tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60673633634894652352024-03-12T19:38:15.742-07:00Hannah Petersen's PhotojournalHi, I'm Hannah, a character in Irene Black's first novel, The Moon's Complexion. These are some of the photos I took in the novel. You can purchase all Irene's books at www.goldenford.co.uk or from www.ireneblack.co.uk or any good bookshop quoting ISBN 9780953161324
Or you can read The Moon's Complexion as an eBook from http://www.virtualtales.com.
In India you can order it at a cheaper rupee rate from http://pothi.com/pothi/book/irene-black-moons-complexionIrene Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288938125302699225noreply@blogger.comBlogger8125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067363363489465235.post-48162732964523030642007-05-16T05:38:00.000-07:002007-05-16T06:17:40.564-07:00Mamallapuram<div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify">The next part of my story, as told in <strong>The Moon's Complexion</strong> takes place in Mamallapuram (also known as Mahabalipuram), an ancient coastal city in the South Indian state of Tamil Nadu . It was here that the Pallava Dynasty built some of the earliest temples in South India dating from the seventh and eighth centuries. In spite of what happened to me there, it's a magical place, as I hope the following extracts from <strong>The Moon's Complexion</strong> and pictures demonstrate.</div><div align="justify"><br /><br /></div><div align="justify">'Ahead the twin spires of the Shore Temple kept watch over the Bay of Bengal, as they had done since the eighth century. To Hannah they resembled golden pyramid cakes sandwiched with butter-cream, where layers of sandstone carvings had been eroded by centuries of salt wind.'<br /></div><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065139310329052530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCmp31m75ppMlpZGZm61568UQlBawyBGOg_ZEjDHsrei4cV0nPXAFRQmIb2w1YUZkgOrroYu6-pBKSjGi-uH334FmP647MGVLaLcwpoER3k5_XPX8tycVs2a6MQRe0ll4_1UQ3XvEzusaD/s320/Mam+shore+temples+amend.jpg" border="0" /> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065141208704597442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6g9F3VtlZYlNtlBHf4YWbHjBB7ZTUDfKr37bTDe2UpSkT9qy3FqFZr3Ki2bgxMC4dWVK0SsurFtYzY7TxbnghYowbNPLGxCvvYZUB0WK9ThBDOwk0Zy3uULqRFrSDf1JwuQNR4ZBaBsby/s320/shore+temple+3.jpg" border="0" /><p align="justify"><br />'A group of women and children, rainbow saris and long skirts pulled up to reveal glimpses of slender, rust-brown ankles, were playing chicken with the tide, running to the water’s edge and retreating with excited shrieks as the dying waves rushed in and splashed their feet. '<br /><br /></p><p align="justify"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065139297444150610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxNh_xqJzq-58_8h-Y4tsShy2tfYR7Gg346s5ukxKpUPSBxhfwm0uUSMBVjbpHtLhAiIIfQAfMlAfuyQaNEMu41KMOIiY2sDk14oNRczekOu5qeaN9cEmlcjoWRp5KgFieBJ2spRJC0zwV/s320/chicken+tide.jpg" border="0" /><br />'They reached the temple compound and let its tranquillity wash over them. The outer walls, where long lines of huge, stone bulls looked out to sea, had fared little better than the temple buildings themselves, time-ravaged but still recognisable. '<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065140087718133122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3adsRHJlmjV94nMzp-bQED0TVyVPJx1sE1smRp3MQryYu7raMWGx7EGUJIPd2_l_GM_UNF3pmiYV3qI_nmSs5CtnQmFFfLGq_Q605Tg7ELx9onda7F_WIMX76sfNgJL_kifTQjiRRFFjv/s320/Mam+nandis.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />'For three hours they discovered Mamallapuram’s ancient sites, treading barefoot on the sacred soil. By now the sandy earth had become a frying pan for feet unaccustomed to the ferocity of India’s midday sun. '</p><p><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065142806432431618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizN0wptFZ26AaI9qE1wJnrhLgu-frRI0MAe9JQjvGOrS6tpgT-0178qGLs9zOM01cybQh6OUyyWCD95WMD0AUPWEVcH-EtGeZFJwo5QzeSl5Se8Jeaw5e48wnKwmFpT13hPeVd_ceUB3OT/s320/mam+rocks+2.jpg" border="0" /><p align="justify"><br />'"Rathas?"