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Read an Extract I watch the sea. Nobody notices me; I have worn a sari and oiled my hair, braiding it in a thick plait that hangs over one shoulder. This is the garb I choose for my work, as the women are more comfortable when I visit dressed as one of them. And I, I have worn many disguises. The sea is shallow here, the waves slow and gentle, washing up on the ribbed sand. The first young man, his Ganesh carefully cradled in his arms, walks into the water. Chants waver through the still evening air: Return early next year, Oh Victorious Lord Ganesh. Oh Father Ganesh, come again next year. In Bombay, the Hindus have their many gods, the Muslims pray to Allah, the Christians worship the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, the Zoroastrians stand in devotion before fire. The water is my altar. I pick up a necklace of red lotus blossom, dropped from a decorated Ganesh, and walk to the water’s edge. I take off my sandals and shift my heavy bag to my shoulder. A tiny, panicked gecko darts from between two rocks, and runs over my bare feet. Holding up the edge of my sari, I join the throngs, wading in to the cool water. I throw the flower necklace as others throw their own flowers, or small sweets, or coconuts, into the sea, making their puja to Ganesh. For more information visit www.InAFarCountry.co.uk |
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