CHAPTER NINE
The Hindi word for dream is sapana.
We were soon on our journey from Agra to Jaipur, with the men sitting in the front while I sat by myself in the back, listening to their chatter, catching odd Hindi words here and there. Their talk soothed me. I suddenly felt extremely tired and my eyelids became very heavy. With thoughts of the regal Taj Mahal still fresh in my mind, I saw myself as a noble Mam. My driver and bodyguard were taking me in my plush stretch limousine to yet another boring charity dinner where I would have to make small talk with VIPs, noblemen, presidents, heads of state, and celebrities. I drifted off to sleep with my imagination taking a different turn… was that me, as an Indian princess? Surely this was a dream…
In a previous fairytale life Kishore and I had met before, many hundreds of years ago prior to British rule. I was an unmarried Indian Princess, living in an enormous majestic palace with my Father and Mother, who were obviously the King and Queen. Glittering gold and extravagant jewels were in abundance and sometimes were given as a ‘thank you’ to the many palace servants who attended to our every need. Diamonds and rubies were given to the villagers who had done good deeds.
Of course, as you would expect, I, Princess Kamini, was stunningly beautiful with a delicate demeanour and of refined elegance and grace, the kind that only a Princess has. I wore sparkling, vibrant, silk saris and had bracelets on my ankles that jingled when I walked. I was, as Princesses are known to be, shy and demure.
Of all the servants in the palace I personally had the most, this included five maids whose sole job it was to choose my clothes and dress me while three looked after my long silky hair that had to be brushed one hundred times a day. More maids would attend to my bath which would naturally be filled with buffalo milk to keep my skin supple and smooth, not to forget the servants who made my bed, cleaned my clothes, ran errands… the list goes on.
As Princess Kamini what would I do all day? I would be very busy resting, preparing myself for marriage, and making sure I looked breathtakingly beautiful at all times. Men from all across the land were desperate to marry me. In fact, they were fighting one another to the death to be ‘the chosen one’, to have the honour of being my husband.
Kishore was a gorgeous, gallant Prince from a neighbouring kingdom who had already killed other suitors to show his love, desire, and determination to marry me. He met and spoke with my Father and asked his permission for me to become his wife. On gaining the King’s approval and my acceptance of his proposal, a grand and tremendous wedding was planned. Our marriage celebration would be the biggest event in decades. Kings, Queens, and noble people from all around waited with baited breath for an invitation to attend our superb event. Princesses from many lands would be envious of my wedding and the partying which would continue for a month.
Once we were husband and wife, our life together would be filled with happiness, and we would be devoted to no one else but each other. As it was my duty, I would bear many children, and our love would be so magnificent and immense that it was destined to last more than one lifetime. Consequently, we were together again in this life…
I awoke with a start, blurry eyed and disorientated, and found it hard to distinguish between my dream and reality - that I was in a car not a palace. My regal vision evaporated with a puff of smoke as I adjusted myself in my seat and realised with a twang of sadness that I was not a fairytale princess. I was in India in a taxi with my husband and a hired driver, traveling through long stretches of road from one city to another.
I rubbed my eyes and turned my head to look out of the window, the car had slowed as we passed through a small town. I noticed a skinny, brown dog curled up on the side of the road. Still in my sleepy state, I muttered out loud the Hindi word for dog 'kutta' (pronounced koot-ta). This word is not to be confused with the Hindi word for female dog which is 'kuttee' (pronounced koot-tee), which can be an abusive term used in the same way the English word for female dog is used. The men in the front seat hearing me speak suddenly exploded into laughter.
"What?" I asked, once their laughter had died down.
Kishore, still chuckling, managed to say "Good timing Julie. I was just telling Surinder that your understanding of Hindi is coming along nicely, but is limited. You were so quiet in the back seat and suddenly we heard you say kutta!"
Surinder's show of being the 'hired driver' must have loosened a little while I was asleep as he and Kishore had become very chummy; they were joking about just like old friends, although Surinder would keep a respectable distance and would not talk directly to me. He was turning out to be a wonderful choice as a driver. He enlightened Kishore about the history of the small towns we passed through and the various sights along the way. Now that I was fully awake, Kishore translated Surinder's very knowledgeable commentary to me.
The abundant greenery of acres and acres of Rajasthan farmland seemed to stretch on forever. We finally decided to stop for a rest break and our driver said he knew of a suitable place coming up. A few minutes later, he turned the car off the road and drove up a long tree-lined gravel driveway. As we rounded a small bend, a charming English style mansion emerged in front of our eyes, a hotel and café, a tranquil sanctuary in the middle of nowhere. Sunil parked the car and we were relieved to get out and stretch our legs as he headed off to the drivers only area. The extensive gardens were alluring so Kishore and I decided to explore a little bit.
