Hyderabad

or: The city of pearls (oh yes!)

Hyderabad has a special place in my heart (of course because of wonderful friends like U., M., A. and now K., but mostly because it is your city), so I was pretty excited to come back here again, although I could have stayed in Mumbai some more to enjoy our budding love story. 

We reached the city on the afternoon before Holi, settled into the hotel, admired our room from all sides ('Wow, a huge window!', 'A view all over the city!', 'Have you seen that bathroom?!') and decided to hail an auto downtown. After Mumbai with actually working meters, having to fight for a fair fare (;-)) was a bit of a challenge but you have to admire the excuses auto drivers found for not switching it on. From 'The meter is not working' to 'It will be 50 extra with the meter', we got the full range, meeting each one with an increasingly annoyed eye-roll. After having negotiated a more or less acceptable price for my chosen destination, Charminar, we board the auto downtown. 'What's Charminar?', M. asks me and I give her the same reply as to her repeated question 'Are we there yet?': 'You'll know :-)'. 
Charminar at dusk (ok, dusk doesn't take very long to turn into darkness in a tropical country), lit from underneath by a thousand lights is just beautiful, I could stand there staring up at it forever. And when I'm done staring up, I would start looking around, at the life, the people, the stalls exhibiting everything that is colourful or glittering. Oh btw, this is where we acquired our new name 'Kss kss madam', the beckoning call of Hyderabadi salesmen. Speaking of 'kss kss': In the hotel where we stayed (name and contact details available on request), the staff would read our every wish from our eyes. One evening, we were sitting in the restaurant, 'our' waiter standing about 7 metres away, busy with whatever work. I don't even remember what it was but I had a request and so I tentatively 'kss-kss'-ed in his general direction. Immediately, he lifted his head, looked at me and stormed over to our table, grinning. I laughed, slightly embarrassed but also pleased.
What else happened on that day? I met A. for the first time in real life after having known each other online for almost six years. We recognised each other immediately but what I couldn't refrain from saying - after noticing that we were about the same height - was that I thought he was a bit taller. 'And I thought you were a bit shorter', so his grinning response. All in all, it was a fun evening, apart from the fact that his car had decided to breathe fire, ok, smoke, which is bad enough.

The next day was the long awaited Holi that we had been dreaming about for years, enacted in the park here once and now practically planned this trip around. I've prematurely described the events of that day here, so I won't repeat it now. 

For Thursday, we had big plans. Since Hyderabad is the city of pearls, we decided that we needed to do some pearl shopping. 'The best person to go pearl and gold shopping with is my mum.' We took Mu.'s suggestion to heart and picked up Sh. the next morning. She was as friendly-reserved as I remembered her from last year but seemed genuinely pleased to see me again. Sh. told the driver (I just notice how decadent that sounds, taking a driver here and a driver there but in India, it's an affordable luxury for us) where to go on the hunt for M.'s golden nose ring and a general selection of pearly stuff. A few hours, an assortment of jewellery and a pair of new shoes each (M. had busted the strap of hers, stepping out of the car, and seeing the choice in the second shop, I couldn't resist buying a pair of green rhinestoney ones to match the salwar kameez I was wearing) later, we dropped Sh. back home, thanked her profusely for her expertise and patience and headed for our next destination: Shilparamam. Doesn't the name alone sound mysterious and inviting? It's a big area with a hundred arts and craft booths, eating places, open air theatres, statues and just spots to hang out and have a good time. We looked, smiled, negotiated and shopped quite a bit before giving in to the calls of the mehendi ladies near the entrance/exit of the park. 
What follows will be known in history as the great peacock competition: I don't even remember how it started but in the end, M.'s artist and mine, Anitha (again, contact details available - I asked for her card), tried to outplay each other in the number, size and beauty of peacocks they applied onto our hands, arms and feet so that we got more than our money's worth in henna designs.
The evening was spent having dinner with Mu. at Taj Krishna, a hotel M. had also considered for our stay in Hyderabad. But while it is beautiful and the waiters super nice and attentive as well, I'm glad that we picked the other one in the end: the staff at ours was much better looking ;-).

