A Taste Of Jaipur

Essay Writing Competition 2026
Category: 12 - 15 years
- Commendation -

Senior category: Commendation

"A Taste Of Jaipur" - Essay by Riya Sharma

A Taste Of Jaipur

Clambering out of the rustic rickshaw, the smell of roasted cumin and exhaust fumes hit me before my feet even touched the tarmac. I stood up in a frenzy as a deafening cacophony of motorbikes and shouting merchants filled the air. I breathed it all in. This was Jaipur.

The scorching sun caressed my bare arms as I weaved through a myriad of spice stalls, cloth bazaars and chai vendors who conversed heartily in their Rajasthani dialects. "Chai lelo yaar," he shouted as the intoxicating aroma of freshly prepared chai wafted up my nostrils. Enthralled, I made a silly yet definite pledge to myself: no matter what, I was going to try that tea before I left. Everywhere I looked, there was something demanding my attention. Brightly coloured fabrics swayed above the stalls, their patterns almost competing with the mountains of turmeric, chilli and cumin stacked neatly on wooden counters. Bangles glittered beneath the sunlight as vendors called out to passing tourists, their voices blending into the already deafening symphony of Jaipur.

I found myself stopping every few steps, unable to decide where to look first. As I stood losing myself in the labyrinthine alleys of the market, the bitter sting of diesel smoke sharply awoke me from my trance. Unsure of my bearings, I decided to stop playing Einstein and get the map of Jaipur out from the back pocket of my denim jeans. The oppressive, heavy humidity of the blazing Indian sun clung to my skin; it occurred to me that jeans were perhaps not the best clothing choice. With the map clutched tightly in my hands, I followed the winding streets, turning left and right whenever I thought I was heading in the right direction.

The noise of the market slowly faded behind me, replaced by the distant rumble of traffic and the occasional call of a street vendor. Then, between the buildings, I caught a glimpse of pink sandstone. As the diminution of my power against the fierce heat became more and more apparent by the second, I decided to take a pause from my wandering and sit down. Glancing down toward the crinkled, yellowing map within the grasp of my calloused fingertips, I saw 'Hawa Mahal' beaming at me with the intention of invitation.

I strolled further a few steps and, sure enough, when I looked back up, it was there. Standing mightily, the monolithic structure of the palace cast a long, brooding shadow over the busy square, gracing me with just a moment of serenity and, thankfully, the shade. I looked up at its hundreds of delicate windows, arranged across the pink sandstone like a vast honeycomb. Each one seemed impossibly intricate, and yet the building stood boldly above the chaos of the street below. Rickshaws weaved through the traffic while tourists stopped to take photographs, but I barely noticed any of it.

For a moment, Hawa Mahal had captured my entire attention. Standing there, I realised that this was probably why I enjoyed travelling so much. I liked seeing things I had only ever seen in pictures, but being there was completely different. I could hear the traffic, smell the spices and feel the heat on my skin. It was messy and overwhelming and beautiful all at once and somehow, I didn’t want to leave.

Eventually, I tore myself away from the palace and slowly made my way back towards the market. The familiar scents of roasted cumin and cardamom began to creep back into the air, bringing me full circle. And then I remembered my promise. That chai wasn’t going to drink itself.

Congratulations on your engaging essay about Hawa Mahal, Riya! Your essay captures the sights, sounds and aromas of the vibrant city and we completely understand your fascination with the Pink Palace and the lively atmosphere on Jaipur’s busy streets. You have only seen it in pictures so far, and we hope you have the opportunity to visit this unique landmark in India one day! Well done and thank you for sharing your lovely essay!

Riya, 15 years, attends King Edward VI Handsworth School in England. English is home language.