My trip started on a Saturday evening as I boarded the sleeper train for Jaisalmer. I wasn’t too sure what to expect as I’d only ridden in the coach cars previously. Well, it turns out that China still has India beat on train travel. In China, the lowest sleeper class was fitted with 6 beds complete with sheets and pillow in each separated compartment (meaning each had a door). In India, the lowest sleeper class meant there were still six beds, but no sheet and no door. What’s more, people who were only traveling short distances bought tickets that allowed them to come sit on the lower beds with sleeper passengers until their destinations. For me with a lower berth ticket, that meant that I could not easily go to sleep when I wanted due to extra people beyond just those 6 in our little train compartment sitting, eating, playing cards, and generally hanging out on my bed.
When finally these extra passengers departed, I figured I could stretch out, claim my bed, and get some shut eye. That I did, but due to the cold, soon found myself curled up in a ball just to keep warm (it turns out the Rajasthani desert in winter chills at night, and when the window on the train doesn’t properly close, it gets frigid). Well, on about 3 am I woke up due to some noise or bump in the train’s motion and found that another intermediate passenger had decided that since I wasn’t using my full bed, that gave him right to use the empty space. He too was curled up at the foot of my berth meaning that I could not stretch out had I wanted to (which I did). All I could do was think that this was India—in a country so full of people without the more modern trains of China, this was the result. Who could blame him for taking the extra space to try and get some sleep? It inconvenienced me and I felt a bit put off since I had paid more for the right to that space, but I just let it go and figured that this was India and I had to understand that this was normal.
The next time I woke up my bedmate was gone, and before I knew it, daybreak had arrived and I could no longer sleep with the sunlight streaming through the open windows. Though when night had fallen I was still in the greenery around Delhi, I now found myself in a barren landscape with hills of rock and sand only peppered with the occasional bush and weed. A few hours later, the scenery was still the same as we steamed into Jaisalmer station in full view of the magnificent Jaisalmer Fort.
A short walk later, I found myself in the confines of the old city of Jaisalmer facing a network of narrow roads bordered by sandstone buildings several storeys high that nearly toppled over into the streets. Wires crisscrossed above mimicking the chaos of the street below as rickshaws, cyclists, and pedestrians struggled to navigate through the shop fronts encroaching on the paths and the hawkers peddling their wares. With only a couple of wrong turns, I soon reached the base of the Fort itself, a towering, bulbous structure built right out of the hill in the middle of the city. Up a long, twisting path (presumably to prevent the enemy forces from making a direct charge at the gates) lay the inner city, replete with temples, the palace, and more shops.
Here I wandered through the ancient city and toured the palace. What amazed me throughout was how vibrant this city was in a place where on first glance life should not be able to survive. On the palace tour, they make a point of showing off the rainwater collection system—a network of pipes, tanks, and sloped floors that ensures no drop of water is lost during the limited rains. The reason is that this was the only source of water for the town during the year. Though there may have been little water, there was certainly plenty of stone, and this allowed the ruling family to build a grand palace and multiple temples throughout the city. All made of a golden sandstone, the buildings revealed gorgeous details and attention to detail that often seems lost in modern buildings, especially in the hectic streets of Delhi. Certainly this is not the common man’s architecture, but it clearly was different from anything we see today in its attention to detail and style.
After touring the palace, I went winding through the old city to marvel at the temples buried in the seemingly incomprehensible network of alleys. Even on the warm day, these alleys were kept cool by the tall structures looming above and the mass of stone to either side. I thoroughly enjoyed this maze of streets as I walked. You saw life happening around every corner—here a woman sat with her baby, chatting with the neighbors in the adjacent doorway. There, some men sat talking over an afternoon chai while waiting for unsuspecting tourists to browse at the nearby shops. The only downside was the lack of public space—I happened upon three kids practicing cricket in one alley in a manner that blocked all traffic. I had to wait for the bowler to notice before I could safely pass. These old walkways were alive, now built around the tourist economy, but you could imagine that once they buzzed with a royal atmosphere, selling not to travelers but to courtiers, merchants, and visitors from nearby kingdoms. This seemed a city preserved in time.
In the afternoon I headed back down the winding gate to the main part of the city in search of the old houses of Jaisalmer—the ornately decorated havelis. In the first, I was lucky enough to be given a tour guide with my ticket who explained the subtleties of the construction. These houses, several hundred years old, have stood the test of time through their solid sandstone construction. Without any water for mortar, the bricks were made in massive sizes and laid in interlocking double layers such that water could not get in and the weight of the blocks would seal any cracks between bricks. Wood and iron were used to help lynch blocks together when needed, but stone was preferred as it not only kept the house standing but kept the heat out. Perhaps they could not have described it themselves, but with the desert temperatures that oscillate between high and cold throughout a 24-hour period, the stone they used provided a wonderful thermal mass for moderating the temperature within the haveli. This was complemented by windows that could be opened in the main rooms to allow cross breezes, while on hot days, light was provided only through small windows in the upper reaches of the walls. Looking around I was in awe at the amount of ingenious building I was seeing, and all without a single energy simulation to advise on how best to reduce the energy consumption!
