Part One. ( I )






Stepping off the plane at Mumbai international airport, the
first thing that kicks you in the nuts is the heat and the
smell of the place. It's midnight and yet its 92 degrees.
The smell really isn't that intrusive and it takes a while for
me to figure out what it is. I came to the conclusion that the
smell must be from the oil and fumes and the general
pollution from the amount of traffic. I wouldn't even know
where to begin describing the traffic, it does seem to be
literally bumper to bumper, twenty fucking four hours a day.
It can take up to a month to cross a fucking road. I strongly
recommend a few whiskys before attempting it. I used to
think that all the hundreds of Indian people who were on
the side of the streets in their tents had been travelling for
months and decided to get a good nights rest before trying
to figure out how to tackle the 'crossing of the road'.
I later found out that all these thousands of people scattered
around the city streets are homeless and have no where else
to go.
There doesn't seem to be any rules whatsoever for driving
around in Mumbai except, wether in your car, bus, truck,
moped, scooter, rickshaw or any other vehicle that you have
made out of materials that you can manage to hold together
with a bit of sellotape and glue, you must use your horn, -
constantly. It seems that, by law, you must sound your horn
at least two hundred fucking times every fifteen seconds
or you get sent to a Pakistan jail for several thousand years
and get shagged up the arse every morning by a large
rottweiller. It seems, the more you play with your horn, the
bigger the cock you will have. Mumbaians must have fucking
enormous willys'.
I would have said that my nerves were a bit shattered after
just one day in Mumbai but i dont think i had any nerves left.
Evertime i hear a fucking horn toot, i automatically think i'm
about to be run over and completely shit myself. There was
no hiding place. Everyone that took one look at me knew that
i was fresh meat just off the plane and these bastards were
ready to rip me apart. There was no resting time, or, "ok - we
will let him get a good nights sleep and we'll rip him apart
tomorrow". No no no. I'm afraid it doesn't work like that.
As soon as you step outside of that airport and out into India,
the sharks are waiting. They're fucking hungry by the way and
its feeding time.

Say goodbye to what you thought you knew.

to be continued........