bed count: 36

during my year-and-a-half of research travel, I am tracking each bed I crash on -- pictured below beginning with my most recent digs.  my overall itinerary is:

• until May 2013 - Chicago
• June 2013 - Independence, Kansas City (Missouri)
• July 2013 -  Palo Alto, San Francisco (California)
• August 2013 - Washington DC, Toronto, Chicago
• September to March 2013 - New Delhi
• October 2013 - Karachi
• November 2013 -  Chandigarh
• December 2013 - Amritsar, Chennai
• February 2014 - Dubai (UAE), Saida and Beirut (Lebanon)
• April 2014 - Chicago (back home!)

April 2014 in Chicago: The research tour has come to a close, and I've ornamented my new flat with memorabilia from my travels -- a face mask of India's Prime Ministerial candidate Narendra Modi, a conch-shell hanging collected from the Tibetan Market in Delhi, evil-eye truck signs painted on tin sheeting, a plastic toy of Lord Hanuman flying along with a life-sized toy of Hanuman's sceptre, and evil-eye wooden prayer beads from Dubai. The architecture shot is of Chicago, which captures the brutalist-style corn cob towers, the modernist Mies Van Rohe tower, and the contemporary Trump Tower. 
Bed stat: Futon bed in a 1950s brick walk-up -- feels like home :)

February 2013 in the Saida and Beirut of Lebanon: I set aside a week for vacation in Lebanon, visiting a friend. His family resides in the hills of Saida. Aside from gazing at the country's beautiful landscape from mountain and valley to land sand sea, I enjoyed boatloads of homemade preserves fresh pita labneh cream cheese olive oil cucumbers olives mint chickpea stew cheese pies meat pies all pies.
Bed stat: A bit like college, in a home packed with rooms and each stacked with twin-sized beds.

February 2013 in the Jumeirah Park borough of Dubai: For a few nights I stayed with a friend-of-a-friend -- an oil rig engineer -- who resides in this new pocket of villas with his lovely wife and very articulate 5-year-old son.  Each villa is outfitted with identical pools and patio furniture. This is suburbia of the Middle East. The area is so new that taxi drivers do not know how to reach your address, nor how to get out.
Bed stat: Luxury. A giant queen-sized bed with down-filled pillows and duvet.

February 2013 in the Marina City borough of Dubai: My last leg of research interviews brought me to the wildly posh hub of trade, shopping, and finance -- Dubai!  I rented a bedroom via airbnb.com. My flat was very high-up, on the 61st floor of Sulafa Tower in Dubai's Marina City modeled after Vancouver's False Creek. My view overlooked the famed and artificial Palm Jumeirah Islands stretching out into the sea. To the left you could see the world's only six-star hotel -- the Burj Al Arab. 
  Bed stat: Two twin-sized beds with polyester bed sheets and cushion covers -- ahh the reality of airbnb. The satellite cable was chokful of Bollywood movie channels -- heaven.

January 2013 in the Green Park borough of New Delhi: Am currently writing a paper and so in an effort to keep myself productive, I tore myself out of my usual surroundings in Gurgaon and headed to my friend's place in Green Park. His flat is on the top floor of a four-story building with epics views of the surrounding greenery and markets.
Bed stat: Soft double-sized mattress outfitted with satin sheets and pillow cases which is surprisingly lovely for winter, but nonetheless obnoxious to have your pillow slide off the bed all night long.

December 2013 in Chennai: Took a short vacation from research work and spent five days in sweet sunny Chennai aka Madras to sip on Madras filter coffees, purchase Tamil goods at T Nagar market, off-road race along the Bay of Bengal, and ring in year 2014.
Bed stat: Hard double-sized foam mattress at an uber basic guest house in Anwarpet district, close to the Raintree Hotel.

December 2013 in Amritsar: Took a short break from research work and spent a day motorcycling through Amritsar's gulleys, dining on kulchas stuffed with paneer and chicken milai tikka.
Bed stat: Super firm foam in a neon-green room --  turn the lights off, please! Home is in Amritsar's Islamabad district, down a lane way with an abandoned mosque and thus dubbed the Masjid Wali Gulley. Muslims once inhabited this colony, prior to population exchange at partition in 1947; hence the Mughlai architecture on the doorway.