Thinking about Jaisalmer, it really justifies the trend that seems to be present among environmentally sensitive architects with whom I met on my stay in India toward looking backward in time for solutions to today’s challenges of creating sustainable structures. With the varying climates of India (of which Jaisalmer represents one), a lot can be learned by delving into the history of the people in each climate to see how they adapted. Here was a building made with no water, locally quarried stone, and no electricity or air conditioning that was perfectly responsive to its environment, allowed a degree of climate control, provided natural light, and was solid enough to stand up to hundreds of years of weathering. Imagine now a glass building, the sad trend in new construction outside of Delhi, in this same environment. There would be no way to keep out the heat on the blazing hot days or trap the cool air of the nights for later!
It left me wondering what happened between this haveli and now that so much knowledge seems to have been lost. About a week ago, I found a quote online that put this perfectly. Attributed to Marie Antoinette, it reads “There is nothing new except what has been forgotten.” Here was a perfect example of how the climate sensitivity that took decades or centuries to develop and perfect through trial and error has been bred out of buildings because it does not involve new technology or styles. Now I am not necessarily advocating that all of Jaisalmer’s new buildings immediately replicate these havelis, but they should provide a starting point for considering construction and design in this environment. Rather than just building to international appearances, architects should spend a little more time trying to understand and replicate these forms. Why use jali screens, for example (decorative clay window treatments)? And why build in stone and not glass? These questions need to be considered before the initial form of a building is set. Some may argue that you cannot build traditionally and still come up with a modern-looking building, but there are many counterexamples to this. If you set the materials in your mind first, the creativity of the artist in the architect will find a way to use them in a beautiful and modern pattern. It is only if they design first thinking of glass and then switch to making it stone that you may end up with a monstrosity that pleases no one, and frankly probably will not perform well either.
Another reason why it is not feasible to all of a sudden start building more havelis is that they were traditionally houses of the wealthy and therefore covered in ornamental decorations that were expensive, individually commissioned pieces of art. Walking through was a wonderful introduction to the artisanry of Rajasthan—as I mentioned before, the beautifully detailed sandstone ornaments, mirrored ceilings and walls, and finely sculpted and painted tiles provided breathtaking beauty within these homes. More than just being comfortable, these estates were palatial and decadent—perhaps fitting for a trader or a chief minister, but not feasible for the common man.
As I finished my haveli tours and the day fell on Jaisalmer, I caught a glimpse of the setting sun from the roof of one of these palaces. With the orange rays illuminating the sky, the golden fort blazed richly above the romantic clutter of houses at its feet. Picturesque in every way, from here the life and the woes of the city people below fell away in a beautiful, honey-colored vista that will remain in my mind forever.
As I made my way through the town for dinner, I happened across another memorable sight, this time organized by a tour group I just happened to fall in line behind. The guide explained that in this village had lived the Guinness world record holder for the longest moustache ever. Though he no longer lived, his son had taken up the family legacy and was working toward the new record. For the tour, he was happy to show off his progress.
After this amusing diversion, I wound my way to a rooftop restaurant looking out over the fort. With a fresh lime soda in hand, I ordered up a big non-veg thali, a traditional plate of various dishes—a sampler, if you will, of Jaisalmer cuisine. Here, I experienced firsthand another sustainable feature of the city’s history. As was explained to me by a member of The Energy and Resources Institute (TERI) in Delhi, India’s culture evolved in every way in response to the seasons. Festivals, such as Holi, were designed to both celebrate the seasons and acclimate participants to the change in weather from winter to summer. Because of the different climates, these festivals varied in recognition and celebration. Food as well evolved differently in response to climate. In Rajasthan, where I now sat eating my thali, the lack of water led to a greater use of buttermilk and cream within dishes. Buttermilk too was the traditional drink with meals, and moist seasoned meats were also the norm to help provide succulent treats. I must say, none of this really crossed my mind as I ate—instead I was focused on the sublime sight of the fort illuminated at night, the sounds of the enchanting traditional music being skillfully played behind me, and the aromatic spices hitting my tongue. It provided a nice close to a wonderful day of exploring a city that still maintains strong links to its history.
After my relaxing dinner, it was time to wander back through the streets to the train station to head to another old city, Jodhpur. Yet before I escaped Jaisalmer, I had to make one more stop for a sweet treat. Recall how I said that the cuisine was often based on creams? Well, my after dinner specialty was no exception. If you travel to India it is mandatory that you try a lassi—a cream based drink served up chilled either sweet or salty that will satisfyingly slide down your throat. And don’t just get any lassi, if you ask me—make sure you grab a makhania lassi—one spiced with saffron. It provides a little sweet touch and a flavor that can’t be beat.