A. wanted to show me around a bit, starting with an excursion to Osmansagar, a lake and reservoir outside the city, an adjacent park and later a visit to the locally famous Golkonda Fort. He was even ready to let me drive his car on the road outside Hyderabad when - of course! - there was smoke coming out of the motor compartment again. So all his time spent in the garage the previous day had not amounted to much and our trip ended with us going back, me being dropped to the hotel, him visiting his mechanic once more.
So after catching up on some sleep and M.'s return from Birla Mandir, a beautiful white marble temple that looks out on the city, we payed a last visit to the Charminar area, looked at everything with eyes and hands, I bought and munched on a small bag of popcorn (nearly perishing from a coughing fit about halfway through before being narrowly saved by a shop assistant who offered me a glass of water) as well as avoiding (me) or giving in to the last 'kss kss'es (M.) and finally returning 'home' to get spoilt at dinner one more time.

And once more, it was time to pack our bags. How I hate packing! I seriously considered calling the reception or simply offering some money to one of the bellboys to do this unpopular job for me. Long story short, I pulled myself together and did the packing on my own. Just before leaving, we had another look at the pearl shop in the lobby, a look that turned into another small shopping spree. Well, you can never have too many gifts..

That was that for Hyderabad and our next and last big stop on this journey, Bangalore, was only one flight away.

Mumbai

"Mumbai is the most vibrant and lively city of all!" "This is the place I would choose to live." "You will love it!"

After the beauty and calm of Jaipur, we arrived in Mumbai in the late morning. The drive from the domestic (more to that later) airport to our hotel didn't take long but on that 20-minute-trip, I was everything but impressed. Not repulsed either, don't get me wrong, but my first impression was "meh". Admittedly, the fact that I was still a bit ill might have played a role but anyway. The area we had chosen was Juhu, yes, the one with the beach by the same name. And since said beach was no more than a couple hundred metres away from our temporary home, we decided to pay it a visit (after a nap on my and a quick excursion on M.'s part). I've said it before and I'll say it again: I can never be unhappy by the sea, so that is a definite plus for Mumbai. People had warned me about the beaches, so I was pleasantly surprised by the fine sand and the relative cleanliness of Juhu beach (I noticed the black streaks on my feet only later..). Not having had any problems or weird reactions to food so far, we went right away for one of several snack places. Dahi puri (as good as the best I've ever had, in that restaurant in Mysore last year - Ha., if you're reading this, do you remember?), dosa and the cutest pizza I had seen so far. Not much more to do that evening so we turned in after our little walk.

The next day was intended for some touristy sight seeing: Gateway of India, Taj Hotel, Victoria Station.. And that morning, we found out how Mumbai works: We caught an auto, the driver spoke reasonable English, a fact that should not be taken for granted in this city, so we told him that we wanted to go from Juhu to the Gateway of India (you might want to look that up on a map). No, he shook his head, he could take us to Bandra where we should hail a taxi. Confused, we agreed to this suggestion and noticed further along the way that there were really no autos going beyond Bandra. Oh, one more thing in favour of Mumbai: You don't have to put a gun to a driver's head to make them switch on the meter, no, they would do it of their own accord. "In Mumbai, no one has the time to negotiate fares" is what I have later been told, hence a working meter seems to be mandatory. 
The Gateway was as impressive as expected, as was the number of flying hawkers around the place - luckily I have the gift of selective blindness. We turned around and then an idea struck us: "Let's be daring and have a cup of tea at the Taj hotel!". No sooner said than done, we walked in, were received very friendly and pointed to the requested place. Before settling down, we took a little walk (and a number of photos) through the hotel, admired it from top to bottom and finally found ourselves a nice little table. The tea turned into a meal and decadently happy, we left the place some time later.

