Khudi to thi humaare paas,
Par Khud ko kabhi banaya na tha.
Papa fakr se kehte
'Aji..humaara ladka to 'Ye' banega!'
Aur 'Ye' waqt ke saath badal ta raha.
'Jo bhi ban..par ek accha insaan ban'
Maa kehti.
'Mere fancy dress competition me
Mujhe ek gadha chahiye, aap banoge?'
Behan ne laad se poochha ek din.
Teachers akad te
'Student ho...
student hi ban ke raho'
'Abe O...Itna mat ban'
Dost log naraaz hote to kehte.
Theatre ke director to
Har rehearsal se pehle poochhte
'Is baar kya ban ne wale ho?'
Naam ke aage peeche
Chand Akshar jode,
Graduate Bane,
Post-Graduate bhi bane...
Phir naukri karne lage,
To naukar bhi bane!
Tum ne us raat, jab dheere se
Sehmi aakhon se poochha,
'Tum mere ban ke rahoge na?'
Mano is ban ne, bana ne
Ke udhed-bun se chhoota,
Tumse kuchh kaha nahin tha maine tab,
'Haan, yahi ban ke rahunga'
Tuesday, 27 December 2011
Monday, 19 December 2011
Transformation
Transformation: Is it a process of evolution, a strategy to grow, an em-betterment, an improvement on the past ? It could be, but most importantly, it is not a matter of choice, it is something we all have to go through, whether we want it or not, whether we are aware of it or not, whether we are currently ready for it or not, it is a process that happens by itself but sometimes it is even a matter of survival.
There is no option but to shed the scales of past and crawl out of it, no matter how painful or long the process might be, how much unfriendly the environment be, how much the odds be stacked against; into a new beginning. The process eventually opens up new realities and makes newer dreams and brighter hopes possible. Could the caterpillar ever dream of flying in the open air, without the process of transformation, without the wonderful wings of a beautiful butterfly?
Transformation is essential, and hence the environment that incubates transformation becomes critical.
The whole effort behind "Love...one another" is to create an environment conducive and as helpful as possible for that transformation to take place. To put many signboards that would help the builders, the planners, the observers and anyone willing in any way, to find their respective ways to create such a large pool where thousands of caterpillars would find the right impetus to turn into butterflies and get their rightful wings to soar in the skies, at their own will.
I have a similar story to share. This one is not spectacular, may not have the anticipated climax, no miraculous results could be shared and no exaggerations will be made.
Me and a group of friends visited Pravartak Sangha - a home for mentally challenged orphans in Salt Lake, Kolkata. How we found out about this organisation and started our relationship is a story of chance and persistence. I walked back to my home in Salt Lake after work everyday, and my route used to generally depend on the odd vegetables to be carried home or the sudden pangs of hunger that had to be met. That day, I took another route without any particular reason. The dimly lit signboard of the institution caught my eye. I had been working with special kids for over two years now, but had not been very active in the City of JOY.
'Should I go in?'
'This place looks closed; there is something in the air that suggests that casual visitors are not welcome here'
This hunch was proved right in the next hour of struggle and persistence to speak to the manager/owner of the place. The gates were barbed, locked and guarded. But, with little courage and lots of hope, I managed to sneak in and even though I was not welcome, I managed to convince the manager and his stout wife that I could come again with friends and do a useful programme with them.
'Theek acche, aapni aaasun...letter niye asben' their tone was a mixture of sarcasm and disinterest. I had been in similar situations in Bhubaneswar before.
The voice of the principal of a special school in Bhubaneswar rang in my ears.
'Na, Na, Na...mu kahili para Na' which in means 'No, No, No..I said No'.
This was her determined reply on the last day before an event very close to my heart 'Know your special friend' in which we paired up special kids with "normal" kids to create a painting together. An event we conducted in 33 cities.
That principal was to send a the largest contingent of special kids to our event - 30 in all.
So, with that faith, I started to plan for the first and may be the most important visit. Winning the trust of these inmates, who not only had no parents or siblings, but also, were not looked after in the best way, the most important task.
(Authors personal note: I would though apologise for making a statement like that without having run an institution. I am aware that this is almost a blasphemy on the part of a arm-chair consultant like me and could appear as criticism, but the idea is to only highlight that there was lot of scope for improvement)
I spoke to Diana, the founder of Chrysallis and my guru in this field. She has taught me how to work with special kids, how to have faith despite odds, how never to loose heart if you are alone and the spirit of volunteerism, above all. I chose a few volunteers to help me: the odd colleague who would become a friend now, the friends who would become family and the strangers who would become friends.
