Jaipur: A Heri-stage
A tourist’s take on deframing heritage




Mansi Pund

 
© Copyright 2024 by Mansi Pund



 Photo of Jaipur, India courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
Photo of Jaipur, India courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

Millions of orange lasers pierced the dull blue sky and lit up the city of Jaipur. I was standing at the Nahargarh Sunrise Point, the one famous for its picturesque sunrise and view of the city. A picture to remember indeed. The Jaipur in front of me was as awake as the one behind me. In front of me was a dynamic expanse of a 300-year-old civilization established in 1727 by Raja Jai Sing II. Behind me was a stretch of cars lined up from the base of the hill. Music was dancing on the neon circles from party box speakers while men revving their royal enfields made special appearances.

I walked up to the edge to get away from the noise. When Arya, my friend from Jaipur, mentioned watching the sunrise this wasn’t exactly what I pictured. I envisioned us sitting on the tranquil top of a hill, overlooking the magnificent fort walls and the sun rising over the glorious past. I pictured a frame, not a place.

“It is a really good picture, just edit the people behind”, Karan said looking at the image of me, the sun, and local people in the background. Karan’s digital eraser followed in the footsteps of countless colonial-era painters like Thomas and William Daniell who were tasked with depicting foreign vistas devoid of their native residents. A way to showcase a land ripe for the taking. Decades later we are free, but our lens still shows the same picture. An unexplored land ready to be conquered by the tourists.

At that moment, I realised I was also seeing the use of the tourist space by locals as an annoyance distracting me from the flawless scene in front. I framed the locals’ contemporary uses of the space as intrusions. I, as a tourist, tried to freeze the place only as an accomplishment of the past without modern vitality. Who was I to declare what view of the city was more ‘picture perfect’? The sunrise was as much about nature as it was about the people. My original quest for a sterile, empty landscape was narrow, filtered through a touristic lens in search of a convenient commodity. It erased the very Jaipur residents whose hopes, dreams, and daily rituals kept the city’s heritage alive.

As the yellow sun peeked over the high walls, I sensed this was not some fossilized postcard but a living tapestry I had the honor of briefly glimpsing at. I turned around and saw myself amid the lively sea of people of Jaipur. I was one of them, the people.

Our next stop was at ‘Tapri’ for breakfast. Our itinerary was planned by Arya, local resident, and our friend. When she suggested a trip to her home city, four of us friends jumped on the opportunity. A historical city through the eye of a local, I thought. What a delicacy.

On the way to Tapri, my tongue salivated at the thought of having roadside chai (tea) with a bun muska (bread toasted with sweet butter). The mahogany-colored sweet tea with a hint of masala (spices), ginger, and elaichi (Cardamom) was a treat to the throat. For me, Tapri was a memory of a small tin-roofed stall where employees came to take a cigarette break and college students bunked classes. Here, the tea dived from the battered aluminum pot to multiple mini versions of Iranian glasses creating a muddy waterfall without spilling even a quarter of a drop. My uncle often reminded me that the chai flavor comes from pots that carry history across time, lovingly mended again and again rather than replaced. The tiny dimples and softened edges hold memories of laughter, debates, friendships kindled, and partnerships forged.

Our car turned around the Statue Circle and halted opposite Central Park. As the name suggests it is in the center of the city, a prime location. The ride from the outskirts to the center gave us forty minutes to rest our sleepy morning eyes. We were then ready for some tea and breakfast. We got off and looked around for the Tapri. There was no tea stall with an adjacent breakfast joint. No long lines and people eating on the streetside. No sound of laughter and baritone shouts of table numbers. There was neither the smell of burnt filters nor the aroma of palm-sized dishes made in the make-shift kitchens.

“Where?” I asked as Arya returned from parking the car. “This, behind you. Can’t see?”. I turned around and still couldn’t locate the Tapri. She walked inside the gates of a three-storey building and we followed her. Each step was a realization that this was it. We were standing on the land of Tapri. Tapri, the tea house.

Founded by two young MBA graduates, Tapri was an entrepreneurial venture. “We observed how tea stalls at every corner were making money. But as most were dirty, well-off people stayed away. We just ensured the shop was clean.”, says Bapana one of the founders, in an interview with Times of India (Kalla). Inside the Tapri lies a vast interior replicating the local aesthetic of a tapri, the only difference being cleaner tables, service charges, purified air, and exoticized frames of Rajasthan.

