Jaisalmer: Every alley way has a little magic if one sits for a while to see through the daily life beyond the postcard and clothing shops. An old lady in a green sari spotted with peacock designs sings to her young grandson a beautiful melody that is carried by the walls of the fort into the desert air from where it came many generations ago. The grandfather takes action on a gridlock of cows outside the house with his stick- thwack- "ha", thwaCK - "HA" and with bovine reluctance they saunter on to the next potential food outlet, nosing into the doors of homes, sometimes thrown a chappati or green leaves. Lunch at 'Vya's meal service', Vya as it turns out is very old and is only just over 4 feet tall, her body stooped with osteoporosis, unable to get up the rooftop stairs with the food she calls down to me 'food as ready'.
Jodhpur: A spectacular setting atop an old city restaurant, 50 or so steps up, looking out at the east fort wall, 120 meters of rock lit at night to show the spectacle of its elevation and the terror it must have induced in would be invaders. Music is everywhere, floating in the calm evening air, Hindi ragas and calls from the numerous mosques, a mix with indo/asian modern beats from weddings, bells ringing in several lane-ways, drums and wedding noise in the streets, brass bands and women screaming in mock surprise from fireworks... a miraculous cacophony of existence, a city alive, and then a lonely flute floating through the air....haunting, floating like a scent of something long forgotten, memories triggered in a flashing instant, for me a beach in northern Bali many years ago at sunset...
The roads around the town display the trades of existence here, mechanics barely old enough to be in puberty black with engine grease, broom sellers, weavers, bucket sellers, road workers hammering the gas drill 10 hours a day without hearing protection, chai shops, sweet makers, high calorie packet lollies hanging off every available hanging place, potters and stone cutters, beggars across every road always with child in arm, stonecarvers, street sweepers, rickshaws packed with a wedding band- instruments hanging wildly out the open sides, or school children 10 to a vehicle, bakeries, flour millers, ashfelt pourers, sesame oil grinders, potters, carpenters, metalsmiths, clothes and textiles by the million, shirts, saris, underwear ( I am later to meet Indias largest underwear manufacturer at the airport- a very pleasant man who's family empire generates $500 million a year).how sterile we are in our european sanctuaries...
My next book the 2006 Booker prise winner " The Inheritance of Loss" - Kiran Desai...it starts with a beautiful poem, and has some of the best imagery i have read for many a time...appropriately set to the backdrop of the eastern Himalaya's in the late 70's.
Next stop Udaipur...
Jodhpur: A spectacular setting atop an old city restaurant, 50 or so steps up, looking out at the east fort wall, 120 meters of rock lit at night to show the spectacle of its elevation and the terror it must have induced in would be invaders. Music is everywhere, floating in the calm evening air, Hindi ragas and calls from the numerous mosques, a mix with indo/asian modern beats from weddings, bells ringing in several lane-ways, drums and wedding noise in the streets, brass bands and women screaming in mock surprise from fireworks... a miraculous cacophony of existence, a city alive, and then a lonely flute floating through the air....haunting, floating like a scent of something long forgotten, memories triggered in a flashing instant, for me a beach in northern Bali many years ago at sunset...
The roads around the town display the trades of existence here, mechanics barely old enough to be in puberty black with engine grease, broom sellers, weavers, bucket sellers, road workers hammering the gas drill 10 hours a day without hearing protection, chai shops, sweet makers, high calorie packet lollies hanging off every available hanging place, potters and stone cutters, beggars across every road always with child in arm, stonecarvers, street sweepers, rickshaws packed with a wedding band- instruments hanging wildly out the open sides, or school children 10 to a vehicle, bakeries, flour millers, ashfelt pourers, sesame oil grinders, potters, carpenters, metalsmiths, clothes and textiles by the million, shirts, saris, underwear ( I am later to meet Indias largest underwear manufacturer at the airport- a very pleasant man who's family empire generates $500 million a year).how sterile we are in our european sanctuaries...
My next book the 2006 Booker prise winner " The Inheritance of Loss" - Kiran Desai...it starts with a beautiful poem, and has some of the best imagery i have read for many a time...appropriately set to the backdrop of the eastern Himalaya's in the late 70's.
Next stop Udaipur...
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