BAGSU NAG 23 - 25 October 1996
We again found the overnight bus a pain free way of travelling and again slept reasonably well. The only snag was that it arrived at McLeod Ganj (where the Dalai Larma actually lives not Dharamsala) at 4.30 and everything was sleeping. After getting no answers from the few guest houses we tried with an Italian couple and as it was bright with moonlight we started to follow the 2km mountain ridge road as dawn rose to Bagsu Nag for no other reason than the fabulous emerging views.
We
went to the Pink White Guest House run by a relation of someone we had
met, the manager spoke good English and assured us of a good discount.
In fact we took the best room in the house for 300rp instead of the
550rp list price. It was large with a comfortable big bed and two large
windows facing over the valley to the south. The whole room was half
tiled in marble, the whole exterior was likewise tiled in marble, so it
will continue to look good when others have become tatty.
They were building two more stories making four in all, which unfortunately will start to block the view up the valley to Darmacot. There are several hotels being built in Bagsu Nag which will obviously be upmarket from McLeod Ganj. It is quieter cleaner already well furnished with restaurants and a nice temple and school house, water tank (pool) of some religious significance, a slate quarry the school children cleaned their slates under a tap outside the temple, and above all it is a great walking area, not least the mountain path to Triund - see later.
We discovered the
Paradise Restaurant in a part built new hotel and it served perhaps the
tastiest food of the whole trip. Just a one man operation who cooked and
served to a small but ever present group of semi permanent pot smoking
travellers. Not only were we introduced to Malai Kofta, henceforth our
favourite dish, but to Palak Paneer, Dahl Makani and Vegetable Korma but
we copied the method of bending pieces of chapati into a V-shape and
using it to pick up our food.
The
second day intending only to walk up the valley to Darmacot for
breakfast but were deep in conversation with a coloured Dutch girl who
was renting a cottage for 30rp/night. Discovering how cheap one could
buy goods in India she had started to ship them back home and was
currently awaiting further funds from her mother to buy more, Geoff's
friend who had originally challenged us to do our own thing in Nepal
seven years previous was designing, buying and importing jewellery in
the same fashion. It was a very common way of paying for travel at
that time.
Instead of breakfast we ate a brunch of vegetable fried rice.
But having reached the ridge discovered the mountain path from McCloed
Ganj going to Triund and at 1.15 we followed it ever upwards passed a
couple of cafes including one selling bottles of apple juice for 40rp.
Triund itself is a magical spot, we were disturbed to learn of a planned
trolley bus link from McLeod Ganj. Leaving at 4.30 it was dusk before
we reached the Pink Hotel.
VILLAGE WEDDING at GOLA district CHAMBA
One of those chance meetings occurred the very next day - we met Raja, or rather Rajan as we found later he was named, on the bus to Dharamasala, where we had headed to check ahead on the times of buses and trains for our onward journey. We talked on a bench in the park he tooth brush in top pocket, was going for the night to a village wedding and we would we like to come along. As usual we seized any opportunity but explained we had nothing with us, not even the tooth brush, or warm clothing for nighttime, he promised to get sweaters from a friend, the offer could no longer be refused.
In our experience it is vital to ump at such offers. We travelled by a variety of buses to the groom's house to be greeted by two brothers Rajan knew who lived in Kangra but spent most of their time at two vegetable stalls in McCleod Ganj. There was a band and a gathering of people and were invited to ear rice and dahl. We thought that this was our destination but soon learnt that wedding ceremonies take place at the brides house.
The groom was hoisted into a sedan chair and carried to a waiting bus, along with the band and males members of the family. Joan was the only female on board, the rest stayed behind to decorate and prepare for the return of the groom with his bride.
The bus took the party near to the brides mountain village but we and the stall holders got out at the nearest village so they could fetch sweaters for us, the bus carried on. When the two returned with the sweaters we completed the drive in a hired a jeep taxi, which I paid for in full since the bus would have been free. That price of 250rp was agreed only after a lengthy negotiation. The road was surprisingly difficult for the last 6km having become little but a twisting stony track on a mountain side, eventually we reached a mountain slide blocking the track, the rest of the journey would have to be on foot in moonlight. At an earlier stage we had passed many hundreds of sheep and goats with difficulty in spite of help from the shepherds. We walked some 2km uphill before reaching the col which looked over a fertile valley. No one was certain where to go but with help from another shepherd we determined to head for far off lights walking along the banks separating the square fields. We caught up with the main party who were waiting for us just below the lights.
