... and here's a picture!

http://kayleenwood.weebly.com/india-and-a9-kailas-quarters-mit-campus-manipal.html

... and here's a Spreadsheet!

	Location	Price	Size	Amenities	Cleanliness
The Grand. Amritsar	5	1.5	3	2.5	2.5
Himgirri, Naddi	4	2.5	3	2.5	2
Apple Bud Cottages. Manali	3.5	5	2.5	2	2.5
The Regent Palms, Mandi	4.5	2	2.5	2	3
Hotel Sangeet, Shimla	4	3	2	2.5	3
Lakshmi Guesthouse, Dehradun	3	3	3	3.5	3
Devaloka Guesthouse, Mindrolling	5	5	5	3	4.5
The Hermitage, Rishikesh	4	4	4	4	3.5
Har Ki Pauri, Haridwar	4	3.5	3.5	3	3
Om Villa, Gurgaon	4	2	4.5	4.5	4
Love Kush, Agra	4	4	5	4.5	5
Shalimar Hotel, Jaipur	5	4.5	2	4.5	4.5
Akosha Klaasic, Hyderabad	4	3	3	2	2
	Hot Water	Service	Facilities	Food	TOTAL	Ranking
The Grand. Amritsar	3	3.5	3	3	14.5	8
Himgirri, Naddi	3	3	3	2.5	14	9
Apple Bud Cottages. Manali	2.5	4	3.5	4	15.5	7
The Regent Palms, Mandi	2	2.5	2.5	1	14	10
Hotel Sangeet, Shimla	3.5	4	3.5	4	14.5	7
Lakshmi Guesthouse, Dehradun	4	5	3.5	4	15.5	6
Devaloka Guesthouse, Mindrolling	5	4	3.5	4	22.5	2
The Hermitage, Rishikesh	5	5	4	4.5	19.5	3
Har Ki Pauri, Haridwar	3	3	3	3.5	17	7
Om Villa, Gurgaon	4.5	4	4	3.5	19	5
Love Kush, Agra	4.5	4.5	4.5	4	22.5	1
Shalimar Hotel, Jaipur	3	4.5	4	4	20.5	4
Akosha Klaasic, Hyderabad	1	1	1	0	14	11

Travel by Brian, Accommodation by Kayleen

My much travelled and well researched ‘travelling companion’ had mapped out our intended itinerary for two months in the north of India.  This included pre registering for train booking as a foreigner, in itself a month long, back and forward, process.  He had also sourced the accommodation websites for searching, reviewing, selecting and booking hotels and guesthouses along the way.  And thank goodness he did, because it still managed to consume a great deal of our time and energy; accessing WiFi, accessing reliable WiFi, accessing Indian Rail website (at times suitable to them), negotiating payments online, telephone confirmations, reconfirmations and multiple SMS’s.  But overall we made it to all our planned destinations, using multiple means of transport, and stayed in all our chosen ‘lodgings’.  Some sage advice here:  Having two of us undoubtedly made this happen.  Without prior planning or consensus we fell into an ‘easy’ working relationship, the title of this blog:  Travel by Brian, accommodation by Kayleen.

Our circumambulation of north India took us from Delhi to Amritsar, then Dharamshala (Naddi), Manali, Mandi, Shimla, Dehradun, Clement Town (Mindrolling Monastery), Rishikesh (Tapovan), Haridwar, and back to Delhi (Gurgaon).  We then looped to Agra and Jaipur, a quick overnight back in Delhi, before Hyderabad.  Our last leg was to Bangalore then Mangalore, with an odd route via Mumbai, before the ‘homecoming’ to Manipal.  And this is how we did it.

Delhi to Amritsar - Train 2nd Class Seating

Pre booked and allocated seating.  This is the only way to travel by train in India.  There are only a certain number of seats allocated for foreigners, of course at a premium price and for no different level of service ... but there is a ‘senior traveller’s’ discount available.  To my amusement, not his, this ensured Brian was always the ‘plus one other’ on our bookings.  The sacrifices of budget travelling.  Constant cabin service and comfortable if not luxurious seating. 

The Grand Hotel Amritsar

Brian had actually preselected this hotel from Make My Trip.  I was yet to sync in to Indian travelling mode.  Close to the railway; literally walk out, cross the split in the road and turn right.  No need for a cycle or auto rickshaw, but you still need to run the gauntlet of the touts.  Our room was functional if a bit dark, and the bathroom was just okay.  Water, water everywhere in these wet rooms.  It’s the Indian way.  I learned to ask for an extra towel, straight away, to satisfy my need for a bathmat ... and in the interests of safety on the ever wet and slippery floors.  The hotel is in the hubbub but really quiet inside plus less dusty.  Built around a central courtyard with the outside restaurant at one end.  Ask for a ground floor room and enjoy.  The Grand was probably once very grand and for a first stop it was introduction to budget hotels and hotel restaurant food and service in India.  The staff was genuinely supportive and helpful in booking the major Amritsar sights ... Next stop Himgiri, Naddi/Macleodganj

Government Bus

From the Amritsar Bus Station to Dharamshala.  Sounded straightforward enough, even with the eight hour travel time.  This was my first local bus experience.  If you are looking for point to point, pristine conveyance, this is not for you.  If you are looking for cheap, efficient, social and sensory, it is.  From the first grind of the gearbox, through every bump of the tired shock absorbers, to the last scream of the non padded brakes, the local buses keep on delivering.  Be prepared for the frequent stopping for pickups anywhere and everywhere, the constant slamming of the doors to hold in the throbbing crowd of passengers after one or ten more have been admitted, and the dust.  At the end of this first trip I spent an exorbitant amount of time in the shower, scraping fingernail full’s of grime out of my skin with every bath and shower product I’d brought with me.  A lesson for next time:  Take a scarf or bandanna to soak from your water bottle, and wrap around your mouth and nose to breathe through.

Our journey didn’t end at the Dharamshala bus stand.  A fortunate few of us were directed to the ‘local’ bus for another 25 minute ride to Macleodganj.  Truly how much more local was this going to get?  I was just glad it was dark as we swung around Himalayan foothills on roads no self-respecting bus should attempt.  Deposited at another bus stand in the dark, we somehow landed a taxi for the last five kilometres up the ever decreasing road, at an ever increasing slope, to Naddi ... only to be faced with the stairs to the guesthouse.

