Travelling in Rajasthan in February 2008
Jaipur >> Shekhawati >> Pushkar >> Jaisalmer >> Jodhpur
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+ Next: Sand dunes of Khuri
Having heard a bit about an unusual guesthouse owned Badal Singh, I was keen to visit him and spend a few days. Badal was known to live with a set of ethics that is much different than what most of Jaisalmer’s tourism industry follows. He would not work with travel agents, doesn’t try to squeeze the visitors of their last rupee, and would not bend the rules to get more business.
Badal lived in a small village called Khuri, an hour’s drive from Jaisalmer. He worked at one of the first ever guesthouses to open in the village, and eventually started on his own by building a few rooms within the compound walls of his house. When he threw open his house to visitors, he did not start off like everyone by enrolling with travel agents or posting signs all over the village. Instead, he simply posted a small sign that read ‘Badal House’, and waited for guests to come. “I did not want to call is a ‘guesthouse’,” he told me during one of our conversations.
Living with his limited means and being content with it, he was not keen to maximize his business potential and make more money. Instead, he focused on making his few guests feel at home, treated them like part of the family, spent time talking to them and telling them of his way of life. He would serve the guests the same food they prepared for the family instead of pampering them with a menu that had no personal touch. He would often tell me – “I get enough money to make a comfortable living, why should I ask for more?”
Good things get eventually discovered. And internet helps accelerate the discovery. Word spread of this unique guesthouse owner whom tourists could trust in, and go back feeling good. Some tourists started coming to Khuri just to stay at ‘Badal House’, and many who had Khuri in their itinerary would simply walk in to Badal House instead of contemplating on their options. He entered into Lonely Planet’s listings a few years back, which nearly ensured continuous flow of visitors. But Badal remained the same person despite all that, renting out his rooms for little money and treating his guests with the same geniality.
His simplicity was evident the very first time I saw him. He is a tall man with gray hair, a big mustache, and an ever present smile on his face. His prominent laugh lines divulged an easy going persona. He spoke with a slow but confident voice and kept his smile as he talked, expressing himself easily, without any inhibitions or apprehensions of speaking to an unfamiliar person.
Badal House is a bunch of rooms randomly constructed inside a small compound. One of the rooms serves as a kitchen, another a store room and another a bed room. A few rooms built along the edge of the compound serve the guests. An open area in the middle works as sit out and dining area, allowing visitors to sit in sun and while away the time.
It was lunch time when I arrived at Badal House, and a few guests had already gathered around a table. I was the only Indian at the house that day. There was an enthusiastic Croat living in Ireland, an Australian who had fallen sick with stomach trouble, and an enthusiastic Polish woman. A French couple had gone to the desert for an overnight camel safari, and were to return that evening. Most of the conversations through the day were naturally centered around travel as people spoke about their experiences of travelling in India and rest of the world.
While I was done listening to travel stories, I spent time talking to Badal and watched him at work. His livelihood came from his animals – a camel, a few goats and cows. He treated his animals not very different from the way he treated his own children. As we squatted and talked on the veranda of the house, he would frequently get out briefly to attend to the needs of his animals. When a pair of his goats arrived at home after grazing, he got up, let in one of them into the compound and got a dish full of water for the other. “One of them likes the water leftover after washing the dishes,” he explained me, “it likes the taste of remains of food. So I let it in. The other one prefers fresh water.” He knew the habits of his cows too, understood their preferences and attended to them with love and care.
Inside the compound, he had a pair of small goats born only a week ago, confined into a basket and struggling to break free. “I would like to let them roam free,” he said, “but dogs can pose a problem. They will have to wait till they grow a little older.”
He often spoke in length about his philosophies of keeping his business low-key, and unwillingness to expand and cater to demanding tourists. “Some tourists want beer and chicken, and their food has to be made to order. I don’t have any assistants or supplies to cater all these. So I tell them I can’t provide them,” he would say, “I already make enough money to make a good living. I do not need much.”
In the two days I spent with Badal, I never once saw him worried, upset of angry. He always remained cheerful, a nature that seems comes with a goodwill for all, an uncomplicated life and limited expectations and ambitions.
Continued at Sand dunes of Khuri
Jeffrey Tayler writes about planned life, or his contempt of one, for worldhum.
…living according to a plan—college, job, promotion, buying a house, marriage, child one, child two, setting up a 401K, retirement, dotage and death—I’ve never seen the sense of it. In fact, my own writing career began with the rejection of such a planned life—with, in other words, a revolt, a revolt inspired by reading. In light of the materialistic mania and money-making prospects of the 1980s, when I came of age, this revolt seemed, to many I knew then, a senseless risk. In retrospect, though, I see it as my first step toward independence and pursuing the profession I was meant for, toward becoming alive.
Read the full article – Insanity and the Traveling Life.
Travelling in Rajasthan in February 2008
Jaipur >> Shekhawati >> Pushkar >> Jaisalmer >> Jodhpur
+ Previous: Pushkar to Jaisalmer
+ Next: Badal Singh and Khuri Village
When in Jaisalmer, weather is always an enemy. Winters are cold even in mid-day. But the sun shines bright and strong, and for a moment it seems to be a pleasure to bask in the sun. But just when you think it can’t get more pleasant, sun rays start burning the skin, forcing a retreat into the shade. Out in the desert, wind can make things worse. Summers are another story altogether: only thing you can do is to hope to find an air conditioned place somewhere. But you don’t see many of them either.
