We stopped in Nagpur for just ten hours, the time we had to wait between arriving in the city on a bus from Wardha (the nearest large town to Sevagram), and departing on the first train we could muster tickets for to Agra. Nagpur had no redeeming features that we discovered, and there are no interesting or amusing anecdotes from our time there. We spent two hours getting our train tickets at short notice using "VIP" status (other than a rare, genuine VIP, perhaps, this is nice term to describe foreigners who have no idea that one needs to book train tickets weeks in advance, and whom the Indian government is kind enough to allow not to have to fester in random cities for days on end waiting for some available seats). We spent a further couple of hours eating a very nice but extortionately priced meal in a comfortable restaurant we'd hoped to lounge in for the best part of the day, however were pressurised into leaving as soon as we'd finished eating, and then a much longer time waiting at the station, generally being hot, uncomfortable and stared at.

Hence, I'm going to use my Nagpur blog entry for some general observations about India instead. I have several worthy of mention, and in any case, Nagpur is smack in the middle of the country, so a good one for my blog map.

Number one (in no particular order): cows. The sacred creature of the Hindu religion clearly understands its untouchability. They're everywhere! Like stray dogs in most South East countries, but with much greater self confidence. We were on a train pulling into a station the other day, and there were a couple of cows sitting happily on the platform. How did they get in without a ticket? Did someone buy them one? Do they carry that much weight in society? Cows sit in the middle of dual carriageways, while cars drive carefully around them. They are the only road users that don't get honked at. They wander through the streets of towns, villages and cities alike. They sit in the grounds of temples, markets and sports fields. They stay in penthouse suites of five star hotels (maybe - I haven't actually witnessed this one, but only because we can't afford to go in five star hotels, I'm sure). And I have absolutely no idea who owns them, or could possibly keep track of them if they did. So perhaps they aren't even owned? But certainly, whilst humans from around the developing world dream of living in England, the dream of cows confined to fields in Western nations must be to get a visa for India.

Number two: crows. There are lots of crows, too. Crows are cool, with their long, shiny black beaks and tough guy looks. And sometimes crows hang out with cows and stand on their backs, which is even more cool.

Number three: small change. Like nowhere else we've been, small change is coveted like the purple wrapped Quality Streets with the hazelnuts in them. Like cigarettes in the fading hours of a house party. Like the sole FHM amongst the hundred housewife magazines in the doctors waiting room. OK, I'll stop now. Which is difficult for foreigners, of course, mostly reliant upon the ATMS which rattle off wads of five hundred and one thousand rupee notes (about eight and sixteen pounds respectively), when meals frequently cost less than a hundred rupees, and your average auto-rickshaw ride, snacks of fruit or cakes and bottles of water are all less than fifty. Almost without exception, if you don't offer the exact money, you'll receive a grimace and a "do you have small?". So our tactic is to always try to get change, not offer it, and horde as many ten rupee notes (yes, twelve pence is a note) as possible. And you almost always find that when you say "sorry, I don't have change", they do find some pretty quickly anyway. In their shirt pocket. Apart from rickshaw drivers and fruit sellers. We save it from everyone else in order to pay them the exact amount, otherwise we risk not getting our change at all!

Number four: power cuts. The frequency with which India suffers power cuts is astonishing. Never before have we come across a national electricity supply that is quite so consistently inept. We have more power cuts in a day than cups of chai. And we like chai. Yesterday there were double figures, easily. Often for just a minute, we've also had one that lasted the better part of a day, and five minutes is a reasonable guess at the median. I now understand why "back-up generator" was listed amongst our current hotel's amenities on their website, alongside café and swimming pool! It's not actually a massive problem, I'm just gobsmacked by how often it happens.

Number five: gender relations. A quirky and amusing observation: it's as though no-one here has yet progressed from how we all were back home when we were in junior school. Girls and women will always be keen to make Paula's acquaintance, not mine, and will often even wait until I've moved away before approaching her. Likewise, particularly on trains (where most passengers are men - Indian women don't travel unaccompanied), men will speak to me, not Paula, even if she's the nearer of the two of us. And they'll look awkward and shuffle uncomfortably if I bring her into the conversation. Yet in the company of their own gender, Indian people are incredibly sociable and tactile. Groups walk together with arms resting on each others' shoulders and sit together leaning against each other. But always men together or women together - never, ever with the opposite sex. There's a barrier there that I'm sure is initially cultural, but also, and perhaps as a consequence, involves an inherent natural shyness in the company of the opposite sex, just, as I say, like junior school kids at home. It's funny.