December 2013 in Amritsar: I visited here for research interviews at the Attari-Wagah border that divides India from Pakistan, and at the Punjab International Trade Expo aka PITEX
Bed stat: Queen-sized heavenly bed at the Best Western with service available to dry clean your kurta, turban, peticoat, and scandalous nighty.

November 2013 in Chandigarh: I was connected to a research centre here, the Centre for Research in Rural and Industrial Development, which has a cluster of scholars whose interests touch on my own area of Indo-Pakistani trade. I thus visited for some interviews and was subsequently invited to deliver a lecture.  And in between these scholarly activities I found plenty of time to roam around their epic gardens and rooftops.
Bed stat: double-bed with lofty ceilings across from the private suite of India's current Prime Minister, Dr. Manmohan Singh -- fab! 

October 2013 in Karachi, Pakistan: With my Bhai Jaan, his wife, and three really lovely children, my mummy and I played tons of cricket, Ludo, and ate at marvelous restaurants like Kolachi which appears to float on the Arabian Sea.  I also enjoyed about nine visits to the dessert parlor for Peshawari ice-cream – holy creamy milky yum.
Bed stat: single-bed next to my mom -- the best mother in the world for nursing me while I got over a horrible viral flu which I caught during my train ride from Delhi to Amritsar.

 

October 2013 in Gurgaon,  in the state of Haryana and satellite city of New Delhi: After a long night of dinner, partying, and post-party dining, we finally crashed -- thank goodness. Pictured here is the flat of an old-time friend I met when I lived in India during 2007 to 2009. The home is decorated with gorgeous oil paintings by his charming mom who prepared fluffy aromatic poha -- a grain of pressed rice, popular in western India.
Bed stat: double-bed, next to my friend, waking up to an epic view of Gurgaon's wide and open jungle fields -- soon to be checkered by high-rise condominiums.

October 2013 in the Rajouri Garden colony of New Delhi: Spent the weekend at my cousin's home in this Punjabi borough of West Delhi. We dined on homemade South Indian dosas and uttapam, then a punjabi spread of masala chicken with tandoori rotis for dinner, followed by saffron and cashew kulfi ice cream. The following day was South Indian rice cakes named idlis with sambar, and later Marathi style pav bhaji -- oh my gawd. The entire weekend was chokful of jokes with my handsome nephew and gorgeous niece with echoes of Narendra Modi's speech flooding the streets in this BJP stronghold.
Bed stat: Next to my brother-in-law and nephew, and the women in their own communal room (my cousin, niece, and mom).

September 2013 in the Kotla Mubarakpur colony of New Delhi: Crashed at a my Manipuri friends' flat in this predominantly Bihari borough of south Delhi.  Saturday night partying was followed by a blissfully lazy recovery on Sunday chokful of rooftop sun tanning among water tanks.     
Bed stat: Queen-sized bed in Delhi's heavy humidity with the clamor of brass bells and chants from a Hindu temple celebrating Ganesh Chaturthi.

September 2013 in the Sardarjung Enclave colony of New Delhi: Crashed at a friend's flat in this cosmopolitan and transnational borough, located in Delhi's posh southern wing.  While I lined up at the local grocer to buy a toothbrush, a scarfed Malay woman paid for her eggs, two Nigerian men stocked their basket with chips biscuits milk, and a Chinese man perused the magazine rack.  Spicy fragrances wafted in from the Nepalese momo-stand next door, and prayers emanating from the speakers of one of the colony's three Sikh gurudwaras (a.k.a. a Sikh temple) decorated the evening's humid air. 
Bed stat: Soft cushion on a queen-sized wood-carved bed purchased in Ludhiana, Punjab. Prior to crashing, I rinsed out the city's noisy grime from my t-shirt and hung it out to kiss the morning's sunrise.

