There are certain moments a traveler never forgets. Many of them have to do with first laying eyes on something so wondrous that the image of that one magic moment is forever etched in a special place in the mind. The Grand Canyon is such a spot. So are geographic superlatives such as cycling along the Loire and seeing the waves of the Pacific Ocean crash into the Central American coast. Others are more elementary: I saw my first palm tree when I went to Spain and could not believe they existed except on postcards. It was about as far from [View Full Entry]

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Shimla was waking up, as were the folks on the benches in the waiting area of Shimla’s shabby Rivoli bus stand. The man at the ticket booth was ready at his post by six fifteen, but not willing to issue me a ticket until a quarter hour later. I have learned not to ask why anymore; he was printing out tickets for others. I am doing my utmost not to resist India, as confusing at it is at times. “Come back in fifteen minutes.” He firmly asserted. I saw my bus scrunched in between others. It wasn’t going to leave without [View Full Entry]

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The state capital, composed of various vertical and rectangular buildings, is on the brink of sliding right into the valley below. I determined to bypass the taxi stand and walk the mile or so to town while dodging the exhaust pipes of buses and other motorized hazards. “Oh, and good news for you, sir! No Indians at this hotel.” Huh? The comment made no sense to me as I followed the Punjabi concierge up to my overpriced room. With a view of the entire city, a room here is often part of a packaged weekend for people from Chandigarh, Amritsar, Jaipur, [View Full Entry]

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For the next thirty hours, my only goal was to get there. Even as the bus pulled away from Jaisalmer, I hadn’t confirmed where there was. Ticketed through to my transit point of Chandigarh, I knew I would not stay long. I had some ideas, a general direction. To Amritsar in Punjab? Back through Haryana to Haridwar in Uttarakhand? Only in transit would my next resting point reveal itself to me. It would depend on connections and how easily I could manage them. I was sure it was time to go north. My big connection was back in Bikaner, home of [View Full Entry]

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The same rains later marched on Jaisalmer and laid siege to the city. Over the city’s long and turbulent history, the battering is nothing new. The downpour is vengeful, as if it were payback for prior misdeeds Jaisalmer committed over the years. Or perhaps it is nature’s way of delivering a vital resource all at once and letting its inhabitants sort out the details. At any rate, the storm does serve a sanitary purpose. It carries away swift streams of solid waste in torrid currents downstream into ditches and alleys. Within a matter of minutes, Jaisalmer cannot absorb the as [View Full Entry]

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The Thar Desert is selective as to what lives or dies and what flourishes or withers. Make no mistake, it has the final word. It is a flat, featureless plain of low, bristly scrub. The Chhalanis and I roll through the Thar in the Chevy hatchback. Conversation among them concerns either business or family. I stare fifteen miles into the distance and no changes in the landscape. I cannot help but fear what would happen if a vehicle broke down and there was no assistance. The sixty-kilometer ride permits the family to question me. After having explained the writing portion of [View Full Entry]

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That there would no air-conditioned coaches on the desert rail line between Bikaner and Jaisalmer made little difference to me. So what? Why should it matter? It is a morning journey. I’ll be in a hotel room by mid-afternoon anyway. Except for the padding on the seats, there is little difference between traveling this train in second class or the inferior sleeper class. The masses jump on the hard wooden benches of the sleeper cars, as the empty train halts at Bikaner station twenty minutes before the seven-thirty a.m. departure. Moms supply padding to soften the blow between benc [View Full Entry]

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Mr. Chhalani and his son were there to meet me on the platform as promised. The father speaks in spurts. If you haven’t gotten to know him well enough, you’d think he has a crabby disposition. His deceptive irritability conceals an unconditional, yet forceful kindness. Hanging out with the entire Chhalani clan is an exercise in tag-team hospitality. Once one of them is done strangling you with generosity and consideration, he runs to the corner of the ring and slaps the hand of a brother or the lady of the house; on comes the next to smother you with more. In [View Full Entry]

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The phone rang on his landline at home. His cell phone rings far more often. His primary servant Dinesh, a rather sheepish man, handed me the cordless receiver in order to speak with his boss. “Richard,” Madhukar called out on the other end, “how is everything? Are you comfortable?” Well, yes. I have a two servants looking after me, a private driver at my disposal, and an armed guard for protection. The house is my own and the air conditioning makes my room feel like an Arctic biome. Things are looking pretty good. “Fine, just fine, thank you.” &ld [View Full Entry]

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There’s something to be said for a game named after an insect that takes the better part of a PhD to understand. Having shown the mildest of interest after watching from the sidelines for ten minutes, the eldest man looked at me and pointed the handle end of the bat at my chest. I was seated on some steps by the side of a water pump; my feet reaching over the open sewer ditch to the ripped asphalt. “Do you want to bat?” he asked me. I admit I hesitated. Fifteen years ago, I would not have. How hard could it [View Full Entry]

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