Verra escorts us to the Brahmin temple, where we leave our shoes and cameras and join him on the stairs up to the centre of the temple, where Verra shows us the floor tiles inscribed with memorials and set with silver coins.
We queue to see the shrine, where people hand over money and are given sweets and flowers in return. We are jostled by the crowd and a hand slips around my waist, feeling suspiciously like it is in search of a pocket.
Sugar sweets, made with Holy water and flower petals litter the floor, making it sticky and a perfect feeding ground for bees, which have built their nest on the outside of the shrine itself.
Verra leads us up a flight of staris, so we can see out across the city where over 500 temples serve their own communities. This is a place of massive pilgrimage, the only Brahmin temple in the world. Verra takes us down to the underground shrine to see Shiva and then we go to the shrine for Ganesh.
At this point, Verra sees we are getting very warm and sits us down to rest in the shade. We watch as a young man gets concerned when his camera is confiscated by police.
As we walk back out, down the stairs, a voice behind me says "Madam, madam, please", to attract my attention. He then asks to knock a cricket from the back of my dress. I thank him. "It would bite your butt", he smiles.
We continue through the market, with its brilliantly coloured gypsy dresses and leather bags, which Verra says are actually only made of paper and would disintegrate in water. Through an archway and the tunnel, that was the resting place of the Maharaja's guards and we come out among the ghats at the lakeside. The remnants of a funeral pyre smoulder on one of the ghats.
We walk across the ghats that are divided by small shrines. A dog appears in the doorway of one, which he evidently considers to be his own personal kennel. People are bathing in the lake, preparing to go for prayer. Young men in big groups are having a lot of noisy fun. It's surpising to see that the women are also stripping down completely.
We are brought to a priest, who sits crossed legged before a silver tray. He explains the significance of yellow, red, water, rice and sugar and invites us to receive a ritual, so that we can pray for good karma and good luck for our loved ones.
He takes us into the shrine, where we sit in semi darkness, the only light coming in through the tiny doorway. The priest (looks a lot like john Tickle), leads the ceremony with chanting and then asks us to repeat words after him. This requires a lot of concentration and things go a little awry as we stumble over some of the longer words, but the occasion is unexpectedly moving.
I give blessings to Toby, Rosie and Paul. And then special blessings for my Dad. A tear splashes down from my closed eyes onto the stone floor and the priest tells me I must not be sad, only joyful, because I am wishing Dad much joy.
Flowers and other items from the priest's tray are put into our hands to give as offerings and we are given Bhindi spots on our foreheads to wish us good luck, health and good things in life. Grains of rice are stuck into the bhindi spots.
Back out on the lakeside, we sit quietly dazed and elated by the experience. We are brought a drink and sit quietly, taking in the sight of the long-tailed monkeys on a building nearby. Massive numbers of pigeons are on the steps, feeding on the corn offerings.
Verra ties the ends of our flower neck garlands for us. A cluster of women stand and stare openly at us. I put my hands together and say 'namaste' to them and am rewarded by their delighted smiles, waves and friendly return of my greeting.
We walk up through more market stalls, to look into a Shiva temple, which we are not allowed to enter. Then we go to the Sikh temple, where we are welcomed by a gently smiling elderly man, who assists in transforming my sash to a shawl, draping it around my shoulders for me.
We cross the shallow, cooling foot pool and climb the steps to the shrine, where a priest sits within. It is all cool pale marble, with dark blue carpet flooring and a traditional shrine, where a black and red digital display of the date and time, sits inconguously next to the deity.
The doors are of beautifully carved deep golden wood. We walk around the balcony which is wonderfully serene. Verra tells us that the temple was built in a very short time, due to the combined effrots of the Sikh community.
Continue on to a Salim rendez-vous point, where Verra introduces us to his friend, who's quite a wag, a jewellery maker with a face for Bollywood. He is convinced that he recognises me from Goa, back in 2007, when he was in Candolim.
Salim arrives with damage to his car doors. He blames himself, says he was hurrying and brushed up against a truck.
Back at the hotel we swim in the pool, use the internet and then have dinner. Our quiet and gentle waiter comes and sits with us and asks, "Please, tell me all about England," and sits there evidently enjoying everything we can find to say.
Salim picks us up to go and watch the sunset. He does not want to take us to the Sunset Cafe, because Verra is not with us, Instead, he takes us to the hilltop temple. We walk halfway up, to a viewing area, where we all just relax and enjoy the tranquility and each others company. Salim is wearing white cotton, because it is Friday. He is very at ease and tells us funny stories about his encounters with lizards, which he hates. The one on a light bulb, in a hostel, he threw water at, causing the light bulb to explode. The one that got in his car air conditioning on a long journey, so he had to drive all the way back to Delhi to get it removed.
A man with a terrible stringed instrument and a loud grating voice storms in on us, shattering the peace and then demands money for his unwanted performance. The three of us exchange furtive grimaces and smiles. Salim gives him 10R and explains that we don't want to have his music, but would rather enjoy the quietness. The man ponders this for a while, and then decides to try giving us another tune. This time, I give him another 10R in an attempt to get rid of him, but he wants money from H too, so H has to cough up as well.
Even then, the man lingers pensively nearby for some time before finally giving up.
Salim tells us that it takes a lot of leaning to be able to play that instrument well. I reply this it is a pity the player evidently hasn't begun learning yet then!
We watch as the sun goes down and the city lights come up across Pushkar. It is a really lovely, special moment, being able to enjoy Salim's company in this relaxed mood. One of the best evenings of the holiday in fact!
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