Jodhpur

After finishing reading Rudyard Kipling's Kim, the travel bug bit me hard, and I itched for a fortnight of quite travel into India's vast bosom. Trying to avoid the heat and crowds of north India, and wishing to go on a budget trip, I finally settled on Rajasthan, the state I was born and where I spent my first twelve years. Rajasthan is an arid countryside with a number of historical cities that attract tourists from all over the world.

It took some time to fix the tour itinerary, and finally the proceedings were to be: from Mumbai to Jodhpur, then Jaiselmer, via Bikaner, to Ajmer. I managed to stuff into a small backpack the few necessary things, including a thin blanket though October is hardly cold here. Travelling light, I hoped to easily explore the countryside around cities and get in touch with life and people on the roads, villages and cities, like Kim did.

The events of the last few months had hit the tourism hard here. The agitation and clashes of the two tribes of Gurjars and Minas, and more importantly, the bomb blast at the holy shrine at Ajmer, had created a hightened security alert, though my visit did not throw up any unpleasant experiences.

Trying to understand the state's past, a cursory reading of James Todd's Chronicles on google books refreshed the old stories we had heard of one Rani Padmini, the queen of Chittor, and a king Maharana Pratap, of Chittor again, who died in exile. The valour and heroism of their sacrifices came alive, especially the queen's and other princesses' suicide on a pyre to protect their modesty from the invader Khilji, at the Chittorgarh fort, a fort I have visited in the past. The goriness of that event -- that horrible, deadly night when the young females must have jumped or been drugged and carried upon the lit pyre to be burnt alive -- is mind numbing to read.

The massive hill forts of these cities were built as places to fight enemy armies from top, hence requiring large water ponds, supply stores, and huge gates to be built inside. The attacking armies would use canon balls to damage the fort walls and lay siege for months for the supplies to run out, thus drawing the protected armies out for a battle.

The people in Rajasthan, like other Indian states belong to various castes, classes and tribes, like Rajputs who were traditionally warriers, trader Marwaris, farmer jats, tribals, etc. To add to the confusion, there are the two large regions that are called Marwar (the Jodhpur region) and Mewad (the Chittorgarh region). A person's caste is an important identification factor, and I found the dharamshalas -- charity instituitions for travellers to stay cheap overnight -- built on this basis. The languagae spoken is called Marwari or Rajasthani, and has local variations.

Jodhpur

The fort here, called Mehrengarh fort, towers over the city, and looks unconquerable. Akbar the great had married Rani Jodha, probably to make peace with the state.

Walking out from the station toward the market revealed a surprising scene -- a large number of bearded sadhus, fakirs, and similarly dressed people sat in front of shut shopdoors everwhere in the market.

A walk down the market brought about a conversation with a young shopkeeper who ran an internet and grocery shop, and was too eager to sell his goods and services to me. His father had worked in Nepal, serving its royal family. Coming back to Jodhpur on his family's request, he decided to stay back here for good.

The houses near the fort, all coloured blue / indigo, are old and closely built with narrow, criss cross lanes that can confuse any newcomer. A peep inside the houses revealed rooms that were small, cramped, and dimly lit.

The fort, reachable on foot throught the residential area at Manak Chawk, turned out to be magnificently built with one of its walls showing marks of being hit by canon balls. On the top were kept British canons overlooking the city below. Most of the fort is now almost a shopping centre or market, with a mini fair inside, and this was the case with all the forts I visited. While coming down, I spoke to a local in Hindi, and this for him became a good joke with his fellow friend.

The market at the clock tower -- ghanta ghar -- appears to sell everything under the sun -- clothes, shoes, vegetables, second hand goods, ethnic and cheap stuff of all kinds. A lane from here takes one to an area full of hotels for foreigners. The hallmark of this area is a majestic haveli turned into a hotel overlooking a water tank.

The highlight of my stay here was the garba dance, with navratri festival in full swing. The married women here hide their faces with a veil - the pardah -- to protect their modesty. The garba -- a dance carried out with decorated sticks in circles -- brought out the neighborhood young girls and women. Some of the girls were clad in butt-tight jeans, while the married ones danced around with veils hanging down their faces on movie songs, as the neighbourhood families looked on. Never saw such a striking contrast between tradition and modernity.

There weren't any decent restaurants around, and locating one was a difficult task. The clothes shop here sell costly stuff, though shoes are cheap.

I missed the fabulous Umaid Bhavan Palace, located on the outskirts of the city due to lack of time, and proceeded to Jaiselmer.