The blushing city

You know how they show you palaces, men in pagdis and women in ghagra-cholis, sunsets behind forts, and hugeass thalis, when they want to show Rajasthan? After six days in Jaipur, I can say that that's true of Rajasthan, to a significant extent. While showing Mumbai, there'll be the Gateway, or the Sea Link, or Colaba, and yet there is so much more, and I'm not even talking about the "spirit" or anything. But not Jaipur, no. The degree of accuracy in the portrayal of the city is surprising. Around every corner, on every street, is a building with a beautiful tomb-like top, intricately designed walls, doors, and windows. Hotels are constructed like palaces. Restaurants have haweli-like royal interiors, with plates, spoons, glasses made out of silver and even gold. 'Kesariya Balam' blares on the streets in the evenings. The sunsets are of course handsome. The bazaars will, frankly, put Colaba Causeway to shame; both in terms of appearance, and product pricing. And I won't start about the weddings.

And when all that is great, the real deal is their Chief Minister, the royal Vasundhara Raje. I didn't know her political position 'til five days back (she is also Madhavrao Scindia's sister, if you've heard of him). She gave a short speech at the inauguration of the Jaipur Literature Festival, for which I was in Jaipur. And oh man, she blew our minds. Clad in a plain mango coloured silk saree paired with a black blouse, minimal semi-traditional jewellery (that included a bomb nose stud), there she was, casual as you or me, speaking impeccable English and Hindi, managing to reach six year-olds and eighty year-olds alike. She was not the daughter of a royal family, not the Chief Minister of Rajasthan, but a bookworm and a literature nerd talking to a thousand other literature nerds. Also pretty chill about reading past bedtime with a torch under the blanket as a kid, herself. #WomanCrush (You'll forgive me for putting that hashtag there?)

You should know that while this was going on on stage, the temperature was ten degrees, the sun hadn't come out properly yet, and we were at a tented venue, with grass on the ground, and trees all around (cheeky rhyme unintended). So it was mighty hard to focus on speeches, but they were so brilliant! You couldn't not listen if you tried.

One thing this festival taught me was never to underestimate someone.

Margaret Atwood was to give the keynote address. I'd only read her quotes here and there. When I looked her up I found out she was very old, wrote novels in genres like historical and dystopian fiction, made poetry, and was the inventor of some fancy robot writing thing. When she began speaking, however, she made some puns that'd give Kanan and Biswa a run for their money, and mean jokes that'd make Rob Denbleyker tear up. In an interview later, after she declared that she's no good with fantasy and all the dragon-y stuff, she said she preferred Tolkein's dragons to GoT dragons because the latter only breathed fire and didn't talk a lot.

By this time I had found a way to keep the cold at bay - chai. Creamy, milky, masale-wali chai, in a kulhad. The day looked better then.

That's how the first day begins. I am bowled over by the number of venues and where they are located, because my sense of direction is downright dreadful. I bet some of my friends are nodding their heads in agreement right now.

The day went by smoothly...if you didn't see me shivering towards the evening. I learned about a feminist/bhakti Tamil poet from the 8th/9th century, came across Reema Abbasi, a journalist from Pakistan who knows how to shut people up, and, I discover I can't understand heavily accented English, I don't know enough Indian history, I love Karan Johar but not as much as standing on my toe tips to hear him speak to Shobhaa De, for an entire hour, and sunset brings back the cold, which is now only more intense.

For the next days, I decided to be more careful while picking sessions.

So, the second day was a hotchpotch of sessions that shocked me, made me go "hmmm", and let me have a hearty laugh. I learned things about the Emergency that my history books hadn't taught me. I got know of Jerry Pinto, a Mahim-wala-paavwala, ("say something, bugger!") a poet, and a complete gem. He recited Jabberwocky by Lewis Carol at the end of his session called 'Some Ways Not To Write Poetry', which was the first of its kind that I'd ever seen.

Another hilarious guy, Sidin Vadukut, an MBA-turned-writer, with the most unusual sense of humour that makes you laugh and introspect at the same time.
I was beginning to get very sick of iPhones, because everyone who came to the Festival seemed to have one, and probably didn't know how to turn the ringer off.

The next day was a rather dull one. The weather was no longer a concern; God had shown mercy and the temperature was thirteen degrees or more. I was slowly able to map the venue in my head. It was not easy but I managed. As for the sessions, I couldn't make out what Thomas Piketty was saying. And I realised I didn't care about 'what makes superheroes'. And then afternoon onwards the day just dragged. Food did make it all better, but you finish food, and then it's back to being morose. Meh.

The fourth day was interesting. I went in unplanned and ended up staying till the last session. The highlight, of all the sessions, without doubt, was Gulzar. The biggest venue at Diggi Palace, the place where this happens, was more crowded than a Karjat Fast during a megablock. I am not joking. I was not surprised, of course, but you can't fully anticipate a crowd like that 'til you're there yourself.

White kurta and pyjama, white hair, glasses, and his humble smile. The silence that followed, when he began to talk, and then recite some of his poems, was haunting. Nobody bothered to take out their phones to take pictures. Nobody spoke. Nobody took their eyes and ears off him. And it was beautiful. I could cry now even thinking of that intensity inside that tent.

Today was the last day, and we couldn't go, because our flight was advanced (Fuck you, Air India, but thanks for the food).

We went shopping almost everyday, in the evenings, or just whenever we got time, really. And if I may, I'll just tell you this - the shops outside Jantar Mantar are. A. Steal. Skirts, kurtas, scarves, e a r r i n g s. Buy. It. All.

And you must go to Bapu Bazaar. Wonderful stuff. You could even ask for chai/coffee at a fancy shop (if you plan to buy something, of course) and they'll offer laddoos/biscuits/anything with it. 

PS Nothing much, just that I forgot to mention William Dalrymple's "Let the games begin!" at his inaugural speech.