SARI, NOT SORRY
Jill Jacques crashes a wedding party with some dancing women in Jaipur
It was a typical January day in Jaipur, northern India – cool and sunny. My travelling companions had left early for the Literature Festival we were attending, but having been struck by an episode of “Delhi belly” I elected to remain behind. By mid-morning I was feeling better and decided to explore the area around the hotel, directly across the road from which was a shanty town. Dwellings and shops with tiny entrances crowded the dirt roads, with extra shacks on rooftops, where washing fluttered on lines and piles of cow dung, to be used as fuel, dried in the sun. This is where I headed.
I hadn’t gone very far along the dusty road when I spotted a group of women in bright saris under a tree. Moving closer, I realised they were preparing for a wedding.
Every woman in India appears to own at least one magnificent sari and these were gorgeous — scarlet, green and purple with gold and silver trim glittering in the sunshine. Hennaed hands done, the women formed a circle and individuals danced within it.
An elderly woman beckoned to me to join in. I gestured at my clothes as being unsuitable, but she smiled and beckoned again. I held back, not sure what to do.
Then the piper (less affluent wedding parties often entail only a piper and makeshift drum) walked right up to me, playing, then slowly retreated, backwards, drawing me into the circle for all the world like the famous Pied Piper of Hamelin.
Once inside the circle, I danced, amid smiles and encouragement. As always, I was struck by the extraordinary ability of these people to be all-embracing, to include in their world the cows and the starving dogs and me in my jeans and takkies.
Later each of the younger women balanced pots on their heads, some filled with flowers, and drew veils down to cover their faces. They began to process down the road to the beat of the drum. The older women indicated that I should follow, and I did until I lost courage and headed back to the hotel.
Though all conducted in mime, it was a magical meeting. LS
“The Notebook” is about chance meetings and unforgettable encounters people have had on their travels. Send us your story — no more than 400 words — and, if published, you’ll receive R500. Mail travelmag@sundaytimes.co.za with the word Notebook in the subject line.