… and not just because George has succumbed to ‘Delhi Belly’ – despite claiming not to have let a single drop of tap/shower water touch his lips. [He’s been washing/shaving with fucking Evian!]
Anyway, it all started weirdly when this morning, I attended a meeting where the ‘host’ – as a sign of [supposed] respect – invited a ‘Spiritual Guru’ along, to pass on a few nuggets to leading a happier, healthier life.
Now believe it or not, I am quite open to this sort of thing [well, sort-of open] however this guy seemed like a complete and utter con artist … which resulted in me spending most of my time trying not to laugh out loud in this blokes face.
Have a look at these slides he presented to me – even a planner couldn’t come up with that sort of bollocks [well OK, a few could] …
Answers on a postcard please …
Celebrate everything, do you here? EVERYTHING!
… and yet, while we were being tormented by the monotonous monotone of this ‘Guru’s’ voice, the host was lapping it up as if Jesus himself was speaking to him.
The boring bugger went on and on for ages … and everytime you sensed he was coming to an end, he said he needed ‘another 5 minutes’ and then would carry on as if time had no meaning – which it probably doesn’t to him.
It was seriously mind-numbing … but please know I did try to pay attention, the problem was it was all so ridiculous that within 10 seconds, I’d start giggling and have to chuck one of the weird ‘nuts/polo mint’ concoctions into my mouth so that I could look like I was eating rather than laughing.
The really scary thing is this guy is a multi-multi millionaire … he gets paid outrageous amounts of money by ‘believers’ to spout loads of crap which they interpret as ‘words of humanity’.
I absolutely detest these self-appointed-guru’s with their patronising smiles and condescending attitudes … as far as I am concerned they are the equivalent of ambulance chasing lawyers – except instead of hunting down accident victims, they seek out the individuals with low esteem. Or maybe I am just a bad tempered, angry shit whose soul has no chance of redemption. It’s quite possible.
Now I know this makes me sound a total and utter prick, but when you get told that a flower blossomed because some ‘happy’ prisoners walked past it [as opposed to when it almost died because some sad ‘free people’ checked it out] then you’ll maybe afford me abit of grace.
I know it was done with the best intentions, but O-H M-Y G-O-D, it was one of the funniest painful moments of my life.
Anyway, from one extreme to the other …
So after a long day of meetings [it got better after ‘Guru gob’ – but it would have been hard not to] I was taken to a welcome dinner – described as a ‘Night Of Indian Extravaganza’.
After a 50 minute drive through some of the World’s wealthiest and poorest neighbourhoods [which would test the emotions of even the most cold-hearted person] I finally arrived at the destination where – true to their word – I was treated to the whole spectrum of Indian hospitality – which included the Rocky theme being played at a billion decibels which was rather surreal.
Anyway, rather than describing everything I saw, I’ll just show you a bunch of photos from the evening – it’ll probably do it more justice than any words I could muster and I appreciate this is a very indulgent post of nothingness – but it’s my blog so you can’t stop me. Well you could, but you don’t know my home address. Or do you??? Eek. [Can you tell I’m tried and shell-shocked? Ha]
Oh, last thing … when I was on the bus, I passed a double glazing window shop which used the quite wonderful line, “Burglar Proof Glass”
How lovely is that eh? I soooo hope it means its unbreakable glass or there is a rather big flaw in that thought, hahaha! Night.
You’ve not been in India unless you see an elephant.
Still smaller than Andy. But to be fair to Andy, it was a small elephant. Well, small by elephant standards – it still seemed huge to me!
Traditional Indian Dancing [but NOT to the ‘Rocky’ theme. Thank God!]
Women dancing with, errrrrrm, pots of fire on their heads. As you do.
Don’t worry, this isn’t some terrible incident relating to the ‘pot of fire’ [if it was, I’d send it to ‘Candid Camera’ or something] it’s a fire eater – or fire blower – in all his glory.
And finally …
First they tell me it is culturally respectful, then they call me Taliban-Man all bloody night! And some people say the Indian people don’t have a sense of humour.