Udaipur

Please excuse the following journal entry. I wrote it half-asleep. So if you find it cloying, sorry! It's the only thing I wrote about Udaipur, a place we both loved, so I had to include it.

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I think Udaipur will always be romance for us. Across the lake, two palaces. One in stone, one in water. Move 45°. Two more palaces. Solid form white marble, wavering cloud water under. Our room had an alcove, curtained in. Inside, like a cushioned sailboat. Light-resting sunset. Light-pushing sunrise.

The ghats. An old woman unfurls her grey braid, unfurls red cloth and flings it out into the water. Slaps on stone. Scrubs. Slaps on stone. Flings out. Hanging wrinkled brown bare-breasted submerges into green water. Hair gnarled, grey, dripping wet rag.

Chaos of streets. Touts. Holy men half-naked crouched spindled legs on temple stairs perched like crows. Licorice turban, strange music. Dance in a haveli. The older women know something. Their balance. Their grace, precision. Tiny cymbals hang on their bodies, and they clang out the rhythm. Lights hang on their kohl-rimmed eyes. They know something.

A hand-mirror palace, ghat, palace, bather. Lights hang in two places. Smell of feces, cardamom.

Call to prayer, clink of bells. Ring of voices.