"You should go to Colaba. It's the old Bombay, the Southend of the city. Victorian architecture." As M. had other plans for our third day here, I headed for Colaba on my own, the usual way: hailing an auto in Juhu and switching to a cab in Bandra. At the main road where the taxi had spit me out, Colaba didn't seem very special. Shopping stalls lining it on both sides, offering the same things as everywhere and since I don't care much for shopping anyway, I didn't even give them a second glance before I turned left. And then right. And left again. The cityscape had changed a bit here. The Victorian houses were present, displaying a neglected charm which gave reason to the thought that nothing had been done to maintain them since the time the British had left.
After a couple more turns, I found myself on a market. Not one of those fancy clothes-shoes-jewellery markets but a food market: fruits, vegetables and fish in various stages of freshness. 
I kept walking and either I took a wrong turn somewhere or the market simply turned into a residential area with houses that were barely two metres apart. But except for a few children waving and yelling an enthusiastic "Helloooo!" at me - and that's something else I like about Mumbai: people's 'I don't give a damn' attitude - nobody really took notice of my presence, nobody stared, pointed or looked at me disapprovingly. When I came back to the main road, I decided to walk the other side of Colaba as well. Neat three-storey houses, well kept Victorian building, guys playing cricket on the street, large cars standing in freshly swept driveways. 
So here it happened; Colaba did what the rest of the city couldn't manage: It made me fall in love with Mumbai.
In the evening, I caught up with M. and her "son" V. V. is not actually related but a common online friend of ours from several years ago that she decided to e-adopt one day. We got to meet his pretty wife P., his parents (I'm particularly fond of his mum and I think that was mutual, she would be a good incentive for me to improve my Hindi) and eventually his brother.

Their plan for the following  day - our last complete one in Mumbai - was to spend some more time together, the young couple and M., and mine to visit my friend H. at her college. H. is a girl that I've met online when she was an ambitious 15-year-old schoolgirl. Now she is 20 and on her way to becoming a doctor. She is still ambitious, has learned to play with the cards life is dealing her and will get very far one day. H. lives in Navi Mumbai which judging by the time it took to get there (yes, I could have checked a map too) must be on the opposite side of town. Her college was just preparing for a festival but nevertheless I got a glimpse, she introduced me to a few of her teachers and gave me a general tour of her department. (By the way, some of you might remember my yearning for silver anklets since last year. And probably by telepathy, H. had picked exactly that as "an exciting gift" for me: a pair of silver anklets that make a noise, yay!!) After that, we both discovered an unknown to her as well as me part of the city: Dadar. A friend recommended that I'd have a look at the Portuguese church, a sacral building with an in every aspect very unusual architecture and the Five Gardens, five small parks that would be a nice place to hang out and play if you live in the area.
The wondrous finale of our day together was a visit to a - not her, as originally planned, but still - Gurdwara (Sikh temple). H. introduced us (because by then M. had joined us, too) to her religion, giving us an in-depth insight into its customs and conventions.

Oh and if you think that people are not genuine just because you met them on some chat or social networking site and not in "real life" first, I have to tell you that you're wrong. If you hit it off with someone online, chances are good that this will be the case at a "real" meeting as well. The proof in this story: H., V., K. and R., to name just a few.

Our flight to Hyderabad the next day was scheduled for the early afternoon, enough time for one last visit to the beach (sigh) which as it turned out, was even closer than I thought. 
Oh yea, the flight. Mumbai has two airports, a domestic and an international one. Since our next flight was going to Hyderabad, it seemed only logical that we would leave from the domestic airport, so that's what we told the driver. He dropped us and our constantly increasing luggage there. I sat on a bench inside the building, M. went out for a smoke and returned coughing hectically a few minutes later with the information that our flight only had a stop-over in Hyderabad before leaving the country. Hence our destination would be the international airport - argh! After a short but intense debate, we embarked another taxi and reached the correct airport on time, heading for the place of our next adventure, the City of pearls.

Jaipur .. ah!!

M. had made it pretty clear from the beginning that we were not going to take a bus, so after saying good bye to R. - who was going back in the opposite direction, feigning urgent work  - we entered a car, complete with local driver and Hindi music galore. *hums in her head*

The drive went smoothly, with a few stops for M. to smoke and for the two of us to change between back and front seat, a process that seemed to greatly amuse our driver. We passed by a few camels on the way (well, ok, not on the highway but on smaller roads) and then we were there.

Ah Jaipur! How can you not love Jaipur! And for that matter: How can you not love Rajasthan!?! The colours, the ancient and modern buildings, the art, the clothes, the people and did I mention the colours? When we reached our hotel, there was an arts and craft festival going on, with typical Rajasthani handicraft being displayed and sold, painters at work and musicians showing their skills tirelessly. 

