I barely had time to unpack my suitcase, do laundry and repack, and I was off again.
Spring Break!
Before I knew I would chaperone the high school mini-course, I was craving a traffic-free get-away to nature. I got that, unexpectedly, with our trip to Krishna Ranch last week, but I had already booked a trip with my friend Alli for the following week. We took the train to Rishikesh and stayed at Atali Ganga, a peaceful little eco-resort on the shores of the Ganges River (Ganga in Hindi).
Atali Ganga stretches up the hillside on the east side of the river. From the main road, a short steep driveway takes you to the reception area, which includes a pool and climbing wall. Stone steps and pathways lead to the Green Deck, a grassy lounging area on the second level; Café White Water, where we ate all our meals, on the third level; and then to individual cottages on five subsequent levels. Alli and I were neighbors on the fifth level, 85 knee-jarring stairs from the lobby.
My cottage.
View from the restaurant deck.
Trees, shrubs and potted plants lined the paths and surrounded the buildings. Small tables and chairs, shade umbrellas and loungers were tucked here and there, providing ample spots for reading, napping, writing, or chatting. My cottage far exceeded expectations with its stone tile floor, comfortable bed, hot shower, and screened windows to let in the fresh breeze. I didn’t even notice all the special touches until I needed them, like when I realized the bamboo ladder just outside my front door was meant for drying my wet clothes, or when I spotted the yoga mats provided in the room just as my weary muscles needed a stretch.
I also appreciated the eco-friendly efforts: Signs offered gentle reminders to preserve water and power; linens were laundered only every three days; soap and shampoo came from wall-mounted dispensers instead of disposable containers; and housekeepers refilled glass bottles with fresh water each day.
On our first afternoon, we joined Sonita, one of the activity directors, for an introduction to the Ganges in an inflatable kayak. Alli and I took turns as Sonita piloted us upriver a bit and then floated back down. We both hopped out of the boat and into the icy water at the end. It was exhilarating! Afterwards, we plopped down in the riverbank’s powdery sand to enjoy the view and a cup of chai.
That evening, the hotel served snacks by a fire pit and set up a telescope for us to look at the moon and Jupiter before dinner.
The next morning, we joined a group for whitewater rafting. This was my virgin voyage, and I have to say the “safety talk” kind of freaked me out. I was feeling pretty nervous by the time we set off on our 24-kilometer ride. Our boat mates included a nice Indian family with two sweet children.
“Well, it can’t be too dangerous if they’re letting the kids do it,” I said, thus jinxing our journey.
After 4 kilometers, we rowed to the shore. “What are we doing?” I asked.
“Dropping off the kids,” answered our guide. “We’ll pick them up again after the big rapids.”
Oh crap.
We rowed and floated down the jade-colored river, which was calm enough at times for us to pause and check out the tree-covered hillsides, mysterious little caves, sandy beaches and paths winding through the forest. But the calm was quickly broken by 14 Class-2 and Class-3 rapids that doused us and got our hearts pounding. The rapids had funny names, such as Three Blind Mice, Golf Course, Rollercoaster, Black Money, and Return to Sender.
During one stretch, our guide encouraged us to ride along on the outside of the boat. Alli and I both hopped in the chilly water, held on to the raft’s safety line, and let the current tow us along till our limbs went numb.
Shortly before the end of our trip, we met the two children, who had been trucked downstream, and brought them back on board.
Big sigh of relief.
So I survived my first whitewater rafting experience, and it was fantastic!
Because this stretch of the holy Ganges River looks nothing like the brown, toxic sludge that creeps into the holy city of Varanasi, I falsely assumed that riverside cremations were prohibited up here. However, we actually saw two on this day. One had just finished, and the family members were brushing ashes in to river. The other was just getting started with a pile of wood and a body on a pallet nearby. That was a little disconcerting.
Back at the fire pit that evening, under a full moon, we chatted with Manoj Biswas, the owner of Atali Ganga. He explained that this section of the river was the most holy for North Indians, and riverside cremations were not only allowed, they were sacred. If you can’t cremate your loved ones in nearby Haridwar, then you at least find a way to bring their ashes here to put in the river, Manoj said.
He also helped us understand which mountains surrounded us. There are three Himalayas, all with profound Sanskrit names, he said: The upper Himalayas (Himadri, which means “respect the snow”), the middle Himalayas (Himachal, which means “shrouded in snow”), and the lower Himalayas (Shivaliks, which means “locks of Shiva’s hair”). Atali Ganga sits in the shadow of the Shivaliks. He also said the pronunciation is Him-AL-ya, which translates to “abode of snow.” When we say Him-uh-LAY-uh, it has a different and unrelated meaning.
Why are the lower Himalayas called “locks of Shiva’s hair”? According to Hindu legend, the gods wanted to send the goddess Ganga down to earth to provide water for people. However, they feared her impact when she fell from the heavens would cause total destruction, so Shiva offered to catch her in his hair and then squeeze the water out onto the earth. Sure enough, pure water pours down the Shivaliks to join the mighty Ganga River rushing through the valley.
A sunrise hike got our next day off to a peaceful start. Alli and I climbed to the top of the Atali Ganga property to meet Robbie, one of the resort’s activity guides, who led us on a 2.5-kilometer walk on a boulder-strewn path. We saw barking deer (and one barking dog), peacocks, wild chickens, trees full of langur monkeys, a little flock of red-cheeked parakeets, and a few other birds, although most stayed hidden in the foliage. Robbie noted that winter, with its naked trees, is the best time for birding. Still, we could hear their chatter. Here’s a recording of peacocks.
