Holidays in Rural India

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Holidays in Rural India

Holidays in Rural India Real interaction can take place with time for friendships to develop and for experiences to be shared.

Central India - with its rolling hills and mixed forests, indigenous Gond and Baiga tribal people, and few tourists - is the perfect place for a comfortable but authentic experience of rural Indian life and landscape. We encourage travellers to allow themselves a slow-paced adventure, with time to absorb the wealth of images and impressions that will flood the senses. We meet most of our guests be

fore they travel to spend time discussing their interests and putting together an itinerary that best suits them. By choosing one or two main locations for their holiday, guests have the chance to get to know the people in whose country they are a visitor. We help visitors see India as it is lived by so many Indians yet seen by few foreigners. Guests have time to learn the lie of the land and the rhythms of everyday life, with visits to pottery and weaving villages, tribal markets and local schools. The countryside is safe and the people friendly and most guests become confident enough to do a little solitary exploration on foot or by bicycle.

14/01/2025

Jimmi kaanda at the Wattis

I’m spending quite a bit of time gathering recipes at the moment, I can’t tell you what a lovely way it is of being with people, sitting by a chulha, chopping and chatting (unintended alliteration).

The Wattis live in a traditional mud home in a pretty village just 20 km from Kanker town, but which feels a world, or several centuries, away from Kanker’s shops and noise and trash.

Preeti the only daughter in the Watti family has a BSc in electrical engineering but finding work has been harder than getting her degree.

She helps her sister-in-law Anita Chachi with her children (Roshni, Radhni, Anjelika, Anauj and little Triyaksh) and cooks … brilliantly.

I’ve eaten wonderfully every time I’ve visited, and wanted to get some recipes for the less common (to me) vegetables they’ve served. We giggled last time when told the vegetable we were eating was called ‘elephant’s foot’, as some guests were vegetarian, and even amongst the often still quite hunter-y as well as gather-y villages in these parts, elephants aren’t generally on the menu.

Jimmi kaanda or elephant’s foot is a large bristly skinned yam that needs careful preparation as its skin can cause irritation. It is boiled whole before any further cooking takes place and then peeled and chopped. Getting exact measurements from Preeti was quite hard as her answer to most questions was ‘apne anusaar’ (according to your taste). I do sympathise, being similarly vague when trying to pass on recipes.

Cycling on to Kanker I thought I’d try the veg market there to see if I could see it sold (Preeti’s was homegrown) but was lucky enough to come upon a village haat (weekly market) on the way, where they didn’t have jimmi kaanda but a smaller version called kochai kaanda, and a bumpy skinned cousin called dhan kaanda. I’m sure the same masala gravy could be used with any yam or even sweet potato.

Thank you Preeti for your time and patience, and Anita chachi for helping, despite having a feverish Triyaksha glued to your hip.

And thank you Rizwan Khan for your community focused tourism, your eye always on how you can help rather than your own pocket.

12/01/2025

A few lines on the gotul system that was, until a couple of generations ago, an integral part of the cultural life of many central Indian indigenous communities.

They worked in multiple forms but their commonality was a valuing of young people in those years between puberty and marriage as people who had something important to offer society. People at that juncture between childhood and adulthood whose vigour, capacity for joy and ability to learn quickly made them special, rather than troublesome as they seem to be viewed in so many societies. They also had no prim concepts of s*x being something shameful, or of virginity as something that needed guarding.

The gotul was a large building, on the edge of the village, where young people would sleep at night, where musical instruments were stored, and dances danced. Young people would attend celebrations in an almost holy capacity. Old men and women whom I have met/know well go misty eyed when talking of their gotul days. Precious years when you could reap the privileges of independence with your peers before taking on the responsibility of family.

Puritanism in its many forms meant they gradually faded.

Some still stand and are used as a store for instruments and a site for celebrations.
There are also some stupid concrete imitations, a sop to pretend anyone gives a toss.

