Wild Bill Hic-Cock - an ageing shootist who's held many a smokin' gun in his time (but never inhaled), who many a bonny lass went to (but he never came), who missed the draft (but was no dodger) - readjusts his ten-galloner to hide from the setting sun, wipes his brow, and heads east on his winged steed. "Mebbe you get redemption purely by happenstance over yonder…." he muttered under his breath, the happy afterfeel of a good meal not enough to stop the icicles of cold sweat dripping from his brains. "Mebbe it grows on trees that bloom in the night of Columbus." Well, he didn't never knew no better. The onus, then, is on us to show him around town. Atithi devo bhava. Ergo, enclosed herein find a draft plan for an exclusive, enchanting, all-expenses-paid, ergonomically-packaged, 5-stop, whistle-stop guided tour of Hindoostan on a hired Panicker's Time Travels vide coach. With pushback seats you can adjust for all 69 positions in the book and sleek, black French windows thru which your eyes graze upon the country and its human scenery (but nobody else can take a peek at you, 'less you wish it).

1. Day I:(Circa 3021 BC) The Unjab, scene of a grand turning point in history and many technological marvels. They hadn't yet invented the wheel, so they rode on zeroes, which some wizened saint had "invented" in a split-second of sheer metaphysical clarity while standing on one toe in a green glade just the other day. Everything was powered by zero. Even aeroplanes could fly on the eco-friendly zero fuel. They couldn't yet stitch a cloth together (so this poor noble breed tanned in the relentless sun) but they knew all about a mysterious force called Parmanu Bum. Of course, they used it for entirely peaceful purposes (like bumping off rowdy cousins).

2. Day 2:(Circa 1620) An unnamed medieval port somewhere on the Ujarat coast. A bustling trading post, hence alive ethnic museum. The largest collection at a single spot of Arabs, Jews, Armenians, Portuguese, Spaniards, Dutch, Anglais and other assorted Valkyries and their black Moroccan slaves (not to speak of the teeming native varieties). In the evening, watch the girls dance. (There was world music happening in the backrooms of every haveli. Marvel at the communication facilities - when the first Anglais arrived just last week, the news travelled to the grand court at Shagra the same evening, much before the good envoys could themselves reach there!

3. Day 3:(Circa 1780) This days' for rest and recreation. Check in at the Ughal court in Elhi. The king, an incorrigible rasik, rolls out the biggest melons in town for the guest as the best musicians in the land sit in the forecourt and emit sounds that gently collide with the breeze wafting in from the river. In return, he wouldn't mind some cash. The kingdom's shrunk, revenues have fallen, and the king was anyway thinking of converting the palace-complex into a starred hotel for the Company representative.

4. Day 4:(Circa 1998) Travel to the Ashmir National Park. Once, in this Eden, Ishi Kapur, dressed demurely in yellow-striped Ludhiana pullovers serenaded Ina Munim under the moon and gambolled with Ajol on the snows by daytime. Now you're advised to take along binocs for viewing the best predatory scenes in the world from a safe distance. More varieties of endangered species per square inch than anywhere else in the world (the musk deer being just one example). It's too good t miss out on. Just about everybody wants a slice of this paradise.

5. Day 5:AD 2000 Ignore the good Brahmin King who calls himself Krishna but looks more like Anant Nag and puts out ads that proclaim his pedigree and George Washington University degree. Stop over, instead at Xa'Naidu - the sparkling new abode of Cyberbabu, who gobbled up his father-in-law along with the lemon he used to tie under his turban in one fell swallow. Disarming conversation could follow, on these lines: "Hey, Xa'Naidu, I'm just a grimy old gunslinger from down south. I don't know much about all this computer stuff like you-all. The only piece of machinery I really need is tied way down low and I do shoot straight from the hip." A relieved reply: "Saar, I'm just a 19th century feudal lord hanging around here like a displaced metaphor. Oh, the times….the things you've to do to survive!"

En route:On the way, too, there was some business and pleasure thrown in. On the viewing list was a video of Munger Lal ke Haseen Kartoos, a dark documentary-thriller on illegal gun factories shot entirely on amateur hand-held cameras in natural light in the province of Ihar (watching practised hands convert bicycle pipes into sawed-off shotguns, 'ol Bill was struck by the many cultural similarities between this place and his part of the world. He thought, as he sped away enlightened on his winged steed into the sunset, what an excellent place to start people-to-people contacts and exchange programmes…..