We crunched along a carpet of dry leaves, past several termite towers, through a narrow gully that fills with water during monsoon season, near a small village (with only four houses and a field of wheat) and down to the road, where a van hauled us back to the hotel.
Robbie showed us these hard little seeds that were used as a unit of measurement for weight before the British showed up with their drachms, ounces, pounds and stones.
We had planned to play on the resort’s high ropes course, but we opted instead for a lazy day of lingering over coffee and reading in the shade. After a quick dip in the pool and more lounging around, we decided to pop down to the river. We waded in the water and sat in the sand, watching other guests kayak and swim.
Day four started as a repeat of day three and turned into a whole lot of trekking for me. I joined Robbie for another early morning hike, climbing up and down the rocky paths. We didn’t spot any animals, but we heard lots of rustling in the bushes. Wild chickens, Robbie said. I asked whether people eat them. “They are very fast walking,” he said. “If people can catch, they eat.”
After crossing a nala, a dry gully that fills with monsoon rains, we fell in line behind a village woman. She trekked up the precarious hill in worn flip-flops, holding her long purple skirt with one hand and balancing a large brass pot of water on her head with the other. She said “namaskar” to me and chatted in Hindi with Robbie as she climbed. Later, Robbie told me the woman was surprised to see us hiking so early in the day. She and other women out collecting wood yesterday had seen a bear at that nala, so she warned us to be careful.
Robbie led me through a small farming village. Cows and water buffalo looked up from their breakfast to check us out.
After a bit of reading and lounging, Alli and I headed to the river for a while. It was blazing hot with no shade, so we didn’t last long. I decided to join a group going on a 4-kilometer afternoon hike.
Led by Sonita, we crossed the river on the Malakunti suspension bridge and trekked along the mountainside. (Mala means necklace, and kunti means pendant. The village of Mala sits up the hill, so the bridge is like its pendant hanging below.)
Along the way, we spotted pink and green stains on the dirt path, signs of local celebrations. It was Holi, a holiday that welcomes the arrival spring, when revelers toss colored powder or water on each other. The path rose and fell, sometimes ominously narrow with a sheer drop to the rocky beach. We often scrambled over piles of pale flat rocks, and looking up, we could see where they had broken free from the hillside.
I kept taking my phone out to snap a photo and then slipping it back into my pocket. I didn’t realize every time I did that, I butt dialed someone in the States. So sorry about that!
Eventually, we reached Sonita’s village, Sirasu. There, we saw ladies working in the fields, and Sonita showed us the different crops: wheat, chickpeas, onions and garlic. She also pointed to the big group of men and boys playing cricket in the distance. Women generally run the farm, care for the livestock and manage the home, while men have jobs outside the village, she said. We stopped at her mother’s house for chai. Children from the village hid behind a wall to spy on us, and a calf tied to a metal ring snorted at us and nibbled at the grass. An old woman walked by, doubled over by the load of hay on her back. I put my hands together and said, “namaste,” and she stood up, gently set down her load, and returned my greeting with a wide grin.
Sonita leading us through the wheat fields.
Animals next to her mother’s house.
Cricket game.
After finishing our tea, we set off again. Just past the village, bamboo scaffolding encased a huge ashram and temple under construction. Rishikesh is a magnet for spiritual pilgrims and yoga enthusiasts. This National Geographic Traveler story takes place at an ashram next to Sonita’s village and does a nice job describing the vibe of the area.
It was getting dark by the time we saw the second bridge. A precipitous path cobbled together with pale purple stones zig-zagged down the mountain. I asked Sonita if the color was natural, and she pointed across the river to where purple-tinted rock rose out of the water and blended into the hills. We walked across the bridge and up another steep hill to the road, where our bus waited to drive us back to Atali Ganga.
Our final day in Rishikesh, we had to check out early, so we spent most of the day in the open-air reception area, reading and writing. I felt my usual melancholy settle in, knowing I had to leave behind beauty and fresh air and face the reality of Delhi’s smog and traffic. What a perfect week, though. And, seriously, what an amazing month – so many Incredible India experiences!
That’s it for a while, though. My next big journey will be a life-changer as Tony and I wave farewell to India in just two months, travel to Michigan for a quick visit, and then move to new jobs and a new home in Santiago, Chile.
Since moving to India, Tony has accompanied high school students on a mini-course called Marwari Safari at a horse ranch in Rajasthan once a year. Although all AES high school students and teachers embark on mini-courses around the country each spring, he always claimed his mini-course was the best. Students got away from the big cities, didn’t have to travel from place to place, learned how to ride horses, enjoyed a little down time every day, and ate delicious food, mostly straight from the garden. For the last four years, I wished I could go, too. This year, I did!
On Thursday, I received a call from the high school assistant principal, saying Tony’s co-chaperone was too sick to travel. Would I be willing to sub? I had a little panic attack. It meant missing a week of school and parent conferences, and this is my busiest time of year as Elementary School EAL coordinator. “Maybe this is just what you need,” she said. Turns out, that was true.
We left just three days later (March 13) on the overnight train: Inder Jit, our tour organizer and riding instructor; his assistant, Bijay; 14 high school students; Tony and me.
After 12.5 hours on the train, we arrived in Udaipur and went straight to a boutique hotel for breakfast in the garden. Afterwards, we toured the City Palace and the Sahelion Ki Bari gardens. I had visited the palace in 2014, but our local guide on this visit had a great sense of humor and pointed out details I hadn’t seen the first time. Many of the students were surprisingly attentive and curious, despite sleep deprivation.
At the palace.
At the gardens.
Following our tour, the bus carried us another 20 minutes to Krishna Ranch, our home for four days. We were greeted by ranch owners Dinesh Jain and his wife, Francine, passionate promoters of the Marwari horses and lovely people overall.
