History of branding says that you try harder when you are number two. ‘Blue City’, ‘Sun City’, ‘cultural capital’ – epithets attributed to Jodhpur, the second largest city in Rajasthan, are industrious at best. But they also give the impression of trying too hard – something which they don’t have to. As long as the city holds the Mehrangarh Fort with its wonderful, wonderful museum, we travellers will continue to flock. Paul Theroux said that ‘the conceit of the long distance traveller is the belief that he is going so

“Park…park…park.” Only one of them could read, two figured out from the familiar shape of the words and one just parodied the chorus. “Park…park…park…” the boys screamed with a maniacal unison like frenzied rock fans in an upper-fuelled concert. We were only 25km out of Mussoorie, on our way to Rishikesh. The only thing on our adult minds was rafting. “Park…park…park…” Swirly white water creating those ominously inviting whirlpools… “Park…park…park…” Plunging at precarious angles through spray screens with shiny, lovat boulders looming half-a-hand away… “Park…park…park…” Dhanaulti was early even for

“‘Where are you headed to?” “Rishikesh.” “What’s up?” “Rafting, of course.” Now try this. “What’s up this weekend?” “Going rafting.” “Where?” “Rishikesh, of course.” Once upon a time famed as the ‘world capital of yoga’, The Beatles came visiting Rishikesh in 1968 and John Lennon recorded the memorable The Happy Rishikesh Song. Amidst lots of blue-grey smoke, hallowed chants and exhilarating yoga, the group went on to compose nearly 50 songs during their stay at a now-closed ashram. Such was the lure. And the lore. Today, though numerous ashrams cloak

Pierce Brosnan fixes his Remington gaze – slightly more sullen drunk – on you as you flip through the menu of the most popular eatery in town. It is almost like he is quietly challenging you to a binge. After a couple of hours I look around and the entire world is smiling at me and I am in love with everyone there. There is this white dude with a guitar strumming country songs whom I want to kiss. I settle to buy a beer for him but there is

You buy vegetables from a market overlooked by snow-capped mountains. You pray standing amongst the heavens. A gush of pure and cool breeze greets you as you get off the bus. Look around and your pert, pretty little town is hemmed in by bosky barrancas and mountains awash in a thousand hues. It was early morning and I watched the sun soak the ice tips high above the slopes and slowly wash down the forests a tad darker than the virid valley. As the milky haze that lazily hung over

In a region where you wouldn’t find even a stray camel, naming a road after the ungulated dromedary should have been the work of some intrepid imagination. Or a distinct lack of it. During the British Raj both were in abundance. But whatever the Camel’s Back road lacks in nomenclature aptness, it makes up with sheer panorama. The four kilometres of clean air, good health or introspection winds serenely from Library Chowk to Kulri Bazaar in Mussoorie, the popular hill destination in the northern state of Uttarakhand. As I step

You see the palm fronds swaying an eager welcome even as you come in to land. Reach by rail or road and the greenery doesn’t wait for you to cross the border before gathering you in a lush embrace. Nature, it would seem, has been taking lessons in haste from the natives. For a long time nature and natives chartered their own distinct courses in Kerala: the former charming and laidback while the latter amiable but in a tearing hurry. Life was what happened in the confusing, vibrant and graceful

The vodka came as promised. That it was equal portion water helped me drink it straight from the bottle.  “There seems to be no shortage of water,” I told Abdullah the handsome scrawny teenager with shifty green eyes who was at once the janitor, porter and concierge. And now, my lifesaver, my brother.  “Yes brother,” he replied as his eyes flew from my wallet to the backpack that lay dripping wet on the houseboat carpet. It was just habit and no malice. “The Dal Lake provides everybody with pure and

As I entered through the bamboo gate, the pigeons fluttered up like a John Woo scene. I pointed this out to my cameraman who guffawed nervously. But we had to can some happy visuals for a CSR documentary and not action sequences with borrowed faces. All through the trip we were worried about filming in Dumka, an insurgent-infested outpost 300 km from Ranchi. Also it didn’t help much that just half an hour back we had passed by a bus burned bare by the Maoists – a grim warning to

The seven sister states are in deep slumber year round but this one nudges herself awake every December. Once she is awake she doesn’t waste any time yawning or stretching; she hits the track running. Come the Hornbill Festival – December 1 to 7 – and Nagaland, coyly tucked away in the north eastern tip of India bursts open in a riot of colours, shudders with dizzying shrieks of martial folk dances and gets giddy on the aromatic highs of herbed bison meat and free flowing rice beer. The state