‘Dance? Did you say dance?’ Zorba asks Basil ecstatically as he removes his own coat and takes him through the first steps of sirtaki in what was later to be known as the legendary ‘Zorba dance.’ Shuffling a little, the cack-handed Basil picks up speed with the still-brimming peasant, kicking up dust on the deserted Cretan beach, forgetting misfortunes – past and those in store – and the roasted lamb they had sat down to eat. I might be pushing it when I say I was reminded of this iconic
Goa / Escape routes The path was so pretty he knew it would be a dead end. It was six in the morning and he had crept out of bed without making a sound when she was still sleeping. A few months ago he had opened the windows of their hotel room in Pondicherry waking her and she had given him hell. It was a sunny ten and he wanted to fly his drone before the harsh light of noon. Yes, she was taking medication for depression and bipolarity and
The lorry juddered to a halt. We were passing through one of those Himalayan hamlets that always looked like they were shut for the night. Like many others along the way this one too had sprung up around a sharp curve on the winding road. Habitation, commerce even, around these bends made sense as vehicles slowed down considerably and those like I was travelling in – 20 feet long and laden to excess capacity – took forever to pass. A lot transpired too by the time the road straightened –