Himgiri Naddi

From The Grand, Amritsar to Himgiri.  A bit of a trek to get there.  Bus to Dharamshala, then local bus to Macleodganj, and auto to Naddi.  Arriving after 8.30pm, dinner in the restaurant no problem.  Room was a bit damp and musty, but that's probably the altitude.  Downstairs room facing the courtyard meant we woke to beautiful clear snow capped mountain views every morning.  Nice little meditation platform in the morning sun and sitting on the verandah having breakfast under the gaze of The Himalayans was the highlight.  From here to higher up ... Apple Bud Cottages, Manali.

Semi Deluxe Overnight Bus

After the government bus experience last time, we thought we’d step up for the overnight trip, further into the mountains.  A small and expectant group of ‘tourists’, we gathered at the bus stand, only to be told by some whisper that the bus was leaving from ‘top side’.  We schlepped up the flights of stairs and beheld our short wheel based mini bus; the sort that conveys day tourists across sand dunes and like terrain.  Backpacks hoisted onto the roof and tied down.  Seats taken and we’re off on a wild ride through the night of a thousand switchbacks.  Thank goodness for meditation and mindfulness.  The end of the ride cemented our ‘love of a good bus stand’.  A GoogleMaps mislead lap of the block in the early hours at 6 degrees, brought us back for another look at it.  The moral of the story:  Never doubt that at any time and anywhere in India, there will be someone, in something, prepared to transport you somewhere ... for Rs/ 200.  The lesson:  Always screen shot your destination address and map prior to embarking on any travel leg.

Apple Bud Cottages Manali

From Himgiri, Naddi overnight bus and we then arrived by auto rickshaw at Apple Bud Cottages at 3.30am.  Driver wakes manager. "No problem ma'am.  That is my job."  And this was the non forced attitude of all the staff.  The interaction with the chef and all the hotel boys was friendly and inclusive.  The best Aloo Gohbi of the trip.  Apple Bud Cottages are a little way out of the city centre, a few kilometres and Rs/50 auto rickshaw, but still close enough to access everything you might need or want.  This part of Manali, with its surrounds, scenery and architecture are reminiscent of the Swiss Alps.  We settled very quickly into the rhythm of the cottages.  Next stop, The Royal Palms, Mandi.

Private/Government Bus

From the Government Bus Stand, the only discernible difference with this intermediate level bus was the price.  At about 3 times the local bus price, it was exactly the same service and comfort level, stop start journey and passenger density.  That’s it really.  It did the job.  Lesson:  Always scope out the exit bus when you first arrive at the bus stand.

The Royal Palms Mandi

Arriving from Apple Bud Cottages, Manali, the burning question was, ‘Do we have a reservation or not?’ Yes, confirmed emailed.  No, by telephone and not a room in the city.  Maybe let's try direct.  Yes, of course sir.  Arrival, clearly no record, a choice of rooms anyway.  Booking with MakeMyTrip was problematic here.  Not sure how or why, or what to suggest as a work around, except for perseverance.  As to The Royal Palms; great location on one corner of the sunken bazaar.  An easy walk from the bus station and indeed we didn’t need to engage transport at all during our stay.  It was at the higher end of our budgeted daily amount, and while it was clean and neat, it didn’t offer anything outstanding.  The entertainment was trying to get the hot shower to work.  Multiple attempts and numerous helpers and I finally gave up.  Interesting room numbering saw us with Room 404 on the 2nd floor?  Oh and WiFi only in the foyer and not consistent was not so pleasing.  Mandi, however was a surprise once we found our way; The Hotel Rajmahal Palace, the Temple at the top of 390 steps (but who was counting) and Mehindi for Karwa Chauth.  Time to take the bus to Hotel Sangeet, Shimla.

Semi Deluxe? Bus Mandi to Shimla

Another bus stand another semi-deluxe bus, whatever that may mean.  This time we had reclining headrest seats, a bus with suspension and what was largely a straight through run.  Bags were stowed safely in the luggage hold for RS/10 each.  This was to date, and would become overall, by far my favourite bus choice.  Not so sanitised as to be removed from the journey, yet comfortable and gentle enough to enjoy the unfolding landscape and communities.  These Semi-Deluxe level buses stop at fortunate roadside dhabas where you get to eat fast, friendly and fantastic food.  Don’t worry about the appearances.  On the whole these places are clean, cheap and some of the best food we had anywhere.  Lesson here:  Old bus stand, new bus stand, government bus stand, deluxe bus stand?  Often one and the same, but not always.  Be prepared to negotiate the next leg.  In Shimla this meant a local bus to the old bus stand.  People crawling over me half in the aisle and four deep in other peoples’ luggage.  The local bus stopping to pick up more passengers and shoe horning them in to break some unknown world record.  The end of the journey was thankfully on foot, as we traipsed after a porter, zigzagging up the side of the cliff that is Shimla.

Hotel Sangeet

From Royal Palms, Mandi to Hotel Sangeet, Shimla.  Winding up the pathway to the end of The Mall, a porter carrying both our back packs, the neat white facade of Hotel Sangeet greeted us with open arms.  The staff were exceedingly helpful with my series of mini disasters: water bottle spilled in bag ‘Don’t worry ma’am.  We will mop it up.’ And my hiking boots having had an unfortunate meeting with dog pooh ‘Yes we will clean them for you ma’am.’  I waited in the foyer, which also serves as the restaurant, its transformation complete with table cloths and fabric napkins, along with excellent food.  My husband looked at the rooms and chose the top one.  Yes that level is 97 steps from street level and there is no lift, but Hotel Sangeet is located at the quiet end of The Mall and you need not engage transport or the tourist lift for the duration of your stay.  Attention to detail was noticeable.  The hotel attendant who showed us to our room, returned to make up the bed with a top sheet, a never repeated item at any of our other locations, plus 'Do you want clean towels ma'am?' was a question I were asked more than once during our four night stay.  Shimla:  So civilised.  From here we went to Lakshmi Guesthouse, Dehradun.

Semi Deluxe Overnight Bus

Our previous Semi Deluxe Bus was so heartening, we had prebooked at the New Bus Stand on the same, for the overnight trip from Shimla to Dehradun.  A little different in that it was a speedy trip along all but empty night roads, in the company of a troop of monks headed back to Mindrolling Monastery, where we would be in another week.  The entertainment on the bus was provided by Brian, who rigged a meditation shawl to secure his seat back in the upright position; the mechanism had tired and retreated to recline on some previous journey through the sub continent.  A memorable stop at a tea stand at 2.30am, accompanied by a toilet stop, “How did you enjoy that, honey?” ... “It really depends on how long you can hold your breath!”, and we were in Dehradun and being herded out into the night at 3.30am, some 3 hours earlier than we expected.  The ever present auto game ensued and the winner conveyed us to our guesthouse, where we prepared to camp in the driveway til light ...

