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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
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