But even the hotel itself was a piece of art. Built in the typical Rajasthani style with open balconies looking down upon two large inner yards. The rooms furnished with appliances in the same style, wide yet cosy. This is where I acquired my new favourite colour, switching rainbow for Rajasthani. Followers of my facebook album will get an impression of all that this entails. In Jaipur, I decided that if I get the job I applied for in Bangalore, I would go back to Jaipur or any other city in that area to buy all things Rajasthani for my flat.

What did we do in Jaipur, what's there to see? On our first evening (out of  - sigh - just two), we hired an auto driver (coordinates available if you are interested) with his vehicle who took us to an ancient Hanuman temple (yes, I was allowed to take pictures and even had to buy an official ticket for my camera - M. and I were free although she donated generously after having had a good talk with the local priest). On the next day, the same auto driver drove us all over town, dropping me to the fort (and M. to a nearby café) which I climbed in the heat of the midday sun. The walk was not very steep, the sun not too merciless and my brain not too scattered to remember taking water with me. I came across a few guys, had a nice chat, one of them trying to undertake the impossible: explaining cricket to me. By now, I have a slightly better insight into the game but I still don't understand why it needs to last for five days (no, please don't waste your energy trying to make me understand that phenomenon now). 

Fort visited, others found, off to the next stop: Hava Mahal. The palace is under construction or rather repair, so there is scaffolding all over it. Although it looks less monumental this way, you still get an impression of its size and beauty. Quick picture taken (the driver would barely let me get out, claiming that this was not a good area) and we were on our way again. 

At the recommendation of my friend H. (thanks, lil one!), I asked for a quick detour to Raj Mandir, a cinema hall with beautiful mirrorwork. Since they made it impossible to take a quick peek just like that, I bought the cheapest ticket available, wandered around in the hall, took photos a-plenty and was about to sneak back out when an elderly usher asked to see my ticket and accompanied me to my seat. Whyever not, I thanked him, sat down and watched a few minutes of a presumingly new Hindi movie without any subtitles at all. A few minutes of this experience sufficed, I left and answered the usher's question whether I was coming back with a non-committal "Maybe".

Now for the less agreeable part: shopping. (All in all I must say that I've never done so much shopping in such a comparatively short time before in my life and I'm not keen on repeating the experience any time soon.). The fun part is however that I've become pretty efficient at bargaining. I'm sure I still pay tourist prices but at least I put up a fair fight.

On the last evening at our colourful jewel of a hotel, we enjoyed a lovely meal in the garden, accompanied by live music.

The next day, off to new adventures in the shape of Mumbai.

Agra

It was late evening when we finally reached Agra. It being dark and none of us (not me, not even R. and definitely not M.) having been here before, we - ok R. - asked our way through to the hotel. (All in all, having him around was a big help, especially when it came to asking for places, things or directions since my Hindi - as we all know - is beyond limited.) We found it eventually and after some mix and match, we settled on the final occupation of the rooms. M. got the room with the balcony to go out and smoke and give access to mosquitoes and flies while I got to share the room with a spoilt brat who kept complaining about the allegedly not working A/C (which blew cold wind at me where ever I was) but who to his credit was a really easy person to stay with plus he doesn't snore ;-).

"I'm dying to shoot Taj Mahal at sunrise." Those were the words I repeated when someone asked me what I wanted to do in Agra. A time lapse film, possibly some HDRs, that was my idea. Sunrise was going to be around 6.30, so we left the hotel for the West Gate about an hour earlier. First setback: the gate wouldn't be opened before 6 a.m. Second one: the queue at the ticket counter was huge. And number three after having solved two with the help of the world's best Taj guide: no tripods allowed.

Ok fine, I swallowed my disappointment, settled for HDRs and started making a run for the palace, leaving the other two far behind. A guy who appeared to be a guide asked me a few details of my life ("Which countrrry, madam?") and showed me a few places to take the standard Taj pictures from. Guy pointed behind me and asked: "Are those your friends? They're calling you." I recognise R., then M. behind him. They point to our guide, signalling me to wait. 