As we strolled around the grounds, we found them to be meticulously maintained. We were entranced by the many blossoming flower beds, hedged archways, ponds with live goldfish, and seats placed at just the right position to admire the garden from every angle. We were so impressed we thought it could have come straight out of Better Homes and Gardens Magazine, India.
After freshening up in the bathroom, we entered the cafe. There was certainly no mistaking we were in Rajasthan as our attention was drawn to a waiter who hurriedly approached us. He had a formidable handlebar moustache, wore a red uniform, and perched on his head was a matching brightly coloured pagdi (hat). This type of hat is similar to the turban Sikh men wear, however, it sits on the top of the head, unlike a turban that is long in length and wound and bound around the head. The waiter showed us to a table and handed over a colourful menu with tempting photographs of each food item. I had never seen this concept before and thought it was a fantastic idea for tourists, because if language was a barrier the tourist only had to point to the picture of the item they wanted to order.
Every photo made our mouths water, Kishore and I decided to try the Indian style omelet, and after giving our orders to the chef, the waiter returned with a bottle of water. While the man filled our glasses, my husband had two questions for him. Firstly, he asked him about his moustache, which I saw upon closer inspection was marvelously twirled and directed upwards at both ends.
The waiter stood up taller as he proudly told us "Sir, Madam, a popular saying in India states that a Rajasthan man without a moustache is like a cup of tea without sugar."
Kishore smiled and asked his second question. “Please tell my wife and I just what is the history of this hotel?”
The waiter eagerly explained this vast estate had once belonged to an Indian noble person, and that these types of historical buildings are called Haveli's and some of them were now open to the public. Fees taken from the visitors were used for the maintenance of the historical building, to keep it, the waiter said as he twitched his moustache, “in 'tip-top’ shape.”
Our food arrived and realising we were ravenous, we enthusiastically looked at our plates. The large fluffy omelet was dotted with tomato and onion and smelt glorious. On a side plate, there was hot buttery toast cut into diagonals. To accompany our food a teapot was placed on the table complete with china teacups and saucers. Without delay, I picked up my fork and tasted my omelet, it was beautiful, melt-in-your-mouth delicious. I looked at Kishore and could tell he was hungry as he was eating voraciously, in fact, I am sure a tiger could not have stood between him and his plate.
* * * *
Back on the road, this time Kishore joined me in the back seat. His full belly coinciding with the soothing motion of the moving car was an uncontrollable force. His eyes began to droop and soon he was breathing deeply, the excitement of our day having finally caught up with him. I must have dropped off as well because I woke much later with a start. Looking outside I caught sight of the sun low in the sky and guessed it was late afternoon. We were about to enter the city of Jaipur. The 'Pink City' as it was also known, was the capital of Rajasthan. Customarily, pink is the colour of hospitality, and with this in mind in 1876, Maharaja Ram Singh had the buildings of the entire old city painted pink to welcome the Prince of Wales, who later became King Edward VII.
I gently woke Kishore. He rubbed his eyes, and with Surinder, the three of us admired the stunning pink glow that emanated from the buildings against the setting sun. The Rajasthani people wandering the streets complimented the wonderful radiance as their traditional brightly coloured clothes seemed to enhance the ambiance.
I scoured the ground, footpaths, and building frontages. I expected Jaipur to be overrun with monkeys, but to my disappointment I didn't catch sight of any. I asked Kishore to check with our driver, to see if he knew why this was so. Surinder expressed his belief that the monkeys lived mostly in the temples which jutted out from the hills in an impressive stance as they surrounded the city.
Our goal was to find a hotel for the night, and we found one almost immediately that looked promising. Leaving our driver in the car, Kishore and I headed inside. Kishore approached the reception desk and enquired the cost of one room for two, plus driver's accommodation for one night. We were studied and scrutinised by the person behind the desk, and after being told the price Kishore and I traipsed back outside to ask Surinder if this amount was reasonable. He shook his head. Surinder, with all his experience, knew they were charging an exorbitant price.
In the next hotel we tried a different tactic, Surinder parked the car and the three of us went inside. After observing me, Kishore, and our driver, the receptionist declared his price. Surinder discreetly signaled to Kishore that we should leave. Back in the car he spoke to Kishore, "They are trying to charge too much and I think I know why."
At the next hotel, I securely locked the doors when the men left me, the red headed, white skinned tourist in the car, while they went inside. It didn't take long for them to return, their grins showed me they were victorious. They had found a suitable hotel for a reasonable price, without my presence to bump up the cost.