In Garhbangal though, (an example of the benefit of reservations for tribals) a new gotul is being built on the edge of the village with the support of a local (Muria) official. It is capturing a precious concept before it is lost & valuing the traditional skills used to create it, and it is marvellous that Panderam who was in the original gotul is the key woodworker on the project. Teams of people were at work when we visited, Panderam and his son Baldev (one of the 11 of Pande’s 12 sons who have followed in his footsteps as woodcarvers) showed us round the extraordinary work in process, the scope of the carving is remarkable and the lack of anyone saying ‘I did this and he did that’ really notable.
Last 2 self indulgent pics: John at Tina & Jolly’s wedding, J & me in Suss*x. In Garh Bangal we are Lahar Singh and Jallaro.

10/01/2025

Jolly Baba’s Chilla and Tomato Chutney

Chilla was the first breakfast I ate (fully eighteen years ago 😬). I’d arrived from Garh Bengal, feeling a bit heartbroken to have left the wonder of deeply rural Bastar tribal life, but was enfolded into this family’s embrace, and I swiftly pulled myself together.

Jolly of course was the heart of it all. The kitchen was his kingdom, which he ruled in a most egalitarian, unkingly fashion. Tina told me this morning that he really cooked, he didn’t have staff chopping and laying things out for him (though there are a dozen at least who would have willingly done so), he did the hard work as well as the showy stuff. His kitchen is BEAUTIFUL. I took a photo of the shelves of pots this morning, and aaah-ed at their loveliness, ‘all Jolly’s’ said Tina.

He is desperately missed, but he is also living on here so vividly: in memories, in conversation, in Jiya and Jash’s looks and mannerisms and stories, and of course in his food.

When he asked me what I would like for breakfast and I asked if there was anything traditionally Chhattisgarhi he said he would make chilla. I think one is meant to eat 3 or 4, I must have had half a dozen. The same today; this time cooked by Tina, Pilu Ram (who has been with the family for 45 years) and Shahdev Panda (on chutney). Thank you Jolly Baba for what has become my favourite breakfast. Recipe in the last two pictures.

08/01/2025

A morning in the kitchen with Moti and Vijay at Gudiya Padar.

I always feel a little overwhelmed by the great gift of being a guest at Gudiya Padar, this beautiful village in the heart of the forest. Even arriving by car rather than bicycle one has to leave the car a few hundred metres from the village and cross a stream to reach it. The cut-off-ness a blessing and a curse for its residents.

On the drive there Sailendra (who is Gond) and I talked about the fact that men from indigenous communities are far more likely to do their fair share of cooking than caste Hindus. Dipti said her father couldn’t heat a cup of water, let alone make a cup of tea; whilst Sailendra said he’d been cooking household meals when his mother was menstruating since he was in class 5 (aged 10) and that his son (aged 8) did the same when he was out working. Sure the idea that a woman is impure during her period isn’t a great concept but the fact that others take up the burden of some of her household chores could well have come first.

When we reached Gudiya Padar Moti had started the mid-day meal, she’s seven months pregnant, and her husband Vijay took over fairly swiftly.

I watched, ‘helped’ (chopped two onions and ten red chillies) and got in the way, as lunch was made.

We had semi (beans) and bari (soya chunks, introduced by the Americans as aid for school midday meals, now a cheap source of protein and the only ultra high processed food on the menu; indeed apart from oil, turmeric and salt the only food that hadn’t been grown in the garden or fields); aapa (round green aubergine) and aapai (long thin purple aubergine) and potato (recipe in last pics); dal; rice.

The Barse family use no shop bought masalas, the food is so fresh it needs nothing more than the zing from chillies and the earthy flavour of turmeric.

We ate off banana leaves, GP the only banana growing village for miles around (Khosa the village founder’s foresight on this front, is something for another post).

Thank you of for these remarkable experiences, and thank you all at Gudiya Padar for putting up with me.

