Masala Dosa on the Mekong

"Solo travellers are not allowed to enter," said the Bhutanese immigration officer. "What should I do?" I asked. "Get a partner and come," he said. I was travelling alone by road from India to the Himalayan Kingdom of Bhutan.  I was waiting in Kolkata airport when I heard a flight announcement to Paro. I could have taken that flight and flown directly to Bhutan. But instead, I had decided to enter Bhutan by land, because it is invariably more adventurous. My plan was to fly from Kolkata to Bagdogra, and then reach Siliguri by road. From Siliguri, I planned to take a bus to the Indian border town of Jaigaon. At Jaigaon, I planned to cross the border to Phuentsholing, Bhutan and then take a bus to Paro. The flight time for the direct flight from Kolkata to Paro was about one hour. I would reach Paro in three days.  There was a prepaid taxi counter in Bagdogra airport, but it was run by a taxi mafia. Passengers had to take a taxi only through that counter, at

It was pitch dark at 4:30am. "Let us rob him," said Red Shirt. Green Shirt asked, "What if he fights back?" Red Shirt replied, "We will kill him." They were talking about me in Malayalam. I was alone in a remote boat jetty, trying to explore the lesser-known backwaters of northern Kerala. More than ten years ago, I was in Alleppey. I was there to experience the famed backwaters of Kerala in southern India. Alleppey was the Mecca for all backwater related activities. There was a very popular cruise from Alleppey to Kollam. "I can book the ticket for you," said my hotel receptionist. The ticket was ₹400 ($6) for the 8-hour journey. I reached the boat jetty for the 10:30am boat. It was an old wooden boat with an aisle and wooden padded benches on either of the aisle. I took my seat on one of the benches in the front. There was nobody sitting next to me. There were about 70 to 80 passengers. There were people from all over the world - Europeans, Kore

The gate to the embassy slowly opened. "All Indians! Run! Run! RUN!" shouted the Malay security guard with a sardonic grin on his face. What ensued was a stampede. I was applying for a visa to enter Malaysia in their High Commission in Singapore. "Take a seat," said the receptionist. She asked, "Would you like some coffee?" I was waiting to meet the Manager of a factory manufacturing automotive parts in a suburb of Chennai, a city in southern India. He was also the Honorary Consul for Madagascar. To enter Madagascar, most Western passport holders could get a visa-on-arrival. But Indians had to apply for a visa in advance. So, I waited to meet the Honorary Consul. I entered his office. He was a middle-aged Malagasy gentleman wearing a crisp white shirt and a blue tie.  He asked, "So, you want to visit Madagascar?" I replied, "Yes." "Have you brought your passport?" he asked. I gave it to him. He swiped my passport on a reader o

"Land borders are not always straight." he said. "Sometimes there is a bend in the border." I was crossing the land border from Uganda to Rwanda in East Africa. "Why are you crossing at this border?" she asked. I was driving back in my car from Montreal to Buffalo, where I was living. I was crossing the U.S. - Canada border at a remote border crossing in Vermont. It was a single lane road and the border was two flagpoles with the Canadian and U.S. flags on them.  A woman officer on the American side asked me to pull over. I was the only person at the border. I gave her my U.S. Green Card. "Where do you live?" she asked. I replied, "Buffalo."  "Why are you crossing at this border? You should be crossing the border at Niagara Falls," she said. "I want to drive through Syracuse," I said. "Why?" she enquired. "I am planning to apply for a doctoral programme and want to visit the University there," I s