The eternal vows: Some thoughts on marriage, at my first anniversary (I still agree, and I'm close to the second one now!)

In about a fortnight, I’ll have completed a year of married life. Most people I’ve met speak of marriage as a noose, a life sentence. A year of ha­nds-on experience has taught me why. And no, I do­n’t agree. At least, not yet! True, it’s not a piece of ca­ke. But then, can you say that about anything in life?
Being married is like having a job. You need to slog and struggle and create your way ahead. Of course, most people are willing to work their brains out for their careers, but don’t even consider working at th­eir relationships. And then again, most people also ha­te their jobs, so it’s not surprising they hate their married lives, too. They’re working because they ha­ve to, not seeking something they want, not taking pleasure in anything they do — and then complaining about it every minute.
And while we’re at it, there’s something else I’ve he­ard so often it makes me want to bang someone’s head: “Arranged marriages work better than love ma­rriages”. (What is it that people have against love?) It’s the high level of expectations, people say, which makes love marriages break down.
There is, however, another major factor that works against love marriages, and it’s NOT love, or expectations. It’s the stubbornness of our families, supposed to be our support system, which kills the relationship. Consider these examples: A couple I kn­ow developed such serious differences they wanted a divorce. But families from both sides put in every ounce of effort to save the marriage. The result? They patched up and are living happily now. Contrary to this, another couple quarelled over some minor issue, but theirs was a ‘lo­ve marriage’. The family, very conveniently, left them to fight it out, since ‘it was their decision in the first place’. The couple lived separately for several years before things got better. So before you condemn love marriages for being too demanding, just think of all the other things working against them.
Actually, you'd stop thinking of marriage as a noose if you just stopped taking each other for granted.Think: how much you loved to dress up for your boyfriend/girlfriend every time he/she came to meet you. Well, then, why does it happen that people stop 'dressing up' for each other or make an effort to look good for each other once they get married? Remember how you used to pine and miss each other after a fight, or how you just bought each other small gifts for no reason at all.... well, is there any reason why you should stop doing that just because you don't need to 'woo' your partner anymore?
The point is: life’s not a fairytale. You can’t just ‘li­v­e happily ever after’. Relationships need a lot of hard work, and definitely a lot of support. So instead of drudging it out everyday, try looking at marital bliss as a career goal, and you might just get there.

Saddest words of tongue or pen

At a seminar a few days ago, I heard a sentence that, to me, seemed the saddest possible in a human being’s life. It was spoken in passing, without the littlest bit of grief, and had nothing to do with the subject being discussed. Just that the speaker, while answering a question, spoke of a nagging wish that his people used to have. “We’ve given up that dream now,” he added, before moving on to answer the question.
For some reason, the sentence filled me with immense grief. I cannot imagine a worse thing than having to give up a dream. Now, I know you’re thinking of much worse things — losing a limb, or a loved one, having your home destroyed in riots or wars… there’s a long list. But consider, for a moment, any of the above scenarios. Life doesn’t stop at loss. Whether it is your home or your loved one, you pick up the broken shards, and try to rebuild your life. And there’s only one thing that enables you to do it. Hope. Dreams. The dream that you can create a beautiful life all over again. However impossible they might be, in the end it’s just dreams that fuel life. Everyone makes it through the toughest times dreaming of something — a distant beacon that pulls them ahead.
People who are driven to give up their lives, that is, who commit suicide, are ones who have lost all hope. They see no light at the end of the tunnel, no way to rebuild their lives. You could call them cowardly, foolish, whatever. But the reason is always that. And that’s why, it is truly sad when you have to accept fate and give up your dream. As American poet John Greenleaf Whittier wrote, “For of all sad wo­rds of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: ‘It mi­ght have been!’”
Of course, the death of one dream won’t necessarily drive you to the arms of death itself. And that’s because we live with not one but a million dreams in our heart. That, perhaps, is the thing that keeps us alive — the other dreams that still might come true!

Waiting for Munnu: A tale of Maharajas, breathtaking jewels and an endless wait...

There are times when real life episodes compel you to draw literary parallels, when things begin to remind you of that piece of fiction you’d read. The past weekend took me through a very real rendering of Waiting for Godot… the ‘absurdist’ play with an endless wait for that one person to arrive. The tale unfolding before you now is one of maharajas and their jewels, creators and their art, and a bizarre, unending wait. But let me begin at the beginning.

There’s definitely more than a grain of truth to the phrase ‘diamonds are a woman’s best friend’. But I’d like to tweak that a bit: It’s not just diamonds. All kinds of jewels can be a woman’s favourite companions. We’re not just the fairer sex; we’re the glittering sex. So, obviously, a visit to one of the oldest and the most ‘royal’ jewellery houses in Jaipur can be nothing less than a breathtaking experience.

