Local Life

Rajasthan is semi desert, so getting water is a major pre-occupation. The towns were located where water could be collected, and retained within artificial lakes constructed many years ago, but subject to droughts nevertheless. The famous Lake Palace hotel at Udaipur was set within an area of dried mud in recent years.

The lake also serves for cleaning clothes.

In the towns, there may be piped water, but only actually available at certain times. At Jaisalmer within the walls, it was 6am to 7am. In one village, a local told us, different religious groups and castes used to have separate wells, each with a temple nearby to discourage enemies from polluting that group's supply. In the country, irrigation water came from wells, sometimes mechanically powered, but sometimes bullock-powered. 

The range of the irrigation channels can be clearly seen, where the ground is brown.

The bullocks raise the water from a considerable depth.

Village and town life is much more open to be seen by passers by. Sewing, welding, cooking etc. On one occasion we were invited to watch an elderly potter.

He could create a simple pot in about 20 seconds. I do not know how the wheel balanced

While we were in Mumbai, we took a train excursion to the Matheran hills, starting from the Victoria Terminus.

A million passengers a day pass through this station, that outdoes even St Pancras in Gothic excesses. Foreigners have some privileges in buying rail tickets at city stations

.

.....along with freedom fighters, the physically handicapped etc

We knew that travelling on suburban trains with a crush load of 500 passengers per carriage, was likely to be a culture shock, so we chose to travel on a Sunday, and first class. The first class fare is about 10 times the ordinary fare, but this means there is a great temptation to avoid the crush by just jumping into first class. This is made easier by the fact that the sliding doors do not shut, and in any event, there were ceiling straps for 33 standing passengers in our compartment. Unsurprisingly, when a ticket inspector boarded, the crowds in our compartment miraculously thinned. Two of those who failed to make good their escape were manually apprehended and forcibly removed at the next stop. However, the elderly gent in the corner who looked incapable of mustering even a second class fare, was charitably left undisturbed. It perhaps hardly needs saying that the trackside views through mile after mile of slum were appalling, with polythene sheeting being the house-making material for millions of people.

Our destination was in the country: the Matheran Hills.

Next: the Matheran Hills.