Peace on the Tropic of Cancer

For a peaceful and contemplative day out, I headed Becharaji Temple where I meditated, prayed (it seems to be working ...you know who you are xx) and sat with lots of lovely Bajan singing ladies before stumbling across the Tropic of Cancer on my way to Modhera Sun Temple where I looked for Indiana Jones but he was nowhere to be seen.

(these will look much better if you double click them!)

A Ranntastic Safari!

Little Rann is a vast salt plain in the middle of (my now beloved) Gujarat which is the only home of the Indian Wild Ass or Khur.  These ancient equines live like Zebra on the fascinating 5000 square kilometer Rann keeping company with flamingos and wild cows!  Yes the Indian Nilgai (formerly known on this blog as the “wild cow”) resides here in great number and I have photographed the female of the species especially for Danny (who would love it here and take better photos!) and of course ...Mica the Finn!

Around the fringes of the not-so-Little Rann are fascinating largely livestock-herding villages where we were welcomed in to homes for chai, smiled a lot and dropped in on what I believe was a hair-cutting ceremony for a small boy dressed as Michael Jackson.  Odd as it was, by all accounts, the dancing was a rare treat to witness and my driver particularly rated the lady in the red sari…

(sorry, I waited 2.5 hours ...must rememeber

that this site does not upload videos

 no matter how hard I will it to)

In addition to the diverse wildlife and the huge domestic flocks/herds that this stark terrain supports; semi-nomadic groups set up villages on the flats during the dry months and workintensely as a team to produce container loads of bright-white salt from the ground water which is sold as far away as China.

On the salt flats we were invited for delicious and light black tea and I was particularly impressed by our host's pristine mud-floor kitchen which was just beside the satellite dish …they do everything from TV to mobiles using solar but still cook on open fires …you’ve got to love those Indian contrasts!

My super safaris were with Desert Coursers, an outfit that don’t half feed you well (probably the last thing I need right now!) out of their marvelous Camp Zainabad where I am staying in a luxury mud-built cottage complete with dressing room and Bathroom.  I am on my own here with the affable staff as their benevolent boss, Danraj is away with his family.  Despite this, Danraj has been calling to ensure all is well and I had a lovely evening with his horse, Dalmatian and pack of Salukis before sitting down to an engaging and relaxing conversation with his mum and her Labrador pups! …Thank you Danraj for your kindness and the dose of pets and parents which has diluted my pangs for home!

Sheep Trafficking

  

While shepherds watched their traffic lamb,

their bleating hot wool caravan

poured ‘tween vehicles like traffic jam

through thorn bordered lanes

with resistant strains

of motorbikes

that traffic ram

Huggable Handicraft

Kutch is the fascinating area of Gujarat where I am currently and it also happens to mean cuddle in Welsh (cwtch).  If I could throw my arms around any region of India it would be this one.  It’s like the rest of Gujarat but there is a depth of sincerity to the people here which is indescribable.  People seem to rub along very happily with less segregation than I have seen elsewhere between religions, tribes and social status.  In 2002 this fragile dessert region was devastated by a massive earthquake, perhaps the aftermath gave everyone a sense of solidarity or maybe it’s just too hot for animosity.

The little red taxi had all of its windows open on the way out to the villages today but all it did was spread the heat, fan-oven style, cooking me evenly from the toes up. In between my turns on the spit, I spent money on beautiful things.  Although today was mostly embroidery, it was a real treat to sip homemade lemonade whilst I watched the pit-loom weaver create high quality artisan craft on his beautifully traditional piece of kit.

...sneak preview

Textiletastic

Now I am not my mother’s daughter when it comes to patience with a needle but you don’t grow up in a family that runs a needlecraft business or with such a textile talented mother without it having an influence upon you.  An influence which makes my latest destination one hell of a place to spend money!!  Western Gujarat and in particular the Kutch region is a handicraft hotbed.  There are hundreds of different tribal and family groups here producing distinct and wonderful textile art which is sold directly by the artisans, through cooperatives, or traded in the Bazaar.

I deliberately held back from buying gifts in the knowledge that I would be coming to Kutch, so since arriving I have been fastidious in contributing to the local economy.  In fact Dr Ishmail Katri and family were probably delighted at the fact there are so many Berkin women to buy for as I cleaned him out of exquisite block printed silk earlier today!  Dr Ishmail is the head of a family who for 10 generations have been printing natural fabrics from all over India which are then generally exported or made up for premium retailers like FabIndia.  In fact, unbeknown to me previously, I have been wearing a couple of his fabrics since the wardrobe renewal I had to execute in FabIndia Mumbai (see fat bottomed girl post!!).