At Gem Palace, you could get lost in the maze of scintillating objects that hold you spellbound, some of them dating back to over a century. It has been quite at the centre of the global spotlight, comparable to brands like Cartier and Tiffany’s in its clientele and craftsmanship. Creating jewellery for some of the most elite jewellery houses in Europe and America, Gem Palace has a permanent exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum, New York, for which it has especially designed ‘Ancient Egyptian’ and ‘Ancient Greek’ and ‘Byzantium’ collections. Gem Palace creations are also retailed at organisations like Barney’s in New York and Caribou Jewels in Aspen.

But the reason I am here is not just to marvel at the intricacies of the art. I am here to meet the man who is, apparently, the greater creative force at Gem Palace and the more ‘visible’ one internationally, among the three brothers who run the place now. I have an appointment with Munnu Kasliwal, the youngest of the trio — the elder ones being Sudhir and Sanjay Kasliwal. He has graciously requested me to have lunch with him.

I arrive at Gem Palace at the appointed time, expecting to meet a middle-aged man. Instead, I set my eyes on a young, very attractive and quite un-Indian looking man. He introduces himself as Samir Kasliwal, son of Sanjay and the newest one to join the family business. Born in Italy, Samir came to India four years ago. He’s happy to show me around, but has no clue that I’ve an appointment with his uncle. I call up Munnu. He tells me (as he had the previous day) that he’s very unwell and has a headache, and feels too lethargic to get up. “But”, he quickly adds, “Are you there?” I confirm that. “Please wait, I’ll be there in half an hour. Meanwhile, why don’t you speak to my son Siddharth?”

Siddharth is not around and I begin my tour with Samir. We move through rows and rows of gem-studded jewellery, lots of traditional kundan-meena-polki work that Gem Palace is famous for, and yet more rows of silver objects — with lots of stories behind them. The walls are covered with mustard yellow cloth that has red block prints all over it. This, I’m later informed by Sudhir (the head of the joint family), is the design that’s been there since the time of his great grandfather. This establishment was founded in 1852, when Sawai Jai Singh founded the city of Jaipur and invited jewellers from all over the country. Of course, as Sudhir says, this is the “new showroom”. Before 1852, they had a shop in the “old city of Jaipur”, which “had been there forever”.

I move to the inner room that has two large, throne-style silver chairs and a silver trunk, both with intricate carvings that impart the room a look of old-world charm. One by one, Samir takes out velvet boxes that contain the ‘Indo-Russian’ collection, made around 25 years ago. The first one is a long necklace with strings of pearls and diamonds and a pendant (if it can be called that) the size of a large palm —studded with rose cut diamonds and emeralds. That one costs Rs 1.8 crore. There’s another with a huge emerald up front; there are turban ornaments, belts and armbands, all from the same collection — encrusted with emeralds and diamonds.

“This is called Indo-Russian because the polki work, or the rose cut of the diamond, is Indian. But the designs are inspired by the Russian Czars, particularly the technique of their times of mixing gold with silver to give the pieces an antique look,” Samir explains. He then brings out a “diamond-box” in the same antique look, replete with diamonds all over. Everything is handmade, and may take anywhere from nine months to two years, on an average, to make. Samir tells me he has studied gemology, but, as he candidly states, “In this business, you can only learn through experience. The study might give you a larger approach but you can’t really learn that way.”

That’s also why, he says, they like to “retain” their workers over generations. “You need skills not to waste the rough stone in cutting and polishing. That needs 10 to 15 years to perfect.”As he speaks, he flips the pieces over, and shows me the craftsmanship on the reverse. Every single piece in the collection has intricate veins of diamonds and rubies running across its back. I am amazed. And curious.

“This is based on our belief that the body can see and feel as well,” Samir tells me. “There should be a feeling between the diamond and your body. It’s something that only you should know; it’s not for others.” The sentiments are later echoed by Siddharth, when I meet him. For now, my eyes are transfixed on what seems to me the most personal kind of indulgence in the world.But we must move ahead, there’s more. Much more. Samir brings out a sketch of a person wearing something that, for the lack of a better word, has to be described as a necklace: It flows, in several layers of cascading natural pearls and diamonds, right from the neck of the wearer down to the thighs.

“This was ordered by a special customer,” says Samir, and on a little prodding, reveals that the customer was from the Arab world. “They had given us a fixed timeline for making this piece, and it was to be worn by the bride exclusively on her wedding. We had 90 per cent of our craftsmen working on this one, stopping almost all other work.” The price? He answers after some hesitaton: “around $4-5 million.”

There is another order for a ladies’ purse in silver, which will be set with diamonds, emeralds and rubies, with a finishing in gold filigree work. Aladdin’s cave seems puny beside the treasures opening up here...

We are now walking across the room and I am treated to the sight of two of the oldest pieces the Kasliwals made for the Maharajas, and then bought back when the royals were selling off their assets to pay taxes. There’s a 150-year-old enamelled, diamond encrusted chess-set that features Rajasthani men sitting on miniature horses, elephants and camels, with the king in a howdah atop an elephant. And then, there’s the famous, 165-year-old, enamelled and diamond studded life-size parrot, perched on a branch and holding a rose in its beak. The parrot is actually a liquor flask, I’m told — the liquor is poured in the birds’ head, and sipped from the rose bud in its beak. You cannot but stand mesmerised as you hold the bird in your hand… there’s a reason why even the British wanted to live like ‘Maharajas’.

