Jodhpur, four friends, four european tourists, pale and tired from an
over 20 hours trip. Not much after they’ve landed from another
dimension, they’re wandering, immerse in the chaos and guided by a local
randomly met on the street.
Confident and friendly, armed with a decent English and a reassuring smile, he claims to be the chef at their guesthouse, and it sounds credible. Besides, he knows the guesthouse name.
He shows the four around and gains their respect and absolute trust by introducing them to the best lassi of their life, the best in town. Ice cream, yogurt, almonds and nuts: the celestial affair happened that very afternoon, in that building where no foreigner soul had ever dared before.
The second stop is a nearby fabric store. The Europeans are shown to a
cosy, intimate room adorned by hundreds of beautiful and colourful
blankets, scarfs and sari dresses.
As they close the curtains, two elegant and polite clerks proudly
show off the wonders of the bazaar.
They unfold their products in front of their audience, meticulously
explaining every detail, every story behind every fabric. The Europeans
can’t help but surrender: they will walk away with a 4800 rupies worth
of scarfs. Their guide, who was waiting outside the store, waved at them
They will never meet again.
It took a while to realise he had nothing to do with their guesthouse after all.