Marwari Horses
For a short time, I took riding lessons in Delhi with mostly sluggish horses that slowly and methodically walked the perimeter of the ring. At Krishna Ranch, we rode Marwari horses, which required a whole different approach to riding. Frisky and keenly alert, they were bred for speed and endurance in warfare.
The Marwari horses originated when native Indian ponies were crossed with Arabian horses. The traditional rulers of the Marwar region (in northwestern India) first started breeding Marwari horses in the 12th century. The horses come in a full range of colors and patterns, but their distinctive ears set them apart from other breeds. The ears stand up and curve inward, creating a whimsical and endearing appearance.
The head conveys the indefinable oriental presence of the horse and should be expressive with a high forehead, large sparkling prominent eyes, straight or slightly Roman long face giving a clean chiseled profile and well rounded defined jaws, the nostrils are large and gently flared set over firm fine lips and an even bite. The ears should be of medium length and shapely, curving and curling inwards at their points in a scimitar or lyre shape typical to the breed. They will be somewhat longer in the mare.
Narani, the cook at Krishna Ranch, shares everyone’s passion for these beautiful horses.
At Krishna Ranch, some light-colored horses had decorative henna socks painted on their lower legs and their Hindi names henna-ed on their flanks.
This is Komal. Well, this is Komal’s backside.
Dinesh and Francine own 14 Marwari horses, and they borrowed a few more for our group. They also breed and sell horses, cautiously entertaining offers from India’s growing upper class. However, Dinesh has been known to buy back a mistreated horse or refuse to make the sale if he feels the prospective owner can’t provide appropriate care. His genuine love and concern for the horses makes this place even more special.
One morning, he saw me peeking over a stall door to check out the youngest resident of Krishna Ranch, so he opened the gate and introduced me to Gori, a 3-week-old black filly with a white blaze. Gori’s father was last year’s champion Marwari stallion, said Dinesh, who petted and cuddled the sweet baby as we chatted. Usually, the young horses are afraid of people, he said, but the workers who groom the mama, Rupali, couldn’t resist brushing little Gori, too. She nuzzled my hand and let me pet her velvety nose.
The adjoining stall housed three yearlings, also heartbreakingly adorable.
Riding Lessons
Each morning and afternoon, we all crowded under the wide umbrella of a magnolia tree for lessons from Inder Jit. Dinesh and several grooms helped facilitate the lessons, sprinting alongside high-spirited horses and calling out instructions to the riders. They generally kept three horses going at a time, giving the students 5 to 10 minutes of practice each.
Early in our relationship, I took Tony horseback riding. He walked his horse to the middle of the field, dropped the reins and let his horse eat grass while I cantered around him for an hour. You can imagine my surprise when he confidently leapt up on his Marwari horse at Krishna Ranch and took off around the arena. After four years of chaperoning this trip, he has acquired a pretty substantial set of horsemanship skills. That’s my cowboy.
During the first lesson, my horse clearly wanted to exit the arena and get back to her friends at the stable. Dinesh told me to make the turn sooner, rather than riding the whole length of the ring. “Then she will know what you want,” he said. When my turn finished, we chatted more about that. He mentioned that he’s been working with Bollywood directors who need horses for their films. The director often just wants to start shooting as soon as the horse shows up, but Dinesh asks, “What will you want this horse to do?” Then he puts a trained rider on the horse to practice the scene several times before any filming starts. When it’s time for the actor to do it, the horse knows what to do.
Side note: John C. Reilly recently spent some time here with Dinesh, getting riding lessons and then shooting scenes for “The Cowboys,” a French film that came out earlier this year. “Some of our guys had to dress in Pakistani clothes with guns and everything,” Dinesh said.
One afternoon, we all struggled with the horses during our lesson. They were refusing directions, bucking, spooking at the fence line, bolting, and even rearing a bit. The kids got pretty nervous and started gasping and worrying when they watched their friends take turns. (A scary cow was hanging around on the other side of the arena’s wall.) As the last rider, I was ready to opt out. By then, the horses were full-on wacko. But Dinesh convinced me to climb aboard a skittish bay mare named Rani. He helped me convince Rani to turn left when she really wanted to turn right, which we practiced several times. After she realized she wouldn’t get her way, she completely relaxed and let me take control. Once again, I recognized Dinesh’s gentle genius.
Hack Rides
Between lessons, we went on a “hack,” or trail ride, each day. Day 1: We rode single file with a groom walking alongside each horse to the nearby village of Bada Havala. I was assigned to Noori, a stubborn pinto, and told to take up the rear. We were supposed to keep a horse length between us, but Noori really wanted to get to the front of the line. I managed to keep her under control, just barely, but I bloodied a knuckle in the battle, and I worried that I was hurting her mouth by holding the reins so tightly. When we stopped to walk around another village, Chorta Havala, I whined to Dinesh. He told me to trade horses with Bijay, one of our tour assistants (and expert horseman/polo star). I swallowed my pride and rode Suresh, a gray gelding, for the rest of the hack (and the subsequent hacks). Calm and gentle, Suresh allowed me to relax and enjoy the scenery.
As we clomped through the villages and countryside, young children bounded out of their homes to wave and shout, “Hello! Bye bye! Dada!” (One of our students told me “dada” is like “ta ta” in English.) We passed homes of newlyweds where the outside walls were painted with a traditional wedding procession – camel symbolizing love, elephant symbolizing good luck, and horse symbolizing virility One house also had the groom on a horse and the bride being carried in a palanquin. “They can’t afford the real procession like a maharaja, so they paint it instead,” Dinesh explained.