31/12/2024

Superb food walk (more food than walk!) around Bohri Mohalla with guided by Abhishek . Fascinating history woven into every delicious mouthful, and a reminder of our wasteful prime cut ways of eating meat in the global north. Plenty of offal on the various menus, though we were fairly conservative, and buff udder kabab was our peak. Amongst our favourites were a rice-less ‘patrel biryani’, kheeri kabab, channa-batata, bohri naan (the best chicken sandwich you’ve ever tasted) and glorious guava ice cream sprinkled with black salt (which is actually pink). Many of the businesses have been here for generations, and though the old buildings are being knocked down and rebuilt in shiny mall style, I have no doubt the food traditions here will continue for many many more generations. I would love to go during Ramzan 💚

12/12/2024

Cycling from .

We have led dozens of cycle trips now from beautiful Shergarh, and feedback has always been really lovely, with everyone particularly delighted to arrive triumphantly back ‘home’ at Shergarh at the end of the trip. With the perfection of Shergarh in mind, and with the complexity and cost involved in multi day tours (which makes them particularly hard to lay on for solo travellers - who in my experience are almost invariably intrepid women 💪🏼) we are shape shifting our itineraries a little and offering more cycling days out with Shergarh as home base.

We can offer rides from easy 25km loops to long days out right over into Chhattisgarh. Rides to markets; to tea shops with truly well earned samosas hot from the pan; to rivers for picnics and paddling; and of course rides for workshops , all through a mix of village and forest.

We can offer a range of support: from a jeep with a guide from camp, down to a pin drop on a map so you can pedal off solo. We have e-bikes for those who want a bit of extra oomph.

I’m appallingly biased but I don’t think there is a lovelier way of spending time in rural India than cycling through it, no IN it, really in it. That’s its gloriousness.

Still fairly good safari availability for February too 🐅

09/12/2024

A last chance to donate to during Big Give week when all donations are match funded, and this seems a good moment to post my sad but contented goodbye to Frank Water as an ambassador.

One of the many brilliant things about Frank is that their projects are designed to last without their continued presence. At the moment though this means that the areas in which Frank work no longer collide with those in which I do, and since I like to keep the link between guests’ giving and the people they meet n India as close as possible, it is time to say farewell for now.

Over the seven or more years of our association I have seen the impact of Frank’s work in many many villages in Chhattisgarh and several in Madhya Pradesh. It has always moved me. I have seen barren scrub turned to twice yearly cropping fields (without the use of chemical fertilisers, just simple irrigation methods), relocated villages with no access to to water supplied with pumps, ponds and stop dams to raise the water table; thoughtful structures like steps down to water sources, and the clever use of flat roofed concrete buildings such as schools as routes for gathering run off water for rainwater harvesting.

The joy of it all for me has been meeting the hundreds of wonderful people along the way: staff of the various partners in India; villagers who have benefited, of whom many have become friends; and dear guests who have walked, cycled from , visited, and dug deep into their pockets for this brilliant cause (impossible to count but between you all we have raised a very conservative minimum of £50,000 for Frank). Last but not least a huge whoop for the bloody amazing Katie Alcott, founder of Frank Water who has helped so many people, in particular 1000s of women and girls. Star chick 💦

03/11/2024

.Wonderful wonderful .dalijoda

Debjit and Namrata do it all so very well. A return visit for me, a first for my brother, three nights at each end of a twelve day (too short) holiday in beautiful, and crazily under-visited, Odisha.

On my last trip and I looked longingly out of car windows wishing wishing we were pedalling along the quiet country roads on bicycles. This time, with fantastically helpful support from Debjit, JB and I did just that. And oh god what cycling. We had car back-up from Pinku, so it was all a fabulous cheat, but spent many hours and covered a couple of hundred kilometres on embankments between paddy fields, along peaceful village roads and through thick forests.

