Masala Dosa on the Mekong

It was midnight. I was alone in my hotel room. Someone knocked on the door. I said, "Who is it?" There was no response. I was in Madurai, on my way to Kodaikanal in south India. The weather forecast said that the temperature in Chennai (formerly known as Madras) was soon going to reach 46C (115F). I checked the weather in Kodaikanal (commonly known as Kodai), a hill station about 500km away. It was 23C (73F). Half of that of Chennai! I decided to go to Kodai for a few days. I had a club membership which gave me access to stay in their property in Kodai. I just had to pay for the food and liquor that I consume. The easiest way to go from Chennai to Kodai by public transport is by taking the night bus. It's a comfortable, air-conditioned bus that reaches Kodai the next morning. But I wanted to travel during the day. I wanted to sit by the window, look out and daydream. So, I decided to take a day train from Chennai to Madurai. I would stay overnight there. The next morning,

She said, "Give him a glass." He said, "No." "Why not?" she persisted. "Servants cannot drink from masters' glasses," he replied. Just a few hours earlier, a bus had screeched to a halt in the dusty centre of Orchha in central India and I had alighted. The shack was open on all sides. You could enter from anywhere. Twisted wooden poles, each in a slightly different angle, held up a tattered, sky blue tarpaulin sheet. Or rather it must have been sky blue when it was bought. Now it looked as if the sky was covered with dark, dirty clouds. Instead of a signboard with the name of the restaurant, there was a board advertising a brand of bottled water. From a jute string tied between two poles, Lay's chips packets were strung. The air smelled of agarbattis (incense sticks) which slowly smouldered as a mark of respect to Hindu deities. Water dripped with a constant tip, tip, tip from a leaking tap. Cracked, some broken, plastic tables were hap