Full Moon Night of Christmas at the White Rann

The Planner in me

I pride myself on the fact that I plan ahead when it comes to planning a vacation. And there is more than one reason for being the early planner. Cheap airfare is one of them. The other aim is to go to the right place at the right time. That’s how you can have your vacations memorable. After the trip in winter 2014 to Agra-Amritsar-Bhaisnav Devi-Kashmir-Benaras, I was already looking where to go during the Christmas-New Year time in 2015. I have a huge wish list of places in India, maintained meticulously in an excel sheet. The White Desert of the Rann in Gujarat is one of them. But the perfect time to visit the place is on a full moon night, when the vast stretch of the salt deposition glitters. I checked the approximate date of the full moon during that period. And behold! 25^th December, 2015 was a full moon night. So, my destination is final. I contacted my sister (Didi), who lives in Vadodhara, Gujarat. Without a second thought she agreed to join us with my brother-in-law (Rakesh-da) and nephew (Hritik). There is an interesting story behind the name by which I call my nephew, Hritik. Hritik Roshan, the superstar in Indian movies is the son of Rakesh Roshan. So, when my sister and brother-in-law, Rakesh by name, had a son, I could only think of his name as Hritik (son of Rakesh)

Our countdown for the shinning White Rann had already began around 10 months before the actual showdown! I had been researching and working on the transport, accommodation since then. Didi and Rakesh-da, along with my wife, Debreena, wanted just one information from me. The arrival and departure dates so that they can plan the rest of their life accordingly. They were happy to leave the details of the duration of the vacation completely to me.

23^rd December: Wednesday

At the Bangalore Intl. Airport

We boarded the evening Indigo flight to Ahmedabad. Reached Ahmedabad at 7:30 PM. While I do the planning of the entire journey, Debreena is in charge of finding the restaurants which can serve us the local delicacies. She found a hotel called Moti Mahal near the Ahmedabad Railway Station. It was biriyani and kababs for us. During childhood, when we had vacations with our parents such “rich” food was a strict no-no. They were always worried about a possible stomach upset and hence we stuck to the simple rice, roti, dal, french fries and the likes. But now, foodies that we are, make it a point to try local delicacies wherever we go. The restaurant was full to the brim. The dishes were splendid. We reached the station at around 10 PM. Still we had a good 2 hours for the train to Bhuj to arrive. My sister’s family would board the same train, in fact the same coach, at Vadodhara at around 9:30 PM. We stayed awake in the cold Ahmedabad station. It reminded me of the wait at Jalandhar Cant. Station exactly a year ago, when we almost missed the train as it hardly stopped for 2 minutes there. Good thing is the train stops at Ahmedabad for 20 minutes. Two, its not as cold as it was in Jalandhar that night. The train came. We boarded the train without any hiccups. The train was now on its way to Bhuj, its destination as well as ours.

Thursday, 24^th December

Towards Bhuj

Early morning as the train rolled onto the clean Bhuj platform, I rang the driver of our Innova car.

“I’m almost there sir…in 15 minutes”, said the driver, Irfan.

This is the age-old reply I get from drivers universally. I have been there, done that.

“What did he say? When will he come?”, Didi asked

“Hopefully within an hour”, I said confidently.

It was 8 in the morning. The sunrays were soft and gave a nice warmth. We stood under a neem tree. Didi opened a box full of pastries. The previous day she called and asked which flavours we prefer. But barely had she opened the box, she was almost chased by a couple of cows, had her cardigan pulled by a pair of puppies and ultimately drew the attention of a mad person who came searching for food. The box was closed, without any damage done to the pastries. The car came exactly an hour later. During the breakfast on the roadside, the box was re-opened and emptied in no time.

The car was zooming at 100 kmph, The surrounding changed to a more rustic look with few vegetation around. We paid the entry fee, where some policemen proudly displayed their royal moustache and whiskers. We reached the “Vaisamo Village Resort”. It truly had the typical village look. Built amidst the grey and deserted area, it had small huts, called

Bhunga, and a huge area in front, where camping cots were laid and a small hole was dug, which had burned-out twigs and straws. Clearly it was an attempt by the resort to produce a small bonfire. There was no sound of vehicles. A lone squirrel was climbing on the top of one of the huts. On another, a bird was sitting and tweeting on her own. It was warm and sunny. Suddenly we caught sight of a flock of migratory birds creating pattern in the air, flying high and re-creating the pattern in a very stealthy way. I was so engrossed in their ballet that I forgot that I should I clicked the pictures. By the time I came to sense, they danced to a different destination. The witnesses to this precious moment in my life remain only a few of us.

