Ten Camels for My Wife by John Meadows

Author:John Meadows
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Travel adventures, Anecdotal true stories, Whimsical humour, Round-the-World travel, Life observations, Northern humour, Bus to Kathmandu, World cultures, Art and architecture, School trips, Paris, Istanbul, Taj Mahal, Petra, Easter Island statues, Australia, South America, Hair raising incidents, Light-hearted tales, Fun holiday-read
ISBN: 9781785385780
Publisher: Andrews UK Limited 2016
Published: 2016-09-14T00:00:00+00:00

Shah Jahan moved the capital of India from Agra to Delhi in the 17 th Century, and built the Red Fort as his main residence. We entered by the Delhi Gate, and as we walked up the road we had a panoramic view of the city. There are marble palaces, mosques, gardens with marble fountains, and grand audience halls. The Diwan-i-Klas (the Hall of Private Audiences) used to have as its centre piece the Peacock Throne, which was taken to Iran in 1739 and became the famous throne of the Shahs of Persia.

A Sweeping Statement

At our hotel late one afternoon, after showering and changing ready for dinner, we were enjoying a quiet few minutes reading in our room trying to stay cool beneath the large, noisy, wooden fan on the ceiling. I was sitting in a bamboo chair which squeaked and creaked every time I shifted position, while Norma lay on the bed. Without warning, our tranquillity was interrupted as the door burst open, allowing shafts of late-afternoon sunlight to flood into the room. No-one appeared in the doorway, and momentarily I assumed that a breeze had blown it open. Norma suddenly sat bolt upright on the bed and pointed towards the floor. I immediately sprang to my feet ready to fend off whatever had come in, provided it wasn’t a crocodile of course. But then again, it had to be something big enough to push open the door. I could hear swishing and shuffling sounds along the floor. Could it be our worst nightmare? A huge snake? Then I saw something moving; shiny, black and hairy just above the level of the bed. ‘At least it isn’t a snake,’ I thought, breathing a sigh of relief, before my imagination raced off again; ‘are there black panthers in India’? Then, I realised that Norma, who had a much better view of our uninvited guest, seemed unconcerned, or was she simply frozen with fear? Tentatively, I peered over the bed to see the cause of my heart palpitations. It was indeed shiny black hair, but it was on the head of an Indian man whom I could now see just above the level of the bed... No, he wasn’t that short. He was in a crouching-sitting-squatting position with his head practically between his knees. He shuffled along on the soles of his bare feet as he swept the floor with a switch, made of a bundle of twigs and tied at one end with string. It was a sawn-off witch’s broom. He held a plastic dust-pan in his other hand and circled the bed, sweeping underneath as he passed. It was safe to assume that this was our cleaner. He approached me and I automatically lifted my legs to a horizontal position, as you do at home when the vacuum cleaner approaches. He went into the bathroom and Norma and I exchanged bemused smiles as he emerged and made his way to the door, which he closed behind him. Not once had he looked up from the floor.

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