In Bikaner, these fantastic facades look solemnly down at you on the street. It is a dusty, hot, hazy day and it looks like it may storm. The bustling sounds of the city are muffled here.
The locals chat lazily about old stories; the hounds resting, not uncomfortably, in the musty heat.
There is an Indian Princess sitting behind this gloriously intricate window. She is peering out at you, but her face remains hidden. You cannot see her, but you feel a slight sentimental sadness emanating through the surrounding air as you pass by.
The storm is coming closer and closer, but you are almost home. A man on an old bicycle whizzes lazily past. The dusty lanes are almost empty, and eerie, and echo your footsteps. I'm looking forward to some spicy Bikaneri Bhujia and mango chutney, aren't you?
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