After that epic day, I took a day off to rest and sort out my trip to Mumbai. The day after, I decided to go to some northern villages that are close to the Pakistan border. For that, I needed to get the police permit. The DSP, police department in Bhuj, told me that I should get the permit in a nearby village called Bhirendiara.

I went to the bus station early in the morning and took the bus to Khavda at 7:15. I got off at the Bhirendiara village, but didn’t see any police station. I asked the bus ticket checker and he said it’s 1 km further. I got into the bus, and got off at the police station. The bus carried on, and I went to the two policemen sitting there. I asked about the permit, and they said that the corresponding office is closed till 10 (it was 8:45). I said I want to go to Khavda and Kuran, and they told me for that, you don’t need a permit! I showed them my map which said I need the permit, but they said no, it’s ok, you can go. Even there was this sign in English saying that I needed the permit from that line onward, but they still said it’s not needed and I can carry on! It was so confusing. I don’t know if they didn’t understand me or what, because their English was not good, and they could say only a few words. Anyways, I saw no reason to stay there and got the next bus to Khavda. For the whole trip in that region, no one asked me for a permit. It might be because of my looking like Indians, or luck, or the fact that permit was not needed. I still don’t know!

I arrived in Khavda, and to my disappointment, it was more like a small slum or a mega-village, and not so interesting. To see the village life and people, I had to go to smaller villages around Khavda. But the problem was that there was no reliable means of transportation between the villages. On top of that, given that I could have found my way to a village, there was no way that I could find a person that would speak a word of English! Even in Khavda, no one spoke English, and I was the only foreigner over there.

I figured out that the only way to go to the villages is to find someone with a rickshaw or motorbike who can speak some English. I found this governmental office and over there two people could speak a bit of English. They said it’s very difficult to find someone who can speak English here, and it proved to be so. One of them came out in the village and asked around for me. After like two hours, he could get me the phone number of an English teacher in Khavda high school that could perhaps help me out. I called him, but his mobile phone was off. I was at the verge of despair and thought of going back to Bhuj, with my tail between my legs. I called him again after half an hour or so, and he answered the phone. I told him what I want to do and luckily he said he will come in half an hour. Yes!

His name was MirMamad, and he could speak English very well. He said he has one and a half hours before going back to high school again, and he can show me Kuran. I asked him about the money, and he said as you like. Based on my previous tours in India, I offered him 100 rupees per hour, and he agreed. I hopped on his bike and we headed to Kuran. I told him my intentions that I want to meet people, and take their photos.

He took me to his friend’s house, who was also a teacher. He was a Harijan, and had 3 daughters and 2 sons. His parents were also living with him. They greeted us warmly and invited us in. His father was apparently a famous singer in this region and even had travelled to the Sind state in Pakistan for performing folklore songs. When he saw that I am a photographer, he volunteered to sing and I take his photo. I happily agreed, but instead of taking his photo, took a video of him with my iPhone. They thought that I have come for seeing the embroidery, so they showed me their works. I saw a beautiful piece of embroidery that I liked a lot and I bought it from them with a very modest price (250 rupees, or 5 bucks!). This was the first piece of craftwork I have bought in India, as it was just so beautiful.

Anyways, I asked the father if it is ok to take photos of the kids, and he happily agreed. I took some photos and when I showed them the results, they all got excited! The teenage daughter went and put on some beautiful necklaces and bracelets, and I happily shot her. Notably, the elder women were not sitting with us and they were in another shack. They had all these beautifully embroidered dresses and I saw that one of them is wearing a huge ring in her nose. I didn’t know if it is proper to ask them for photos, so I just asked MirMamad at the end, and he said he will ask his friend. He granted the permission and I went to the other shack. They were all giggling and some were covering their faces, a common practice among women here upon arrival of strangers. I showed them the photos and then they were all ready for photos! I took so many photos of them, and said goodbye to them.

We went to another house, and I shot another Harijan woman. She showed me some of her work, like this beautiful embroidered traditional dress, at a whopping price of 8000 rupees. It was definitely worth it, but I didn’t have the money nor the intention to buy it. We headed to another village called Megapar. MirMamad didn’t know anyone there, but we asked some people for photos. They were not so enthusiastic about it and some said no, because our photos end up on the internet! Interesting to hear that from those villagers! Anyways, they had all the rights in the world to not like their photos to be taken. By then, I had to head back to Bhuj.

