The Attraction of Discovery

When I heard that Jodhpur has some of India’s best antique shops, I imagined unmarked stores hidden in a maze of twisted streets. I expected to find overlooked treasures in discarded heaps of rubble. But our trip to Palace Road defied all assumption.

As we exited the rickshaw we were greeted by several plush tour buses packed with ageing Brits. The “antique shops” resembled enormous warehouses, most with multiple levels. The first place we toured turned out to be a handicraft emporium specializing in export. A young salesman named Saleem eagerly showed us a sampling of the famous company’s products. We saw blankets and pashminas custom-made for Hermes, duvet covers ordered by Donna Karen New York, and quilts designed by Armani. Saleem showed us a recent photograph of famous American actors Bill Murray and Jason Schwartzman sitting in the store’s largest showroom (apparently they had visited while shooting’s Wes Anderson’s new film “The Darjeeling Limited”) as well as an article printed in the UK that documents Richard Gere’s purchase of 108 blankets from the same store. “He bought one hundred and eight,” Saleem confirmed, pointing to the colorful stack of fine Hermes throws.

A neighboring store lived up to the “antique shop” sign hung above its door. From British cookie tins from the 1930s to green-tinted glass perfume bottles to old plastic toys, the shop’s endless shelves made its singular treasures seem like the ubiquitous stock of a grocery store. Meanwhile, hoards of tourists swarmed through the rooms, thumbing through faded postcards and inspecting miniature paintings. “Is this authentic?” a woman wearing black and holding up a crude piece of pottery asked the salesman. It was a strange sight to behold.

The most disturbing aspect of this scene was outside, where hundreds of priceless, museum-worthy artifacts lined both sides of the road. Intricately carved wooden haveli doors- some painted unexpected shades of pale green, bright violet and salmon- leaned against a stretch of chain link fence. The dust kicked up by passing trucks fell on hand carved window frames complete with their original panes of glass. Many of the items were enormous- entire solariums, iron entrance gates and painted gazebos. There was even a complete wing of a haveli transplanted on the barren desert highway! All such historic relics had been ripped from their original location to be sold into the homes of wealthy Europeans and Americanss.

After purchasing two vintage postcards, Alexander and I decided to walk to a nearby restaurant. We followed the lights of the highway for a quarter mile, stepping over sleeping cows and holding pieces of cloth over our mouth to filter the stifling exhaust. Near our destination we were startled by a wild scream in the bushes. Terrified, we watched as a homeless woman emerged, her gray hair in a wild halo around her head. I froze. “What should we do?” I asked Alexander. We both stood for a second, deciding how to best negotiate our imminent encounter (Although we are forced to deal with extreme poverty on a daily basis, this woman’s desperation was petrifying). I stared as she feverishly clawed over gravel and came running (as best she could) directly at us. My heart started to race. “RUN!” Alexander cried. And so we were forced to flee, sprinting along the highway, fear and guilt following us like a dark cloud.