Jaipur, Someone Painted You Pink

"Do you like India?"
"love India"
"Then do me a favour?"
"What's that, Abdul?"
"Will you go to the Ganga?"
"Yes, in a few weeks."
"Drop your passport in the Ganga, and live in India."
I laughed. But I am starting to give it some thought.

---------------------------------------------------------

Abdul was driving me to Amber Fort, a palace that so many people from Jaipur have proudly told me holds Jaipur's beauty. He would stop every so often and turn around with a kind smile, "Can I tell you something?" Then, in his  broken English and endearing manner of pausing to search for the right words to tell me about the history that lay before us,  he tells me about the pink city. It dates back to the 18th century and was coloured pink by royalty to welcome English authorities. The names and dates slip through my fingers, I never had much of a hold on history.

On my first day in Jaipur it was also the first day of the Ganguar festival. Like so many festivals, it is celebrated nation wide, but most passionately in Jaipur. Camels, ox, and elephants are dressed, painted and ridden by men who were traditionally dressed and adorned. Thousands of people crowded around for the parade, and with moments before it began, I couldn't see a thing. I walked along the outside of the crowd searching for a crack. The crowds were stopped by a rope that provided a large space for the entrance around Tripolia Gate. I see a few French tourists standing amongst the Indian officers beyond the rope and think "Screw this," squeeze my way through and hop over.
Front and centre in front of the gate are men armed with video cameras, and DSLRs--clearly media.
Seeing my interest the French woman beside me warned me that I could not go over there, "Pour la television."
In my broken French, I immediately replied without thinking. "Oui, je suis avec la television."
As the parade started, I slipped  by the officers, and took my place amongst the press.  I still had my MiDDAy press card that I could perhaps whip out. Unfortunaltey it was a temporary card and while I looked groggy from the 18  hour train ride from Mumbai, I still couldn't  pull off being the 30 year old, strong jawed, cleanly shaven, Ankiet Chavan.
Starting the parade was a little man, drowning in his beard. Outrageously animated, he rode to the music on, I think a man pretending to be a pony, so decorated in richly coloured textiles, including a cover for his head,  that I could not be sure.
My face was plastered to my camera, and he took advantage of the opportunity.
With a part growl, part laugh, he came inches away from my face, and I jumped back and screamed. Thousands laughed at me.
Just another day in my life.

Left my laptop in Bombay, so unfortunately pictures will have to wait...