September 2013 in the DLF Phase 4 colony of Gurgaon: This is my base in India, the first floor of a four-storey marble home in Gurgaon, which is a satellite city of New Delhi which hosts India's famed industrial investors and multinational firms.  Along with Noida (another satellite city of New Delhi), Gurgaon's glossy skyscrapers, acres-sized shopping malls, and ivory-colored residential condominiums are the physical manifestation of 'India rising'.
Bed stat: Double-sized thin foam cushion atop soft hardwood floors with the most luxurious view -- a backyard clad with tropical greenery, an absolute luxury in a city where property and indeed space is incredibly scarce.

September 2013 in C-Block of the Janak Puri colony in New Delhi: Stayed at my aunt's home which I've been visiting since I was seven years young.  Three generations reside here, down to my bright and handsome twin nephews who are preparing for exams and soon their college applications.  Janak Puri is reportedly the largest borough colony in Asia, and it is nestled within the predominantly Punjabi western wing of Delhi -- hence very loud intense aggressive.  Buttery paranthas prepared by my aunt and sister-in-law soften the blow of West Delhi's excitement.
Bed stat: Double-sized thin foam cushion next to my mom, with a fan and air conditioner running to beat Delhi's heavy humid dusty heat.

September 2013 aboard an Air India flight operating non-stop from Chicago to New Delhi: Blips of rest punctuated by vodka tonics, Bollywood films, and debates on India-Pakistan with the Sardar seated next to me (he was returning from Iowa to visit his family in Mussoorie, the famed hill station in the Uttrakhand state of India).  As I had predicted, I was prepared to jump flight once we reached the Afghani hinterlands.
Bed stat: Economy class

August 2013 in the Schaumburg borough of greater Chicagoland: Pops, brother and I boarded a train from downtown Chicago at Union Station towards the suburbs to visit relatives. There I crashed at my cousin's home where relatives gathered together for kebabs and chaat, followed by chapatas and masala goat along with board games aplenty; Jenga, Sorry, Carom Board, bean bag toss.
Bed stat: Stow-away twin-sized mattress in the recreation room of my nephews and nieces. 

August 2013 in the Streeterville borough of downtown Chicago: Crashed at my older brother's bachelor pad while I sorted last-minute visa and tax issues (and enjoyed amazing house music at Smart Bar) prior to leaving the Western Hemisphere for my year across Asia.  Brought along our father from Toronto (pictured above) to experience Chicago's jazz scene, blues clubs, and Mexican taquerias -- a.k.a. life beyond Chicago's tourist-infested downtown Loop area.
Bed stat: Designer sectional from Canadian firm EQ3.

August 2013 in the Columbia Heights borough of Washington DC: Stayed with a new friend, an American who spent some time living in Syria for NGO-work where he mandatorily acquired a poster of Bashar al-Assad which is now housed in this gorgeous apartment with classical American furnishings.
Bed stat: A four-poster bed made by my friend with purchases from Home Depot -- bad ass.

August 2013 at the Ivory Tower residence hall of George Washington University in Washington DC: I spent a week with a friend and fellow academic, a political science professor at the George Washington University who is currently polishing his book manuscript.  We stayed in his apartment nestled in the heart of campus and next to the US Department of State.
Bed stat: Air-mattress surrounded by chachkis from Bulgaria and Egypt. 

August 2013 in the Round Hill suburb of Virginia: I spent the weekend with my cousin, sister-in-law, three nieces, and nephew at their home in Roundhill, which weaves together a golf course, country club, beautiful homes with manicured lawns, and an epic sunrise.
Bed stat: Twin-sized hand-me-down bed in my cousin's bachelor-pad'ish-basement adorned with collections of all varieties ranging from coffee mugs to knives (the least lethal of which is a macheti)

August 2013 in the Rockville suburb of Maryland: After hopping from house music at Tropicali to dancehall and reggae at Patty Boom Boom and then late-night brunch at Annie's -- all in Washington DC -- I sought respite from all urban hullabaloo at my friend's condominium in the neighboring state of Maryland. 
Bed stat: Leather couch overlooking shopping malls, a Mormon Temple of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, and the Washington DC National Monument visible in the far far distance.