Lakshmi Guesthouse

Hotel Sangeet, Shimla to Lakshmi Guesthouse, Dehradun.  Again, we had tried to book on MakeMyTrip but the International Credit Card precluded this.  Going direct to the Guesthouse website and speaking direct to the Manager/Owner was invaluable.  Just be aware Lakshmi now have two guesthouses; the original in town, and the new one a few kilometres out of town on the way to Mussoorie.  After some initial confusion on our part, we did get to stay in town, which suited us on this occasion.  For a getaway and hiking you would perhaps consider the ‘new’ guesthouse.  As for our stay, we arrived 3.30am prepared to wait outside til sunrise.  On hearing the auto deposit us, one of the hotel staff came out and let us in.  ... And then we met Dinesh.  What a the gem1  General everything man and cook, translated fruit and vegetable names and provided cooking tips, arranged a massage for 'my husband', transport, toilet paper and much more.  He knew someone for everything, and always fair and reasonable.  “No cheating on the laundry.”  “What would you like for dinner, ma’am? I am going to the market.”  There was a plethora of staff, administered by a gentleman we referred to as ‘The Godfather’, and orchestrated by Dinesh.  Lakshmi is attentive but not in your face.  We had a big clean room and bathroom with five towels, everything worked, and our sun porch for yoga, sitting, reading, eating was great.  One more thing.  Don’t forget the shoeshine man who comes everyday and sets up in the driveway.  Please do it!  Next we set off for the Devaloka House at Mindrolling Monastery, Clement Town.

Auto

We’d travelled on numerous autos, but this was our first change of location auto.  Only seven kilometres out of Dehradun, Clement Town is really an outer suburb.  It is mini-Tibet and the location of Mindrolling Monastery.  Should have been uneventful, until the dust storm circled in, followed by the huge drops of rain which became mud as it swirled into our open auto.  All over in a few minutes though as we recalibrated on the bus stand, and arrived in the shadow of India’s largest Stoopa.

Mindrolling Monastery

Lakshmi Guesthouse, Dehradun to Devaloka House, Mindrolling Monastery, Clement Town.  After scurrying behind a relay of monks to the Reception/Cafe at the back and right of the main monastery, we met our man Nanch, and were shown our room.  Trapezoidal shaped, with a clutch of monkeys out the back.  Single beds with super doonas.  A TV with three working channels out of 200, all in Hindi and all the same.  And once we were shown the switch to flick, the shower was amazing.  Welcome to Room 307.  ... Oh, and the honey pancakes at Norjin Vegetarian Restaurant downstairs.  This time Brian had food envy, especially considering his Tibetan Tea - salty and sweet and milky, all at the same time.  The Monastery was clean, peaceful and easy ... and just right for my meditating Buddhist boy.  For me ... the next stop beckoned ... Anand Prakash Yoga Ashram, Rishikesh.

Government Bus

This was another short relocation leg and the government bus it was.  Eventful for two reasons.  First was Brian’s inadvertent loss of a much mentioned Longines’ watch.  Attachment issues here?  Second was a detour through Dehradun ‘International Airport’, in the midst of a flurry of cleaning and rock painting activity for the pending arrival of Charles and Camilla.  Of course there was the now mandatory tout run for autos at the bus stand at Rishikesh.  Too many rupiahs and missteps around and about Tapovan later, and we unloaded at Anand Prakash Ashram.

Anand Prakash Ashram/The Hermitage Hotel

From Buddhism to Hinduism: Mindrolling Monastery to Anand Prakash Ashram.  Meditation in the morning.  Yoga asana classes at 6.30am and 4.00pm.  Time for walking, journaling and being.  Sattvic meals three times a day.  A yogi’s dream.  Nothing more to say other than, Anand Prakash Ashram for smaller, quiet, restorative, nurturing, food, Vinyasa style yoga, energy, Ganges and Himalayan prana, shelter, oh and Yogi Yum Yum’s, who is a person not a cafe, for healthy, organic snacks, and pre-ordered smoothies for breakfast.

In conjunction with this we must give special mention to The Hermitage Hotel, which is the spillover accommodation for the ashram.  It is right next door.  You can see the yoga rooms just across the lane from there.  Ravi, the Manager made this hotel: service, coffee, information.  Great roof deck for washing, reading and extra yoga.  We had the ground floor room next to reception which availed us of WiFi in our room!  Big plus!  The room was very well appointed.  Lots of towels, regularly changed.  Two ceiling fans, never used of course, but blades perfectly positioned for synchronous rotation.

For me this was all about the yoga!  The discipline says Brian!  Back out into the world and we headed down the Ganges to Haridwar and Hotel Har Ki Pauri.

Share Auto

The plan for this transport was walk to the top road, share auto to the Rishikesh bus stand and government bus to Haridwar.  As with most things in India, or maybe everywhere if you let yourself go with it, the actuality was a little different.  Walk to the top road.  Check!  Share auto to bus stand?  “Auto to Haridwar!  Rs/300 both of you.  1 hour.”  What?  Regroup.  ‘How bad can it be?  The bus is dusty anyway and we don’t have to detour, stop, wait ... about the same time, price.’  “Okay.  Get in, honey!”  In the company of locals, cows, camels, elephants and the ubiquitous dust we rattled along the main highway in our three-wheeler.  Har Ki Pauri is the name of the waterway where seven tributaries meet the Ganges to create the super holy concourse.  It is also the name of the hotel I’d chosen.  Trust the locals to know the location, but not how far the walk is.  Deposited at one end of the watercourse Har Ki Pauri, we trekked ‘200 metres that way’ for about 2 ½ kilometres, to the Hotel Har Ki Pauri.