The band started to play and the pall bearers lifted the groom in his sedan chair and we entered the farmhouse to fine welcome except from the man who continually apologised 'Sorry for the hill walking', but asked for a 110rp tip.
He also made off with my rucksack and I started to worry
about the safety of my cameras, air tickets and passports. Later there
was a heated disagreement between the host , the family elders and this
man and he was told to return our rucksack.
The contrast was sharp for we were regarded as chief guests and feted as such. The wedding ceremony took place that evening by the light of a fire - see the article a I wrote about that night 'A Village Wedding in Himachal', one of several entered into the SAMWAW (South and Mid Wales Association of Writers) competition. (A second entry 'Sunset in Tapaktuan' gained a £50 second prize, though marred by the thought that few if any of the people we met would have survived the tsunami in 2004).
First the group seated on the floor feasted, the travelling cooks had been hired for this purpose and they had built the outdoor stove. Cooking augmented by own kitchen. We being aparently being the main guests were seated on chairs at a small table.
We watched
the wedding ceremony with great interest. The brides face was hidden
throughout by her decorative shawl, in fact only in all women company
was her face seen throughout the night and following day, rice, flower
heads, oil, water (which becomes holy during the ritual after the
addition of flower heads.
The couple walked the traditional seven times
around the decorated square to confirm their union, each circuit being
slow and deliberate returning to continue the ceremony of the seated priest, some
such intervals taking as long as 15 minutes.
At 2am the ceremony came to an end. Every one went to bed, we had a lazyboy on the veranda and slept somewhat cautiously with our cameras around our necks and our day rucksack until the quilt - solely due to mistrust of one man. In his defence I must say he was the only one to have left the town and made his living outside the farm, he was perhaps the only one there who appreciated how wealthy us westerners were compared with the average Indian and was not at all happy about his rewards from hard work.
Next morning the party split in two, women in one field and men in another, hidden from each other by the hump of the hill. Several minutes walk from the farm, I noticed one man returning with his toiletry - a bottle of water in his hand, no paper is left to disfigure the landscape. Such was our first real contact with toilet arrangements for rural communities and the less privileged people in towns and cities. In this rural setting it appeared appropriate and totally in harmony with the country way of life, but in towns it merely seems squalid and all over India one had to keep an eye on the floor and avoid lavatory sites. We met that same issue on returning to India over a decade later in the great city of Chennai (Madras), some things never change and will not whilst there is such a gulf in wealth between the filthy rich flaunting their status, a prosperous educated middle class and the mass poverty of 50% percent of the population, the unschooled poor.
The
following day's celebrations were lovely. One of the women invited us
to her farm on the opposite side of the valley, a good walk away across
the fields, to join the room full of people who had come to watch the
story or Hari Krishna on perhaps the only TV in the village. The old
lady of the house smiled in welcome as she sat outside platting rush
mats.
The views on the walk back were fine and we stopped to watch the
fields being ploughed by oxen, and women reinforcing the field boundary
terracing with stones, there was no sign of mechanised machinery.
Modernity showed up only in the cold tap of drinking water. On looking around in the daylight we could see a cluster of perhaps half a dozen homes, at least one of which was a farm of similar size to the one we were staying at. Practically no one could speak English apart from 'Sorry for Mountain Walking' and so we relied on Raja for interpretation.
Several of the children knew a few words but Manoj Kumar (15) who lived next door was clearly the brightest with a good accent as well.
His village school was
a two hour walk away and the school day started at 10am, it must have
been even longer to get home since the return 8 km was steeply uphill.
He was intent on college and eventually wanted to become a doctor. On
return home we got him to open a bank account in the nearby town and
sent him money for his education, but right from the beginning I was
uncertain of the benefits for the intended purpose to give him a good
start in life for he innocently told us the first installment went towards the cost
of refurbishing of his family property. So in future we asked for and
got detailed estimates his requirements for educational purposes and got
some feedback of educational progress alongside much wealthier kids
from the town, then a clear sign of a letter having been written by
others clearly sharing the proceeds. Eventually I stopped the payments,
uncertain if it had ever been in his favour to be singled out - it was
impossible to judge. We do know he finished up working far away from his
home village in office work and later got married, we wonder if he
finished up as disillusioned as our 'sorry for hill walking' friend.
Back at the bride's house dinner was served in three sittings each near one hundred fifty people, first men, children, then finally women. The food being cooked in huge pots over a wood fire. The oven arrangement being a pair of clay ridges to contain the fire and support the pots a method identical to the mass feeding we had seen at Kullu.
