my life. unscripted.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

where i left off.

So. I should probably begin by saying something along the lines of… “Well it’s been a while since I’ve posted something but……”---- But in reality, I have had nothing significantly SIGNIFICANT to write about until now.. Before I get into the real reason why I am writing again, I will begin where I left off. The trip to The Great Rann of Kutch was as amazing as I described earlier- no joke—it really was that awesome! After that, there was a new year’s party at Ajay Uncles home; which… as expected was simply amazing! The food, the DRINKS, the décor, (which was already there.. because the both Ajay Uncle and Anju Aunty are both closet Martha Stewarts!) was simply amazing- with a few additional touches from Ajay Uncle (I suspect..) the disco lighting particularly added to the glam the party needed! New Years went off without a hitch, partying with good friends and close family members never felt so good- at least for me… The whole experience was different… New Years typically was another reason why I should drink more than my liver could handle; another reason why I could just get drunk with my friends... Bringing in the new year with Ajay Uncle, Anju Aunty and my family… was everything I expected- but more fulfilling than I ever anticipated...

Chandhu Uncle and Ritu Aunty’s dinner prior to me leaving also was one of those moments.. (you know the kind that you remember.) We arrived as always “fashionably late” which give or take in India is an hour.. Meeting and greetings with family; Uncle, Aunty and Rica (I hope I spelt that right!) who is Chandhu Uncle and Ritu Aunties daughter where amongst the hosts who greeted us. After a brief introduction, we made our way to the bar which lead to a few drinks on the outdoor patio (think garden’s in Babylon here!) Shrimps… I’m sorry PRAWNS fried beautifully with a tempura batter, and a mushroom rolls which resembled sushi was amongst the appetizers that tingled my trained tongue. It wasn’t before long I found myself on the dinner table. The menu of curried lamb, eggplant stuffed with spices which seemed either roasted or pan fried were among the uber delicious food items on the menu that evening. Eating a perfectly prepared rice pudding for dessert (“Kheer” in India) and mum being teased about being a vegetarian followed.. seriously though, who the f--- is still a vegetarian! Goodbyes in India always take forever- so after dinner, there were no surprises. Hugs and kisses- from both Chandhu Uncle and Ritu Aunty were absorbed more than ever before.. This was it, my metaphoric last supper before I saw Ajay Uncle, Anju Aunty, Chandhu Uncle, Ritu Aunty, Vimal Uncle, Pooja Aunty and family for a long time… That plane ride home… was a hard.

"Truly great friends are hard to find, difficult to leave, and impossible to forget.” -Unknown Author

Friday, January 8, 2010

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

“The Great Rann of Kutch is saline clay desert located in the Thar Desert in the Indian state of Gujarat...” I will stop right there…… before I go on and define what the Rann actually IS from some source on the I N T E R N E T… I will plainly say experiencing it is again something words could not begin to describe. The Rann stimulates all of your senses simultaneously. As the salty air tingles each of your taste buds the cool wind dances in and around your hair, you will find a profound silence that captivates even the youngest of children. Making your way down from the raised roads and walk towards this new kind of desert- you notice the ground below you crunching like stepping into fresh snow or even rice krispies! Enjoying the scenery you observe your surroundings while experiencing an incomparable feeling of peace while standing in this heavenly place. And as you finally go to grab the gem like floor you stand on- you find it to be remarkably cool as the bright chunks of salt slowly crumble into fine grains that pass through the gaps of your fingers. This place is simply bucket list worthy. When the sun begins to set, the Rann fools your eyes by transforming to what seems like a body of water. Reflecting the sun on its ground and not being able to differentiate where exactly the sky ends The Great Rann of Kutch becomes indescribably beautiful.

india gate: the last civilian point before the indian/pakistan border. photography strictly prohibited..

a local tourist? ha.

standing on the great rann.

mountain top views of the great rann.

sunset. notice. reflections and shades of gray are the rann- no water here.