August 2013 in the Severna Park suburb of Maryland: Spent the weekend with my cousin, brother-in-law, and two nieces.  Visited a hipster patch of Baltimore known as Hampden and rode rollercoasters at Six Flags Amusement Park.  Punctuated by chicken tikka masala on day one, Madhur Jaffrey's roast coriander chicken on day two, and tandoori chicken on day three.
Bed stat: My niece's king-sized bed surrounded by pop culture paraphernalia, including portraits of Albert Einstein and Marilyn Monroe, a reprint of Salvador Dali, and a poster illustration of Clockwork Orange (1971).

July 2013 in the Chinatown borough of Washington DC: Crashed at the condominium of a newly made friend, a graduate student in accounting and avid party-hopper -- an afternoon at the Fringe theater festival to an evening at DC's Jazz in the Garden to a hookah party at his place to a night of house music at Tropicali club on U Street.
Bed stat: Double-bed overlooking an alleyway of the city's remains -- high-rise living.

July 2013 in the Mount Pleasant borough of Washington DC: Crashing at a friend-of-a-friend-turn-friend, a lawyer for a public interest firm.
Bed stat: My first official couch on this couch-surfing tour -- burgundy with great cushioning, a pillow fills the crack which hits my lower back, facing stacks of art painted by my friend's Bubbe.

July 2013 in the South of Market Area (SoMA) of San Francisco, California: Crashed at the City Centre Hotel for a night to hang out with a friend-of-a-friend visiting from Mexico City.
Bed stat: Allegedly an eco-friendly hotel, though nothing was particularly green except for the decor.

July 2013 in Fremont, California: Crashing at my Aunt's mountain-top home nestled in Mission Peak, while I do research work at Stanford University.
Bed stat: Twin-sized bed outfitted with a headboard stocked with my cousin's teen-aged remains -- CliffsNotes to Homer's The Iliad, a bottle of Versace Green Jeans Man, and an elementary school portrait.

July 2013 in the Mission District of San Francisco, California: Crashing with a new friend and local rug designer.
Bed stat: King size bed surrounded by eclectic mix of symbolist, mid-century modern, and mod furnishings.

July 2013 in the Mission District of San Francisco, California: Crashing with a fellow Canadian and Bay Area hypnotherapist.
Bed stat: Foam on a jute rug, facing idolatry of Mother Mary, Saint Francis, a Mexican sugar skull, and Nataraja -- naming a few.

July 2013 in Sacramento, California: Crashing with a former classmate from Oxford University.
Bed stat: Air mattress and a shelf stacked with fiction -- I'll be reading Maximum City: Bombay lost and found by Suketu Mehta 

July 2013 in Kansas City, Missouri: Lofty dreams in the Rivermarket borough of Kay See Em Oh! (i.e. KCMO Kansas City Missouri)
Bed stat: Climb 15 feet towards your destination.  

June 2013 in Independence, Missouri: Christian living. Extended stay at the Higher Ground Hotel in this town of Latter Day Saints while I do research work at the Harry S. Truman Library Institute
Bed stat: Fluffy pillows and duvet intact with nightly prayer card.  Aaauuummmmm~

June 2013 in Chicago, Illinois: One-night stand. After exiting my Chicago apartment, I crashed at my classmate's flat the night before flying out.
Bed stat: Air mattress couched beside a dining table.

June 2013 in Chicago, Illinois: Moving out and moving up! 20 furniture pieces sold in 48 hours, including bedside tables, lamps, mattress.
Bed stat: Air mattress on warm wood floors. living light is the new chic -- I mean that. 

up to May 2013 in Chicago, Illinois: Home is a state of mind, this I remind myself as I exit my apartment of the last three years. Limited edition silk-screen prints of Norval Morriseau's shamanic paintings hang in the far left and a pair of landscapes of oil on canvas painted by Chinese artist Allen adorn the right-hand side of the space. Much of the furniture was purchased from the Brown Elephant shop in the Andersonville borough of Chicago, whose proceeds fund research on HIV/AIDS.
Bed stat: Futon mattress stacked on a Serta mattress and box spring -- heaven.