When the guide catches up to me, he proves that he is determined to give us our money's worth. In a speed I slightly struggle to keep up with, he shows me to the best (I mean seriously best) spots to take photos from, pointing out what exactly to go for from what position. On the run, he tells me more about the story of the palace and forces me into ridiculous poses to take my picture. I'm not sure you'll get to see them as they are plain embarrassing.

Catching our (metaphorical) breath, we walk up to the other two, "your mum and your friend", as the guy assumes.

Walking more slowly all over the area, the guide explains and shows the magic of the precious stone inlays in marble which, as either the sun or his flashlight hit them glow like fire. We once again come across K. from the Netherlands, henceforth known as "the stalker". Speaking of: The squirrels here are small and striped, so of course I had to do some squirrel stalking. A few flamingoes aka schoolgirls in pink uniform near the main gate and we had left the Taj ground.

Upon our return to the hotel, we had (a very meh) breakfast and after another fight about the A/C and even a change of bed, went back to sleep for a while. Later going outside, grabbing a bite and taking nocturnal pictures of Agra Fort. Quite impressive, rather majestic but together with Taj Mahal the only reason Agra gets so many visitors. My general impression of the city is rather negative. Crowded, dirty and extremely touristy are just some of the adjectives that come to my mind. Besides, the traffic is crazy (and I have seen Delhi, Bangalore and Hyderabad) given the comparatively narrow roads.

So after one last evening on M.'s balcony, I wasn't too sad to leave Agra behind, just wished for a moment that the brat could have kept travelling with us. 

Next morning: off to new adventures in the form of a cab drive to Jaipur/Rajasthan ... but that will be a new chapter.

Holi Hai!

Conversation on chat a few weeks prior.

Me: You're from Hyderabad, right?
D: Yup.
Me: Is Holi big there?
D: Oh yea! I mean, not as big as in the North but still pretty big.
Me: Awesome, thanks.

Today, 27th March, Holi. 

Where do we go to play Holi? No, we don't want to celebrate in some hotel. Yes, we know that it's not as big in the South but still! 

After breakfast, around 11 which is - as we know now - kind of late to play Holi, we have an auto take us to Charminar as someone confirmed that this is a good place for Holi. On the way there, we see coloured individuals and even groups but around Charminar itself, there is no play going on whatsoever. We are close to tears with disappointment and the sales people with their usual "Ks ks ks madam!" irritate the hell out of me. 

"Let's ask an auto driver", I suggest. M. walks up to the nearest one, he speaks decent English and promises to take us to the action (Begum Bazar, according to him). Off we go and upon arrival, we notice that, yes, there are quite a few colourful figures so I'll at least be able to take some nice photos if nothing else. The figures don't mind having their picture taken but we're not really part of the game yet. That is until M. decides to take out our own (ecological and non-toxic) Holi dyes and throw a handful in the general direction of my face and phone. Oh well, it wasn't the last one today and after a momentary shock, I reach into my own yellow and toss it right back at her. 

And that's how it took off .. I don't remember where all the next portions came from nor who threw them and how fast. After the blur of the next minutes, I take a breath to admire M.'s and my own colourful appearance. So it goes on .. "Happy Holi!!", colour dabbing on shoulders, wet colour thoroughly rubbing into cheeks, water sprinkling on head, carefully mixing with the powder to create a lasting mess and last but definitely not least throwing water balloons that - after an initial shock - are pleasantly refreshing. We sprinkled powder on everyone - humans, dogs, cows (ok, I did) - and left traces on everything - a pinch of powder on a motorbike, a pink handprint on the black of an auto rickshaw. 

At some point, we had run out of our own and then even the big bag of pink dye (gulaal), that some well-meaning strangers had thrusted into our hands. "We need new paint!", we decided, even though the actual game was practically over. But oh well, the seven heaps of bright colour - they even had turquoise! - were just irresistible, so we bought a few spoonfuls of each. Let's see what we'll use them for now.

Back at the hotel, the personnel was looking at us with a mix of pure horror and utter amusement. 'Happy Holi's came from all sides, while we pretended that there was nothing unusual at all going on ;-)

After sprinkling a lot of pink and a bit of everything else with every step, I decided to at least wash my face before meeting up with Mu. Bye bye blue, green, orange and yellow, hello very VERY persistent gulaal! Well, at least one could guess that there was a human face behind all the pink.