Number six: beggars. A difficult aspect of travelling in India for us. And any Westerners, I'm sure. Beggars, unfortunately, are both numerous and an accepted element of Indian society. It's customary to give them alms, and so we horde coins for this purpose. But there are always more beggars asking than coins we have to give. And not only that, but when they register our faces from a distance, and hence millionaire statuses, as is the perception of all Westerners here (and, to be fair, when we set out just over a year ago, we were, in Rupees), they make a beeline for us, and the expressions, postures and noises of desperation are accentuated ten-fold. And then the ones that receive smaller denominations look disappointed, while the ones that receive nothing look exasperated or astonished. Plus kids, in particular, sometimes don't take no for an answer, and just wait and wait instead of moving on, periodically grabbing one of our arms or legs. As they are all prone to do, in fact; India's tactility extends beyond bonding positively. So it's difficult, and I can't really add to that, but it can't go without being mentioned.

Number seven: language. In every country I can think of that we've visited previously, our efforts to learn a few words in the local dialect, namely "hello", "thank you", "how much is it?" and the numbers, with the repertoire gradually growing the longer we've stayed, have always been well received. Generally a reaction of surprise and pleasure. Good for forming bonds and, selfishly, a good way to decrease the likelihood of getting ripped off. Win, win. But here, we've found that our lack of vocabulary can generate surprise, shock, disapproval, even contempt. No question of learning a few words being simply a bonus. Which is harsh, given that the first three states we visited together, Tamil Nadu, Andhra Pradesh and Maharashtra, all have their own languages, and it wasn't until we got to the north that we finally reached Hindi (the official national language) speaking lands. On the flipside, however, when I did once remember a couple of lines of Hindi (I'd read them literally minutes before), they were met with roars of approval! So, a big thumbs up if you do, a huge thumbs down if you don't. A fair reflection of the extremes of India's personality, I guess!

Number eight: making acquaintances. Never before have we repeatedly met people quite so delighted to make our acquaintance. Not universally the case, by any means, as indifference or intrigue from a distance will always be the attitudes of the majority, but when they are pleased, they're unbelievably so! Maybe local people have felt this inwardly in other countries we've passed through too, but there's an openness and forwardness about many Indians, who wear their emotions on their sleeves, that just can't disguise the fact, and you just don't find it anywhere else. On occasion, I've seen complete strangers spot us and start towards us in a single motion. They beam ear to ear, have mobile phone cameras quickly to hand, and want to know as much about us as their grasp of English permits them to ask. "Which country?" (are you from) and "you like India?" being the staple questions, and desire to connect on Facebook being a popular goal. All of which can be heart-warming, if it hasn't already happened too many times that day!

Number nine: the unpleasantness the "Caste System". I may not have this exactly right, but we've been lead to believe that the "Caste System" is how India survives implosion, given its huge population, contained in a small space, with such high levels of poverty. In short, this system is that people's status in society is defined at, and by, birth. But that the street cleaner is just as important as the doctor, who in turn is just as important as the prime minister. Different levels of pay and responsibility, but all equally important in order for society to exist. And supposedly this is understood and accepted, without resentment, by all parties for life. I believe that's the theory, anyway. But what I see are wealthy, middle class Indians speaking to those serving them, in restaurants, shops and behind hotel receptions, like dirt. And those servants simply taking it, without a hint of a grimace, as normal and acceptable, in a way that absolutely, and rightly, wouldn't be deemed acceptable back home. A real shame, and hopefully not the rule, although it does appear that way.

Number ten: head waggling. Last, but far from least, and ending on a high note! Head waggling is wonderful! It's a movement of the head that is neither a nod nor a shake, but the head gesture you'd create by moving your left ear to your left shoulder, then your right ear to your right shoulder, facing forwards the whole time, but with much smaller movements than actually getting your ear all that way down, and repeated a couple of times. I'm not sure how well I've described that; maybe you have to see it to understand it! Anyway, we saw it more in the south than we have done in the north (which reflects where we've found India a warmer, friendlier place), but still witness it sometimes, and without having a direct verbal translation, it kind of just shows friendliness and positivity. A gesture of welcome, of agreement, or just to indicate no problem, or thanks (a word which, strangely, there isn't a Hindi translation for). I first read about it in Shantaram, but it definitely has to be seen to be fully understood. And at first I wasn't sure if by doing it myself I'd be seen to be mocking, but it's happened to me a few times without me really planning it, and it seems to be received reasonably well!