desert blooms: the women of rajasthan

Desert Blooms in Rajasthan

Desert blooms.

That's what the women look like to me. Blossoms, grown up all along the roadside, in bursts of unimaginably bright pink and red shades. With swaying hips these flower women walk, faces carefully hidden underneath veils of burgandy and plum, bodies cloaked under yards of fabric. Dark eyed and expressionless, these mothers and daughters of the desert live, draped in the colors of an acid carnival dreamland.

Rajasthan in the summer is a land of dust and sunlight. Rocky hillsides are flanked by browning underbrush and stones, and the khaki colored earth yields almost nothing green. Everything, it seems, is a variation on a theme of brown and tan, a world streaked with the color of burnt clay. The few flowers that do manage to bloom forth are carefully tended, almost always a part of a tourist attraction or rich man's garden. Even the trees here are withered and dry, thirsty and leafless without the help of a gardener's hand.

Against this harsh landscape the women of Rajasthan blossom, the most colorful beings for miles around. In oranges and deep purples, lime greens and sky blues, the true flowers of the desert glow. The women themselves seem small and delicate, and yet the colors they wear are those of queens and warriors. Even the meekest of ladies is transformed when wearing such bright hues on her back and arms; even the plainest of faces becomes strangely beautiful under the glare of such passionate shades.

It is interesting that the favorite colors here -- all things bright and bold -- are deeply rooted in tradition. Certain colors combinations may be worn only by specific segments of the population. For example, women who have given birth to a son sometimes wear yellow and red together, which is off limits to mothers who have not had a male child. High caste women do not wear the same muted colors that the dalits (below caste) must dress in. Even choice in jewelry, an integral part of the Indian woman's costume, is rooted in Rajasthani tradition. Bangles and toe rings belong on married ladies, and the better crafted and larger the ornaments, the richer the wife is.

While the saree is commonplace all over North India (including Rajasthan), the most popular form of dress for women here is one native to the area. Consisting of four pieces, there is a long skirt, a long blouse, shorter over-blouse, and head covering. The veil alone is 10 feet long and 5 feet wide, and takes a lot of practice to handle -- I would know, because I tried! The sheer amount of fabric involved in being a properly clothed Rajasthani women is daunting, and seems like it would be suffocating in the extreme desert heat. Flesh is carefully hidden away, including bellies and the tops of arms. However, being so well covered is, in fact, a wonderful way to beat the heat, and the clothing is made from fabrics that breathe well.

To dress so finely, and so beautifully, is an amazing thing. These women, despite all the hardships of their lives -- drought, death, poverty, sickness -- walk with a fierce pride and determined step. Just as flowers may be trampled on and yet spring back, these women suffer through periods of misery, but come through it all with the bearing of Rajput princesses. In their pink and red clothes they live life, the true blooms of the desert.

Goats on Motorcycles

welcome to rajasthan, land of the motorized goat

It was in Rajasthan that I saw my first goat on a motorcycle.

And, let me tell you. Goats do not like being on bikes. They squirm, shake, moan -- anything they can to get out of their tethers and back onto solid ground. I didn’t realize any of this until after my sixth or seventh motorized goat viewing, however. All I knew during that first goat viewing was that I probably shouldn’t be surprised that, in a country where a woman had recently married a cobra, someone else had decided to transport livestock via motorbike.

I won’t lie, though. I was shocked at seeing a goat strapped to a motorbike. Cobra weddings aside, seeing motorized livestock is pretty strange. India, however, has a wonderful way of making the unusual seem normal. By my third biker goat viewing I was able to calmly say, “oh, look. There’s another goat on wheels. It looks mad.”

They had reason to look angry, too. The goats in question would be strung up, legs tied together with rope. The animal would either be slung across the back of a motorcycle like a sack of flour or else held tightly by the driver. Every now and then there would be several goats at a time on a bike, which made me very nervous -- I hadn’t come to India to witness animals getting hurt (or run over) after falling off of motorbikes. Luckily, every goat I saw stayed on board and intact.

It was also in Rajasthan that I saw my first camel. That is, my first real, authentic, working camel. It's one thing to see them in a zoo, but another thing entirely to see a lumpy humped creature walking down the side of a busy road. Eight feet tall and with legs longer than a supermodel's, that first camel I spotted was a regal creature. He walked alongside traffic like an elderly Persian king, head held high in the air, mouth quivering while full of cud.

I was completely and utterly taken with the sight, and tried to snap as many photos as I could from my car. I felt like I had stepped into a modernized version of Arabian Nights, replete with veiled Rajasthani women, camels and goats. This feeling only increased after the next sight I saw -- an entire train of camels, plodding along in a row. Ah, I thought, an entire noble court of dromedaries! This was a nice illusion for a period of time until reality stepped in. My princely camels were, in fact, unabashedly pooping on the side of the road. Their regal heads were marred by noses pierced through with metal and wooden stakes, and unlike any Persian king in the history of the universe, these creatures were working as day laborers, pulling overloaded wagons of concrete and brick.

Later in the trip (but still in Rajasthan), I had a very bad experience with one particularly irritated camel. My short lived love of these beasts ended at the exact moment I almost got bucked off the Double Humped Antichrist. That tragic moment will be written about, but for now, I will stick to those first blissful days of camel love.

Oh, and for any goats from Rajasthan reading this blog -- good luck with those motorbikes!