Delhi, Agra, Amritsar. These three cities have very little in common, except the shock they cause to whoever crosses swords with them.
The Indian capital, the country’s first metropolis with its twenty two million souls, is a jumble of noise, smell and bustle. Any opportunity to escape from it, to enjoy a lull, is a godsend. But diving back into it to savour it even better is a blessing.
Fifteen times less populated, Agra could look pale in comparison and pass unnoticed if it was not home to the most beautiful declaration of love from mankind, the Taj Mahal and its absolute architectural perfection.
The profusion of gilding of Hari Mandir, Amritsar’s Golden Temple, could make heads turn, and on occasion, stomachs. But the sweetness of the Holy of the Holies of Sikhism reflecting in Amrit Sarovar’s waters, the calm serenity of the place, the infectious fervour of the faithful, quickly soothe the soul, like being out of time.
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A strange paradox. While Rajasthan is a mostly rural state, its fascination comes in its cities and their glamorous palaces, formerly seats of the local maharajahs’ power. Their hold on their kingdoms’ life was such that they neglected their modernisation, too preoccupied to maintain their rank. It is therefore not surprising that Rajasthan gives the impression of living like in the old times of India.
