What does how far you go have to do with where you begin?

As we leave our delicious final meal in Pushkar, cooked by a local family, there is a sign above the road which says: "What does how far you go have to do with where you begin?". Well, we began in Delhi and we end in Delhi, so you could say we've been nowhere, but it feels like we've been a lot further than that. You could equally ask: "What does where you end up have to do with how far you have come?". We are not where we end or begin, but everything that happens inbetween, so we'd better make it good.

Our last few days in Pushkar have been chilled, with abundant markets and the serene sheen of the peaceful, holy lake. We stop at a random cafe where the owner, Sheruu, brings me amazing Turkish coffee and makes us some lovely chocolate and cookie dough balls, whilst regaling us with the politics of India and how it works for the politicians and the rich but not for the poor, which sounds unsurprisingly familiar.

The sleeper train back to Delhi is less chilled, with family-members jabbering at each other across the carriages. Altogether, the trip has been eventful and memorable, and now we are tired and ready to continue the long journey home.

No, Mr Bond, i expect you to die

Udaipur, city of lakes, palaces, mountains, and Roger Moore in Octopussy; I raise a glass, and possibly one eyebrow, to you. This is by far the most beautiful and most relaxed of the cities we have visited so far. Ridged by mountains like the cupped hands of some Hindu god, the palaces rise out of the lake or sit atop the peaks, and are surrounded by a generous sprinkling of shops and temples, separated by an unpredictable, Brownian etchasketch of roads and alleyways. The shopkeepers are mildly persistent but mostly friendly and curteous. The artifacts are varied and eye-catching. The lake is enchanting. We will go for a boat ride at sunset, and following dinner plan to do some Udaipur-spotting at a showing of Octopussy...

The chatter of local commuters punctuates the rhythm of the train like the patter of tabla drums and single-string melody over the drone chord of a sitar. It provokes a scattergun mosaic of thoughts of the past few days:

We have dined finely at a beautiful palace on the outskirts of Jaipur with a library of leatherbound books, a piano, and a grammaphone; all to the accompaniment of live, traditional music. With great anticipation, we have stalked tigers through Ranathambore national park, to reveal deer, birds, monkeys, and crocodiles, but no large cats. A walk through Bundi gave us Escher-like step-wells and stunningly-colourful paintings at the palace.

The days are packed and the time goes quickly. Thoughts of normality begin to creep in. Our train is headed for a small campsite by a lake outside the village of Bassi, where we will have a day of relaxation and reflection...

The sun gently rises over the placid lake. Animals announce their wakefulness, and the stirring of insects creates ripples of reflection, not dissimilar to the morning stirrings of my own mind. The ripples dissipate and intersect, forming peaks and troughs that catch the light and swallow the dark. A shallow boat whispers upon the waters, as its occupants search for something in the darkness underneath, their hunting patient, not insistent. The repetitive mantra of birdsong lulls the lake ashore and sings the sun afloat. I sit atop the steps, awaiting my morning chai.

Jaipur - capital of Rajasthan

Our first night in Jaipur we catch a Bollywood movie, "Rajkumar", at the Raj Mandir cinema. The movie is silly, colourful, violent, funny, and action-packed, as are the crowd, cheering and hooting the hero and heroine on to their inevitable victory over the baddies and romantic union, all with several dance numbers thrown in. It's a film I would probably find vacuous if I understood the dialogue, but works perfectly when I don't.

The following morning, we head to the Jantar Mantar, a giant's astronomy kit, with enormous sundials accurate to one minute and instruments to discern the altitude and azimuth of the sun and constellations. It is like an astronomer's sculpture park of modern-art curves and angles.

Finally we head to the City Palace. It is difficult not to become blase about stunning monuments once you are onto your sixth or seventh, taking on the mien of the stray dogs which loiter disconsolately without intent. Even so, the Pritan Nivas courtyard is beautiful, with four gates carved with animals and set into pink walls for which Jaipur is famous.

At this point, even though the whole group is lovely, I definitely require a break, and relish some free time in the afternoon to float freely into mental space without intrusion.

Lights out words gone

A barking dog wakes the violet night, which opens one eye to reveal a sliver of moon. A flickering candle sparkles a chandelier of stars and dapples the skin of a woman with six arms and fiery eyes. With one pair of arms, she holds me down and takes my money; with another pair she beckons and intoxicates; and with another still she rubs my tummy and calms my mind. You can re-arrange me now. Do what you want, anything you want. The call to prayer echoes and repeats. I turn and she is gone, the candle is snuffed out, and the night has closed its eyes.