Jaipur, India December 30th - January 1, 2006

As her soft voice entered the dining room with a greeting...her hair hidden by a yellow chiffon veil, her skin soft, her gentle mannerism apparent to even a blind eye.

She softly explained where she was from, how she arrived in Jaipur, what she did from day to day, her family life and her position in the house.

Being who I am, I ask questions...I ask a lot of questions. I asked about her marriage, about her family.

I am intrigued as her soft voice explains that the first meeting with her husband was behind a veil, where few words were spoken...only words of acceptance. Her veil was a wedding veil, her words of acceptance were her wedding vows.

The servants eyes constantly survey the room and as they provide a soft command, she softly lowers her veil to cover her eyes just as another servant enters the room. Her face only to be revealed to the selected few...to us as her guest.

In her soft voice, she explains that she is the one that prepared the lovely meal that lays before us...that it brings her joy to provide for her family.

In her soft voice she apologizes for not welcoming us earlier and a look of wonderment fills us with such a jesture.

In her soft voice she explains that when she provides a meal to her in-laws it is with unspoken words for she is unauthorized to speak to them directly.

In her soft voice she explains that she has never ridden a rickshaw in her town, our constant means of transportation is not acceptable for her status.

In her soft voice I feel younger and clumpsy in my years although she is younger than I am.

In her soft voice she questions our profession and you cannot help but feel small and weak as she explains that we must be strong in character.

In her soft voice she welcomes us to her home rather than the dining hall for the next meals dinner and breakfast.

In her soft voice she bids us fairwell and welcomes us to visit again....her kindness and gestures do not betray her status for in my eyes she is not the landlady of a farmhouse bed and breakfast, she is much more.

In her soft voice... I feel, see and hear royalty.....
In her soft voice...she is a queen or princess.

Excerpt: As we roam the museum in Jaipur, we find one name among every portrait, every room, every chandelier, every peice of jewelry...everything.
It was the last name of the soft voice.

If India was still under the ruling of a king, her husband would have been the ruler....yet she IS STILL A Queen.

......and I was completely undressed!