Brian’s visa doesn’t allow him to be in India for more than 100 consecutive days. This bureaucratic stipulation gives us a great excuse to travel! We’ll be on the road with very limited internet access, so all will be quiet on the blog front for about two weeks. In the meantime, can you tell from this photo what country we’re headed to? We should have some good stories from this one….
While driving in Bhuj, Brian and I came upon three Rabari nomads leading their colorfully adorned camels and goats along the highway. The jarring traffic noise was juxtaposed against the peaceful rhythm of their procession. The slow, silent footsteps of the camels; the jangling of bells and harnesses; the occasional punctuating bleat of a baby goat. The man and two women carried their possessions upon the backs of their camels; their belongings had been lovingly and creatively handmade. The camels were outfitted with embroidered, appliqued blankets and tasseled reins. The goats rode high atop trampoline-like saddles that, once removed from the camels’ backs, flipped over to become beds.
It was a beautiful and somewhat unsettling contrast, watching these traditionally dressed nomadic people tread slowly along the highway, bordered by car dealerships and even a wind turbine manufacturing plant. On the surface, they appeared unfazed and unchanged by the modernity all around us. We felt we had been given a brief glimpse into a past way of life that had snuck into the present.
We pulled over to the side of the road and spoke with the Rabaris, thanks to our translating tour guide. We asked whether we might take a few photos. They said their goodbyes, and we watched quietly as they processed away down the highway and flatbed trucks laden with machinery rattled by.
Brian and I just got back from Uttarayan, Ahmedabad’s annual kite festival, and it was well worth the 30 hour round trip train ride. During this three day event, the sky fills with thousands of fluttering tissue paper kites, which … Continue reading
We spent the next day with Ravi, a driver and tour guide who would take us to visit the many textile artisans surrounding Bhuj. At 11am, Ravi led us to his awaiting and rather dilapidated touring car. On the way we picked up some dhokla, a yellow spongy vinegary concoction made with fermented gram flour (chick peas) and Gujarati favorite, for breakfast and then hit the road.
Our first stop was Ajarakhpur, a small village specializing in traditional Ajarakh block printed fabric, dyed with natural colors. After turning off the busy four-lane thoroughfare, we trundled past neatly kept homes that felt more like a new housing development than a hotbed of traditional textile production. However, we knew we were in the right place as row upon row of cloth drying on the dusty roadside came into view.
We pulled up to the head office of Dr. Ismail Mohammad Khatri’s Ajarakh company. Dr. Khatri is the Godfather of Ajarakh block printing. He is world-renowned, exporting fabric internationally and having advised so many art students from abroad that a British university conferred an honorary degree on him. Hence, Doctor Khatri.
Perhaps as a result of his notoriety, we did not get to meet Dr. Khatri. When we entered the main office, Dr. Khatri’s son Sufiyan sat in front of a computer, talking on the phone to a client. While Ravi checked his email, Sufiyan gave us a crash course in the history and process of Ajarakh block printing.
Ajarakh printing originated in the Sind region of Pakistan in the 14th century. In 1634, the King of the Kutch desert region invited Sind artisans to bring their craft to his kingdom. Sufiyan was able to trace the block printers in his family back nine generations. This long history was not without trials. Most recently in 2001, a massive earthquake struck the Kutch, and the region is still recovering. (Evidence of this was amply available in Bhuj where the historic royal palace and museum are still undergoing repairs.) The seismic activity caused the iron content of the river water, used for dyeing, to increase dramatically and thus changed the dye results. The Khatri family was forced to move their operations to this new location (hence the discordantly new surroundings), which they named Ajarakhpur after their craft.
Sufiyan went on to describe the complex 16-step process required to create a piece of Ajarakh fabric. Dyes may include indigo, pomegranate, madder root, sapan, logwood, turmeric, and other natural products. One design may include up to five colors and require four different wood blocks. Mordants and other fixatives can include camel dung, soda ash, castor oil, gum arabic, lime, clay, alum, and iron. Adding to the complexity, production halts during the monsoon because it is too wet for the fabric to dry between dye stages. To successfully dye with natural colors as an Ajarakh block printer, you need to have as much knowledge of chemistry as art!
The many stages of Ajarakh printing
Printing by hand
Washing the finished cloth
Intricate, hand-carved wooden blocks
Sufiyan, me, and my souvenir!
Thank you, Sufiyan! Next stop…embroiderers.
P.S. For more info on Ajarakh and the Khatris, check out this podcast from Maiwa.
