Erdogan
Gullibility was my middle name. Till I met Erdogan. I met him, or maybe he met me, in Istanbul. I had been in Istanbul for just a few days. I was staying in a small inconsequential hotel close to the famous Istiklal Street. Travel to the most fascinating cities thus far was attributable entirely to Ash. Her work-related conferences would be held in lovely resort-type settings and I was not entirely reluctant to tag along. Given a good book or two, my laptop, and my thoughts, I was pretty much a happy camper. The trip to Turkey was no different. Within the first few days I had already read my book, caught up on my biomedical research writing, and mulled over the intricacy of life; the requisites of any trip with Ash. By then I had also toured the aromatic Spice Bazaar, the majestic Topkapi Palace, the resplendent Blue Mosque, and the breathtaking Haga Sophia. The descriptors were not mine; they were per the tourist’s guide. On the fateful day, I had not taken my tourist