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Julian and I were on a small hilltop shrine, somewhere outside Pushkar at sunset when three men in loincloths appeared and indicated that  in exchange for a couple of  our western cigarettes, they would let us take their photographs. This seemed like a good idea since the mutual enjoyment of a cigarette break transcends the language barrier nicely. We later followed them down the hill and into the dusty town where they seemed to be cause of  an impromptu procession of happy dancing locals and excited dogs.  It was a magical interlude, but one that didn't really make much sense to me, until years later, when I had some understanding of  the role Saddhus play in Indian life