On the way back from my fascinating morning of block printing, I stopped at a house where the front room was dominated by a huge hand loom.  This was no lowly village abode though, this was a modest palace, a master Ikat weaver’s home.  Haramshi Maheshwari’s sarees start at around £100, typically retail between £200 and £400 and can reach the thousands of pounds where weddings are the order of the day.  Ikat is an amazing technique which I do recall writing at length about at University, however for you guys: they tie-dye the weft (goes across the width) yarn with a predefined pattern which is then woven into plain warp (goes length ways) yarns creating distinctive “aztec” looking designs.  Double Ikat (the next step up) is mind-blowingly detailed: both woven directions are pre-dyed to the chosen pattern and then by magic incredible designs slowly emerge from the back of the loom.  An Ikat saree wasn’t really on my shopping list and I really couldn’t afford another scarf having just stocked the Berkin Boutique (the basic two-colour ones started at £30) so in the end I was relieved to come away with a piece that will make a lovely table cloth …for a little stool. 

I am sat next to a big pile of carefully chosen gifts and exciting bits fabric and embroidery that I intend to play with when I get home.  The pile is already too big to carry to the post office but I am not going to think about that until I’m done!

Bhuj Bus

I don't take photos from buses because they always disappoint, as these did,

...but it was oh so photogenic

A few potholes …so what

…I had given up trying to read and my attention was trying to focus upon the rebounding horizon when suddenly I was driving Daisy (my car) with Julie ably following in Valerie the Volvo, Daisy is built for bumps, Valerie is not.  It was with this brief memory of navigating one of the UK’s worst public roads in search of a country inn, that I was transported to Lincolnshire and, hey presto, I had my metaphor for the landscape of Western Gujarat!

The patchwork of small manually-tended fields had given way to a level 360 of fen-like monocultures.  Either side of my dead-straight farm track (and its two-way cargo of trucks, camel carts, and mad-max bikes) blankets of corn and pinstriped vegetables faded into the distant haze dissected by orderly irrigation channels.  On crossing the Porbandar/Jamnagar district border, the horizon (which for tens of miles had been gyrating like a triple-bar-olympian) rocked itself into balanced poise and with that came peace and predominantly forward motion.  Loose windows settled into their tracks, squeaking only as they were pushed open to let the hot, dust-free wind circle our sweat soaked bodies.  The chassis silently licked its wounds and our knuckles returned from white to flesh.  We were on tarmac, tarmac so smooth that I remembered with disproportionate joy, Daisy and I heading for Lincolnshire along the M6 toll.  I made a note to thank God for the UK’s glorious roads.

Where Ghandi and Granny were born

Ghandi's Exact Birthplace

My lovely friend Sangeeta has never been to India and so, ever up for a project, I promised to snap some photos of her Granny’s village for her.  That is how I wound up with my head tipped back, in the pitch black, pondering space and time as part of a circle of women within a circle of men.

Navigating Marriage

Porbandar is ordinary, but what it lacks in beauty, it makes up for with gusto. Loud men with big grins sell fruit to busy ladies in bright bandhani¹ on the corners of streets with thick banks of parked bikes through which an auto river flows. Their incessant beeps perforate the dusty, dried fish mist which settles in the side streets casting a sepia tinge over its suitably antiquated scenes. On the border of town, thick mangroves and dessert meet by the river and just like in between the beach and the maidan², the poor live in temporary tents.

As I have now come to expect from Gujarat, the people of Porbandar excelled themselves.  My hotel was brightly staffed, my auto driver didn’t over-charge and on seeing my disappointment that the internet café was closed until 5pm, Jay from Jalaram Tours kindly invited me to use his wifi and even sent one of his staff to arrange my mobile top-up! (thanks again!).

The Lonely Planet may have dropped their coverage of Porbandar after edition 13 but it’s firmly on my map …particularly as the place whose sightseeing tour included twenty minutes in a segregated planetarium with Gujarati discourse!!

¹Intricate tye dye fabrics made with numerous tiny knots in fabulous patterns

²large outdoor area for public gatherings

Forecast 41

Watching you hide yourself

so conspicuously

melts the mind of the body you browned

which surrenders

for tomorrow there will be no breeze between us



See sideways

low-tied

bow-tide

Opened oar

Seaey Gulls

Big beachbulls

Crickets Bats

Appier beside

Alight house

See sideways

Point 11 Revisited

Ravi sells diamonds
Raj mobile phones
The other one’s drunk and nobody moans

Prasad wraps up paan

Aman catches fish
The other one’s drunk but that was his wish

Pedro vends cashew
Hassan milks his herd
The other one’s drunk his wife won’t get word

Aman eats the fish
Raj makes a call
The other one’s drunk then pays for them all

Pedro dreams diamonds
Ravi chews paan
The other one’s drunk but everyone’s calm

Prasad sips on milk
Hassan knocks back nuts
The other one’s drunk and throws up his guts