The contract cooks
served the food from baskets of rice and pans of dahl then a mustard
based dish and finally a sweet one based on coconut, with water to drink
in stainless steel mugs.
We again got preferential treatment being served sitting at a table in stainless steel dishes instead of green leaves and ate with spoons the rest sat on the floor and ate with their fingers.
After the meal the band played again and the men in particular danced.
We watched the twisting of hemp into robes to secure the huge galvanised trunk in which the brides dowry would be carried back to her new home.
There seemed to be a common concern with the poor treatment from the mother in laws with whom they would have to live. There was no sign that the bride was looking forward to her new life, rather a foreboding, though perhaps this is merely a conception because her head remained covered throughout. By tradition she would not see her mother again before she returned home to have her first child.
At 4pm the bride and groom both left in sedan chairs, the bride's completely covered by red cloth. The dowry consisting of trunks of bedding, beds and mattresses, chairs, cupboards, a sewing machine, stainless steel cups and bowls
was carried on the heads of the leaving party.
They returned, as we arrived, on the mounds separating the fields. Soon we were back beyond the landslide on the mountain road where a bus was awaiting. Raja and I started to bowl conifer cones at one another and to try each others catching ability, it was to be valuable practice for me. There was no doubting the empathy between us.
When we arrived at the groom's house it was obvious we were expected to stay the night, but Joan was worried the owner of the hotel would soon be notifying the police of our failure to return for a room we had already paid for. I thought she was exaggerating but it proved the hotel was on the point of doing just that. We offered to go back alone, but Raja insisted on accompanying us because it was already dark, just as well although the wedding bus would have taken us to the bus route. In fact we had to stop buses until we stopped one which was going to Dharmasala.
On that bus journey we got talking to a young lawyer from Perth, Australia with a girl from London. They had just returned from a pleasant stay on a houseboat in Shiringar (the aim of all such tourists in the days before the Kashmir troubles), but the girl had just experienced a terrifying ordeal on the return bus which was full of militia carrying rifles which with his foot one had stuck between her legs. Dan was unable to help. McLeod Ganj should be a pleasant refuge.
BAGSU NAG again 27-30 October
A
quiet day's exploring McLeod Ganj window shopping although we bought
three stone necklaces and a Tibetan tea cup.
Then back to Triund again
this time with Rajan which took four hours.
Initially disappointed by lower visibility than before but soon made up for by the arrival of a party of young Indians returning from a trek who decided to play a cricket match. A mock but serious event, The wickets were a coke crate borrowed from the nearby stall with a cardboard extension, the ball held together with cloth, the bat two bat shaped pieces of wood. The rules included no playing to leg since this would simply knock the ball off the mountain. After watching the first game Raja negotiated for us to play on opposite sides, he played for Hamachal Pradesh, me for Haryana.
It was hard to hit the ball far enough to score runs and the standard of
bowling and fielding was high. I took a wicket with my first ball, one
other than Rajan caught at slip, and my third a full toss was caught,
plus a run out, but the final game was lost by another full toss was hit
for six just over the last fielder who was busily backing up the
mountain. A disgrace for we lost by a record score 13 to 6. Hitherto a
winning total for a whole team rarely exceeded four. I was elected as
neutral umpire.
On the descent Rajan and I ahead took a wrong leaving out Darmacot by error and had a difficult descent in the dusk, as we reached the Paradise cafe we met with Joan who had followed the correct path. Joan talked a long time to an Australian also just retired at 60, he had financed his trip by selling his house and didn't expect to be able to afford another, underlining yet again how lucky we are.
WEDDING at CHINTIPURNI 31 Oct and 1 November
Rajan had warned how different this would be for the people involved were more wealthy. In fact in many ways it was similar, a nice, tidy, picturesque farming community, but much more of a vullage. Far fewer guests similar food an even better band with clarinetist, trumpet, flugel and a small tuba.
This time we arrived at 2pm and whilst awaiting the return
of the groom with his new bride we visited several of the neighbours.
On
arrival she was welcomed with pastries and sweets swapped in handfuls.
Joan noticed the ceremonial throwing of a scarf onto the roof, a much
older one was on the roof next door. A wedding was just starting in an
adjacent house - this was obviously the wedding season. They gave Joan
and I a huge room with the main double bed.
