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 21st 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.