<br />"Chariots - used in processions to carry the gods out of the temple. But these rathas, they’re misnamed. They’re actually little temples cut out of a ridge of solid granite. Things aren’t always what they seem, Hannah. "'</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065142789252562402" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguiIu9Hc_E5UawQ5rG1U2T1AGRYlb_jfWEZjL2Z4jSWxo8RvYzIRYEtX6sO2sb97T4sUwRCzAn6yGL2zjjj-81X38-F0zmdsJLH3ib1qwAul2FjRdTrhHiUPdEUohH_pEnBv4IW_elfFQx/s320/mam+rathas+3.jpg" border="0" /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065142797842497010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0mlnoI3Gh8A2K0HShdWn_suR4gTzaQfBhydjdgDNkvzyEn1_ASIhvfh1bE_MuXSm8_2-HWK_MijCk6mtwVcYmjyaJSBiSLI8bBW-cCuJWxnjPVDbgnKXh-5f1tOwjTXGnt1-3hAmYm_ym/s320/Mam+rathas+4.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p align="justify"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065140104898002338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbHGSdzEhIO1N96WKpHUn37RPKw0u7VIFh_aqMxpA9Dllrqu1UMG1RjWr_oZasfNfANhUEtYvUj5q3cHNRioZyxj0eCl9r7e55s4SC28WUdw8IT8l5nb-neVdb8oTBbtA8c9CG8Qa_lPGl/s320/Mam+rathas+1.jpg" border="0" /> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065141212999564754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcud8Q1lr8WP9p9YYHO6NkHl2xu0LV20VPx9vB2UUn4Vsp7UQl_Z1_VZ_haGClV0wBx3l-KRtB6x7Nt2UEwqjI7i4hmmT8JrzqQdSJiZi7CL5eXZzkIyR0UfbRqwIrMQMAYoDr4WqtOb0R/s320/mam+rathas+2.jpg" border="0" /><br />'The Mandapas, ancient rock temple halls carved into a boulder-strewn hill, provided a refuge from the overbearing heat.'</p><p> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065142819317333522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW7smYbqv3xM7JGvPyLX7kvf4Kr0617DGfFZiUVmWKD_a9MpjkbWUF2oUetJ-MKElBFMIETlv4xzXgUFdFfYQCi524FeCV1-WF-civ-atQG1ZgeyH63m2uJlGrMOKVsacMLibK-M9nz7Ll/s320/mam+rrocks+1.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="justify">"‘And under the mountain life goes on as usual,’ he said. ‘Milking the cow, carrying water, depicted for eternity.’<br />‘Nothing is for eternity.’"</p><p align="justify"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065139306034085218" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGon3E3KLlcZzmWj6upK98fMJNvBZZMtluhVbuZTX25-cdaChJLjm3kSRTh0ffK5mQN1in5nexwwcFkGFFi1duWoqm2DqmoJUeb2kjPymE30YZz6RET5JURYTo15-6DrU5A01r5R5jpaCF/s320/Mam+krishna.jpg" border="0" /><br />'Carved upon the rock face a cavalcade of men, deities and animals converged on a cleft in the centre that represented the Ganges River. The pageant on the rock was in perfect harmony. Not so Ashok and Hannah. Their unsung melody had slid almost imperceptibly into a minor key.'</p><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065140096308067730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhisNQ-vDfFjF1nK7p2G5sA1T3XCbP475qPZK-HWPBCHcnU0NiHrT-_9vlajg-IPMvyJ4Co28cIliZVW1YRJo_TApM3G_tAlj8pSof0dlevkhDTLinJakd7xJ0SZrcY0IOSiUugQITujsEZ/s320/Mam+penance+1.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><p><span style="color:#3333ff;">Photos and Text © Irene Black</span></p><br /><p></p>Irene Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288938125302699225noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067363363489465235.post-49972846136221933022007-03-03T10:50:00.000-08:002009-01-27T03:00:19.563-08:00Chennai<div>Hi, this is the next part of my photo journal,which shows the locations in Irene Black's novel <strong>The Moon's Complexion.</strong> At this point I was in Chennai. Things were really hotting up, in every sense of the word.<br /></div><div> </div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295926521275482610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 260px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH_Oca2-ikzaQRuDMJI37EAjR8hH-lPXFgGbv6UOjBArm1MQVWV40cTHJ69y5iDlnGQgAJwnWDFuOz7IkKXr4wjqUzx7MRQMmXfCZyniAcWOzLdQOhJP-btUEDMS7swkaBU4iL1oSQtKfE/s400/ISBN+9780953161324.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://www.goldenford.co.uk/">http://www.goldenford.co.uk/</a> or <a href="http://www.ireneblack.co.uk/">http://www.ireneblack.co.uk/</a> or <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/">http://www.amazon.co.uk/</a> </div><br /><div></div><br /><div><br /><em>"Hotel Pandava on the Poonemale Road in Madras, or Chennai as it was now called, was an almighty celebration of art deco eccentricity... "<br /><br />"A colonnaded walkway and opening out onto it were the ground floor guest rooms."