Wedding sense

 The five senses; taste , touch , smell, sight and hearing. For this wedding  Six Senses , the hotel owner  , provided the venue in which all the main senses were treated to an overload of perfection. 

Wedding guests numbers were limited to 150 by Covid decree. Usually weddings in India of this profile attract guests numbered in their thousands. We were indeed the fortunate few ,with guests confined to family and close friends . An intimate, relaxed  atmosphere was possible in which to truly appreciate and share a three day sensory extravaganza . Fortunately only guest numbers were restricted , an army of support discretely ensured that sensory perfection. A maharaja would have been impressed.

Rose petals are soft and tactile, but in normal life rarely handled , except when clearing fallen ones. At first we thought it was a bowl full of water with a few petal s floating . But there was no water , just petals .; and just not one bowl , paths were lined with them. So we immersed outstretched hands for this most delicate of experiences.

“Jasmine is considered the queen of flowers and is called the "Belle of India" or the "Queen of fragrance" as it is exquisitely scented to soothe and refresh.” Even the poorest of ladies, working in all activities,  add it to their sari ensemble to creat one of India’s iconic sights , and smells. All the main wedding venues were adorned with metre upon metre of jasmine flowers , cascading down from every available support , augmented overhead in meshes of profusion . The aroma adoringly veiled us everywhere.

Punjabi music throbs with the beat of powerful drums , as though demanding all to participate . Coupled with rap, then it becomes all enveloping  . A rap band pounded out until all were throbbing , and bopping with the beat . His impact was assisted by speaker volume that obviated the need for heart supporting pacemakers . Our whole bodies , not just ears , became audible receptors.  Days later the music  is still reverberating within me.

India is a vast country , with an array of cuisines to match . Spices are the common ingredient , there is no such thing as blandness. Meal after meal , and all the spaces in between  , we could feast on an unimaginable array of flavours . Those which tickled the fancy , and others that could incinerate the unwary. One morning drink was correctly labelled ‘rocket fuel’. A squadron of chefs ensured culinary perfection . we were well and truly satiated .

It was the visual impact that was the most striking . The fort itself provided the regal backdrop, now transformed into a modern  Mughal masterpiece of an hotel; added to which were flowers to adorn every spare space. The guests clothes themselves were a display of colour and sophistication; and that was just my five designer outfits ! The ladies , and especially the bride’s sari’s were a riot of colour and brilliance. At night- time lighting enhanced all by reflective brilliance . The main venue ( there were four ) was illuminated  by  dozens of floodlights , only to be augmented on the final night with thousands of tea  lights. 

A Rajasthani morn

 Day started , or rather night ended, with the call to prayer. The  mullahs in the two mosques competing for attention . As this is  not a totally Muslim country , speakers were not permitted. Judging from the audible level, not needed either . Dozing again , I was woken by an express train with hooter at full volume ; in  India rail lines are often thoroughfares for pedestrians , and the trains don’t slow for them.

So at least I was conscious to take in the sights and sounds of a Rajasthani village . This had grown up adjacent to the walls of the fort  which housed our hotel; so I had a birds eye view of all below.    The sun lit up painted buildings, which stood out in sharp relief against their neighbours. Modern development had not yet arrived here, the view not changed for decades; with the exception of four mobile phone towers ; the world over phone companies don’t seem able to cooperate. 

Just about all the buildings had flat roofs , which in themselves provided another living space. Water tanks jostled for space with drying : clothes, straw ( animal food ) , and cowpats ( fuel when dried ) . …all those cows do have their uses. ; charpoys ( string beds ideal for hot summer night ) and bathroom facilities ( buckets ).

Outside bathrooms on the roof  provide privacy as long as your neighbour decides not to compete on building height. Our fort had been neglected for years , but now housed our hotel room which rose well above the battlements. A lady in full sari was demurely scrubbing one limb at a time; so I looked away to avoid embarrassment ( mine ) . In another ‘bathroom ‘ , a  man dressed in just a loin cloth proceeded to pour a bucket of water over him; in these bathrooms plumbing is basic indeed. 

The lanes threaded though tightly packed houses. These were now filling with village life. The refuse disposal cart was an open trailer, with a tractor which played Punjabi music at each stop “ empty your rubbish now”? The ladies , of course,  were the ones depositing the family rubbish, also kept the earthen lanes immaculately clean ; despite it  being used by pigs , goats and those ubiquitous cows . A passing scooter stopped, to enable both to stare  up at my room at one of those (in)famous wedding guests …Ah me , so I hid.

A passing flock of ducks drew my attention to another window , and a view of an adjacent ‘tank’…or open reservoir. Another flock emerged, this time from under the water! . These were cormorants ( or Indian equivalent) . India is a continent of large numbers, which also applied to these birds. This tank served as an adjunct to the adjacent temple complex…and a place IN  which the local cars were washed, as well as clothes. Quite how the fish survived is a mystery.

