A Call to Relax

I’ve survived my first full day in India. Melissa and I are the only westerners on the puddle jumper from Delhi to Jaipur. Our friendly driver C.P. met us at the baggage claim of yet another new airport just recently completed in India, all marble floors and hushed quiet; a very strange atmosphere for an airport in what is one of the most populated nations on earth. As he navigates the well-paved roads we don’t encounter much traffic; he assures me that’s because of the early hour. We have a few hours at my hotel until he returns with our guide to start siteseeing. Our hotel is one of the hundreds of Havelis in Rajistan-- former palaces turned hotels -- and our room has marble floors and columns and high beds perched atop carved wooden frames. It smells a bit musty and my guess is the recession hasn’t helped the tourist business in this area. Still, the hotel reeks of an old-world elegance, with cream colored walls and red etchings surrounding a grassy courtyard in one area, and a tiled pool fronted by climbing vines in another.

That’s where our guide, Needi, finds us an hour later. We hop into the car and C.P. plows into the growing traffic, which has easily quadrupled since we’d last been on the road. We quickly pass a dozen cows, some munching on garbage along the side of the road, others zoning out in the medium as vehicles zoom past in either direction. Skinny, matted dogs dart in between cars, truck and scooters, all of which are pushing relentlessly forward, unwilling to give the other an inch. We’re all traveling at 20 miles per hour maximum, but if feels much faster when we’re crammed so close together. But C.P. handles it all with ease, never breaking stride, letting some scooters squeeze in ahead of him but ruthlessly cutting off others.

Our first site is City Palace. The current mahrajah still lives in one of wings and while he is in residence he doesn’t make an appearance. One area is painted a vibrant orange, another a buttery yellow, both with intricate, scrolling designs. An inner courtyard honors the four seasons in rich mosaic motifs; one it filled with peacocks and their tails spread wide in rich blues and greens.

Afterwards we head to an antique observatory. The outdoor space is filled with enormous blocks of marble and stone carved into various shapes used to detect constellations and horoscopes, days and months, seasons and weather. The fact that it all still works so accurately is amazing. And while it has a funky Matrix feel to it, there’s also a serenity to the place… it makes you want to spread a blanket on the grassy spaces and read a book or take a nap.

Afterwards, Needi takes us to a government owned shop that the block-print fabrics Jaipur is famous for. The process is interesting; each print has a four-step process and the man doing it has to be precise so that each block is the same. They also show us how they make carpets; one man sits at a loom pulling threads at a fast pace with a sharp knife; I have no idea how he’s able to pull the correct thread so quickly or how he doesn’t cut his hand.

Predictably, we’re taken to the shop next. Carpets first, which neither of us are buying, but that doesn’t seem to matter. The man leading us around is young, handsome and funny. He offers us something to drink, which we decline but Needi gets some tea. Several men emerge from the back and the man orders something in Hindi and they start pulling carpets out. First a large cornflower blue shot with gold thread and made of silk, which the worker pulls left and right to show how the light changes it from indigo to sky blue with subtle movement. Next, one made of yak hair, blood red flowers and moss green stems sitting on a soft gold field. Melissa jokes that it’s the same size as her apartment and he responds seriously by pulling out a smaller version. Carpet after carpet after carpet come out in dramatic flair. They carry each rolled up carpet forward, then drop it to the floor with a loud thud as it rolls open towards us. He tells us he has a magic carpet, and carries forward a small kitchen-mat size silk carpet in a rich eggplant purple and hurls it into the air where is spins three times before sliding across the floor.

But I’m more interested in the block printing, so he takes us upstairs to another shop. My weakness for bed sheets is quickly revealed and I’m quickly presented with dozens of options. Those that know me know… too many options leads to indecision. Melissa and Needi find a seat to chat as I begin my process (or lack there of) to choose one I like best. The slightest interest in any piece results in one of the men yanking it, and any others that looks remotely like it, down from the shelf. The counter is soon covered with too many, and I realize I have to stop being so polite. I tell him nothing with animals, no elephants, no zebras. I want something in red or blue. He finds one with both in a combination that is whimsical and calm, rather than tacky. I somehow also walk away with a gold bed spread trimmed in red, a pile of orange and red flowers littering the center. I can’t wait to spread it on my bed at home.

Next, we stop at a Hindu temple carved out of white marble and glistening in the middle of the soot-covered city. We take our shoes off to wander inside the huge empty space. There are no chairs or statues except for the alter at the front.

As we’re leaving a young man, maybe 15 years old, starts making eyes at Melissa. His ink black hair is gelled into a Bollywood pompadour and his skinny legs are squeezed into some trashy Euro jeans. Needi seems to think this is very funny and can’t stop laughing. He not-so-subtly begins to take pictures with his friend, trying to get Melissa in some of the shots and posing in what we can only assume he thinks are manly poses, but which are the complete opposite. He follows us at a discreet distance all the way back to the car, and when Melissa finally acknowledges his presence with a wave through the closed window, he blows her a kiss. We crack up at his courage.