The next day, I headed again to the north to meet MirMamad to go to some Jati villages. But that day was not my day. Jatis are Muslim herdsmen, who live mostly secluded from the rest of the tribes. I went to a village by bus, waiting for MirMamad to come, but he arrived 1 hour and 30 minutes late. I barely had 2 hours before going back to Bhuj to take my train. I hopped on his bike and we headed to a secluded village. But the road condition was horrible, so much so that even a motorbike could not pass. Those Jati people must live very secluded from the rest of the world. Unbelievable! There was a truck stuck in the middle of the road that could not reach the village. We had to come back midway through.

On the way back, we saw another Jati community who, according to MirMamad, were very orthodox and not so nice. Anyway, I told him let’s try if we can take any picture from them. We got in, but I don’t know for what reason, MirMamad said he can’t accompany me to the area of houses, and I should go on my own with one of the men who did not know a word of English. Also, I was not allowed to take photos of women. I was fed up (read the side note) and told him to go back. It was not my day.

Side Notes:

The Bat Incident: The night before going to Kuran, I woke up with the “call to prayers” (it’s so loud that I could hear it even with the earplug in my ear!) and with the loud cry of my neighbor’s alarm clock. I was getting back to sleep, when I heard and saw a big black thing flying into my room from the open window. The sound was like very light clapping. The light was off and I was so sleepy, that I couldn’t see where it went. And my room is a mere box of 1.8x2.5 meters. I got up and saw/heard it flying around again and it just went behind me! Obviously I was in shock and did a jerky movement and the thing started to fly again. I jumped off the bed and turned on the light, and went into a corner so that the thing doesn’t hit me. I could see it now, it was a bat!!! And again, my room is only 1.8x2.5 meters!

I thought it might go out soon, or it will hit the fan, but neither happened. I grabbed my shirt off the wall, and tried to hit it. It would go under the bed and again come out, but one time, I managed to hit it! It fell down and I quickly hit it again with my slippers, and it didn’t move anymore. I put the slippers on it and tried to get myself together. This all took less than 30-40 seconds, I believe. I looked at it and it was a baby bat. I felt so bad and relieved at the same time! I could have opened the door and let it fly out instead of hitting it. But this didn’t occur to me at that state of shock. I threw it out of my room in the corridor, and then to the balcony. It was not moving anymore.

Then I just noticed that the alarm of my neighbor is STILL going off!!! I got angry and tapped on his door heavily. He woke up and opened the door, with droopy eyes. I angrily shouted at him for the alarm, and told him how come he doesn’t hear the call for prayer and the alarm clock going off beside his bed, while I can hear them both with earplugs??? He apologized and I went back to my room. Poof!!!

On Dealing with people in India: You know, Indians are very nice people. Super warm, easy-going and friendly. You can start talking with any stranger in the street and he will be most friendly and helpful. But sometimes, dealing with them can be highly frustrating! You ask them something, and they answer you something else, totally irrelevant to what you said! You ask again, and they answer something else. You become confused then. Is it because they don’t understand you, or because they don’t know the answer and just say something to not say they don’t know, or they know the answer, but don’t want to say it, or simply they are tricking you. You never know! They have a totally different mentality. Or at least, sometimes they are not frank. I don’t know really. I have seen this many many times, that’s why I said Indians in general.

Like this guy MirMamad. I asked him to come with me and go in the settlement area of Jati people, as he was the only one who could speak English. He said he will stay beside the bike, because there are some kids around (it’s like elsewhere in India there are no kids around!). I told him to bring the bike inside. He said wait till one of the guys comes and takes you in. I asked why, does he speak English? He said no. I said what use does it have then? I need you to come with me to translate what they say. He said you don’t need it. Just go with the guy, take the picture and come back. I said again, I want to talk with them and understand what they say. Lock the bike inside and come in. He said again, wait till another comes! And the discussion went on and on, with no real answer. I was totally frustrated. I said let’s go back.

On the way back, I asked him again what was the problem. He said because he was not allowed to go in. I asked why. We are both Muslim men of a certain age. What’s the difference between you and me? He pointed at his clothes and said you could go with your clothes, but me as a local, I couldn’t go! I gave up, and didn’t ask why, and still don’t believe what he said was right, because it made no sense. I definitely don’t mean that he was lying to me. But simply he didn’t want to answer me, and instead of saying I don’t want to say why, he was making stories!