world, complete my mounting backlog of work, work on a few new stories in my head, and when I feel like it, row a boat over to the other side to rejoin civilization, hopefully avoiding the water buffalo if I can. Man I love my job.