It's been almost 3 weeks since we got back from Kutch, but the mind just refuses to let go of the memories of the mystical land.
Mystical it is.
Something one feels through the pores of the skin, the goosebumps that surface while listening to Kabir's rendition by the local sufi singers under the cold starry night, the smoky smell that gets trapped in the coarse fabric of my shawl from the bonfire. The same smell lingers on the surface of the milky chai I had at the bhunga of a Meghwal family.
No amount of eloquent phrases or photographs using wide angle lenses can convey the happiness of strolling in the streets of Bhuj watching the Rabari women glide through the day wearing the veil of night, the hospitality that is so evident even in the most humble households, a glass of water or tea is offered with a warm smile, if you wonder at the source of water and refuse, they cycle up to the local provision store to buy you a bottle of bisleri. Yes, I am talking about the Banni hospitality.
The intense sweetness of thick hot condensed milk khova that melts in your mouth at a roadside shop at Bhirandiyara. The wind burnt face of that little girl with a star motif tattoo on her left cheek. The crunch of hard jaggery that unleashes the pungent flavour of dry ginger in your mouth at a local sweetshop.
Mystical it is.
That it spills on to my blogs and Facebook pages uncontrollably in the form of jpegs sprinkled with magical gold dust.
Please pardon me if I continue to roll in this magical dust for a little while longer.
(Chronologically is what my head said but my heart thinks otherwise;-) Will post about the Mutwa embroidery soon)
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