Kailash Kher - Chaandan Mein (aaoji)

Indian Security

While packing for my recent trip to India I purposely by-passed one of my favourite T-shirts. It's a shirt with the words, "Old Navy" on it, but more importantly, it has a flag of the United States front and centre. I left it behind because, after all the attacks on the sub-continent by Islamic militants, I thought it would be prudent not to tempt fate.

In this same vein of thinking, I imagined that security at the airports and hotels and other public areas would be strict and it seemed, initially anyways, that this was indeed the case. On landing at the Delhi airport, police with long guns and hand guns were present everywhere. In our need to find our hotel's shuttle we walked into apparently secure areas and were re-directed several times away from the customs' areas towards the exit from the terminal by armed policemen.

When we arrived at the Sheraton late at night we were impressed by a contingent of three security guards who insisted that our cab driver open the hood and the trunk of his car. They employed mirrors on wheels to search the underside of the cab and then waved us through to the reception area. The entrance to the hotel had a metal detector, we were wanded by a guard and all bags had to go through an x-ray machine.

While I fell for this show of security initially, it quickly became apparent after the first day that the security measures in place were nothing more than just a show -- a masquerade, in fact, a sham. The inspection at the gate was never more than a perfunctory examination of the contents in the trunk and under the hood of our car. Our suitcases and various bags and other items were never once picked up or looked at. The back seat of our car and the glove compartment of our car were never ever inspected. Before entering the hotel, our bags were put through an x-ray machine by listless hotel employees who were more concerned with ingratiating themselves with guests than with making a true inspection of the many bags and packages we brought in through the front doors of the hotel.

Similarly, two incidents at two different airports go to illustrate the point recently made by Jyoti Thottam at time.com in an article entitled, "India still a soft terror target a year after Mumbai:" In the article, Thottam quotes Ajai Sahni, Executive Director at the Institute for Conflict Management -- "We remain as vulnerable today as we were on 26/11," says Ajai Sahni, using the shorthand for the Nov. 26, 2008, attacks. "Corruption undermines and negates everything."

Exhibit A: Our departure from Goa was uneventful except for the fact that after checking through the first two layers of security consisting of first, a check of our documents and secondly, a check of the same documents again, we had a few hours to pass before our departure. At some point soon after checking through these two security points, I returned to the soldier who had waved us through to see if I could step out for a few minutes and have a cigarette. This junior soldier, suggested I check with his superior stationed at the initial check point. His superior flatly refused my request to step out of the terminal to smoke. I returned disappointed and the junior soldier asked me what had happened? I told him forlornly that there was no way I would be allowed out. Taking pity on me, the junior soldier quietly pointed out a hallway which led to the arrivals hall. Once I got to the arrivals hall, I simply walked out of the terminal, because that's what arrivals do, had my cigarette and simply re-entered through the arrivals level back through the hallway leading to the departures and to my benefactor, the junior soldier. I thanked him for letting me step out to smoke and he waved me back into the departures area. Security breached.

Exhibit B: An even more egregious example of the type of soft target which Sahni refers to is my experience at the international departures terminal at the Mumbai airport. My reason for breaking security was again the evil weed. Our flight was to depart at 1 a.m. We went through four security stations at 7 p.m. Once inside the terminal I quickly realized, after repeatedly asking various people if there was a smokers lounge somewhere, that I was trapped in a smoke free facility with hours and hours to kill. That and the and the portent of the 22 hour flight ahead of us propelled me to try one last time to grab a cigarette before departing.

Before trying to find a quiet corner of the terminal in which to risk some unknown consequence for smoking in a non-smoking area, I decided to visit the nearest washroom outside our departures lounge. There was an attendant present in the bathroom, a rectangular room with ten stalls on either side. I asked the attendant if there was anywhere I could smoke? The attendant looked to his left and right and rubbed thumb and index finger together -- The universal sign of money.

I said, "Okay, where?" The attendant led me to the farthest stall on the left side of the room, unlocked the unoccupied stall and held the door open for me. At first I thought that he was offering me the stall as a place for satiating my addiction. Once inside the stall, however, I realized that a second door led from the stall into a small closet which measured a square metre at the most.

