Woke up early to look at the mist-shrouded peaks as Baldev advised me. This was beautiful and I enjoyed hearing the chattering of the langours and the morning birds around me as the sun came up - it promised to be a beautiful day. I took a rather jarring shower, then read a bit until Goodie arrived with the beautiful sight of a full tea service (complete with biscuits.) I sipped some nice Darjeeling tea, finished my book, then went out to join Baldev for a nice breakfast on the lawn.

I decided to spend the day walking. I am a dedicated walker and few things give me more pleasure in this life then pointing myself in an indeterminate direction and walking until I get tired. (This usually takes a bit.) So I found a likely looking path through the pine trees, the same one Vikram and I took the day before, and wandered down it.

It was not a particularly eventful walk, but one of the more beautiful and calm strolls I've taken, a total departure from the dusty, screeching sort of tumult that is low-lands India. When you're up in the hills at Landour, you are perched in a curious sort of cloud-level oasis from standard issue India, plunged into a relaxing small town sort of existence, where everyone knows who you are and who you are staying with, and possibly your purpose as well. Small towns are the same everywhere, after all - the occupants obsessed with each other and content enough not to bother with much of anything else. I was charmed to discover a book of Landour house-wife's recipes in Sheila's house, reminiscent of social cookbooks found anywhere in the world - except for the occasional bit of advice on how to boil water at 7000 feet or how to deal with the endless, maddening quantities of mutton a Landour cook is forced to contend with. (I think it'd take a bit for me to get sick of mutton, but I imagine it can be done.)

In any case, I found a good view and relaxed there for a bit, draping myself over a concrete railway and watching the world go by - old men on nattily decorated mules, porters smoking bhidis and toting microwave ovens on their backs, the chai-wallah tripping along with his cups and tea-warmer - and the occasional mischievous looking young couple speeding down to Mussorie-town proper on their motorbikes. (I do not know what kind of trouble you can get into in Mussorie, but I wish them the best of luck.)

I returned for another excellent lunch. Chicken curry with plenty of ginger and whole spices, yet more delicious bhindi, daal, and mutter gobi, along with the usual curd and chutney. I ate a huge amount and went out to sit on the porch and read for a bit, then perhaps take yet another welcome afternoon nap.

Baldev had arranged for me to meet Ruskin Bond, one of Mussorie's more famous figures - a travel writer and children's book author of considerable repute. (I had a book I wanted him to sign.) I'd read a couple of his books over the last few days and was very impressed with the wry, deeply human nature of his descriptions of rural India and the Himalayan countryside - and especially his love of walking for walkings sake, which is a notion I can get behind. So, Vikram and his sister Vineeta walked me down the hill to town, which was certainly steep as anything - my knees were begging for respite by the time we got to Ruskin's place, a pleasant falling-down sort of white bungalow at the ridge right above the bazaar.

We rang and Ruskin eventually answered the door, accompanied by the grinning children of what appeared to be his house-attendant. The three year old was engaged in a very serious discussion about god knows what on the phone, and we laughed about this for a bit. We exchanged pleasantries about Mussorie and he asked about Rajev, and then I got my book signed. I excused myself early - I really hate imposing on people - and decided to tool down to the bazaar.

I was very pleased with Ruskin's siudy. I believe I can determine whether someone is good or not very quickly by the state of their study. I have been in studies before that were like apocalypitc visions. once I wandered into an open house in my neighborhood out of pre-teen boredom. Wandering through the house, I found myself in what was apparently the appointed Book Room, which was full of books on basketball statistics, abdominal improvement exercises, and Tony Robbins 10 Minute Life-Long success seminars. There was also a puppet. I left very quickly. I have encountered many studies along these lines in my life and they infalllibly indicate a boring person.

Good studies, however, are like Ruskin's: cluttered, confusing, dusty and full of the various accumulations of a life well-lived. His study included an array of ancient and interesting travel books, a few trashy trade paperbacks, compilations of comic strips, photos of weird stuff, statues and figures accumulated from pretty much everywhere, and lots and lots of history books. In short it reminded me of my own study and the studies of everyone else I have known and loved, and it made me very happy. I support the cultivation of an interesting study.

I walked down to the bazaar for a bit and popped my head into the usual array of Kashmiri handicraft shops and tooth-ache inducing Indian sweetshops, although Mussorie does have an unusual quantity of used book stores. I discovered such titles on offer as Rafting Ohio's Rivers and Cultivating Your Italian Wine Collection, which I suppose might be relevant to someone somewhere in the area. Though I sort of doubt it.

We began the long climb up the hill, and I am very proud to report that I completely winded Vikram and Vineeta. Not that they aren't wonderful kids and good company, but I think I will be able to dine out on the story of winding a couple of kids from the Himalayas for a while now.

I hung out and wrote for a while then joined Baldev for a light dinner. We had a nice vegetable soup, and I had gobi mutter and saag - my favorites. We finished with some chapatis and a little bit of fruit, then watched the news for a bit. I was utterly exhausted, and after paging through the adorable Landour Cake Cookbook, excused myself for bed.