Murk

Dumped in the wrong part of Delhi by the bus at 0330, admittedly into a swarm of tuk tuks, almost as if it's been prearranged... But there you go, it's Delhi. A couple of hours wait and then the train north, Dehradun, find a room. Twenty hours give or take. A long nights travel.

So, turns out that Dehradun is a big, busy, noisy city. The wrong place rising immediately into thought as I step out of the railway station. Not a place to stay if there's a choice, which there was, a bus up to Mussoorie in fifteen minutes, cut out the days I I intended to spend here.
Up the hill, the smog rising, covering the city and the plain. But it's been like this since Delhi, a grey cloak and smudged distances accompanying the train. But there's the hope that it'll fade as the road rises. It doesn't. 
And then there's the place itself, a main road catering to the crowds heading up from Delhi or the Punjab. A tourist place, still at odds with the quiet of Pushkar, of the mood.