slumdog

16th October 2011.

Jaipur, India

The alluring metropolis of Jaipur is often referred to as the ‘Paris of India’ because of its effervescent appeal and flamboyant architecture. The city lends itself to a tradition shared by several major towns in the state of Rajasthan whose identities are categorized by a series of vibrant colours; in the same way that the buildings of Jodhpur and Jaisalmer to the West are painted blue and gold respectively, Jaipur is India’s fabled ‘Pink City.’

The grand City Palace stands resplendent at the centre of Jaipur’s historical quarter behind striking walls and seven towering gateways. Outside of these illustrious fortifications, modern development sprawls out in every direction as more and more people move from the surrounding areas in search of working opportunities and a supposed better life. The grass, however, is not always greener, as I would soon find out.

As the capital of Rajasthan, Jaipur is an important centre for commerce in both the traditional and modern sense. Evocative bazaars rich in vivid spices, ornate jewellery and hand-crafted textiles populate the ‘Old City’ whereas 21^st century businesses have constructed sparkling shopping malls throughout the modern sectors of town. As is usually the case in India though, where the wealthy prosper, poverty is sure to dwell nearby and starkly juxtaposed inequality is apparent around every corner. My stay in Jaipur was a fleeting one – with two months in India, I had much to do – but those two days I spent in the city offered up a remarkable experience that will stay me with for a lifetime.

Having arrived in the bustling city after sundown, I managed to find a relatively cheap place to stay for 300 rupees (about three British pounds) a night. With a double bed, private bathroom and central location it was a steal for the price and although I could have found cheaper – you can always find cheaper in India - the added comfort was worth the extra cash. I’d spent the previous day gazing upon the majestic white spires of the Taj Mahal and after a laborious 150 mile trip from Agra, a good night’s sleep was needed. Awaking the next morning refreshed, I caught a motorised rickshaw into town and decided to start my day exploring the park just south of the city palace.

Skirting the edge of the impressive Central Museum, I found myself walking in the grassy parklands of the Ram Niwas Gardens. Strolling across a large sun-scorched field, I was approached by a group of kids asking if I would like to join them in their cricket game. The sight of a pale-skinned Brit wanting to get involved was a source of great amusement for the group of eight and they happily gave me a bat. The next half hour was spent being bowled to by the group whilst I tried (and mostly failed) to hit the well-worn balls as far as possible. By this time, the sun had assumed a powerful position in the blue sky above and I didn’t last long under its fearsome glare, deciding to retreat to the shade of the markets, leaving the young chaps to their game.

There had clearly been some recent celebrations in the old city as silver tinsel had been hung above the streets in a latticed framework. These patterns caught the sun’s rays to cast rectangular shadows on the dusty tarmac below; mirroring the geometrically precise grid-plan of streets that connect the Pink City together. After strolling along those celebrated avenues, occasionally cutting through the extravagant bazaars, I was stopped outside one of the markets by a young lad who introduced himself as Rabi. After running through the regulatory, ‘What is your name...Where are you from?’ questioning that all foreigners are subject to in India, the conversation shifted to Jaipur.

“What are you doing today?” asked the inquisitive young fellow. “Do you enjoy your time in my city?”

“Yes it’s very beautiful thank you,” was my guarded reply. “I’ve been enjoying a walk, but I need to head back to my hostel now. It was nice to meet you Rabi.”  Succumbing to the sad, but often necessary, Western philosophy that talking to all strangers should be avoided.

“Well then,” said Rabi, ignoring my transparent ruse. “Will you join me for a cup of chai then? I know of a good chai wallah whose stand is just around the corner. You haven’t tasted chai until you’ve tasted Jaipur chai Mr. Alex!”

Living in the Western world, it is deemed rather odd to approach a total stranger in the street and strike up a conversation but the more time I spent in India, the more I realised how much curiosity dictates everyday social interactions, especially when strange red-haired foreigners like myself are involved. Making a quick on-the-spot judgment call, I decided to join him for a drink and I'm grateful I did because the rest of that afternoon led to one of the most amazing experiences of the entire eight-month trip. And it happened on the sixth day!

Sat down at the nearby chai stall sipping cups of the sweet tea, I soon learnt that my newly acquired friend was studying technical engineering at Jaipur University. It was a Sunday, however, which meant he had a day off from his studies. Rabi told me that in addition to attending university, he made frequent visits to the slums just outside of town to play music with the kids and that he’d been heading there when he came across me.

As the conversation progressed, I started to warm to Rabi as I told him more about the trip and my life back in England. To my total surprise, as if he had been assessing me during our conversation, I was suddenly asked to tag along with him on his music trip to the slums which I subsequently accepted, seeing a wonderful opportunity before me. In hindsight, I may have been a bit foolish to be so trusting of a complete stranger but I had a good feeling about Rabi and decided to take a measured step into the unknown. Naive maybe, but by the end of my trip, I realised that these leaps of faith offer up the best experiences and this was certainly the case that day.

We drained the last measures of sweet masala chai from our cracked porcelain cups and headed onto a main road in search of a rickshaw that would ferry us out of the city. Hopping into the back of one of the iconic three-wheeled taxis, we were soon bustling out of the city at breakneck speed. With the warm breeze whipping through the open-sided carriage, potholed tarmac roads gradually gave way to dusty pathways as we ventured into the Jaipur slums.

My arrival in the slums seemed to cause quite a stir as within five minutes of walking through the winding alleyways, I had a trail of about 15-20 kids following me. In a moment of sensory overload, tiny hands grabbed my shirt and shorts, while excited shouting filled the air and all I could do was let the river of children carry me further into the unknown.  

