Impromptu Concerts and Crappy Home Movies

Islamic tombs in Hyderabad.

Well, I’m back. My apologies to those whose emails I’ve yet to respond to. I’m just a little overwhelmed right now with all the stuff I have to do. Yes, photos from India are forthcoming, but it will take a few days to upload them and label them, etc. But I’ve given you a taste above. This tomb is from a collection of seven Islamic tombs in Hyderabad, not far from the Golconda Fort.

I am a computer geek, a bit of a history geek and very much a science geek. But I am not a camera geek. Hence, it wasn’t until late in my trip that I figured out how to use the video capture function on my digital camera. And it wasn’t until just now that I realized that this function comes with audio! Had I been so revelated whilst in India, I would have recorded many more video snippets. Sadly, you must make do with what I managed to film: mostly rickshaw rides and random street scenes.

So for those so inclined, I’ve provided links to snippets of video from India on my new Home Movies page. Please read and respect the disclaimer at the top of that page.

The flight back to Canada was, as always, an experience. Within 20 minutes of taking off into the 14 hour flight, the woman to my left asked if she could exchange her middle seat for my aisle seat. I’m usually a very courteous and accomodating fellow. But India has taught me that courtesy often goes punished. (I had, on an earlier flight, given up my aisle seat so a family could sit together, and ended up squished between two fat guys for the duration.) So I was quick to say no, since I had specifically requested an aisle seat. But it made the rest of the flight a bit awkward. I wish she hadn’t asked.

Arriving in Newark was odd. First, we were held up for 20 minutes while a woman overcame her fear of escalators. Then, US immigration chose to process all the US citizens first, from a series of incoming flights, which meant that all of us non-Americans had to languish for hours until every last US citizen was processed, then it was our turn. I’m not sure why this was done. Doesn’t seem very efficient, since one would think that the international travellers (like me) are more likely to have time-sensitive connecting flights to make (like me).

Arriving in Ottawa was doubly odd. I was, of course, the only person selected for a baggage inspection. The customs official asked me to unpack my spanking new electric sitar and to play a song for them. Maybe they suspected that it was fake and filled with drugs? In any case, I obliged. So there I was, jetlagged and unwashed in an empty Ottawa airport, playing unplugged electric sitar to an audience of one.

Tomorrow: back to work. Sigh.