Lord Lucan sighted in Mumbai

After three days in Bombay I'm caked in dirt and have assumed local dress. If i added a fake beard then perhaps i might be mistaken for a long lost British peer of the realm. However, aside from a warm shower, I lack nothing. I will post up some photos when I return home next week, but i doubt they will begin to convey the colour and vibe of the World Social Forum.

The opening plenary of the WSF, including speeches by Arundati Roy and some veterans of the struggle against us Brits in the 1930s and 40s, still fiery in their 90s. The warm up act was Junoon, an intriguing rock band that looked and sounded a lot like early U2, but turned out to be Pakistani Sufis (Islamic mystics). I was sitting near the found and a pile of teenage Hindu girls were squealing with Junoonmania, while the group of Nepalese speaking refugees from Bhutan (100,000 were expelled apparently) were doing amazing dances.

Navigating about the Forum site is difficult because there are endless marches within the venue's grounds, blocking up the main arteries with processions by dalits, Tibetans, LGBs, victims of dams... you name it, all complete with colourful banners, drummers and stilt walkers.

The workshops (of which there are about 140 going on at anytime, so I tend to be at least quintruple booked and flutter between them - when i'm able to squeeze through the marches mentioned above) are a bit of a disappointment. I know (because i'm busy trying to figure out how to run ours tomorrow) that it's hard to work out what level to pitch them at, and also having translation really slows them down. I was in a potentially interesting one this afternoon about nonviolent tactics in situations of armed conflict, but the day was hot, i was exhausted, and listening to 10 minutes of Italian (before the translation) was very soporific and I was fighting to keep my eyes open.

I rode on my first Indian train today. The women sit in central compartments, while the men crowd into smaller standing room only compartments with open sides. I copied my fellow passengers in holding onto a handle and leaning out of the open door to see the world go by and enjoy the rush of the wind.

I illegally rode 4 in a rickshaw yesterday. Whenever our driver saw a traffic policeman he would shout "inspector, inspector!" and tug my sleeve, which was the signal for me to clamber off Andreas' lap and run ahead past the junction to be picked up out of sight! Another little transport story was when our rickshaw was stopped at a light. I noticed that the people in the taxi next to ours looked "of a certain type" so I lent over and asked if they were at the WSF. They were, and we had a quick conversation about who we all were and even exchanged cards before the traffic moved off. My traveling companion thought I was an impressively dedicated networker, but the truth was that it was really just an excuse to talk to the passengers in the other car, who were three cute Mexican girls. I am very good at talking to strangers in this kind of setting, which friends back home who know my shy side might find surprising. Somehow as soon as I cross the English Channel, and certainly once I escape Europe, I transform into a raging extrovert. I guess travel (for the previlaged minority of us who can afford it) gives an opportunity to redefine ourselves for a brief period, away from the patterns of everyday life.