I’m looking for the pool but I can’t see much, jammed as my view is with auto-rickshaws, cycles and the obligatory bullock-cart or two. The cow squatting on the footpath is placidly chewing. Honking cars scurry around urgently like buzzing bees. Buses clatter by, weighed down and bursting at the seams with swarms of passengers hanging on for dear life to doors, window frames and whatever else they can wedge their fingernails into. Massive trucks lumber across the narrow road, billowing clouds of smoke akin to atomic explosion mushrooms. Not to be outdone in cacophony, motorbikes whiz through...
Read the full article in the April 2009 issue of Swimming Times
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