(mud-huts.) local villages. salt deserts. sunrise. to sundown.

The morning after dads’ birthday festivities came sooner than I would have expected- it simply felt instant. Just as I thought my eyes were closed in the complete darkness of the theater room (where Manan, Kaushal, and I slept,) I was awoken by the noises of an already busy house outside the theaters’ closed doors, and the mornings’ sunshine peeking through the window curtains. As I slowly lifted my body still slightly intoxicated from the food, sweets, and alcohol from the previous night, I noticed I was the last to wake. I made my way into my vacated bedroom across the hall- stumbling into my bathroom I prepared for a cold shower. It was not long before I dressed myself, and packed enough clothes for the adventure planned for the days ahead. Piyush Uncle, Reshma Aunty, Kshama Masi, Ravi bhai (pronounced “buy”, signifies older-brother), Parul bhabi, Bharat Uncle, Meena Aunty, Pinku bhai, Pinky babhi, Sheetal, Manan, Kaushal, Sahil and Aesha (the last two are my niece and nephew) were all among the crowd of people who were making the journey north for our desert excursion. Spending only a few moments to chat about the events that had taken place the previous night, we packed our bags into the two vans and made our way.



Shaam-e-Sarhad “Sunset at the Border” Village Resort is ‘hand-crafted by the indigenous people of the Hodka village.’ Under the impression of being surrounded by sand dunes and thinking of some bizarre style of camping- I certainly did not expect what each one of my sense encountered next. Finding a new appreciation for mud (yes mud!) was among many things I found in this entirely new experience. Think about a hotel you have stayed in- now picture just about everything in that hotel made of mud- mud walls, mud floors, and mud beds. Now I know what you may be thinking- “there would be no way in hell…” but I can personally say... there WOULD definitely be a way in hell. Immediately after passing through dinging bells in the main entrance- you are greeted by the staff of locals in traditional Kutchchh (pronounced kutch-chee) attire, an open air common area for seating and lounging (yes made of the magical stuff we take for granted) and a dining area with modern chairs and tables (tailgating chairs modern here, not Martha Stewart.) A buffet area also was a part of the venue’s structure. Instead of chafing dishes and sternos the ‘resort’ went prehistoric with handmade clay pots filled with hot embers of wood- the smell itself was amazing. Moving onwards- there were three bhungas (prounounced bun-gahz) or mud huts that sat under thatch roofing on one side and about a dozen tents on the other- in the center was a spacious area in which bonfire’s were lit at night accompanied by traditional music and dance. About a hundred+ yards away from the common ground, a group of enormous tent lay tucked in the corner of the facility- they were ours. Two family tents (accommodates four), and three couples tents were booked just for our party- Again, my misconception for tents in India was soon realized after stepping into the monster I called home for three days and two nights. Four mud beds (with soft cushions), a “mud couch” and plenty of walking space were only a few of the luxuries we found inside our new home- equipped with outlets- we easily charged our cameras, laptops, etc. This place truly was different. A separate exit led to another spacious tent which housed a modern style toilet with its tank disguised with mud play along with the places theme (pretty f’ing sweet if you ask me) infront of the toilet was a well maintained shower- as well as a bucket used for hot water. Certain amenities where limited due to location- (water… in the desert… is scarce- let alone hot water.)

We had spent the day touring a small village which produced a few items of local design and culture ranging from dolls, to dresses- It was rather interesting seeing each family rush out to set they’re merchandise on the foot steps of their homes in order to get an opportunity to sell something to the people who came unannounced to their home [us]. I had learned earlier via pamphlet in our resort that photography may or may not be welcome in certain homes- pictures of woman can be especially taboo, and if permitted, shoes, sandals, etc are to be taken off before entering ANY home. As I was not particularly interested in the shopping aspect, I really wanted to absorb as much as I could to the lifestyle in which these impoverish villages sustain themselves year round. Two young girls and a pre-teen boy seemed eager to have any photo taken of them while a little boy hid at any photo opp. I remember looking at makeshift homes and being dumbstruck at the fact I had so much to be grateful for- family and friends who love me, clothing, a roof over my head, food in my belly, I mean lets be honest, the list continues. However, at times I still find reasons to bitc*. It was when I heard someone say “they have nothing… yet they’re still happy to see us…” where I realized.... it was not them I pitied… when I reflect and re-read this paragraph I caught myself thinking, “what a load of bulls***,” as I realized I had forgotten all about those little children and families who humbly invited me into their home to experience their lives. I was more concerned about tonights poker tourney and getting my drink on- don’t get me wrong, I’m no saint- but maybe at this point in my life; I could start making a few changes?

“Be grateful for all you have, knowing that at this moment, all you have is all you need.” -Sarah Ban Breathnach


more to come soon..