Rising above all, fort included,  was a small hill, atop was another  temple:Chauth Bhawani . This was enhanced to commemorate the incumbent goddess saving the life of the fort’s Raja. He had ignored his wife’s premonition and gone hunting . Getting lost he was saved by following a vision of this goddess. Substantial reconstruction followed. It is heavily visited and the footpath to the top is covered the whole way. We however could not visit , for us our fort was a gilded cage .A tiger reserve was nearby  but it was the paparazzi who were rightly considered the voracious beasts.

Departure and Arrivals

The departure started routinely , but the arrival turned out to be emotionally memorable .

A car whisked us to the airport for an internal flight , Mumbai to Jaipur in 1.5 hours …India is a big country ! A sudden change from the chaos of Mumbai streets to army discipline . A battalion of  the Indian army had taken over airport security , while the local police looked on bemused and now redundant . A armoured jeep with mounted machine gun greeted  traffic ; time to obey the instructions of the heavily armed soldiers in their camouflage fatigues. At the entrance the guard remained behind a steel shield . Should I be worried that the airport was expected to be under imminent attack ; or reassured that this was a case of excess precaution . 

Leaving Jaipur airport,  it  was suddenly clear that all that security was in the wrong place . Our party of  twelve wedding guests  accompanied by a few local guides were met by a phalanx of north India’s  paparazzi ; stationed between us and the cars. Continuous flash bulbs , jostling , pushing ; we finally made it to the relative safety of our transport, not without one photographer attempting to gain that special close up from within the car itself . But we were off , thankfully without being chased by motor bike mounted photo intrusion . We had just experienced what Princess Diana had had to continuously put up with : not pleasant .

I knew that the bride was a famous Bollywood actress, I was now appreciating just how so .

 The journey to our hotel  went without incident until we approached the village , which housed our very own fort . There was a rail line to cross , and of course we timed it to meet the 20.10 express from  Delhi . Sensibly ( this is India ) the barriers crossed the whole road , so we had to park up. The locals suspecting the arrival of celebrities turned out in force . This more friendly bunch of amateur photographers took numerous selfies with us as the background . For them , it was a picture with them in it that was the most important. The barriers opened , and we proceeded through the village inhabitants who had by then all turned into enthusiastic on-lookers.

Barwara fort sits majestically on a small hill , protected on one side by a river . Access through the battlements was via a 100m tunnel ; these were thick walls indeed. We were met as if royalty. A Punjabi quartet played regional  music, staff lined up to greet us  and flower petals ( rather than hot oil ) rained down from  the battlements . Terraced gardens rose up on all sides , complete with waterfalls and twinkling lights. An assault on all the senses. For that brief moment we made to feel as a  maharaja  welcomed home.  . 

Katrina and Superlatives

Superlative: magnificent, outstanding, unparalleled ; all these apply.  So I hope I can do justice to the subjects of my blog :

India . Population 1.3+ billion , the largest democracy, with the world’s oldest religion, and that with some 33 million gods. The scale of India is awe inspiring , to some overwhelming. People and activity are everywhere . It has dragged itself from rural poverty to moon landings . Unfortunately that crashed , and there are still millions in abject property . But it is a country that is vibrant, exciting and  with a people of  infinite capabilities.

Fort Barwara .Then there was the former Mughal empire which for some 200 years  ruled most of  India and beyond.It has left behind awe inspiring structures ; the  Taj Mahal being the best known .  Another is Fort Barwara which was owned by the Rajastani royal family , and for 700 years provided secure and no doubt opulent accommodation . It has now undergone extensive restoration and conversation into a hotel , recreating that opulence . The 54 suites ( no rooms! ) transport their guests back in time, so they too can  feel a bit of that royalty . 

Bollywood , has now overtaken the US film industry to become the largest centre for film production in the world . Output is some 500 Hindi films a year , with audiences of hundreds of millions. To the western eye they are a riot of colour , singing and dancing . Stars have enormous followings , perhaps a replacement for lost royalty. 

Katrina is one of those stars with 58 million followers on instagram .( my maximum blog readership is some 35 !) .Her position reached through talent and incredible hard work.  So it was with  a degree of surprise that I received a request to speak with her  , and  at my convenience ! She invited us to her upcoming wedding . I am her uncle with whom she shares none of my non existent artistic abilities and  persona .So we are off to India , to that fort,  for days of Bollywood at its best . Apparently as’ the oldest male relative of the bride’s mother’ , I have a role to play . A total  experience that can only be superlative . 

Covid, (superlative in a negative sense), has affected nearly 300 million , and turned the world upside down . Just as many countries were inching towards something akin to normality, along comes Omicron , threatening more disruption. India is already affected,: a question mark hangs over  our presence at this wedding . So will it be a magnificent experience or unparalleled disappointment?

