A Roll of Film at Jawaharlal Nehru’s Family House in Allahabad

Anand Bhavan is the former Indian Prime Minister, Jawaharlal Nehru’s family house in Allahabad India. All frames were shot by the author with a Leica M6 TTL Camera, with Leica Summarit M 35 mm f 2.5 lens. The photos were shot on 15 January, 2020. The building behind Anand Bhavan, where former Prime Minister Indira Gandhi was born, is Swaraj Bhavan.

The film was hand developed by the author using Tetenal Colortec C-41 process and scanned with an Epson Film Scanner.

 

 

The Siege of Lucknow 1857: Images from the Residency in Lucknow, India

In 1856,the British overthrew the Dynasty of the Newab of Lucknow. The Newab was exiled to Calcutta (Kolkata). The next year, the Indians launched the first chapter in the “Indian War of Independence” for freedom from British rule. Some two thousand British perished. The buildings of the Residency still bear the bullet holes and scars from the battles in 1857. An interesting place to visit if one travels to Lucknow, the capitol of the state of Uttar Pradesh.

All images taken by the author on January 10, 2020. Leica M6 TTL Camera. Ilford HP5 Plus film (Pushed to ISO 1600). Hand developed with Kodak HC-110. 

 

India Trip Blog 8. The Residency, Lucknow. (10 January 2020)

India Trip: Blog 8 The Residency (January 10, 2020)

3:10 Afternoon. Out a little after nine and now I came back to the hotel just before three o’clock. It was enough time to go and photograph that Residency place. It is much bigger than I had imagined with many buildings. Some were blown up in the war, apparently. But the grounds are vast. I shot about four rolls of film, two of black and white and two of color. So it was quite a lot. The place is a gold mine for a photographer. I only saw a few people there, all with cell phones. They were all Indians, except for one Australian couple. I talked to them a little.

It is great to have plenty of time to go where one wants and plenty of time to change your film. It takes some organization and it is good not being marched around as in a tour! Man! I hate that so much on a tour.

I got an auto rickshaw just in front of the hotel. He took me to the Residency for Rupees 200. I know that it is more than a local would pay, but nothing to me, so I can just make the guy happy with that extra one dollar. He got me there.

Man! It was very cold in the morning, going there in that open rickshaw. I really do not remember that much cold in India before. Maybe it was because of the storm. It was a good day, a sunny day. The traffic was horrendous, even more so coming back. When I came back, the guy asked for Rupees eighty. I paid him Rupees one-hundred and he wanted to give me change. Pitiful!

When I got to the Residency, I paid Rupees 300 for the entry fee. The museum is closed on Fridays, but that was alright with me. My objective was to do some photography. Maybe I got too careless in the end, as there is so much to photograph. But I just did it the best that I could do and I hope that most pictures are decent. I would like a few extra good ones.

I saw right away that the Residency is the place where young lovers and couples meet secretly. They can meet in the day and be seen by few people. It has to be in the day, as the place closes at five in the afternoon.

Walking around the compound, one should not go too far from the track laid out for visitors. I went back from the track to get a better shot of that old mosque, but some dogs came out and started barking. They did not appear to be friendly, so I back tracked quickly. It turned out alright.

Two times today people asked to make selfies with me. Man! I thought that I looked awfully old in those cell phone photos.

Another couple came and talked to me. They were from Andhra Pradesh. The guy said that he was an electrical engineer. I have to say that he did not strike me as terribly bright. But probably language. His wife got the gist of what I was saying much more easily than him. I think that she understood English easily.

Some people seem quite nosy. He asked my age. I asked him to guess. He said 70. Then he asked me what city that I thought was developing fastest in India. I told him that I didn’t have any idea.

I said that they were all developing too fast for me. I said that I like slow development. I tried to joke around with him, but usually, he did not get it. But generally, his wife understood the joke. An engineer!

He asked me how many times I had visited India. I said that I could not remember. (a lie) “But I keep making the same mistake over and over,” I said. He didn’t seem to get that joke. An Engineer? But I told him that I did like coming to India, anyway.

3:55 Afternoon. Friday 10 January. I am sleepy and just about ready to crap out now.

There is a lot of pounding going on up above. It sounds like it is in the room above me. My legs got quite tired today at that place and I needed a rest for sure.

