Today's Thoughts...
Jaipur is hot. Rajasthan is hot. Typically, the desert is hot particularly in hot season—small fact we somehow overlooked. Boiling (literally my skin felt like it was going to slide off my face), we arrived at the eclectic and wonderful Peacock Hotel. Our jaws dropped. Palatially-sized rooms, strong arctic breezes from desert coolers (sort of like a water-powered aircon unit/fan with something resembling a bird’s nest tucked inside; still uncertain of exactly how the contraption worked), oversized king beds, shimmering bathrooms with no sullied streaks of unknown sources—we were in heaven, Peacock Heaven.
Immediately we plopped down on the beds (after a brief rendezvous on our balcony (a balcony!)) and straightaway passed out. When we woke it was dinnertime, which was the perfect time, chowing down on undeniably delicious curry, paneer, aloo, and even some sneakily weaseled warm and large Kingfisher beers. Subsequently and logically, we then we slept some more. In fact, when I think about it, when not trekking on foot in the searing heat or snapping shots (or shots being snapped of us) at national sights, we spent much of our time in recovery from the heat and chaos, sleeping. Not that I minded one bit.
Our reserves replenished, we took to the streets of Jaipur the next day. Suddenly every rickshaw driver was our best friend, every rickshaw our own private “Indian helicopter.” It was hot, the streets long, but we pressed on, politely declining every overeager offer for a ride. Wandering down a random alley, we found ourselves in the midst of one of the inner city’s bazaars. Suddenly the street narrowed to a shoulder by shoulder width and people suddenly appeared bursting from the crannies, cracks, and crevices of every building in sight. The mouth-watering smells luring us ever deeper into the fracas, we stopped at a firepit on the side of the street for samosas. Giggling children, gaping adults, shifty-eyed youngins— all stared in wonder, snickering behind their hands. A small child tried to thump my rear as he passed, chuckling with his friends. I turned and bum-bopped him right back. He squealed, jumped, and raced on laughing.
Fried savories devoured, we wound our way on through the silver market, the gold market, the metal market, the clothing market, the shoe market, the meat market, the veggie market, the market market stopping only to climb our way up the dizzying spiral staircase of a large minaret to see the city skyline. Our tireless guide (and by guide I mean the rando dude standing at the base of the minaret who followed us up and explained in lilting tongue something about a fort and a king and a son and a death and many things I found difficult to concentrate on while gazing into the exquisite midday horizon. Eeerrrrttt! Rewind. So when have you heard me tell a story that didn’t have some rando-crazy-nuh-uh-hold-up kinda ridiculousness goin on?
Oh we wound our way through the streets alright, bobbing and weaving in and out of gorgeous sari fabric shops and precious blacksmith handicraft stalls (prompting my purchase of a several kilos miniature brass theater mask—when am I going to use that again? Right. Never.) And that’s when Allison noticed her. A young woman, not more than thirty, in a faded blue sari, walking not more than twenty paces behind us. I thought she looked a little off particularly given her wild and untied/unbraided hair, so uncharacteristic of most women we saw, but I shrugged and ignored it…until we saw her behind us after nearly half an hour of our wanderings. That’s when I noticed her mildly unfocused gaze and battered appearance. We both turned around stared at her with that cold excuse-me-can-I-help-you? face, but she just stared off into space as if she couldn’t see us. Five minutes later, she was still there. We stopped again, glared again, and this time made gestures for her to get-going. Not a moment’s hesitation, she walked closer, further still. Allison was getting agitated and for that matter so was I. She turned and shouted something at her. People looked, but she did nothing. Didn’t ask for cash, didn’t want a photo, didn’t try to snatch our purses, didn’t appear to want to shank us—I mean our thusfar vocabulary in random street interactions was exhausted and we could find no meaning to her madness. Yet she crept uncomfortably close still. It was unsettling.
Finally, we both turned around, marched to her, which certainly took her by surprise, and demanded to know who she was and what her deal was. Allison threatened to call the police (both of us fully aware that meant nada) and I told her that if she was going to follow us for nearly two hour she darn well better have a good reason for it and grrr! She stared back with sneering eyes (yes, sneering eyes). (A test! Aha! She DOES speak English!) Did we offend you? Hurt you? Wrong you in someway? She just stared. Well, if you've got nothing to say, then GO! I bellowed. She jumped a little and backed up a step. GO! Allison repeated. Still sneering with those now very clearly focused eyes, she backed away only to hide behind a wall and glare. I sighed, shook my head, and that’s when I spotted the minaret. So as Mr. Bubbly Bopping tour guide droned on about something I barely remember, I was searching not merely for the beauty of the Jaipur skyline, but for the trail of our sulking, slinking, spectral companion in the crowds below. Deciding the coast was clear, we descended once more into the melee. Encounter one of five million of inexplicable strangeness.
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