By now we have been joined by Sudhir, the head of the family business and Siddharth, Munnu’s son. I suddenly realise that it’s been about an hour, and the one I’d come looking for is still missing. I call up Munnu again.

“Are you still there at Gem Palace?” Munnu asks. I reply in the affirmative. “I am so sorry, it’s just that I’ve been so unwell…just one of those days…” I express my concern for his health, and enquire whether he’s feeling too weak to come over. “No, not weak, I just have this headache…” he trails off, and then adds again, “Please wait, I’ll be there in just half an hour.” Since I am already enjoying myself, I don’t mind waiting another half hour.

There are other things laying claim to my attention. This time it is a sindoor box, which, Siddharth tells me, has taken four years to be created. It has 927 rubies cut, polished and set to such precision that they could be mistaken for meenakari. And 21 pieces of emeralds in diamond setting, like a solid green ring. “This was an art that was dying,” says Siddharth, “and it was really a challenge getting this done. This was made by a third generation worker.”There are other things here preserved for generations, and are now being restored. And that’s the forte of Sudhir Kasliwal, aside from gemstones, and his first love — photography. Sudhir shows me original, century-old designs made by the chiteras and the restorations compiled by him in a book called “Meenakari of Jaipur”.

“You know, you cannot reproduce the same colours in the meenakari now,” he says wistfully, “and that’s because of the furnace. In those days, there was a special coal furnace while now it’s an electric furnace. Even a papad or a chapatti doesn’t taste the same when cooked on a chulha, compared to when it is cooked on a gas stove!” he muses. He shows me photographs of coal furnaces being used in meenakari, clicked by him around 30 years ago. Sudhir has many other things to show — solid silver objects from the Mughal period, miniature paintings, opal and jade atrdaan and gulabpaash and a zillion other baubles, private collections that dot the insides of the place. “These are not for sale,” he points out. “They are irreplaceable, both in value and in craftsmanship. In fact, we regret having sold some of them now.” I am taken further inside, and there are more ‘collectibles’ on display. Vintage cars, among them a Mer­cedes roadster restored by Sudhir “from scratch”. A 1941 Packard, a 1956 Cadillac, a 1933 Dodge, Studebaker, Hummer, Hudson … the list can go on. There’s really something to be said for the Kasliwal penchant for collecting.

There’s still more to be seen: The family museum being created on the first floor. Looking more like a hall from a Mughal palace than anything, the walls have designs inspired by the famous Palace of Mirrors, or Sheesh Mahal, from Jaipur’s Amber Fort. Samir says this place took 30 to 40 years to complete, and is used as a “guest room” for “visiting VIPs”. And Gem Palace definitely has a huge list of those. From Lord and Lady Mountbatten, Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, Rajmata Gayatri Devi, Prince Charles and Princess Diana, King and Queen of Sweden and Emperor of Japan to Jacq­ueline Kennedy, Judi Dench, Gwyneth Paltrow, Mick Jagger and Richard Gere… you’d get exhausted counting the names. It’s interesting to know, tho­ugh, that the “royals” don’t really buy the big things, they go for “small stuff, mostly as gifts.” That, Samir says, is because “they’ve inherited all the big stuff already.”

The last stop at Gem Pa­lace is the workshop, again on the first floor, where, in one room craftsmen are busy cutting, polishing, faceting and carving stones, while in another, some are creating the gold “setting”. In a corner there’s one man setting the stones into the gold. In another corner, there is a man carrying out the kundan work with great concentration.A huge amethyst in the hands of one of the craftsmen suddenly catches my eye. That’s apparently going to be set into a ring inlaid with rubies at the bottom edge. “That’s a poison ring,” the man grins at me, observing my fascination. I look at him closely. “You’re pulling my leg aren’t you?”His grins widens as he holds up the amethyst to show me that it’s actually a hemisphere, hollow on the inside. Putting it onto the body of the ring, he shows me the spherical space left inside.“See? That’s where you put the poison. The amethyst is detachable. So you can just crack open the ring and tip the poison into someone’s cup and no one would be the wiser.” I could well imagine its use in the times of the maharajas, but now….

I am still marvelling at the ring when my glance falls at my watch. It’s been another hour and a half. Two and a half hours since my appointed time, to be precise.

Another phone call to Munnu.“I’m still waiting for you, are you coming?” I ask.“I’m on my way,” he says. “Are you still there?” he asks.“I’m just going out to see where I can get a quick bite,” I tell him.“Ahh… well, I’ll be therein around half an hour or 45minutes.”I’m a little relieved; he says he’s on his way.

After almost another hour and a lunch of burgers, fries and coke later, I’m back at the gates of Gem Palace, having yet ano­ther conversation with Mun­nu on the phone.“Shall I come over to your place to meet you?” I offer, wondering how ill he is.“No, no…” he’s obviously reluctant. Then he seems to get an idea. “But tell me, do you know Hot Pink?” I do not. (It’s the Fashion and Lifestyle label created by Munnu along with French jewellery designer Marie-Hélène de Taillac in 2005).“Well, are any of the guards there? Can you please give the phone to one of them?”