It was okay for a one-day outing. Tomorrow I will try going to the Bara Imambara. And maybe to the Chhota Imambara. (the Hussainabad Imambara). They are close together, but a little farther than the Residency from here. They are in the north-west of the city. There are several things to go to here if one takes the time to do it and take pictures.

American Sahib

American Sahib by Eddie James Girdner (2016) 416 pp.

Available from Amazon.com.

This novel is largely autobiographical but contains a good deal of fiction. It is mostly about life in a Punjabi village in the late 1960s.

I wrote this book in 2015 and then put it aside for several years after publishing it. It was based upon my two years in Punjab, India (1968-1970).

I had forgotten somewhat how the narrative unfolds. So I read it again this summer to see what I would think of it.

If someone is looking for a patriotic book that only praises America, the Peace Corps, the US Government, then this is not the book. It pokes a lot of fun and criticism at the USA. And it does not spare India either. So one should read it with an open mind. If one does not have something to say, then why bother to write the book?

The book has not been sanitized by a corporatist publishing company to make it safe for a neoliberal global agenda.

The book has some love affairs. Not unusual. This often happens in life itself, so it should not be surprising to discover it between the pages of a novel. One might be surprised at how many people object to such things. So many Americans seem to have a puritanical bent of mind. Often hypocritically, however. Different strokes for different folks, I guess.

Reading the book after three years, I was rather surprised. I hoped that I could look at it somewhat more objectively. Quite frankly, I was surprised at how good it was. I just don’t know of very many books that describe life in Punjab as well as this one does. Prakash Tandon, of course, Punjabi Century and Beyond Punjab are great books. But a somewhat different genre.

I found the book to be such a revealing description of life in a remote village in Punjab and in the towns in those days. Now that was fifty years ago. Half a century of water under the bridge. The book is quite funny in many places. The book is not only literature, but a political and economic analysis of a developing country without all the academic jargon. British colonialism, Indian politics, and the USA in the global system. America as an imperialist hegemon. A good deal of political economy spills out of the pages. And what the locals think of America and Indian politics might be interesting.

The love scenes spice up the book somewhat, breaking the monotony of village life. The dichotomy between the city and the countryside is stark. Escape is necessary to keep one’s relative sanity.

The perspective of the left in India, the relevant communist analysis of society emerges. Comrades are in the street, some actual members of the Communist Party of India. The author finds their analysis honest and convincing. They are often hauled off to jail. Actually, I think the members of the US State Department could benefit by reading this book. They could certainly learn something. This would surely be their ruination, as a part of that outfit. Unfortunately.

The author cannot resist mentioning the stupid things one hears on VOA, the Voice of America. Actually, the voice of Dick Nixon in the late 1960s. One picked it up on shortwave radio, the twenty-five meter band in India. Dick, the US President, hates the Peace Corps and sets out to kill it. Or as much of it as he can. He almost did. The US Presidick, for the author.

It always amused me how US congressmen in Washington were afraid to send young Americans abroad, especially to developing countries. What were they so afraid of? Why, simply that they might learn something and bring their ideas back to America. The old mushroom syndrome once again. Keep the people in the dark and pile horse shit on them. That’s the way one grows mushrooms. Americans are mushrooms. No shit. But why insult mushrooms? They are useful.

I will not even mention Tiny Hands Trump. Things can always get worse.

There is a good deal of satire in the book. I thoroughly enjoyed reading it again.

It came to my mind that it would be incredibly instructive for students in a South Asian studies program in an American university to read. It is very informative in a simply way. But I don’t think that most American professors would have the courage to use it in their classes. The book steps on too many toes and is too unorthodox. Political correctness has ruined so much freedom in academia, it seems. The very place that it should not be ruined.

I am not saying that this is a great novel, as a novel. I do not claim to have any expertise to evaluate the book as a novel. But it is an interesting story. I think that it is a fun book. It is full of ideas. I just had some things that I wanted to say, and so I said them in the form of a novel. I would like to think that I have learned something living outside the USA for a third of a century. And all in so-called developing countries.

I guess that young Indians, especially Punjabis, might enjoy reading it. That is, if they knew about it. So many know English. The book is written in very simple language. It is also good just for entertainment. That is, if one has a critical and intellectual bent of mind.

It is not a bad book to have on one’s book shelf.

July 21, 2019. Akarca, Seferihisar, Turkey

Images of Punjab in the 1960s

St. John’s Church and South Park Street Cemetery (India Blog 24)

St. John’s Church and South Park Street Cemetery (India Blog 24)

6:00 Evening.

