Alistair Caldicott

Into India, Out of Africa

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Excerpt from Chapter 1 - Into India

My passport reads like this:

On this basis most Indians dealing with me assumed my name was
"Mr. A. John"
This was now taken to a new level by the paper held up on the platform to resemble my new name... …Mr. C. AJONE

After very nearly totally ignoring it, I had only stopped to glance at it as it had my tour companies name at the top of the paper. Yes this was me. In Varanasi I had now somehow become Mr. C. AJONE!

It's a good job this is my final major stop in India, otherwise God knows what my name will be corrupted into next!

At the hotel I catch up on 2 hours of deep sleep in air-conditioned comfort. Shortly after 9.30am I am woken abruptly by the telephone next to me.


'Mr. John?'

'Hello I've just…'

'…Mr. John, you come to my office now and we make special tour for you. Good tour. You like very much…I see you in 15 minutes. Goodbye'


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