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September 2012

“Look, there kaattupothu,” bellowed the tribal tracker in unfettered relief at finally being able to spot game after hours of squelching through sodden tracks, sweat-drenched in the tropical humidity, plucking out leeches that squirted a gallon of blood when quashed between thumb and forefinger. The incongruity of the lingual mismatch in the exclamation was lost on the group that comprised mostly of westerners who were also equally relieved at having spotted something wild after so many hours of futile wandering. “Oh, hey, look over there, a bison.” A stocky Englishman

“Any travel tips?” A friend from Hawaii asked me before she embarked on her first trip to India. “Do not carry anything in your pockets and do not accept any food or drink from strangers.” Even my house-bound mama could have handed her these gems. Nevertheless she took it with the beautiful aloha-grace of the island. “Mahalo.” She said. But my friend’s first stop was the milling Mumbai from where she was craving for a pav bhaji on the ever-more-milling Chowpatty beach. The typical backpacker that she was, she would

Driving around Jaipur, you aptly wonder why it is called the ‘Pink City’ – for it is anything but pink. It is a fiery to a sunburnt orange in some places, brick red in some while all the upcoming quarters are Gurgaon-gray. But the ‘pink’ goes way back and we are not prepared to let go of it for reasons not really connected to history or heritage. Way back in 1876 when Edward, Prince of Wales came visiting Maharajah Ram Singh ordered the city to be painted wholly and completely

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