On our ride and walk, we noticed many animals with painted horns, most notably some bullocks with very long pointed horns painted bright orange, red and blue. Dinesh said the paint was a remnant of Diwali, the most sacred Hindu holiday. Farmers celebrate by decorating their hard-working animals in a show of gratitude. That includes expensive paint on the horns, henna decorations on their legs, beaded necklaces and other adornments. Another fun farmer tradition at Diwali: They set up a puja, or shrine, in front of the home, using animal dung to form idols of the gods and adding a little incense and other props. Then they open the gate and let their animals parade out of the courtyard to trample the puja and track dung down the path, leaving a temporary reminder to neighbors of their animal-owning status.
Day 2: Our group filed out the Krishna Ranch gate and on to the trail on the same horses we had yesterday. We rode to “Shilpgram – The Rural Arts and Crafts Complex,” a sprawling representation of villages in Western India. The place was mostly deserted, and the students were mostly apathetic. Still it was interesting to see how many villages cluster homes around a courtyard with a few key industries. According to the Shilpgram website, “Traditional village life was said to have been, to a considerable extent, self-contained and self-sufficient with a potter, a carpenter, a blacksmith, often a weaver, living alongside one another.”
Our silly students posing at the sculpture garden.
Back at the ranch, grooms unsaddled the horses and let them take turns rolling in a pile of sand to cool off. The horses looked ecstatic as they shimmied their sweaty backs down into the sand, kicking their legs in the air, but when they stood up again they were caked with grit.
After lunch, we returned to our horses for a brushing session. The grooms showed us the technique: vigorous curry combing for about 40 minutes on each side, followed by a softer brush. Suresh stood patiently while I groomed him and actually fell asleep while I gently stroked his chin. Sweet boy.
Day 3: This was my favorite trail ride. Astride our hyper steeds, we traipsed through the countryside and up into the hills to Badi Lake, a man-made reservoir that provides irrigation water to farmers in the valley. We passed the most fascinating people and scenery along the way.
Stone walls enclosed small fields of wheat, which were just beginning the transformation from green to golden. Bougainvillea draped over fences and climbed up walls, adding a splash of fuchsia, coral, baby pink and white to the dry, dusty landscape. At one point, it created a canopy overhead, dropping neon leaves on the path like a natural red carpet. Herds of little goats scrambled up the hillsides or mewed at us from their tethers. Water buffalo with curlicue horns lounged in the shade of their enclosures. Always a little cranky looking, they raised their noses in the air, rolled their eyes, and flapped their ears when alerted to our presence. We passed a camel that was nearly obscured by the towering cargo of hay on its cart. One enclosed field was cleared and brown but featured one towering tree, planted in a concrete ring, with branches bare of leaves but fiery with saffron blooms that rained down on the parched earth. The scene looked like a sepia snapshot with a Photoshopped splash of orange.
Village ladies always catch my eye as they labor in the fields or around their homes dressed in colors that offset the drudgery. Several times, a woman would hear our hoofbeats, pop up from the wheatfield, pull her dupatta up over her head and wave with a big smile. Others crouched by the irrigation channels to wash blankets, which they draped over the bushes to dry. Heads piled high with freshly harvested greens, a few ladies emerged from the fields and paused to watch us pass. Many stood roadside with their children. All wore saris in shocking hues of mainly red, orange and yellow.
We took a short break to check out the reservoir. Tony noted that the water level changes dramatically, depending on rainfall during the monsoon season. He pointed to a small temple near the shoreline, almost completely submerged with only a bit of its spire poking out of the water. “I’ve been here when the water is below that temple,” he said. “And I’ve been here when the water was up to the edge of this path.”
Down Time
Between lessons and rides, we sat on our porch or strolled around the property. Our building’s exterior was painted with traditional Rajasthani designs, including glued-on little round mirrors, and the jhali screen above the door featured an image of Ganesh. Sparrows had stuffed sticks and other debris inside the jhali (a mesh screen on the inside kept it all from falling on the bedroom floor), and they flitted in and out of the nest. It was like having pet birds that could come and go as they pleased.
Sitting in rattan chairs on our porch, we overlooked a large garden, where the cook, Narani, might be digging up onions or picking chilis. Next to the garden, workers collected water from a pump to wash big pots or to give the horses a drink. On the far side of the garden stood a long row of stalls, where horses lay in the straw or stood with their heads hanging out the windows, calling to their friends. To the right of our porch, just under our bedroom window, a farrier trimmed the horses’ hooves and tacked on new shoes. Cookie, the puppy that wandered on to the property one day and never left, curled under a tree to gnaw on the discarded trimmings. (Dinesh said the puppy enjoys riding in the saddlebag on multi-day horse safaris.)
Climbing to the roof of another building, we watched huge langur monkeys leaping from tree to tree and then pausing to snack. We gasped as a tiny baby monkey held on for dear life when its mother soared through the air, grabbed for a branch and swung to a perch. From our vantage point, we watched the soft green wheat sway in the breeze while peacocks wandered through the fields.
Behind our building, additional horses were tied up, along with a baby camel and a menagerie of chickens, goats and dogs. Watching the baby goats was better than TV.
On the rooftop of our building, we ate meals, lingered over chai and played Uno in the evening as the sun set behind the Aravelli hills.
Sunrise.
On our final night at the ranch, Dinesh built a campfire for us. The kids roasted marshmallows, sang songs, pointed out constellations, and told stories.
Honey, I bought a camel.
Wandering slowly back to our room one evening, we encountered Dinesh and Francine. At the same time, the young camel came ambling down the path, led by one of the grooms.
“What do you do with that camel?” Tony asked.
“Even we don’t know what to do with it!” said Francine. “We’ll get rid of it, I think. They can be quite dangerous. Look!” The camel was tugging on the lead, trying to run.
