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Our next day started back at the police station in order to secure our permission slips to visit the villages of Kuran, Khavda and Ludia. Lucky for us, the mystery man showed up to work, and, after texting someone a very long message, he began processing our applications straightaway (but not before asking if Rozita was Indian and taking a comically long drink of water). After watching him drink more water and scribble some stuff on our applications, he let us know that we would have to wait around a while so two other officers could sign off on our applications…we waited, got signatures, and were off.
Anjar was our first target, from there, we were planning to go with the flow and see where the day took us. The little town of Anjar is a 60 km ride away on roads choking with exhaust from lorries heading back to Ahmedabad, and buses carrying locals traveling between villages. On our diminutive motorbike, we braved the hot desert road and weaved amongst the towering trucks arriving in Anjar at midday excited to see some tribal ladies cooking up some textile fun. Unfortunately, once we arrived we quickly learned from one of
the few English speakers in town that handicrafts are not made in Anjar, but rather, in some of the villages surrounding the town. No worries, we roamed around the little town of Anjar for a while, watching the range of people interact in the open air markets. A wide array of tribes were represented in Anjar, each distinguishable by their clothing, jewelry, piercings, and tattoos. It was an impressive mixture of diverse groups and the sight further motivated Rozy and I to find a village where a single tribe was prevalent and the culture and customs of that tribe were pervasive.
We decided that the little village of Midialo, a short 20 km drive away, was ideal with its predominately Rabari population known for their black dress and semi-nomadic lifestyle. Our arrival in Midialo was greeted by several cobra temples and a large group of water buffalo roaming the roadways. Once we finally worked our way up to the “village center”, we dismounted our bike, drank a bit of water and donned our backpacks as everyone in the center of the village (perhaps 20 total) watched. Rozy, feeling a bit intrusive, developed a quick back story for our presence
which had something to do with me being a photojournalist for an obscure American newspaper with her as my trusty Indian guide from Delhi. We cruised the streets snapping pictures and waiting for ladies making handicrafts to pounce on us, invite us in their homes, and show us the textiles they were currently working on. This didn’t happen. Instead, we came across a lady selling random things in a little wooden kiosk, so, we hung around the kiosk until some customers arrived. When they did, Rozy struck up a conversation (in the Hindi I didn’t realize she was so fluent in) with them, and provided our back story in an attempt to get inside somebody’s house to watch these elusive handicrafts being produced. We quickly learned that this wasn’t the time of year that the folks in this particular village were producing textiles (or at least that is what a couple of people told us). Nevermind, we harassed some ladies for pictures of their clothing and tattoos and also got some shots of the huts in the village. After hanging around for a while, we finally struck gold when a lady agreed to take us to her house and show
us some of the things she had made recently…SCORE!!
As it turned out, the lady only had a few items, none of which we were interested in purchasing, so, once the situation felt a little uncomfortable, we said our “thank yous” and headed for the door. We walked a bit more through the village and came across a man who was working a hand loom, weaving floor coverings one thread at a time. After watching him for a while and taking pictures of some very curious village girls, we walked back to our bike in the center of the village. By this time, there were considerably more people present and all seemed equally interested in what we were up to. Rozy approached a group of men in traditional Rabari dress (turban, skirt-looking shirt and flowing pants) and asked if they wouldn’t mind having their picture taken. We snapped them all, then caught up with another man and his camel and got a few more shots. Not wanted to impose too much, we then packed up our stuff, jumped back on the bike, and headed towards the next village…Dhaneti, home to the Ahiri people.
Forty kilometers of road later,
we pulled into Dhaneti along with several different shepherds and their flocks. We set out to explore the village and were immediately invited by a young man to check out his construction site??? Yes, he was very proud of the house he was helping to build and insisted that we take photographs of the house, him, his friends, and the equipment being used. We did as we were instructed then peeled away from this jubilant fellow in search of colourful Dhaneti women and handicrafts. We meandered through narrow streets until we finally spotted several women inside their house (with the door open) stitching up a storm. Walking nearby their house we stared incessantly with the hopes of being noticed and invited in for a look-see. Our resolve paid off and they motioned to us to enter their house…our third textile score of the day!
The women, dressed in colourful, back-less shirts and long dresses, were busily stitching heavily mirrored tops meant for little girls. The work was fantastically detailed and watching them for just a moment revealed how incredibly painstaking their job is. Rozy chatted them up a bit and asked if they had any wall-hangings that they were
willing to show us and even possibly sell to us. They obliged and enlisted our help in order to remove the television from a large, locked bin which contained the valuable goods by which they survive. Inside the locked bin was an assortment of uber detailed pillowcases, children’s clothing, door hangings, and one particularly intricate wall covering cum bedspread. We inquired about the price of the bedspread, and, after finding out they were looking to get 10,000 Rupees for it, we choked a bit and realized we didn’t have $250 USD in the budget to spend on a wall hanging. The piece was amazing and definitely worth a large chunk of money as it must have taken many months to complete (I think they said something like 6 months). The mirrors, the stitching, the design, and the variety of colors were like nothing I have ever seen before…the sheer amount of time and patience required to make it must have been staggering!
We watched the ladies work for a while longer, took some pictures of their many kids running about, and then wished them well and said goodbye. They were very gracious but perhaps a little disappointed that we
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Back on the bike, we traveled back towards Bhuj as the sun set over the sandy landscape, dodging animals, pedestrians, and other vehicles on the crazy Indian roadways. We arrived back at the Gangaram in time for a bit of dinner and a chat with Sayed who was showing signs of boredom given the lack of guests (basically just us and one other girl). Our day was challenging and stressful as much of the day was spent driving on our little bike down broken streets with crazy drivers in the blistering sun. However, it was nice to break away from the busy towns (and all other signs of tourists) and experience a less frequently visited way of life in remote India.
STATISTICS * Flights taken = 10
* Intercity trains rides taken = 17
* Intercity bus rides taken = 37
* Times lost = 23
* Total instances of diarrhea
= 7
* Total number of requests for pictures with Daniel = 36
* Total megabytes of pictures taken = 33,850
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