Hotel Har Ki Pauri, Haridwar

The Hermitage Hotel, Tapovan to Hotel Har Ki Pauri.  Another MakeMyTrip arrival.  Do we have a room or not?  Lesson:  Always screen shot your reservation date and price details, and ask about service tax included or not.  Another hotel another room to see.  This time I did the steps to decide which room.  Although I didn’t notice the shape of the room, the standard deluxe with an extra 2 square metres for only Rs 200 more, was my choice.  The 2 square metres, Brian pointed out, were a sort of triangle off to one side of the bed, but it provided light, air and space to move around, plus a water view from some floors.  Our experience was on two floors:  It was easier to change rooms than fix the shower.  Unfortunate as we started off on the second floor in a beautifully clean room with the view, but no shower, and ended up two floors up, same spot with not so much view, room not quite as clean, but a shower.  Attachment and sacrifice.  “A lift - you can't go past the lift,” says Brian, although I did, except once for the experience.  A word of caution for all hotels here.  Steps, steps, everywhere steps.  Marble, slippery, often wet, more often dusty.  Be careful.  Back to Hotel Har Ki Pauri specifically, the kitchen boys were a treat with their slogan t-shirts, orders written on the chef of the day’s hand, and competition ludo at the next table ...  Food was great, as we had come to know in these hotels, and the introduction to Soam Papdi, was well, life changing.  They shared their newly acquired box with us one evening after dinner when we ordered coffee.  One more thing of not while we were there it was perhaps post Diwali spring cleaning, because all the curtains were being taken down, and washed ... and ironed.  Nice touch.  Next stop for us would be Om Villa, Gurgaon.

Train 2^nd Class Seating

Another early start in the dark on a cycle rickshaw for the train from Haridwar to Delhi, well some suburb of outer Delhi.  A comforting feature of pre booked train travel in India, is the passenger list posted on the side of each carriage.  Always good to see your name after the sometimes vague booking process.  This time facing seats on the side, with a curtain, pillows and blankets ... but no breakfast service.  Oh well, Delhi by lunchtime.  Or maybe not.  Arriving at Nizamuddin Station and of course choosing the wrong side to exit, meant back up and over the platform and all those stairs.  Out the other side and the touts swarm.  Lesson here:  Know how far and how much it should cost, and stand your ground, plus have an option.  We went for the option and eventually through the kindness of a stranger, caught a bus and two trains (the second one separately when the doors closed between us and Brian waved goodbye to me still on the platform) to MG Road, then an auto, again following that Lesson, to Om Villa.  Phew, and it’s only 3.30pm!

Om Villa Gurgaon

Hotel Har Ki Pauri, Haridwar to Om Villa, Gurgaon.  I would leave this one to Brian as it’s his favourite hotel to stay in, in Delhi; borne out by the owner declaring, "Your husband is not just guest.  He is family."  But writing these reviews from home here in Manipal now, he’s in full Professor mode and I’m, well in writing and settling mode.  Located in a quiet suburban street, Om Villa is an easy walk to the Metro, shops for supplies, banking or meeting friends as we did.  By far the biggest room with the most features, including a fridge, we experienced.  The room was serviced everyday:  towels, bed made, just like a real hotel should be.  And the roof was a clean open space for my yoga practice each morning.  When in Delhi ... stay in Gurgaon, especially Om Villa.  Now we are going to Love Kush, Agra.

Volvo Deluxe Bus

So we finally got to book the famed Volvo Deluxe Red Bus for the short trip from Delhi to Agra.  Famous ‘last words’ from Brian as we ‘seamlessly negotiated’, a lift, the Metro, then an auto to Serai Kale Kahn International Bus Stand and scored chai and Chapati for just Rs/10 each, before boarding our real Volvo conveyance.  “That was our best transition yet, honey!”  Then we were held up as various locals tried to wrangle unbooked seats, while others flagged down the by then already late leaving bus because they hadn’t anticipated the Delhi traffic.  Really?  At this point Brian is becoming more convinced he’s turning Indian, as we are now seasoned enough with haldi, jeera and chilli to get that!  Finally on our way and hooking down the toll way all is going smoothly, both the bus and the schedule, when not 30 kilometres out of Agra, we stop for a 30 minute rest stop.  I totally fail to see the logic in this.  Of course in the time taken stopping we would have been in Agra!  Some confusion about when to ‘get down’ and we were ejected into the dusk, or was that just dust, for the auto dance and then the relief of spotting our hotel looming out of the mist.  Or was that dust again?

Love Kush, Agra

Om Villa, Gurgaon to Love Kush, Agra.  ’Thank goodness’, was my thought as the relieved auto driver, and Brian, spied our hotel as we tracked down Fatehabad Road.  And ‘thank goodness’ went for everything at Love Kush.  From the ever present doorman (smiling and saluting), to the boys on reception (always enough English and Hinglish), to the cooks in the roof top kitchen (first coming to our room to take our order, then setting up a table on the roof for our own ‘private’ restaurant and calling us when our food was ready).  I’d chosen Love Kush as a bit more of a higher end treat (though hardly exceeding the budget), because this was after all, Agra the City of Love.  My first impression, in the foyer, was ‘This is the cleanest place I’ve been in since I left Burleigh.’  The second impression, in the room, was, ‘This is just like Rydges, South Brisbane.’  Needless to say everything worked.  Yes, we really could walk to The Taj, when we could see what direction to go through the ever present haze.  There is a real beans coffee shop about 200 metres up the road, and two Udupi South Indian Restaurants for the always great dosa and vada lunch treat, within easy walking distance.  Now is a good time to mention, I created a spreadsheet and we rated all our hotels on various criteria.  Although others had quaint and sometimes nice features and memorable moments, Love Kush topped our list.  From here we went to Hotel Shalimar, Jaipur.

Volvo Deluxe Bus

Yes, we went with the Volvo again.  This time however, once we found the Deluxe Bus Stand, a shed under a tree in front of a hotel, down the road from the common bus stand, all was well.  Poached eggs on toast, no butter, and a pot of masala chai, no sugar, in the hotel restaurant while we waited.  What more could a girl want?  A straight through trip to Jaipur, and a real 300 metre walk to our hotel.  Lovely!

Hotel Shalimar Jaipur

From Love Kush, Agra to Hotel Shalimar, Jaipur.  Chosen for its price and location, Hotel Shalimar is excellent value for money, with the standard but very good restaurant menu of equal value and just 300 metres from the bus stand, our arrival and departure point from Jaipur.  The stand out feature for me was being greeted by a lady on reception!  As a foreign traveller, I had not realised how important this was to me as a woman until now.  Having someone to ask for directions to the pharmacy.  Being offered a collection instead, and then a chaperone, when I indicated I needed to go myself, was nurturing.  Bumping into her on the stairs and having a woman to woman conversation was priceless.  Aastha and her husband own the hotel.  Having purchased it a few years ago in a fairly run down state, they are a good way through the refurbishment.  A refurbishment that is using good quality fixtures and fittings and utilising Aastha’s feminine aesthetic and attention to detail, evidenced in the room we stayed in.  Although the room was small, probably due to the constraints of original construction, it was beautifully decorated.  From the painted ceiling detail to the framed embroidery above the bed and the soft side lights, Hotel Shalimar was indeed a haven.  The service was prompt and attentive.  I hope this was the level everyone received, and I think it was, observing interactions in the foyer.  Brian and I both highly recommend Hotel Shalimar and will take our guests there when we return to Jaipur.  We now travel to Delhi then transit to Hyderabad and Hotel Ashoka Klaasic.