The next morning I wake up fully refreshed after a solid 12 hours of sleep. It’s still dark outside, but I can hear the call to prayer. I’m reminded that while India is mostly Hindu it does have a large Muslim population. I suppose as a Jewish person that should make me nervous. But it doesn’t. I find the call to prayer soothing and harmonious sounding, although I suppose that’s partly because I don’t understand the words.

Needi and C.P. are waiting for us when we finish breakfast and we plunge onto the road packed with rickshaws, bikes, cars, cows and people walking. We’re heading to the Amber Fort; the highlight of Jaipur, and my first elephant ride. Apparently, everyone does it. There’s a line of tourists waiting to climb the stairs that provide a perch to get onto the elephant. There are supposedly 196 elephants and each is allowed to give five rides per day. Not a bad gig for an elephant. They are also all female; the males are too aggressive for this line of work. Their trunks are painted in pink, blue and yellow pastels. Melissa and I climb into the seat tied to his back, Needi clips the bar closed behind us, and our elephant driver shouts a command. We both grab the metal edge of the seat as we start lurching and bucking. The elephant is taking slow deliberate steps and while our seat is securely fastened, that doesn’t stop us from being tossed around in the tiny box. Tears are streaming down my face as we laugh uncontrollably. Hawkers are running after our elephant shouting for us to buy something, anything. ‘Miss, please to buy a picture?” “Lady, you like a pen?” How would we even buy anything from them when we are 12 feet above the ground?

As we make a slow turn on the switchback, several young men are sitting in crevices in the wall holding long-lense cameras. “Miss, look here I take nice picture for you later” “Ladies, smile like Georgio Armani.” It’s like at Disney World when you have to pose for a picture at the entrance and pick it up later. We have no idea how they will find us later, but given what we’ve learned about India already we’re certain they will figure it out.

The fort is beautiful, perched atop a cliff with all of Jaipur spread below. There are graceful arches sitting on curving columns. It’s a photographer’s dream, providing perfect shots of towers through doorways and windows that frame the mountaintop. Across from the fort a wall snakes its way up a neighboring mountain for miles; it looks like the Great Wall of China. And our photographer does manage to appear as we exit the fort and we walk away after much fierce bargaining with two pictures of oursleves, bewildered expressions on our faces, and what looks like a mocking smile on the elephant's.

Jaipur is also known for gemstones, and Needi takes us to a jewelry store to show us how they create and cut stones. We wander around the jewelry store followed by no less then three salespeople, and the slightest interest in any piece will have them opening the case and pulling out dozens of pieces before you can say no thank you. But it’s fun to try on the emeralds and rubies even though they are too expensive.

Needi takes us to a local place for a “light” lunch. I use the quotes because there is no such thing in India. We order local lemon soda, a potato and onion dosa for me, a mutter paneer for Melissa. Dosa is an Indian bread made of a type of grain, and mine tasted like home fries you would get in a diner at home. It’s not greasy at all the way Indian food in the U.S. can be. Paneer is also a bread but made of wheat. It came with a curry-type sauce that had peas. Both are simply delicious.

We chat with Needi about life in India. She is our age and used to be a teacher before deciding to become a guide. Tourism is the second biggest industry in India. She lives at home with her parents. She tells us there are five McDonald’s in Jaipur and that they are popular with college kids as party venues. I think we might need to try the fries there, just to see if they taste the same. It’s interesting to me how popular American past times translate in other countries. Needi has never been out of India, or to Mumbai. She says she wants to visit the U.S. and asks us if we have any American coins; she collects foreign change. I also give her a few packs of gum from home. She has two sisters, one lives at home and is studying to enter the tourism field, the other lives in Delhi and works. Her parents are retired; her mother was a teacher, her father was a archiologist (how cool!) Needi is funny and outgoing and a girl. She steered us away from ‘unclean’ bathrooms to the pay toilets that are never in plain view, but she knows we would prefer. She giggled with us over carvings of the karma sutra in one of the palace rooms and when boys looked at our small group. People’s lives are so similar in the world, no matter your customs or religion. That never ceases to amaze me.

It’s only our second day in India, but we are only just finding our stride. Back at our hotel we order chai tea and settle into cushion wicker chairs scattered about the inner courtyard. Exotic birds are chattering and British tourists are expounding on the cricket match playing silently on a TV. It feels like we’ve been transported back to British India as we pass tea time in this former palace turned hotel. Just then, another call of pray sounds out. And it’s just as soothing as the one this morning, this time mixing in with the muted sounds of traffic and honking I can hear from the road. A melody that’s likely unique to India.