Safar mein dhoop to hogi

In mandiromein dhoop bahut hoti hai sir. Bachche kaise ja payenge itni dhoop me? Bachcho ko kaise ghumana hai, dhoop se hatana hai, main janta hoon. Aap samajh rahe hain na main kya keh raha hoon? Bhartiya paribar me kis tarah ka laj lihaj rakhna padta hai main janta hoon. Mandir kaise dikhana hai, mujhe aata hai. Aththara saal se isi kaam me laga hua hoon.

Thus spake Sri Dikshit. A very oily and objectionable pimp with slicked back hair and shifty eyes. But then his ilk is everywhere, on the streets of Khajuraho. Their target consumer, the Indian middle class tourist. The Americans, Italians, Israelis and Russians are outside their ambit. The rich ones stay at the high end resorts nearer to the airport and are mostly on a conducted tour. The hiker sorts in chappals have their trusty guidebooks and maps, often travel on foot and are unfailingly wary of local touts. Both largely unapproachable.

To cut a long story short, we got around Dikshit. And look where it got us. Into a lot of dhoop. Thankfully the kids were not wilting. Far from it. They were suppressing smiles and pointedly looking the other way and asking other questions. Like why the cow and the boar are gods. So much for Bhartiya paribar, parampara, laaj, lihaz.

Getting through all that dhoop, answers to some questions still remain in the dark for me. Like what's with the lion and the woman? And what is the woman knelt between hind legs of a dragon/horse trying to look at or grab? See pics.

One word. Khajuraho is fun. And totally worth it. If you are ready to live with beer @ Rs. 80. From the retail outlet, that is. Rs. 120 at the eatery. But those are figures all over MP. The saffron raj has made it tough for the tipplers.

The light and sound show is boring. Like they mostly are, anywhere. What's unique here is the guards won't allow tripods inside the gardens during the show, even as they'll let you carry a still camera, which will be completely useless minus a stand. For night photography, the best available spot in town is the famed Blue Sky rooftop restaurant, across the street.


From here we'd travel on to Bandhavgarh, in search of the majestic white tiger. More of that story on a later post. See also the updated flickr album, if you would.

I'm out
(as in "I've outed myself", more commonly used for gay people exposing their sexual orientation, though not in that sense)











Nobody really wanted to see what I look like. I know. However, the editing of these videos was a painstaking process. Took me the better part of a week. I wanted to put up at least micro clips somewhere on the web. In these clips, the bespectacled fellow with an oversized round balding head is me. (many people have compared my features with Subhas Chandra Bose). Likewise the missus and the lass.
We'll be traveling to Khajuraho, Bandhavgarh and Pachmari with a brief touchdown at Jabalpur the second week of March. Anyone who can share some travel tips esp. the journey from Khaj to Bandhavgarh and availability and rates of vehicle rental in the area, please do. I'll be grateful.

p.s. As compared to utube which sucked big time, Vimeo was a breeze. Uploading speed was fantastic and features offered for a free account were great.

My pics

This evening I was rummaging through backup discs of my old PC. Here is one gem I found, and I can't help sharing it.

A resounding left hook for the pacifists' cause.

My happening lifestyle

Delivered as an insert with the morning paper. Captivating. As adverts go, one hell of a job dun.

In other news, the perfect bloody Mary still proving to be elusive. Do I have a future in food photography? Think not.


With the annual liquor license renewal drama in effect in these parts, practically any kind of booze is elusive in the neighborhood. It's like the tramp said "who do you have to f*** to get a quart of Vodka around here?" We try and get by. The booze shops remain closed. A lacky hangs out nearby. You slow down and peer. The exchange takes place fifty yards away near some shrubberies. So much for law enforcement.

I've devised a drink, which, for some reason I call The Hotshot Russian :

2 1/2 oz Vodka
3/4 oz fresh lime juice
rock salt/kosher salt to taste
1 tsp tabasco
Black pepper powder (optional)

Stirred with lots of ice. Garnished with black olives. We like.

No Spring Chicken
It's spring. I had to throw the blankets away last night. and this photo was taken this morn near my backyard off the garage. Is that a meadowsweat in the center? I was never good at these things. Googling doesn't help much either. Now that spring is officially here and India is playing a loserly match at Sydney today, I feel compelled to down a He-man 9000.
And I'm eating chicken for Sunday lunch, after eons. This part of the world is famous for h5n1. It's become an yearly phenomenon now, the wrath of the flu gods.Among the contradictory messages over media over the past month, nobody knew if one could die of eating chickens. Now the government has come clean on the issue. Funny thing, what they're telling us now were being said by The Poultry Lobby all along. They took out quarter page ads in national dailies. In the same issue of the same papers, State Government agencies would publish notices, in public interest, to stay away from poultry and eggs and not to go near where they are bred and sold. It created all sorts of confusion in educated people who read the news.
I went to the poultry market today to witness a sad scenario. Many of the chicken-sellers have gone home to till their lands or whatever. Respectable intelligentsia are still not seen buying poultry. Actually I've talked to many and found all that they need is moral support. Well, somebody had to be the pioneer. I guess I'd heard the call.
Just don't call on me if I get body ache and fever in a coupla days, will ya?

Sitting in a corner of the living room and feeling a bit melancholy. Early evening, late autumn, in an industrial town in the great Indian outback. Could've been anywhere in the world.