The room interior was beautifully decorated. In such a place, where amenities are not easy to get, we were given a royal treatment. We took shower. The lunch was a typical Kutch meal. Just the night previous we had the biriyani at a crowded restaurant in Ahmedabad and here are sitting in an open dining area, where a strong wind will bring a few fists of dust onto your plates from the vast stretch around. Travelling is so much other than travelling! Post lunch, we set off for Kala Dungar, the highest point of the region, and the White Rann. Our resort was about 20 km from the White Rann.

Kala Dungar and the White Rann

The drive to Kala Dungar was through the barren lands, at times greenery. A point on the road had magnetic field, where the cars rolled down or up with no slope and the engine turned off. I had heard of a similar point in the Ladakh district in the Himalayas. At Kala Dungar, we overcame a flight of stairs to reach the top. At one point, we should have seen the salt marsh stretch, but for the haze, we missed the sight.

And then late afternoon we were heading towards the White Rann. We were stopped a kilometer before the entry as the Honourable Chief Minister of the state of Gujarat had come to attend some conference. Once her convoy belt passed, our car took us to the last point where the other cars were parked. From the entrance, a 10 minutes walk and you are in at

Sunset at the White Rann

the edge of the White Rann. The Rann, as it is called, is a huge stretch of thick salt

deposition. White, bluish white thick salt that’s easy to be mistaken for a sheet of spotless white icesheets that you see in the photos of the Artic and the Antarctic. The seasonal salt marsh is one of Nature’s unique and splendid creation that you won’t find too much around the world.

When we reached the Rann’s salt marsh, it was around 5 PM. The sun had not set, it was still fiery orange. The almost-full moon was well above the horizon. It was white all over. It looked like a huge sheet of ice. We walked on the soft, soggy salt deposition, clicked pictures. We took the camel-cart ride. It was crowded, but it was fun. My daughter and nephew had a great time. The cart with a standard capacity say 12, had around 20 people on it. The 1.5 kilometer lazy ride took us to a place where all you see around is vast stretches of salt deposition, resembling glaciers all over. The sun had set and the moon was above. The salt glittered and it was not full moon yet. There were stars in the sky. Far off the artificial lights of the Rann Utsav could be seen. There were lots of babble around and yet the darkness shielded the physical bodies. Photos were not easy to shoot. The ground very soft and we had to carefully tread on that surface. You cant stand long at one place as you will soon find yourself sinking down. While returning, there was a rush to get on the camel cart once more. It was night, the carts were few and people were tired and wanted to get a ride back to the car parking place. We somehow managed to jump into a cart and merrily reach the car parking. There were less people, fewer cars and no mobile network. We had to check each car to find ours. The road back to our resort had no street lights, was complete dark, except the headlights of other cars that shone like fireballs.

When we reached it was almost 10 PM. It was very cold. We had dinner. Some bonfire. Some folksongs by the locals. And then under the blankets. I had been carrying a sleeping bag. My nephew borrowed it. The room did not have a heater, but the mud hut, as they were, called Bhunga, were very comfortable and cosy. They are typical of the Kutch region. They seem to keep the rooms warm during winter and cool during summer in these far-off villages. And all that we know in cities are heaters in winter and ACs in summer!

If the full moon loves you, why worry about the stars

Merry Christmas!

With the Flamingoes in the morning.

My wife and daughter does not have a choice. My wife has an option to revolt. My poor daughter, does not enjoy that privilege too! All my vacations are anything but vacation, I must admit! An ideal vacation would definitely mean you awake up lazily at 9 AM or later, especially if one goes to bed at past midnight. In my vacation plan, at 9 AM we are about 100 km from the resort watching the pink flamingos spread their huge wings and taking off from the water bodies!

I set my alarm to 5 AM. Just before my alarm went off, I heard the the bark of jackals, piercing through the silence of the night. I was familiar with the sound. About thirty years back, I had been been hearing them in my native. The sound was a hundred times more natural than that jingle played on my mobile as the alarm. I woke up, And then, more importantly, woke everyone up, not sure of whether people wanted to see and hear me at that time of the day or night, whatever you call. My wife revolted and decided not to join us.

“Why can’t you plan a relaxed vacation? In office days we wake at 6:30 AM. In vacation you force us to wake at 5:30 AM! From which angel can you call it a vacation?”

“Merry Christmas, Darling! You see, you can wake up even at 10 AM. But the flamingoes will not wait for you till then!”

The previous night at the dinner table Irfan-bhai was reluctant to go to that place, citing he did not know the route well. After some negotiations, we agreed to take a local guide who can guide us to the place. He was supposed to reach our resort by 6 AM. Even at 6:30 AM when he didn’t turn up, one elderly staff of the resort agreed to be the stand-in guide. It was more of a mental peace.