Volvo Deluxe Bus

One last bus stand, and it will be all trains and planes after this.  ...and of course this time we nailed it; pre booked bus, external terminal scouted when arrived, ‘get down’ point negotiated with conductor and driver for exit at the end of MG Road just metres from our overnight stay in Gurgaon.  Even with the major traffic jam created by one of many ‘diversions’, where without prior warning, vehicles are hurtling towards us on our side of the divided carriageway and our bus took the 4WD route, we arrived in relative good time, avoided touts and walked to our stopover at Amit and Shweta’s in Gurgaon.

Train Overnight Sleeper

Very early next morning and we’re in the car with Amit on strangely quiet streets to our now familiar Nizamuddin Train Station for the Overnight 2^nd Class Sleeper to Hyderabad.  Overnight is an understatement, as it is actually 7am one morning til 11am the next.  There is really nothing positive I can say about this trip other than we arrived.  For more information please read blog post ‘UB14 and SU16’.

Ashoka Klaasic, Hyderabad.

From Hotel Shalimar, Jaipur to Ashoka Klaasic, Hyderabad.  This hotel was chosen for its convenience to Kachiguda Train Station and that was our whole expectation, so it was fulfilled.  But it was trouble from the outset.  The second criteria for choice was the ability to Pay at Hotel, according to MakeMyTrip.  With, not surprising by now, no record of our booking, although we had backed this up with numerous phone calls to the hotel, the manager insisted we pay up front, in cash, the full amount, without even showing us the room.  We were charged more than the documented amount, which I had screen shots of from MakeMyTrip.  The room was dirty and shabby.  The bathroom was particularly bad:  mouldy and smelly.  The basin pipe detached and when the boys came to ‘fix’ it and used the towels to mop up, it took us multiple phone calls, in person requests and until the next morning, to have them replaced.  This was repeated the following day, when I requested clean towels and the same situation ensued.  All while the manager repeatedly asked for email proof of our reservation, which his server wouldn’t receive, so he then required a photocopy, that I was to source ‘across the road, internet cafe, copier shop’, of my phone, which was never going to work.  Every time we came in or out of the lobby he hassled us for this.  The first evening I had stood outside for 15 minutes trying to send to his email and still he was pushy.  Brian finally had words with him about ... well I’m not sure, but we still struggled for towels.  On top of this, there was no room service and the hotel restaurant was not open for breakfast.  Thank goodness the dairy down the road was there and knew how to be just decent and polite.  Also no WiFi.  Hotel Ashoka Klaasic is a classic in the way of ‘Faulty Towers' way, but not nearly as funny.  Near Big Bazaar cross roads, Sweekur Cafe, Panchrathan Vegetarian Restaurant and the Tea Shop, all of which we can’t recommend highly enough, but the hotel only has location going for it.  The rest is up to your endurance should you choose to stay there.

Train Overnight Sleeper

After the Delhi to Hyderabad experience, we tried to scrap this train and fly, walk, teleport, anything to avoid a repeat experience.  We couldn’t book anything else so it was back to Kachiguda Station for a 7pm departure and 6.30am arrival in Bangalore.  The train was marginally cleaner than the last.  The people were exponentially more civil and cordial.  In the end we triangulated a suburban drop off on the Bangalore International Airport side of town, caught an ‘unauthorised’ auto (The driver asked us to pay on the road into the set down area, presumably so that no money was seen changing hands.) and arrived with time to change and freshen up, and have coffee and croissant for breakfast.

Plane SpiceJet

Bangalore International Airport could have been any medium sized airport anywhere in the world, except for the couple of extra security checks.  Still not sure if these are necessary, terrorist checks or just a division of labour to keep the masses employed.  Long queues, but moved fast, plus the check in counter attendant, rearranged our baggage allowance to minimise payment for extra weight.  Important to know that International Baggage Allowance of 30kg has to be compressed into 15kg for Domestic Flights.  Familiarity brings its own comforts and we settled down to breakfast, coffee and the paper before boarding, buckling up and heading for home.  At least we thought so, until it became apparent the flight was going via Mumbai.  We had trained south from Hyderabad to Bangalore, only to fly back north an equal distance to Mumbai before making it to Mangalore.  Well, that’s India.

Car with driver to Manipal

The planes fly into Mangalore Airport, landing on top of the mountain, short, sharp and steep.  After that it’s really like Coolangatta without the witches’ hats to herd the disembarking passengers.  Luggage came out one, two, three and all of a sudden we were outside next to the driver with the sign ‘Dr Brian Purdey + 1’ and driving down the hill and north 40 kilometres to Manipal.

Homecoming

Hyderabad to Manipal: 24 hours, multiple forms of transport.  Arrived 4.30pm Saturday to a whirlwind round of meet and greets; as yet a blur of unfamiliar names.  Escorted to our new home, A9, and I am beginning to feel more like Charles and Camilla in Brian's earlier story, than anonymous us in Australia.  We are constantly attended to by multiple maintenance men, tradesmen, drivers always in tandem with security men, supervisors, managers, cooks, procurement officers, and the heirarchy of academia.  (The pointed use of the word men is not politically incorrect.  They are all men.) And that's just the on campus list.  Step outside and we are in a medium sized not quite typical Indian city.  Manipal is a suburb of Udupi, and admittedly it's the posh end of town, but Udupi is relatively ordered and clean.  It's hot, but the air is clear and it's really not too dusty.  The absence of constant touts is a relief.

As I begin to write, it is Wednesday midday, and it's the first time I've been by myself ... in our own home.  Brian has gone to his office, about 500 metres away in Academic Block (AB) 1.  My life as 'The Professor's Wife' has begun.  So what does that look like? I really have no clue!  Maybe an atypical example, but today the list includes labelling the powerpoints and light switches.  Truly!  How many degrees does it take hit the right switch first time? Considering we have quite a few between us, the answer is clearly, a lot. However it takes less to identify and label them.  Brian left me with it.  Time elapsed - 1 hour.

Next I tried taking a plate of muffins next door to the Director's wife.  That was the easy part - mostly as she wasn't home.  It was the shopping and baking yesterday that broke me.  We left home together.  Brian deposited me with the Joint Director for a walk over to their Faculty Development Program.  Click into 'academic' mode.  Comfort level rising.  By 11am I was on my way downtown for grocery shopping.