</em><br /><br /></div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037773263964928994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5PFhIjQ6iGIvghDb45yBCq8lEwdQ2L69-0cJeOv93UPmVGxoQjBH1mheG23MbyNPP3jX7sBM0TjrGuHQLpdLUwJKVmvbz0bsqFRNl2V2BS3Zaso27at-PGETGmyln2-nYqOH_DBHG4mrI/s320/hotel+columns.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><em>"Perched over them, layered balconies, painted in a riot of yellow, lilac, red, cream and blue checks, curves and stripes...</em> "<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037773178065583010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjamQPZuesAxwQO-E5xX9ePv_ySop6Gtx6rH_2Suq6J2swL0-u4VVYtfUM9AXWj6Zgv0vLpJco6r6lbfkPHr_0V-QTt_vGNAJcFO8DzxvN0kePx8Wc1cTXMP5OMyCoSxnyo7fT-nPjN0W0q/s320/balconies.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><em>"...the back streets behind the hotel were visible, with their strange mix of architecture: ramshackle little dwellings and tiny roadside stores snuggling unselfconsciously up to the great, wedding cake pink façade of a Raj-era girls’ school. "<br /></em><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037775029196487698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtF-6ji9P1Z_vM3OVJNjlE1yUeuW788NJ_GOEjW-RslOaXOHAXzjHqYPiNM9rXkVfYbRKccdPHF4rPI4ylZ6k42FByrgQHPQ0giuYJijsQXt96ubw4AeK7ClTcX8vwyC68w_FaYOnrUdGU/s320/hotel+school.jpg" border="0" /><br /><em>"India was a strange psychedelic wonderland, whose dark forces were manifested in the Qutab Shahi Tombs. Now she was in Sugar Candy Land, where no harm could come to her."</em></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037773182360550322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAfWGr-9hLKMRjSl066CCS58rouV30zjcg2MZzB8uWNVFGctUn8nxXPvkfHE5NfCYVl7pL464qOw5FsVfJfY5V0iJtoNjp_VBoDF80Kwvt2yd65NJ9SCOaOnBb59IK6GPjBKBxSuQZqyXl/s320/hotel+roof.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><em>"Hannah stopped at a fruit stall, a perfumed cornucopia of delights. Enormous bunches of red, green and yellow bananas hung from the awning..."</em></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><em><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037775024901520386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxDcYwgkPX96eTvLBIdIi-yt3jniqx7K9rN9totVmLmfV-Qg3eCe0wi8BsW5iZLbnb_IfXerygHl2BsMSCLkyffJI-zeqE6CsEtjuuzdNFAq2LDrFO0f8Zz81JnN2MzzsdnLuxuoL1mgdu/s320/chennai+fruit.jpg" border="0" /><br />"A family with a bicycle had stopped to watch her, father pushing, older daughter on the saddle, baby straddling the cross bar, mother walking alongside. "</em><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><em><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037775020606553074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDk4msgCK_-li4FJB49zKvTc41xICPam3cFpksgdGXAzX50o6DFcKaNumpZ9tlOS0wORZ_GTHzJcUqZ1HM043OKwomOmOZFkSf74iLdCVqPpZaL6gaja3Md6LrZfTaPt4WMqvex-dd-AcS/s320/chennai+1.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />"A monster had landed on the grass; related, perhaps, to an old Hillman Imp, though this creature had been decapitated, so that instead of a passenger compartment, it carried a large platform on its carapace…standing in front of the monster, blowing in apparently uncoordinated abandon on strange clarinets and cornets. "</em></div><br /><div><br /><em><br /><br /></div></em><br /><div><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037775033491455026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS2UPfFZ6CZ1KS8IG8k6rEc7dLbbkvQp_oavyuvKGlhj3B3kOMZpCEiKfyChUl4cyzxmE2T7f-NXTh8Yktw6YbE7lj4jJgPBxOIhoNP27dKO7SVUCRePlN6r1VikwUnczRPWfBKOrlRNpb/s320/band.jpg" border="0" /><br />"Before her stood a goddess. "<br /><em></em><br /><em><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037775033491455010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi48NbDDyHisABOlRk-huyXO-cgwgQ7zpR_GpIMWG7Bb6-RPOiOhU-LJ2kEroT7GFL85MlM-8qo7s-_sc-bablhwRmEIsNgNo_ZrM-j-jT9RCoamXPEFgpzKueaKeIVgxMD5FzvbxrLM0-a/s320/goddess.jpg" border="0" /><br />"When they laughed, which they did frequently, the rolls of fat on their exposed, well-upholstered midriffs wobbled in unselfconscious delight. "</em><br /><br /><em><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037776485190401122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6DRxtmeND_omDwRHSanRjhe84lwK61-zTHMpcPCc7gEA7F8gud3whe9BmETGnNsfaiutxIFWkn7LNdKOOOD3Yqep4QnPhYN-tjnC1vzX9YzDeo-z_fZXs5yCk9b24jKIJQB8xE1uItlBA/s320/wedding+2.jpg" border="0" /><br />"Hannah watched as the Gopal Band set off out of the hotel grounds, a riot of dissonant sounds echoing in its wake. "</em><br /><em><br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037776485190401106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJvwx-xSbvj6LVj1qBrWeGlp2XisXH-QxBt0fQxhuXkSMPLmWblOlvYJldQ3yvoNvWjRSXyFLFB_u_OLlZknXdsy2e1Wrmvpjx7Fv9KwYHHGZ_-Rt-KFPWKl7avbv_MkkaLW29mTLAb3j7/s320/chennai+wedding+1.jpg" border="0" /><br />"After it on the horse rode the timid young bridegroom in his cream silk wedding suit and red turban "</p><br /><p><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037776480895433794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9aA9lgHamr-6GbePRQua17jV-R9mMWm-f6hWMl40l5EkHEdaoX1DHROVmdI5W7dTfdO0n8qaQRzYoegUieb5fhzhJrVvBd7JWpkfEZFd1qjcBNxGBJgSEyGLPb7BfZ5gsrVCDqZCcxV8x/s320/bridegroom.jpg" border="0" /><br />"The noisy cavalcade crossed the main road, halting the never-ending stream of assorted vehicles</em></p> "<br /><br /><br /><br /><p><em></em></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037777159500266610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV-r8mKKpucTpMNY1DEZf77N03_rVVv-oDa2Tos4SOSDoMsPKDqL55LkMaVwngp8HiKQGk3q82WmEsgCjcL2KT1N8EyqQS3BbsbW-MD3Gy9Ts6p2_foE1T_eRYBBXRWCv2tXjFT2d3EJev/s320/wedding+procession.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><span style="color:#3333ff;">Photos and Text © Irene Black</span></p>Irene Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288938125302699225noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067363363489465235.post-70575161904257525122007-01-16T07:12:00.000-08:002009-01-27T02:58:39.052-08:00Golconda - The Qutab Shahi Tombs<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtvPv0IedazDXkjyYoVaINB2_XzCo5y7sYCqCJEBeTYtfaxqwoVjSY27BEPLr2uYwRykRwWPuQDe7QTf9NgWq61VU2ER_44js_Jf9CWnDzp4QKAehe6isJmRge_BxldgQEZ2IuLckaiec1/s1600-h/CoverMCSmall.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295926155950900434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 260px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtvPv0IedazDXkjyYoVaINB2_XzCo5y7sYCqCJEBeTYtfaxqwoVjSY27BEPLr2uYwRykRwWPuQDe7QTf9NgWq61VU2ER_44js_Jf9CWnDzp4QKAehe6isJmRge_BxldgQEZ2IuLckaiec1/s400/CoverMCSmall.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsxHwfAnfAhcVDunmpKBj2yaxUUT87z8VTeqy457OA-SrqLvB3wmvjw2748VWI76PkVUVSakGoYS3gmVvumiKtFnettLyXmqz-D_4BO9Nds_fwdgyrfPNDI2OGVG2s10mryqGTuYTkDjkI/s1600-h/ISBN13.jpg"></a><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://www.goldenford.co.uk/"><span style="color:#3333ff;">www.goldenford.co.uk</span></a> or <a href="http://www.ireneblack.co.uk/">http://www.ireneblack.co.uk/</a><br /><br /><em>'She stood mesmerised ... the blackened limestone domes of these colossal, square edifices testified to the passing of centuries, and despite the harmony of the architecture, they purveyed a sense of emptiness and desolation, which mirrored their purpose in a way that shocked.'</em></div><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><div><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020648214873307938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPA5YWt0Ohkw92pV8hYCdHSQ7zeZdwwzIBQ-Mw_LrvQ0aoAJnhS5E3T9r03jHY78sK0UeJTg_Dyn0758BeqdfORMokwj9evlP6V8RMcRpaplJUs3YQKcseGtJ9iAljJLW5tksjUAMxvbxg/s320/06010006.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020648223463242578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsKw3nWSqAp-lVfuC85SIieLyJRGLNRmMtOwzWZ11IQcKjU99quZmSiT8DHlLc9whbvn0wmz8k078Ps5rjaJ2QIfIZIg3_h_QW2efCNQR-bVu_-E21E8l6OldvXIrCVobU3ruJtc1mBaFN/s320/tomb+2.jpg" border="0" /><br /><em>'She wandered along sandy paths under bougainvillaea-covered pergolas</em> ...'</div><br /><br /><div><br /></div><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020648223463242562" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVHb8eHyBQZuwsTWZzMI1KcLS5znr5ZrOSNEiE6slg39vJ2EyC_-1M7Vu098MfDZQwO07DepOTWsVv968hwTzZBUkn-RGbceD8eDzpzMmMo4MGBF2fHtMWulhQtFQNuo5RnAuTMnZUPVQ2/s320/pergolas.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020647287160371922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga-0uZyTzZ6Ieckw7dAC2gGulucYAhaLMaHBYAmx5yvMh55BEPWX7ejQEuP0s3MqU63_roAciXhGpvH0Rg-XI9Tv_oRqOJuHwmOCkTC6GugShuMSJMIiklz9YehX95cb7bCGMwbyF07bZj/s320/06010001.