"After dinner let's go for a walk. I want to get an icecream, " says DG.
We head up the hill to the main street. Turn left. All is quiet but there's a strong police and military presence. Mmm?
Arriving at the T junction, we see a crowd has gathered.
"What's up?" I enquire.
"Prince Charles and Missus will be coming soon."
"Oh!" We continue on in search of dairy delights but are herded to the road side by the local constabulary. The road is quiet. Unusually so. Not a vehicle in sight.
Stopping at one of the more western style general stores, the management and staff have abandoned posts to take up prime positions in the Indian eqivalent of the 'bleacher', or 'hill' if you prefer,rocking back and forth on plastic chairs.
"I'm surprised you inventive Indians have spotted the opportunity to cash in on mini British flags."
"Acha. Acha."
Narry a flag in sight.
"What car will Charles be in?" I prompt, suggesting he might not be in an Alto 800 with AC, but before we can agree, the calvacade appears from the direction Laxman Jhula - the lead vehicle, then Charles and Camilla following in a pristine Mercedes; Camilla in the front. I spot the glance, give a wave, check Charles in the rear, and immediately complete my application for the Australian Monarchist Party.
Disappearing into the night, the entourage follow in the plume of exhaust fumes and dust; blaring horns, lights flashing, a minibus of minders. I give a thumbs up! Ambulances, army jeeps, police cars, various Ambassadors filled with smiling bueaucrats and colourful locals. The circus is in town.
But then it's over. The royal moment has passed. Too quick for a memorable moment pic. The 'main road' returns to normal - chaos, cows and chapattis!
No icecream either. You should have been here yesterday!
We head up the hill to the main street. Turn left. All is quiet but there's a strong police and military presence. Mmm?
Arriving at the T junction, we see a crowd has gathered.
"What's up?" I enquire.
"Prince Charles and Missus will be coming soon."
"Oh!" We continue on in search of dairy delights but are herded to the road side by the local constabulary. The road is quiet. Unusually so. Not a vehicle in sight.
Stopping at one of the more western style general stores, the management and staff have abandoned posts to take up prime positions in the Indian eqivalent of the 'bleacher', or 'hill' if you prefer,rocking back and forth on plastic chairs.
"I'm surprised you inventive Indians have spotted the opportunity to cash in on mini British flags."
"Acha. Acha."
Narry a flag in sight.
"What car will Charles be in?" I prompt, suggesting he might not be in an Alto 800 with AC, but before we can agree, the calvacade appears from the direction Laxman Jhula - the lead vehicle, then Charles and Camilla following in a pristine Mercedes; Camilla in the front. I spot the glance, give a wave, check Charles in the rear, and immediately complete my application for the Australian Monarchist Party.
Disappearing into the night, the entourage follow in the plume of exhaust fumes and dust; blaring horns, lights flashing, a minibus of minders. I give a thumbs up! Ambulances, army jeeps, police cars, various Ambassadors filled with smiling bueaucrats and colourful locals. The circus is in town.
But then it's over. The royal moment has passed. Too quick for a memorable moment pic. The 'main road' returns to normal - chaos, cows and chapattis!
No icecream either. You should have been here yesterday!
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