At 9:00 in the morning, I got a taxi to St. John’s Church. I told the driver: “Near Calcutta High Court” I thought it might help.

I guess it did. The guy knew where the high court was. He took me there, then stopped in front of it.

I said, “No, not the court, I want to go to the church. I think that he did not understand “church.” There was a young guy there who looked like a student. The driver asked him and he told him the way. The church was just a short distance farther.

I got to the church and made some pictures. There are several tombs around the church. They have inscriptions. One can see that many of the British died quite young here. That is, the ones who did not get rich and go back to England. Disease and malaria got a lot of people in the terrible climate.

Job Charnock, for example, is buried near the church.

I went inside the church and made some pictures. A few other foreigners on tours were also there.

I think that I was the only one that was there on their own. I like to take my own time. My own sweet time.

I am not rushing. I’ve been dragging my pecker through the crud for nearly three-quarters of a century. Three-quarters of a fucking century. And what a fucking one it has been when one looks at the history.

And the next one is likely to be worse from all indications at the present time! As far as I can tell.

Back to the church. The sword and the Bible! The twin pillars of Western Imperialism. That was the second half of the formula for imperial rule. Imperial plunder, to be more exact.

And it ain’t over yet, baby! Hoisting entire nations on the mighty petard of the US dollar by the big banks in New York City. In case that fails, just bomb the fuck out of them. When they refuse to take orders. The missionary business is rather old school today. They will be softened up with bombs.

It is a beautiful life. A beautiful world. If one is lucky enough to dodge the bombs. Those bombs that bring, of course, national security, political stability, and of course, peace.

That’s what we learn in international relations courses. So-called.

I took about 30 film pictures. More by cell phone.

When I departed the dearly beloved St. John’s church, I got a taxi to Park Street. This was truly amazing. When I asked the driver how much, he pointed to the taxi meter. My God! You mean those ancient things actually work? I had no idea that they did. Or that they were ever used. It said 30 rupees when we started and went up to 70 rupees at Park Street. The driver even pointed out things along the way, like “The Bengal Commandos.” A military outfit, presumably.

The traffic was one way on park street at the time, the wrong way, so he could not go to the cemetery at number 52.

I just gave him 100 rupees. Amazingly, the guy reached to give me back some change. I thought: “What kind of Calcuttan is this strange creature?”

I just said: “Its okay” and let him keep the change.

From there I had to walk east on Park Street. It was good that I did, because it was a good place for pictures with my cell phone. And a pleasant walk in an area quite a lot more upscale that Sudder Street. There were more upscale shops and restaurants, more like Connaught Place in Delhi.

I noticed signs up around the city. They said that the city of Calcutta was offering a 65 percent discount on paying traffic fines. Just pay 35 percent of the fine and get cleared. But there was a deadline of a month or so.

Obviously, no one is bothering to pay the fines. So they are settling for pennies on the dollar. Or rather paise on the rupee.

I walked past several people wrapped up in blankets along the sidewalk along the way. And several shoe-shine wallas. It was a good long walk.

I had just recognized that I had come to the cemetery wall when an older woman asked me: “Can I help you?”

I said, “I am going to the cemetery. It is here, I think.”

There are some people who genuinely want to help one. And I appreciated that.

I just came in front of the gate and went inside. They charge one fifty rupees if one has a camera. It seems silly, because just about everyone has a cell phone that will take pictures today.

The St. John’s Church fee was ten rupees. This was fifty. A big discount on salvation and sin, it seems, as Woody Guthrie remarked. But there is a more hefty charge for dying. There is a premium on dying. The fee for getting put out of one’s misery, perhaps. Possibly worth it.

So I paid up and went inside. It was amazing! The huge tombstones that they had put up there! Fruits of the Empire, I guess. But in the first row of monuments, I realized that there were piles of trash behind some of the big grave stones. I walked on and tried taking pictures with my Leica 35 mm lens. I needed my 28 mm lens, but had not brought it.

There were many old tombstones. They were very old and enormous. I mean, really big. Some of them go back to the 1700s (eighteenth century).

I put my last roll of Ilford black and white film into my Leica and hoped the pictures would come out good.

There were some people living in the cemetery. Not many. But I thought that it was a bad policy if they let squatters take over the place, while they are charging to see it as a sort of tourist attraction. I thought that if they could restore all those tombstones, how beautiful the place would be. But maybe, some would prefer the thick moss that had started growing on them, showing how old they really were.

