Dog Dodging in Pedong

Going out for a gentle jog in Pedong is the epitome of oxymoron. At the rawest level, the gradient just to get from our house to the road raises the heart rate; it's only ten yards but it's a brutal warm up. From there, just under 20 minutes of gruelling climb to the 2km marker, through crowded streets and terraced slopes.

India is littered with flea ridden mangey hounds; our hosts call theirs a pet, but they're a bit like their owners in the majority: relaxed and lazy, and just occasionally when something unusual comes along (Joggers? And their white?!), a furious ball of frenzied waste of energy. It's these moments that I dread. They're, luckily, few and far between, but it's amazing what a bit of yapping, and bared canines does for our apparent pace, despite the futility of our efforts to escape up a 1-in-5, and on closer inspection, wagging tails! There's really only one 100 yard section that owns dogs who have enough energy to care, and perhaps they are, bit by bit, getting used to us; but gentle on the nerves it is not. I think even Sarah, who will climb the wall bare-handed to escape a money spider prefers the large arachnids which live in the electricity wires above the roads to the dogs.

So that's the actual running and the dogs. The route is now familiar, and we're pretty good at minimising the chance of being barked at. But, as with all things India, one's initial observations are always so superficial. Running uphill this close to the Himalayas was always going to be tough, but now add another factor: the 'Namaste'. That useful pumping of the arms, our biomechanical turbo, is lost to cultural politeness... for every person you pass. It's like being held by elastic from behind.

But of course the real joy of being out and about in India is the stimulation that saturates nose, eyes and ears. The intoxicating smell of cooking dal or momos juxtaposed with that of rancid raw sewage flowing down the street; the unbelievably loud ticking of the cicadas, or playful shouts of children; and the colours, oh the colours, and contrast.

Contrast is an understatement. Even at maximum setting on your computer screen or telly, you in no way reach the levels hurled at you constantly out here. Out of Pedong, past a beautifully manicured garden below a fortress like mansion, and the next sight, directly opposite, is a wooden shed, seemingly made from scrap wood. It's home to an entire family (and we're not talking just the 2.4 children), all of whom look happier than the serious inhabitants of the mansion, as they converse, prepare food and play in the dust outside. I always wonder what the underprivileged children in the UK would make of this simple happiness.

Then there's what you can't see: past one pastel coloured modest home, and our eyes are drawn to the tens of pairs of multi-coloured flip-flops; a birthday party perhaps? A meeting? Or simply a full house - parents, children, grandparents, servant, and numerous other lucky hangers on?

Sarah and I reach the playing field for the last part of our run. Safe from dogs, the hazard now is simply footballs being punted around by enthusiastic wannabe Ronaldos in their favourite strips. We're joined, as usual by two shadows: a boy of 6 and a girl of nine, who hare across the field in their flip-flops to meet us, smiles on their faces. They don't attend KCS, but they're fearless, interested and funny. Watching the little boy: "Ready..., steady..., GO!" as he careers down the field in his pyjamas trying to keep stride with us, so close that I have to avoid his flailing arms. The faster we go the louder he shouts, before I let him beat me to the end, a photo finish. His sister is inquisitive, not quite such a runner. But as she and Sarah jog up and down, she tells of her excitement for Halloween, about how much she enjoyed the story of Cinderella at school, and how much she dislikes her form teacher. It's a friendship like no other: we don't even know their names.

Back at the other end of the field, puffing, and we're down for a couple of press-ups. She gracefully declines, but the little chap, well he's humping away at the ground so vigorously that Sarah and I have to get up and run again to prevent ourselves from collapsing, we're laughing so hard.

Stretching later, they get their own back. I creak and groan, and fail to get anywhere near my toes, while they effortlessly plant their hands on the ground. We all laugh and leave for home together, an extraordinary team sharing a pretty bizarre routine.

Back down the street to KCS, quick monkey impression at the little girl from nursery who finds it so funny, and we just have to hope that the electric's still on to heat the water for a well earned wash...