Cow's it going?

Their tanned smiling faces are still etched in my memory. On my way to the Sufi Durbar in the Nagaur Fort in Rajasthan, there was a large cloud of dust, meaning only two thing in the still desert. A dust storm or an exodus. It turned out to be an exodus all right but joining the humans and their monster trucks were cud chewing cows, Arabian looking horses, scared goats and loads of haughty camels. Inspection and business were the order of the day along with some good old cattle wrangling. Buyer and sellers had arrived from all over Rajasthan, Punjab, Haryana and even Gujarat to bargain their way into a new herd or at least a few heads.

Mini-temporary encampments had mushroomed up everywhere and by the seventh invite to partake a meal, I realised there was a spirit of camaraderie as well. This was a expo, picnic and excursion all rolled into one nice thick, spicy aloo ki paronti. As you might have assumed, I didn't wait for the eighth invitation to tuck into the aromatic delicacies tempting my olfactory nerves.

After plenty of handshakes and sometimes forced, sometimes voluntary petting of what seems like 500 animals, I felt like I was part of this wandering group of livestock farmers. Accepted into the fold, if I may. But two days later as I passed that way again, straining to see that cloud of dust, I was disappointed to see the well behaved desert once more. Vast, arid, shrubby but completely devoid of all life. My temporary family and other animals had disappeared like a mirage.

A railway runs through it

It was a bit surrealistic really. Vishakapatnam is a city I wouldn't visit again in my wildest nightmares. It didn't help that the only 'beach front' motel that we could afford was a moth eaten glorified brothel. I kid you not. I've been around and this is pretty much the shadiest place I've ever had to stay. Lingering odours of cheap choking perfume in the hallways. A so-called office room facing the sea, apparently of limits turned out to be a garishly decorated bedroom straight out of some b-grade skin flick (don't ask how I know that). Then the mosquitos. Not in the tens but apparently in the thousands, buzzing about our room gorging on our four sapped blood lines. And the sticky stifling heat, making me long for an AC in a way I didn't think possible. With this kind of introduction to the Andhra coast, which btw is hardly awe inspiring, we were left with hardly any hope as we made our way to the hills.

But then we got off at TYDA, a tiny glorified hamlet with one, thankfully mosquito and cheap perfume free, affordable and all round nice hotel run by the Andhra tourism department with rooms with names like Golden Oriole and Raquet Tailed Drongo (bird watchers of the world, UNITE). There we were in the hills, in the midst of a large patch of forest and glory be, it rained. After two days of stiffling soaring Andhra temperatures, it was more than a miracle. It was heaven on earth. And wonder of wonders. This little place in the hills had a railway station. Ya, the ones in and around Darjeeling and Shimla are charming but this was the real thing. A broad gauge railway line higher than anywhere else in our impressive Indian railways. And in the middle of a veritable jungle. Instant love.

Even more than a couple of hamlets and some tribals the largest concentration of humans here is the railway community, from Andhra and across the border from Orissa. They live in their humble but charming quarters adjoining the stations and lead a fascinating, even enviable life. The youngsters here don't think so, yearning for the multiplex-mall lifestyle so glorified in most movies. No hot girls waltzing by in minis, no superbikes whizzing around the corner, not even a movie theatre in a 50 km radius. Who can blame them? Meanwhile we city slickers yearn for the quiet simplicity of the hills, away from the noise, pollution and constant bombardment of information. Ironic huh?

Anyway, I've figured out that flickr slideshows can be imported here, so that means a lot less scrolling for you lazy fingered folks.

Gold, Maroon and Red

Street Walking - Nagaur, Rajasthan

Puncher Shop

Flats are a part of life and I've had my fair share of tyres to change but I've never faced a beast like a Tata Sumo with a woefully deflated front leg. Sonam (our friend and driver in Sikkim) and I, wrestled the spare down from the luggage rack and fought valiantly with a hydraulic jack that seemed hell bent on not working. Finally, after some pulling and pushing that would have easily booked us a berth on some third string gymnastics outfit, it was done. Well, not quite. The replacement seemed as ragged as the original and they both needed some urgent work if we were going to make it to the more glorious environs of North Sikkim. So we stopped at the next 'puncher' shop, where some cute grubby kids and a few weather beaten rubber repairers were more than willing models (except for the guy who was asleep, captured for the great amusement of his friends).

The Hills Are Still Alive - Darj Continued

Trek up to Tiger Hill
Took some unbeaten paths and so managed to escape the tourists and the crowded viewpoint. Just found my own.

Lotus Temple

On The Street

Mall Sunset

Darjeeling Unlimited

Smile Please OK

The latitude and longitude don't matter. Hill folk are hill folk everywhere. Smiles transcend language barriers and in a place with a hundred tongues it's a useful greeting. Without further ado, the people of Darjeeling.

A busker by any other name...

Water is scarce and an emerging business trend in Darjeeling is transporting H2O. Unfortunately we humans use a LOT of water and there are some killing slopes in Darj. That guy was almost kissing the road in an attempt to get that damn cart moving. Inertia can be a bitch.

A very reliable source (soon to be introduced via his very own blog post) tells me that Bhola (on the right) makes the best Dum Aloo in the world, or atleast here in Darj. In a land where the potato only second to sunning onself (I'm only kidding of course), the man that maketh the Aloo Dum is King.

SKIER
that's me :)

MR.T
Ah pity the man who drinks mah tea.
A stroll through Happy Tea Garden, a couple of Ks from town.

GOD'S KNOW MAN

The weather here has more frailty than Shakespeare's women. The main town square, the ever effervescent mall bears a deserted face as the clouds descend.

TOY TRAIN
hey, I'm entitled to one touristy thing na?

Street Walking - Masinagudi