The rock garden of Chandigarh

In Chandigarh there is a place called 'the Rock Garden' which in fact is constructed almost entirely of industrial and household waste. It was created by a glorious eccentric called Nek Chand in the years after partition. According to wikipedia, it was not discovered by authorities until 1975 (which I find a little hard to believe given it is right next to the Supreme Court and by 1975 sprawled over 12 acres!). Anyway, it's a pretty amazing place, and it draws as many visitors to Chandigarh as Le Corbussier's modernist buildings beside it. This wall is made of discarded computer parts (not bones I promise). The maze of interlocking nooks and crannies seems to attract young Chandigarhis who sheepishly explore the same in its quieter corners.

To be frisked or not to be frisked

There are two types of people in India - those who get frisked and those who don't. The rules of the game are very clear and displayed for all to see - exhibit A. It is judged that the dignity of those listed would be undermined by the act of passing through airport security. This made national Indian news on the weekend - not as you might expect because it is horribly elitist, but because an ex-President was frisked as he boarded a Continental Airlines flight to the US. This, cried some media, was nothing less than an insult to him, and to India. Slow news day? I asked my driver and he thought the concept of two rules for frisking quite silly - let them all be frisked he said. Couldn't agree more.

Kolkata street at night

Mumbai taxi

I'm not sure if it's got to do with the relative size of bottoms in Maharastra and Delhi, but the back seats of taxis in Mumbai are pretty tight. Yet they're zippy little things - this one blurred past us late at night during a break in the Mumbai summer mist.

Clouds over Bihar

Last week I flew into the sunset from Kolkata to Delhi as the clouds attempted to bring the Monsoon north. I'd started to think this monsoon thing to be a tad overhyped - and then it hit and the streets of Delhi became flowing rivers. Steadfast into the torrent, an old man rode his pushbike home, clothes soaked and hair streaked across his face, but a flash of childish glee on his face at the outrageous amount of water everywhere.

Bangalore Races

I picked the winner of the Kingfisher Derby - or rather a very pissed bloke told me if I didn't bet my house on the horse I was nuts. So I did and it led from start to finish and I pocketed Rs1600. A storm was brewing in the sky and amongst the less successful punters.