Bandra fair... an experience all right. At the top of the Giant Wheel, I clutched my cotton candy and tried to admire the harbour view. This was no ferris wheel.

I couldn't escape the certainty that the scruffy ride operator had lost a bolt and replaced it with a piece of twine. Or a shoelace. Squinting up at the engine area, I saw three car tires spinning and a black belt that looked leather.

We swayed in our basket, sixty feet in the air. No bars. No seatbelts. I thought longingly of the automatic safety of Canada's Wonderland: titanium safety bars and authoritative 16-year-olds.

The ride started. As we whipped around at an impossible speed, I craned my neck looking for the ride operator... looking for reassurance that someone was in charge.

At that moment he appeared. On the edge of my basket. in the middle of the ride He was leaping from basket to basket as we hurtled through the air.

Safety shmafety.

Later he explained that sometimes he "gets bored"

Indian carnies... in a class by themselves.

*

Later I snacked on popcorn (caramel, cheese, chat, or masala) and sat through some numerology (I'm an 8. The future looks mysterious).

I watched enviously as my companions inhaled three plates of Indian fast food: bhel puri, pani puri, and pav samosa (samosa in a toasten bun slatheren with green and tamarind sauces. Samosa burger? I don't get it, but everyone loves them). I asked if they were worried about getting sick... I wanted reassurance that it was safe so I could justify trying it all.

But they said that they just "say a prayer and eat it"

I didn't say a prayer. But I ate some of everything (I had to! This is Bombay! Famous for its street food!). Then I went home and waited for the gastric apocalypse.

So far, so good.

6:33 a.m. - 2003-09-20