I visite the palace, inside the forth of Jodhpur. Every room is luxuriously decorated. I admire the subtlety of the work, but every window reminds me the recluse life of the three hundreds wifes of the Maharajah. The tape guide tells me that the laught of those women used to run over the white marble walls of the palace. I stay a little bit sceptical about the constant good mood of locked up women, privated of liberty and supervised by eunuchs.