Wind turbines spin on the ridge of Harsh hill beside the carved ruins of a Shiva temple that an old inscription calls the god's second home. Back in town, a gate in the old wall opens onto lanes of painted havelis, and around a corner on Piprali Road whole blocks belong to students bent over physics notes.
Beyond the first sights, buses fill with pilgrims bound for Khatu Shyam, the temple of a Mahabharata hero. Summers are fierce and dry, the short monsoon turns Harsh hill green, and winter nights get properly cold. A Local Friend can pull up a chair for you at a family table or a dhaba bench you would never have found alone.