Slums with AC

 The sun rose over a turquoise sea which sparkled with clarity and lapped onto our white sand . We were sitting on our  deck chairs of this little bit of Maldivian paradise . An island which takes 20 minutes to walk round , with no motors , just feet. Only four buildings were greater than single story. The view to the curve of the horizon was all that sea, with just the occasional small island in the distance. 

In a blink , here we were in the centre of a metropolis of 20 +million . We had arrived into Mumbai airport and fortunately whisked along infinite corridors on a buggy . The arrival facility had 30+ passport control desks in a cavern  of a space rivalling Dubai. Outside was a green vista, where even the elevated motorway had palms and bushes along its entire  length; reminiscent of Singapore . India competing on a world stage . 

The green motorway soon merged into an 6/8 lane highway , the number of lanes dictated by the driving patterns . Since our last visit 15 years ago, acres of slums had been cleared for acres of high rise . Such is the density of people , slums still filled any remaining spaces along the road . The other notable change to these three story slums all seemed to have satellite dishes ,and some even with AC units. Clearly economic trickle-down was applying here.

In was a week-end evening and  the roads were chocker block with cars , Tuk-Tuk’s and people , people and more people ; out to enjoy a sea side space , even if a hospital visit would follow immersion . 24 stories up in our sea side hotel,  the view was a world away from Maldivian paradise. The morning sun struggled through the haze and sea looked anything but swimmable . Tower blocks stretched into the gloom . 

But we had arrived , defeating the obstacles of two countries immigration procedures , trebly enhanced with Covid barriers. For India alone it consisted of visa, Covid on-line form ,hard  copy arrival form and hard copy Covid questionnaire ; then  production at the airports of Covid vaccination certificates and PCR results .

 In the hotel we were immediately whisked into the tailor’s space for final fitting of our five outfits . We were here for a very special family event, destined to be delivered in a style applicable to this vibrant country.

Ratios

Virus Tales.  :   Ratios 

15:1

Our pilot and co- pilot sat waiting to fly our Boeing 777 eastwards towards sun and warmth . The 350 excited ( well we were ) passengers were looking forward to join them . Then I noticed another 24 Emirates staff who would be looking after us . Their role was to turn this aircraft into a flying canteen , complete with the latest movies. We were not disappointed . 

4:1

The Maldives has been called ( by “ the Island President “ ; he of underwater cabinet fame ) ..”paradise crossed with paradise”  . “ Your life jacket is …” ; but no body listens to the rest . Normally the chance of crashing , and then on water , is infinitesimal . The Maldives may be 1000 odd islands , but is 99.something water. So if our sea plane was going to come down early , then is would be on water . Now where is that life jacket . We were reassured by the presence of two pilots again , ( one of whom was our grand daughters uncle ! ) ; but this time there were only 8 passengers . 

1:1

The’ terminal’ was a 3*6 metre pontoon , fortunately the sea was calm  and  , we were quickly met with our personal speed boat . With four crew for the now remaining four of us ; this was indeed personal attention for our 10 minute transfer from the runway lagoon to the island .

 1:2

We had indeed  arrived in paradise . Isolated in our own personal beach shack ;….actually a 150m2 villa with …well everything ; which included its very own gym, sauna and outside bathrooms ,bigger than most peoples garden !We were PCR’ed to ensure the resort remained Covid free. This  island is covered in greenery , totally separating us from the other 200 residents . This time we were being looked after more staff than there were passengers on our first flight . For the few , paradise needs the support of the many.

Is it running yet ?

 Is it running yet ? well it ought to be . It hasn’t for months , it was sometime earlier this year ; so long ago that I can’t remember . Strange that time is now measured in Covid events . Was it before or after the last restrictions ? Well that is not relevant to today . We are now liberated ; can eat and drink at out favourite places . But is it running yet ?

For over a day now it has been dark, cold and the rain lashing . More like the north of England than  the south of France . The heating, and lighting, have been switched on throughout the day . We remain huddled indoors , the outside looks very unfriendly . This unforgotten phenomenon  of continuous rain has forced (me)  to check that the house is still watertight . Suitable clad in waterproof ..everything ..I ventured forth. Drains were clear , rainwater harvesting in full-bore . But it still wasn’t running.

The second day off rain it finally started . The thirst of the hills and fields had  been quenched and rain was finally running-off into our river valley ; resurrecting our very own stream . Well we wouldn’t what to lay claim to that ! After a prolonged dry spell , the heavy rain  was washing off vegetation detritus and uncollected farm waste. The river was exhibiting  a very polluted brown colour,  which the mediterranean would have to deal with .

 It took a further day for the stream  to clear ; but then less than a week for it to disappear again. We must hope for further rainfall events to replenish water resources, or should we assume that the climate has permanently changed , and plan accordingly . Something it seems all governments are failing to to do with sufficient urgency. They too are not yet running !