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| Jaipur Quotes - Quotes about Pink City |
Known as Pink City, Jaipur is the capital and largest city of
Indian state of Rajasthan. The city, founded in early 18th century , is named
after Maharaja Sawai Jai Singh II of Amber.
Resplendent in the hues of its noble and magnificent past, the
historic city of Jaipur stands out as one of the most spectacular and
culturally vibrant destinations in the world.
Kate Smith, Sensational Color
Doused in an appeasing pink, Jaipur has, over the years, come to
don the title of India’s “Pink City.” Rich in its historical heritage, every
corner of Jaipur holds an interesting antidote and touch of old-world charm.
The color of the city, too, has interesting stories & theories behind it.
Kate Smith, Sensational Color
Riding to Jaipur
Riding through the night
Riding with my baby
Oh what a delight
Oh what a delight
It is
Paul McCartney, Riding Into Jaipur
Four hours later, they reached the rocky hills surrounding the
Pink City, passing in the shadow of the Amber Fort with its soaring ramparts
and towering gatehouse. The road led past the Jal Mahal palace, beached on a
sandy lake bed, into Jaipur’s ancient quarter. It was almost noon and the
bazaars along the city’s crenellated walls were stirring into life. Beneath
faded, dusty awnings, cobblers crouched, sewing sequins and gold thread onto
leather slippers with curled-up toes. Spice merchants sat surrounded by heaps
of lal mirch, haldi and ground jeera, their colours as clean and sharp as new
watercolor paints. Sweets sellers lit the gas under blackened woks of oil and
prepared sticky jalebis. Lassi vendors chipped away at great blocks of ice
delivered by camel cart. In front of a few of the shops, small boys, who by law
should have been at school, swept the pavements, sprinkling them with water to
keep down the dust. One dragged a doormat into the road where the wheels of
passing vehicles ran over it, doing the job of carpet beaters. Handbrake honked
his way through the light traffic as they neared the Ajmeri Gate, watching the
faces that passed by his window: skinny bicycle rickshaw drivers, straining against
the weight of fat aunties; wild-eyed Rajasthani men with long handlebar
moustaches and sun-baked faces almost as bright as their turbans; sinewy
peasant women wearing gold nose rings and red glass bangles on their arms; a
couple of pink-faced goras straining under their backpacks; a naked sadhu, his
body half covered in ash like a caveman. Handbrake turned into the old British
Civil Lines, where the roads were wide and straight and the houses and gardens
were set well apart.
Tarquin Hall, The Case of Missing Servant
