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"Look at the fancy houses just beyond the walls. Can you see how beautiful they are? In the old town, all the buildings are pink. Jaipur is the pink city. Jaipur is the beautiful city."
Micah leaned over to me. "Where are the fancy houses again?"
"I think he said they're behind the walls over there. See those roofs?"
"You mean behind the slums?"
"Yeah."
"And this is a beautiful city? He's got to be out of his mind."
At that point, one of the other members of our tour who was sitting behind us leaned forward.
"Actually," he said, "Jaipur is wealthy when compared to some of the other cities in India. You can't even begin to imagine what Calcutta or Bombay look like."
"It's worse than this?" Micah asked.
"By a long shot. Believe it or not, Jaipur is the beautiful city."
After that, all we could do was stare out the windows, wondering how on earth people survived like this.
The Amber Fort, located six miles from the city, was built atop a hill, and is surrounded by peaks and easily defended valleys that made it ideal for protection of the Maharaja.
At the base of the fort, we broke into groups of four and rode elephants up the long, winding road that led to a large courtyard that served as the entrance to the fort itself.
It took some time for our entire group to arrive at the gates--we'd needed over twenty elephants, and they moved slowly. Micah and I quickly learned that Indian vendors were even more aggressive than those in Peru. They crowded around us in groups of four to six, all of them holding trinkets, undercutting each other's prices. It didn't matter if we said no or walked away; they simply followed us, each of them almost shouting to get our attention. If we refused a second time, they closed in tighter and spoke even louder. The people in the tour first to arrive at the fort clustered in a defensive circle, backs to the crowd, trying hard to ignore the shouts. The vendors kept at it for over thirty minutes. In the end, they would follow our group right up to the door.
We toured the Amber Fort for the next hour, marveling at the blend of Hindu and Muslim architecture. There were spacious, scenic courtyards, high-quality paintings and frescoes, and individual apartments for the dozen concubines of the Maharaja. We took photographs in front of a large garden that used an ingenious system of irrigation to enable the flowers to bloom year-round, and eventually made our way to the upper levels, where we could appreciate the fort's location from a defensive standpoint.
Yet it was the Hall of Mirrors that was most impressive. It was our first exposure to the intricate marble work for which the fort had become famous, and up close the workmanship was of higher quality than anything we'd seen. Built over ten years and using two thousand workers, the Hall of Mirrors has marble walls, inlaid with tens of thousands of precious and semiprecious stones, as well as thousands of tiny mirrors. In the evening, we were told that the Maharaja would be entertained by candlelight in front of the hall, where the stones and mirrors would reflect the gentle light. While the relief carvings of Angkor Wat had been detailed, even I understood that it was far more difficult to work with marble. Every one of the tens of thousands of inlaid gems and mirrors fit perfectly.
"It's incredible," Micah whispered. "But I think it's almost too much. A little gaudy for my tastes."
"Well, that's all right. I don't think you can find anyone who even knows how to do work like this anymore. Unless you move to India, of course."
"I don't think that's going to happen."
After leaving the fort, we drove through one slum after the next, passed through a gate, and--in a way that only India can truly surprise--found ourselves in paradise.
Our hotel was once a palace owned by the Maharaja. The rooms were laid out in cabana style, and the grounds were impeccable. Lush with trees, fountains, winding paths, and flowers, there was also a full-service health spa, tennis courts, fitness center, and swimming pool. The employees were both professional and efficient; if we so much as glanced in their direction, they rushed toward us to see if there was anything they could do. Every member of the tour was escorted to his or her rooms by individuals who not only explained the features of the rooms in exceptional detail, but offered to pick up laundry and shine shoes as well, with the promise that everything would be returned within a couple of hours. It was the most luxurious hotel we would stay in on the tour, yet no matter how nice it was, neither Micah nor I could escape the reality that we knew lay just outside the door.
In the evening, we attended yet another cocktail party and had our heads wrapped in turbans for our visit to the City Palace. There, we were greeted in typically royal fashion; contingents of guards stood at attention alongside camels, white stallions, and elephants, all of which had been decorated for our arrival. We had dinner and were treated to a show with traditional Indian entertainers, but both Micah and I were tired from the day and looked forward to nothing more than getting back to our room and crashing.
In the morning, we had two choices: We could visit the museum and various shopping areas, or simply stay at the hotel.
Micah and I stayed at the hotel. Neither one of us had any desire to leave the sanctuary of our compound, and for the first time in two weeks, we did absolutely nothing at all. In the afternoon, Micah was wearing sunglasses and a bathing suit, relaxing in a lounge chair near the pool.
"Now this," Micah said, "is exactly what I needed."
"I know what you mean," I said. "I feel sort of guilty, though. It could be my last chance to see India, and we're sitting by the pool at the hotel."
"Did you really want to see another museum and go shopping?"
"No. I'm just saying that it makes me feel guilty."
"You always feel guilty. That's your problem."
"I thought my problem was that I didn't have enough friends."
"That, too."
I opened my arms wide in mock gratitude. "That's why I like you, Micah. You're always willing to offer constructive criticism."
"I'm glad to help. Besides, someone had to take over after mom died."
"She was irreplaceable."
"You know what she was?" Micah reflected. "She was like the center of the wheel in our family, and we were all the spokes. And once she was gone, we didn't have our center anymore. I think that's why the loss hit us so
hard. Not only was mom gone, but we had to become a new kind of family. I think that's why you, me, and Dana started to get close again."
"What about dad?"
"I don't know," he said. "Part of it was losing mom, but I still think dad was manic-depressive. When mom was around, I think she was able to keep his mood swings under control. But after she was gone--well, dad didn't have a center either."
"Do you think he was a good dad? When we were growing up, I mean?"
"In some ways. Not so good in others. But you know, in the end, you have to give them both credit for being good parents simply because of the way their kids turned out. We're happily married, successful, ethical, and we remained close as siblings. If your kids can say the same thing later in life, won't you think you did a good job as a parent?"
"Without a doubt," I conceded.
In the morning, we flew to Agra, where we'd visit the Taj Mahal.
Agra held the same sights outside our bus windows as had Jaipur, with two major differences: There was far more pollution in the air, and far more roads were unpaved.
Because of the pollution, we had to change buses; to reach the Taj, we'd ride the last couple of miles in electric buses, and ended up stopping a quarter-mile from the gates.
From where we parked, it was impossible to see the Taj Mahal. What most people don't realize is that the Taj is actually part of a massive compound. Again, we waited in a long line--this one to check our bags for explosives or weapons--and we finally entered the compound. Even then, we couldn't see the monument.
Instead, we filed along a sidewalk, flanked on either side by what had essentially been apartments for guests of Shah Jahan. Up ahead and to the right was a large brick structure that served as a massive ornamental gate, and again we had to wait in line and be checked before passing through.
On the other side, however, we finally had our first glimpse of what some regard as the finest monument to love ever constructed.
The Taj Mahal was begun in 1631 by Shah Jahan, a Mughal emperor, in memory of his second wife, Mumtaz Mahal, who died after giving birth to their fourteenth child. It is, in other words, a tomb. The cenotaph honoring Mumtaz Mahal inside the Taj is inlaid with jewels and lies near that of her husband's. The Taj is one of the most symmetrical buildings ever constructed--the cenotaph of Mumtaz is directly in the center of the dome; the four corner towers are exactly the same distance from the dome; and exactly the same height.