None of them had any experience of working with special kids and as with most sessions that we do with kids, I did a dry run with the volunteers, which most of them attended.
So, we reached there with a laptop, a small sound system, some sweets but no letter. But, we were allowed in. They thought we got some sweets, food etc. which would be distributed and then we would leave with some smiles and tears. To their surprise, we set up our laptop, music system, inserted the CD and asked them all to come in one room. The helpers and others were not very happy with our simplest of demands - get all the kids, get them in a line, ask them to be quiet, don't give them anything to eat now. Our volunteers were struggling and juggling a variety of emotions - love, compassion, pity, anger, frustration, fear and insecurity. I did not intervene then but I knew when to be firm.
The hall was set. 10 kids each in 4-5 rows. The music was on and so was the conundrum and utter confusion of all concerned. It took 10 minutes, some help from volunteers and my loud voice to finally get some semblance of the co-ordinated movements which Diana had asked me to do with the children. I had no idea how they worked, but I trusted Diana and continued the steps for 30 minutes.
The helpers and other people of the orphanage were curious but not sure of what we were trying to do. The volunteers had no idea either, they just had trust in me. I acted well to show that I know what I was doing. Ha!
Then, sweets were distributed and we all returned with promise to come again. We all had a chat in an adjacent park to chalk out our plans. I knew by then which volunteers I could count upon to come again.
I gave some feedback to some of the volunteers:
'dont cry in front of kids',
'dont be too lenient with them',
'we have to make them independent not dependant'
'never, ever have or show sympathy or pity'
'we are here for our own joy above all, no help to anyone but ourselves'
I went back home, tired, exhausted, with a hoarse voice, but a moist and happy heart.
We would continue to go to the Sangha at regular intervals of a 7-8 days.
Diana's visit after a month acted like magic for children and a training session for us. Diana repeated all those 'isms which I had ranted with the volunteers.
We continued our visits and sessions.
Many things were added, the odd gifts we would get for the kids, the prayer 'bhabasagara tarana karana he' which we would sing together on many evenings, the snacks that would be shared, the festivals that were celebrated together and the relationships built.
We was 'kaku', 'didi', 'dada', 'police', 'hero', 'heroine' and many more things.
But, what we started to notice after two-three months in most children was a transformation. A slow, tentative and vulnerable one. The children were using their bodies in a more better and confident manner, they were able to understand instructions, follow them and co-ordinate their actions with their friends. There was joy in what they were doing, they looked forward to these sessions and asked us to come more frequently.
Some of their hopes were met, some did not.
'You promised Kaku, you will take me to my village. You will take me this time no?'
'I want this bag' pointing to the laptop bag.
'I want to go to city, we are not allowed to go anywhere'
We could not do anything about these. But, what we could do, we did, slowly and ever-so surely.
Transformation, is a process, not a destination. I had to leave Kolkata to work at Mumbai. I urged the volunteers that we must continue. I knew, it would not, not in the same fervour. I thought of the hitherto unknown kids in Mumbai, who will give me a chance to work with them. I thought of the new set of volunteers, strangers who would work with these children in future. Some other kind of transformation would take place, I was hopeful. The agent is not important, the process is!!
A few years later, I am hopeful, that the board of Pravartaka Sangha is brighter, a volunteer more determined, a set of friends more frequent, the children much more independent, the workers much more cheerful, the owner much more resourceful and the transformation much more spectacular.
I sincerely hope.
There is no option but to shed the scales of past and crawl out of it, no matter how painful or long the process might be, how much unfriendly the environment be, how much the odds be stacked against; into a new beginning. The process eventually opens up new realities and makes newer dreams and brighter hopes possible. Could the caterpillar ever dream of flying in the open air, without the process of transformation, without the wonderful wings of a beautiful butterfly?
Transformation is essential, and hence the environment that incubates transformation becomes critical.
The whole effort behind "Love...one another" is to create an environment conducive and as helpful as possible for that transformation to take place. To put many signboards that would help the builders, the planners, the observers and anyone willing in any way, to find their respective ways to create such a large pool where thousands of caterpillars would find the right impetus to turn into butterflies and get their rightful wings to soar in the skies, at their own will.
