The Hawa Mahal, Mother, is not a building, but a stone casket in the wind. You stand in front of it and it takes your breath away: pink sandstone, lace made of stone, windows like honeycombs through which women of the rajahs once watched the hustle and bustle of the streets, and now tourists exhale "wow" through iPhones.
March, the heat is oppressive, the wind is blowing dust through the streets, and this facade is like a mirage, only real. Every window is like an eye of the past, every balcony is like a verse from a poem about the Maharaja and the eternal dusty spring.
I went inside — the steps are steep, the passages are narrow, but the wind is playing like a flute player in a temple. Not a palace, but a song of drafts. It's not cool there, it's the breath of history.
I look down at Jaipur from above: roofs, antennas, cows on the corners, horns — and all this lives under the windows of the Hawa Mahal, as if under supervision. And suddenly you understand: You're not looking, they're looking at you.
The palace is located on a crowded street, rickshaws do not stop there (there is no free parking)
We can go upstairs.
Plus, he's on his way to the monkey temple.
Cool place, cool building. It's bad, there are a lot of people all the time, a life hack is to cross the road, stand against it, there are few people, the photos are cool.
See original · Русский
Pavel Sindrevich
Level 30 Local Expert
September 26, 2024
The Palace of the Winds is a legend. The original, unique architecture. Changing the color of the palace depending on the lighting from pale golden at dawn to reddish at sunset gives it a special charm.