Narcopolis

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did read Jeet Thayil's novel "Narcopolis" (2012), finishing it on the train to Bangalore. It describes the challenge 70s Pakistani powder posed to the notorious Bombay opium dens, which are, consequently, now hard for even the most dodgy of local guides to track down. The narrative drifts around the denizens, and some sections are tangential even to that. There is a plot and a final twist. But, finally, not much matters in a opium den.

Facing the Congo

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did read "Facing the Congo" by Jeffrey Tayler (2000), in October 2014, mainly on the Northern Line. It is the story of his trip down the Congo from Kisangani in a local canoe. I was a bit puzzled to find myself halfway through the book without him having stepped in the canoe, but the mystery is solved if you paddle through to the end! He has a taste for the purple sentence, the first of the book being "The squawks of parrots filtered down into the black well of sleep and slowly called me up into the lighter realms of wakefulness", which is all you need to know, really. And there is occasional pontification, concluding: "I had exploited Zaire as a playground on which to solve my own rich-boy existential dilemmas". Well, there are worse ways to exploit Zaire. But it is not all that bad, with some great characters (I would have liked to know more about the "Colonel") and in fact gets quite exciting towards the end!

Mysore Palace, India

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, did visit the Mysore Palace, in Mysore, India, in November 2014. Waiting politely in the queue will not get you a ticket to this palace, one must advance determinedly using the body to block attempts by the Indians to thrust their money through the little hole ahead of you. Fortunately, I had already learned this technique at the railway counter in Pune. Inside the site is quite pleasant, with a fine parade ground. The palace itself is a monstrosity, built by a British architect doubtless laughing at his client's taste. I could not hear the commentary on the portable player I was given due to the extreme number and volume of Indians trooping briskly round, whose chatter echoed around the marble rooms and corridors; the women in saris, and the men dressed like motorcycle mechanics. There was another museum near the elephants round the back for an additional fee, but I, Melachi, gave it a pass.