There was no lighting in the closet, or chair, or window. The attendant left the door slightly ajar and said, "smoke." Desperate for my cigarette, I stepped in, lit up and found a bit of a ledge which ran all around the room to sit on. After a few puffs, I began to look around the room. I began to wonder if all the smoke was streaming into the main area of the bathroom. And then, as my eyes adjusted to the dark surroundings, I noticed some light streaming in from the ceiling. A hole the size of a football had been cut into the ceiling thereby allowing any smoke to vent out into the open air.

I could easily hear the noise of cars passing by outside, the ubiquitous honking of car horns and then it occurred to me that it would be quite easy for anyone to lower a small package into this little anteroom, thereby allowing me to by-pass four layers of security at what must be one of the largest and busiest airports in India. The entire cost of this surprising breach of security was a sweet 100 rupees...about $2.50.

To quote Ajai Sahni again, "Corruption (in India) undermines and negates everything." Despite all appearances since 26/11, India continues, at least in my experience, to remain as porous as ever.

Yes, Please!

Mumbai Attacks Overview

November 26, 2008: Gunmen lay siege on the city identified as the financial and movie-making epicenter of India. Numerous locations are targetted by terrorists claiming to speak on behalf of the world's Muslims and, of course, Allah.

If you are anything like me, you read the news or watched the drama unfold on TV. The Virginia Quarterly Review has a gripping report by Jason Motlagh, a journalist who covers conflicts in South Asia. Motlagh is a regular cotributor to Time, The Economist, Frontline/world, The Washington Times, among others.

Here's an excerpt of this wonderfully written piece of research:

Indian television crews were carrying everything live, and Imran’s handlers in Pakistan were watching, reporting what they could see.

Handler: Fifteen men have climbed down on your rooftop right now.

Imran: They are standing in front of the windows as well.

Handler: What are you saying? Can you see anything there?

Imran: They are firing in the front.

For several heated minutes, the gunman and the handler debated a strategy to protect their position. Another man abruptly took the phone.

Handler 2: You do this. Go towards the roof, throw a grenade at them; and fire at them before they can fire at you. Do this now, in the name of Allah.

Imran: Okay, we will go, remembering the name of Allah.

Handler 2: Bismillah-e-Rehman-e-Rahim.

"Among those killed were twelve police officers, two NSG commandos, and four more security personnel, women and children, and forty-six Muslims."

Tee Hee

I got your back!

So, this guy, let's call him Steven Pinker, writing for New York Times online (who is a professor of psychology at Harvard University) says that Malcolm Gladwell (a uber de-bunker) is, in several cases, out to lunch. What! Malcolm, out to lunch? Gone fishing?

It would seem so: "cherry-picked anecdotes, post-hoc sophistry and false dichotomies, had me gnawing on my Kindle," writes the professor.

Also, Gladwell "...provides misleading definitions of “homology,” “sagittal plane” and “power law” and quotes an expert speaking about an “igon value” (that’s eigenvalue, a basic concept in linear algebra)."

Who would have thunk! The de-bunker has been de-bunked!

In the AtlanticWire, (John Hudson, who the hell is he?), has brought together a collection of pieces written about Gladwell's writing under one convenient roof. You will find in this article that, for example, Tony Ortega writing for the The Village Voice, thinks Malcolm "is full of shit."

Bastards! What do they know! Don't they ever have a bad hair day? Well, Malcolm has a bad hair day everyday! So lay off, ya bastards!! I got your back, Mal.

Happiness

"The mind is its own place, and in itself, can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven."

John Milton (1608 - 74)

One Word: Quagmire

Karzai has been declared the winner of the Presidential elections in Afghanistan!

A truly crazy state of affairs: Afterall, one million of the ballots cast in Karzai's favour were thrown out in the first round of elections. Karzai is said to be associated with drug lords and known for governmental ineptness and forwarding the personal interests of his friends and family over Afghanistan's national interests.

Says who?: Well, Ahmed Rashid for one in this article published on October 21, 2009.

And...Peter Galbraith of The Guardian writes, "Afghanistan's presidential election is over, and it was a fiasco."

Reuters has an article on the question, "what next?" with too much of a focus on how this effects the U.S.

And the Atlantic has a round up from their archive of past articles on Afghanistan.

Coming soon: beansaver.com

Stand back everyone! My friend is about to launch his very own consumer-driven deals site called beansaver.com.

The site will feature deals from companies such as Dell, Sear's, Chapters, coupons galore, savings and deals you won't find anywhere else.

Before you buy that little or big luxury...check out beansaver.com for news other beansavers might have of coupons and codes for on-line shopping.

Stay tuned for the official launch date.