I have a similar story to share. This one is not spectacular, may not have the anticipated climax, no miraculous results could be shared and no exaggerations will be made.
Me and a group of friends visited Pravartak Sangha - a home for mentally challenged orphans in Salt Lake, Kolkata. How we found out about this organisation and started our relationship is a story of chance and persistence. I walked back to my home in Salt Lake after work everyday, and my route used to generally depend on the odd vegetables to be carried home or the sudden pangs of hunger that had to be met. That day, I took another route without any particular reason. The dimly lit signboard of the institution caught my eye. I had been working with special kids for over two years now, but had not been very active in the City of JOY.
'Should I go in?'
'This place looks closed; there is something in the air that suggests that casual visitors are not welcome here'
This hunch was proved right in the next hour of struggle and persistence to speak to the manager/owner of the place. The gates were barbed, locked and guarded. But, with little courage and lots of hope, I managed to sneak in and even though I was not welcome, I managed to convince the manager and his stout wife that I could come again with friends and do a useful programme with them.
'Theek acche, aapni aaasun...letter niye asben' their tone was a mixture of sarcasm and disinterest. I had been in similar situations in Bhubaneswar before.
The voice of the principal of a special school in Bhubaneswar rang in my ears.
'Na, Na, Na...mu kahili para Na' which in means 'No, No, No..I said No'.
This was her determined reply on the last day before an event very close to my heart 'Know your special friend' in which we paired up special kids with "normal" kids to create a painting together. An event we conducted in 33 cities.
That principal was to send a the largest contingent of special kids to our event - 30 in all.
So, with that faith, I started to plan for the first and may be the most important visit. Winning the trust of these inmates, who not only had no parents or siblings, but also, were not looked after in the best way, the most important task.
(Authors personal note: I would though apologise for making a statement like that without having run an institution. I am aware that this is almost a blasphemy on the part of a arm-chair consultant like me and could appear as criticism, but the idea is to only highlight that there was lot of scope for improvement)
I spoke to Diana, the founder of Chrysallis and my guru in this field. She has taught me how to work with special kids, how to have faith despite odds, how never to loose heart if you are alone and the spirit of volunteerism, above all. I chose a few volunteers to help me: the odd colleague who would become a friend now, the friends who would become family and the strangers who would become friends.
None of them had any experience of working with special kids and as with most sessions that we do with kids, I did a dry run with the volunteers, which most of them attended.
So, we reached there with a laptop, a small sound system, some sweets but no letter. But, we were allowed in. They thought we got some sweets, food etc. which would be distributed and then we would leave with some smiles and tears. To their surprise, we set up our laptop, music system, inserted the CD and asked them all to come in one room. The helpers and others were not very happy with our simplest of demands - get all the kids, get them in a line, ask them to be quiet, don't give them anything to eat now. Our volunteers were struggling and juggling a variety of emotions - love, compassion, pity, anger, frustration, fear and insecurity. I did not intervene then but I knew when to be firm.
The hall was set. 10 kids each in 4-5 rows. The music was on and so was the conundrum and utter confusion of all concerned. It took 10 minutes, some help from volunteers and my loud voice to finally get some semblance of the co-ordinated movements which Diana had asked me to do with the children. I had no idea how they worked, but I trusted Diana and continued the steps for 30 minutes.
The helpers and other people of the orphanage were curious but not sure of what we were trying to do. The volunteers had no idea either, they just had trust in me. I acted well to show that I know what I was doing. Ha!
Then, sweets were distributed and we all returned with promise to come again. We all had a chat in an adjacent park to chalk out our plans. I knew by then which volunteers I could count upon to come again.
I gave some feedback to some of the volunteers:
'dont cry in front of kids',
'dont be too lenient with them',
'we have to make them independent not dependant'
'never, ever have or show sympathy or pity'
'we are here for our own joy above all, no help to anyone but ourselves'
I went back home, tired, exhausted, with a hoarse voice, but a moist and happy heart.
We would continue to go to the Sangha at regular intervals of a 7-8 days.
Diana's visit after a month acted like magic for children and a training session for us. Diana repeated all those 'isms which I had ranted with the volunteers.
We continued our visits and sessions.
Many things were added, the odd gifts we would get for the kids, the prayer 'bhabasagara tarana karana he' which we would sing together on many evenings, the snacks that would be shared, the festivals that were celebrated together and the relationships built.