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020647304340241154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZDnpIBxH5hRQ2ezmePtIRHli4VVtIMNgE5lZgQ04MedpnB7egvsMGx7gYopRfzSjPxtUs0YjyGvC200WScVHPaV_q3ymPzLnDnJxPSR9kdiq7A5QlZRNY_JxYT41-OYzI7fQnA_GW2XE-/s320/06010004.JPG" border="0" /><br /><em>'...admiring the cold perfection of Islamic arches and elaborate stone balustrades.'</em></p><br /><br /><p><em></em><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020648219168275250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH10YFIs91D_Ot_9UrX45DIkcGezTSV5XxBKuVjhRQ9nRITUOFAtlde3uXG8ntkDrRXjpzYFtBKJ6ndRkWHNbYEf7XLAQnK-RVGW6FmEaLLXLgbPbU9wZcvc_ArA5oGXVA8gX815PZ70cn/s320/06010007.JPG" border="0" /></p><br /><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020647295750306530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEXF-V28-sy6Ztu3RDfbb44EmBdhVgdl40WDoE89S4Okc1DSSjP4V4zDF16HQ2TY4w9Viok18xdR4NSBwh6m830RlVBPUsH7tpO47qQ6ui_wN0W_jXd-vCtDdpxxLU-1SeumYYIqliXMJk/s320/06010002.JPG" border="0" /><br /><em>'...stopping for a moment to watch a couple of workmen high up on a domed roof, as confident as crows, no safety devices to hold them in place.'</em></div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020648232053177186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigO3K1cFLkLsh-jf5CR8Jh6ZdjpNhD7OpneB5SmsMle9HCK9yreqMxysT1o_m-ciexgDF3mMYfgxmI2vfi-e4MygFHX43JHsPMcpo8_NT2PIoz7k3C3FKWB-m69Awcicu4pYO6BSvNiJCC/s320/workers+close+up.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020647300045273842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjifVzZtGyY7_l6LvkL7kYlidh4agtDryCyXV3zGYbUAHPtP2zp5tqrXWNubZoEoYqPIP4I64rOef3Xmj5Ljl5YBZP6alhRPpVk9sPFH18jT-mUFzLJfM6Wh_QPvEnsdBvk_g25HmK0knjY/s320/06010003.JPG" border="0" /></p><br /><br /><p><em>'Inside they were empty except for a black basalt sarcophagus...</em>'</p><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5020647312930175762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf8AvhUUD-V1q7-lwoB5YBKHFEs5ZZciaxG3GLkReuLTD-tB7NWumV-Ts_Qb1alMGbpoaLi0CriZUKeQ3eVX4njn_XYWig6OrX955PnkQZh39MrQnvLlE_BYfFFP6MtVLfv0A2k0jyibmM/s320/06010005.JPG" border="0" /></p><br /><br /><p></p><br /><br /><p><span style="color:#3333ff;">Photos and Text © Irene Black</span></p></div>Irene Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288938125302699225noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067363363489465235.post-87665212929838810362007-01-03T04:23:00.000-08:002007-01-03T05:04:06.033-08:00Hyderabad - The fortress of Golconda<em>‘The massive ruins of the Golconda citadel festered like an elaborate but crumbling sandcastle.’<br /></em><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015780472917760674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhivzQXZQJ4pllosvy60npuUB9jT5kqrqR0mtR_ipAvFlUgGneHSKwhMVaakLt8OF0dC5uOfT2A3ZOl9vvRK7fZGn_iA0vpnR3RZjnkZUkjhe-Y1fDkOVdlxVuLdKG5q7L9dGiogb3rsjPt/s320/05300010.JPG" border="0" /><br /><em></em></p><p><em>‘[From] the entrance...'</em></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015780481507695282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi438BBlMpelY5GrtiUdq-bCtf-SiWK3tZ4RlFjqcC4isOZoilJMXaUzW6bG3H6Y5roIqNU-ZQgiwDAZNszL5lwQzeyFRg8UnKEgFkVCEhSq8eEfDISjTrOnz8kWgczMd_ffaJbCjtGAVdX/s320/fort+entrance.jpg" border="0" /><em></em></p><p><em></em> </p><p><em> …they made their way across the grassy base to the steps up to the citadel, past the first ruins…’</em><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015780490097629890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy3Fo8Q-RAUA1pi3F7hF6qESy1tRm-OMIVx5UzwC39vuzxPiqkQMsKTjjt4XDzmihmOlw5p-v1zn0Pju9rkA9od-tUStjhmf89PD38bFSW8ZZQgC1SVg3H1wDDs2XgOccbesGL_8GMUczx/s320/05300003.JPG" border="0" /><br /><em></em></p><p><em>‘…and along the Grand Portico.’ </em><br /><em></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015782843739708146" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd3kU3DDbO5P1mZIlnM82vvwn9GTTipv9fL2ewDHLObHHkNrNp9PSw-T9_Kul0ci32ciVMz6wH3N7XKCvJ_r9JjBmlPtgD909g_cr1_QrUFCxTU9Lmsc9q9SslAX_fYNFh0SORD9AtajHM/s320/05300002.JPG" border="0" /><br /></p><p>‘…old granite walls, splendid and still powerful in their decaying glory.’