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It’s time to wrap up the acclimation break I took to adjust my body to the hot and humid weather and slowly start getting lost in the enchanted atmosphere of India. I am in Jaipur, capital city of Rajasthan Province, close to the Pakistan border.
I pass through Sanganeri Gate, one of the seven gates leading into the walled Old City, and walk down the thirty meter wide boulevard. Sacred cows are everywhere! The city walls and all the buildings I see have been built with pink stones. The pink and orange buildings on both sides ofthe boulevard, witnesses to centuries past but now dilapidated and struggling to survive, tear you away from all reality and plunge you into a dream world.
Each is as magnificent as one of the waterfront villas along the Bosphorus in Istanbul. You cannot imagine that such a different environment could exist on our old planet. Indian women wrapped in colorful saris sweeping the streets give magnificent photo opportunities. I live the moment. It is time to abandon myself to the currents of that enchanted river called India. Happily, I drift…
On my left is Hawa Mahal (Wind Palace), a structure that stupefies with its beauty and charm. The most magnificent facade of this five-story building built in the late 1700s is the one fronting the street. Tiny lattices over narrow windows built with care and devotion enable the beauties of the Raja’s harem to enjoy the daily life of the city without attracting outside attention.
As I approach the building to take photos, a snake charmer—hurrying so as not to miss the tourists getting off a bus—starts playing his flute. In response to the high sound of the flute, a coiled cobra lifts its head and slowly starts to rise. In the first act of the show, I play my part and take a few photos. Thinking my role is over, I am preparing to leave the stage as the second act inevitably starts. I am approached in a very overt manner for money because I took photos. I am already prepared for such a finale. I know this is a show and am prepared to pay something within reason. Let’s see how little I will be able to get away with. The snake charmer opens negotiations with two hundred rupees. I make the lowest possible counter offer. He grabs at ten rupees, only because it is still morning!
A little farther down from Hawa Mahal, I reach the City Palace, located in the center of the Old City. Leaving behind the hustle and bustle of the city, getting lost in the pink-walled maze while listening to the joyous song of birds, is one of the most exceptional and enjoyable experiences Of my trip thus far. It is truly wonderful to feel this beautiful atmosphere with my whole being. I am surprised to learn that the Raja is still living in a private part of the palace. I am sure his highness is having a wonderful time spending all the money he gets from the entrance fees. Lucky guy!
Toward noon, the heat starts to become unbearable. I make my way to the hotel to rest. Today is the day of the Elephant Festival, an event held only once a year at the city stadium. I don’t want to miss this show. The hotel manager also advises me not to miss it.
I take my seat in the stadium an hour before the show. The parade starts right on time. The elephants have been magnificently decorated colorful fabrics tied to their stubby tusks. The tiger figures drawn on their foreheads—with flowers ofevery color and mystical patterns—all give these serene creatures an amazing beauty. The drivers dressed in white are just as majestic. The warriors garbed in traditional attire, riding both horses and camels, are spectacular. Groups from different parts of Rajasthan follow the procession, performing their traditional dances.
At the end of the parade, the elephants approach the stands and salute the crowd. Then, the first dance starts. This is a dance of Rajput women, joyously greeting husbands returning from war: a dance full of joy and happiness. A Caucasian girl among the native dancers attracts my attention. Beautiful dances performed by eight different groups, along with elephant shows and competitions, last for a full wonderful two hours.
I am surprised to see the rickshaw driver (a three wheeled taxi) who brought me to the stadium waiting for me after the festival. Together we make our way back to the hotel.
A night special to India descends. Hindus light fires in their gardens and streets to bless the special day that will start tomorrow. The Color Festival is a special day when Hindus celebrate the end of winter and the coming of spring by throwing different colored paints at each other. In this country, where the temperature ranges upward from around thirty-five degrees Celsius, one can’t help but ask, “If this is winter, what are spring and summer like?”
A full moon sitting on its throne above far hills in front of me, night birds singing and saying “I am here,” fires lighting the sky in different parts Of the city—all are visual aspects of the mystical atmosphere, telling me that I am on the verge of a totally different world. The feeling that I’ll experience wonderful things during this trip makes me shiver with happiness.