We all followed the camel down to a small paddock. The groom let the camel loose inside, where it bucked and popped in the air, gangly legs kicking out at unpredictable angles. The puppy Cookie tentatively trotted into the paddock, ears perked at this curiosity, but then bolted under the fence when the camel’s wild thrashing came too close.
Although we all had a good giggle at the goofy camel, Francine repeated her protest about camel ownership. Tony and I joked about how most husbands get in trouble for buying a tech gadget or other expensive toy without asking their wives.
“How did you break the news when you brought home a camel?” we asked Dinesh.
He said the camel was a surprise even to him. He had been looking for one of his grooms, and someone announced, “He went to get the camel.” Sure enough, the groom showed up later with the baby camel that charmed its way into permanent residence at Krishna Ranch.
“He really was so cute and little,” said Francine.
Although the little camel is still too young to be useful, Dinesh plans to use him for hauling cargo on multi-day horse safaris in the future. “That is a good idea,” Francine conceded.
Farewell
On the afternoon of our departure, some of the handlers demonstrated a few tricks. Dinesh said the horses often perform at weddings – dancing, bowing, rearing up high, and walking on their back legs. Then we gathered all the workers and our group together to express our gratitude. Our only Hindi-speaking student shared our appreciation and understanding that their long hours and hard work led to such a meaningful visit for us. We all shook hands, enjoyed a last glass of chai, hugged our horses good-bye, and trudged down the dusty path to meet our bus.
A short flight later, we were back in Delhi, saddle sore but filled with bliss.
Many visitors to India – especially those with limited time to explore the country – embark on a “Golden Triangle Tour.” The triangle comprises three key cities:
* Delhi, India’s capital, with ruins of seven cities dating back almost a thousand years.
* Agra, home of India’s most visited attraction, the Taj Mahal.
* Jaipur, the capital of Rajasthan, known as the “Pink City.”
As for Delhi, I feel confident that I have sucked the marrow out of this city (although it would be impossible to see it all) after living here for almost five years. And we knocked out Agra just weeks after moving to India in 2011.
However, I never got to that last vertex on the triangle: Jaipur. In our last few months here, I am trying to cram as much India as possible into my calendar. It was beginning to look like Jaipur wouldn’t make the cut. Then I received an email from my art curator friend Himanshu, who was planning an off-the-beaten-path tour to Jaipur called Ctrl+Alt+Jaipur the weekend before my birthday. Sign me up!
Turns out my friend, Sarah, and I got an almost private tour. The only other participant was a hip young woman, Monalisa, who joined us from Mumbai. On Feb. 20, Himanshu, Sarah and I drove from Delhi, arriving in Jaipur in time for a late breakfast at our hotel. We met Mona and headed out to explore the artsy side of Jaipur.
First, we popped in to Anokhi, a popular shop that sells block-printed clothes and textiles. When I say popular, I mean it is not uncommon for teachers at our school to wear an Anokhi dress to school only to find several other teachers wearing the same fabric in a skirt or blouse. It’s gorgeous stuff, but I haven’t been inspired to join the club (except to buy the softest comfiest pajamas on earth). Himanshu brought us here to spotlight Jaipur’s rich history of blockprinting. I had always thought that involved carving a block of wood, dipping it in paint and stamping it on the fabric. Interesting … but I didn’t really get the hype.
Our next stop on Day One was AnanTaya, a “design studio committed to the development of innovative ideas through understanding the importance of preserving ancient crafts.” I could have stayed there all day. Little signs next to the products explained the significance of the crafts and their role in Indian life. We met one of the founders, Ayush, who shared his passion for supporting local artists. He doesn’t mind when they sell their products outside his shop, noting they use his designs but they have the skills to do the work. His love for Jaipur art was contagious. “We grew up with beauty,” said, recalling family conversations centered on art.
I bought these incredible brass lassi cups, handcrafted by master craftsman Mohammad Dilshad in three traditional designs. Ella approves.
Lunch was an experience in itself. We went to a traditional Rajasthani restaurant called Laxmi Mishthan Bhandar, where I was reminded again of how my grasp of local culture remains frustratingly superficial, and my quest for deeper understanding only leads to more confusion.
The menu read, “Food which is half-cooked or halfripe, insiped, putrid, stale and polluted and which is impure too, is dear to men of a Tamasic disposition. Thus, Lord Krishna condemns unwholesome food. Instead, he recommends foods which promote longevity, intelligence, sweet, bland, substantial and naturally agreeable. LMB’s commitment to this ideal of food is a manual of faith. The food prepared in pure desi ghee suited to everyone’s palate bears out our credo.”
This is why it takes me ages to blog about my experiences in India. I get intrigued about something, spend hours researching it, discover something else I don’t understand, spend hours researching that, and finally get back to my original story. So, I got a little off task thinking about that blurb on the menu. According to wikipedia, “In the Samkhya school of philosophy, tamas (Sanskrit: तमस् tamas “darkness”) is one of the three gunas (or qualities), the other two being rajas (passion and activity) and sattva (purity, goodness). Tamas is the template for inertia or resistance to action.” Therefore, men of “Tamasic disposition” apparently eat food that makes them lazy. Who would want that? Bring on the LMB food that promotes longevity and intelligence!
OK, back to lunch … We ordered the Rajasthan thali. A thali is simply a meal comprising several small servings of various dishes. I really wanted to understand what I was eating to get the full experience, and the waiter eagerly played along. A couple times, he actually took my spoon out of my hand to demonstrate how to break off a little bit of that, add a little scoop of this combined with a dab of that, and then he would hand it back to me victoriously.