You don’t have to be a cyclist to enjoy a stay at Kila D, though it helps for burning off some of Namrata’s incredible food. I’m not exaggerating when I say that her food is amongst the best I have ever eaten in India. She has an enormous range of recipes, from her aristocratic grandmother’s biryani to the local village method of cooking fish in saal leaves, she has a light touch with the oil and a delicacy with the masalas. Meals are accompanied by excellent and funny anecdotes.

The house is Debjit’s great grandfather’s old hunting lodge, sensitively restored, the spacious rooms and sitting rooms perfect for us to make ourselves at home as we sat out the cyclone that landed during our first few days.

Most staff have been with the family for many years, though new additions include Rasmita in the kitchen and Tappan taking care of the farm, freeing up Debjit and Namrata to accompany guests, guiding them on birding trips on a nearby water body, pond and river angling, or visits to the ikkat weaving and dhokra clusters in Nuapatra. Mausa took us cycling on our last afternoon, the same magical route through the forest to a Munda village that Dinah I cycled exactly a year ago. There’s a lack of pomp and an absence of obsequiousness from staff that I like a lot. Koi’s extraordinary agility, that means she can balance on the edge of the sink in a neat squat to do the washing up, is admired.

Odisha is chockablock with things to see; Kila Dalijoda the perfect base.

29/10/2024

The village in which Dibyaranjan Das was born is, to my romantic eyes, paradise like in its beauty. Thatched mud cottages (the mud here an iron rich red) with kitchen gardens in front, jungle behind and paddy fields stretching out on the flat lands between the hills. It now has a roughly metalled road so that access to medical care is easier but there is still no school, and the school in the nearest village a poor do, as is almost invariably the case in rural India. Teachers who have little vim for teaching children in what is often be seen as a back-of-beyond punishment posting in a community deemed backward and lowly.

The gov’t (not just the current one’s) solution has in part been to establish boarding schools, in which children are educated for sure, but are also distanced from their indigenous culture. .20 was sent away at 10, to Bhubaneswar 250 km away, he would come home just once a year.

After a long time settling in it was found that D had great talent as a rugby player. He had a successful career and continued as a referee but chose to dedicate his life to the children in his community. He founded in 2019 where children from the villages around his home train in rugby, archery and swimming. The two hostels in Baripada are just 70 km from the villages meaning children can attend good government schools in town but are still close enough to their families to travel home. The girls are cared for by Dibya’s cousin; Parbati one of the senior girls cheerily told me they felt like a big family.

Sporting successes amongst this small group of 37 are already astounding, international travel for some of them, life changing prize money for more. But more than that it’s the opportunity to thrive in an unfair country in an unfair world.

We joined them for morning training and then for breakfast. My brother and I felt hugely privileged to meet these amazing kids and their wonderful mentor, all thanks to an introduction by Maharani Sahiba of which is the most stylish and delightful place to stay in Baripada and whose supports Future Stars Sports Academy

24/10/2024

The mask makers of Khardagaria

The village of Khardagaria in Odisha was once full of mask makers. Two families remain, in one of them just one elderly gentleman still at work.
The words disappearing and vanishing are making too frequent an appearance in my instagram posts.

Manjulata ji,her husband, and her daughter-in-law, continue the craft. Bappa came to meet us on the road, he’d hopped on his daughter-in-law’s pink cycle and led us, cycling gracefully in his dhoti, off the road and down a track to the family home.

The mask making process takes many days and is dependent on sunshine to dry the gobar masks and figurines which they then paint and laquer. Sunshine is a rarer commodity than it should be. A late retreating monsoon currently fast followed by a cyclone.

The masks are glorious, brightly painted, with enigmatic faces, recognisably leopard, tiger or the monkey god Hanuman ji (Hanu they called him here, familiarly) but with some decorative artistic licence.