"The World is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page.” -Saint Augustine

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

I never have experienced a cold morning in India the way I did waking up to a loud fire-cracker in our tent on the 2nd day of our outing (the fire-cracker was our wake up call.) Kshama Masi (Kaushal’s mom) had previously plotted to wake me up with the help of a local man working at the resort that had an uncanny resemblance to Jafar (we all know who that is.) As I was sleeping I heard the two conspirators trying but ultimately failing to spook me out of bed. The man, whose name still remains a mystery, came into the room- yelling for everyone to get out. Knowing damn well of his intentions, I simply looked at him and pulled the dusty covers over my head. Now I wouldn’t say Jafar (we’ll call him this for the sake of the blog) was the best looking man in all of the land- but having his face imprinted in my mind from that point onward- I really couldn’t just stay in bed..

I opened the canvas “door” still in my pjs’ to two men with buckets of hot water. As the steam floated off each bucket I was reminded of the level of service these employees were dedicated to delivering. Showering was next- this was old-school, after taking in the bucket of super heated water and mixing it with the freezing cold water from the pipes in the shower it created a luxurious lukewarm (but pleasant) showering medium. No freefalling waterfall here, a smaller pale was then used to actually get this water from the bucket onto my frozen skin- every moment that passed without the warm water running over my head a breeze curled by my side making the possibility of hypothermia an unlikely but scary reality.

Without further detail of my shower experiences, I’ll fast forward. We were on the road again. Compared to the villages visited the day before, the two towns we visited that day were unique in that each specialized in certain crafts unmatched by competitors. The first town specialized in wooden-work made again in a primitive manner without the use of modern tools. It was a display of good old fashion elbow grease. As a man proceeded to give us a demonstration of carving simple household tools; the locals of the town as previously, set up booths of merchandise to again have the opportunity to sell sell sell. Using nothing more than applied science he showed how rotation, friction, and repetition were used to apply lacquer of these handmade wooden forms. As the others proceeded to buy things- I again was fascinated with my surroundings and like a reporter from CNN, I had taken as many “taboo” photos as humanly possible.

Finishing up with some purchases we did not waste any time before we were on the road again. Minutes away, Nirona Village boasted two exclusive styles of traditional handicraft. Roghan an extremely rare form of indian painting is so intricate it resembles embroidery and iron bellmaking which to this day is made without and exothermic energy. Amidst the towns roads that reminded me of the ancient city of Pompeii in Italy stood a very small and humble bell-making shop. Inside an elder man greeted our group with smiles and offered to another demo (and on-going theme) of how his famous bells were created.

Offering seating for the women and the men standing close by, he seated himself on the floor of his shop drove a large metal stake into the sand portion of the floor, placed his anvil close by and using tools made by the men on that talking lizard commercials in the States- he began. Slowly cutting relatively thick pieces of iron and using various hammers he slowly, almost magically crafted a perfect hollow cylinder. Making his skill look nearly effortless, the man sculpted a dome among for the top of the cylinder among other small pieces- soon enough after he made a few adjustments for proper fitting, he assembled all the pieces and shook his finished product.

The beautiful noises created was indeed rewarding for him and his audience. Once finished he passed around his newly created product for inspection and judgment. A+ was written in the eyes of our company as we gawked at that simple yet extraordinary instrument. After running our hands as display models and noticing this wasn’t exactly a NAT GEO moment- I borrowed some money and set out to find the perfect set of bells my neighbors would be hearing by my return to the States. Setting out on the narrow road of the village again- we were directed to a Roghan artist’s home/shop what I saw next really cant be described in words- so here are a few pictures.

As the day progressed it was not before long we set out to our next destination. The Great Rann (pronounced RUN) of Kutch was next- Imagine salt in the horizon as far as you can see... once vast shallows of the Arabian Sea, geological uplift closed off the connection eons ago- this salt desert is all that remains..

"Folks who never do any more than they get paid for, never get paid for any more than they do." -Elbert Hubbard

Monday, January 4, 2010

(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..