If the only word on that tray you recognized was “rice,” then here’s your guide to the thali. Papad: a cracker made from seasoned lentil flour Missi Roti: flat bread Boondi Raita: sweet yogurt with little balls made from chickpea flour Bati: fried flour balls to eat with dal and churma Churma: made from sugar and wheat flour or chickpea flour Dal: lentil conconction Mishri Mawa: ethnic Jaipur dessert made from fresh reduced milk and sugar Kair Sangri: a traditional vegetable dish combining a desert shrub berry and the bean from a flowering tree called Khejari Aloo Gobi: a dry, spicy mix of potatoes and cauliflower Danamethi Kishmish: sweet and sour fennel seeds with raisins Bela Rajashasti: spicy and steamed thick chickpea-flour dumplings with whole spices cooked in yogurt gravy Kadi Chokanwali: fried soft balls of chickpea flour with thick curry of Rajasthani herbs and yogurt
Himanshu and Sarah enjoying their thalis.
After lunch, we headed to the City Palace Museum, where Himanshu pulled some strings to get us a private tour with his friend Giles Tillotson, noted historian, author and art curator who handpicked pieces for a new museum exhibit, “Painting and Photography at the Jaipur Court.”
To be honest, I was a little starstruck in Tillotson’s presence and couldn’t focus well enough to retain much of what he shared with us. Still, his stories from behind the scenes left me enthralled.
I tried to do some research when I got home. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find much more than the basic promotional materials.
I took this photo before Tillotson gently asked me not to shoot pictures in the gallery.
The exhibit’s brochure explains:
The display begins with paintings from the 18th century, from the period of the founder Maharaja Sawai Jai Singh II, up to that of Maharaja Sawai Pratap Singh, under whose reign painting in particular flourished. It then captures the excitement of the late 19th century when the camera competed with, but also complemented, the artist’s brush under Maharaja Sawai Ram Singh II. In the end, images leading to Indian Independence and its aftermath overseen by Maharaja Sawai Madho Singh II and Maharaja Sawai Man Singh II, bring us up to the mid-20th century.
According to an article in the Rajasthan Post from the exhibit’s September inauguration, “The photographic collections of the Maharaja Sawai Man Singh II Museum have now been catalogued and archived. They include a collection of nearly 2,000 glass plate negatives dating from the 1860s to the 1880s, from the archive of Maharaja Sawai Ram Singh II. Many of these pictures were taken by the Maharaja himself, the most famous of India’s royal photographers.”
Cameras at Court by Mrinalini Venkateswaran, projects head for Eka Archiving Services and co-curator of the exhibit, offers a wonderful glimpse into the historical context of the exhibit and breathes life into the static images in the photos.
Here’s a video from a local news channel (with really poor production quality).
Hanging around at the City Palace.
We spent the late afternoon and early evening strolling through Jaipur’s back alleys and markets. The buildings of the “Pink City” are actually more of a terracotta color, although the setting sun did create a pinkish reflection.
This guy was dying a blouse to match a sari. The shop owner asked me to mail him a copy of the photo. Done.
A small flower market.
Chai break.
I love the chai break photo bomber.
Marble sculptors. White dust filled the air and coated everything in sight. I would have liked to linger, but it was hard to breathe.
According to Discovered India, marble played a key role in Mughal art and architecture, and artists continue to ply their craft in Jaipur today.
The development of a marble structure is very delicate task and it takes a high degree of expertise and skill to carve a beautiful marble sculpture. The process starts with the selection of the right stone for carving. A carver may use his imagination to carve a figure or he might use a reference model to copy it on the stone. Mostly the artists prefer to begin with making a model of clay or wood and then try to copy it in stone.
When he is ready to carve, the artist starts with peeling off the large unwanted chunks of the stone. A long pointed and hefty chisel is used for this purpose along with a mallet. This is the roughing out stage of the stone. The strokes should be chosen very carefully as a little miscalculation can ruin the quality of the stone hence hamper the beauty of final sculpture.
Once the general shape of the structure is obtained then other tools like toothed chisel and claw chisel are used to refine the work. These tools are generally used for adding texture to the figure. Gradually the sculptor has attained the rough general shape of the final figure. Now the sculptor uses tools like rasps and riffles to enhance the shape of the figure and giving it its final form. A riffle is a steel tools used from removing excess of stone from the figure in the form of small chips and dust. The riffle is a smaller version of rasp which used for the detailing of the structure. Finally the sandpaper is used for polishing the sculpture giving it a beautiful smooth and elegant look.
The art of Jaipur marble sculpture is century’s old and transferred from one generation to another. The use of traditional tools and techniques to carve a marble stone in to a beautiful structure has preserved the heritage of this ancient art. There is a high demand for handmade Jaipur marble articles all around the world.
Himanshu took us to the shop of Avaz Mohammed, a renowned lac artist, whose family has suppled lac bangles to the City Palace for generations. Lac is a resinous secretion of insects that is harvested from tree branches and used as a plastic. Artists start with blobs of lac and soften it over a fire to mold, flatten, twist and otherwise shape it into bangles or other decorative items.
We sat on a bench smushed up to the bangle display as cargo-laden motorcycles honked and wedged pedestrians out of the way. Sarah nearly lost a leg to a slow-moving but oblivious motorbike driver. Himanshu eagerly showed us the family’s unique creation – the gulaal gota – an egg-sized bubble of lac filled with colored powder. The thin lac shell breaks on contact, showering the victim with bright powder. The artist’s family provided them to the palace for the former royal family’s Holi celebration, and now gulaal gotas are available to anyone who wants to shake up the festival of colors.
