I know shamefully little about the British Empire and its colonisation of India. I remember going on a school trip to the memorial at Ypres - but I don't remember hearing about the thousands of Indian troops who served and died. I learned endlessly about Churchill - but not about his racist attitudes towards the Bengal famine. I was vaguely aware of partition - but not the casual ignorance which caused it. "Inglorious Empire" strikes me as a very even-handed book - even in the face of…
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It was a stroke of marketing genius to declare that the national dish of Britain was Chicken Tikka Masala. A dish almost totally devoid of Indian origin - but exotic enough to make us seem comfortable with multiculturalism. I like a good curry. Damn. Even the word curry is a generic Britishism designed to cover any spicy food from lands afar. Every Indian restaurant in the UK offers "The Most Authentic Cuisine". I know what I like - but I've no way to judge its authenticity. One of our…
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India is an explosion of colour. The food, the clothes, the temples. They all pulse like a rainbow. But not me. I'm white. Very white. More than that - I feel white and foreign. I feel out of place. The people I meet are friendly - but it's clear I don't really understand the culture, the way things work, or even how to cross the road. My first sight of a swastika shocked me. I know its origins, its special meaning here. But even daubed in multicolour paint on the side of a taxi was…
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There's a whole science dedicated to the universality of human expressions. Across vast continents and endless oceans, humans make the same face whether in a state of grief, joy, or disgust. More or less. The face of the Indian street vendor clearly said "Oh, FFS!" I had made the universal tourist mistake of paying for a cheap product with a ridiculously large bill. The bottle of mango juice I needed so desperately to cool down in the mad-dog sun came to 20 rupees. The smallest…
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The heat. That all oppressive heat. Not that you'd ever notice it; you move from air-conditioned hotel, to air-conditioned taxi, to air-conditioned office. Yes, cars everywhere. A fifteen minute walk quickly turns into a twenty minute taxi ride. No one walks here - the streets are too crowded for that. Our hotel is hollowed out inside - very reminiscent of the Luxor. Same faux stone walls, unlimited buffet, and eager waiters. The UB City shopping mall may as well be the Venetian in Vegas. …
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Today was my first day in India. Bangalore, to be precise. The city is hot, noisy, full of dangerous drivers, cows on the road, and a disturbingly potholed pavement. I entered a modern looking mall. Partly out of tourist curiosity, mostly for the air conditioning! I saw something which shocked me. As I was coming down as escalator, I noticed a teenage boy stood at the bottom of the "up" escalator. He was surrounded by half-a-dozen elderly women. Relatives, I assume. While I couldn't…
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