‘Oh dear, I rather love you all’ I thought, and asked the prices. The answer made me want to weep. I won’t write how much on here because I hope Mausi ji can eventually sell them for far more, but god too too little for the hours and hours that go into each piece. They are moulded (in multiple stages) covered with ash and gum and then with a base on which to paint. Apparently Manjulata can paint dozens in a night if she has a stack all dried and prepared.

Indrani and Soumya of .svanir had put in a good order, and I bought far more than can possibly fit into my small case (optimistically attempting a seven week trip with hand luggage only, scuppered now after three days in Odisha). Manjulata spoke angrily about bulk buying middle men who beat her down in price and sell them on, I looked online after we had left, and flimsier, far more basely decorated masks, are sold for seven or eight times what she was asking.

I hope that Indrani and Soumya succeed in finding some way for the craftspeople they are documenting to sell direct. This is their admirable goal. And I hope that little Rosalin their granddaughter might want to continue this craft, remunerated more fairly than her grandparents.

22/10/2024

Soumya and Indrani of .svanir are on a mission to seek out and do all they can to support and preserve the multitude of fast disappearing crafts in their corner of the green green state of Odisha, and have spent the last couple of years searching and talking.

One of the most maddening things is middle men and women who are buying from these makers for peanuts, and being cagey about their sources. Older people who have practised for years will trundle on selling for less than they would like. Young people simply won’t, and are unwilling to follow the poorly paid traditions of their parents so head off to work in Amazon and Flipkart, whose prison like warehouses are sprouting like cankers across what used to be paddy and millet fields surrounding Bhubaneswar. These sharks are effectively killing their golden geese.

A success story first. Pratapji from Jatni became a master weaver over forty years ago and then returned to his village where he trained women in his art. He set them up in their own homes with looms where now 200 women in 4 villages make beautiful cotton saris, dupattas, gamchas, shirt material etc. During Covid they swiftly turned to mask making and barely lost a day of work. There is no tradition of weaving here so the designs are a fun mix of their own inventions, a type of ikkat, some gorgeous checks and some Koraput inspired designs with tribal motifs. Indrani & Soumya’s first question is always ‘what can we do to help; what do you need?’ (the inverse of most people who come and tell people what they need). In this case it is a dyeing machine. Apparently the water they have is particularly good for dyeing but they have to take their cotton to a silk weaving village where they have to dye in quantities that are hard for them to supply. Soumya and Indrani are working with an NGO to see if they can leverage funds from the government.

I didn’t get everyone’s names but pics include Molikadehi (3,4) Sonolotta Das (5,6) Monisha (7) Sonolotta, Pratima & her husband Protopji himself in (9) founder of Taraboi Handloom Weavers, Jatni. Nalu and Hari the lohars at the end who chased us down and asked for their photos to be taken.

19/10/2024

A happy muddle of photos at the end of a week/ten day stay

These just touch the surface of all the wonderful things there are to see and do in this special place. The tents here are perfect, comfortable, stylish, but muted. An unshouty background to the magic that happens all around.

No need for many words to these pictures except to urge you to book yourself at least a week, save yourself the exhausting travel that most people subject themselves to and explore deeply rather than scatteredly.

Enjoy repeat visits, and the real pleasure of seeing old friends again. If like me, you have gained some weight since last trip, don’t expect any tiptoe-ing round the fact - Bajrain bai (pic 5) told me I looked like a potato, because I had clearly been eating too many of them. I blame her aloo boonda (mashed potato dipped in batter and deep fried 😋).

There are also tigers round here and is extremely good at finding them 🐅

For cycling holidays message me or or 🚲🚲🚲

18/10/2024

The traditional ways of the people ‘koitor’ of Bastar, that existed unchanged for several thousands of years, are disappearing in the course of a couple of generations.

The cave paintings in Bhimbetka that depict people dancing are up to 12,000 years old, and there’s no reason why the less researched ones of Bastar aren’t similarly ancient. I imagine the dense forest that would have stretched uninterrupted across the highlands of central India then, people as at ease moving through it as some of the indigenous communities here still are. Axes balanced on shoulders, every tree and plant and flower’s use known.