I walked on around and made pictures of several of the huge stones. Toward the back of the cemetery, they are not as close together and it is easier to shoot pictures of them there.

I was about to finish my film, so used my cell phone for many of them.

When I was leaving, the guy at the gate asked me to sign the book. There is a place to make some comments.

I did sign it and put down my place of residence as Izmir, Turkey. I said that the cemetery was very interesting from a historical point of view. The British must have thought of themselves as small maharajas to put up those huge grave stones, monuments over their graves. I think they could do it because labour was cheap and plentiful, essentially free for them. And the profits from the East India Company in India were so enormous. I wanted to make a comment about the lack of maintenance, but decided to just leave it at that. It is too bad that the place cannot be restored as it is so rich in history.

I started to walk back and notices that now Park Street was one way in the opposite east direction. I managed to cross to the north side of the street, but not easily.

I wanted to look for a restaurant. At one point, there was a crossing with lights, but people were just going out into the traffic. They were taking a chance and the drivers seemed rather ready to challenge a pedestrian.

My goodness! I waited and crossed in a crowd of people, but even that was not very safe. Absolute madness!

I came across some book stalls on the side walk. I looked at the books. But I did not want to load myself down with more books. The one I had would do me for the trip.

At one book store they had a sign in the window that they changed dollars. So I went in and changed another one-hundred dollars. They told be that the Kwality Restaurant was just down the street. So I walked. Man! By this time, I was pretty tired from all that walking. I needed a rest and some refreshment.

I found the Kwality Restaurant and went inside. A very nice place. It looked very big inside, but only because one side was a mirror, the full length of the place. I sat down on some comfortable seats in a corner.

I ordered a type of malai kofta and nan. I was afraid that they would not have beer. And I was keenly in the market for one after all that walking. Man! I was relieved when the waiter said that they did. He brought a big beautiful bottle of cold Kingfisher Beer. I started sucking it down as I rested my tired feet.

The food came, and then I had a second one of those big beers. Man! That was great! The class of Indians in there was totally different. Middle class.

A group of eight was sitting next to my table. A sort of family affair. They may have been rather socially conservative. But I very much liked one attractive middle aged woman, around fifty, who was sitting over across from me. I don’t know. She was very attractive. Most women have been familied and fatted out. I drank the second beer more slowly watching the scene in the restaurant. I also enjoyed the tasty mango pickles, achar, with the food.

Man! I went out of that place a renewed man. Restored my faith in India. Well, that would be going a little too far. But it made me realize that I do like these types of experiences in India. The ones that are quality experiences.

That is not meant as a pun. And seeing some decent looking women, not all the peasants on the street who have recently come from the villages.

I took a taxi back toward Sudder Street. It was actually closer than I realized.

The driver could not go all the way and let me off at a very busy corner.

The traffic was absolute chaos. Absolute madness!

So I just stood in front of a shop on a corner for quite a long time taking shots of the street and people with my cell phone. I made about 325 pictures with my cell phone, just today.

I walked the rest of the way to Sudder Street. This street is driving me mad! Beggars calling out to you on the street. I said: “Oh, I have so many friends in Sudder Street. They just call out to you as you walk down the street. Of course, they are poor, but they have made begging into a profession. One can see how they are training up their children in the same way. Showing them just how to do it.

Actually, I met a guy on the sidewalk there who said that he was going to train some street kids not to be beggars. I told him that I hope that it is successful.

He asked me how I liked the city. I said that it is a great city. But a difficult city. I knew that before I came, but I had always wanted to visit the city.

Corporatist Rule for India? (India Blog 17)

Corporatist Rule for India? (India Blog 17)

Monday 10 December. 5:00 Morning. Kolkata (Calcutta)

There was a big argument going on in the street last night. One guy was just shouting to the top of his lungs for the longest time. It is a matter of live or die and I don’t think they have much to lose if they die. One sees these guys sleeping on the sidewalks in the daytime, wrapped up in some old rag of a blanket and it seems like they are just laying there and suffering. They are just living it out till they die literally on the spot and someone comes and picks up their body.

I saw one person, a man, wrapped up in a dirty blanket on the sidewalk just nearby the hotel yesterday. There were flies swarming around him. (Another call to prayer is going down now. They need more prayer.) Flies were sitting on that dirty blanket. I wondered if the guy was already dead. People usually walk in the road, anyway, not the sidewalk. There are so many obstructions. On the sidewalks, people just go around the wrapped-up bodies.

