<p dir=ltr>Lying in bed for the best part of a week builds the potential energy to explosive levels. <br>
True, I've had a few excursions in to the Real World Out There, but dependent on either the combustion engine of some pimped-looking-noise-machine (scooter dressed as superbike) or an invariably skinny huffing and puffing rickshaw wallah; both options being unsatisfactory: the rickshaw making me squirm with unease and wanting me to help push sometimes, the scooter terrifying me in it's high-speed-helmetless-heavy-on-the-horn combo. <br>
But the oft dreamed of Open Road of India, powered by my own two legs, has been lying tantalisingly out of touch. <br>
My body recovering from hideous 'flu and a necessary bout of antibiotics has waylaid me, as has just the tiniest amount of fear. The body recovering just takes time; fear has to be run roughshod over as quickly as possible before it festers too much. The manifestations of the mind are mostly products of other people's imaginings projected on to one's own. Ignore as quickly as possible. <br>
So by Thursday morning I was bursting with the wholehearted desire to get on that road. Every little bit of practical preparation that I could have done, was. The "to do list", abandoned back in the UK, was now finished. A few extra bits conjured up whilst in Allahabad, were themselves complete. The Allahabad tasks were mini tests in themselves, little insights or lessons in to this bizarre wonder that is India: The confoundingly multi-stage process to get a SIM card to use my mobile phone (mercifully and blessedly, Indian hosts with connections facilitated the whole episode to a speedy eight hours); and the parcel sent from the Post Office - comparatively simple yet completely adorned with beguiling and unnecessary flourishes (the hand sewn and wax sealed bijou parcel repackaged in yellow card, denoting demotion from Parcel to Printed Material; relayed from outside stall to inside counter and back again. Repeat. ), thank you for the assistance of strangers. Whilst the deep submersions in to the alien cultural universe of the Kumbh Mela, wandering around dazed as in a hallucination, all sense of normality utterly and entirely dismantled was, I suppose, just necessary little inductions in to the bewilderathon that is India. Throw in the repetitive utter intrusion of personal space by strangers for photos and inane questioning, and I was getting there. <br>
Thus by Friday morning I was ready. Inducted. Recuperated. Seen enough to know that I wanted in, and knowing the only things that I want to take me in - two legs turning pedals gears and wheels - were my own. </p>
