A Village for All

This article carries an infamous potential to break your heart or make you angry in the duration of its read. If you think, crticism or appreciation both are just perspectives, then you may go ahead. Any sort of comment is okay, I shall welcome it with all my strength.

Stories are born out of obscurity, do you concur? Clarity begets disinterest, it kills the dance the listener does when there is a mystery. It’s easy to judge but where the judgement takes a path, that really matters. I’ll talk about a few major judgements(of course there are more) I still carry, and nothing really has been able to change them.

Kolkata is a woman with soulful mysteries, Mumbai is a streetwalker who can sell everything, Darjeeling is a forest of my beloved hopes, Koraput is a rustic virgin who has lost its hope on finding its prince charming, and so on. What about Udaipur?

Is it an irony how in the land of deserts, there stays the City of Lakes? It carries all the love it got from people, like a keeper. It makes you smile that your heart carries the love you await to give to your lover. It made me wonder how amid the staunch patriarchy and orthodoxy, women danced with such passion and grace. A seventy year woman dances Bhavai as if she’s a teen-ager who is going for water for the first time, then she walks on glass and comes out un-harmed as if she had the time of her life and bows down to her admirers and maybe prays that her art will live a hundred years.

This man in the picture above played Khamancha by the lake Pichola. His eyes were red, I don’t know from sun he was just inspired. People came to him, some to listen to his music and some to get chages for a higher denomination. He was unfettered and kept on playing as if he had earned an arrogance that his Khamancha has given him. I promised him (in my mind) that I will come the next day, but I didn’t. That’s why I never promise.

They weren’t just kings, they were people who made palaces for Summer, Winter, and Monsoon and monuments to signify their religious travels. What else, would one do with so much money? Create jobs. Well, they did.

Their victory and their egoes were evident in their entirety on those walls. It made me doubt a human-being’s quest for freedom. How a woman could hide behind the walls and veils for years because she is someone’s wife! But, until the story of the hunt is told by the lion, the tale of the hunt will always glorify the hunter.

And the breath took a jump here. (see the above picture) 
I refrain from sharing anything else about it, since I don’t want to be a spoiler. Be there, and let me know about your experience if I played a part to make you go there.

Udaipur still makes me long for it. I don’t remember if any place except for my home(s) made me feel that way. I thank all the people who made it worth a journey.

Like what you read? Give Jyoti Mishra a round of applause.

From a quick cheer to a standing ovation, clap to show how much you enjoyed this story.