I saw dances in John Ash’s photos; within the community of young Muria Gonds, outside their gotul, lit by a fire, not in front of a crowd in some museum space or hotel lawn. Too late to save this way of life, and I don’t know the answer to the dancing conundrum; better that it doesn’t vanish entirely and have it trotted out in this grim contextless form? Perhaps.

In palaces (Kanker Palace Heritage) and villages ( & ) dances continue a little more in context, the bond between royals and tribals has often been strong, and in villages, if not quite spontaneous, it is at least on site, seen by all the community as something of value that others have come some distance to witness.

The twin horrors of mobile phones (I know, I’m writing, you are reading on one) and Hindu puritanism (exacerbated by the Brits) are shaming away this way of life. A young Gond friend of mine tutted when an older friend offered three drops of his mahua to the earth before drinking; she (early 20s) has lost any connection to the forest dwelling deities that her grandparents worshipped, and WhatsApp’s me shiny greetings for every Hindu festival.

Concrete houses wipe out the fine details that reflect an agrarian way of life, alcoves in the wall in which a hen might nest, the hole in the mud floor for the musad (rice husker). I romanticise a hard life, I know. But life doesn’t appear to have got any easier for people, just devoid of culture. Pockets remain, and the exchange (social & financial) that happens with visits from interested tourists is a good one.

14/10/2024

The Marko Family, unexpected guests, and a recipe for tomato chutney.

Cycling from with to run through routes and plans for October and November trips (so that I can take a grateful back seat), we came up against one of those slips in communication (being fairly generous here!) that meant we arrived, eight of us, for lunch with the Markos to find that the women of the family hadn’t been told we were coming.

I don’t like to go on too much about how amazingly welcoming people in villages are in India, as I know there’s a terrible racism that opens doors for white people, BUT, despite all of us being bahar se (from elsewhere) yesterday, I was the only foreigner, so it wasn’t just that, and the warmth and obvious pleasure that came with inviting in a motley bunch of dusty cyclists, someone’s parents from the big city, and Shanu our jeep driver from Kanha was a fact not a fiction. We have eaten with the Markos before but only two of our party were known to the family, it was Dussehra so the whole family was there. Imagine turning up uninvited on, say, Boxing Day, with seven others and asking ‘could you rustle us up some lunch?’.

‘Atithi devo bhava’ (a guest is a god) laughed Jyothi as I sat down to watch Saraswati making tomato chutney and she laid out a mat for me to sit on, she looked at me and I saw what she saw: sweaty, dusty, hair its usual haystack - some god!

Katoris of biscuits and namkeen were brought out to stave off hunger while lunch was prepared, little Pihu planted herself beside me and pushed namkeen into my mouth with sticky fingers, so much reflection of a family that shows love to one another. Eight grandchildren, a house in which three of the four daughters remain at home or close by, so a strong sense of the women ruling the roost. Vijay’s beaming Dad pulled out a photo of a previous visit and tried (and failed) to remember the name of the g’child in his arms.

The only annoyance to Vijay’s Mum at our last minute arrival was that she’d have liked to have prepared something special. I so totally understand that.

Anyway. We feasted on daal and rice and tomato chutney, a very rough recipe on the last slide.

13/10/2024

Kermata Devi, Thakur Devta and Bhava Dev, the three deities of Sarodhadadar. Female, male and sage.

They are at the boundary of the village and forest, and remain rooted in their places during the day. At night though, they roam around the edge of the village acting as its protectors, and also, Sumer told me afterwards, as removers of any ill will that has gathered in the village during the day.

