It is an early spring morning in Jaipur and we are doing one of our favourite things in India – wandering the narrow market lanes, dodging fat cows and bargaining fiercely with sellers of marble figurines, brass cooking pots and hand-beaded bracelets.
A woman cooks flat bread through the steam that partly shields her face. Another hangs a purple and green sari across the second floor adobe balcony. A man strings orange and yellow flowers into garlands that people stop and buy on their way to the local temple.
We stop to try the perfumes being sold in tiny glass bottles. We smell patchouli, frangipani and black cobra essences and are persuaded by an eloquent local to buy a multitude of smells.
Hearing brass-band sounds; we turn the corner and join a procession of elephants, musicians and dancers. A young man grabs my hand persuading me into a slow twisting dance. Another throws flowers that cascade into a carpet that hides the dusty broken asphalt. Laughing young boys smear our faces with green, pink and blue fluorescent powder.
This is India’s colour festival, Rajasthan style. (1006)