It is weather that prevented me from having a ball in Jaisalmer. Everything looked good here. The town is laid back, people (except touts) seem to be least bothered about anything, there is a beautiful expanse of the desert surrounding the town, and some history manifesting within the town. It is the kind of place where once you arrive, you feel this is it, and you don’t need to go anywhere else. But for the weather.
Jaisalmer, like Rajasthan’s other cities, seems to have an obsession to colour coding. Jaipur’s pink is very well known, and so is Jodhpur’s blue. Here in Jaisalmer, the colour of the town is desert yellow, as if to merge with the environment it is located in. Is it by some sort of necessity or by deliberate design, I do not know. But surely, if our friendly neighbours who are not very far across the border from Jaisalmer decide to treat themselves to an air ride in these parts, Jaisalmer has some camouflage in the desert. But then, with a strong presence of Indian Army and air force here, our neighbours would not want to try such stunts.
On the first morning here, I walked out keeping an eye on the tall fort visible from everywhere in town, and found its gates without having to ask anyone. The Fort is a small town within itself. All around the entrance are roof top restaurants to serve world cuisine to backpackers and make them feel as close to home as possible. People sell arty things in the quadrangle just after the gate. I was attracted to the sounds of Ravana Hatha that a young man was playing, sitting next to a carpet full of keepsakes. Moved by the melody of his music, and I was quick to buy a music CD he offered. But I had to keep moving or he would soon insist that I buy one of his instruments itself. Next to him, a lady was selling anklets, calling a foreigner to buy one of them for just hundred rupees. When she was ignored, the price dropped down within a minute to six pieces for the same price. In a corner of the quadrangle, a family is performed acrobatics to the tune of drums and raised donations.
Unlike the spacious quadrangle, insides of the fort are claustrophobic. Narrow lanes lead past houses, guesthouses and restaurants in a confusing way. Vendors sell clothes and arty things all along these streets, clogging them further. I walked from place to place, and ended up on a terrace with views of the town and of the expanse of the desert further. A small sign at the terrace said coffee and snacks are available at a neighbouring restaurant. When I asked for a coffee, a hefty but amiable man brought me a large steaming cup. I liked the volume of coffee but detested its cardamom flavor. The smiling guy who brought it was so friendly, I could not get myself to be honest when he asked if I liked cardamom in coffee. “It tastes good,” is all I could say
My next stop at the fort was Laxminath temple. It carved stone pillars occupying an open courtyard have a curious South Indian feel. But the insides are much different. A small room holds the deity, and paintings of Lord Krishna adorn the walls. They are colourful and pretty on their own, but it would take much more to impress me after having just come from the painted towns of Shekhawati. It was prayer time when I got there, and a small crowd had gathered in the sanctum. Men and women, mostly in middle ages, sang “Jai Jagadish Hare” in unison, in a soft voice. An air of piety spread in the temple as the song progressed.
The Palace
A few other places of worship surrounding the Laxminath temple were not open. At the opposite corner of the fort were Jain Temples with finely carved exteriors, but were closed for the day when I got there. The Royal Palace, the only structure in the fort that is more than a few cramped rooms, doesn’t impress much against its luxurious counterparts in Rajasthan.
Much of Fort’s insides doesn’t leave a mark, but the fort itself is an impressive structure. The thick fort walls built on a tall mound are visible from far away. Jaisalmer is a remote land that is unlikely to come in an enemy’s path, but king Rawal Jaisal was cautious enough to build something infallible. But today, illegal construction and water seepage from drains have weakened the soil on which the structure is standing. One of the bastions collapsed two decades back and more may follow if nothing is done about it.
Outside the fort, Patwon Ki Haveli is an edifice that stands taller than the Royal Palace in the fort. Once left to itself, its restoration is attributed to former prime minister Indira Gandhi, who spotted the building when she was flying over it, and took an interest.
A man sells peacock feathers near Patwon Ki Haveli, Jaisalmer
Not everything is nice about Jaisalmer. The unpleasant things about the town are all attributed to stiff competition in its tourism industry. A short tourist season and excessive supply of tour operators has made people to go any length to secure business. There are stories of tourists being harassed in hotels to sign up for safaris. Services are often over promised and under delivered, and lies are cooked up to keep business from going away. Lonely Planet India cautions about one such lie: “People in Jaisalmer like to gossip that Khuri has become commercial and is best avoided, but it’s likely that they have a vested interest in you going elsewhere..”
The morning I checked into my guesthouse, I overheard a conversation between an Irish woman and the guesthouse manager. She informed the manager that she would like to stay just for a day and head further to Khuri. And the manager echoed precisely Lonely Planet, trying to sound honest: “Khuri is overrated and has become commercialized. Its up to you, but I suggest you avoid Khuri.” The wise lady was smart enough to ignore the suggestion.
On my second day in Jaisalmer, I rented a motor bike and headed out to the desert.
Continued at Badal Singh and Khuri Village