Sifting through a discussion on the Telegraph’s facebook page today about the how Americans reacted to the royal baby (bolded to signify the deterioration of my sanity after reading a week’s solid coverage of the poor sod), I was struck by another instance that highlighted how very different people can be when an ocean sits […]
It’s official: I have rejoined the Telegraph as their US Audience Editor, working from New York. I’ll be liaising with our editorial and technical teams to find new ways of reaching our large US audience, and making telegraph.co.uk a repeat destination for readers on this side of the pond.
Are your friends afraid of spicy food? Do you frequent the company of people who claim to like Indian cuisine, only to decline any dish with “cilantro” or any heat-giving ingredient? When you dream of the subcontinent, do you imagine yourself eating butter chicken and naan? Then my friend, come on down to New York.
Feeling like a stranger in a strange land, this American finds reassurance in some very odd reminders of London.
City mice know their stuff, but what happens when they get a tad overbearing about a city they don’t even live in?
Anyone who has been to India will know the smell. It hits you the moment you step off the plane, and lingers long afterward; an intangible scent, a mix of dust, heat, a dry breeze and that aroma that can only be described as ‘elsewhere’. It turns out the ingredients aren’t that secret, and the answers are closer than you think.
It’s a universal rule of India: if you come to this country, you must eat dosa.
To watch Indian soap operas is to know India – or at least India’s commercials. Meet the Indian Marilyn Monroe, whiten your armpits and get your ghee in a tube – tune in now!
Tell anyone in India you’re due to travel by train, and you’ll have their respect for life. And so I boarded the Chennai-Bangalore Brindavan Express, and saw what there was to see…
Listen as Chennai wakes up to the cars, monkeys, birds, and children of its morning symphony.