Himalayan Trout Expedition

We're going here today. I'm so excited.

Rajasthani Moustaches

Four out of five Indian men have moustaches. Usually, they're unassuming, neatly trimmed, nice black 'staches. But in Rajasthan, the moustache culture is out-of-control amazing. Pride in the 'stache runs generations deep. Rajasthanis are generally super nice to begin with, but the men really light up when I ask to take a picture of their moustache. These guys know how awesome their facial hair is, but not in an unbecoming way. They're like, "I know, right?" They're always whipping out little moustache combs and styling, probably with coconut oil. Again, not in a creepy, lugubrious wannabe-suave way (like some Indian bachelors publically preen their bangs), but rather in a passing-the-time, may as well do some work on the ol 'soup strainer kind-of-way. Add in the psychedelic neon turbans, and the outrageously awesome footwear and you have some of the most stylish, poised, quietly-confident gentlemen I have ever had the pleasure to be around.

Honorable Mention

Food of Late

Crazy declicious saffron, cardamom and lemon lassi in Udaipur. So rich. 

Somewhat underwhelming butter chicken at the supposed "Mecca" of butter chicken, Moti Mahal in Delhi.

Really good trail-mix snack in Udaipur- peanuts, golden raisins, sugar, salt.

The ubiquitous chicken lollipop.

Good authentic Japanese vegetarian in Dharamshala. 

Vintage Car Corner

The maharana of Udaipur has a fine vintage car collection. All left hand drive. Unfortunately, we were unable to see the crown jewel of the collection- the custom Rolls Royce James Bond used in some Octopussy scenes. It was under wraps for no reason we could understand- too precious to display, or something. We tried to get our money back, to no avail. 

I liked the hood ornaments. 

This is the car he takes to polo.

We're Back

Apologies, loyal readers (Mom) for the lengthy hiatus. We were occupied with some visitors.

We promise to attempt to provide slightly less sporadic updates from here onwards.

Some Things

Rounding the backstretch of our time in India, I have come to the saddening realization that things that once seemed exciting, exotic, and different from life at home now seem commonplace. So before I forget them all, let me list a few endearing facets of day-to-day Indian life:

-things that would be thrown away at home are repaired here; today I got my falling-apart knock-off Birkenstocks repaired for an extended life; shoes, watches, clothes, and appliances can be fixed anywhere for cheap

-vendors of fruit, vegetables and metal cooking vessels use analog balance scales (Libra-style) to price their goods


-shoe polishes and ironing services are widely available at reasonable prices


-use of carbon paper is widespread; everything is recorded in triplicate paper copy

-almost all rope and cord is made of natural fibres

-male cousins are called "cousin-brother" and female cousins are called "cousin-sister"

-and this, from "Maximum City":

"Asad, of all people, has seen humanity at its worst. I asked him if he feels pessimistic about the human race.

'Not at all,' he responded. ' Look at the hands from the trains.'

If you are late for work in the morning in Bombay, and you can reach the station just as the train is leaving the platform, you can run up to the packed compartments and find many hands stretching out to grab you on board, unfolding outwards from the train like petals. As you run alongside the train, you will be picked up and some tiny space will be made for your feet on the edge of the open doorway. The rest is up to you. You will probably have to hang on to the door frame with your fingertips, being careful not to lean out too far lest you get decapitated by a pole placed too close to the tracks. But consider what has happened. Your fellow passengers, already packed tighter than cattle are legally allowed to be, their shirts already drenched in sweat in the badly ventilated compartment, having stood like this for hours, retain an empathy for you, know that your boss might yell at you or cut your pay if you miss this train, and will make space where none exists to take one more person with them. At at the moment of contact, they do not know if the hand that is reaching for theirs belongs to a Hindu or Muslim or Christian or Brahmin or untouchable or whether you were born in this city or arrived only this morning or whether you're from Malabar Hill or New York or Jogeshwari. All they know is that you're trying to get to the city of gold, and that's enough. Come on board, they say. We'll adjust."

Chor Bazaar

If you're in need of old camera gear, vintage toys, collector lithograph Bollywood posters, or monkey wrenches, I highly recommend Chor Bazaar in Bombay. Chor means "thief" apparently, so all the stuff may or not be stolen, which is sort of fun.