***
the last time I pursued extended travel, I totaled 33 beds over six months. "The best bedside view was offered from the window beside my bed in the sleeper class cart aboard a train. The landscape was decorated with patches of neon green mustard fields and, later, an orange sunset that illuminated silhouettes of palm trees" (see http://winstoninwonderland.blogspot.com/2009/04/my-india-2009.html ).

Critters of Assam, India

1. (unknown)
2. lady bug
3. cotton plant red ant
4. common fly

*images have been captured by myself

Favourite Indian Lands

For my last month in India, I designed several possible itineraries: tour the backwaters of Kerala, motorcycle through mountains of Kashmir, backpack the former French colonies of Pondicherry in Tamil Nadu (etc.). I reflected on my travels in India, thus far, and felt that the past five months had been as exhausting as they had been exhilarating; both because of navigating the streets customs language of several cities and states. For my last thirty days in the motherland, I decided to revisit my favourite spots, rather than discover new terrain.

I first reached Amritsar for four short days. I spent an entire afternoon basking in the warmth of sun rays bouncing off the Golden Temple. Instead of entering through the front entrance, as I had done most times in the past, I steered through a maze of markets that bury the back end of the compound and slipped into an inconspicuous entrance. I encountered the Golden Temple from a new angle and the sight was breathtaking. I worked my way through the crowds, seated myself on an empty patch of marble alongside the perimeter of the central pool, and after some time began noticing all of the otherwise invisible patrons performing seva (i.e. service); a young woman was wiping floors, an elderly man was wading in the pool to brush bacteria off of metal gratings. I decided against eating langhar (i.e. food from the community kitchen). My last serving of langhar left me with an upset stomach from all the red chilies. But, I eagerly devoured a buttery mound of warm halwa (i.e. a granular sweet dish similar to porridge). The following afternoon, I hunted for and brought home a pair of traditional Punjabi jhooti (i.e. leather shoes) with ornate gold embroidery and toes that curl up to the sky. Amritsari evenings were full of chai, laughter, and farewells to family.

My next destination, after Amristar, could be none other than Assam. During my first trip to the northeast of India, I spotted rhinos in Kaziranga National Park and reached the villages of my new Assamese friends. This time around, I headed first to the tiny town of Pathsala to celebrate Holi, the festival of colour! Fuchsia parrot green cherry red cobalt blue flooded homes shops streets. A convoy of us eight young men strolled through town. A group of young girls, fashioned with a bamboo branch, threatened to harm us if we refused to submit ourselves to their ‘well wishes’. We played by their rules as they giggled and smeared our cheeks foreheads noses necks with bright powder. For a single day, all Indians were the same multi-colours, void of caste, often marked by complexion, which is still omnipresent in rural India.

Last week we motorcycled along the dusty gridlines of farm plots and paddy fields. We passed green rivers, crippling wooden bridges, cranes nibbling on bugs nestled in the hairs of cows, goats sneaking bites from cabbage patches, a Kali Ma temple that performs animal sacrifices upon bisons, handloom collectives that promote women’s empowerment, the mighty Brahmaputra River, wood mills carving illegally forested timber, bamboo thatched-homes constructed of mud, and plantations of tall and slender betel nut palm trees. Darkness soon swallows whole the sweaty and tropical landscape and new characters became visible: slithery eels shining under the swinging light of bulbs at the fish market, a million blinking fireflies floating like a string of Christmas lights, and grimy chai stands bustling with the clangs of glass cups slamming on wood tables, of steel spoons slicing through sweetmeats, and of men, old and young, sharing anxieties about the delay in rainfall this season leaves their fields extraordinarily thirsty.

And finally, I arrived at Manas National Park. Manas straddles the border between India and Bhutan and is truly a non-human land where the wild is master. Manas is at the bullseye of a biodiversity hotspot. A three-kilometer hike transports you from palm India to deciduous Canada to fern Brazil. I am intoxicated by perfumes and colours of saturated sweet fauna and musky reddish bark. We will be lucky should be spot footprints of an elephant or tiger, let alone stumble upon either of these nearly extinct species. Shaggy and golden langur monkeys leap with fierce elegance and I finally develop an appreciation for the value of biodiversity.