I look around, and spotting one of the guards, hand him the phone. (For a bizarre moment I wonder if the man is being instructed to never let the badgering journalist cross those gates again.)

The guard hands the phone over to one of the drivers. In a minute, the man is opening the doors of one of their cars for me. I am beyond puzzled.“Bhaisahab has asked me to take you to Narain Niwas Palace,” he says. (That’s where Hot Pink is located) I point out to him that I have my own car. “Well, could you please ask the driver to follow us to that place?”

Completely amazed, I agree, wondering where the wild gem… er… goose chase will land me.A 20-minute drive lands me inside the gates of Narain Niwas Palace Hotel, and I am escorted into the Hot Pink store, which, true to its name, has lots of orange and hot pink thrown in the décor. There’s a hot pink rug and hot pink and orange cushions in every room. There’s a chandelier that looks exactly like it’s been done in kundan-polki work, and a brass reproduction of the neebu-mirchi combo that every shop in Jaipur hangs at its doorstep to ward off the evil eye. There are clothes, purses, accessories…everything, except, of course, what I’m looking for — Munnu himself.

The store staff doesn’t know he’s expecting me. They suggest I call him up. Again. I’m begin to marvel at my own reserves of patience as I call him up for the nth time.“I’m here at Hot Pink,” I tell him simply.“Have you had anything to drink? Would you like some tea or coffee? I’ll tell the staff…”

I want to come straight to the point. “How long will it take you to reach here?”

“Please have something, I’ll be there in about half an hour.”I really have nothing more to say after that. Sure enough, a boy from the staff comes along to offer me a drink. Water is the best thing to soothe my nerves, and I ask him for that. Then I spot the book — Munnu: Irresistible Jewels, and start flipping through it. That’s like visiting Gem Palace all over again, and for a long time I am completely imm­ersed in the pictures. They are all jewels designed by Munnu, photographed by Eric Deroo. More, many more books and two hours later, I am still waiting. Waiting for Godot. I finally tell the staff to call him up and tell him I’m leaving. Five minutes later, the boy comes to me with a cell phone. “Sir would like to speak to you.”

Munnu is extremely apologetic. “I’m sorry I have wasted your entire day. I’ve really never been so ill since ma­ny years. I think I must have done something really nasty.”I stay quiet, not knowing quite what to say. He continues, “I have taken an appointment with the doctor. This headache, you know…”

“Wish you a speedy recovery, I think I’ll be leaving now,” I really can’t engage in pleasantries now.“Oh, but did you like Gem Palace?” he asks.

I tell him it was unbelievably fabulous, but that it was him that I really wanted to meet. And I’d been waiting for six hours now.“I know, I’m feeling so bad, but I thought you would be enjoying yourself at Hot Pink?” I can’t believe this. “There is a book there by Eric Deroo, did you see it?”I tell him I have. He begins talking about it. “You know these pictures, he was clicking them to write notes on the back of. I loved them, and I asked him to take as many as he wanted to write down the notes. I really love the way he’s done them. And I asked him to use the pictures of miniature paintings from our collection, so that it would give the book a different feel. I didn’t want all those usual images of maharajas decked in jewels…”“It really is lovely,” I agree. But I haven’t forgotten the time. “I think I should be going now,” I come back to the point.

“No, no,” he says, much to my surprise. “Please stay, it’s not far from where I am, I’ll reach in 20 minutes.”

I am absolutely amazed now. “Are you sure you can? You seem to be very unwell…”

“No, no. I want to talk to you. That’s why I’ve called you there. Please wait. I’m really sorry about this. I’ll be there.” And the call is disconnected.I swear to myself that this is the last half hour I’m waiting for him. I move towards the gardens, watch a Rajasthani dance performance, find some really old postcards on display, talk to the artists… all this for having something to do. Samuel Beckett’s play is beginning to seem uncannily similar.

Two more half-hours. And I think it’s time for the curtains to come down. I go back into the store, tell the staff to inform Munnu that I’m leaving, and march back to my car.

I shake my head in disbelief: Beckett’s play was perhaps not so ‘absurd’ after all. I had actually spent the entire day waiting for Godot.

Of course, my wait has been infinitely more fruitful than Bec­­kett’s characters. An afternoon with the most heart-stopping jewels ever will always be unforgettable…don’t you reme­mber? Jewels are still a woman’s best friends!

Just Good Business!