Parvez Ahmed on India's Muslims

"Parvez Ahmed is Associate Professor at the University of North Florida in Jacksonville. He is an active researcher whose articles have been published in leading national and international finance journals. He recently authored a book on “Mutual Funds titled Mutual Funds – Fifty Years of Academic Research.” In addition he is a frequent commentator and speaker on Islam and the American Muslim experience." (Source: http://drparvezahmed.blogspot.com/)

">The issue of Muslim empowerment is not so much about the Muslim community as it is about India’s future. A more educated Muslim community will constitute a more enlightened Indian work force leading to better business opportunity and a more sustainable growth for India’s economy. The next step in India’s economic evolution will likely not come on the backs of call centers and outsourcing. Rather it will come as result of higher paying service oriented jobs that require a large educated work force. An empowered Muslim community will also mean fewer security headaches and lesser social tension.

The Sachar commission recommends that 15 percent of all government funds be allocated to Muslim welfare and development. While this may work in the short run, in the long run Muslims need equal opportunities not quotas or handouts.

What's New?

• Telus to offer iphone
  

• Well, it's about time!: "I am only ashamed that I waited this many months to act. I hereby resign my membership in the Church of Scientology."
  

• Homophobia: A gang of up to 20 youths attacked an off-duty trainee police officer outside a gay bar in Liverpool city centre.

• McDonald's Packs up in Iceland: "For a kilo of onion, imported from Germany, I'm paying the equivalent of a bottle of good whiskey."

• Smarter is easy, but younger too?: "The secret to a happy marriage for men is choosing a wife who is smarter and at least five years younger than you, say UK experts."

Rest Your Eyes

Johnny R.: Thorncliffean, confidante, sometime cut-up, professori, lover of things and people Japanese, erstwhile beatle-lover, present day beatle-lover, owner of a Mini Cooper, eater of sushi, writer of academic papers, funny man (too funny), fisher, speaker of Japanese, wanderer, erstwhile dilemma-boy, not a glamour-boy, walker, sometime eater of burgers from 7-11 at odd hours, avid long distance driver, husband, son, false accuser of homosexuality :), de-bunker, receiver of comments ("Psychologize me, john" and "Say something funny, John" and "You know what they're doing there don't you?"), watcher of late night TV, lover of reptiles and things downtown, allergy sufferer (but only in North America), musicphile, bibliophile, owner and distributor of the "humble look," but mostly -- a friend; visited us this summer.

Medicine

There are many great sadnesses in the world: The loss of a child or parent; the loss of a love to another; the pain of separation; the loss of of honour and pride. Somewhere far down this rank must sit the sadness of experiencing the hypocrisy of human politics: The maintenance of a view point in disagreement with the reality of a given situation -- the studied use of rules and regulations to keep from facing the disease and instead, only treating the symptoms.

One and One Make Three

Mistakes Were Made

I am at my best when I exercise my self-determination.
Hooah!
Booya!

Jack-O-Lantern

Me and the kids carved our first pumpkin ever...yep, a first for all of us. Notice that Seth is standing in the last picture at his full height! :) Click on each picture to enlarge it...to get back to the post, just click the back button on your browser.

Goa, Mumbai and Home

We left Mumbai on September 29th and arrived home yesterday. Following are pictures of the hotel (Park Hyatt) in Goa and on arrival in Mumbai, took pictures at Dhobi Ghaat (open air laundry). Also some street scenes of Mumbai.

Board walk at the Park Hyatt (Goa) leading to the beach.

Grounds at the Park Hyatt (Goa).


Laundry being hauled to Dhobi Ghat.

Clothes ready for hanging.

Dhobi (washer) enjoying a bath in the laundry area after a day of work.

Dhobi washing clothes.

Clean clothes off the drying line.

Paan maker preparing a paan.


Hindu priest who said to me, "What have I got to lose or gain if you take a picture of me? Nothing. Go ahead, take my picture."

Lady picking out a goat head. She smelled the neck of the goat head to determine how fresh it was!

Last Night

Last night your faded memory came to me
As in the wilderness spring comes quietly,
As, slowly, in the desert, moves the breeze,
As, to a sick man, without cause, comes peace.

Vikram Seth
Tranlation from Urdu of Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Goa (hotel and countryside)

We stayed at the Park Hyatt in Goa. It's a comparable to a caribbean-type all-inclusive resort with way better service. The best move for finishing our trip to India. Tomorrow we head to Mumbai, do a little sight seeing and then back to the airport for a flight to London and then Toronto.
Me in the pool...had to take a dip every 20 - 30 minutes cause it was soooo hot.

