The village behind me is called Bahal. I don't know what keeps it going since the agriculture is dead for 10 months of the year. We're on the border of the Rajasthan and the Thar desert, so in the summer sand dunes start to form. They have camels to pull their carts. Its a pretty sleepy town.
The police force is suitably sleepy. I seem to always get put in the care of the slightly mental staff. So between the absolute mentalist I was with and the 80 year old police officer, they managed to make a complete mess of my registration. It took up a whole page of this massive guest book and took about half an hour. (This is something I have to do every time I stay in a hotel, and takes about 2 minutes) The police force reminded me of Dad's Army. Fairly incompetent and slightly colonial. They sat me down at a table, gave me tea and got on with my passport details, writing "The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland" wherever "U.K." would have done.
If there were ever a serious issue to be dealt with, a dispute over a camel for instance, the police would not be able to solve it. But the good news was that one of the police officers was holding a large stick.
So yes. I'm in safe hands.
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