I laud the savvy take of the founders for capitalizing on this hunger of the privileged class to experience the facade of local. Their startup plays into inherited colonial narratives. The founders of Tapri explicitly aimed to take a traditional local establishment and ‘clean it up’ for wealthier clientele. This allows tourists to comfortably access the experience but also sanitize and commercialize it.

Historically, outsiders first demeaned roadside tapris as dirty and uncivilized, justifying radical development schemes. Now, ‘well-off people’ unwilling to frequent traditional tea stalls require local youths to refashion their own heritage to suit foreign tastes, just to regain economic viability within their own city. Dangling between cultural exchange and cultural appropriation, these hipster havens have become the new darlings of urban chic.

Local entrepreneurs like the Tapri founders contort the long-standing cultural practices into more ‘sanitized’ establishments for this urban chic clientele which helps them thrive economically. The purported goal is cultural exchange, but the underlying power differential cannot be ignored—visitors along with their capital set standards reshaping how residents interface with their own communities.

Next to us was a couple from Paulo, Brazil visiting India for the first time. Naturally, conversation sparked up and I asked them how they liked India. “Oh, we like it very very much. Love the culture. Indian Friend on Instagram told us about this place. We wanted to eat local. So we came here, to experience the authentic. I will say it is very good.” answered Jaren. Clearly, the founders had succeeded at their vision—transforming this photocopy of a cultural staple into a trendy, exotic backdrop for foreigners seeking the packaged essence of “India.” Perhaps we cannot fault tourists for admiring Tapri’s culture-commodifying efficiency or the locals for profiting from it. Yet should we ignore the power dynamic where the economically disadvantaged party must reshape itself to appeal to the sensibilities of visiting outsiders, without a true mutual understanding? Must we continually contort heritage to suit privileged travelers seeking consumable difference?

While it holds multiple narratives in its underbelly, Tapri is a popular cafe and is a crucial part of the tourism industry. The Muuda (made of bamboo) interiors of Tapri and the copper and brass metal utensils reminded me of pictures depicting the life of Rajasthan in school history books. However, while recreating the muddy waterfall of chai I wondered where these utensils come from.

On my next trip, I found the answer. Along with my classmates, I undertook the Chaukri Modikhana walk. A heritage walk conducted by Virasat Experiences, a well-known travel agency in Jaipur. There I came across the ‘Thatheron ki Gali’. This Gali (street) was the workspace and home to several families practicing metalwork for generations. Akshat, our tour-walk guide told us that the ancestors of these families were called by Sawai Jai Singh II in the 1700s from various parts of the country to practice their art at the capital of Rajasthan. When you are; you would know you are in Thathere Walon Ka Rasta (road of metalworkers), as the sound of hammering never escapes the light of this place. The constant beating of the metal to form intricate designs and shapes has been the art of this street for decades.

We ducked down to enter a narrow passage leading to a space surrounded by blue walls. Three men of the household were hammering ghada (round jug), lotas (water pot), kalash (Pitcher Pot), etc. ‘Ye kiska bana hai?’ ( What is this made of?) I asked. Without looking up Suresh, head of the household said ‘kansa’ (an alloy of copper, zinc, and tin). The same metal I saw in Tapri. But there was one difference. The dents on the ones in Tapri were so symmetrical and flawless as if they were factory-pressed. Upon closer inspection, I found each utensil made in Thatheron ki gali was unique as the design varied according to the tool used by a particular artisan and their skill. I wondered why Tapri doesn’t support the local artisans and buy directly from them. However, I couldn’t find the answer.

Maybe the answer lies in the consistency of the product. Maybe the rates are too high. Maybe the production is too slow. Maybe. These all are my assumptions and I am a tourist as well. In Jaipur, not for more than four days. Whatever I glimpse into, I will never see a complete picture. I will see a frame. A frame, a moment, an age, born out interplay of everyone, of me and you; the past, and the future.

*****

Work Cited
Kalla, Avinash. “Lessons From a Jaipur Tea Stall.” The Times of India, 4 Dec. 2011, timesofindia.indiatimes.com/home/sunday-times/deep-focus/Lessons-from-a-Jaipur-tea-stall/articleshow/10976554.cms.
Jaren. Personal interview. 8 October 2023.
Suresh. Personal interview. 28 October 2023.

*****

I am Mansi Pund, an undergraduate student from India.  I am a psychology and creative writing student from India. I love to travel and write about my observations. I'm a 21 year old, seeking inspiration from the world and people around me.


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