Delhi. ?th November 1992.

So happy ‘home coming’ here.

Got a bed – in the old place.

Peace in the chaos.

The amigo’s stay close by. Too much music.

Ambling in live life style.

Brushing my true friends, silent knowing in the Parganj.

Auto rickshaws.

Good people.

A rainbow of coloured cloth and the excitement of new clothes.

The inevitable meetings with old friends and a new face, amoebic dysentery changed.

Late night disscussions and stoned laughter.

I feel beautiful again.

Bargaining and bartering I am much more Indian than before.

Awakening spirituality and a more sure foot.

The hungry thirst for living.

The colour has returned.

Keep going on the positives. New lives are stirring.

Beautiful letter from Dad at the Post Restrante.


Old faces. A kind of familiar family.

Seeing a little flesh. Repression lifting.

Food at Anand – still the best.

Saree top, waist coat and shirt from the tailors.

The fantastic ‘first timers’, a New Zealand/English couple.

The dirtiness that makes me feel alive.

Dinner with freinds.

Chillums and wicked ‘hellos’.

Talking meditation and retreats.

A freind soon to be a father, in India.

“Am I the Joker?”

10 rupees a gift for Dan, respect to the bravery of that junkie.

The mysterious Sikh peddling his psychic wares. Too much. A powerful spiritual battle that I know I won.

Inspiring people and good food.

Sitting outside with the ‘W. of Oz’ playing music.

Singing ‘Georgia’ greeting in their hotel.

Jamming and vodka late into the night.

The sitting in shops drinking chai, old freinds, the fisherman and so, so much more.

Very, very happy.”


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