We was 'kaku', 'didi', 'dada', 'police', 'hero', 'heroine' and many more things.
But, what we started to notice after two-three months in most children was a transformation. A slow, tentative and vulnerable one. The children were using their bodies in a more better and confident manner, they were able to understand instructions, follow them and co-ordinate their actions with their friends. There was joy in what they were doing, they looked forward to these sessions and asked us to come more frequently.
Some of their hopes were met, some did not.
'You promised Kaku, you will take me to my village. You will take me this time no?'
'I want this bag' pointing to the laptop bag.
'I want to go to city, we are not allowed to go anywhere'
We could not do anything about these. But, what we could do, we did, slowly and ever-so surely.
Transformation, is a process, not a destination. I had to leave Kolkata to work at Mumbai. I urged the volunteers that we must continue. I knew, it would not, not in the same fervour. I thought of the hitherto unknown kids in Mumbai, who will give me a chance to work with them. I thought of the new set of volunteers, strangers who would work with these children in future. Some other kind of transformation would take place, I was hopeful. The agent is not important, the process is!!
A few years later, I am hopeful, that the board of Pravartaka Sangha is brighter, a volunteer more determined, a set of friends more frequent, the children much more independent, the workers much more cheerful, the owner much more resourceful and the transformation much more spectacular.
 |
| painting made by a kid |
 |
| smiling volunteers with kids |
 |
| i will tell |
 |
| what's that? |
Wednesday, 14 December 2011
Acting Out a Fight
Again, T - could stand for Traveler
and, F - could be for Friend
T and F were in the middle of a conversation when this idea occurred to T.
‘Let’s act out a fight between us, as it could happen in future’
‘Okay’, F agreed without protest.
What followed was ten minutes of intense acting and superb rehearsal. T has had an exposure to theatre and was not exactly the worst actor in Delhi. F seemed a natural. There was no breaking out into laughter or breaking off the act.
The act had a beginning, middle and an end. F won of course, but T shouted otherwise.
‘Hey, isn’t that great, we could actually act out the fight’ chuckled F.
'I am impressed to say the least!' T really was impressed.'Felt, kind of good, acting out this fight' F was amused.
‘Yeah, and I am wondering that how these things would change if the fight was for real. I mean the same words and expressions would end up hurting us.’ T was thinking.
‘Hmm, the words would be just the same but our tone, pitch and body manners would do the damage.’ F was thinking as well.
‘I guess there is a big learning in this. Whenever we get into such situations of anger, frustration, bitterness and fighting, which is not exactly our natural or normal state, we should remember that we are merely acting. This is just a rehearsal and we are actors, not the characters that we are playing. That the emotions of joy, anger, pain, angst and bitterness are of the characters, not ours. We should just be faithful to the roles that we play and not think that we are those characters themselves. That would make things so simple’ T was preaching now.
‘The tough part is most actors get too engrossed in their roles and think that those emotions are their own. Imagine, it would be so funny then for them to feel real pain, agonise and die as many times as their characters die.’ F was grinning.
‘Yeah, some people call it method acting and rake millions out of it’. T added.
F was silent for a long time, T knew that the old topic has ended and no further discussion would ensue.
‘What are you thinking?’ T asked finally.
‘Will you really fight with me like that? Mmm? ’ F asked and looked up to T, like a small pup would look up to it's master in the morning begging for a morning stroll.
‘It’s hard to avoid fights and disagreements; they are a part of the game. They….’ T was interrupted before his long monologue.
‘Fight like that, in real?’ F interrupted and asked again.
‘Mmmm..we would use this lesson of acting out!’ T replied.
‘Yeah, let’s do one more’ F was grinning again.
Friday, 9 December 2011
Kuchh Benaam Nazmein
Aaa baadlon ki saahil pe nange paon bhaagen,
Thoda aasmaan chalkayen, 'chapaak' se ek doosre par,
Kisi baade se baadal par tek lagaa kar baithen aur
Kuchh tasveren banaye aapni ungliyon se aasman ke canvass par.
Kisi redi par chalke kale khatte ki chuski khareeden aur
Chuski lete hue awaazon ko sun kar dheere dheere muskurayen.