In
the morning the celebrations continued with dancing, the band set up a
fine rhythm, dancing was free format with the males holding their hands
high, waggling fingers or making like aeroplanes. Joan and I soon joined
in.
We were again invited to eat lunch which this time was produced in their own kitchen by the family.
Once again we were given a table, the quality of which emphasises the difference in status of the two wedding parties.
After lunch the small family grouping went walking in the surrounding lanes.
Once again we were pressed to stay but left walking 2 km uphill to the road where we immediately caught a bus to Hispo then another to Jalander along twisting mountain roads. We got off at Rasmundi? railway station, but Raja delayed buying tickets until he found out which train would arrive first. We eventually paid 25rp for the fast Flying Mail.
(It was the DOWN train from Delhi, the UP train being to Delhi, a British confusion of terms which nearly cost my young life. Returning drunk from a college cricket match desperate to catch my wife to be before the end of the Hop to which I had invited her. Complete with the teams kit bag, Clive Pearce having chosen the wrong platform in confusion, gingerly crossed the live electric line and boarded the train from the wrong side - little realising we would not be seen boarding. Cricket bag first, then me and hauling in Clive as the train was leaving, leaving the solo woman passenger of the compartment scared stiff as I stretched out to shut the door.)
We again found the overnight bus a pain free way of travelling and again slept reasonably well. The only snag was that it arrived at McLeod Ganj (where the Dalai Larma actually lives not Dharamsala) at 4.30 and everything was sleeping. After getting no answers from the few guest houses we tried with an Italian couple and as it was bright with moonlight we started to follow the 2km mountain ridge road as dawn rose to Bagsu Nag for no other reason than the fabulous emerging views.
 |
| Road between McCleod Ganj and Bagsu Nag |
 |
| Bathing feet at Red White Hotel after Mountain Walk |
 |
| Bathing in Tank at Bagsu Nag |
They were building two more stories making four in all, which unfortunately will start to block the view up the valley to Darmacot. There are several hotels being built in Bagsu Nag which will obviously be upmarket from McLeod Ganj. It is quieter cleaner already well furnished with restaurants and a nice temple and school house, water tank (pool) of some religious significance, a slate quarry the school children cleaned their slates under a tap outside the temple, and above all it is a great walking area, not least the mountain path to Triund - see later.
 |
| Round School House and Pupils Cleaning Their Slates |
 |
| Joan and Rajan with Chef at Paradise Cafe |
 |
| Party met on Ascent to Ridge |
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| Lady descending from Triund with load of Hay |
 |
| Cafe halfway up Triund |
 |
| Triund at Last with Scots Girl |
One of those chance meetings occurred the very next day - we met Raja, or rather Rajan as we found later he was named, on the bus to Dharamasala, where we had headed to check ahead on the times of buses and trains for our onward journey. We talked on a bench in the park he tooth brush in top pocket, was going for the night to a village wedding and we would we like to come along. As usual we seized any opportunity but explained we had nothing with us, not even the tooth brush, or warm clothing for nighttime, he promised to get sweaters from a friend, the offer could no longer be refused.
In our experience it is vital to ump at such offers. We travelled by a variety of buses to the groom's house to be greeted by two brothers Rajan knew who lived in Kangra but spent most of their time at two vegetable stalls in McCleod Ganj. There was a band and a gathering of people and were invited to ear rice and dahl. We thought that this was our destination but soon learnt that wedding ceremonies take place at the brides house.
 | |||||
| Mother's goodbye to son leaving to get married at brides house |
 |
| Sending Off for the groom at his house |
 |
| Groom & Vegetable Stall Owner off to bride's home |
The groom was hoisted into a sedan chair and carried to a waiting bus, along with the band and males members of the family. Joan was the only female on board, the rest stayed behind to decorate and prepare for the return of the groom with his bride.
 |
| BRIDEGROOM arrives at brides village of Gola in dark |
The bus took the party near to the brides mountain village but we and the stall holders got out at the nearest village so they could fetch sweaters for us, the bus carried on. When the two returned with the sweaters we completed the drive in a hired a jeep taxi, which I paid for in full since the bus would have been free. That price of 250rp was agreed only after a lengthy negotiation. The road was surprisingly difficult for the last 6km having become little but a twisting stony track on a mountain side, eventually we reached a mountain slide blocking the track, the rest of the journey would have to be on foot in moonlight. At an earlier stage we had passed many hundreds of sheep and goats with difficulty in spite of help from the shepherds. We walked some 2km uphill before reaching the col which looked over a fertile valley. No one was certain where to go but with help from another shepherd we determined to head for far off lights walking along the banks separating the square fields. We caught up with the main party who were waiting for us just below the lights.
