(Half an hour ago)

Sitting at a roadside shack near the Lake, too tired and weary to make breakfast and do the resulting dishes, I'm starting my day at 10.30am, with a bun-omelette combination and chai. It's cloudy but not cold, and somehow, the fragrances are sharp.

Three locals - ragpickers and waste collectors - are sitting on the inclide/hillside a few feet away. I chatted with one of them some weeks ago about the weather and he told of the beautiful langurs who visit our area when there's snow in the mountains/forests beyond us.

Since then, we exchange smiles and perfunctory greeting, like amicable residents of the same village.

Suddenly I smell it... and notice the thing in his friend's hand. A bong! Hash, at 10am!

They see me begin a grin, and he smiles hugely, strangely and mildly guilty, very happy, and generally glad. Maybe this is the secret behind the craggy, toothy/toothless smiles I've been getting :-)

Back at my place, I suddenly notice the smell again. Maybe it's in my clothes. Or just in my nose. Or, maybe, just in my mind...