After unpacking, we ascended to the rooftop. On one side was an open area with tables and wide wicker chairs facing the desert. “Pakistan is coming!” the Indians joked. The sun had started to caste its eye downward. We watched as the fiery reds and yellows lingered in the sky for one last breath. The guest house manager – who came to be known as “Parrot” – waved at the sky, squawking repeatedly, “Goodbye Sun! How are you? Konijiwa! Sayonara!” The guests, too calm to be annoyed, continued gazing at the sky.

That evening, we walked down to the restaurant, Trio, where folk musicians performed each night. The Indian and continental menu was pricey but worth ordering from. On our way out, a woman shouted my friend’s name. I quickly descended the stairs, permitting privacy in case he needed to resolve some unsettled affair… Here, of all places!

Moments later, he caught up with me to tell me it was Elle, someone he knew from Taipei, where we all lived.

She joined us for beans and cheese on toast the next morning on the rooftop of Simla and booked herself a room before she had finished chewing. We ordered honey lemon ginger tea one after another while laughing at the coincidence of our encounter. Looking down from the Fort, we could see the class struggle between animals at the local market. Pigs snorted at dogs for snatching their scraps of food away while crows flapped their wings at goats in anger. And the whole while, chickens stayed under the cows safely pecking away at anything leftover from the battle of their animal kingdom.

It didn’t take long before the guests at Simla made eye contact with one another. By the end of dinner on the second evening, there was busy chatter and laughter from all of us. Parrot had lit candles at each table and invited a traditional Rajasthani musician to play for us. We were amongst us Indian, Kenyan, Australian, Belgian, Canadian, Argentine, English, Mexican, Taiwanese, American, Japanese and Nepalese. Sensing all the excitement, a Frenchman on the neighboring rooftop leaned over and asked if anyone knew the English for dans la réalité. The Canadian shouted back, “In real life!”

By the time we left, the pregnant cow had given birth to her calf and we had made some of the best friends we’ll ever have. And, indeed, it was all very real.

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