Ye dekho, ek plane laambi si taar chhod gayi hai,
Aa isi ka bana kar jaala, lal-lal suraj ko pakden subeh-subheh,
Aur thak jo jayen chalte-chalte to raat ke seene pe sar rakh ke so jayen!
(1)
Chand chhup chhup ke dekhne ki koshish karta raha,
Kali ghataon ne parda jo kar rakha tha,
Ret ne apni sufead qaleen bhi bichha di thi,
Lehron ne apne sur aur tal saja liye the,
Nadi apna bulawaa bhej rahi thi,
Vaadi ka kohra nadi ke aangan me baith tha,
Waqt khamosh apne hi saath masroof tha,
Besabri ka nahin;
Ik sukoon ka, ik itmenaan ka intezar tha;
Raat, raat bhar ko nadi me khone ko,
Pahadon ke kandhon ke sahare
Dheere dheere utar rahi thi.
(2)
Thoda aasmaan chalkayen, 'chapaak' se ek doosre par,
Kisi baade se baadal par tek lagaa kar baithen aur
Kuchh tasveren banaye aapni ungliyon se aasman ke canvass par.
Kisi redi par chalke kale khatte ki chuski khareeden aur
Chuski lete hue awaazon ko sun kar dheere dheere muskurayen.
Ye dekho, ek plane laambi si taar chhod gayi hai,
Aa isi ka bana kar jaala, lal-lal suraj ko pakden subeh-subheh,
Aur thak jo jayen chalte-chalte to raat ke seene pe sar rakh ke so jayen!
(1)
Chand chhup chhup ke dekhne ki koshish karta raha,
Kali ghataon ne parda jo kar rakha tha,
Ret ne apni sufead qaleen bhi bichha di thi,
Lehron ne apne sur aur tal saja liye the,
Nadi apna bulawaa bhej rahi thi,
Vaadi ka kohra nadi ke aangan me baith tha,
Waqt khamosh apne hi saath masroof tha,
Besabri ka nahin;
Ik sukoon ka, ik itmenaan ka intezar tha;
Raat, raat bhar ko nadi me khone ko,
Pahadon ke kandhon ke sahare
Dheere dheere utar rahi thi.
(2)
Jajabara Trips III (Ajmer - Jaipur and Khwaja Moinuddin)
I had Ajmer in mind, since the time we started on this trip. I had been once to Ajmer with parents and in the tradition of tying a knot with a red thread over the perforated walls of the 'dargah' had made an extraordinary wish, which is rather too personal to be shared.
Sachin, had no idea about the place or the legacy of the most famous of acclaimed and much revered Chisti chain of sufi saints. His plan was to visit Chittaurgarh fort built by Rana Kumbha and then proceed to Jaipur and even Delhi the same day. Crazy, you say? I could not agree more.
I had known by this time that it will take little of my patience, sales-pitch-stories and some sun and wind to wear the gumption of Sachin. It happened sooner.
'I am feeling sleepy' he said.
'You have been driving sloppy on excellent roads' I commented.
'You drive bikes right?' He asked.
'Get off!' I jumped at the long expected offer.
I drove for 20 min, and just as I started to enjoy the drive on the beautiful sun-soaked roads, Sachin took over again. 'I may not have another chance to drive again on this trip' I thought, as I slipped back to pillion seat.
The decision being already made in my mind was conveyed to Sachin, who realised that I would go to the dargah come what may.
'I will also come, it would be my first time as well' he said and put his visor down rode into the city of Ajmer. The crowd thickened as we got closer and closer to the hub of the city - the dargah of Khwaja Moinuddin Chisti. The peerless saint was succeeded by illustrious line of disciples that includes Baba Farid and Nizamuddin Auliya.
What followed was our slowest drive of the trip. The bewildered crowd and local touts found us weird and complete nuisance. We got glances within the many cloured burkhas and suppressed smiles and irritated faces of elders. The youngsters but were spell bound by us and were awed by our journey and tales. We parked near a stone shop (there were millions of them) at the backside of the dargah, near a small mosque.
We took turns to visit the dargah. I went in first, leaving mobile, glasses, wallet etc. readying myself for the huge crowd of Sunday. By the grace of Khwajaji I found a less crowded entrance and for a moment was wondering if I am in the right place, but the smell of inscence, rose petals, atr and above all the peace that descended in that hot, busy hour of the day removed all doubts. I did not even get a chance to buy a customary chadar. Next time, I thought and consoled myself.