Manas is also home to extremist political warfare which has plagued this rarely visited region since 1991. Timber is cut, illegally, and transported across the South Asian sub-continent. Proceeds are used to finance intra-tribal conflict. I am befriended by members of a non-governmental organization (NGO) who enthusiastically share with me their mandate to protect Manas' jungle habitat. The NGO monitors on their own progress and self-reports to their generous American donor. We spot numerous loggers in the jungle, armed with heavy axes. "Avoid eye contact and scurry by unnoticed", I am instructed. Some days later, and behind closed doors, I converse with animal poachers who teach me about their operation and introduce me to officials from the forestry department who allow illegal timber felling in exchange for bribes. According to both animal poachers and forestry officials, NGOs are becoming as corrupt as the rest of the lot by reporting false progress reports to their American donors.

I am further documenting this volatile hub of political ecology.

*images have been captured by myself

From Assam With Love - The Glorious Northeast of India

All aboard the Rajdhani Train Express departing from New Delhi and arriving in Guwahati! Your journey will last two whole days. Surprisingly, the 48-hour trek is über comfortable. I managed to read half of Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children (1989). I made friends with an auntie and her bratty kids as I gaze, from the comfort of my sleeper class seat, across the neon green patchwork of mustard fields that span the rural landscape of Uttar Pradesh and Bihar.

Within seconds of stepping foot on the platform at Guwahati Central Station, I am whisked away to a lodge nestled in high hills overlooking the Brahmaputra River. A cheetah skin hangs in the foyer. A tiger skin is sprawled on the floor. Deer heads line the walls. The wooden staircase that leads me upwards to my bedroom creaks most romantically. Archie comics, The Hardy Boys, Naomi Klein, Noam Chomsky, Burmese warfare, Nehru's biography; the book shelves are stacked.

The following morning, four hours away from Guwahati, I reach Kaziranga National Park. On the way, I wave at a rhino, four elephants, cranes, lizards, pigs, and sheep. We drive into Wild Grass Resort (oldassam.com). Mangoes, Chinese roses, betel nuts, guavas and Indian olives hang from their stems among the lodges. A local artist paints pottery made from his own hands. Adivasis (i.e. Aboriginals) of Assam perform ancient dances and earn a fair wage. I step into the colonial-style dining hall. Framed maps of Britain's India and watercolours of native ducks hang on the walls. On the opposite end of the dining hall and through a set of French doors, out onto the veranda, I see my intense and bearded companion, my old flat mate from England, deep in conversation; we will call him Haati Walla (i.e. The Elephant Man). He conducts research on conflict between humans and elephants in this region. I drop my luggage and, before I am aware of it, we are exchanging old stories. Haati Walla was raised in this eco-tourist resort and I am excited to finally arrive in the world that built my exceptional friend.

Haati Walla’s countless friends, who offer countless gestures of friendship, welcome me with open arms. I lodge with a trio: Bipul the butterfly researcher, Swapna the physics lecturer, and Ranadeep the pre-law candidate. In the late afternoons, when the warm winds settle, we play badminton. During the evenings we pack ourselves into a roofless jeep, driving atop unlit dirt roads. Quite high above sea level, the stars are close enough to swallow. During these winter months in Assam, when the Bihu festival of fertility is celebrated, home-brewed rice beer (like an apple-infused Japanese sake) is served with platefuls of spicy potatoes and pork. We eat sticky rice, yellow lentils, duck, and local fish simmered in a sour curry. I speak with a little girl. In Hindi, I ask
"How old are you?" She is speechless and also bewildered I can speak in Hindi. To snap her back into conciousness I ask "Are you 30 years old?" and she blurts out in response: "are you out of your mind? I'm 11!" During the rest of the week, we conclude cricket matches with pints of beer, I ride atop an elephant during sunrise in search of wild rhinos, and we race through countless acres of tea estates.

