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Dhaka Carnival

February 23, 2013

dk290I was thinking of Herbert Money this evening as I picked my way through the smokey warm dark evening of a boisterous Dhaka street. He wrote home in 1927 from Peru recounting his delight at being witness to a revolution in the streets as a President was told he was no longer needed. Actually I think in that case El Presidente was shot. Tonight this place is in an uproar and I know Herbert would love being out here with me.  However by the time I was heading home the police were standing down, taking their grenade launchers, shotguns and assault rifles home. Along with small packets of dinner of course. No point in being out here if you have to go home to cook I guess.

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