The milkman, a person easily recognisable by his vibrant red turban and traditional clothing, cycled along the road with four large brass urns attached to his bike—he was impossibly well balanced as if his load was nothing more than himself. Palm trees and chattries lined his path—it was like a scene that one would imagine…
Bundi, where ‘Guest is God.’
It is sometimes hard, especially as a western traveller in Indian towns, to see the good in people. Such is the way the travel industry has gone, that we are often left feeling that we are viewed merely as an opportunity, and it seems that locals are only interested in talking to us in order…