I love the sense in this, the opportunity to start a new day afresh. For bad feeling to have been washed away during the night, without loss of face on anyone’s part. Dear god we could do with some of this the world over. 💚

Manglu bhai and his younger brother Sumer (picture four) guide us here in the Baiga village of Sarodhadadar and leave us wonderstruck by their knowledge and their beliefs every time. Lucky lucky chicks all of us who have the chance to spend time with them.

Cycling from with .the.traveler .christian & .ivator

11/10/2024

The Muria Gond people of Gudiya Padar settled here in Kanger Valley NP with Kosa, their head, in 1997.

They came from several villages in Sukma, 100 km south from here. There are reasons for each group’s relocation, lack of enough land to feed their families being foremost. Kosa took advice from the two sources he trusted most: the deities with whom he communed as a shaman; and the head of the local communist party, of which he was, and is, a member. Both advised him to shift north.

He set off alone, and after many days walking he stopped in the forest, and, seated on a stone, he chanted and called up the local gods. They told him that the main deity in this place was Gudiya Padrin and when she herself appeared she told him this was a good place for his village to live but that if they did so they must respect the forest by not killing the creatures that lived in it. He returned to fetch the rest of the village and here they have remained, in the heart of Kanger Valley National Park given permission to remain thanks to their good habits.

The village looks as if it could have been here for a thousand years, but also that if everyone upped sticks it would take barely a year for it to slip back to jungle. They are almost entirely self sufficient, but lack a school, so children get sent off to board in government school hostels (where their Muria ways and belief systems are educated out of them 😢).

A community homestay is being built, and the decision by the village to make one large room rather a few separate ones means it could be used as well as an angavadi (kindergarten) and a community gathering space, in a similar way to the old gotuls, where drums could be stored and dances performed.

There will be an adjacent loo and shower room, cool mud walled like the homestay. Food will be cooked and served at Kosa’s home: organic, homegrown, as fresh and delicious as you could wish for. Exploration both adventurous (trekking, making a raft, swimming under a waterfall) and gentle (learning some of the cooking and growing techniques, the belief systems, the crafts) are to be had. Daytime vista delightful as well, overnight stays are just an option 💙

05/10/2024

Oh what a start, what a start, to this Bastar safar.

Bicycle out of the car for that immediate whoosh of happiness that comes with pedalling along country roads, especially uplifting after a couple of days of infinitely less pleasurable travel by plane and car. Just a micro, appetite whetting, couple of kilometres from the main road to the Watti’s home but god it only takes a few seconds on a bicycle in this staggeringly lovely part of the world for the weariness to fall away and the joy to flood in.

A sweet sweet welcome from Preeti, with flowers and a Gond ghamcha and then a walk through their perfect home, traditionally built, naturally beautiful, cool underfoot with its newly gobar-ed floor.

Fruit trees and a vegetable garden extend from the house to the fields of wheat which run down to the river beside which ’s works in progress, simple mud cottages, await completion, and guests.

Rizvan’s idea, to depend on the Wattis as a base for food and welcomes, but with rooms some distance from the family home to give privacy to all, is such a good one. It will supplement the family income, and gives guests the opportunity to get to know the family and learn about life in a Muria Gond village, but with space to retreat and relax and not feel too on top of everyone.

And the food, oh lord it was good. Almost everything came from the garden or field, all cooked on a wood fired chulha in the kitchen (where Anita chachi & Preeti kindly put up with my incessant questions alongside stoking the fire, making lunch for three and calming little Triyaksha who was far from sure about the pale faced stranger).

We ate from leaf plates. Mun-ga sabji, the leaves from the moringa or drumstick tree, chopped very finely and fried with garlic and chilli and with soaked channa daal added. A curry made from badi (like a dried kofta of grated white gourd called rakhiya, rakhna means keep or put so I guess maybe the storable nature of the badi is behind the word) and peda mushrooms, peda meaning stalks, as these mushrooms grow amongst the wheat stalks after the crop has been harvested. Lal bhaji (red spinach) my favourite, and urad daal and roti. The happiest of days. 💚

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