Now grocery and kitchen shopping is really something that gladdens my heart, but at 12.15pm after three 'supermarkets' and two piecemeal bags of 'stuff' I deposited myself at the Swati Sagar Pure Vegetarian Restaurant, for my 12.30 lunch with Brian. With no transport and no idea, I was losing heart, so I had a plan.  Of course, I had a plan!  Leave bags with him and circle the other possibilities for list items.  First foray, vegetables. This was going fine, gohbi, alu, pyaj, anda, bringal ... until, "Do you have carrots? Gajar?"

"No. No carrots, ma'am. Maybe tomorrow."

'What? No carrots?'  Carrots are the main ingredient of my signature muffins. My baking plan lay in tatters on the floor. 

Defeated, I returned Brian. 

He heeds the call to action. "What do you need?  I'll get them for you."

Five minutes later I'm on the back of a motorbike, on the road to Udupi Syndicate Circle aka roundabout.  This is where Shatish, the owner of our vegetarian restaurant, shops for his kitchen, and he's offered to take me on a carrot rescue.  Carrots, coriander, cucumber and lettuce, a stop for cinnamon, and I'm back.

"You need tulsi, ma'am?  I bring from my garden.  How soon you need?  You wait? Ten minutes?"

A bag of basil, surely half his garden, arrives with a huge smile from my motorcyle knight and the grateful relief of my peaceful warrior who has come through with a solution.  He puts me in an auto and sends me home.  It's about 3 pm. Time elapsed - 4 hours.  Now I can start baking.  Ever the optomist.

Before I'd even unpacked the groceries, three, no wait here comes another, four men arrive to replace a perfectly functional water filter in the kitchen.  Two hours and multiple on the wall, off the wall, take it apart, put it together scenarios, I have my kitchen to myself and the same water filter on the wall!

So nothing is straight forward as I try to negotiate my way in and around A9 Kailis Quarters, Manipal University Campus.  We have a spare room, three toilets, four basins and two showers.  The downstairs shower has a wet room all to itself.  We have two basins in the dining room.  The other plumbing is dispersed around the house.  The office is on the roof level with the yoga deck, soon to be outfitted with artifical grass.  The kitchen has a walk in pantry (that which I have been exhausting myself trying to stock) and a black granite bench top.  Now this is interesting, because I'd been considering having my 'home' kitchen renovated with ... a black granite bench top.  Hmmm? Maybe not.  It's pretty unforgiving.  Maybe why no one here has crockery or glassware, but rather Corelleware and stainless steel mugs, bowls, platters ...

And now to 'the help'; multiple maintenance men, a garderner with sari clad labourers, who also double as house cleaners.  Not sure which one is supposed to be our half hour a day lady yet, but I hope she starts soon, as the dust gets in everywhere, and I've had to rethink my mantra, 'I don't do floors!'. Then of course there is the caretaker and the ever present campus security.  Add to this list the campus catering staff, Chefs on Wheels, who seem to be at my beck and call. 

Our initial meeting with them was about 8pm on our first night.  We'd just made it back from a foray into town, as the head chef, Yogeesha, and another pulled up on a motorbike to invite us to eat in the student dining hall until we got settled in.  This was followed up by a Monday morning meeting to arrange a shopping trip to Udupi 'CBD' for kitchen requirements.  I was allocated a chaperone,  Vishvanath, who was to escort me to Harsa Appliance Store, Big Bazaar and then a drive by of the grocery stores that would fulfil our requirements.

At 2pm let the games begin.  Brian decided he was coming too, and just as well. (See Shopping Rule No 3: Bring a decoy.). I collected Vishvanath, who turns out to be the Procurement Officer, from the Campus Kitchen Office, and we walked back to A9. There was the now usual ensemble of people at our house, and Brian was conducting - well Hinglish charading.  Our 2pm car arrived at 2.30pm.  A Campus Security vehicle, equipped with a driver, security guard and an array of lights and markings. Brian, Vishvanath and me in the back and we're off to Udupi.  An appliance store like no other, Harsia was our first stop.  An over abundance of retail assistants plus the manager, 'helped' us to fill the vehicle with everything from a gas cooktop to a teapot, as we parted with the grand total of Rs/ 34000 ($600).  In the end we had no less than nine attendants, and all men!  I'm sure they thought I was a crazy white fussy foreign woman but they couldn't quite get our insistence on stainless steel, not plastic, and plain not floral. 

With the crush does come the service though.  Brian wanted a printer so they went and brought two, plus another saleman, from another store.  At the next stop, Big Bazaar, Vishvanath pushed the trolley and carried things for me.  He even got into the swing of it, helping me look for bowls and cooling racks.  Final stop, and the floor covering man was upset that he couldn't supply the matting Brian wanted, there and then.  Not like the two week wait for anything in Australia!

Deliveries, maintenance, installation all happen in organised chaos, perplexing as it must spin the opposite way here in the northern hemisphere.  For example, three tradesman appeared one morning at 11am.  Brian had put in a request at just 9.30am, and here they were with my 'Big size, ma'am' oven, already.

So to my first attempt at baking the famous K* Muffins in India, in a microwave convection oven.  Seven out of ten substituted ingredients, ensured something that tasted Indian but didn't much resemble the picture.  Second attempt, five of ten substitutes, and score from Brian, an impartial five out of ten.  Get that man a cravat!

When in India ... one must have a pressure cooker for the staple food - pulses.  Pressure cookers live in my memory as a scary 80's device for the corporate power woman to save time cooking dinner after working 9 til 5.  They hissed and steamed and threatened to explode, and often did.  After much convincing I agreed to purchase one.  I scrutinised the instructions, and felt prepared physically and emotionally.  I don't think the manufacturers had induction hotplates in mind when they wrote the book.  I waited for the continuous hiss of steam and was showered by a tumeric fountain of scalding dal.  Next!!!  Our industrial bottle of gas arrived at 6.30pm, accompanied by three installers.  Great.  Something I'm familiar with.  Just beware of thin bottomed saucepans, even if they are stainless steel.  However, the silver lining is stove top coffee ... if I can just find some beans.

Add to this highlight package, the two days I spent as an invited guest at the Faculty Development Program, meetings with the Directors, campus tour ... and a day at the beach, and that's the first week.  Smile and breathe. 

... and it all falls apart.

