Not as good as this one, of course. Or this, for that matter. Or even the chai shop in Sana’a. But considering I’m in Muscat, Oman, and not the northeast of neverland, it’ll do. It’s sort of like a Martini and Coke, which sounds revolting, but is really much better than plain cola.
Maybe I should become the guy I photographed this morning, the man who was a football player and a thief and a drunkard and a taxi driver and a tow-truck operator and a water carrier before he became a shopkeeper. He doesn’t eat any dinner, except for a swig of water heavy with the flowers of the shirish and leaves of the rehan. That, he swears, will keep you going when everyone around is dropping like flies. It might be true: everyone he ever knew from the old days is dead.
This chap barely scraped through. He stole till he was caught, drank till he crashed the taxi, smoked till his ears bled and fathered 14 children, 13 from one wife. The other reason he’s still alive, apart from the 30 tandoori rotis a day, the 6 cloves of garlic, dates and water and flowers and leaves, is his philosophy which he reveals to me, dead serious, as he flicks over a packet of silver Dunhills to a customer: never, ever listen to your wife.
4 Comments
hey pinaki…
you definitely have a talent…and I am so glad you pursued it! what caught my eye – occupational hazard i guess?! – was the Newsweek issue of The case for Luxury…something you were reading…are you doing something in the luxury space?
and what keeps you in Oman?
will be great to hear from you again…
cheers,
neisha.
Looks wholesome. I liked the Malynngong dinner too although you say it wasn’t so good, but even the crockery looks edible!
No no! I said my dinner wasn’t as good as the one in Mawlynnong. Karma, you’re walking all over my Dogma.
Neisha, it’s been years! No, I’m not doing a piece on luxury, but I have found, over the years, that while I do love roughing it out I also wear money well. It’s complicated. Don’t ask.