RAJASTHANI DUST

Ever picked up an old book that has been in some secret place for a number of years, whose pages have turned yellow on the edges and who smells ancient? When you leaf through the the book, dust which seems to be embedded in the pages, rubs off on your hands and sinks into your skin.
Rajasthani dust melts into your skin in the same way.

The minute you cross the border into Rajasthan, the fields that were filled with mustard and potatoes and cabbages-well irrigated and green- slowly turn to beige coloured sand and the dust flies through the air, being churned up by trucks and tractors who barrel merrily along the highway bringing some of Delhi civilization to outlying towns and cities. The trucks and tractors are tarted up: multi-coloured fringes and tassles flying against the wind. Tinsel and cheap raffia decorate the tops and the sides and back are painted with round breasted women carrying water urns on their heads [you get more circular/gobular breasts with the arms in that position] amidst a field of orange and yellow flowers- with the ubiquitous words: BLOW HORN PLEASE across the bottom of the painting. None of this scene exists along the highway, unless you count the number of stalls which sell truck decorating paraphanalia to passing trade.

The highway links a string of small villages to each other and sometimes major cities as well. Towns built of local rock walls and cow pat roofs, some crumbling with age or use. Jaipur, the capital of Rajasthan is a 6+ hour drive from Delhi along this green to yellow to beige landscape. Jaipur is famous for a lot of things- mostly blue pottery and silver, but it also hosts the mandatory fort- this one is called the Amber Fort because it looks amber yellow in the sun- and it is perched high on the surrounding hills guarding the city. Also in Jaipur is the City Palace and Pink City- which is a maze of shops selling things which range from sweets to car parts to kitchen appliances and steel form work for highway construction- which is often spread across the footpath/pathway just in case you are not looking down to cause a spill.

Like any city, it is majorly populated, though a bit easier on the hassle scene than say Delhi, where beggars are endless and everyone asks you to buy something [post card, booklet, wooden boxes etc etc] so many times it feels like you are in the Twilight Zone and the person asking you is suffering from short term memory loss. But back to Jaipur where the same snarly traffic happens and you take your life in your hands crossing the street- there is NO right moment, and there is no meaning attached to a zebra crossing.

Our hotel is gorgeous- clean and tidy and called the Hotel Glitz- do you not love the name? Every evening in the dining room there is a gypsy band [gypsy meaning nomad- but these ones are obviously not] replete with dancing girls who keep dragging me up from my table to wave hands in the air in time to the music and to twist and turn me round and round until I can barely stand up for the dizziness. But I laugh outloud because it is so much fun, and they are laughing with me as well.

Behind the hotel is a Hindu temple, where the head Hindu priest [?] chants in a microphone, which blasts through the neighbourhood- or at least our room- 24/7 and I want to go offer him some throat lozenges- he must be tired. I am tired of hearing this all day and night. I hear him cough each time I am convinced he is just a recording, so I know it is happening in real time [or perhaps we are still in the Twilight Zone].

From Japipur, we head to Bundi.

Bundi is the best town! It is my favourite so far. Very small and easy to navigate...people are ultra friendly- they have not been innundated with tourists yet and therefore are not as jaded as they are in Delhi or Jaipur. Each morning I go for a walk, I am greeted by children, shop keepers, grandmas, mothers and cows: Good Morning! Nameste! All accompanied by monkeys clattering across the tin roofs above the shopes. I arrive back at the hotel- which is inside the city palace gates- happy and content. The Palace, which rises majestically above our extremely rustic but charming hotel, looms over us- it's ancient walls black and smokey with age.

One afternoon, I am taken to the fort [surprise- a fort!] at the top of the hills [delighted with myself that I can actually walk up the hills without coughing up my lungs] where we view many old buildings and temples and the town of Bundi is laid before us- a maze of blue and green houses [blue= brahman, green= moselem]. It is a checkerboard of muted brilliance in the dying sun. [photos to follow, as the promised USB port on this computer is non-existent! sigh]

I have many lovely conversations in Bundi. Hardly anyone actually wants to sell me anything, which is rather refreshing and for some reason I have made fast friends with a 50+ man who owns a shop, so we sit each morning and sip chai together and talk about the world and how it has changed and how much we hope the coming generations will do better than we did at making the world a more meaningful place to live in. There is no agenda here, and I am at peace in these moments.

Next we head for Udaipur- city of lakes and the City Palace which is still in good shape- ie: not abandoned to history and operated by a real living Maharaja.

Nameste!
Genie