Gold prices are plummeting. Make the most of it when you travel this summer. Wanderink brings you the states within the country where the yellow metal is art and history, pedigree and design. And hoarding it a virtue. How I wish my grandmother was alive today! That whole generation had an obsession bordering on the psychotic when it came to gold. Too much was never much. Even through the thick glasses I remember detecting her cataract-clouded eyes sparkle – giving the encrusted diamonds a run for their shine – as

Majestic are the moutains so why should staying there be anything less? This summer when you head out for your holiday in the Himalayas, stay in one of these manors tucked away and well into the verdant hillsides; these refurbished remnants of the colonial age, brimming with understated elegance and creature comforts thankfully more an afterthought than arbitrary attachments. A bit on the pricey side, it is because they don’t cater to numbers – for whom options are aplenty, a little bit lower in altitude and closer to town, if

If you are going to listen to the government, you are going to go bankrupt very quickly. This is Jim Rogers in a recent interview to CNBC. And this is, in a nutshell, what I like most about Jim – no-holds barred, audacious at the same time piquant. And most importantly, with an opinion. The last bit is particularly momentous in modern times when money not just talks, but dictates; advertisers give ‘inputs’ to channel interviews and soap storylines ‘pass by’ through sponsors before going on the floors. Adventure Capitalist,

Won a travel contest? Hold your bags, it is too early yet. It had been over a year since I went out of the state. So you can imagine my heart – faster than Chev Chelios’ on a full charge – when I received the following email from the marketing department of a leading travel magazine. Dear Mr. Jose, Greetings from Magazine Name, India! This refers to my conversation with you on Thursday, 18th October with regards to the subject contest. We received huge response from our readers across India

And how I nearly missed the big mama in my own backyard Amrita Shergill. Marg. The name meant just a marg – another road. The only lure – the reason I took a detour from the Lodhi Road – was the once-a-year festival of Christmassy meats on sale and display by the sunny Goa Sadan on this otherwise leafy avenue. After my visit to the National Gallery of Modern Art – my first-ever after nearly seven years in the capital – I walked through the marg, the mind a churn-pot