Three weeks with my brother - Nicholas Sparks [93]
“You’re wearing my shorts,” I said randomly.
“I’ll give them to you tomorrow,” he said without thinking. “No,” he added quickly. “I won’t. You’ll be gone tomorrow. I can’t give them to you.”
At that, Micah began to cry and he leaned into me again.
“It’s okay, Micah,” I whispered, beginning to cry as well. “It’s going to be all right.”
And a few minutes later, through my own blurry tears, I saw his image in the rearview mirror grow smaller. He was standing on the lawn, forcing a smile and slowly waving good-bye.
CHAPTER 14
Jaipur and Agra, India
February 7–8
We landed in Jaipur, a city of two and a half million people in northern India, and the capital of the state of Rajasthan. Famous for its forts, palaces, and colorful culture, Jaipur is frequently called “The Pink City,” and is the commercial center for most of the rural regions of Rajasthan.
Though we weren’t sure what to expect, we quickly learned that India was a country like no other. After showing our passport in three different places, we boarded the bus that would take us through the city of Jaipur to the Amber Fort, which was once home to the Maharaja.
Our guide spoke perfect Indian-accented English, and as we made our way across the city of Jaipur, he informed us that Jaipur is regarded as one of India’s most beautiful cities. He seemed to believe it as well. In the forty minutes it took to reach our destination, he would point out various monuments and explain what they were. His favorite words, as far as we could tell, were Jaipur, beautiful, and pink. Every description contained or ended with a variation of the following:
“Jaipur. The beautiful city. Jaipur. The pink city. Look. Can you see how beautiful it is? The landscape is beautiful, and the buildings in the old town are painted pink. Jaipur is the pink city. Jaipur is the beautiful city.”
Meanwhile, Micah and I were staring out the windows with our mouths agape.
People were everywhere. The sidewalks and streets were packed, and our bus shared the roads with pedestrians, scooters, bicycles, camels, elephants, donkeys, and horse-drawn carts, all moving at different speeds and zigzagging in traffic. Cows—sacred in the Hindu culture—roamed freely throughout the city, nosing through piles of garbage along with dogs and goats.
The poverty struck us forcefully. Ragged tent sites and houses slapped together with rotting boards or whatever discarded materials could be found were home to tens of thousands of people. They lined the main thoroughfare and all the crossroads we passed. People dressed in rags were everywhere, and dozens, if not hundreds, were sleeping in the gutter. People defecated and urinated in plain view, yet no one but us seemed even to notice. The smell of diesel fuel was overwhelming.
Meanwhile, our guide continued.
“Look at the fancy houses just beyond the walls. Can you see how beautiful they are? In the old town, all the buildings are pink. Jaipur is the pink city. Jaipur is the beautiful city.”
Micah leaned over to me. “Where are the fancy houses again?”
“I think he said they’re behind the walls over there. See those roofs?”
“You mean behind the slums?”
“Yeah.”
“And this is a beautiful city? He’s got to be out of his mind.”
At that point, one of the other members of our tour who was sitting behind us leaned forward.
“Actually,” he said, “Jaipur is wealthy when compared to some of the other cities in India. You can’t even begin to imagine what Calcutta or Bombay look like.”
“It’s worse than this?” Micah asked.
“By a long shot. Believe it or not, Jaipur is the beautiful city.”
After that, all we could do was stare out the windows, wondering how on earth people survived like this.
The Amber Fort, located six miles from the city, was built atop a hill, and is surrounded by peaks and easily defended valleys that made it ideal for protection of the Maharaja.
At the base of the fort, we broke into groups of four and rode elephants up the long,