Editor’s Note
This excerpt from “A Weaver’s Song” captures a moment of profound artistry, where the physical craft of weaving is inseparable from the cultural soul of its music. It is a vivid reminder of the human skill and tradition woven into every thread.
The master weaver stands up and begins to sing. His voice, a pure and true high trill, resonates through the carpet warehouse, making my hair stand on end and giving me goosebumps. Sitting cross-legged beside him, three members of his family work in unison, their fingers tying hundreds of threads in a hypnotic hand dance. At the feet of the small group, a carpet of incredible complexity unfolds on the floor; orange hues blend with reds and ochres, framed by a midnight blue border and tea-colored tassels.
It is a beautiful scene that perfectly encapsulates the city. Located five hours southwest of Delhi and at the entrance to the desert state of Rajasthan, Jaipur is a place that stimulates creativity, where craftsmanship is of supernatural quality and work is still largely done by hand. The region has long captured the imagination of artists, especially since Maharaja Sawai Jai Singh II made it a tax haven for artisans in 1734, a decision that attracted the most talented masters from across the country.
I leave Abhay and get back into my rickshaw. In line with the Maharaja’s vision, some streets are still dedicated to different trades today: at Chokdi Gangapol, it’s carpet making. We bounce along under a welcome breeze that cuts through the thick midday heat and spreads an intoxicating smell of spices from the food stalls lining the narrow street.
I signed up for an art-focused tour with the Pink City Rickshaw Company, an inspiring business that trains vulnerable women to become guides. Our smiling guide for the day, Bhagya Singh, is the embodiment of good cheer. She takes us to watch metalworkers hammer silver into paper-thin sheets at Subhash Chowk, before we arrive at Mishra Marble Creation and I suddenly find myself surrounded by Hindu deities, snow-white elephants, and huge tigers so realistic they seem ready to pounce.
Dust fills the air as we watch an old craftsman wearing a scarlet turban chisel a piece of marble, transforming rock into art.
Indeed, the city’s architecture is so dazzling that it is a work of art in itself. At least that’s what crosses my mind as we pass under the Chandpole Gate and enter the old town. This fortified area, over 300 years old, constitutes the historic heart of Jaipur. It is a labyrinth of small alleys, bazaars, and temples, much of it painted a light terracotta hue, which is why Jaipur is known as the “Pink City.”
Diwali is fast approaching and the streets are packed. Jaipur’s four million inhabitants all seem to be out, and the stalls selling saris, spices, and other wonders are so close together that it’s hard to tell where one begins and another ends. To our left, the City Palace, a masterpiece of Mughal design dating from 1727, rises behind ocher walls, as we stagger over potholes before Bhagya and I part ways in the Johari Bazaar.
Suddenly, I am surrounded by gemstone sellers offering “the most beautiful emeralds in India and diamonds as clear as glass.” It’s intoxicating, very stimulating, and deafening. I find myself being pulled from one shop to another, as street vendors present handfuls of what look like precious stones as if they had dipped into a candy jar. This market is famous for its handmade jewelry, another of Jaipur’s famous crafts, although quality and price vary enormously, so caution is advised when shopping.
