The Masses

“The masses have never thirsted after truth. They turn aside from evidence that is not to their taste, preferring to deify error, if error seduce them. Whoever can supply them with illusions is easily their master; whoever attempts to destroy their illusions is always their victim. An individual in a crowd is a grain of sand amid other grains of sand, which the wind stirs up at will.”

— Gustave Le Bon

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The photo is of a small new plant which has taken root in te moss on an old tree. We were at the MTDC Mahabaleshwar and it is full of really old moss laden trees. Clicked with the Voigtlander Nokton 35/1.2 lens at F 1.2.

Gadda Jatra - Solapur's Annual Fair

Pointy nosed mice and the giant wheels

As far back as I remember I have heard about the annual 'Gadda Fair' (गड्ड्याची जत्रा). My mother comes from Solapur and she used to tell stories of her father buying her the biggest dolls in the entire fair. I have seen old family photographs with fancy backdrops taken by the travelling studios.

I never had the opportunity to visit as we had school in January. The fair still continues — albeit differently now, I suppose. It is hard to imagine a fair surviving the age of intagram and smart phones. But it does and I finally had the opportunity to visit it this Jan.

Geometric life

The man on the phone

Hot seeng and chana

MH13 coooog-gadi

A chat with the friendly dragon

Wheel of life

Life goes on. All around.

One man's enjoyment is another's food.

Trapped transporter

Lights and shadows

My partner in the explorations

Serious Observations of a Funny World

Oh melancholy!

“Melancholy is the happiness of being sad.”

— Victor Hugo

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The photo is of a old man who is watching the priest do is stuff in a small temple on the outskirts of Solapur. He is lost in thought. The wire mesh adds a whimsy of him being trapped in this life, perhaps.

Shot with the Voigtlander Nokton 50/1 at F1.

Around Nalsarovar

We travelled 750km to the Nalsarovar only to find that some local political upheavel has caused it to be shut temporarily. The boatmen were no longer allowed into the lake. Our host, Ramzanbhai, was apologetic. He had hoped, I am sure, that things would be normalized quickly.

As we were already there, we roamed the region around the sarovar. Saw some birds.

Castor farms

The Anil

Balabhai and Santosh

The salt encrusted shores

Serious Observations of a Funny World

The fisherman of Nalsarovar

Boats after Sunset

We left at 5 am from Goregaon as planned. Nalsarovar in Gujarat was our destination. It was the first halt of our road trip. From Nal, we were to head to the Little Rann of Kutch and then on to the Jawai Bandh to experience the post-monsoon scenery of that beautiful landscape we had visited in May.

At the Nal, we were to meet up with Ramzan bhai, our guide and host. Anil mama and Balabhai knew him well and had stayed with him earlier.

The journey was long and arduous - about 750km. The road up to the Gujarat border was in terrible condition with patchy work in progress in random spots in a disorganised manner. We lunched near Surat at about half past 1. From Bharooch we get on to the new Mumbai-Delhi expressway and the traffic clears up.

We reached the Vekariya village next to the sarovar after sunset. Ramzan bhai had made sleeping arrangements in the verandah of an empty neighbouring house. Four khatt (frame cots with rope supports) were set up. He had arranged for the thick blankets as it was wintertime.

We had home cooked dinner of bajra rotlas and mixed veg sabzi all washed down with excellent chaas. They served us with the famous Indian hospitality and love.

It got cold in the night and we were thankful for the thick blankets.

The bad news was that some political disturbance had caused the sarovar to be shut to the public. So in the early morning, we decided to roam the nearby areas in search of the birdies. The Namaqua migratory pigeon from Africa was the star along with the red Munia. In the evening we went to see some Saras cranes.

Just after sunset we decided to go see the sarovar from an irregular route, unseen from the guards. We saw some boats and a boatman. The Nalsarovar is very shallow but covers a vast area. These fishermen with their flatboats have their livelihoods tied to this water.

For dinner, we had a special treat of local fish curry and fried fish. All with chullha roasted bajra rotlas.