Night had closed in as we unloaded our luggage from the car and took the elevator up to our floor. Entering our assigned room, it seemed clean, tidy, and comfortable but as this was the only hotel I had ever stayed in while being in India I had nothing to compare it to.
Surinder had headed off to park the car in the secure overnight drivers’ area. He told us he wanted to check the oil, water, tyres, and give the body of his car a wipe down. After meeting up with the other drivers he would be given a bed and a meal that the hotel supplied. Most hotels were thankful to drivers as they brought in customers. The hiring of a taxi with a driver was often done for long journeys in India, and so the driver also stayed in the same hotel as his passengers. The hotels also provided a separate sleeping and dining area for them. We would have been happy for Surinder to eat with us, but we didn’t want to make it awkward for him seeing as it was not the ‘done thing’.
After freshening up, Kishore and I headed downstairs to the dining area. As we entered the room we straight away felt a serene ambience, the place was dimly lit and the decor had warm, deep red tones. The dining area was empty of people except for two other diners sitting secluded in one corner.
A round-faced, smiling waiter offered us a table and once we were seated he handed us a menu. Kishore had already made up his mind about what he wanted to eat so he barley glanced at what was on offer. He gave the waiter our order – rajma (red kidney bean soup) and aloo muttar (potato and pea curry). Rotis and rice were automatically part of the meal. He also requested a Kingfisher beer for himself and for me a rooafzah, or as it is also known gulab pani (water with a dash of rose syrup).
While we waited for our meals, we glanced at each other across the table and unexpectedly turned very silly and giggly as if we were love-sick teenagers on a first date. I saw Kishore's love for me in his eyes. I reflected on how his demeanour had changed since we’d been married. When he was speaking to anyone, he would proudly put his arm around me and with great delight introduce me as his wife. Whatever we had been through before, all of the trials and tribulations we had faced, we were married, with two weddings to prove it. We didn't care what people thought, our love for one another was apparent and we were absolutely devoted to each other. We had remained together regardless. If people didn't approve of the saying 'love will conquer all', we did, knowing we would always be together whether 'they' approved or not.
We ate our meals with us both feeling gloriously in love and giddy in one another’s company, and in my case, I can say it was not because of the effects of sipping my non-alcoholic rooafzah.
"You know Julie, my jewel," he said, "Our names are like one word now."
"What do you mean Kishore?"
"Like Anthony and Cleopatra… Julie and Kishore, one is not the same without the other."
I chuckled a little and said "Maybe like, Adam and Eve."
"Romeo and Juliet," Kishore chimed in.
"Danny and Sandy." I added.
"Charles and Diana."
"Mickey Mouse and Minnie Mouse!"
It became a game as we each thought of a couple and tried to say it before the other, giggling until we finally ran out of ideas.
Kishore and I knew that for the rest of our lives we would be together. With all that we had overcome, we were not going to give anyone the satisfaction of us splitting up. And besides, it wasn’t something we even considered. Maybe our lives were destined. Maybe some higher power had already picked us out and ensured we would meet. Maybe in a past life, like in my dream, we were together and were ordained to be together in this life as well. Karma!
This was to be one of the few nights, since we were married, well, since we had been a couple, that we were going to spend the night alone. Having lived separately before the first time we went to India, we had stayed with Kishore’s family while there. We never had any overnight stopovers while traveling, and upon returning to New Zealand we moved straight into my Mum and Dad's house.
Don’t get me wrong, we weren’t saints, we were a normal married couple with normal feelings but alone romantic time we had not had a lot of, so tonight we were going to make the most of it.
We left the restaurant with the sensation that we were drifting on a cloud. While we waited for the elevator, we could feel the heat radiating from each other, there was no need for us to touch. When we reached our room we firmly closed and locked the door behind us. We didn’t bother turning on the lights as the room emitted a dim glow, enough to see one another’s face. Kishore turned towards me and I to him and looked straight into each other’s eyes. The words from a song entered my head 'One look at you and I can't disguise, I've got hungry eyes, I feel the magic between you and I…'
As quickly as the song came, it was forgotten as I realised my pulse was racing. I am sure Kishore’s was as well. Reaching out he pulled me, almost fiercely, into his arms. Holding me close, he nuzzled his soft lips into my neck, and brought his fingertips to the collar of my shirt, he slid it to one side so that my shoulder was bare. His hungry kisses made a sweet trail on my naked skin from the base of my neck to the tip of my shoulder. With each caress of his lips, an electric current tingled through my entire body. His fervent mouth soon found mine, we kissed deep and long, a kiss filled with love and passion. Dizzy with the feelings swarming inside me, I felt weak at the knees and had to sit down, the bed was the nearest place.
