In town, the Paltan bazaars begged to be investigated. The bazaars
are a labyrinth of narrow walkways lined with a warren of vibrant
stalls. This is Dehradun’s most crowded shopping area and full of
colour. While unable to buy anything, I admired the colourful
garments, footwear, bags, and tribal handmade woollen clothing,
perfect for high-lying areas. The spices were equally captivating,
infusing the market with the rich aromas of masala and basmati rice.
At the same time, ladies in colourful saris jostled for positions at the
many vendors.
Dehradun
Caught by the late monsoon, we woke to an overcast and rainy day, a
rain that continued through to the next morning. Floods were
reported from all over India, and waiting out the weather was best.
So, we stayed put, watching endless replays of India winning cricket
matches and reports about the Delhi bomb blasts from the previous
week.
Strolling around town, I couldn’t help but notice India’s unmistakable
pecking order when it came to traffic. Pedestrians were at the bottom
and gave way to everything. Bicycles made way for cycle-rickshaws,
which gave way to auto-rickshaws, which stopped for cars and were
subservient to trucks. Busses never stopped, not even for passengers
who jumped on and off while the bus kept moving. The undisputed
king of the road was the only thing that stopped a bus, The Holy Cow.
Cows nonchalantly brought traffic to a standstill on four-lane
highways and at busy intersections, yet no one seemed the least bit
bothered. Remarkably, I had yet to witness a cow struck by a vehicle.