Marwar

Marwar (Hindi: मारवाड़) (also called Jodhpur region) is a region of southwestern Rajasthan state in North Western India. It lies partly in the Thar Desert. In Rajasthani dialect "wad" means a particular area. The word Marwar is derived from Sanskrit word 'Maruwat'. English translation of the word is 'the region of desert.'

The region includes the present-day districts of Barmer, Jalore, Jodhpur, Nagaur, and Pali. It is bounded on the north by Jangladesh region, on the northeast by Dhundhar, on the east by Ajmer, on the southeast by Mewar, on the south by Godwar, on the southwest by Sindh, and on the west by Jaisalmer region.

Geography

In 1901 the region (Jodhpur state) had an area of 90,554 km2 (34,963 sq mi).

Marwar is a sandy plain lying northwest of the Aravalli Range, which runs southwest-northeast through Rajasthan state. The Aravallis wring much of the moisture from the southwest monsoon, which provides most of India's rainfall. Annual rainfall is low, ranging from 10 cm to 40 cm. Temperatures range from 48 to 50 degrees Celsius in the summer, to below freezing point in winter. The northwestern thorn scrub forests lie next to the Aravalli Range, while the rest of the region lies in the Thar Desert.

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PLAYLIST TIME:

Mademoiselle

by: Murray Head

Mademoiselle remembers too well
How once she was belle of the ball
Now the past she sadly recalls.
Mademoiselle lived in grand hotels
Ordered clothes by Chanel and Dior
Millionaires queued at her door.
Oh, she pleased them and teased them
She hooked them and squeezed them
Until like their empires they'd fall
She very soon learned
That the more love she spurned
The more power she yearned
Until she was belle of the ball.
Oh, Mademoiselle, such a soft machiavel
Would play bagatelle with the hearts of young men as
they fell
Mademoiselle would hide in her shell
Could then turn cast a spell on any girl
That got in her way.
She would crave all attention
Men would flock to her side
Woe betide any man who ignored
For she'd feign such affection
Then break down their pretension
When she'd won she would turn away.
Turn away, thoroughly bored.
Mademoiselle, long ago said farewell
To any love left to sell, for the sake of being belle
of the ball
Mademoiselle knows there's no way to quell
Her own private hell, just a shell,
With no heart left at all.
Poor old Mademoiselle.




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