We spent a couple hours in a comfy little café, bringing each other up to date about the events of the last couple months and just having a relaxed time with cold coffee and snacks.

Returning "home", I decided that I should indulge in a shower after all. I admired my originally light green t-shirt from all sides before entering said shower, armed with soap and shampoo. The water that was running down me gave the impression that I was bleeding pink from a massive wound whereas the dye on my scalp and body didn't show much sign of diminishing. Not to worry, we're good at pretending to be normal anyway, so we bravely decided to eat in the (rather elegant) hotel's restaurant instead of calling the room service. 

The waiter was on the same track, he didn't acknowledge the obvious traces all over my face and neck at all while straight-facedly taking our orders and thanking M. for the honour of opening and pouring her coke.

Another employee was less discreet. He, cracking up, stated that we must have played Holi today. Yes, we confirmed, asking him if there was any secret for getting rid of the unmoving pink dye. No, we'd just have to shower a few times, after 3-4 showers, the colour would be gone, he said, still laughing. And meanwhile, we were clearly adding to his amusement although he laughingly denied that.

And finally even the waiter asked us about our adventure with colours. He himself didn't play but confirmed that it would take a number of showers to entirely get rid of the leftovers. Turning to me (M. had somehow managed to look nearly as human as before), "But until then you will look very beautiful. :)".

Shame that this beauty will pass with the pink ...
;-)

Mathura

The next morning breakfast at the hotel in Delhi. Ironically, that was the best breakfast I had had so far. In Bangalore, I tried coconut chutney and found it too spicy (not that I have a problem with spices, I don't, but coconut chutney is not supposed to be like this), the paratha too chewy, the idli ok (but then how can you ruin idli anyway?), the vada too hard. But in Delhi, it was perfect with a capital P ;-). 

After having stuffed myself at breakfast (and having answered a call from R. who was running late because his poor dog had suddenly decided to fall ill), I went out in search for an ATM. Asked in the hotel, they pointed me into the general direction, asked two guards of a nearby firm and eventually a policeman who told me to "go strrraight and then rrright" while pointing vigorously to the left. When in doubt, go by gestures rather than words and so I found it, returned and settled for a little nap in one of those comfortable chairs in the lobby. Next thing I remember was a male voice, asking "Sol?". Slightly startled, I opened my eyes to look at the guy mustering me from above. For the fraction of a second, I couldn't place him but then it dawned on me and yelling his name, I jumped up to hug him.

And with that, we were on our way to Mathura, a destination M. had picked and that I never even heard about before this trip. Legend has it, that Krishna was born there in a dungeon opposite of the temple that is dedicated to him now. Until then, I didn't know that gods were born - in my understanding, they just materialised out of thin air but well, apparently not. 

The temple itself is undoubtedly beautiful and impressive and gives the entire town its purpose of existence. Because other than that, the city resembles a holy place much less than a (not very elegant) touristy rip-off. But back to the temple. Large area, big crowd of followers, believers and spectators. Beautiful wall and ceiling paintings, depicting Krishna at various stages of his life, interesting architecture. The downside for a photographer is of course that you couldn't take photos. And to me, beauty that cannot be captured in an image is just wasted. So temple visited, prayer done (M.), spectacle watched (me), stories told (R.) and stories heard (K., a lone traveller from the Netherlands that we came across), we were back in the car, left the locals and their not very pleasantly smelling streets behind and moved on to Agra.

Delhi

Before this trip, well, even before my last (or first) one, everybody had tried to scare me about Delhi: "Even Mumbai girls don't go there alone", "rape capital of the country" (which is sadly true as we all know now), "Dress and behave sensibly", "Don't go out alone". They succeeded in making me completely paranoid, to the point that I barely dared stepping out of the hotel on my own. But since M. was gone off with her friend and K. still didn't show any sign of appearance, I decided that I was not going to waste the afternoon in my hotel room, packed up (sensibly dressed), left the hotel and started walking. After about 100 metres, an elderly auto driver caught up to me and told me that if I kept walking in that direction, everything would be closed, the day being a Sunday and that the market was the other way. He offered to drive me around, wait for me while I shopped however long it would take (I wanted to shop? Oh ok, if he said so.) and all that for just 20 rupees. "You'll be like my daughter." 