If you’ve watched the Pirates of the Caribbean series, you’d remember, in the third part, Lord Cutler Beckett murmuring his favourite line, “Nothing personal Jack, it’s just good business…” as he goes about executing his evil plans to control the seas. Richard Branson’s “Screw Business As Usual” reminded me of the memorable dialogue — not because the book endorses the idea, but because it strictly opposes it. What the glamorous and flamboyant magnate wants to tell the world through his book is that all business is indeed personal — it’s not just about making profit, it’s about making a difference.
He quotes Ray Anderson: “For those who think business exists to make a profit, I suggest they think again. Business makes a profit to exist. Surely it must exist for some higher, nobler purpose than that.”
Through the countless examples of big and small entrepreneurs that his book is strewn with — along with his own, of course — Branson wants to make people believe that “doing good is good for business”.
The book has a preface that compels you to turn the pages — it begins with the fire at Necker Island that completely razed his house to the ground. That wouldn’t be news for you, if you’ve followed the life of the adventure-loving billionaire. But he’s used the incident to subtly remind us “how unimportant ‘stuff’ is” compared to people. Which really sets the tone for the rest of his book, talking about the ‘stuff’ that really matters — the creatures (people as well as animals) living on the 24,902 miles that make up the earth’s circumference. And that, as you come to know, is what gave rise to Capitalism 24902 — doing business in a way that you can contribute to making lives better. As Branson says, people want opportunities, not charity.
And there is information here that would shock you: in the US (of all places!) almost two million young people — some less than 12 years of age —experience homelessness every year. Then there are stories that you would marvel at, such as that of Gyanesh from Bihar who is creating electricity from rice husk for 30,000 rural homes at $2 a month, or that of Adam Balon and Richard Reed, founders of Innocent Drinks. When they created their first smoothie, they were working at Virgin Cola but wanted to start their own enterprise. Unable to decide whether to quit their jobs for this, they took their smoothies to an open air jazz festival, put two waste bins labelled ‘yes’ and ‘no’ in front of their stall, and put a sign above the bins that read: ‘Should we give up our jobs to make these smoothies’! (By the end of the day, the ‘yes’ bin was overflowing.) The book is topped up with dollops of the billionaire’s trademark humour, which brings the text to life. As he cleverly says, “humour can often be a far better way to change behaviour than just trying to scare the hell out of people. If Martin Luther King’s famous quote, ‘I have a dream’ had been ‘I have a nightmare’ it would never have been so successful.”

Walking with Death

Most people feel uncomfortable discussing death. I have always marvelled at how desperately we want to ignore something that’s the biggest truth of existence. There is nothing closer to a human being than death; it could be with you the next second. But you’d rather not think about it.
I became acquainted with death early on in life. My father died in a car accident when I was nine. At that time of course, I didn’t really understand what dying meant. What I did understand, though — courtesy Hindi movies — was that I would never be able to see him again, except in photographs.
But the time when the truth of life really hit me was a year ago, when one of my classmates died, again in a car accident. She had been an exceptionally bright person and though we had been competitors, there was no tension between us. We were close enough to share some deep secrets, although we were never a part of each other’s closest circles.
I did not go to her house when she was flown back to Aligarh from Bangalore. (It was devastating to hear people referring to ‘her body’ being flown in… one minute you’re you and the next you’re a body.) I didn’t have the courage to see her lying motionless, lying dead. I have never seen a person lying in the stillness of death — not even my father; he was buried before I regained consciousness in the hospital (72 hours after the accident).
To come back to my friend, I cannot say that she was particularly dear to me, or that I felt a personal sense of loss. The shock, however, went deep, deep down. More particularly, she had been like a space rocket and we were all eager to see where she landed. It was shocking to realise that it was the grave.
People say death shows you the futility of life. I’d like to disagree. It taught me the preciousness of life: Am I doing what I want to, or sacrificing for a future I might not even reach? More importantly, am I doing what’s good and what’s right, right now, or am I waiting to get old before I give up my vices, or get honest and generous and forgiving? There’s nothing as certain as death. I’d rather not be scared of it; I’d want to be prepared for it. Every moment.

Arabian nights on a magic carpet: From spell-casting gypsies to the Facebook-savvy bedouins— Jordan never fails to enchant you

Seeing is believing. You can truly appreciate this adage when you set foot in the small country that is Jordan. No amount of pictures can do justice to the sights, as each step leads to a fresh delight, juxtaposing the developed-modern with the magical ancient-Arabian. You’d have to see it to believe it.

My five-day visit to this land straight from the pages of the Thousand and One Nights was an enchanted journey of sorts—a tryst with holy lands, nomadic tribes, spell-casting gypsies, Facebook-savvy bedouins, hot springs in the middle of the desert and ancient cities carved out of mountains. Not to mention the sea that leaves you dumfounded as you float like a paper boat on the super-salty surface.

But this is not the way Sheherzade would have narrated it: a proper Arabian Nights tale must begin at the beginning. So the first stop for our tale is the Queen Alia International Airport, where I meet the guide: Ali Abu Dayah. He is a cheerful man, with loads of patience, ever ready to answer the flurry of questions hurled at him. Ali tells me that the farther north one moves in Jordan the greener it gets. The desert lands can be encountered down south.