Well, people walk on the roads in Turkey too. I am very used to that.

Society is badly broken with that going on. Mother Teresa was just a sort of band-aid for the misery and poverty. I cannot say that what she was doing was not good and kind, but I can say that it is just a meliorative, a palliative that can do nothing to reach or address the root if the problem. Broken down society, broken down world.

At the same time, there is a lot of closeness in families, big families. Sometimes communalism emerges. And people try to put one in a box: Muslim, Christian, Hindu, Buddhist, American, British, French, Bangladeshi. And sometimes there is hatred for what one seemingly is.

I get the idea that USA or American propaganda has worked here and I am embarrassed when guys (I have not talked to a single woman yet in this country in casual conversation), when people come out with big compliments about “America.” I don’t know if they are serious or just trying to please me.

I get the idea that they are much more favourable toward America than the Turks, who are just about one-hundred percent cynical, not believing anything that the USA puts out. Recent figures showed that the US image was the lowest in Turkey of any country in the world. Largely a result of the US screwing around in Iraq, Syria and Iran. Causing trouble everywhere.

I have to get a shower this morning before those Australians get up and use up all the hot water!

I noticed that the reviews of Calcutta that I have seen on Youtube never mention the huge mosque that is here. They usually talk about the two big Hindu temple complexes.

The Islamic sections of the city seem invisible to them.

Now the birds. I don’t know if they are crows, have suddenly come to life and are calling loudly. It is 5:21 in the morning.

I think that I saw one nice-looking dog in this city yesterday. And yesterday, there were two Dalmatians, hunting dogs, apparently, mean and ready to attack, at this hotel. The dogs on the street are miserable. There are a few cats. They too, are mostly miserable.

M.N. Roy, the Indian communist wrote about why Hindus hate cats. And wrote a book from the cat’s perspective. Autobiography of a Cat, I think. It is great. Very witty. He wrote it in an Indian prison, where he was kept for years by the British.

Strange thing is that I feel almost at home in this city.

People sometimes call out to one on the street, but it is best just to ignore them. Some women around the hotel are doing the milk powder scam. I just ignore them. That scam is overworked. There should be signs with a warning.

AVOID THE MILK POWDER SCAM WOMEN!

The last thing they want is milk powder!

And about the street vendors. I will say that they are trying to help themselves. They have found a way to survive and protect themselves by organizing and unionizing. That is far better than seeking charity. They survive through a very difficult struggle.

But when I look at the whole thing, my view has to be that only some sort of rule from the top could save such a society. Population growth must be controlled. Either left-wing, right-wing, Hindu fascist, or other nationalist ideology, maybe religious nationalism combined with Bharat, Indian nationalism.

Corporatist rule from the top. I am almost reduced to advocating it.

In Bengal, it could be Netijiism, from Subas Chandra Bose. Bengali nationalism, something that people could believe in and accept and impose strict discipline on society. There seems to be a complete lack of discipline in this society.

It might break down at some point, as in the Soviet Union, or in Turkey and Argentina, but it will have improved society and made things better for most people.

The historical model comes from Saint Simon in France. Science and engineering of society. Ataturk picked it up for Turkey. Stalin in the Soviet Union. A form of Jacobinism.

In Turkey, Tayyip Erdogan is the using the same model as Ataturk, as far as top-down rule is concerned. Jacobinism. Just different underlying ideas. It is top-down rule and the state can impose some discipline on society. I guess that India is the closest thing to anarchy in existence.

In India, the Nehru, Gandhi, Patel, model failed. A historical period of corporatist rule might have done wonders. Now, it may be too late. They missed the historical window of opportunity.

The Red Fort (Lal Qila) (India Blog 7)

 

The Red Fort (Lal Qila) (India Blog 7)

After my photo shoot in the Moslem section, I found a pedal rickshaw and asked a guy to take me to the Lal Qila (Red Fort). He said 100 rupees. A guy nearby said: “No, only forty rupees. Not more than 50 rupees.”

I said, it is not very important, whether it is a dollar or half a dollar!

I was not going to fall, famished on the street, for fifty fucking cents.

Anyway, I got in. An old pedal rickshaw. I do not like to take them and have someone pedalling me under their own muscle power, but one has to take them in a pinch. They also have a hard seat. But the poor guy has to work hard to pedal one. I felt bad about it.