After my lassi pit stop, it was time to catch the train. This time with an upper berth on a much less crowded route, I was not surprised by any midnight visitors at the foot of my bed. Instead, I slept undisturbed until we arrived at 5 am in Jodhpur, my next stop and second introduction to Rajasthan.
Hopping off the train early in the morning, I headed into town without much else to do even though nothing was open. Wandering through the deserted streets in the early morning without much light, it was amazing how romantic the criss-crossed wires, falling doors and windows, and rusted signs were by the yellow lights of the streets. Without the full sun to expose the dusty reality and free of the bustle of vendors and street life, the buildings exuded only their color and charm.
After wandering in this atmosphere for a while, I came upon the main square of the city where I was surrounded by open space and had a clear vista of the mighty Mehrangarh fort perched on the hill above Jodhpur. Here I sat and watched the sun rise as the town awoke. The sweepers emerged from their slumber first, followed by the first vendors hurrying in to set up their shop. As it was Monday, schoolchildren passed by on their way to lessons at the first crack of dawn, and slowly, the whole city awoke to greet the day.
Just as things began to get busy, I left the town square and made my way up the hill toward the fort. In the tortuous streets, I got lost many times, but like a true Indian, I just stopped and asked directions. Unfortunately, I came across a little trickster who wasn’t on his way to school who misled me three times on where I had to go, probably for his own entertainment. But finally after being righted by a shop owner, I was off on the steep path up to Mehrangarh. At the top, I had gorgeous views of the early morning over Jodhpur in front, and a staggering rise of stone walls behind me up to the top of the fort. Though I was at the foot of the fort, I chose instead to start my day down the other side of the hill at Jaswant Thada, a tomb of a former leader of Jodhpur. As I walked, I was stunned on the road by the view of this marble tomb perched delicately over a river pitted against the hills and crumbling city wall. Pictures cannot capture the beauty of this marble edifice in the misty morning light contrasting with the green bushes, blue water, and orangey-brown hills in the back. It was a sublime sight, and a wonderful place to sit and enjoy the early morning.
After a while, I finally tore myself away from my perch and headed down the road to the monument itself, leaving my secret vantage point by the roadside for another lucky traveler to stumble upon. While the monument was beautiful on the inside and up close, it didn’t match the view I had found previously. Made of white marble, and thus dubbed by some as the Taj Mahal of Rajasthan, the building was exquisitely carved and full of ornate detail—a sign of ostentation, wealth, and the love of the former ruler by his closest family and friends. This was one of the first examples of such a personal memento on a grand scale in India, and it led me to think about a few different things. First, I suppose in the past such buildings were not opposed by the populous most times simply because of the caste system and the fear of the ruling class, but I began to wonder how the middle and lower classes would have viewed such spending on a single person. Perhaps they took it as the right of the rulers, but perhaps there was social discontent. Second, and in counterpoint to my first thought, this monument must have provided a lot of employment. The level of craftsmanship in the marble work and the attention to detail must have taken builders and artists years to finish, therefore stimulating the economy in some way. Yet this led to my third train of thought, which was to wonder how such a project would be viewed today. Likely, it seems to me that it would be seen as a waste of public funds, especially in a country with as much disparity in income as India has. Yet at the same time, memorials are still commissioned, perhaps not on this scale, but they are a part of life.
Anyhow, after marveling at the workmanship and construction of this marble memorial, I turned from Jaswant Thada to find a stunning view of Mehrangarh and the city of Jodhpur. From here, it was peaceful to behold the fort’s monumental façade over what the seemingly quiet town of Jodhpur. I say “seemingly” because from here, the noise of the city could not be heard and the sights of hustle and bustle could not be seen though I knew that on a Monday morning they must be there.
After marveling at this sight for a bit, I headed back up the road to the base of Mehrangarh. From the base, I had to climb up further along another tortuous path to prevent my army and I from charging the gate and storming the palace. Along the way, there was evidence of the fort’s tumultuous history—cannon shell imprints dotted the walls, and after the main gate, the moving imprints of the hands of one Maharaja’s widows who threw themselves on his funeral pyre. Further up, I emerged into the main palace, a stunning mix of Mughal and traditional architecture that was used as a palace until recently. Now it is a museum showing what life as Rajasthani royalty was like. The exhibits covered everything from weaponry (important in the warrior traditions of the state), modes of transit including the women’s’ palanquins, and even portraits of the Maharajahs from the past. It was a really interesting walk through both past and recent history, and something I really enjoyed. Yet what was most stunning to me was the architecture. The palace is an interesting blend of Muslim and Indian influences, so details range from floral patterns and jali screens (ornately decorated clay window treatments used to hide the women from the eyes of the men below) typical of the Middle Eastern influence to more traditional pyramidal and rounded forms of Indian architecture. The blend led to some quite stunning courtyards and spaces, all of which also had to wisely use air flows and natural light to make the spaces livable.