In his excitement to demonstrate this cool Holi accessory, Himanshu pitched a gulaal gota at Mona, who was wearing a gorgeous floral crepé kurta (a calf-length top, worn with leggings). The fuchsia powder coated her hair, skin and lovely outfit. I turned to Himanshu, who was poised to grab another ball, and said, “Don’t even think about it!” In retrospect, it would have been way smarter of him to pelt me in my T-shirt and jeans rather than Mona in her stylish ensemble. Mona was a good sport. I think I would have cried.
Poor unsuspecting Mona.
After a quick pause for coal-fired chai, we were getting tired and decided to abandon some of the destinations on our itinerary.
Our last stop for the day was Govind Dev Temple. Steep learning curve. Are you ready? I’m summarizing a very enlightening article called Vrindavan Deities in Jaipur.
Here goes:
Vrindavan is the childhood home of Lord Krishna and thus a sacred site for Hindus. In 1669, temple priests at Vrindavan got the horrifying news that Emperor Aurangzeb was planning to invade the temples and destroy the sacred murtis (idols) of Krisha. The priests fled with the murtis, traveling at night and taking refuge in caves during the day. Five murtis ultimately found safety in Jaipur, although one was later moved to another city. Those four Jaipur murtis each have their own temple now, and we visited all of them.
There’s so much more, but this blog post is already insanely long, and we’re only at the end of Day 1. I just have to say that article was reassuring in that it was written by a South Indian Hindu, who expressed confusion over this complicated North Indian story. “The problem with a polytheistic religion like Hinduism is that it is hard to keep track of its regional, and rather glorious, variations,” he wrote. Yeah. Imagine how a third-culture kid brought up in a military household with a Protestant value system might struggle to understand this stuff.
The Govind Dev Temple was constructed on the City Palace grounds in 1735, offering the maharaja a clear view of the Krishna worshippers. When we arrived, it was mostly deserted, but soon crowds filled the space, sitting on the mats or standing around the perimeter. A metal fence surrounded a sort of stage with a heavy curtain and locked gate hiding the Krishna murti. Eventually, the temple priest unlocked the gate and pulled back the curtain to reveal the murti. We all crowded to the front. A long bout of bell ringing and chanting ensued, including the catchy “Hare Krishna” chant. Priests then walked along the inside of the fenced area, sprinkling water out on the crowd. People were grinning and raising their hands in the air, exultantly. Finally, we joined the rest of the crowd to walk clockwise around the temple before reclaiming our shoes and heading out. Surprisingly awesome.
The next day, we visited the other three Krishna temples with murtis from Vrindavan.
Gopinath Temple
Unfortunately, the gate to the murti was locked, and we would have had to wait too long to see it opened. However, the temple was interesting in itself with ornate paintings and tiles throughout and a bonus Hanuman temple adjoining the courtyard.
Radha-Damodar Temple
Less ornate, this temple was busy with worshippers circumambulating (walking the perimeter clockwise repeatedly) and pausing to bow to the murti.
Vinodilal Temple
In this austere temple, the priest was busy with ceremonial duties. He asked us not to photograph the murti.
And that was just the beginning of our temple trek.
Surya Mandir
Dedicated to the sun god, Surya Mandir reaches up to the sky from its perch on a rocky hill, 200 meters above the city. From there, we could see the grid pattern of city streets, the result of 17th-century city planning. Energized by the sun (or maybe the sun god?), we played in the courtyard a bit, posing and enjoying the views. It was easy to imagine the city’s founder, Maharaja Jai Singh II, coming up here to soak up some rays and find a little peace.
Approaching the temple. Cows, monkeys, and pigs. Oh, my!
Hindus ring a bell or ghanta when they enter a temple. I’ve read a few different reasons: The “om” sound invites the deity to be worshipped. The reverberation clears your mind to receive enlightenment. The sound scares away evil spirits.
You don’t have to twist my arm to worship Surya. Sunny days and blue skies fill my soul.
Temple detail.
I have to be honest. By now, I was pretty templed out. When Himanshu said we had one more to see before we headed to our next destination – and especially when he said it was called “the monkey temple” – I was like, “Let’s skip it.” But thank goodness we didn’t!
Galta Temple
Yes, there were hordes of monkeys, but they were surprisingly respectful (which is not a typical monkey trait, fyi). We walked down a steep rocky path from the Surya Mandir and then climbed a few steps into the top structure of an expansive temple complex that stretched down the hillside.
A group crowded in front of the shrine, while others lingered around the pool of water a few feet below. As we walked down, we saw three spring-fed pools: one for monkeys, one for men, and one for women. My mind almost couldn’t process the view. Buildings designed in the style of a palace or haveli were cradled in a mountain pass of the Aravelli Hills and crawling with smiling pilgrims in their eye-popping colorful saris and suits. This site has been a Hindu retreat since the early 16th century, but the Galta Temple complex was built about 200 years later.
This couple asked me to take their photo and text it to them. Why not?
Brilliant frescoes once greeted temple visitors, but time, weather, and vandals have taken a toll.
This woman asked for 10 rupees (15 cents) to snap her photo. Savvy lady, posing in an irresistible archway in that pink sari.
These ladies were laughing and singing and happily posed for me, free of charge.
My girl, Saraswati, the goddess of knowledge and education, tucked away in a little nook.
On to Amer…
From Jaipur, we drove to the village of Amer, which sits in the shadow of the imposing Amber Fort high on the hillside. Here’s the scoop on Amer, also known as Amber, from the Rajasthan Department of Tourism.