Following, I reach Majuli for two days; the world’s largest river island, floating atop the Brahmaputra River. The journey from Wild Grass Resort to Majuli is an exhausting six hours of rough roads and water, but the entire way I am coddled by Assamese hospitality. After two hours on a bumpy bus and 30 minutes on an even bumpier auto rickshaw (the bruise marks that freckle my head now serve as the state’s Barometer of Bumpiness), I arrive at Nimati Ghat (Nimati Port). From there I ride a ferry to the island of Majuli. Aboard the ferry, I am befriended by a 22-year-old Assamese MBA candidate. He is friendly and has passionate opinions against Bangladeshis migrating illegally into Assam. The wrinkly captain of the ferry asks us to present proof-of-payment and the MBA informs me that the captain, who appears quite ordinary, can speak in three tongues and is father to a chemist (i.e. a pharmacist). The young man sitting behind us, an army soldier from the state of Maharastra and stationed in Assam, appear enchanted by my spoken Hindi and excitedly joins our conversation. After three hours, the ferry docks at Majuli. The MBA departs towards his direction and the army soldier, who has come to Majuli for only a few hours (before having to head back to Assam proper to report to his General), sticks by my side. From the dock, we ride in a shared jeep towards the city centre of Kamalabari. Squashed into the hole of a rubber tire, I sit opposite a tourist from Spain, who speaks little English and is enjoying his fifth trip to Bharat (i.e. India). Once I reach Kamalabari, army soldier by my side, I meet my local contact, Dulal, who is a monk serving as head priest at the monastery Uttar Kamalabari Satra. Dulal is a modern monk. With his mobile in hand, he operates a newspaper and stationary store to finance maintenance of his monastery. I stay with Dulal in his monastery for two days. Seated cross-legged on the cool clay floors of the monks' huts, I eat from brass plates. I attend prayers during one of the 14 daily musical sessions of symbols drums and vocals and draw milk from the teets of the house cow.

During the ferry ride back to Assam proper, the same captain (with three tongues and a son of science) asks me to present my proof-of-payment. In English, he asks me if I enjoyed Majuli and I inform him that, yes, I did. In Hindi, I ask the captain if his son is a chemist and he replies, in clear English, 'No, he is not a chemist (i.e. a pharmacist). He is a scientist and he specializes in chemistry'. The ferry docks, the captain grabs my wrist, and he offers to drive me to the local city centre to eventually grab a bus to reach my home in Kaziranga; thereby bypassing three hours of local buses. I peep into the captain's car. A young couple and their 5-year-old are seated and are heading to the same destination. The sight of a well-groomed family makes me feel less apprehensive and I gladly accept the captain's offer.

After a week in Kaziranga and two days in Majuli, I reach Pathsala, a remote Assamese village, to visit the homes of my new friends, my lodge mates from Kaziranga: Bipul (butterfly enthusiast and bollywood dancer extraordinaire), Swapna (the physicist, whose theories, in his mind, will break ground once the length of his hair grows beyond his shoulders and to reach earth and literally break ground), and Ranadeep (mister law-101, who has freshly shaved his hair to a buzz cut, matching mine). Their homes are set in the depths of palm tree jungles, opposite acres of cauliflowers potatoes mustard green beans. Morning, afternoon, and night we sip on hot Assamese chai brewed in milk extracted from the home cow. Local rice beer among youth is reserved for the evenings when parents retire to their own quarters. Mind you, the elders probably sip on their own private nightcap. Food is endless as are the smiles and hugs from each local in the village. Every three hours I am whisked off to another relative or friend of the family who are eager to welcome me at their front door, to seat me with their children, and to stuff my belly with creations from their fire-pit (like cylindrical rice cakes baked inside bamboo stalks called pitha). They each request that I return for chai at least one more time before departing Pathsala. One night I cook my wildly popular spread of Kashmiri food for a band of 15 brothers, cousin-brothers, and village-brothers.

By my fifth day in Pathsala, news has spread (like wildfire) that a non-local and foreigner is in town. That afternoon, I am stopped by the local paan walla (i.e. man who prepares and sells paan, a mouth-freshener consisting of betel nut wrapped around a leaf from a betel tree). He inquires fervently why we have not exchanged words yet. Our conversation does not last too long because he already knows my name, where I am from, my purpose for visiting (etc.).

Assamese hospitality should be touted as a tourist attraction in its own right!

*images have been captured by myself