<br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015780498687564514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY0eF0JHc-3rDIJjLy4RgnTaCPPYWEKKp_5aZTMI63Tqiy56FmpA5NNkKOx4yaFH7fdje4jtiU5JA2tD3KzfbktlPD6rAtMcwG8dXo70Cu9ljr10R-kszP51k1R4tkG3hxEUj0-_x_vl94/s320/golconda.jpg" border="0" /><br /></p><p>‘…hundreds of steps that led to the top of the hill.’<br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015782848034675458" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIbg5AKf_TZWSas4eKXZNDEXdAShG0-tgDxD60nkPlhJJ8zY2VT0dskIwFBu0LERgwrDHHPxFouAfhJC0_HyrGuxa31El16qWjXaYUWlhM5ZHXUA1xxANR6WSpwIIoDOTEY8P4QNTyMoK3/s320/05300011.JPG" border="0" /><br /></p><p>‘As if the hill upon which they stood had thrown them up in some cataclysmic collision of wills.’</em></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015782873804479250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLTmTViil_BrU5eMUM2EY5Zt4ztcrAL7eg6QwOF2B33WeWcR5OqBe64kZelJbFVONap6S7kGbB0JB5RcTPCg7k50tTawn44Hj8_AWojM3M7e8-YEviLYiSgByZHcacP_rNKR-w1T3WlheG/s320/05300015.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><p><br /><em>‘Dominating the tableau like jet on a pebble beach stood the Qutab Shahi Tombs, each the domed mausoleum of some ancient Islamic noble.’ </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015786966908312418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7JG8bo2oN_c7Zk-TLc3zuN_QJ7b-Ff0iiUa27MrRnv8vo7l8fRcb2o-RdvpucvvWfX1J0xkOEhpqipENJb_awqaHIghTBSEAuVGgCLwR60oUto9AxWXVJRGkt7-qrwa5BB2Z017fs9iA9/s320/tombs+from+Golconda.jpg" border="0" /><br /></p><p>‘As they climbed, they explored the citadel…’ </em><em><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015782890984348466" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9eCIWnTA-yIRvz1lvYAvLBimV9lKQy-8e8lRmqWHmOqiPrAKvxcWi1baUR1kAAuoPify1q16rEOdcv4F-9JSDkCQnPR7SueMY06DbusJym8JRj5NLOgFspNlJk-x5TxyR0t2sAUCGRBlL/s320/05300032.JPG" border="0" /><br /></p><p>‘…the twelve-arched Durbar Hall.’ </p><p><br /><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015787778657131378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijM2v-0vvyEFPzevNVVP4sKpmIta9Yj161QQi1GsoX3W758sqZbDhRdiTwR3CN1u302uQNgI8I2-MRZSDWspeUAXliXu-pk89sKK28wwa24ZPbcdk5a9MI_1V6G-egTCk7ioNZZ9X9eynt/s320/durbar+hall+1.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><br />‘… a party of noisy school children had arrived, clad in crisp green and white uniforms, the little girls with their hair in identical bunches.’ </em><br /><em><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015786962613345106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkClcY2RtSTdLqOeHtraqObCvlhDxiwdz9j0N4ZUOZyH-aDWzo1C_u-SzHwsIhSfhP9OYrlaNPqNfuew5dCbVy8yEmzRnGMQYfmwXXbJqixUpxMyq-PoaU6PhDbDzhbcVz7SXdHBi1dWGz/s320/children.jpg" border="0" /><br /></em></p><p><em>‘…started off slowly down the hill, taking a different route via the harem palaces.’ </em></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015780498687564498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI8Dw8FDydzNQTkOsnctKGFCUgPDcJddRwk0gyn-TUu_P0hup6er1tQf0e7eEP-0V5tbl31CX2YhXTXw3NuEXaRkq5mXrDwy1KT7Te275t3qYglRLeJsT3pNw9y0ccHOi8RkSMYA5rZKWa/s320/Golconda++-H%27s+route+down.jpg" border="0" /><br /><em></em></p><p><em>‘ Little was left to testify to their former magnificence except the huge façade that now provided perching places for small green parakeets.’ </em></p><br /><p></p><em><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015786962613345090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtwGCM6Gw40R27BLwZd_mmFv2MjiG9zYLS1G2qoy2lRRfrrTHhtP41KTtekYmPS_y5XOQ60_LfVV2qtBuAdutV7TwjIictw9XTa7G8e8zjZURFDMAIaIXcI65XGsx9vAiDeRnDF6RWLHZ8/s320/parakeets.jpg" border="0" /><br /></em><span style="color:#3333ff;"><br />Photos and Text © Irene Black</span>Irene Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288938125302699225noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067363363489465235.post-86720533880697929482006-12-29T08:14:00.000-08:002007-05-16T10:02:13.831-07:00HYDERABAD - THE OLD CITY<div>Hyderabad - my first stop in India.This is where <strong>The Moon's Complexion</strong> began...<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><em>'Market stallholders held up yard-long gourds or plump melons and stood to attention...'