In the dead silence of the night, when each of us had piled on a few warm clothes, the engine of the car started. The headlights shone. And the wheels rolled. Most of the passengers inside the car dozed off. Our guide, fortunately awake, was guiding when we diverted from the main road and were wandering in the fields. Now I understood why a guide was required. Roads were getting constructed, cars were getting diverted. So a person who has not been here often might lose his/her way. We surely needed a local guide and now what we managed one inside the car, it have us the confidence, The sky turned white, the floating clouds turned orange, the sun rose from the distant horizon on my left. And we saw flocks of flamingos. Pink. Long legs and huge wings. They were caught off-guard. They didn’t expect any person to intrude in their privacy. But they didn’t know how omni-presence and shameless we humans are! We seek abundance of space for us, but

never hesitate to wake up even at 5 AM on a cold winter night and drive for 100 km to see what breakfast they are having and where they are strolling. It was difficult to take snaps as they flew at the faintest sight of our car and sound of its engine. There was a watchtower, which we climbed on. We could catch sights of thousands of birds in the distant water bodies. Buffaloes were being milked in a stable nearby. A few small and colourful birds were hopping around and playing in the morning sun. There were very few people around.

Lost and found!

On the way back, I was sitting on the front seat, beside the driver, taking photos. Rakesh-da was sitting on the back seat with our guide. Suddenly Rakesh-da said “Guide is asking me for directions!”

“What??!!”

At first I thought he was joking. Soon, we realized he was not joking. And not only did we get lost in the no-man’s land one of the tyres of the car got punctured. I remember Irfan adding one more ;ine of caution at the dinner table the previous night “If anything happens to the car, we will be badly struck” Those words came back to haunt me now.

"Rasta bhatak nehi jate, admi bhatak jaten hain"

Now we were in the middle of nowhere, having absolutely no clue whether we should go east, west, north or south, take right, left or go straight. Our car handicapped partially with a punctured tyre. No food stock, just two bottles of water. The only thing on our side was the time of the day – early morning. Surely someone will come this way and guide us. Our guide, who badly misguided us in the last few kilometres, walked ahead in the hope of finding some helpful soul. Amidst the sound of birds and breeze, we heard the faint sound of a tractor somewhere around. The sound of hope! The sound of a God-sent mortal being! He came on a tractor. “Follow my tracks behind”, he said. “You will reach the main road”

We thanked him profusely.

After a few more miles, we lost that track, but found some cluster of huts around. Visibly poor people, may be tribals of the region, with inquisitive look stared at us. We asked for

Someone somewhere: A cluster of huts, a couple of families

direction. One pointed his finger to the east, we followed. And soon realized we were driving into a bush. By this time our guide had left all hope about his navigation skills and looked as puzzled as us. We were truly all on the same boat, car in this case. Another villager pointed to another direction, where we found a narrow track, more for walking purpose, clearly used by villagers. A few miles on that may-be-road and we found the main road. We all breathed a sigh of relief. Not that we would get lost there forever, but just that we never want to get lost. Perhaps this is our innermost feeling. We try to escape, but never want to get lost.

Its shopping time, ladies!

A late breakfast followed by a lunch and then to the Rann Utsav. And in between the breakfast and the lunch, we found the other occupants of the resort. A bunch of Indians with pseudo American accent and strange dressing style that made me remember the fable story of the crow and the peacock I had learnt in my nursery. Why try to camouflage? Ironically, those people are imitating others culture while at the Rann Utsav, which is an ideal milieu to showcase the rich culture and heritage that of the people of this part of the world. This is where you get to feel the pulse of rural India. This is where you bring your kids and teach about India, which is beyond the lines and texts of any History and Geography book.  

Cars were lined up before the parking lot. We got down. My wife and sister had a galatime shopping in the 100 plus stalls set up by local traders, vendors and craftsmen. No wonder, Rakesh-da and I were bored. While Rakesh-da was hopelessly sitting on a bench beside some other bored husbands and tired grandmothers, I have my own ways of dealing with boredom. Talking to the stall-owners, clicking random photos, playing with my daughter…

“All these things that you all have kept - – dresses, handbags, jewelleries, shoes- are all for ladies. Why didn’t you keep anything for us – men?” I asked an aged shopkeeper, who was gossiping with some of the fellow shopkeepers.

“Its easy to convince ladies with these colourful stuffs. That’s why I guess.” 
Experience counts!

In the meantime, the ladies in our gang already had their hands full with bags and packets. When they could carry no further, we licked at cone ice creams and drove to the resort. But the day was far from over. That day, being Christmas and full moon night, our date with the white desert was as planned some 10 months back. “Picture abhi baki hae mere dost”…after the break, in this case, after the dinner.

Cometh the moment: Full moon night at the White Rann

We wasted no time at the dinner table. And was back at the white marsh in a couple of hours. Cold. Shivering. Shinning. The huge stretch looked like one white cloth laid on Mother Earth. It had the serenity, the calmness. It was magical. It was mesmerising. Unlike a sea where you constantly hear the roaring of the waves, it was dead silent. The babble around can be ignored or you can move a few step away from the crowd to a place where there are only the moonlight, the silvery Rann and you. This is where you can smell the earth and feel her. You can escape and yet not get lost.

