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Hello peeps

It has been a busy couple of days. I have been travelling on my own since I left Delhi, but have been enjoying my own company. And a major advantage is one gets to chat more with the locals.

Delhi was a relief after the hardcore Leh-Delhi-Amritsar-Delhi run. I spent the day basking in the luxury of Jackie's company. She is working hard and has recently had her first front-page spread in the Wall Street Journal: so many congratulations to her. I also met one of her mates, a French radio journalist, who lived up to all my stereotypical expectations. He was short and lithe, his dark hair peppered with grey. And permanently fixed sunglasses, from which I was sure he was taking every movement in. He rarely smiled and barked his opinions staccato-style. I floundered as they discussed Asian politics, ignorant of the names and developments. It sounded very exciting though: intrigue and chicanery, like dialogue from "All the President's Men" or something. It made corporate law seem very dull. Mind you, I suppose most professions make corporate law seem very dull. Except maybe, chartered accountancy (and even that is a close run).

I have touched on my visit to the Taj Mahal in my early blog. But I also visited the Agra Fort (which was kind of like the Red Fort in Delhi, except bigger); the little Taj (which was exceptionally pretty); the fort at Gwalior; and now Orchha (which is aflush with palaces and temples). In each place, Indians asked for my photo. This struck me as particularly odd: why on earth would anyone want a photo with me? In response, I used an old tactic that generally put them off, ie when receiving their request, to stick out my hand and demand 10 rupees. Only one chap reached into his wallet to give me the change, which made me laugh, so I allowed him to take my picture (for free, indeed).

At the beginning of my trip, I read the novel Shantaram (which I understand is set to be filmed in Bombay shortly, starring Johnny Depp, http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0429087/). In the book, (sorry Will and Jackie, but promise this is not a plot spoiler) there is the description of a road accident and the subsequent mob attack on the driver who caused the collision. On reading it, I had thought Roberts' was possibly exercising hyperbole. However, on my way to Orchha there was the burnt out skeleton of a lorry, slap-bang in the middle of the road, around which all the cars were cagily navigating. It struck me as odd that no one had moved it, and it appeared to be a very recent wreckage. But it was in the midde of the road. No other vehicle seemed to be involved... I asked the driver of my taxi what had happened. He explained that a couple of days ago there had been a tragic accident, in which a lorry had run down a local child. In response, the people had set on the driver and his truck. And those were the remnants.

Orchha is very pleasant. The place is abound with historic palaces, temples and cenotaphs, and the Betwa River lazily winds its way through the town. This morning I went for a long, hot walk around the sites, enjoying the tranquility of the place. For instance, when I visited the chhatris, I had to wake up the attendant so he could unlock the cast iron gates, and I was ushered into a lush elaborate graveyard to ramble through the verdant undergrowth. I could smell the sweet, rich scent of decaying vegetation. On my way back into town, I stopped to browse in a small shop. The owner looked straight into my eyes and asked me to join him for some chai, to which I agreed. He was in his mid sixties, with white hair and white beard. A filthy white vest stretched over his stomach. But he had nice brown eyes. We started chatting. The usual: where are you from, what do you do, are you married. He was clearly a prosperous man (he'd worked for gold mine companies, being stationed around India, before retiring to open his shop in Orchha). He talked a little about his children. And then he started talking about his wife. He had lost her only eight months previously; she'd died at 48 after an illness. And he missed her. Every day he missed her. But there was nothing he could do to stop thinking about her and the fact she wasn't there. He wrung his hands and asked me to stay for a second tea. Then he showed me a picture of his wife. He was suffering terribly. He explained that he did not have the will to shave or change clothes. I think he saw a little bit of her in me. I stayed as long as I could (three cups of tea). He gave me a present of beads when I left. But I felt terrible that I couldn't really do anything to relieve his pain. What can you do when someone is that lost?

On that note, I shall shoot.

Ciao