And right now we are headed towards the north, to the city of Jerash, that boasts of having the largest and most well preserved Roman architecture site outside Italy. It is drizzling as I step in through the Hadrian Arch or the Arch of Triumph, built by the emperor Hadrian in the 2nd century AD. The huge columns loom ahead one after the other, slowly taking me out of modern Jordan and into the Roman settlement centuries ago. To the left is the Hippodrome where the Romans held chariot races. You can enjoy the sight even today, as Chariot races are held once a day for the benefit of tourists. We, however, were not lucky enough to witness these. But somehow, there is a certain enhanced thrill in imagining the unseen…in standing smack in the middle of the huge open space and letting the patter of raindrops translate into the clatter of hoofs and wheels around you…

A football hits me, breaking my reverie. The Hippodrome, while its empty, is the preferred place for a game of football by a handful of school and college kids. Football, by the way, is a national obsession in Jordan. I move out of the line of kick…er…fire, and walk farther into the magnificent city that, even though in ruins now, cannot but leave you awe­struck. Inside the building, we come to a miniature model of the grand Zeus Temple that once stood inside the complex. Back outside, we gaze at what is left of the Zeus Temple… The rain stops and a delightful breeze takes its place. Zeus, it seems, is pleased with us.

Moving ahead, we enter the Oval Plaza, a circular space measuring 90x80 m, half-lined with 56 Ionic columns, used as a venue for social, religious and political ceremonies..The plaza is now the venue for the annual Jerash festival of culture and arts, held in late July. From here, you can see columns upon columns in the distance. That, Ali tells us, is the ‘Cardo’ or the street lined with 500 columns. As we saunter through the Cardo, he points to chariot marks embedded in the stones.Further uphill is the Southern Amphitheatre, adjacent to the Zeus temple. The steep steps leading to the top of the theatre beckon to me. By the time I reach the top, I am panting. But the view makes me forget everything. The entire Roman city, the modern inhabited city in the distance and the hills all around—it is quite understandable why people would hold religious ceremonies here—at such a height you would possibly feel closer to the heavens and easily contemplate God. I stand there and for a minute wonder if this is what the Creator of the universe feels, looking at the beauty of the created land.

But my attention is diverted by the sound of bagpipes and drums. Two men in traditional Jordanian attire have begun to play a catchy tune, with drums and bagpipes, that echoes all round the theatre. The precarious perch, the strong wind and the steep fall below are sufficient deterrents to the irresistible urge to break into a merry jig. But the music combined with the view and the weather makes it an almost ethereal experience. I think again: seeing is believing.

From here we move farther uphill towards the Artemis Temple and the Byzantine Church, which has a mosaic floor. Mosaic floors are common to the churches in the Byzantine period, and Mosaic work is a flourishing handicraft in modern Jordan.Sitting on the edge of the ruins, I spot a boy holding a typical shepherd-stick with a curved upper end as his sheep follow him, grazing randomly in the green-yellow fields. I am reminded of the shepherd-Prophet David in the Old Testament story of David and Goliath. That’s what the place does to you—every step conjures a new story.

The second day includes Madaba, St George’s Church with its famous Mosaics, Mt Nebo and the Memorial of Moses, and olive plantations along the way! Madaba, the city of mosaics, has been mentioned in the Old Testament. St George’s Church here, is famous for its Mosaic floor which is a ‘religious map’ describing the travels of the various Prophets that crossed Jordan. It was also from this Mosaic that the place of Baptism of Jesus—Bethany beyond the Jordan—was discovered.

Hold your breath when you get to Bethany. It is truly sacred land, crossed by messiahs, such as the prophet Elijah who ascended to the heavens from here on a chariot of fire. I stand across from the place where John the Baptist baptised Christ. Behind it is the river Jordan—just a ribbon of a river now—which holds the holy water. I walk slowly back, my feet treading gro­und that has been treaded on by Messiahs.

The desert experience begins with the drive down to Dead Sea. A roadside signboard says ‘Bahr Al-Mayyat’, (mayyat is commonly used for dead body among Muslims) which is a thousand times more chilling than the English name! It is the lowest point on the earth and four times saltier than other seas. The salt makes the Dead Sea ‘dead’—one, it makes it impossible for marine life to survive, and two—it makes you float…like a lifeless body. That is where the magic begins. I step into the sea—and it wraps itself around me. I lie down limply in the water, raise my eyes to the sky, scan the hills in the distance and wonder if Sheherzade could spin this one.

The same day we visit the Ma’in hot springs—streams of water spurting out of nowhere in an entirely barren land of rock mountains. The place is now part of the Evason Ma’in six senses spa that has been built around it.

A pool has been constructed here at the foot of the hot-fall: the springs contain minerals that would make you relax and forget your worries.

Night brings us to Petra—the rose-red rock city carved out of mountains, built by the Nabateans more than 2000 years ago.But Petra by Night is entirely different from Petra in the daytime. Held every Monday and Thursday, Petra by Night is a sensory experience. Night is the mother of mystery and magic, and while the day would answer all your questions, night unleashes your imagination.

