A review of Lonely Planet’s ‘Filmi Escapes: Travel with the movies’ Leading Hotels of the World, a luxury hospitality consortium, has listed a ‘Midnight in Paris’ package; those who can’t afford the Panoramic Suite which was featured in the Woody Allen movie take pictures of the prestigious Hotel Le Bristol Paris. The New Zealand government gave the producers of ‘The Lord of the Rings’ an unprecedented incentive of US$ 150 million. After the critical acclaim of the 2008 drama ‘In Bruges’ the Belgium town decided to revolve its marketing around

A tailor usually takes pride over the fine cut, the thread even, but Saheb gloated over the fabric. “This kind of wool you get only in the Garhwal region.” He said running his fingers fondly down the braid of his coat, eyes urging me to do the same. He took a long pull from his beedi through cupped palms before continuing. “The place has to be beautiful if you want something as pretty as this.” I had found Saheb, a tailor from Taluka, the last motorable point from where you

The horizon fringed by jagged snowlines is recurring but not repetitive. You wrestle figuring the Gauri Peak from the Barmal but the white-capped ballad that plays out before you very soon take your mind off such mundaneness as names. The Dunagiri looks better awash with the amber glow of the setting sun? Or with the golden rays of the rising sun sliding over the overnight verglas? Some questions have no answers. As an ancient Indian proverb goes ‘A hundred divine epochs would not suffice to describe the marvel of the

Driving in the hills is as much about skills as it is being courteous and considerate The pickup truck swung at a squirming angle, automotive viscera vulnerable in a groaning metallic crochet. A Honey Singh number gushed forth from the cabin like an aural flame thrower at the serene deodars lending the incongruity a flinching comicality. The truck had only moments ago brushed past me as it hurtled up the hill before plunging headlong into a ditch hidden by a steep gradient. The door opened and the driver emerged, a

Jadan would have passed by like any other town in rustic Rajasthan during midday – an ochreous vastness permeating in all directions, including upwards, which turns out to be buildings as you get closer – if it weren’t for Dipu who was with me to take the car, lent by my gracious host the Thakur of Auwa, back to Auwa. “I’m sure you will love it.” Dipu said. Since he had been on the phone with his girlfriend from the time we left, on the phone even when he occasionally

For a full ignoble minute I remember thinking Conan – Barbarian and Destroyer – was right. These halitosis hurricanes ought to be thwacked. I lay sprawled clutching handfuls of ebbing sand, my heart trying hard to squeeze itself out through the ribcage. Shooting stars swam in slomo in front of my eyes and I would have breathed through my ears if I could. After a while when I sat up I was told of many others who didn’t – sit up, that is. They couldn’t as their hearts had quit.

Dear dad, mom I am hoping by now one of my – four – sisters would have told you about my blog Wanderink.com. Mom, a blog is essentially a website only that it takes up a lot of time and gives nothing in return… something like what you said about cats after you had to give up your puppy Pepsi before that road trip to Goa with daddy. I was just about to update my blog with more sights from my recent visit to Rajasthan when I remembered your upcoming

Doda in these parts is not just for the anchorite or the ailing, it’s for everybody. It is a permanent fixture in riyan or ceremonies like weddings or housewarming and shop inaugurations. It is indispensible in sabhas or community meetings called to settle issues. For generations doda has played the role of icebreaker and relationship-cementer, has been instrumental in resolving spats and has injected newfound warmth to embraces. Upped gaiety and community quotients. And in recent poll times it has even propped up Barmer in Rajasthan – the second largest

Angrezi babuls scramble from both sides eager for a prickly embrace, turns around with a ‘whoa’ just as you pass. We sped along a spit of a tarmac flanked by bristly rows of the shrub towards Khamblighat railway station; the train had to be late by at least 10 – 15 minutes if we were to get on it. But my host Thakur who was driving didn’t seem to be worried. “These were brought from Africa.” Thakur said with a vague nod. For a moment I thought he was talking

Decapitated, defiled or deified, the human body has always enjoyed centre stage in Indian art. Whether the unabashed exploration of the sexual we see in the cave temples of Khajuraho or the unrelenting pursuit of the sacred depicted by the stupas of Bodh Gaya, the body has been the faithful transport. Quite understandably it is the pivot of celebrated ancient Indian treatises on desire and rejuvenation – the Kamasutra and Charaka Samhita, a basis of Ayurveda. And of course the medium of that ‘union with the divine’ the greatest Indian