It’s a hot summer night in Delhi. Crowds are milling about. You get into your bus towards the mountains, it’s supposed to leave at 10PM. It’s midnight now. The bus finally leaves. It’s 6 AM in the morning and you are exhausted from the heat and the acute mental stress from the preceding days. At 7AM you are supposed to be in Dehradun. You find out you are abandoned in Haridwar.

It’s a hot summer morning at Haridwar. It’s 8AM now and the crowds are milling about. The government run public transportation is a nightmare and utterly inadequate. The bus station is packed, thousands of people are sweating and sighing in the morning heat that would soon aggravate to rival the misery of seventh circle of hell!

You walk around to find cash, ATMs are empty. You try to find a shared taxi. There’s no sight of shared taxis to Uttarkashi or even Dehradun. It’s Yatra season and all are engaged as private hires. You are dizzy from not having dinner the previous night and the heat, the oppressive heat. You buy a red bull and gulp it down. You are already scammed of Rs. 300 by an auto and a rickshaw fellow, but you only feel sorry for the poor old men struggling to make ends meet.

You return to the bus station and sit down carrying over 20kilos on your person, jostling for space. After a decade of pottering around the country, you wonder, is travel in India really worth the colossal incompetence and apathy? But you have an assignment. You need to plod on.

A bus arrives at long last, hordes of people throw themselves at the bus. It's packed in seconds, even before you stand on your feet. Do you really want to fight for it? There is little dignity in scrambling for your space when the government abandons you like this. You let go of the idea to use public transportation, and book a private taxi to Uttarkashi. But before you exit Haridwar, you are now stuck in a two-hour traffic jam. You are the traffic jam, you sigh! It is Yatra season you see. The heat is oppressive even in the mountains. You reach your destination at long last. The village looks like this. Is travel in India still worth all the trouble? You’ll find out soon!

Welcome to Uttarakhand! Let the adventures begin.

Size: A4 (11" x 8")
Price: Rs. 1250/-
Type: Tabletop/Desktop
Orientation: Landscape

Early bird discount: Order within next 48 hours, i.e before Wednesday December 19, 2018 12:00 PM and get 10% off.
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A4 Size (11" × 8") Desktop Calendar

Important things to note:

• Please note that the calendars will be shipped on or before January 10th, 2019.
• One or two images may be replaced with other options if the current selection doesn't look good on print for any reason. Rest assured, all of them will be from India and they will surprise you.
• The calendar will feature a minimalistic design like the previous years, indicative design sample here and actual product size here.
• Pricing includes shipping and currently Shipping only in India. 
• For International Shipping, I can ship using India Post but shipping charges will be extra, about 9USD. If interested, write to me at neelima.vlg@gmail.com

P.S - In case short term calendars aren't your thing and you are looking for something permanent, why not buy a fine art print of any one of my photographs? See the collection here.

I’m sitting inside my room situated over the fort rampart and I can see a live cannon to the right from my window. Below the fort, I see a patchwork of sandstone slabs and mud-roofed houses spread in front of me, beyond which an endless expanse of a flat, parched land specked with nominal green shrubbery extends till the eye can see. From my bathroom window, I’ve got a surprising view. The windows opens to the view of curved bulges of the fort on my left, the ochre houses that coalesce into the barren desert earth on the right, a road that snakes between these two and a gorgeous, red ball of fire rising in the centre. I had a front row seat to the sunrise from my loo! There’s a sort of winter haze I can see in the distance, a small glimpse of the season that’s few weeks away. The night however, is balmy with a tinge of that winter chill. The lights of the town below are faint and not blinding. I can see few stars shining in the sky, while the fort walls glow in a golden hue. I’m now sitting on the stone block that supports the cannon, pouring my heart out to a friend over phone late into the night while the world’s largest living fort sleeps after a day of frenzied activity.

I am in Jaisalmer, in a rather touristy part of the town, and I’m struck by how much I’m charmed by this setting. Apparently, even the most touristy parts of Rajasthan still retain the ability to surprise you. Even after several visits, several thousands of articles and promotions seen in the media, and several decades of being the cynosure of travellers from around the world, that Rajasthan can still manage to draw me in is a testament to how endowed the state is when it comes to offering something new to the traveller every single time.

On the very same trip, I find myself in a deserted strip of pristine, untrampled dunes near the outer fringes of Desert National Park. The narrow band of endless curves and pointed sand peaks spread undisturbed in between two parallel running wire fences evokes a strong sense of deja vu. I finish my shoot and ask the guide the name of the place. The word he says next confirms my hunch. I had been here before. Eight years ago in fact. I had first stumbled upon these sand dunes on a unique weeklong hike with YHAI across the Thar Desert in 2010.