I found it interesting that in the palace, elements that on the surface seemed predominantly cultural actually were also very environmental in use. For example, the jali screens which I mentioned previously not only prevented the women from being seen but also helped allow in light to the chambers while blocking most of the heat. The open nature of the intricate patterns also allowed for breezes to flow through unabated, thus cooling the rooms. Large rings dangling in the courtyards that once held tapestries also seem on the surface as a decorative touch, but in reality, in summer these tapestries were dunked in water so that breezes would pick up the cool water and spread it over the occupants in the palace. Combine this with the thermal mass of the stones making the palace (also predominantly for defense and stability), and you have a very climate-responsive building, and an example of smart design from hundreds of years ago. Why did we switch to massive glass buildings?
After my tour of the palace, I headed out to the fort’s battlements. Aside from marveling at the array of cannons won in battle (one even was all the way from China, I think via the British army, or perhaps a Middle Eastern invader), the view over Jodhpur from up here was breathtaking. For those who know Jodhpur you will know that it too has a colorful nickname—the blue city. What is strange is that it is completely deserving of this moniker.
The city, from the top of the fort, actually is blue! Well, at least the old part. Now you may ask why that is. Well, one explanation is that the natural blue color helps both to keep houses cool in the summer and that it acts as a natural repellent for mosquitoes and other insects. Don’t ask me why the color blue repels—it wasn’t explained beyond that, but apparently it does. And as for the cooling effect, it is understood now in building design that color has a huge impact on a structure, and light colors and those that reflect the sun definitely help. This again is another example of excellent traditional design that came from years of trial and error rather than today’s energy simulations and advanced design thinking. Unfortunately, things like the simple color of a building are only now being rediscovered as important for performance. Part of the reason, at least, is earlier in this paragraph. Can you find it?
Part of the reason is that indigenous building techniques and traditional styles are often not well explained by those who practice them. They may not even understand that what they are doing is better from a performance standpoint than some other alternative. They may simply build the way they do or paint the way the do because that is what has been done for years in their village. They may simply know nothing else. Now imagine going into a village in a harsh climate, seeing a building, and asking why it is comfortable inside. You may get some answers, but it will never be complete. To understand why, you need to do a full study on the building and few people are doing these, especially in India. Some architects interested in research are, and the Central Building Research Institute in Roorkee is doing work on understanding these traditional structures. Aside from that, there are few attempts as developers are content to proceed in their modern ways without concern for whether it is the best path for the region or not. The first step to changing this mentality is understanding the alternatives. Rather than apply costly technology, we must re-learn and analyze the traditional techniques that have worked effectively and cheaply for years and teach those to new architects, designers, and developers. If India does this effectively, it could set a precedent for sustainable design worldwide. Few countries take as much pride in their heritage as India, and if the design community wakes up to the value of this heritage to modern works, the savings could be staggering and the visual results breathtaking.
Coming back to my trip from my (hopefully thought-provoking) aside, another staggering thing about the battlements was that from up here you could hear all of the noises of the city bouncing their way up the sheer cliff at your feet. Horns honked, parents yelled, and birds chirped, all invisible to the eye but present to the ear. It was a reminder as you surveyed this city, its paths and buildings jumbling together in an orchestrated confusion, that it was not just a sight but a pulsing center of life. The combination was amazing, and held my attention for quite a while. As I finally made my way back down from the fort, this time not to return, the noises remained and slowly the city itself came into clearer focus and narrowed in scope from a vast picture to smaller sections until finally it was just the narrow street in front of me, multi-colored buildings on either side leaning over the busy lanes of cyclists, vendors, rickshaws, and the ever-present cows.
With a few hours until my train, I wandered these narrow streets and happened upon multiple children fascinated by me but more by my camera. Each one called to me asking for “one snap.” Happy to oblige, I would take a quick photo and then show them which usually set them running off giggling to tell friends or parents. On one occasion, the kids asked not just for one snap of them but then to take one of me! A little nervous for my camera, I carefully let them try with some interesting candid results.
As the sun set on Jodhpur, I found myself once more in the town square where it all began that morning for me. As I sipped another makhania lassi, I watched the last rays of light flicker over the fort, the lights on the clock tower blaze to life, and the pace of the city begin to wane. With the pulse of the city fading, it was time for me too to call it a day and catch my overnighter back to Delhi, once again with the luxury of having my own berth all to myself.
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