Zipping in Rajasthan

Monkeys descend

About a block north of us is a 2000 acre forest (I kid you not, smack dab in the middle of one of the most populous cities in the world), home of several tribes of the most street savy macaques you never want to anger. I stepped out on my front balcony, coffee and paper in hand, ready to enjoy the bird calls as I indulged in my morning constitutional, and lounging there was the alpha male pictured above: he gave me a penetrating glare, bared his teeth, hissed, and anticipated my immediate flight. When I returned armed with camera, he tried the same stunt, but when I stood my ground to take his photo, he ambled off, annoyed. Not much later, we heard a clatter in the backyard, and the whole family had gone to work creating a shambles of our landlord's meticulously maintained sense of order. There must have been 20 of them, all sizes, some grasping onto mothers, many playing with abandon. They had discovered a trash bin and settled in for an hour of snacking, crawling across the laundry lines, exploring whatever seemed of interest, and hissing at us who were gawking from the upper windows. At one point, our neighbor, unaware of the commotion next door, came out into her garden with her dog, and the large male ran at her, jumped up onto her and pushed himself away, letting her know she should get back inside: this was his territory for the time being. She was lucky she wasn't bitten. I haven't seen her dog in the backyard since. I always peer out myself before claiming the balcony.