 |
| Groom's party wait for us just below Gola |
The band started to play and the pall bearers lifted the groom in his sedan chair and we entered the farmhouse to fine welcome except from the man who continually apologised 'Sorry for the hill walking', but asked for a 110rp tip.
 |
| Welcome to Gola ('Sorry for Hill Walking' on left, Manoj next to Joan) |
The contrast was sharp for we were regarded as chief guests and feted as such. The wedding ceremony took place that evening by the light of a fire - see the article a I wrote about that night 'A Village Wedding in Himachal', one of several entered into the SAMWAW (South and Mid Wales Association of Writers) competition. (A second entry 'Sunset in Tapaktuan' gained a £50 second prize, though marred by the thought that few if any of the people we met would have survived the tsunami in 2004).
First the group seated on the floor feasted, the travelling cooks had been hired for this purpose and they had built the outdoor stove. Cooking augmented by own kitchen. We being aparently being the main guests were seated on chairs at a small table.
 |
| Kitchen at Gola |
 |
| The Travelling Cooks |
 |
| Welcome to Gola for Chief Guest Joan |
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| Arrival Dinner at GOLA wedding |
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| Wedding Ceremony Commences, priest on right Mother, bride and groom facing |
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| Wedding Ceremony Commences, Mother,Bride and Groom facing |
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| 7 times round the bower |
 |
| We slept on a carpoy in front of the verandah |
At 2am the ceremony came to an end. Every one went to bed, we had a lazyboy on the veranda and slept somewhat cautiously with our cameras around our necks and our day rucksack until the quilt - solely due to mistrust of one man. In his defence I must say he was the only one to have left the town and made his living outside the farm, he was perhaps the only one there who appreciated how wealthy us westerners were compared with the average Indian and was not at all happy about his rewards from hard work.
Next morning the party split in two, women in one field and men in another, hidden from each other by the hump of the hill. Several minutes walk from the farm, I noticed one man returning with his toiletry - a bottle of water in his hand, no paper is left to disfigure the landscape. Such was our first real contact with toilet arrangements for rural communities and the less privileged people in towns and cities. In this rural setting it appeared appropriate and totally in harmony with the country way of life, but in towns it merely seems squalid and all over India one had to keep an eye on the floor and avoid lavatory sites. We met that same issue on returning to India over a decade later in the great city of Chennai (Madras), some things never change and will not whilst there is such a gulf in wealth between the filthy rich flaunting their status, a prosperous educated middle class and the mass poverty of 50% percent of the population, the unschooled poor.
The
following day's celebrations were lovely. One of the women invited us
to her farm on the opposite side of the valley, a good walk away across
the fields, to join the room full of people who had come to watch the
story or Hari Krishna on perhaps the only TV in the village. The old
lady of the house smiled in welcome as she sat outside platting rush
mats.  |
| The Farm with a TV |
 |
| Gola Hamlet, a few farms |
 |
| Ploughing at Gola |
Modernity showed up only in the cold tap of drinking water. On looking around in the daylight we could see a cluster of perhaps half a dozen homes, at least one of which was a farm of similar size to the one we were staying at. Practically no one could speak English apart from 'Sorry for Mountain Walking' and so we relied on Raja for interpretation.
Several of the children knew a few words but Manoj Kumar (15) who lived next door was clearly the brightest with a good accent as well.
 |
| Manoj with a sister |
Back at the bride's house dinner was served in three sittings each near one hundred fifty people, first men, children, then finally women. The food being cooked in huge pots over a wood fire. The oven arrangement being a pair of clay ridges to contain the fire and support the pots a method identical to the mass feeding we had seen at Kullu.
 |
| Clapping and singing 'The waterboy is unmarried' |
We again got preferential treatment being served sitting at a table in stainless steel dishes instead of green leaves and ate with spoons the rest sat on the floor and ate with their fingers.
After the meal the band played again and the men in particular danced.
We watched the twisting of hemp into robes to secure the huge galvanised trunk in which the brides dowry would be carried back to her new home.
There seemed to be a common concern with the poor treatment from the mother in laws with whom they would have to live. There was no sign that the bride was looking forward to her new life, rather a foreboding, though perhaps this is merely a conception because her head remained covered throughout. By tradition she would not see her mother again before she returned home to have her first child.
