Peace! Away from the big city. Shekhawati region

Peace! Away from the big city. Shekhawati region.

Tuesday 11 January

What a difference already from Delhi. There were few vehicles around, just a few more jeeps and the odd motor cycle or cart. The roads are single track of bitumen with a generous helping of potholes. We passed through a line of shops which reminded me very much of the Sabon Gari in Northern Nigerian towns. and then swung off the tarred road and down a few dirt tracks, finally came to a halt outside the guesthouse.

We entered the first compound, and there was the whole of Rajesh's family asleep in a raised open room, with a thatched roof above. Rajesh welcomed me in. I took off my shoes and went to sit on one of the mattresses round the edge of the room and he gave me a couple of quilts to wrap round me as it was freeeezing. What have I let myself in for, I wondered. I then realised that Rajesh was waiting for 7, when the electricity was supposed to return, in order to show me the choice of rooms. I was duly taken upstairs and shown simple but spotlessly clean rooms, picked one and thankfully slept for an hour or so.

Breakfast was chai (which I am very attached to - in winter here it is liberally flavoured with ginger) and some absolutely delicious freshly made chapati (with marmalade!) and a bowl of joghurt and banana. Felt better already!

The other guests turned up for their breakfast: two unexceptional girls from Croatia, and three women from Holland, who had come to India on an (Indian) dance tour. Typically, one was a psychologist, one a teacher and the third a dance teacher. They were good fun and I was sorry they were leaving the next day.

By 11 I was ready to explore nawalgarh, armed with a simple map by Rajesh. Simple, yes, but somehow I managed to totally lose my way and wandered for what seemed hours along dirt tracks, through fields, finally reached a tar road, but it was no use to me, as all the signs were in Hindi and nobody spoke English. Te only solution was to take a rickshaw and assume it was heading into town. Quite an adventure - the ricksaws here are larger than in Delhi, but not that large and soon I was squeezed between two men - with another three behind, facing backwards.

The rickshaw careered through the town bazaar, narrowly avoiding people, cows, cyclists and motor cyclists. Occasionally we came face to face with another rickshaw or, more rarely, a jeep. The streets were narrow - only enough space for one vehicle, with open drains on either side (just like I remember in Lagos, for example). The rickshaw finally came to a halt beside one of the towns four old gates - Podar Gate, so with some relief I finally knew where I was - for about three minutes. (It would be impossible to produce an accurate map of an old indian town, which consists of dirt tracks and clearings rather than squares, and of course, no signposts - in any language.

Then suddenly I spotted my first painted haveli - the reason I had come to this remote area, Shekawati. Narrowly avoiding smelly puddles and cowpats, I started snapping with much pleasure. They are incredible pictures - as I will eventually be able to show you - full of life and energy, many of them two or three hundred years old.

By this time I was getting pretty fed up by being accosted - mainly by small boys wanting to know my name, country etc and invariably asking for money or offering to be my guide. Then an older boy, speaking good English, turned up and started to tell me aboutthe haveli. I dot want a guide, I explained. No problem, he said, he was just a student keen to show me around. Weakly, I gave in and although later Rajesh was most disapproving, as the'boy' was actually much older than he looked and well known for leeching onto tourists. But thanks to him, I was now left alone by the other boys, and he did take me to see two or three wonderful havelis.

The usual style is two courtyards, the one behind being for the women,with screens to peer at what was going on in the front courtyard, and perhaps a connecting window through which to pass drinks and food. The havelis are usually several stories high and every surface inside and out is covered with paintings. As this is a blend of Hindu and Moghul, the paintings depict not only people and gods (an awful lot of Shiva, whom I'm getting rather attached to), but also the patterns so familiar in Moslem design.

Why these painted havelis? Shekawati used to be on the spice route, between Persia and CHina. The local merchants grew rich on the taxes they imposed on the passing trade (cannily undercutting the taxes of richer neighbours like Jodhpur and Jaisalmer)and invariably moved to Bombay or later Calcutta, but sending money back to get their houses (haveli seems to be a very large residence) decorated commensurate with their status and wealth. This all came to an end when the British built the railway which bypassed the old spice route, and then the war between india and Pakistan finally closed the route.

It was heartbreaking to see that despite the very high quality materials used in the paintings, so many of these splendid houses were in very poor condition, sometimes with modern posters pasted on top of the paintings.

Eventually I said goodbye to my guide, tipped him 20 rupees, and wandered round the old bazaar, which was great and where I was left relatively alone. There seemed to be street after street of little shops - little cells open onto the street - all apparently selling the same range of goods, there was a donkey and cart park, and a 'centre' with two large statues and a temple.

getting carried away taking photos again, I stepped back and fell over. My main concern was the camera - which thank goodness I managed to avoid dropping. People rushed to pick me up and the shopkeeper made signs that I could go an lie down if I wanted. I warm more and more to Indian people, who are on the whole gentle and generous (if only one was not a tourist!).

Needless to say I got lostagain and asked if there was anybody who spoke English. A man was brought to me and he managed to point which was the direction for the guesthouse. I thanked him, and congratulated him on his English, miming with clapping - which greatly amused the assembled crowd. One has to remember that *everything* one does here has a large audience.

Finally I found the guesthouse, and went to the roof to watch the sunset. There, to my delight, I found the two sons of Rajesh, and about a hundred other men and boys on neighbouring rooftops,flying kites. It was magical. Rajesh explained later that the 14th was the Festival of kites, and everybody was practising.

Supper (crosslegged - sort of - on cushions round a fire was delicious: spinach soup followed by a wonderful thali, and a sort of rice pudding. later Rajesh gave us some yummy sweatmeats, made in a similar way to kulfi mulai, and therefore a real treat for me. Later on he gave us pakoras, and explained these were special pakoras made on the day when they dried the corn for the year.

A wonderful end to a wonderful day.