We are asked to keep silent during the walk. As we set off down a winding passage flanked by imposing rocks, all I can hear is the hushed whispers and the soft crunch of gravel. There is no moon—but the rocks gleam white in the starlight. Tiny lamps light up our path, and nothing else. Camera flashes are like flashes of lightning reflected on the rocks, I can make out carvings and entrances all around. Suddenly the path narrows down and we are hemmed in by huge rocks—it is the ‘Siq’ or the gorge, which marks the way to the main city. I stretch my hand and let it trail across the mountains—perhaps it would touch the handprints of an ancient Nabatean who went this way. My companions are wondering how the gorge was made…I try to imagine the royal magician cleft the rocks asunder with a spell…Just as the walk seems to go on to nowhere, the mountains abruptly open up to reveal a majestically imposing structure—the Treasury at Petra—with a carpet of a hundred lamps lit in front.

We squat before the lamps and hear a Bedouin play the rababa… I lie down on my back and watch the stars… maybe the theme was played ages ago by a youth in memory of his beloved. Then follows a flute performance and everyone is spellbound. Maybe that was the magician leading everyone into the city…

Petra in the daytime is a rose-coloured city, its rocks adorned with natural multi-colour patterns. The place might even remind you of grand canyon. The Treasury, which is actually the Nabatean King’s tomb, was so called because the Bedouins thought it contained money. A carved urn at the top of the entrance even holds bullet holes—efforts to get the coins out of the urn!Royal tombs, natural caves, cities, palaces all spill out of the rock. Every step leads you to something greater and more marvellous—the amphitheatre, the Great temple, The Qasr Al-Bint or Palace of the King’s Daughter—and not to forget the parade of the ‘Roman soldiers’ that takes place everyday for visitors!

I try to photograph a Bedouin selling knick-knacks and he mutters something curse-like, followed by a yell—“I’ll follow you around! Don’t take pictures, I’ll follow you!” The subsequent event is something like running for dear life!

But not all Bedouins mutter curses. Captain’s Desert Camp in Wadi Rum gave me a slice of Bedouin life. The brightly embroidered insides of the tent followed by some cola-coloured desert ‘chai’ set the mood for our jeep tour. An open jeep, with sand blowing in your face and the sun beating down on you, lets you take in the gloriously stark magnificence of this protected site, which was also where Lawrence of Arabia was filmed.

Open-mouthed is the right expression when experiencing Wadi Rum. We stop at a place with drawings on the rocks. These, Ali tells me, are inscriptions dating to the 4th century BC—drawings of camels, ostriches and hunters. Now we know why the valley is protected. Walking in Wadi Rum is no piece of cake—the sand seems to pull you down and the rocks look down contemptuously upon your insignificance.

But the sight of the sun setting behind the rocks will remind you why an Arabian on a horse is a creature of romance.

Dinner at the Captain’s Camp is typical Bedouin affair, to the accompaniment of two Bedouins playing desert songs. I am recording the performance, when one of them asks me to transfer it to him by bluetooth. For a moment, I just stare at him. “No bluetooth? Well, then, please add me on Facebook,” he ends, smiling.That’s what you get in Jordan--An arabian genie in an iPhone!

Words' worth: A story of some of the most exquisite books in India and abroad

How much would you be willing to spend on a platinum ring? And how much would you sell it for, if it’s the one you wear on your ring finger…?” So went an ad for platinum jewellery, almost a decade ago. The tagline was something like this: the most precious things in life don’t come with price tags attached.

If you are one of those obsessed with books, you might want to re-interpret the ad: how much would you be willing to spend on a book that contains rare pieces of poetry and art? And for how much would you sell that book for if it’s signed by the artist you’d die for…?

Probably, the ad was right. The best things in life can’t really be valued by bar codes. Nevertheless, they do come with price tags—and no mean ones at that. Rare books, like any other sacrosanct object of art, come with their own little haloes and, sometimes, with their own not-so-little stands, too.

Hold your breath—Bhutan: A Visual Odyssey Through The last Himalayan Kingdom, which holds the world record for being the largest book at 5 ft x 7 ft, weighs 150 pounds and was priced at $15,000 (Rs 7 lakh) and had a limited run of 100 copies. Interestingly, it was only offered to donors who made a tax-deductible gift to support education in the world’s special places, and was produced on demand for each of them.

The book—if that’s what this monumental work of art can be called—contains arresting pictures of Bhutan and comes with its own custom-built aluminium stand.

The author, editor and principal photographer, Michael Hawley, is the director of special projects at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. “I love Bhutan,” he told Financial Chronicle, “and hoped the book might have a positive impact by sharing some of their culture and values.” Ask him if he could briefly describe his journey, and he replies, “Briefly? Not really. Two years in the field, half a dozen trips covering the entire kingdom, hundreds of unique adventures and personal encounters.”

The publisher of the book is a non-profit educational charity called Friendly Planet, founded by Hawley, to support educational efforts in Bhutan and Cambodia.

“The King of Bhutan has seen it. I personally gave him a copy of the small edition,” Hawley says. “There are at least three big copies in Bhutan, one in the National Library, one at Sherubtse College, among others. It is a well-known project,” he adds. Though not for sale now, you can buy smaller editions and ‘read’ versions on Amazon.com.