Maybe it's always like this.  When one get towards the latter end of a trip, a project, a road, one becomes impatient for it to be over, anxious for a result, less tolerant along the way.   And so it is for me.   Seven weeks into India.   Fourteen cities, if you count three times through Delhi.   Numerous hours in transit on just as many modes of transport.   Now on the train to number fifteen, Hyderabad.  

The passing scenery has ceased to amaze.   Although still occasionally surprising, it's just India.   Not that I'm oblivious to it now, just that my tourist lens has been taken off.   Brian described it as not having to look for interesting things in each place we visit anymore.   I felt it as the level of ease and comfort of returning to Delhi to start our journey south, toward 'home'.

This time next week, we'll be in Manipal.   I have pictures on my phone and pictures in my mind of what this home will be like.   I have a list of things we'll need to set up house.   I have a version of my professional self to 'pitch' as the value add to Brian's appointment.   I have hope.

All this in the wake of everything India has placed before, around and behind me in this short but intense time.   Everyday has presented unfamiliar situations, cultural norms and extremes, and decisions, to be negotiated ... and in tandem with the 'other'.   Sensory overload and I'm seeking refuge.

I hold out that hope that Manipal will be that.   When the press and tension eases, and the noise and smog lifts, I can see past the dirt and the differences, as long as the people are nice.

Shopping!

Now I'm sure I have your attention, and this post really is about shopping.  In fact in India, it's ALL about the shopping.  Every time you step outside the door you are bombarded with opportunities to part with your rupiahs, in exchange for goods and services as diverse as cycle rickshaw transport starting as low as 20 rupiahs to ceremonial goats upwards of 12 lakhs, plus butchering: that's more than the price of a small family sedan!  (As reported in The Times of India.)

Not being a fan of shopping, in fact on record as declaring, I don't like shopping, this is all way too much for me.  I'm really a 'power shopper'.  I am a big fan of online shopping: filter, select, pay, delivered ...  anonymous, no human interface.  When absolutely necessary, I will go to the mall.  I have a mission and a list.  I can go directly to the minimum number of shops, environment scan from the entrance, or at least one quick survey lap, zone in and buy, or turn and leave.  I do not ask for help.  I do not want to be crowded, followed, pestered, upsold, impulse marketed, or told, 'That really suits you.' Or 'No! You don't look fat in that.'

None of this works in India, and it's exhausting, confronting, aggressive, persistent, inconsistent, disrespectful, and seems everyone is profiteering and will get around to trying to sell you something.  Then there's the 'cheating'.  Locals rail at this behaviour and push back with a 'Don't trust anyone!' attitude.  The touts converge on 'the tourists' and there is no way of disguising our status as such, in a sea of homogenous black hair.  The intrusion into your personal space is startling and disorienting, giving them the advantage.  The opening offer is always devoid of any collection of facts, but simply designed to capture you.  For many tourists this may seem like a genuine and polite offer and they fall at the first gate.  For those with some form, the real game can begin. I'm somewhere in the middle.  I can go maybe a maximum of three plays before I just have to walk away.  Brian is a stayer, playing til the last hurdle ... for the sport of it or to make a point?

But for all of this shopping in India is often quite delightful.  You just have to work out who you are in this crazy frenzy of consumerism, learn some rules of the game, be prepared, take a deep breath and ... Good luck!

Along the way, we have collected some vignettes that illustrate the lessons shopping has brought us.

What's to eat?

Food is the ubiquitous challenge.  With street food, sometimes just working out what's food and what's a temple offering is hard enough.  Most vendors have only Hindi item lists.  Often they will give you some to try.  I think street food is for the experienced or the brave.  The rules are: Are there locals eating there?  Is it busy? Can you see the food being prepared?  Do you recognise it?

What have we ordered?

Surprise food in restaurants is not uncommon.  Our first experience was in Kesar de Dhaba, Amritsar, first night on the road.  In the middle of a late monsoon deluge, the cycle rickshaw deposited us at the 'restaurant'.  Well, at least the sign matched the name we were looking for.  We stepped over the stream which was the road, into the entrance of a concrete bunker.  Unsmiling men looked us up and down and pointed at the bench tables.  The door man turned on the fluorescent light above the table we selected.  The scary looking waiter pushed a tatty laminated 'menu' across the table to us and waited.

We chose a dish.  Some frowning and,  "Not available," was the response.

We chose another. "No."

He pointed, "This.  This."

"Okay."

Looks like the menu is just an indication.  Diners are given whatever is being cooked.  We waited in anticipation.  "I think we are having dal and stuffed paranthas."

Food comes out really quickly: dal fry (the one with a bonus ladle of ghee added at the end) and fresh hot tandoor paranthas, all on a talli.  The waiter identifies the dal, then picks of a parantha with one hand, scrunches it like a dish cloth and announces "Alu parantha!" Before we can even register surprise, he's grabbed the second one, "Gobi parantha!"

Oh my gosh ... they were good though!

‘Fixed price no tension.’

Phew. Thank goodness. Something that is what it is. We encountered these signs first in the Tibetan communities of Himachal Pradesh, but have found them in many places.  Even the fruit carts on the street sometimes display prices.  At the very least there is collusion in the market.  Combining that with the art of triangulation, polite but firm smile, and the right money ready to go, ensures that even me the white foreigner ma'am got her two bananas for the real, local price of Rs/ 10 not Rs/ 20 in Shimla.

This brings me to triangulation.

Getting three quotes was never more relevant.  Thinking about buying carved marble in Jaipur, I was encouraged by Brian, to take the initiative and play the first move.  This was a tough ask, as I'd been relentlessly hammered by touts, shopkeepers, beggars, lice and fleas in Agra, and lately in Jaipur.  We'd actually taken refuge in a side alley (See Rule 2 below.), which turned out to be marble carvers' alley.  Strike One: Rs/80000.  This seemed ridiculous to me, even with my only point of reference being the price of a similar sized piece of cast brass work Brian had bought.  I was done.  Did I really want to carry around an extra half a kilo in my backpack for the next two weeks anyway?  Brian steps up for the next pitch.  Strike Two: Rs/16000.  Still not in the ballpark.  One last try.  Strike Three: Rs/11000.  Who knows?  I didn't buy anything.

