Adam BrooksNovember 26, 2009

Professor Gajendra KumarTheory, Culture, and Representation – Assignment 6

Anachronism from the Rooftops of Jaisalmer

The first walk through a town’s streets can be memorable, but to witness its whole

from above is often unforgettable. Anytime I reach a new and unfamiliar place, I make a

point to entitle myself to the view from its rooftops. Such a vantage point affords

perspective not only on the area’s physical development, population and space, but also its

identity. In the case of Jaisalmer, Rajasthan, its twists, turns, and dead ends aren’t merely

structural; they’re chronological. They are insights to the contrast between what was then

and what is now.

Fifteen hours train ride from Jaipur, the desert

town of Jaisalmer welcomes hundreds of thousands of

tourists, both Indian and foreign, every year. It was a

town of royalty for over a thousand years, into the

period of rule under those supported by the British

Raj. Traces of its grand history remain in the presence

of its many havelis and imposing fort. During the same

period, the town also enjoyed economic flourish as a popular trade hub for camel caravan.

Evident of Jaisalmer’s commercial history is the strong merchant culture that remains

today.

Following India’s separation from Britain in 1947, the royal family members of

Jaisalmer were not exempt from the loss of power seen throughout Rajasthan at the hands

of the newly independent country’s government. Titles were stripped, and property seized,

prompting some Maharajas to commit suicide. Furthermore, because much trade came to

the town from across what would eventually be the Pakistani border, its success as an

enterprising site was severely compromised by partition. Many workers who relied on that

trade had to leave Jaisalmer.

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For two decades, the consequences of India’s turbulent transition to sovereignty were

felt in town. Demoralization of royalty, decline of trade, and lack of water resources left

Jaisalmer in desperate circumstances. It wasn’t until after the 1971 Indo-Pakistani War that

development and economic wellbeing returned to the region. Indira Gandhi’s

administration saw Jaisalmer as a potentially valuable military asset, so it established an

air force base, laid railway, and supported water exploration there. By 1975, the historical

town’s government was ready to move towards a tourist-based economy. That year, the

first guesthouse was established. Most of the town’s early visitors were tourists stopping

over from other parts of Rajasthan, and before long, Indians were pouring in from all over

the country, and foreigners from all over the world. Thus began the anachronisms to

Jaisalmer.

Following three decades of tourist activity, today’s upper

panorama of the town truly reflects its contrast of times. From

atop my hotel— a former haveli, or royal Indian mansion— I

scan along the horizon, my eyes naturally following an up and

down zigzag. Reliance Mobile antennas cast shadows on roofs of

sandstone residencies with latticed walls. Dispersed throughout

the endless expanse of desert are thousands of wind turbines,

some of which have been adopted by Bollywood’s biggest stars

for the purpose of energy profit. After sunset, Jaisalmer Fort’s façade is accentuated by

ambient lighting more suited for the castle at Disneyland than a Rajput stronghold. I can

hear musicians bowing the sarangi— one of North India’s most prized classical string

instruments— from one direction, and sounds of the Netherlands’ superstar DJ Tiësto

booming from the other.

When parting ways with this striking, elevated vista for the night, I pass a curious sight

on my way back down to the less eventful ground level. A fuse box, which would have gone

unnoticed had it not been for the polished bronze knobs that cleverly adorned it, sits

halfway up the stone wall that lines the stairwell. Medieval circuitry? I give it a second look,

amused, and head for my room.

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The accommodation has been presented in such a way that intends to make guests, too, feel

like royalty. The ceiling runs high, with a bright red, silk canopy strewn across it. A rustic, but

nonetheless regal, tribute to the aristocratic hunting pastime decorates the walls in the form of

large spears and a faux tiger hide quilt. As with nearly all things here, I have found myself

surrounded by one big, hilarious schizophrenia of times. Across the room, lying on a desk fit for

only the most noble of old Indian scribes, is a menu from which travelers, weary from their

countless days spent crossing the desert, can order a Limca to their quarters. Beside my bed sits a

cabinet holding an extensive collection of glass bangles, and next to that a refrigerator with the

first ice tray I’ve seen since arriving in India three months ago. One must choose carefully

whether to use the single electrical outlet for the fridge or the large television, but I have bigger

questions on my mind: What if the kings and princes had been left to continue rule at the mid-

century? What condition would Jaisalmer and its people be in today if the war had not given

cause for its development? Just what age is this town in? Tired and confused, I flick off the

imitation lantern, switch on the ceiling fan, and fall fast asleep.

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