However, if you do want to buy a rare book—with a stand, too—you need not go very far. Timeless—The Art Book Studio, at South Extension in New Delhi, proudly displays Modern Art—Revolution and Painting, a “wooden hardback covered in pale leather, hand finished and punched warm with silver” that measures a little over 100cm x 70cm when open, and weighs 32 kg. Sitting grandly on its own book-rest made of lacquered wood, it would surely dazzle you. And not just because it’s priced at a cool Rs 4.5 lakh.

The book, published by Art Media Italia in 2002, describes its own purpose to be the presentation of a “virtual art gallery” analysing modern art through the cultural and political revolutions of two centuries, “that changed mankind’s position in the world and consequently also its vision of art.”

Raavi Sabharwal, the owner of the store, tells you how he got 12 copies, out of 1,000 that have been published. He has sold five.

“I was at the Frankfurt book fair in Germany in 2009, when I first saw it. As I requested to meet the publisher, the organiser pointed a finger over my back and said ‘there he comes,’” recounts Sabharwal. “When I turned, I came face to face with the man and asked him how many copies were left. He said he had 12. I offered to buy all of those. Hearing this, the man turned to his companions and exclaimed, ‘see, you thought I was crazy!’”

Sabharwal has other such tales to tell, but he cannot divulge the names of the buyers. “People who buy such books are art lovers and book lovers. They could also be collectors. One man who bought this took it as a gift for his friend who is an artist,” he says.

There are several factors that make these books command the handsome amounts they do. “First, they are limited edition books. That alone makes them much pricier,” says Sabharwal.

“Then there is the size of these works, the quality of their prints and pages, and of course, their value as an object of rare beauty,” he adds.

Anuj Bahri Malhotra, CEO or Delhi’s most famous bookstore, Bahrisons Booksellers, has an important point to make. “You really cannot say what it is that makes a book expensive, or even which book is the most expensive of all. For instance, if a book is out of print, and I am willing to pay any amount to get it, how expensive does that make it?” Which means, ultimately, that it’s the precious factor, that human longing for all things beautiful and rare, which comes into play here.

To behold other such royalty, you can go to the Vadehra Art Gallery bookstore in Defence Colony. It houses some enchanting volumes of MF Husain’s reproductions, with prices ranging from Rs 25,000 toRs 45,000. The former is for Poetry To Be Seen, a 2-ft- high treasure trove of charcoal paintings by Hussain, accompanied by poetry that interprets them, or vice versa. As you turn the cover, you come face to face with a homage by Mulk Raj Anand: “Let the ‘poetry to be seen’ and the ‘poetry to be read’ here excite the imagination of those who have so far looked but not seen.”

Pradeep, store manager of the Vadehra book store, informs that in the past six months, they have sold two copies of this limited edition book (100 copies) published by Cinema Ghar, ‘Museum of Art and Cinema’, Hyderabad, in 2006. The last page of the book leads to this description: each sheet is hand-printed with silk screens and signed by Husain.Then there is Husain for Rs 30,000, a first edition publication by Tata Steel, also a reproduction of his works — designed, conceived and with a foreword by the maestro himself — handwritten, signed Bombay, 1981.

The foreword describes the journey of art from the caveman’s abode to the briefcase of the multinational conglomerate… “Poor ‘MONA LISA’ once abducted from Italy by the/ French general is now being raped at every/ street corner. Growth of ‘art consciousness’ galore…”Interestingly, the book has, on its back cover, a postscript, again handwritten, declaring “any resemblance to any of my paintings in this book is coincidental,” because “reproduction is not a true replica of the original.” Therefore, the book is “a joint effort of printer and painter”.

There are other books, such as those published by Timeless, priced at pretty much the higher end of the spectrum. Panorama of India and Ladakh, priced at Rs 30,000 each, and a book in the pipeline, titled Taj Mahal, with photographs by Raghu Rai and text by Usha Rai, to be priced at about Rs 25,000 when published.With this book, says Sabharwal, “you would be able to take the Taj with you.” Flipping through the book is a visual delight. Instead of the usual pictures, you have distant views of the Taj with people’s experiences of it. One, for instance, shows tourists at the Agra Fort gazing happily into their digital cameras after having taken a picture of the Monument of Love. Another, a very old one, has a steam engine chugging away with the Taj in the background…

But we have only been talking about contemporary books here. If you want real literary-artistic opulence, then you need to head towards the antiques section. First- edition works such as The Gutenberg Bible—the first book printed with moveable type or the Codex Leicester—a 72- page notebook containing the scientific writings and sketches of Leonardo da Vinci, belong to the category that are not really sold; they go under the hammer. The list includes Birds of America by John James Audobon that has life- size sketches of birds, and measures 3 ft x 2 ft.

The Codex was purchased by Bill Gates in 1994 in an auction. Handwritten by Leonardo in his characteristic mirror-writing, the book is put on public display once a year in a different city around the world.Birds of America, The Codex Leicester and The Gutenberg Bible have been bought at $11 million, $30.8 million and $35 million, respectively. Now, that’s definitely something to be said for the most precious things and their price tags.