Mediating for meditation

Buying a meditation shawl in Manali had been a much softer experience.  All the Kula shawl shops seemed to be clustered together in the mall.  The shawls were the same in each shop; prices, patterns and wool-or-not mixes.  This is where I learned the shopping escape route, Rule 1: Ask for something they don't have.  Sounds easy and it does eventually work, after the insistent shopkeeper has pulled out a three deep counter full of items for inspection.  Feeling obliged and overwhelmed, I deployed Rule 2: Retreat down a side alley.  And these are the places you find the gems.  A dingy little store, with a makeshift rack out the front and numerous hand written signs, extolling all the 'Don’ts' in the shop: eating, drinking, loud noises, music, dancing ... ?  Weaving deeper into the store, all the shawls were hanging and priced.  Brian started playing the shopping game for himself, leaving me space to look.  Rule 3: Bring a decoy shopper.  And sure enough, there on the wall was my new meditation shawl.  Colour, pattern, price, overall experience - priceless.

Tea with the tailorman ...

In Shimla and bolstered by my shawl success, I employed Rule 2 and took the road less travelled, down some stairs to a rainbow of fabrics.  Searching through curtains of scarfs, and pillows of shalwahs, the tailor and I 'created' my version of Indian ladies' fashion.  All the while having a conversation about Mt Kailash, I think.  Eight steps to the right, and the machinist measured and nodded.  My 'suit' would be ready after lunch.  Taking Brian with me, we collected my purchase and an invitation to tea the next afternoon.  The man blessed my money.  Of course we had to keep out the date.  Barfi sweets in hand we arrived for tea, to a delighted tailor.  More conversation ensued regarding trekking, marriage and business, but the real reason I'd been led to The Rainbow Tailor: the gift of his secret masala tea spice mix.

Making change

It would appear that no one in India has change.  Strange when we have given them all our small money and they then baulk at the Rs/ 500 notes the ATMs spit out.  Some rationale for this is the rash of counterfeit notes reported to have been circulated, but when does the paranoia stop?  Add to this the almost worthless value of Rs/1's and 2's coins and we get this.

Buying the barfi sweets to take to our tailor tea date, I handed over a Rs/100 note.

"Do you have change?  Four rupiah?"

"Nahi." I'm onto this.  I want some change.

Result, I get my change; notes to the nearest Rs/5, and a chocolate, presumably the Rs/1.  Hmmm? Not sure about this one, but it made me smile.

As an addendum to 'Making Change', there we were at a cashier in a department store in Hyderabad. The attendant opens the register, and one of the coin compartments is filled with ... the Rs/1 chocolates!

Supermarkets as entertainment

Don't discount the supermarket as entertainment as well as a great social observation space.  As long as you can cope with the ratio of attendants to shoppers (about 3:1) and all of them falling over themselves to serve you, the supermarket, general store, bazaar, is a great learning environment.  We're still not sure about this one though.  Browsing in the manchester department, the instore announcement tempts us with a 'Second person for free Fish Massage' on Level 2.

Unique point of difference

So many bangles and temple offerings.  Whole streets of indistinguishable ladies' dress shops.  Numbered ski hire vendors on the side of the road, so you know which one to return the gear to?  One after the other of roadside dhabas with the same menu.  Carts piled with produce in perfect pyramids; never seeming to deplete.  How do any of them make any money?  Is it just the sheer number of consumers?  I don't know, but then one night we saw the banana seller on the corner was down to his last three bananas, so?

Don't stand still!

When stationary, you are an easy target ... an opportunity for anyone.  Even the monkeys have a niche market.  At Jakhu Peak, a 34 metre high statue of Hanuman, the Hindu monkey god of strength, courage, wisdom and celibacy, and his temple, stand guard over the cliff city of Shimla. After a challenging climb unsuspecting visitors are relieved of their sunglasses and encouraged to part with 50 rupiahs for monkey food from a convenient vendor, who then does the deal with the monkey to swap the food for the stolen sunglasses.  Pavlov's 'Monkey' theory of behaviour.

And yes, it happened to Brian.

I think I'm turning Indian?

It seemed like the going rate for an Indian passport was a few weeks in the Himalayan sunshine, Rs/30 for a genuine Kula hat from Himachal Pradesh, being able to order two strong white coffees without sugar - in Hindi, and successfully fending off touts, auto drivers, beggars and omnipresent 'venders' with various levels of; no ... nahi, ji nahi, nahi chahiye, or just a plain flick of the wrist.

Partial confirmation of said return on investment was forthcoming in Dehradun, Kanwali Road Medical Store to be correct, at the time of Australia levelling the One Day Series with India, when the local storekeeper had to enquire whether said gentleman in Kula hat was actually from HP!

Drought followed on the plains.  In Gurgaon, whilst our friend Amit thought I had acquired the mental equivalent of Delhi Belly, his wife thought the shown pick from Dehradun was of an individual of striking Indian-ness.  Perhaps she was just humouring her house guest, or taking advantage of an opportunity to present her own point of view.  Who knows?  The mixed messages being received were as consistent as road directions to anywhere in India.  Nowhere else can 1.5km appear as close as 200 metres walking distance as in India.  But I digress.

Sixteen hundred and sixty something kilometres is a fair way from Delhi to Hyderabad, whether you're on foot, auto, or going by Indian Railways.  The latter advises arrival after a mere 26 hours, but the truth has to allow for some margin of error, on the upside of course.  Plenty of time to get acquainted with the local fellow travellers.  Eight berths.  Nine persons.  That doesn't compute, but DG has her own take on why conventional maths gives way to the Vedic version in such circumstances.

After a friendly round of intros, shared snacks, and jokes about the value of six precious pieces of cheese pakora for Rs/ 30 from the Indian Rail food walla, the conversation turns to the justification for eating meat, with the bearded Muslim in seat 15.

Clearly I haven't understood that God has designated man as the superior 'animal' to all the sentient beings, and thus to survive, has the right to kill other animals for food.  Reincarnation?  Yes, he believes, but to whether with his belief system it's only in human form, not the edible fish, mutton, chicken form?  I get no answer.  Cows are off the agenda too, at which point the three way conversation between the Hindu, Muslim and Buddhist, is endeavouring to get to the bottom of such complex life questions.

Agreeing that each holds their own different position, a ??? world peace is obtained.  So simple really.  Perhaps if our political leaders would spend less time on shuttle diplomacy and more time in IR Sleeper Class, we'd make some progress and agree on something.  Just as the intrepid travellers did.

Flicking through the iPhone photo file I find a ???? of a Kula hatted gentleman.  The response is unanimous.  Indistinguishable from the Chief Minister for Kashmir.  The pendulum of Indian-ness has swung back in my favour.

Further proof however comes from the carrier of all messages, India Vodafone.  I now no longer receive text prompts from them in English ... but in Hindi.

Namaste!