In the middle of a dense-intense Delhi junction of roughly 6 merging lanes of traffic, the taxi driver stopped. The two swollen, white plastic bags slid off his dashboard and onto his lap. He left the car, taking them with him, leaving us there. Dodging rickshaws, taxis, mopeds, cows, and road-side rubbish mounds, stepping up onto the central reservation. He carefully untied the knots in the plastic bags and emptied the bird-seed contents into the middle of an excited flock of Myna birds.

He did it yesterday and the day before, and he'll do it tomorrow, and the next day, 365 days of the year.

'Most of our troubles are due to our passionate desire for and attachment to things that we misapprehend as enduring entities.' 

- The Dalai Lama

We arrived back to Portugal after 3 incredible months in India, with 20 rolls of film ready to be developed. There was much debate over how and where to get this (so very precious to us) job done. Should we keep hold of the films and wait another 2 months until we're back in the UK? Should we post them to the UK?  Should we split the films up into two packages, just in case?

Reassured by the number of safely-arriving packages we'd sent between Portugal and the UK, missing India terribly and desperate to see the pictures, we decided to post them all in one box from Portugal to a film lab in Brighton. Slightly shitting ourselves, standing at the post office desk Angus took the postal receipt for priority, track and trace delivery,

'So, just to confirm, if this package gets lost, you'll be able to find out exactly where it is?' 

'Yes, absolutely.'