</em> </div><br /><br /><br /><div><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5013983899372717330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy44IWpY7lr5acnVHRTckbdY5bn03hKEeGJLWwVSIJ5XvIjr3JiTE_Qkl5AOAZc3pdEnutJ2Xuq57_wIOn29PZBvgGcGZh5MdwGJSMPvhBtUVWSREwHhQI53OEePhH9d873s01lF1gKVfy/s320/hyderabad+yard+long+gourd.jpg" border="0" /><br /><em>'People called from </em><a name="OLE_LINK1"><em>shed-like shop entrances</em></a><em>. ‘Photo, here please! Photo!’ '</em><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5013985226517611890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3zu2Pi1R6xc-Kbojj2Br7BFgmadi9iyHoTtuQzdi8BlCn2m_s0NIqd7I-G_kXwj_riubqiSOUzZtrgW8x-MXV_IapOtHDd52oa_Mphz59T7-qbfQT6zTLt8fV3xKZwc5JlqJGl_4hyfVq/s320/05310022.JPG" border="0" /><br /><em>'...shops selling colourful lac-bangles, wares spilling out onto the streets. '</em><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5013983907962651954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitDKCxmGYlOpaYl4ijI4rHrpueWIxyx0u0pxsFN7k-OFmOUalChL0m4hbfGcn6anHWZW0W4Ug6EOU9jiaR3h-_0FGuSzzY6YKuG0abKE65fHcdftnVEbZtMyb9bPL0umE9kro5zXntaH4A/s320/bangle+shop.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5013983925142521170" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHLtPvHb3YiAKdgH3qltd-URmaQ8pXNjsoR_zXfShUJ4iFMY_1fm2gOGk2042hmgmnkJ4BS71X-B0K3qcse2yn5CUO1RKk_otSd08FXCXc9uVKljwu5gzxuAONI1MF0lr1Y0WbrCdHY_nH/s320/lac+bangles.jpg" border="0" /><br />The Charminar - <em>'an ancient Islamic arch that stood in the centre in a state of splendid decay.'</em></div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5014012319171315074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi69cHu966lcQvEBFBWiyLHZE5BFvuAVL5sb4JkWAi_chnmcMKa6EJq1xfm0Dky-5V_yWtGuxnXeXtl22ariOqKzNAY-GQecULAVh4KwyEp3ONjbJA0-lj-u15kBtCY5hDFju5nzED6N_bO/s320/05310017.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5013983912257619266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlejLCo4ECMbriWAuzOBwofBQA46HHVGmKt3nZdT9m7PyRgtsVq5f7S1H1QLdEQHDR399EZgAQZTxztKSdCDaLCdDRBhXAAlTVQL-mBYveISsnatwMMwBrLGfsMDempgurJ0DjEML7nqFu/s320/Charminar.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div><em>'There reigned beneath the bustle of frenetic activity, and the clamour of competing motor horns, an undercurrent of self-assurance and control.'</em></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5013985222222644578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjN70aM3th6V1C724jwvDw_Al3wiU4_f4ZvThtn9_KlTFVIIpZZ5ut8bpt_-Tir22A3lKL99oruVz4kact_PYK3rfRG4jcem-_viHcMhxZBHcQTKDW2po1RNuAodQFDBVUvS-OiCPsCbYO/s320/Hyderabad.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /></div><p></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015102490855250274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYx-1pkFbB6pSiS8u5wsfFooiQDnj2kz07ir4Jy6fwuwyMn9qWnA9H7xPxVqS4dLfaZxGyKTiBWQooruMulQbnfRMuUMIeAgh7xCDOn85yMLouuFBBrVhNrolKcA8EnJoiRIGMdxctycZ5/s320/shop+signs.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p><em>'She stopped by a pair of giggling girls in bright saris, who sat on the pavement weaving garlands of jasmine and marigolds.'</em> </p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5065204748450774562" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT92lezuXjVFCf2MA-j8iGDUJJ4V31llUjtdmZ9ml0glNEnje64N3z-0i4MXW538uIVKlNgY79l1KZloEvRnTC93RkzB_PZ5X0iYC5b12yTfC0oauZQHaZfghuKPC1kWhwuz6Nmf74tpKy/s320/giggling+girls.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p>Photos and Text © Irene Black</p></div>Irene Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288938125302699225noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067363363489465235.post-37319830153025517102006-12-29T08:05:00.000-08:002009-01-27T02:45:41.049-08:00HYDERABAD<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2GwzPbI-WdjAXgc41-USdfU306U8m1-6mfr43qC6nOId9tDsGWs2qA_i2cLxaUPs-XXvVzdvMb_o5phU_lAROW99RlaRCLind5hls2kUtPzbWqnj1to2j5XjrYqWnrqDc8xMcES8FDwF7/s1600-h/shop+signs.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5013981915097826562" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2GwzPbI-WdjAXgc41-USdfU306U8m1-6mfr43qC6nOId9tDsGWs2qA_i2cLxaUPs-XXvVzdvMb_o5phU_lAROW99RlaRCLind5hls2kUtPzbWqnj1to2j5XjrYqWnrqDc8xMcES8FDwF7/s320/shop+signs.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Hyderabad was my first stop in India. </div><br /><div>Market stallholders held up yard-long gourds or plump melons and stood to attention.