Why the heck not, I thought, entered the auto (btw, whenever I say "auto", I refer to an auto rickshaw, also known as "tuk-tuk") and told him that first of all, I needed a pharmacy (followers of my facebook album will remember the vicious mosquito attack at my person) and some water. After that, I replied to his repeated question to what I was interested in "jewellery" and he took me to a jeweller's shop of his (def not my) choice. After wriggling/talking my way out of there, I told that driver that it's more costume jewellery what I had in mind, not super fancy precious stone stuff. So he took me to a silver jewellery store in some side street next where I bought the loveliest set of connected bangles for myself and a little silver Ganesha for M.

After that, back to the hotel, some more communication with K. who was gonna be more delayed, then M. came back full of stories and adventures and we got ready to meet her friend Sa. at the hotel. And sitting there with the two of them, chatting, eating, drinking - that's when it hit me: I had arrived. I was happy. I had my India back. That too in Delhi of all places!

Eventually, K. showed up too, we had a good time walking the streets of Delhi and just sitting in a rooftop café chatting until work reclaimed him. Oh well, better luck next time.

And that was about it for Delhi - not as bad as expected, possibly interesting enough to visit again (locally accompanied of course) and ready to leave for Mathura with R. the next morning.

India for two, please

or: My second trip to India.

First of all I will say that these posts will be written from my point of view. I won't say we when I mean I, won't be politically correct by including my friend in every statement. No, I don't regret having come here with M. After some initial doubts, we have managed to work out the kinks pretty well, do most things together without being attached by the hip and I'm almost certain that we'll still be friends after these three and a half weeks ;-).

Where do I begin? At the beginning, you might say. Not a bad idea, let's start.

Our plane left off on Thursday, 14th March (has it really been ten days already?) from a snowy Frankfurt that had no temperature at all (0°C obviously). Roughly 12 hours later, on Friday afternoon, we landed in Bangalore after a stop-over in Delhi. Yes, it was a lot warmer and more or less how I remembered it but still it didn't feel home yet, I didn't feel quite arrived.

We met S. that very evening who was warm and welcoming as ever, took us to nice places with a lovely atmosphere but still .. not quite it.

For the next day, B. had announced his arrival for right after work, "6ish" (yes, in the morning), so I woke up after a good two hours of sleep (woke up sounds a lot more energetic than it actually was but oh well). Slept for a bit after he was gone, went out later, shopped, explored, ate, drank. Evening going out again, with S. and his wife this time .. I really like her! Everything was perfect (well, except for the fact that M. had imported the plague from Germany) but still .. not quite yet.

The next morning, we left for the North, Delhi for one busy day, Mathura, Agra, Jaipur .. but that will be the next chapter.

The smells of life

I've been downtown for the first time in a while today and what surprised me the most when climbing up from the underground were the smells. The smell of cheap sweet perfume, burnt fries, cigarette smoke. Smells I don't have in the protective little bubble I call my flat, smells I got unused to.

Some smells of the past I won't forget .. first boyfriend's after shave that I felt lingering all over my small town after the forced break up .. the familiar odour of every McDonald's that makes me slightly queasy after two university vacations spent working there .. burning incense that evokes mornings in Bangalore.

What is it about smells that engraves them in the sensory part ouf our memory? And which ones are saved for you?

Reminiscing Love

I went through loves of the past
Through the memories in a box
I take them out when I want to remember you
When I want to shed some tears.

You’ve added something to me
A facet to my personality.
You gave me bliss and joy
Made me feel good
For a while.

Taught me a lesson, too
A valuable one:
Love’s not forever
The one who says he loves you 

Will leave you
Disappear
Walk out on you.

My heart grew tougher, harder
I shed my naivete like a snake its skin
Took on some sense and reason
Built a fence.

I love again
With no illusions
It’s ephemeral but I want.
My love will last and so will yours
But we won’t be forever.