The Last India Overland
Craig Grant
Language: English
Pages: 385
ISBN: 0919926959
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
An over-looked classic, a Canadian On the Road.
Based on a trip the author took through Asia in the late 70's, The Last India Overland features a drug-fueled cast of ex-pats and refugees from reality, screwing and doping their way from London to the Khyber Pass. A fascinating mix of personalities and a tale thrillingly told, although decidedly not the kind of travelogue likely to be endorsed by the countries concerned.
Craig Grant based the novel on a bus trip he took that was the last India overland express to make it through Iran before the borders closed during the Iranian revolution in the 1970’s. It was a hairy, scary ride, with sexual adventure, weaponry (a pen, if I recall correctly), and suspense.
This volume is long out of print and it's overdue for revival, a new generation of readers and fun-seekers discovering its undeniable charm and unparalleled strangeness.
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Been vegetarians. Tim looked at Teach. “I guess it’s been seven years, hasn’t it, dear?” “Eight, I believe,” said Teach. Then Suzie lit up a cigarette. Teach said, in this cold tinny voice, “Would you mind not smoking at the table?” Suzie said, “Why?” Teach said, “Because I’m very allergic to smoke, it gives me severe congestion and headaches.” “That’s funny,” said Suzie. “That’s what I get if I don’t smoke.” She sounded pissed off. But she put her cigarette out, and I made a mental note.
I’m a pile of diarrhoea. Or a case of the Turkey Trots, as it might be called here. From what I hear, you’ll get to know me well before we get to India,” and she looks at Pete. Those were the two best ones, I think. Patrick had some leaves of lettuce on his head and he sprinkled some salad dressing on his toga. Kelly guessed what he was, a Caesar salad. Dana had a feather in her hair and a pillow under her blouse. Leda, after the swan flew off. Jenkins was next. He did a little sashay and hip.
Guess I fell in love with her. We liked the same books, the same movies. We were the weird ones. The ones who didn’t gather in the washroom and giggle about boys. We used to brush out each other’s hair.” She looked at me and then stared down at the lights of Pamukkale. “Did you ever have a friend like that?” she said in a whisper. I thought of this guy I knew back in Miller High in Regina. Billie was his name. He started reading books about sex when he was fourteen, I think. He was the guy who.
Gone biking. Bike tire slipped. C’s wrist crunched. Spent a nightmarish evening at the hospital, watching mangled bodies come & go thru Emergency. She isn’t taking to the cast too well. Last night at the movies (Breezy) F bought some popcorn, didn’t offer C any, maybe because she’s always refused it in the past. Something simmers, & this morning she brings it up, along with the fact that F. is spending what she calls precious money on cassettes when we don’t even have a player. (He says there.
I read my daybook entry, he says, “Hey, is today Malaria Monday?” Suzie says, “No, it’s Malaria Wednesday.” So Rockstar takes out his malaria tablets and a bottle of raki and knocks back about ten tablets with three or four gulps. Then he licks his chops and grins around at all of us. “I knew it was bloody Malaria something-or-other, ” he says. The only ones who laughed at this were me and Tim deLuca who’d showed up again out of nowhere. Teach tagging behind, stirring tea. Now Tim deLuca. That.