Jaipur is not only entertaining and funny, but also a monster.
It is the city with the most foreign tourists, not surprising given the special highlights. But meanwhile there are more than 3 Million people living here, the air is polluted by the exhaust fumes of the thousands of buses, motorbikes, rickshaws and cars, fighting for space in the partially narrow streets.
Everything I have seen so far (with the exception of Old Delhi of course) lies way behind in terms of noise, smell, heat. When you walk (in my case all the time), the danger of being run over is permanent. Of course you get used to it, you are completely concentrated every moment, jumping aside at the last moment. This is what the inhabitants of this extraordinary city experience year in, year out, every day.
But what the hell – today I fight my way through bad air and traffic and stench to the highlight of the city, the Palace of the Winds, the Hawa Mahal.
The Palace of the Winds
That the famous Palace of the Winds is actually not a building at all but just a beautiful facade, is not noticeable at first sight. I am standing admiringly in front of the Palace, amazed as a million other tourists at the arquitectural marvel and nevertheless I notice that something is wrong.
Only when you enter, in the middle of other aficionados, you suddenly realize that you are being fooled. But there is a special reason for this, which is not apparent at first glance.
The construction served the numerous ladies of the court, who were not allowed to go among the common people, as an observation post, especially during the popular processions. They saw, heard and smelled everything from the street, but could not be noticed from the outside due to the construction. The façade got its name because of the sophisticated air circulation, which always let a fresh breeze flow through the rooms.
I'm impressed. The Maharajah must have truly loved his concubines by granting them this rare favor. Or does the old, albeit unspoken, assumption holds true that neither the Maharajah nor the king or the emperor has the balls in the family, but the women.
The city palace, built in 1890, stands between gardens and courtyards in the middle of the city centre, surrounded by high walls and is open to the public as the "Maharajah Sawai Mansingh II Museum". Descendants of the ruling family still inhabit a part of the palace and on formal occasions family members pass through the large Tripolia Gate of the southern city wall in an elaborate procession.
It is not surprising that beside the many foreign tourists, mainly Indian visitors populate the palace. And of course, the peculiar construction that can be climbed via all kinds of stairs and steps is a popular subject for a million selfies.
I, on the other hand, a bit slack in the heat, sit down on a narrow ledge looking out at the world through a grid-like opening, seeing everything, hearing everything, smelling everything, just like the ladies of the house long ago. And now finally I understand the irresistible charm of the construction. Visible and hidden at the same time.
Just awesome.
The World Tourism Day
I didn't know that there is something like the World Tourism Day at all.
Huge posters already draw my attention to it on the way to the museum. That doesn't mean anything, because in the close vicinity there's an equally large poster pointing to an equally unbelievably important event that took place a good two years ago.
But at the latest in front of the museum I recognize the special nature of the day. Enormous (that really means something in India!) queues of young people are standing at the entrance. Damn it! That's not I was looking for. I would like to visit once, just once, some place where I don't have to fight my way through dense clusters of other visitors.
A special visitor?
And then, at the entrance, a pretty young lady in a tight-fitting uniform takes me aside.
She welcomes me officially (!?) and puts a beautiful yellow flower garland around my neck. I'm a little bit perplexed, I don't know what this is all about, because I'm obviously the only visitor given this honour.
A mix-up? Does the lady believe that I came here incognito, i.e., disguised as a somewhat run-down, slightly tarnished official representative of the UN Organization for Tourism?
Wow. Flattered, though slightly irritated, I enter the museum, and indeed, if the uniformed men at the entrance went down on their knees at the sight of me, it wouldn't be surprising, in any case they bow majestically, and I, completely absorbed in my new role, give them a gracious smile.
The museum is actually packed. Small children in their kindergarten uniforms hold each other by the shoulders and walk obediently from one painting or whatever to the next, listening quietly and with concentration to the explanations of their teacher and all cheesing when it comes to taking the inevitable photo.
The older ones, on the other hand, whole school classes, find it hilarious - if they're not taking a selfie - when they discover my flower wreath. I'm the laughing stock of the day, so to speak, but that doesn't bother me much, so at best I give them a smug nod in return.
The Central Museum
In the south of the city, the green areas of the "Ram Niwas Park" cover an area of over 145.000 m². Named after Ram Singh (1816-1885), who ruled Jaipur from 1835 to 1880 and drew up the plans for the park himself. On the grounds of the park is the "Albert Hall".Which was designed by the British architect Samuel Swinton Jacob (1841-1917).
Built over a period of several years starting in 1867, the building is a mix of contemporary British designs and Indian architecture in the Mughal style. It houses the "Central Museum", which exhibits an Egyptian mummy, early Buddhist and Hindu sculptures, miniatures from Rajasthan, a weapons collection, textiles and ceramics (Wikipedia).
A dream remains a dream
The heat is unbelievable on this day (as on any other day probably). The cool halls of the Central Museum offer just the right mixture of a breeze and amazingly cool floors.
I would like to stroll through the museum alone, perhaps on a freezing winter's day, when all potential visitors have gathered around the warm stove (quite unlikely in this area), stopping here and there, looking at the unique works of art with due reverence.
After all, the museum has a rich collection of artifacts, including paintings, jewellery, carpets, ivory, stone, metal sculptures and works in crystal. The collection includes coins from the Gupta, Kushan, Delhi Sultanate, Mughal and British periods.
Yet today this dream remains what it is, a dream. There are moments when I get stuck in dense clusters of visitors, where it is no longer possible to go forwards or backwards. It's best to simply take a deep breath and enjoy the moment. This is India too.
An illusion
And yet – perhaps amidst the visitors, the laughing and chattering and selfie-making visitors, I feel for the first time a heavy tiredness in my bones, in my muscles, in my head.
But for once it is not the heat, it is something else.
When you go on a journey, you leave behind a lot of problems and other crap. Not all of them, but some. For a while you are convinced you are a different person, one with freedom, with peace and calm.
But that's an illusion.
Just like at home, we are knee-deep under pressure to perform, which is fed to us Westerners with our mother's milk. And instead of freedom, peace and calm, we keep running, we cannot help it, and although we know and notice it, we succumb to the inner imperative to run from one place to the next.
Until something happens, like today, from one moment to the next.
Towards the end
Because suddenly I realize that my journey has come to an end, that here in this strange place everything that has made up the last weeks is coming together again.
In economics one speaks of diminishing marginal utility, and that's exactly how it seems to me. I am so full of impressions that every additional painting, every world-famous and unique treasure, every sword that a mogul once wielded no longer brings any additional use, on the contrary. Through the more, the too much, it endangers everything that has gone before.
It would almost certainly make me want to run screaming ...
As a result, I slowly walk back to my hotel, put my tired legs on the bed and let the last weeks pass by my mind's eye ...
P.S. Matching Song: PJ Harvey - The Wind
And here the journey continues ... back to Delhi