Next morning we got up early and left for the Little Rann of Kutch. We had lived two nights with a fisherman from the Nalsarovar.

the boatman

good food

bed time! this is where we stayed

early morning birding

our guide

good food

switchboard

writing on the wall

cotton

transporter

new developments

faith and customs

IF

If you can keep your head when all about you
  Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
   But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
   Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
   And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
   If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
   And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
   Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
   And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
   And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
   And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
   To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
   Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
   Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
   If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
   With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
   And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

—Rudyard Kipling

(‘Brother Square-Toes’—Rewards and Fairies)

Sunday Flower

“In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity”
― Sun-Tzu, The Art of War

Goodbye 2024

2024 has ended. A year of suspended animation. Of trying to figure out what the rest of life will look like. A year spent with family and friends. A happy, lazy, peaceful year.

The Salt Makers of the Little Rann of Kutch

Kalubhai

Kalubhai. I have had the privilege of spending 2 days with Kalubhai and his family. Kalubhai is a 4th generation salt maker from the Little Rann of Kutch.

The Rann is a harsh place - barren with almost no good water. The sun beats down so hard that people not accustomed to this climate will not be able to survive a summer here. The wild asses roam this arid land. The raptors fly over it looking for food. This almost featureless vast landscape extends upto where the sky meets the horizon. Walking on the parched cracked earth gives you a sense of melancholy.

The land oozes salt water. This is what is used for the salt making. Shallow wells are dug and the water is pumped into the salt pans. The once manual process had shifted to using water pumps running 24/7 on crude oil. Now they run only at night. Electric pumps run in the daytime powered by 2 large solar pannels. You can see these pannels dotted around the landscape - indicating where a family is working.

Salt-making is a laborious task. They work barefoot in the salt pans. This takes a toll on their legs and feet, and older people have permanent swellings and thickening of their skin. Both Kalubhai and his wife work this tough job.

The land taketh but it also giveth. You get to see the sun rise from the ground on the horizon - shining in its vast glory. The nights are fantastic with millions of stars adorning it. The air is crisp and clean. There is a simplicity to this life which balances the harsh realities.

We entered this remote and mystical world through the gateway at Zhinzhuwada. Kalubhai's elder son met us at the Vasraj dada temple at the edge of the Rann. Vasraj dada is the local deity who is supposed to have fought with a monster to protect his cows. He was beheaded but still continued to fight. There are two temples - one where his head fell and the other where his body fell. The later is a large complex where a yearly festival of some size occurs.

Kalubhai and his wife fed us home cooked and love infused food. Bajra rotla and mixed veg sabzi, fresh toor rassa sabzi, special suji halva. All washed down with lots of chaas. We sat under the shade of the solar panels and listened to their simple life.

We drove across the Rann to the larger Vasraj dada temple. An unforgettable journey! I had the feeling of being on an alien planet. The vast grey-brown landscape stretched all around us. Seemingly unending.

At the temple we had the prasad lunch. Sweet rice, chapati's and mixed-veg sabji. And chaas. We washed and cleaned our plates after eating. Then we rested for some time before heading back.

One the next day we attempted to get to the nearby dam but out vehicle got stuck in the sticky mud. Some of the areas are wet muddy slush and they appear darker. Mukesh - Kalubhai's son - was guiding us but he, being used to his light two wheeler, misjudged a patch. Our heavy car just sunk and refused to budge. After trying with stones and wood sticks and what not we finally got a tractor to pull us out.

We had pitched out tents next to the hut to protect somewhat from the wind which can get pretty strong. The nights were chill - about 13C. Early morning Kalubhai's wife made us hot puri's to go with the sweet black tea they drank. The tea had a distinctive salty taste due to the water. Super tasty combination.

After two nights experiencing the loving hospitality of these hardy folks, we bid adieu and headed back towards reality.

The Rann is vast. It is flat and featureless. The horizon stretches out in all directions. The landscape evokes a sense of melancholy.

The landscape is dotted with these small temples dedicated to various deities. They serve as markers on this featureless landscape.

Kalubhai's wife working on the pan. They flatten the base with their bare feet as they preapre a new pan. It is very hard work. The mud is sticky. When dried it hardens like a rock. We had to use screwdrivers to get it out of our shoes.

A control board. Sort of. Control of the pumps.

The boys of the Rann. Children of the salt makers

The vast Rann

Our vehicle got stuck in the salty mud and had to be pulled out by a tractor.

The gate at Zhinjuwada - The gateway to the Rann

The salt pans

The salt pans

Dawn. The white salt reflected the sky vividly.

Arrid

Food for the soul

Bajra rotla's, fresh toor rassa, special halva. It was amazing food.

We spent two nights in our tents next to their hut.

We bid adieu to Kalubhai and his family in the cold morning.