Kitna hua?

Met an absolute dude last night. He was a spitting image of Vincent Gallo when Vincent Gallo has a beard. He was also French and called Dominic. He knocked on my door when I was playing a song and he demanded I meet him later so that I could play him all the songs that I knew. No problemo, mondo el dudo. I even played him ‘The Man in Me’ by Dylan which prompted a mandatory conversation about the film that all travellers love: The Big Lebowski.

Unfortunately he left this morning. Oh well. He is four days into a two year trip where six months will be spent in India. This guy was well travelled. He recommended a few places. I especially liked the sound of Dharamsala and Rishikesh. Apparently there is a Beatles ashram at Rishikesh as it is the place where they went before recording the White Album. As I am beginning to look more like a Beatle circa 1968, or Donovan (who incidentally, also did the Rishikesh trip with The 'Tles), perhaps I should go check it out.

The general plan at the moment seems to be: isolate myself entirely in noisy, smelly Jaipur while learning a trade (singing and tabla) and then seek out the areas where there is a proper musical scene and inflict myself wholeheartedly on an unsuspecting bunch of jam sessions. I am quite looking forward to it.

I made a few more purchases yesterday. I am starting to really get into buying stuff. It is too much fun. An Israeli guy I met the other day pointed out that Israelis are usually very good at getting a cheap price because they find the price they want to pay and stick to it. No haggling. Just for the darn hell of it I tried this yesterday.

I went to the same row of shops where I’d bought my last shirt and chose another shop. I decided that 70 rupees was a fair price for my shirt, so I asked to see their selection. When I found one I quite liked I said

Me: how much?

Dude: 150

Me: No no. 70.

Dude: 150.

Me: 70.

Dude: Ok, 125. Final price.

Me: Ok, forget it (get up to walk out)

Dude: Ok ok. (I sit down) 100.

Me: 70.

Dude: No, 100.

Me: See ya. (Get up again.)

Dude: Ok, ok. 80 then. It’s yours.

Me: 70.

Dude: Your final price?

Me: Yep, 70.

Dude: Ok. 70.

Ahhhh, now that was fun wasn’t it. Hard work, but worth it. I also, through a similarly long-winded bargaining process bought a bag for 120 rupees. The guy’s first price? 450! I wanted to pay 100, however, but this dude was a bit better. He could see that I actually quite wanted this bag. That makes all the difference. He even let me leave the shop, refusing to take 100 for it. The bastard knew that for some reason this particular style of bag happened to be particularly rare in this market – I only found it in one other shop for the fixed price of 120. Hmm. I swallowed my pride, went back and bought the frigging thing for 120.

Today, my mission was music. I had heard a lot about this tabla playing dude Zakir Husain. Every Indian guy who stops me says "Zakir Husain!" When I then tell them that I am learning the tabla, they practically soil themselves.

So I bought a cd by the dude. It is rather lovely. Unfortunately there are no tabla solos. He is accompanying a guy called Sultan Khan playing the Sarangi (Indian violin type affair – think With or Without You by The Beatles).

Sorry, this has to be the most horrifically dull post I’ve left since Dylan went electric.

Note to Rob. Did I lend you that Blue Jam cd? You bastard. That would have made perfect travel cd-age.

"Get down to the Fussy Bender for a Fat Lip All Nighter. Entry’s free if you let the bouncer lamp you on the way in."

I guess I probably mis-quoted that. Adam, do help me out.

So, are we all going to die of the fucking flu? I dread to think of the kind of scare-mongering you must be enduring from the British press. I take it we are all as good as dead. What is it with birds anyway? Just a simple dose of anti-biotics sorts us out. A few Halls Soothers to ease the symptoms. What, are they immune to this shit? Why are they so special? They don’t have any other special powers.

Well, flying’s pretty cool.

Anyway.

I read a copy of the Times of India (fast becoming my favourite publication) the other day where they had asked Vikram Seth to be stand in editor.

He seems to be quite a clever man. He decided not to scare the shit out of everyone with the bird flu stuff, but felt that it should at least be in the paper. People, he thought, should probably know.

Right, I think I might go do something with my time here and stop spending all my money telling you lot about how I’m not really doing anything except spending money telling you lot about the aforementioned lack of interesting activity.

Ho hum.

PS I really want to buy a motorbike.

PPS I’ve just deprived my mother of ever sleeping at night.

PPPS Don’t worry mum, I probably won’t.