I recently went to India for a month. Arriving in New Delhi, a city I love, I was met by Ranjit, our "adopted" son who had returned home to Darjeeling a few months earlier. We to a taxi amidst the heat and the bustle I remembered so well. Delhi in late summer was an experience of it's own, however. Coming from Cape Town in winter where the temperatures were easily 29C lower was a body shock! We headed for Manju Ka Tilla the Tibetan refugee colony on the far side of this sprawling city. The beautiful Sikh temple was always a welcome sign over the next weeks, heralding the imminent arrival at the hotel. The hotel was approached through the narrow, cluttered street, the Tibetan men sitting at their stalls in white vests and short trousers for the most part, the women mopping their faces.



































The bright burgundy interior of the excellent restaurant, the manic electric wiring, the proximity of the next hotel - so close one could almost touch it from the open window, the busy action on the street at night - It brought back memories of Dharamsala and Darjeeling and every Tibetan colony in between. I felt I had arrived in a place where everything seemed familiar and welcoming......