Its cinnamon colored sandstone rises like a lacework curtained veil into the cobalt sky above. From the ground all I see are miniature niches covered with hundreds of tiny windows. Behind its intricate architecture, this lavish latticework hides a mysterious world. I’m in Jaipur, India, the “pink city of Rajasthan,” staring up at the incomparable Hawa Mahal. A strict translation of Hawa Mahal is Wind Palace, but this is no palace. It’s an exotic entrance way into the life of Rajasthan’s royal ladies, and I am about to go behind the wall to see what Jaipur looked like from the other side of the multitiered windows.
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