Puff goes Perkino I

I set off to find the office, just a few blocks away from the guest house down on Cunningham Road. It’s a sticky morning and I’m a little anxious - in my head I’m running late. I hop over cracked pavements, slip past street vendors, dodge the odd stray dog. So far, so good.

To the initiated, traffic in India needs no introduction. To the uninitiated, suffice to say that it’s a little different from London or New York. Crossing the road requires significantly more skill and guts as you have to navigate a constant flow of honking cars, zig-zagging rickshaws and bikes, careering trucks and buses.

I spy the office on the other side of the road and gingerly step down off the pavement, steeling myself for my first attempt. Out of nowhere a rickshaw appears, hurtling towards me. I jump aside to avoid certain death (okay, I exaggerate; certain injury) and thankfully secure a soft landing. Actually, I’m a little surprised by how soft and squishy the landing is. I look down and understand why. It’s true: cows do wander the streets in India.