When we got to the fort, which was not very far, I realized that I only had the 500 rupee note. The guy said that he did not have the 400 change. He said that he only had 100 rupees change. So I just gave him the 500 note. I am sure that the guy needed it more than me. It was a lucky day for him.

Having enough small change with one in India is a problem and I am always in need of small bills. Rupees 20 and under and pretty useless and I generally just hand them out to beggars on the street. But they run out quickly too.

It must have been a terrible problem when the Indian Government demonitized the whole money system.

I realized that I had to put a new roll of film in the Minolta. So I needed a place to sit down to do that. I was at the entrance to the Red Fort and it was difficult to find a place. It was not like Turkey, where there would have been chai places and food places and perhaps benches to sit down and do it.

While I was looking for a place, the hawkers started to come to sell me post cards and other things. I was starting to get a little irritated and they were very persistent in harassing me.

I had to tell them, in a rather harsh way, that I was not interested and to please leave me the hell alone. I was busy doing something else. They are like small children, or a TV, howling for attention.

Then I found a low wall near the fence, where I could sit down and change the film. Some two or three school boys stood around watching me change the film.

Then a young guy came selling some kind of rice cakes. He was coming right up to me and harassing me. I said: “Well, I am doing something else right now. So I am not going to eat anything.” It was starting to get on my nerves that they would not leave me alone. It was like I was fresh meat to pounce on.

Finally, I finished changing the film and got up to go inside. I was surprised to see that there was no charge for the Red Fort there. At least, not for the outside of it. A couple of more guys came at me with post cards. These hawkers really ruin tourism in the country, the way they pester tourists. I was starting to get more irritated with them. My objective was to take some pictures and not to fool around buying post cards from them.

I have bought those cheap postcards so many times in the past, I can’t remember how many times. So I was not in the market for them at this point.

I walked inside the gate, which is outside, the perimeter of the fort and started taking pictures with my 28 mm lens on the Minolta. The view is magnificent. I had never realized how big the fort was in the past, with the massive walls and the moat.

I know that there are several special buildings inside the fort, but I did not have time for all that today. It would take a whole day to tour inside the fort. That would have to be another trip to Delhi. So I just walked around the outside of it and made pictures.

They are also still doing the Sound and Light show inside the fort that I had seen twice in the past. The first time was in 1970 and the second time was probably in 1989. It is worth seeing, if one has not seen it before.

Finally, I came around to the gate to the east. Some guys had asked me to make pictures with them along the way. They were taking selfies with their cell phones. I was surprised that so many people wanted to take their pictures with me, a complete stranger. I am not so photogenic and that time, I was actually not in a very good mood, after having to ward off so many pesty hawkers. But I was glad to meet people that were not interested in selling me something.

The Khyber Pass Railway

In 1982, the Soviet Army was bogged down in Afghanistan fighting the Mujahadin. The USA was shipping arms and aid to the Mujahadin rebels and anti-Soviet warlords via the Khyber Pass. 

I made a trip up the Khyber Pass from Peshawar to Landi Kotal in the Northwestern Frontier Province in l982 on the Khyber Pass train. The Khyber Pass Railway was built by the British and ran from 1925 till 2007. It ran 51 kilometers from Peshawar to Landi Kotal. There were steam locomotives on both ends of the small train. These engines were HGS-2-8 OS locomotives manufactured by Vulcan Foundry and Kitson and Company in Preston, England. The village of Landi Kotal at the west end of the railway is 1200 meters in altitude. 

I returned to Peshawar by bus.

I scanned some old slides that I took along the pass. Today (2018) the train is not running, but one can go from Peshawar to Landi Kotal by bus up the Khyber Pass. Some local authorities in Peshawar want to restore the railway for tourists purposes, using the old train and classical engines. Hopefully this will be done in future, but security is still a problem due to the war in Afghanistan.

It can be a great adventure, and was quite safe in those days. Unfortunately, it is not the case today. 

A flat plain and Afridi villages west of Peshawar.

A Fort Along the Way

A hillside fort and some villagers

Mountains and a dry riverbed in August

 

View of the Pass and the road

A village and village children watching the train

A small shrine next to a graveyard

A Graveyard

View of a hilltop fort

Hills

A Hilltop Lookout

Landi Kotal at the end of the line

A bus at Muree, a popular hill station