
The clock played one bar of music then did three bongs.
I'm not saying that that's a metaphor for my time in Hyderabad, but it had been perhaps a little too hyped. All that talk of it being the spiciest food in India, it was inevitable that I'd find it beige.

For the record, after the bongs the other 299 people watching the clock went nuts. There was cheering and whooping. It was just me being an underwhelmed, been-there-done-that curmudgeon.
These guys better not go to Eastgates; SavaCentre will see a rush on clean underwear when Cat's Cradle Pussywillow III tips to the o'clock. Is SavaCentre still there? I hope so, although it's largely irrelevant to this post. And fade to grey.
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