I was reminded of my extraordinary wish which remained to be fulfilled.
Wish = Will = Work
This thought flashed in my mind as I was running back to allow Sachin his first glimpse of the dargah. We had lunch at Ajmer after Sachin's visit to the dargah and then rode back to Jaipur.
The food was not liked by Sachin's stomach. I got my second and last chance to drive. This was a one hour high-speed, ride alongside trucks and fast cars on the national highway. I settled at 80 kmph for some time and found my zone of comfort.
We entered Jaipur but could not find a hotel to enter. I dialled some 15 numbers from 'The Rough Guide' without success. Sachin's rant about riding back to Delhi the same night fell on deaf ears. He suggested plan A, B, C..D, but as long as they had Delhi as destination I was not listening.
We found one right in the heart of the old city. As we were riding upto that hotel, we got the taste of strict traffic policing of Jaipur city. After, almost 1600 kms of riding in so many cities, the police forced me to buy a helmet. We had a pleasant stroll in the streets alongside the Hawa Mahal and returned to our room after having dinner.We were so sleepy that we struggled to finished two glasses of the fine Malambo wine that we carried from Udaipur.
The intoxication of the roads proved stronger that that of wine.
Sachin, had no idea about the place or the legacy of the most famous of acclaimed and much revered Chisti chain of sufi saints. His plan was to visit Chittaurgarh fort built by Rana Kumbha and then proceed to Jaipur and even Delhi the same day. Crazy, you say? I could not agree more.
I had known by this time that it will take little of my patience, sales-pitch-stories and some sun and wind to wear the gumption of Sachin. It happened sooner.
'I am feeling sleepy' he said.
'You have been driving sloppy on excellent roads' I commented.
'You drive bikes right?' He asked.
'Get off!' I jumped at the long expected offer.
I drove for 20 min, and just as I started to enjoy the drive on the beautiful sun-soaked roads, Sachin took over again. 'I may not have another chance to drive again on this trip' I thought, as I slipped back to pillion seat.
The decision being already made in my mind was conveyed to Sachin, who realised that I would go to the dargah come what may.
'I will also come, it would be my first time as well' he said and put his visor down rode into the city of Ajmer. The crowd thickened as we got closer and closer to the hub of the city - the dargah of Khwaja Moinuddin Chisti. The peerless saint was succeeded by illustrious line of disciples that includes Baba Farid and Nizamuddin Auliya.
What followed was our slowest drive of the trip. The bewildered crowd and local touts found us weird and complete nuisance. We got glances within the many cloured burkhas and suppressed smiles and irritated faces of elders. The youngsters but were spell bound by us and were awed by our journey and tales. We parked near a stone shop (there were millions of them) at the backside of the dargah, near a small mosque.
We took turns to visit the dargah. I went in first, leaving mobile, glasses, wallet etc. readying myself for the huge crowd of Sunday. By the grace of Khwajaji I found a less crowded entrance and for a moment was wondering if I am in the right place, but the smell of inscence, rose petals, atr and above all the peace that descended in that hot, busy hour of the day removed all doubts. I did not even get a chance to buy a customary chadar. Next time, I thought and consoled myself.
I was reminded of my extraordinary wish which remained to be fulfilled.
Wish = Will = Work
This thought flashed in my mind as I was running back to allow Sachin his first glimpse of the dargah. We had lunch at Ajmer after Sachin's visit to the dargah and then rode back to Jaipur.
The food was not liked by Sachin's stomach. I got my second and last chance to drive. This was a one hour high-speed, ride alongside trucks and fast cars on the national highway. I settled at 80 kmph for some time and found my zone of comfort.
We entered Jaipur but could not find a hotel to enter. I dialled some 15 numbers from 'The Rough Guide' without success. Sachin's rant about riding back to Delhi the same night fell on deaf ears. He suggested plan A, B, C..D, but as long as they had Delhi as destination I was not listening.
We found one right in the heart of the old city. As we were riding upto that hotel, we got the taste of strict traffic policing of Jaipur city. After, almost 1600 kms of riding in so many cities, the police forced me to buy a helmet. We had a pleasant stroll in the streets alongside the Hawa Mahal and returned to our room after having dinner.We were so sleepy that we struggled to finished two glasses of the fine Malambo wine that we carried from Udaipur.
The intoxication of the roads proved stronger that that of wine.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)