Ah, India… the writer in me struggles to capture a small iota of the essence of this extraordinary country.
Sitting on a bus watching landscape and people stream by. The colours sparkle in the saris and road signs offset by the dull, dusty roads. The faces are stunning. Eyes deep brown to hazel green. Skin polished nut. Ready to smile, nod acknowledgement, laugh.
It is no hard thing to imagine why the British were content to annex this wonderful land. Taking tea in a colonial era hotel, the air perfumed with exotic flowers and spices, birds singing, dogs barking. Wandering the halls of the Mysore Palace marveling at the art works, frescos and opulence. Swaying, dreaming aboard an Indian Elephant. Transported to another time.
The debris of human life, trash and open toilet drains, abandoned government infrastructure, women with babies strapped to their sides begging, endless coconut husks. It’s not all pretty.
The livestock make me chuckle – each rural home has 2 or 3 cows tethered outside. Often their horns are painted for festivals. Indian zebus? Definitely Bos Idicus. Sheep few and far between. Goats more common. Not for milking, which surprises me? Horses starved and struggling – the motorbike has taken over. Dogs everywhere, barking, scavenging and doing what dogs do. No cats at all.
I am transfixed, astonished, horrified. I am blessed to be here, knowing I will come home to my most fortunate life.
Aside from the heat Qatar bears no resemblence to India whatsoever. Here we were greeted by Annabel Coppin who previously worked with the MLA. Once again we were thoroughly spoilt with the programme arranged for us. 
