Golden Girl by Cathy Hopkins

Author:Cathy Hopkins [Hopkins, Cathy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781847389954
Publisher: Simon & Schuster UK

‘Have you noticed that drivers in this country avoid collisions with their ears as well as their eyes?’ I said to Pia as we dodged our way through noisy traffic in Udaipur town. It was early afternoon and we were on our way to meet the Lewises. The streets were a cacophony of hooting from car and truck horns, bicycle bells and mopeds, as drivers and riders wove their way around each other, narrowly missing hitting each other in many cases. So many of the cars had tinsel on the bumpers and most had garlands and small, colourful pictures of gods, gurus or goddesses inside, hanging from the mirror. As I watched the variety of transport going past in all different directions – forwards and sideways – I saw that people would toot when they got too close to each other to let them know they were there. In the middle of it all were goats and cows walking serenely by, as much a part of the scenery as the rest of it.

‘Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas any more. We must be over the rainbow!’ I said as an elephant strolled by, its face and trunk painted in blue chalky patterns, followed soon after by a camel, then a family of white boars.

Pia took a photo on her camera to send back home, then we followed Vanya past a market where women in brightly coloured saris sat in the middle of a pile of open sacks selling fruits, vegetables, spices and herbs. In contrast to the tranquil atmosphere back at our all-white hotel, the town was bursting with life and colour. Some people wore traditional Indian dress, some modern dress, many were tourists in shorts, sarongs and T-shirts. But, as I’d noticed the day before, all life was present as we made our way through the narrow streets lined with open kiosks and stalls. Seated women made garlands from heaps of yellow and orange flowers, old men rested on the pavement, children watched passers-by. Most shops seemed to be geared up for tourists, selling bags, shoes, scarves, tie-dyed bedspreads and clothing, prints of Krishna, goddesses, demons, monkey gods and elephant gods, stone carvings, jewellery and wooden toys. Many of the stallholders beckoned us to ‘come and look’ but Vanya ushered us on. I also noticed a number of people begging, sitting with their hands outstretched, a bowl in front of them, some old, some only children, running alongside the tourists and tugging at their arms. It made me feel uncomfortable and I wished I could do something to help.

We managed to persuade Vanya to stop at a kiosk selling pashminas. ‘Let me demonstrate how you can tell if a shawl is genuine,’ said the young stallholder as he held up a ring in one hand then carefully began to thread a large maroon shawl through it. To our amazement, it flowed through the ring like it was the finest silk. As we moved on, I looked over to see a stall selling samosas.

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