On the beach on our first evening in Goa.




View from the beach looking back at the main building.

Anwar heading down the path from our room to the pool area.



Worker cutting grass...he seemed too old to have to work in 38 celcius weather with humidity about as high as you can imagine.

Mumbai to Goa

September 27, 2009
Arrived today in Goa at the Park Hyatt which is right on the beach and a good place to rest up before leaving for Toronto on Tuesday (September 29th).

Yesterday we moved out of the Ramada in the north end of the city to the Taj hotel in central Mumbai. The hotel was a welcome relief from the Ramada which involved one service nightmare after another: On arrival the people (4 of them) were inattentive and each one seemed to be waiting for the next guy to process us; when we got to the room it smelled smoky; several phone calls later, we were led down the hallway on a different floor to another room (both smelled like they had just been sprayed with sickly-sweet air freshener); our internet connection was to be connected after check-in, we never received a call from the front desk for our password; we called several times over 20 minutes and tried several times over this time with no luck with the internet; the A/C was blowing air but was only barely working; on our first morning, we got a knock at the door at 7:30 a.m. from a staff member asking us if we were ready to check out? – our check out date was two days away.

Also yesterday, we toured the Dharavi slum – the largest slum in Asia with a population of a million people. The tour guide met us on the border of the slum and gave us a great education, was personable and is a resident of Dharavi. We also met some potters who were Gujurathi speakers and it was nice to speak to them in their language and make a better connection. I took a few pictures of our new found friends. We were not allowed to take pictures within the slum throughout the tour to respect people’s privacy and to not turn the whole thing into a circus.

Pictures of Goa to follow shortly.

Kerala to Mumbai

September 24, 2009

Spend the morning relaxing after breakfast by having an ayurvedic massage (60 mins for a mere $25 Cdn). It was a great experience and I was forced by my own volition to tip generously. I tipped my friend (how could he not be my friend after he relieved me of not just my shirt and shorts and socks but also my underwear; He then tied a tiny cotton string around my waist and tucked a 3-inch wide piece of muslin cloth under the string at my belly button and pulled the other end between my legs and up the other side to be tucked at my lower back) a generous Rs 500. A 33% tip -- for it was well worth it!

Meanwhile, Sumo, my travelling companion, went out to complete another round of shopping in the, where else, shopping district. He came back with shiny metal ornaments for the wife and daughter. Inara, are you listening?

Now, as I write this, we are on a flight to Mumbai where we will be for three days. Our plan, so far, consists of taking a tour of the largest slum in Asia. That’s really saying something, because Asia consists of, at a guess, close to 3 billion people. China accounts for 1 billion, India for the second billion and the rest (especially Malaysia) must make up another billion.

I am reading the penguin edition of the collected poems of Vikram Seth. Strangely enough, the book is entitled, “The Collected Poems!” One of the poems in the book made me think of the slum tour:

A Morning Walk

...

To wander through the streets of Calcutta is

To force the whole world’s misery on the heart –

Children on broken stumps, staring with eyes

White and opaque, begging with hardened art.

Far from those eyes, blind in my stead, I wander

Among these affluent trees, and stop and ponder

How fine it is to share the world and not

Its need when there are those who weep for food.

Their children’s limbs will atrophy, brains rot

Swollen for lack of it, while ‘all things good’,

Food, shelter, health, are mine; interests; love;

The time to walk through avocado groves.

...

Nice.

In some ways I feel I should not be taking the tour as the t-shirt I am wearing cost me about $35, shoes were around $60, Shorts – at least $35 and socks, well, we’ll leave it at $3. That’s Rs 1575.00! The average mean annual income in India is $735 (US). While the numbe of people living under the poverty line is 42%...that's less than $1.25 (US) per day.

Photos of the Hotel and Departure from Orissa

The view into the central courtyard at our hotel in Bhubaneswar, Orissa.

Hotel lobby in Bhubaneswar.

Detail of wood carving in hotel lobby.

The lobby of the hotel in Bhubaneswar.

Statue outside the hotel restaurant.

Anwar at the airport. Yep, I'm a tourist taking pictures at the airport.

A part of the airport under construction.