Amber, lying 11 kilometres north of Jaipur, is a remarkable conglomeration of royal palaces, robust forts, princely havelis, residences, gardens, temples, lakes and other ancient buildings. The history of the city dates back to the 10th century, when it was founded by Mina tribesmen. The Kachchwaha Rajputs conquered this region, known as Dhoondhar in ancient times, in the early 11th century, owing to its great strategic value. Dulha Rai, the first Kachchwaha king of Dhoondhar, made Dausa, a small town near Amber, his first capital. The territory kept growing through military expeditions or political alliances. The Kachchwahas laid the foundation of the fortified walls of Amber, established the Kakilgarh fort and built Ambikeshwar Mahadev Temple. Amber became the third capital of the Kachchwaha, and remained so for almost seven centuries. The rulers kept expanding the city by building palaces and temples of Vishnu and Shiva. The period from late 16th to early 18th century under the reign of Man Singh and Raja Jai Singh I and Jai Singh II is considered the golden period of Amber. A significant contribution to the art, architecture, science and financial wealth of the city was made under their rule. After independence, Dhoondhar kingdom was merged with the state of Rajasthan and Amber became a part of Jaipur district.
Here, we visited the Anokhi Museum to learn more about block printing. Remember my apathetic attitude toward Anokhi’s block printed clothing? Well, that has changed now that I have learned more about the process. Watching an artist carve a wooden block blew my mind, and the skill required to print evenly and efficiently is ridiculous. Plus, it’s not just dip-and-stamp, dip-and-stamp. Holy cow, it’s way more complicated and fascinating.
This is a short and informative video by geobeats that captures what we saw at the museum.
This display explained a 14-step process from plain cloth to printed fabric.
I could have watched this guy for hours. It was mesmerizing. I knew the fabric was printed by hand, but the blocks are also carved by hand using primitive tools.
He had to carve four blocks to make one pattern.
I never really thought about how hard it would be to line up the patterns or to place the blocks just right to deposit color exactly the same way across yards of fabric.
Well, I’m a convert to the cult of Anokhi, and I feel grateful for this new knowledge and appreciation for the art of block printing.
Next, Vineet Sharma, banker turned tour guide, met us at for a stroll through the village of Amer.
Just a few steps from the museum was our first stop: the Panna Meena ka Kund, a 16th-century stepwell or baoli. Stepwells provided water to the community, but also served as a marketplace, entertainment venue, and hangout spot.
Just across the alley sits the Ambikeshwar Mahadev Temple.
According to Vineet, monsoon rains sometimes overflow the stepwell, and the water fills the temple, which makes sense as it sits about 10 feet below street level. Legend says about 5,000 years ago a king had a cow that would only give milk in one specific place in the forest. Digging up the dirt in that spot, the king found a shivling – an idol of Lord Shiva, and decided to build this temple on the spot.
The shivling is inside the hole.
Crazy ceiling.
Cool door.
The Sri Jagat Siromani Temple was another highlight in Amer. It was commissioned by Queen Shringar Devi Kanakawat in memory of her son, Jagat Singh, and built between 1599 and 1608. Vineet found the caretaker, who opened the shrine for us.
While Sarah and I poked around the temple, Mona and Himanshu chatted with the caretaker. Apparently, he told them a story about the legendary 16th-century Krishna devotee and poet, Meera Bai, who considered Krishna her spiritual husband despite being married to a king. I found a summary on a website called Amerjaipur.in.
There is an interesting story about this temple. It is said that the statue of Lord Krishna in this temple is same statue that Meera Bai used to worship in the state of Mewar, 600 years ago. This statue was saved from destruction by rulers of Amer during the Mughal war with Mewar state and brought safely to Amer. And statue was set in a temple. Even statue of Meera Bai has been set along with Lord Krishna.
Vineet took us to the abandoned palace of the Kachchawa rulers, commonly known as the Narsinghji Temple, which was home to the royal family before they built the Amber Fort. The caretakers were hanging out, seemingly oblivious to the building’s historical importance.
Finally, we checked out one last temple, inside a peaceful courtyard. I have tried to find details about it online to no avail. If I stumble on any information, I’ll update this post.
From the temple’s rooftop, we could see the wall that runs along the top of the Aravelli Hills, reminding me of our treks on the Great Wall of China.
After bidding farewell to Vineet and Mona (who caught a flight back to Mumbai), Himanshu, Sarah and I returned to the car for our trip back to Delhi. However, the driver informed us that protestors in the neighboring state were blocking the border crossing. It’s a complicated situation, which gets more confusing with every article I read. You can read more here if you want, but I assure you, it raises more questions than answers.
So, suffice it to say, we weren’t sure we could get home. Well, the next day was my birthday and I was going to be cranky if I had to spend it in some roadside motel because the road back to Delhi was blocked. I quickly grabbed my phone to search for flights, but they were all booked. Train stations had also been ransacked by the protestors, so that eliminated another mode of transportation. Finally, we decided to drive for awhile and see whether we could get new information. The internet yielded nothing. No news. Himanshu got on the phone with him mother, who called everyone she knew who might have information. We stopped for chai, and Himanshu proposed an alternate plan. We could leave the highway and take country roads until we passed the blocked area. However, google maps was unreliable; it was pitch black outside; and we couldn’t be guaranteed that this new route was free of protestors. Feeling uneasy but eager to get home, we decided to risk it. Eventually, we got reassuring news from Himanshu’s brother that the road was clear. He had also been driving back to Delhi from another city and got there before we did.
I was able to spend my birthday back in Delhi after all. I took the day off work, sorted my Jaipur photos and relaxed. After that whirlwind weekend, I needed a break!
And, with that, I have officially wrapped up my Golden Triangle tour, five years after it started.
I highly recommend tours with Himanshu. In fact, he’s taking a group of us around Delhi next weekend to check out the street art. Check out his website, 1100 Walks. For a walking tour in Amer with Vineet, email him at jaipurwalks@yahoo.com.