When I arrived in India, I had been shocked by some of the sights I came across on the streets of Delhi, however the things I saw in those slums that day will stay with me forever. On both sides of the uneven stony path, dilapidated huts supporting flimsy corrugated-iron roofs stood side by side, like sardines packed into a giant aluminium can. Trying to take it all in pigs scuttled between my legs as we passed donkeys hitched to wooden posts and rusted metal gates that connected many other pathways to the central highway I was careering down.

From dark doorways, curious eyes stared out from the shadows as the procession passed on by.

“I’m not so sure about this Rabi. Where are we going?” I said, looking towards the only recognisable face in the crowd. A seed of doubt had been planted in my brain and for the first time since meeting my new acquaintance, I felt nervous about the position I had knowingly put myself in.

“Do not worry Mr. Alex,” was Rabi’s confident reply. “We are nearly there!”

Stopping the procession briefly, my teenage guide drew my attention to a big gap between two shacks which had the appearance of a landfill site. Dotting the mountain of rubbish I could see little kids, who could not have been older than five or six, clambering to its summit collecting plastic bottles in large sacks while pigs foraged for food at its base.

                “The community here wants to remove this dirt and build a school for the children!” Rabi informed me. “But we must raise funds before that can be possible. We want to teach the kids English, Maths and other basic lessons. Education is important.”

I had told him earlier over our cups of chai that I had studied English Literature at University and he joked that when the school was built, I should come back to be the professor of English!

We finally arrived at the ‘music house’, which had been differentiated from its neighbours by a colourful mural that adorned the outside wall and the Djembe drums that hung within. The river of children that had led me to this humble abode now crammed themselves into the tiny room, no doubt eager to see what the strange man would do next. Wading through a sea of upturned eyes, Rabi handed me one of the drums requesting that I start playing immediately. Sitting down among the swamp of excitable smiles, I started banging away some simple tunes, not certain of what I was playing but going along with it anyway. After an uneasy start, I got into a staggered rhythm and minutes later the small dwelling had erupted into a cacophony of singing and drumbeats. Children overcome by excitement danced everywhere, hanging from my arms and neck as I struck the drum and I soon found myself being dragged up by Rabi to have a dance. Now my dance moves are laughable at the best of times but seeing as everyone was getting involved this was not the time to be self-conscious. The sight of a lanky Brit pulling some shapes on this most unusual of dance floors seemed to induce mass hysteria among the kids who seemed to find whatever I did incredibly funny. A sing-along followed where bizarre, but perfect renditions of Bob Marley’s “Buffalo Soldier” and The Beatles’ “Yellow Submarine” were sung at full volume. It was a special moment for me and I was only too happy to sing my heart out with them all, embracing the surreal nature of my situation with opened arms.

After the ‘lesson’, Rabi took me to meet a friend of his who actually lived in the slums. Dragging myself away from the children - who objected strongly to my departure - we took a few turns in the labyrinth of alleyways until reaching the house of the Puppet Master a.k.a Vijay. This amazing character had done a great deal of travelling with his puppets and had visited many festivals around India, proudly displaying them wherever he went. Sitting down on the floor of his living room, which also served as a bedroom, kitchen and bathroom, numerous wooden dolls, some incredibly complex in their design, were suspended from nails that had been driven into the walls of the hut.

Being kindly offered some roti (a type of naan bread) with various accompaniments; this eccentric puppet man and his wife welcomed me into their home and treated their English guest with a most generous hospitality. There was, however, a rather sinister moment when Rabi left to go outside and Vijay leaned over to me.

“Mr. Alex, Rabi is a bad man,” Vijay whispered.  “Do not be trusting him, he is wanting to hurt you.” Before sitting back down, letting his words fulfil their ominous inflection in the silence that followed.

A moment later Rabi came back in and Vijay looked over with an expression so stern; it is forever seared into my memory. Sat in the middle of a potentially dangerous predicament, amidst the maze of the Jaipur slums with no obvious escape route, my nerves surged up as a rip current of dread pulled me in, like a swimmer who suddenly realises he has been dragged too far from the shore. Rather disconcertingly, Rabi then came back in before departing as quickly as he had entered.

“Vijay, what are you saying to me?” I asked, my voice cracking. “Rabi seems like a really nice guy, what is happening here?”

The Puppet Master merely stared back at me revealing nothing in his expressionless eyes. Floundering in uncertainty, terrible thoughts raced through me head as I cursed my foolishness for putting myself in this position. As Rabi re-entered the hut, however, the disturbing grimace broke into a magnificent smile which illuminated the darkness that had fallen upon the hut. They both laughed at each other leaving me in a state of total confusion as I tried to figure out what my next move would be.

Vijay acknowledged the younger man with a nod, walked over and gave me a firm hug. “We have just tested you Mr. Alex,” he said, leaning back but retaining the embrace. “You have passed, you are a good man and you are welcome in my home!”

It then dawned on me that a rather rudimentary test had been conducted to see what kind of person I was, whether I was worthy of their trust, and thankfully I passed because I had not insulted Rabi behind his back. In their eyes, I too was a stranger of course, and this had been their simplistic but effective way of gauging my character. Having ‘proved’ myself, everyone became much friendlier as we were joined by more of Vijay’s friends who brandished a box of beers and a small bottle of whiskey. I was treated to a puppet show by some of Vijay’s children and enjoyed learning about life in the slums while the Puppet Master gazed upon the group as he played his accordion in the corner.

I had no idea what time it was at this point, lost in time and space, but a few hours must have passed by the time I bid farewell to Rabi and Vijay, intoxicated by both the alcohol and the experience. As the sun painted its final strokes across the early evening sky, I left the Jaipur slums in a disconnected daze, my head spinning from the dream I had walked through all afternoon.

x

Japiur slum music lesson.

vijay and Rabi.