Orissa to Kerala in Two Easy Steps

We were in Bhubaneswar (located near the east coast of India, close to the megalopolis of Kolkata formerly known as Calcutta) for only two days. Bhubaneswar is a medium sized city and is very different compared to the hurried, impolite bustle of Delhi. Anwar was here to meet with his business partners and so his meeting chewed up a lot of time. Nevertheless, we both managed to see different things in different ways.

Anwar went with his business partners to view some temples and caves in the area and I begged off, went to the hotel, rested and took a auto-rickshaw or tuc-tuc to find an art gallery set up by several colleges of art in the area. This was my first time ever in a tuc-tuc and so, just the ride to the gallery was a new and great to experience. The gallery was located in a converted house but was nevertheless very nice. I liked a piece showing two women wearing plain but colourful sarees. Unfortunately, the price 15000.00 Rupees (Rs) was a little too steep and the artist, when we finally found him on his cell, was unwilling to bargain. I left empty handed and hired another tuc-tuc to head back to the hotel. The cost for a 20 minute ride of something like 8 kilometres was Rs 70. I gave the driver Rs 100. One hundred Rupees amounts to $2.50 at current rates. I've paid more for rides at the CNE -- and they don't even take you anywhere!

I was absolutely tired, exhausted, tapped out, so, I went to the infinity pool and loitered. The water temperature was deliciously warm. After stepping out of the pool it took only ten minutes to get dry with the help of the all pervading heat. The hotel, Bhubaneswar Trident, was wonderful for the atmosphere and hospitality of all the staff.

This morning, Tuesday, September 22, 2009, we took a flight from Bhubaneswar to Delhi, then, from Delhi to the state capital of Kerala, the city of Kochi (Cochin). The changeover of the names of cities (Kolkata (was Calcutta), Mumbai (was Bombay), Kochi (was Cochin) is a part of a process which started with the Independence movement led by Mahatma Gandhi and is still spinning out.

The Independence movement, and this latest sign of seeking distance from the bad old days of the British Raj, are seen to be positive assertions of statehood; The British gave much to India that helps to make it the modern and cohesive state that it is today: English is chief amongst this list -- it is the lingua franca of the nation and the language spoken by the elites (politicians, scientists, literati, bureaucrats and the armed forces). It allows for the obvious exchange of ideas between otherwise disparate peoples and (by not having any association with any region or group) rises above the sectarianism which is still very present in India today; The railroad system which criss-crosses the nation helps to bind it together and is also a bequest of the British; And lastly, the system of national governance, that is, a democratically elected parliamentary system is also an influence left over from the days of the Raj.

But I digress.

Arrived in the south western state of Kerala today. Weather is hot, humid and hovers, even at midnight, around 30 celcius. The city, Cochin, is essentially built in a mangrove which must stretch the entire ten kilometres from the nearby coast of the Arabian Sea.

Travel advisor directed us to go to a little hole in the wall known as, Dal Roti (Desi Khanna). The owner, Ramesh, was present as the maitre d' and is a gregarious man filled with cheerful energy. The food was excellent!

The cab ride from the hotel cost us Rs 1200 (return) with a wait period for the taxi of 4 hours. Which brings me to this: Everyone here is on the take. Here's how things play out: we start with my wallet. The concierge orders us a cab, the cabbie will pay a certain amount to the concierge for the fare. On the way to the destination, the cab driver asks us to pay for the bridge tolls. As we are about to leave the restaurant, the cabbie says, 'I would like to eat also.' In other words, 'feed me!' So you hand over a few rupees towards the cab driver's dinner. Later, if you decide to go for a short walk, as we did, the cabbie may direct you to a handicraft emporium and on your way to the emporium as you are only 20 metres from the entrance, an auto-rickshaw driver says, jump into my rickshaw...if I drive you to the front door, I will get 100 rupees. Meanwhile, the cabbie is yakking about losing his 100 rupees from the emporium and on and on it goes. The guy in the emporium will try and sell you a 'real kashmiri silik' (sic) rug for 1000's of rupees more than it's worth, plus taxes, and shipping costs of only $150.00.

Tomorrow, I will relax at the hotel and maybe visit a gallery/cafe suggested by the owner or Dal Roti.

