I’m giving up any semblance of chronological record keeping for our India trip (handily enough, there’s hardly an electronic whisper of any sort of record-keeping, chronological or otherwise). Instead we will start in medias res — or rather, in the middle of Kutch, where I spent an amazing month at the start of this year.
In former times — up to as recently as 60 or so years ago, before major dams disrupted river flow (more on that later) — Kutch was a seasonal island. Though it’s now part of Gujarat, connected by highways and trainlines (which have to pass through the Rann on elevated land bridges), and sharing certain customs and traditions, it is its own cultural and geographic entity. Historically, in fact, it was more closely allied to Sindh, now part of present-day Pakistan (history geeks might like to check out this article on the relation of Sindh and Kutch). Today, many people still speak Kaachi — a language written with the Gujarati script, but actually more closely linguistically related to Sindhi — as well as Gujarati, Hindi, and English.
Kutch is bordered by the Gulf of Kutch and the Arabian sea on its south and western sides — meaning it has been a center for sea trade and naval defense for thousands of years. To its north and east, it’s bordered by salt flats called the Rann that flood during the rainy season, then dry out to blinding white cracked earth desert stretches — creating nearly impassable conditions year round, at least from the mainland India side of things.
Many cultures meet in one place — Muslims and Hindus; former Rajput warriors and rulers; nomadic Rabari herders; ship-builders and fisherfolk; farmers and shepherds; big-city merchants and small-town artisans; Ahirs, Jats, Meghwals. All the colors are tints and shimmering shades — desert colors, whether glimpsed from a bus window or walked by on a winding bazaar street.
road to monastery, than
Men and women wearing traditional dress — somber subtle red on black woolen tie-dye shawls aned skirts for Rabari women, with intricate richly-colored embroidered backless cholis; spotless white lungi and kurta (and mustaches) for Rabari men; multi-colored hand-woven hip-length mashru kurtas over brightly colored ankle-length skirts; Muslim women in head scarf, abaya, or burka — abound, as do modern interpretations, like the ever-popular Muslim men’s mechanic jumpsuit accessorized with oversize-print psychedelic-colored rose prayer shawl and high-heeled leather shoe-boots.
Perhaps in part because of the historical isolation of the area, amazing textile and craft traditions abound, rooted in a time when people created things of beauty primarily for themselves, in response to their own surroundings, their own needs, and their own rhythms, rather than the demands of the market.
garden variety hand-pieced quilt, roadside, bhuj.
this one was being used to cover a stack of sugarcane for sale by the side of the road
afroz tyeing bandhni, khatri chowk, muslim quarter, bhuj
Kutch is particularly famed for its embroidery and bandhni (tie and dye) work. Kutch is also a center for ajrak printing — hand blockprinted cottons traditionally dyed with natural dyes in shades of blue, red, black and white, although today a wide range of shades are used. I met Rauf Khatri, a 10th generation ajrak printer, at an exhibition in Delhi in November, and knew I had to visit his family’s workshop in Dhamadka, in eastern Kutch. I met his friend Abdul Vahab, who does bandhni work in Bhuj, in central Kutch, and knew I had to visit his workshop too. But more on that later.
traditional double-sided ajrak print, khatri workshop, dhamadka
The thing I can’t get out of my head — besides the amazing richness of crafts, and the beautiful, subtle and always-changing desert colors — is the amazing welcome offered by the people of Kutch. “My people are always drinking tea,” said my friend Rauf to me one day after we had had one glass of tea at each of the four houses we had visited. “You cannot go anywhere without being offered a glass.” I drank my fair share of tea in Kutch (Rick always ribbed me about the number of chai stall owners with whom I was on a first-name basis), but the full extent of my cultural imbibing will have to be relayed over numerous posts …
--Alesandra Bellos