They returned, as we arrived, on the mounds separating the fields. Soon we were back beyond the landslide on the mountain road where a bus was awaiting. Raja and I started to bowl conifer cones at one another and to try each others catching ability, it was to be valuable practice for me. There was no doubting the empathy between us.
When we arrived at the groom's house it was obvious we were expected to stay the night, but Joan was worried the owner of the hotel would soon be notifying the police of our failure to return for a room we had already paid for. I thought she was exaggerating but it proved the hotel was on the point of doing just that. We offered to go back alone, but Raja insisted on accompanying us because it was already dark, just as well although the wedding bus would have taken us to the bus route. In fact we had to stop buses until we stopped one which was going to Dharmasala.
On that bus journey we got talking to a young lawyer from Perth, Australia with a girl from London. They had just returned from a pleasant stay on a houseboat in Shiringar (the aim of all such tourists in the days before the Kashmir troubles), but the girl had just experienced a terrifying ordeal on the return bus which was full of militia carrying rifles which with his foot one had stuck between her legs. Dan was unable to help. McLeod Ganj should be a pleasant refuge.
BAGSU NAG again 27-30 October
 |
| Rajan pays his respects to Shiva with an offering of milk |
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| Carpet Factory in McCleod Ganj |
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| Vegetable Stall Open Again with fresh stock, McCleod Ganj |
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| Vegetable Stall Holders who kindly took us to the Wedding in Gola |
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| Joan at Triund |
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| Rajan at Triund |
 |
| Brian at Triund |
Initially disappointed by lower visibility than before but soon made up for by the arrival of a party of young Indians returning from a trek who decided to play a cricket match. A mock but serious event, The wickets were a coke crate borrowed from the nearby stall with a cardboard extension, the ball held together with cloth, the bat two bat shaped pieces of wood. The rules included no playing to leg since this would simply knock the ball off the mountain. After watching the first game Raja negotiated for us to play on opposite sides, he played for Hamachal Pradesh, me for Haryana.
 |
| Trekkers play Cricket Match |
 |
| Rajan (Punjab) and I (Haryana) join in |
On the descent Rajan and I ahead took a wrong leaving out Darmacot by error and had a difficult descent in the dusk, as we reached the Paradise cafe we met with Joan who had followed the correct path. Joan talked a long time to an Australian also just retired at 60, he had financed his trip by selling his house and didn't expect to be able to afford another, underlining yet again how lucky we are.
WEDDING at CHINTIPURNI 31 Oct and 1 November
Rajan had warned how different this would be for the people involved were more wealthy. In fact in many ways it was similar, a nice, tidy, picturesque farming community, but much more of a vullage. Far fewer guests similar food an even better band with clarinetist, trumpet, flugel and a small tuba.
 |
| Smoking a hookha on our arrival |
 | |
| Married bridegroom returns to his home in Chintipurni |
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| Chintipurni wedding, confirmation ceremony |
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| Welcome to married couple on arrival home at Chintipurni |
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| LUNCH IS SERVED at CHINTIPURNI |
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| THE DWARF DANCES at CHINTIPURNI |
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| BAND PLAYS and GUESTS DANCE |
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| Brother of Goom in practice run for his forthcoming wedding |
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| The Band |
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| Brothers? |
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| Young Boy at Chintipurni |
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| Young adults at Chintipurni |
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| Cooking for the small family party at Chinipurni wedding |
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| Nibbles ar Chintipurni wedding |
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| Chintipurni wedding guests Joan and Rajan eat at table |
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| Distributing sweets |
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| Chintipurni, Walking the surronding country lanes |
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| The Garden Shrine |
Once again we were pressed to stay but left walking 2 km uphill to the road where we immediately caught a bus to Hispo then another to Jalander along twisting mountain roads. We got off at Rasmundi? railway station, but Raja delayed buying tickets until he found out which train would arrive first. We eventually paid 25rp for the fast Flying Mail.
(It was the DOWN train from Delhi, the UP train being to Delhi, a British confusion of terms which nearly cost my young life. Returning drunk from a college cricket match desperate to catch my wife to be before the end of the Hop to which I had invited her. Complete with the teams kit bag, Clive Pearce having chosen the wrong platform in confusion, gingerly crossed the live electric line and boarded the train from the wrong side - little realising we would not be seen boarding. Cricket bag first, then me and hauling in Clive as the train was leaving, leaving the solo woman passenger of the compartment scared stiff as I stretched out to shut the door.)
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