After crossing the monstrosity that is Sam sand dunes, I was delighted to have arrived at this place where desert magic was alive and unmarred by unchecked commercialisation. Apart from my friend and me, there was no one else on the dunes. We walked carefully, anxious that we’d disturb those untouched patterns on the sand. But we eventually killed our hesitation and trampled on those untouched dunes with much glee, adding human footprints to the already existing collection of deer, birds, insects and other inhabitants of the desert. Two days ago, exactly eight years since my first rendezvous with these gorgeous dunes, I was back in the same place. And in those eight years, only a handful of tourists have made their way to this secret corner, which holds a special place in my heart. Frankly, I had locked this place up in my mind and never divulged it out on the interwebs for the fear that my excitement to share it with others would possibly ruin it for good. So I jealously guarded the secret till date. But Rajasthan surprises me once again by managing to keep our secret safe for so long, despite being overrun by mass commercialisation, mindless tourists and overenthusiastic tour operators.

In fact, my first trip to Rajasthan eight years ago had been quite a revelation. The only reason I even considered travelling in touristy Rajasthan was because when I signed up for the YHAI desert trek, I knew I had to spend few extra days there to explore some more. But I avoided exploring the usual Udaipur, Jodhpur, Jaipur and Jaisalmer circuit, since I have a certain disdain for ostentatious displays of wealth and feudal power and I rarely find glorious palaces and royal residences of much interest. But I would recommend considering a guided Rajasthan Tour Package if heritage palaces & wildlife sanctuaries interest you. And I love finding stories of common people and their lives. By spending days on the unusual trek and some more days in the fascinating Shekhawati region, I found a side of Rajasthan that I hadn’t considered before - one that was hidden, engaging and novel.

Even in Shekhawati, already made popular by some guidebook as the world’s largest open air fresco gallery, I skipped the famous towns of Nawalgarh and Mandawa and spent days wandering through obscure villages with gigantic, broken, crumbling, abandoned and colorful mansions. I couldn’t believe it that in Rajasthan, a state overrun by tourists, I didn’t encounter any during my wanderings in remote Shekhawati.

Before arriving up north for the trek and to see the havelis, I had quite an interesting encounter in the southern part of Rajasthan, where I had spent my days wandering around the countryside, basing us in Udaipur. One evening while returning from Kumbhalgarh Fort, I saw a leopard cross our path in the night near a village where men were casually walking on the road ahead of us. Two things surprised me about that encounter. One, that southern Rajasthan was forested and big predators such as leopards lived here. Two, that leopards live and move so closely among humans. Over the next few years I learnt much more on how leopards have always lived in the fringes of our communities and contrary to what I had imagined, they wouldn’t attack humans until cornered. But that stray incident in Rajasthan was the catalyst to reading up more and recognizing the misunderstood animal’s plight across the country. I truly didn’t expect Rajasthan of all places to teach me a lesson on wildlife.

Few years later I found myself gaping in awe at a narrow band of dark condensation in the cloudy sky, it was raining in the desert! On that trip, I also made my way to an oasis nearby where the greenery and a rippling water body felt so uncharacteristic that it would’ve been easier to believe it was a made up movie set than a real life scene. I spent two monsoons in Rajasthan since and I must say seeing it rain in the desert is right up there in the list of my most cherished monsoon chases across the country. Who would’ve thought monsoons actually make their presence felt in the Thar Desert of all places!

On that very same trip, I also was privy to a rare sighting of an endangered species that almost became the national bird of our country but lost that coveted title out to peacock due to semantics. Story goes that Great Indian Bustard, an impressive and one of the heaviest flying birds on our planet, found only in Indian subcontinent was also in the running for the title of India’s national bird but was rejected on grounds that its name could easily be bastardised to Great Indian “Bastard” whether in jest or all seriousness. However, that loss became the last nail in the coffin for the already declining Bustard population in India. Once spread all over India abundantly, by 1970s only 1300 remained due to extensive habitat loss and hunting, which further plummeted to a devastating 150-odd extant population from where there is little hope of species propagation. Desert National Park in the outskirts of Jaisalmer is the last remaining primary habitat for breeding of Bustards. There, I stumbled upon a majestic Great Indian Bustard flying in the distance, by pure happenstance. Once again, I was left to pick up my jaw from the ground in Rajasthan.

Read: The Great Indian Bustard’s last sigh [Livemint]

Finally, after all these incidents, I was sure Rajasthan couldn’t surprise me anymore. Then Rajasthan Tourism released a campaign that featured a stunning Chambal river with a horseshoe bend, bound by a forested cliff full of waterfalls and my jaw drops to the floor once again.