My husband joined me. We lay side by side on top of the soft, smooth bed covering made, I think, of silk, it was cool to the touch, quite the opposite to our own feelings. Reaching for each other we entwined our arms and legs in an intense embrace. Pulling back his head so that he was looking at me, I saw Kishore's eyes were dreamy, drunk with desire, "My dearest Julie jewel," he whispered, "I love you so much."
My heart was beating so fast that I thought it might burst with the love I felt for this man lying next to me. Nothing could stop the passion I felt for him at that moment. I did not reply, I could not have answered him even if I wanted to.
* * * *
We checked out of the hotel the morning after that enchanting night. Knowing we had a long day ahead of us, our driver was ready with the car motor running. With Kishore's instruction, Surnider had asked one of the other drivers the directions to Amber Road, a main tourist area of Jaipur. I could not hide my excitement; a lifelong dream for me was about to be fulfilled, something special just for me, the main reason why we had wanted to make the long journey to Jaipur.
It turned out Amber Road was not hard to find. We stopped at a parking bay, climbed out of the car, and looked out at Man Sagar Lake stretching out in front of us. Peering across the still water, Kishore pointed out the Jal Mahal (water palace). This ancient structure was impressively built right in the middle of the lake and designed in such a way to give the impression that it was floating on top of the water. As the lake was so calm, the reflection of the palace was a mirror image, so perfect that only a ripple of the water could distinguish the two. The majestic green hills provided a superb backdrop to the picturesque scene.
I took photos, but as beautiful as the view of the palace was the three of us knew we had not come to Amber Road to sightsee. Directly opposite the palace, on the other side of the road from where we were standing was the real reason we had come here. As the Jal Mahal was a popular tourist spot this was the perfect area for elephant rides, yes, elephant rides! This was my dream. I was going to ride an elephant! We crossed the more or less empty road and I gazed in awe as we watched not one, but two, elephants and a camel (a camel!) taking visitors for a ride up the road and back again. I quickly handed the camera over to Kishore and eagerly waited for my turn behind two other sets of tourists.
A metal platform had been erected to climb aboard the animals and when it was my turn, I ascended the steps. My face was beaming like a lighthouse as one of the elephants came lumbering towards me so her current passenger could disembark. The huge yet graceful animal had colourful hand painted flowers on her face, ears, and trunk. A metal seat was perched on her back under which draped a regal red and gold throw that dangled past her stomach. Venturing across to sit on her was a mission but I was able to clamber onto the seat while holding onto the sides. The 'driver' sat up high at the back of her head.
The elephant began her walk and my beaming smile did not falter, my dream had come true. Swaying from side to side, I was happy to see the driver or mahout (elephant trainer) was very gentle. The elephant had no ropes, ties, or chains attached to her legs or neck. The mahout spoke softly to the beautiful animal and she seemed happy to respond to instructions. The motion of her moving was amazing, but being so high on her back was a little daunting. We loped down the road and feeling like I was royalty, I gazed out across the lake at the Jal Mahal. If I hadn’t been holding on so tightly I would have been tempted to raise my hand and give an aristocratic wave to the palace. All too soon, we turned around to walk back to our starting point. I climbed off the elephants back with as much grace as I could muster onto the platform, and as Kishore raised his hand to help me down the stairs, I saw something that gave me a different idea.
Turning his head to see where I was looking he saw it too. The camel was standing still, waiting for its next customer. Kishore looked at me and seeing the hopeful look in my eyes, he raised his eyebrows and smiled, "Okay then." I didn't need to be told twice as Kishore headed over to the camel trainer to pay for my ride.
She plodded towards the platform and I saw a look on her face, an air of disdain, or was that camel superiority? She was not decorated with hand paintings as the elephant but instead had many gorgeous, brightly coloured blankets placed over her hump. She wore a colourful harness, and around her neck was a garland necklace of bright red and blue pom-poms.
Sitting on the camel was much harder to attempt than the elephant as there was no seat, but I found a position on top of the hump. We started our journey with a young barefooted boy who looked about ten years old leading the camel by a loose rope. The motion of her moving was completely different to the elephant and clutching a corner of a blanket seemed to be the only way to not fall off. Once again I was grateful the animal seemed at ease, both trainers talked gently to their charges and, like the elephant, I was happy to see the camel was not in chains. If they were, I wouldn’t have ridden either of them.
My adrenaline was still pumping as we ambled along the same route, up the road and back again. It wasn't long before I was reluctantly brought back down to earth, both physically and metaphorically.
With Surinder behind the wheel, I took one last look through the rear window of the car at the extraordinary animals as we began our long drive back to New Delhi.