One overnight train trip from Old Delhi rail station, shuddering and shaking and rocking, steel grating on steel, steam whistles and chai sellers halting dreams before they begin.
The Rajasthan countryside seen from behind the safety of tinted glass, all the same, baron, sparse vegetation, concrete bunker houses scattered, Indians seeming to not care for the asthetics of archetecture, at least since Independence, function over beauty I suppose is the mindset of limited means.
The Blue City, the old town of Jodphur, houses of the Brahmin (priestly) caste painted in an ocean blue, as to provide an oasis for the eyes in an otherwise bleak atmosphere. Narrow alleyways, the blues of homes offset against the vivid reds and yellows of saris, womens passing like floating apparitions, eyes struggling to absorb , a feast for the senses. Towering impossibly above, carved into a sheer sandstone bluff in 1459 by the ruling Maharaja of the time, Meheranagh Fort, a marvel. Protected for hundereds of years against invading hordes by sheer 200ft walls, still standing watch proudly over its city. My first taste of Rajasthan, the Land of Kings, is color, everywhere, even the desert shades of brown, offset against the Muslim prayer calls echoing through the city, blazingly bright, hauntingly beautiful.
Photos in Picassa.
http://picasaweb.google.com/JeffreyHDow/Rajasthan