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5013981897917957330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrltAe0GTB3usSmX9wvpNz-6w61GwQ9PjEGKngqICr8TzKc96lIOY9IbUeBQRYNrZP3HWx3PVWw3Om6Om6Jl6RpdnKmi-HuITgXl_tpMcRQEX6uHw-Kuhy9RLtMlUF9GCtXipSZkLpef8z/s320/gourd.jpg" border="0" /><br />People called from <a name="OLE_LINK1">shed-like shop entrances</a>. ‘Photo, here please! Photo!’<br /><br />Shops selling colourful lac-bangles, wares spilling out onto the streets.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5013981897917957314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh06T2NCSVrOslfiB4LeTBJYarjzBE1HnQNWZlfxvsM46WcnNjpTEMciDevfh1XtOg6caNHfyMCJGM98wwf094uyZPyVCD5Q-mXHJgqfQy-MzmYLBKOFS3gFAdsvmZm6lUYieMHR1lbHz_j/s320/bangle+shop.jpg" border="0" /><br />The Charminar, an ancient Islamic arch that stood in the centre in a state of splendid decay.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5013981906507891938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcV4Tde-OQVHrYp6nTQNcn6hg_qCEpMgX0tSy7GH6dQyPUxLWAQHk0MbutX4DQ-XYREO9rMNT-YvBH6KM_Mh87UBuOmYAaw8LjFZQFtkyB0cvOa83El9rvd8PJkyKtuXVx6HX03bXRxDbS/s320/05310017.JPG" border="0" /></div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5013981910802859250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirqNQXYSMukXCJnN0ghTkigIJY1_xXYm6ZpPV-ucI4o9FnrBNQi63s2f2llSZmRbUzsSw_dU8kMOrH8T6H9HIjAVG1U0uA7k-7LJY1XDD7YGQmf0dHnwNfalYhINYmn0gZWPB3YI5F5RpN/s320/Charminar.jpg" border="0" />Irene Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288938125302699225noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067363363489465235.post-28901235664448836232006-12-29T07:54:00.000-08:002009-01-27T02:42:43.120-08:00IMPORTANT - READ BEFORE OPENING THE NEXT FILE<div>Hi, I’m Hannah, one of the characters in Irene Black’s novel, <strong>The Moon’s Complexion</strong>. Most of the action takes place in India and in Sri Lanka, and I thought you might like to see some of the locations I snapped in my role as a photojournalist, accompanied by some quotes from the book. Of course I have not included anything that might give away any parts of the plot.<br /><br />However, before you turn to the first file (Hyderabad), please consider very carefully whether you really want to do this. Have you read the book? If so, are you sure you don’t want it to stay in the world of your imagination? Or are you strong enough to be able to weather this without letting it take over?<br /><br />If you haven’t read the book and would like to read it first, you can purchase it from <a href="http://www.goldenford.co.uk/">http://www.goldenford.co.uk/</a> , or from <a href="http://www.ireneblack.co.uk/">http://www.ireneblack.co.uk/</a> or from <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/">http://www.amazon.co.uk/</a> or as an eBook from <a href="http://www.virtualtales.com/">http://www.virtualtales.com/</a> You can also read Irene's blog on <a href="http://www.thisthatfromireneblack.blogspot.com/">http://www.thisthatfromireneblack.blogspot.com/</a><br /><br /><strong>The Moon’s</strong> <strong>Complexion</strong> is now in its third edition with a smart new cover. </div><div> </div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295922001410116706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 260px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_wqqoldj9_bH6a3fDbQszCIwsZOUSxzgLmtW_V43hKiQV3G09TMSsG0C1xkKbxt-J10UyWZnqrsdkVQzsLtbG_wG1l1INFldQ6oQcBWEPRhUHXNINSLc5da3BYGb36z0hQn17Y1LbYcX_/s400/CoverMCSmall.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />If you’re the sort of person, who doesn’t mind watching the film before buying the book, you’ll be fine looking at the photos before you read it.<br /><br />Do keep revisiting each file as I might add other photos as I find them again. It’s been a long time…<br /><br />I’ll build up the files over several weeks. Hyderabad is the first, simply because it was my first stop in India. Even now, the memory of what happened there sends a few shudders down the old spine.<br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p>Photos and Text © Irene Black</p>Irene Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288938125302699225noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6067363363489465235.post-78308635829943739072006-12-23T04:17:00.001-08:002006-12-23T04:17:58.320-08:00Coming soon!Irene Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288938125302699225noreply@blogger.com