On November 25, Brian and I ventured together on our first journey outside of Delhi. We were headed to the states of Gujarat, renowned for its rich textile heritage, and Madhya Pradesh, the site of my research and bursting with ancient history.
We boarded a train at the Old Delhi Railway Station and settled in to watch the crowded city melt into cotton fields and camels replace cars. Twenty-six hours later (yes, the train has sleeping berths) we arrived in Bhuj, a city of 150,000 people about 125 miles from the border of Pakistan.
Riding the sleeper train
With the Delhi winter comes “smoke”, a somewhat pleasant euphemism for lung-clogging pollution, so both Brian and I welcomed the visit to Bhuj. The air was cleaner, and the entire experience was a breath of fresh air. Children and adults piped up with “Hello! What is name? Your country from is?” as we walked through the narrow streets, where cows roamed freely. Rickshaw drivers quoted us fair prices. A family making the Indian equivalent of Flav-a-Ice in their living room invited us inside from the street when I expressed curiosity in their operation. We were definitely not in Delhi any longer.
A group of children watching something very interesting behind the wall...
...until an adult out of frame alerted the children that a foreigner was taking their picture...
...and then the screaming horde stampeded toward us...
...and could not have been more adorable.
Cows. Everywhere.
We had made the long journey to Bhuj in order to attend the Kala Raksha Vidhyalaya Mela. I will translate. Kala Raksha is an organization, started by an American woman (and former Fulbrighter), whose mission is to preserve traditional arts in the Kutch Desert region of Gujarat. Six years ago, Kala Raksha launched the Vidhyalaya, a design school for artisans, and the Mela we attended celebrated the graduation of some of these students. A crowd of a hundred or so tribal people turned out to support the graduates from their communities, and Brian and I jumped right into the mix.
A live musical performance of traditional instruments
A man spinning
Rabari women waiting in the lunch line
A few years after Kala Raksha opened its doors, Tata the Indian mega-corporation built two imposing, enormous coal power plants nearby, forcing Kala Raksha to move to a new location in the coming months. Currently, you must pass through Tata's security checkpoint to reach Kala Raksha. The smokestacks are an eerie symbol of modernity creeping up on and overtaking the traditional way of life.
Bri and I dig into lunch with the Rabari ladies. (Note there are no forks and no other men...)
More to come…
After 3 flights, 28 hours, 7,315 miles, and less sleep than sought, we made it to New Delhi!
On Tuesday at 10am, we left our wonderful moms waving to us from the bottom of the Portland Jetport escalator. We arrived at JFK and were told by a Jet Blue employee that Lufthansa was in Terminal 4, and “it will take you 5 minutes to walk to the terminal. Don’t bother taking the train.” First lesson of Year of Adventure: Read signs to obtain information. Lufthansa was in Terminal 1.
After getting some fresh air between terminals, we successfully checked into Lufthansa, and somehow managed to avoid the excess baggage fees! And then the first fun surprise — we flew via Airbus A380, the largest commercial plane in the world of which Lufthansa owns only 8. We took pictures. We were those people in the airport.
The plane has cameras built into the tail, wings, and nose, so you can watch the scenery go by while in-flight. So sweet.
Anyway, flash forward past the 8 hours we spent trying to sleep on benches in Frankfurt airport…..
Brian wears an eye mask.
Thanks for the blankets, Lufthansa.
We touched down in Delhi! We quickly deplaned. We wove through the rails to the front of the passport control line. The passport controller examined our visas carefully, hesitated momentarily with his hand over his rubber stamp, and then imprinted our official welcome to the subcontinent. Let the adventure begin.
P.S. Brian is currently looking up photography tours, one of which features “rides on elephants for tiger shows.” Sweeter than a ride on an A380.
After more than a year of planning, preparation, and a whole lot of hoping, the moment is finally upon us — we are moving to India tomorrow! Our wedding, spent dancing away the night in Maine with family and friends, was a perfect send-off. In honor of our imminent first and future adventures as husband and wife, Brian and I chose an excerpt from Walt Whitman’s “Song of the Open Road” as our wedding ceremony’s closing reading. Whitman’s words ring loudly for us, as we take to our own open road together, and may resonate with all who value friendship and adventure.
Allons! the road is before us!
It is safe – I have tried it – my own feet have tried it well – be not
detain’d!
Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the
shelf unopen’d!
Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money remain unearn’d!
Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher!
Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! let the lawyer plead in the
court, and the judge expound the law.
Camerado, I give you my hand!
I give you my love more precious than money,
I give you myself before preaching or law;
Will you give me yourself, will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?
sparkler love, made possible by Dan C. and friends