White Rann glittered on the full-moon Christmas night

You can breathe fresh air and yet feel breathless at the sight in front. My daughter was feeling sleepy. Understandable. After all, she joined my excitement of sighting those flamingos early in the morning. And so many things have happened between those first pair of flamingos taking off and the shinning desert now. It was indeed a long day. I carried her on my shoulders, like I did at the Chandrataal Lake and the Wagah Border and the Vaishnav Devi temple. I carried her for almost a kilometer like that. Never felt the burden, never felt the pain. All these feelings are so relative…a 10-kg shopping bag brings sweat, a 25-kg kid brings smile!

Saturday, 26th December.

Third time at the Rann: This time for sunrise!

I thought I had seen the best at the white desert. That’s what they advertise. On fullmoon nights you have to be here at Kutch when “the earth at the white deserts of the Rann becomes the moon!". Fullmoon night it was! They don’t talk of the place during any other time of the day. And yet we decided to go out for the sunrise, my favourite time anywhere I visit. This time my wife truly gave up. I did not insist. Didi gave up too. Rakesh-da did not insist either. So, Rakesh-da, Hritik and I, not to forget our Irfan-bhai, drove to the same place. This is the third time in the last 48 hours we are visiting this place. We had been there only a couple of hours back. That time the moon was moving from the east and was over us when we left. Now the moon had tilted quite a lot on the western horizon. I had tried to capture the moods of the moon from our resort, between the conical top of our huts, through the bushes, between the branches of the trees. Now its time to say goodbye to that moon. And say hello to the sun, which has already been spreading its fragrance through the orange floating clouds and blue sky. Last night the moon was the reason people thronged the area. Now, people hardly took notice of the setting moon. Last night people did not want to see any strong light except the soft moonlight. Now, people were all for the dazzling sunlight. Soon the sky got flooded with what looked like a dash of vermillion on the bride’s forehead. And the bride looked pale and white in apprehension of what to expect. Yet, the

vermillion seemed to enjoy its place, where it looked at its best. It was proud of its position. It complimented the bride’s look and the bride did not know how to react to it! I stood still, statued! The orange light glittered on the white stretch, at times reflecting from the shallow water trapped in the marshes. At the horizon, the sky seemed to have bent a little to hug the White Rann just like a mother does to her child who comes running towards her from school. Moments like these are what I would thank the Almighty for when He gives me that one final clarion call!

Another almost missed train.

At the breakfast table, despite my insistence to my wife and didi that we return to the white ran in the morning for I have seen what they haven’t, my suggestion was turned down. They wanted to go to the Mandovi beach, which was far and could have put us under time pressure, for we had a train to catch in the evening. The journey was a long one, but the fruits were not that sweet. On the crowded beach, we just had the time to have a hurried lunch, before dashing towards the station. We stormed into the station 15 minutes before the departure time of our train. The neem tree was still there. There were a few puppies and a couple of cows. I guess, the mad person was also resting under it. We spent close to an hour when we arrived at the Bhuj station two days back. I don’t think anyone even turned to it this time as we all rushed inside the station platform. Had there been the slightest traffic jam, the train would have whistled away. It has been quite a few times now that we just scrambled to catch the train and the flight. So far we have been lucky to be on the right side. But there is always a limit to which we can stretch our luck and try. And I fear, we are testing it too often and too hard. 

Auf Wiedersehen: Until we meet again!

Here, at the Bhuj Railway Station, we bid goodbye to Didi, Rakesh-da and Hritik. We would take the train to Abu Road from where we begin the next leg of our journey that would take us through the forts, palaces and deserts of Rajasthan. Didi and family would take a train, a few hours from then, to Vadodhara. In our fast-paced life we hardly get a time to meet each other. I met Hritik around 2003 when he was around 1 year old, crawling. Then once in Nov 2008. And then again now in 2015. Same with Didi. I have fond memories growing up together with her in the same house, sharing those little secrets, those fights and those laughter with her. We always thought that 40s are the age of our parents and 70s of the grandparents. And today, at the doorstep of 40, we didn’t realise how those days rolled into decades. How we have become parents now and our parents, grandparents and our grandparents, memories. And now I see in Gudiya and Hritik’s eyes the same innocence, apprehensions and dreams we had some decades ago. Give a few more decades and the wheel of life with turn a few more times. Life will go on, but roles will change then. Players may remain the same, but the rules of the game will change. Tired players will leave the playground to the younger and healthier lot, who have the dreams in their eyes and power in their muscles. The playground will always be for the ones who are fit to play and have fun. Those who have lost interest in the game need to make way. After all, the journey of life has to continue. This is the eternal truth. This is the rule of the game!

A new day...A new beginning