Baroda (aka Vadodara)

The police station in Baroda. As you can see, the flash went off, so the photo doesn't really do justice to the grimy state of the place. Fortunately the officers were too preoccupied with another matter to question my photography.
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The landscape here in Gujarat and in Maharashtra is different from the jungle in Goa and around Mumbai.  It's more like Spain or (I'm told) Italy:  grassy plains and hills, dotted with relatively small trees.

Unfortunately the driver I was with in and around Aurangabad nicked my mobile phone and some jewellery I bought in Goa, so I've had occassion to vist the police station here in Baroda.  It's a small building, with two rooms and an ajoining Police Inspector's office.  As you walk in, on either side of the front door, are small dingy jail cells containing two or three offendors each, with heavy chains locking them shut.  Once in the police station the various officers jokingly passed me around from one to another, unwilling to try and speak English to me.  The place was dirty, with old furniture, and I would have said that it looked like it hadn't been painted since the British left, except that Gujarat was never part of British India.

the Gujarati Barrys of Baroda

The rickshaws here are the most impressive I've seen yet.  Some are painted in different colours, rather than the standard dull yellow and black.  Many are customised, with tassels, and mudflaps with pictures of western rock 'n' roll characters (dark glasses, quiffs, cheesy grins).  Some of the younger rickshaw drivers have even installed very impressive sound systems:  the Gujarati Barrys of Baroda.  I wonder if they ever hang around in car parks at night, pulling donuts with their tuc tucs.

It was here that I finally snapped at a richshaw driver (or 'wallah' as they are often called).  It went something like this:

Rickshaw wallah:  Hello sir yes sir sir!

Me:  [Cursory gesture of acknowledgement and a shake of the head]

RW:  Sir stop sir stop where are you going?!

Me:  [Wheeling round on my heel to face him] Yes?  What do you want?

RW:  Where are you going sir?

Me:  WHY do you want to know where I'm going?!

RW:  Because... [gestures sheepishly at his rickshaw]

Me:  I KNOW WHY YOU WANT TO KNOW WHERE I'M GOING!!

RW:  Oookay sorry.

At 11 o'clock this morning I catch an eight hour bus to Palitana.