Incidents in Delhi

Hawkers

You absolutely must watch a short video of Anwar and myself, stuck in our cab without driver or air conditioning, being assailed by a couple of hawkers. Normally, I would simply not make eye contact and politely say no in Hindi or English depending on the weather in my head. But these two relentless fuckers (sorry, but they were annoying) would not take no for an answer. They stood outside our windows, calling out like emergency beacons, Swiss watches in their regularity, Chatty Cathys in their range of vocabulary, spinning tops with the miracle of perpetual motion built-in. And, when all else failed, these gentlemen took to scraping their wares against the windows, just in case, you understand -- just in case.

Loverboy

Our maid at the Sheraton was a man. Tall, slim, with hair oiled and shiny, swept back from his forehead. Oh yes, and he was friendly. With only a few words of English, he used his melodious, mellifluous voice to his advantage. Normally, this would be a signal that the maid was giving good service and, in return, hoping for a good tip. Nothing wrong with that. No. Nothing

The man-maid, however, took a certain liking, a shine, a fondness for, developed a crush, it would seem for my roommate. Yes, Anwar found hisself an admirer at the Sheraton in Delhi. Lucky Bastard! To get on with the story: Anwar happened to be in the hallway, by himself, on his way to the lobby of the hotel. The man-maid somehow got to chatting with Anwar and Anwar, being a schmoozer by nature, got to talking with the man-maid. Pretty soon, or so the story goes, man-maid and Anwar were shaking hands. A handshake which the man-maid refused to end. And so, Anwar, being a sharp sort, figured that there was more than just a good cleaning of our room on offer.

Now, before you go flying off and call me a homophobe, please keep in mind that like most people -- like you -- I too, am filled with prejudice. When confronted by a nameless face or an anonymous grouping, I use, as a shorthand, certain stereotypes, prejudices, to make sense of the world around me.

Okay, let's return to the tale at hand. Anwar finally extricates himself from the man-maid's handshake, comes down to the lobby a little breathless to announce that (expletive deleted for Anara's sake) likes him. I, naturally, am happy for Anwar and, must admit, a little jealous. My theory: Any attention is good attention. So, we laugh and get on with our day. Visit the Taj Mahal....which, as you may already know, is a monument of love built my a man who started his life as a maid at a five star hotel and grew up to be the Emperor of all of India. Also, Coincidentally, the lady for whom the Taj was built was named Mumtaz (which by another coincidence was also the name of the man-maid of present day India and now crushing like a school girl over Anwar).

We returned to the hotel at the late hour of 9 p.m. to find three pieces of cake -- one for me, nice; one for Anwar, nice; and one for someone else. Also, some Indian cookies sat on Anwar's side of the room, lovingly topped with a glass cover to keep anything from tainting the food. Anwar refused to touch the cake out of fear that the cake might be laced with strange and wonderful ingredients.

Love springs eternal in the busiest city I have yet to see. Sometimes it is reciprocated and sometimes it goes unrequited. Still, 'the heart wants what the heart wants.' Or something like that. Unfortunately, the man-maid was barking up the wrong tree. We decided to take a picture with our man-maid but did not find him before checking out early this morning. It would have been a perfect end to this little episode. Unfortunately, I cannot write life, I can only report on it.

Taj Mahal...Day 3

Went on a four hour drive to the Taj Mahal in Agra. Spent two hot, sunny, humid hours at the Taj taking pictures and finding ways to keep cool. Got some great pics and went to some pretty expensive art shops. Many of the street scene pictures were taking right out of the car whose driver, Peter, was relentless in his pursuit of speed and aggression.

Me and Anwar at the Taj Mahal

Every other person seemed to have some piece of cloth covering their head from the fierce sunlight. Oh, to have hair!

Anwar composing a shot of the Taj from afar.

The obligatory shot of the Taj.

Most of the people riding bikes were helmeted men. In Agra, we saw quite a few younger women running about in scooters and motor cycles. The scarf is for protection from pests (like men and insects) and the dust and fumes in the air.

A building still under construction in the style of the Taj. Not bad for a shot taken from a car moving at 50 kph.

This little girl was dancing for tourists at a highway stop while her father played an instrument and sang. I couldn't resist taking a picture or giving her a little gift. Intense little thing and a pretty snazzy dancer too!

A couple of old guys (Sadhus? Holy men?) taking it easy in the back of a pick up...but you can see that can't you?

Just a street scene: I am fascinated by the volume and speed of activity: People, vehicles, cows, donkeys, camels, the vivid colour of saris -- like a pot of water on the boil or a dervish-like spinning of atoms, water falling a hundred metres to through up a mist, the final act of consummation.