Udaipur - Lakes and Thunderstorms

I catch the early morning train (1.25am) from Pushkar and arrive at about 6am in Udaipur,
managing to sleep for about 4 hours on the train. Make my way to the hotel on the Western side of the lake. It is very nice, only one line of buildings back from the lake, which I can see from the closed terrace on top of the building. Udaipur is lovely, built around a shimmering blue lake and surrounded by green, verdant hills. It is still very hot, but a cool breeze flows from the lake. The town is quite clean by Indian standards, possibly the cleanest so far after Jaiselmer. It reminds me a little bit of towns on the French or Italian Riviera; lots of multi-coloured buildings which tumble and jostle down the sides of steep hills to touch the water below. The water in the lake looks clean. There are lots of fish and women, balanced on white steps leading down to the water are washing clothes in the sharp early morning light. They cast the clothes into the water like fishing nets, then gathering the material towards them, they scrub and then hit the clothes with large wooden paddles, the hollow beating sound reverberating across the water.

 I’m typing this now under a dark, wet sky. I’m on the top floor terrace of the hotel, overlooking the lake and the eastern part of the city opposite, just down from the City Palace. The water of the lake, once an inviting, green fresh blue, is now grey. There is a very strong breeze and rain is falling in thick, swirling curtains of water. Sheet lightening brightens the sky frequently as the dark thunderclouds roll with a deep rumble around the hills that form a natural basin for Lake Pichola. Only the hills immediately surrounding the lake are visible. Those beyond are hidden by dark, angry clouds. It has been raining and thundering for 3 or 4 hours now. I am still damp from walking around the City Palace. The rain is so heavy that it pours from two plastic pipes that jut from the guttering, a solid cascade of water into the street below, occasionally becoming an unkempt spray as the wind catches it and disrupts its ropey rhythm. The Ghats are almost empty now, with just one or two tourists standing at the water’s edge, watching the storm. The workmen that were slowly repairing part of the crumpling Ghat surface opposite are gone now, just a pyramid of stone rubble  and a section of partially worked marble balcony, laying on its side, remaining. Abruptly there is a tremendous clap of thunder directly overhead and the building seems to shake for a moment. Below there are screams, as tourists with umbrellas duck instinctively and white and red forked lightening cuts the fabric of the sky to momentarily reveal a glimpse of a jagged infinity beyond the tear. There is a power cut in the hotel and in the City. Apart from the lights on cars and motorcycles as they cross the three bridges I can see over on my right, I cannot see any other lights across the city. The city orchestra of vehicle horns, point and counterpoint, with occasional prolonged and angry interjections, plays out with slightly less vigour and intensity as usual. 

Suddenly there is a light on an arch opposite. The round street lights on the bridge have come on. The city is being illuminated again. The fans in the ceiling of the terrace have started to turn. There are voices in the streets below, the sounds of commerce returning. The glowering sky is less angry now, lifting, light grey and white and in the East, and above the skyline of conical temple tops and telephone masts, a sliver of orange tinged cloud can be seen.

In the evening I eat at a very posh roof top restaurant called Upre. The air after the prolonged downpour is clean and fresh. The food is fantastic and the views of the Eastern side of the City, narcissistically gazing at its own glistening reflection in the waters of the lake below, are very beautiful.

Lake Pichola

Early morning chapati making at a small shrine to Vishnu

Lake from City Palace side

Let's get things into perspective shall we?

Stop, no, Go, no, yes...errrm

She loves me, she loves me not...

Honey? It's over there!

Separating the wheat from the chaff