people surely love to have their picture taken. sometimes when communication is awkward, I ask to take their photo, and the language barrier is immediately gone. other times, some people have asked me-the man with the broom was not to be dismissed until I had gotten his portrait to his liking.
being alone in a new city where you don't speak the local language could feel daunting, but most often in India little miracles happen along the way to make things feel homey. case in point - I was somewhat distracted as I walked out to the street to hail a rick. this one stopped for me, and before I looked up, the driver asked me if I was going to a certain khadi shop. I looked at him and realized that he was the same auto driver from the previous day! we had a great laugh over this and off we went; this time to another khadi shop nearby.
I have an obsession for Indian metal buckets. I spotted these in a Jain temple.
picked up loads of new lungis, including some in very rustic, heavier weaves from northern India, below.
sadly am leaving too soon to catch this premiere...
it just depends how hungry you are as to what you will eat. grim, but got me there.
now this is what I call breakfast. I would travel each morning to the most dreamy outdoor cafe to have it. the idli were made by angels from heaven; fluffy and light. perfectly ripe fruit, sweet lime juice, and tea poured over a sprig of mint in my cup. all served by young men perfectly clad in all white with dark green bandhani patterned aprons.
my last breakfast in India was at the 110 year old Chandravilas restaurant. I had fafda (above) made from chick pea flour and dipped in sauce.
a peek into the kitchen.
my last day in India. up early for a walk through the old city before the streets were packed. lovely old buildings and narrow walkways- the neighborhoods are called pols; each with its own distinction.
Gandhiji's room, Gandhi Ashram, Ahmedabad.
snapped from the auto:
collection of Indian trophies
improbably, I found my favorite brass merchant (front left) from a past flea market, here at his friend's shop in the old city.
some treasures bought
here he is again, with his brother. we spent a good part of the morning on his back terrace discussing things and having tea. spruced up now to escort me to banyan shopping.
banyan salesmen
another merchant in the old city. his trimmings shop is over 100 years old, started by his grandfather. situated on a street of stalls full of sparkles, it is like a little museum full of everything you would need to guild the lily.
the gentleman who supplies our rolling pins.
one of many pay phones.
spotted on a truck at a road side tea stop.
a one-day journey to small khadi weaving area in Southern India.
stopping after lunch to fix a fuse and make sure the horn worked
super wide loads on the road
village homes
the weavers in this village get spun and dyed yarns from other neighboring points. women do the job of unwinding the skeins of yarn onto spools, using spinning wheels made from old bicycle wheels.
threading the spools onto a rack, the weaver makes the warp 12" at a time.
the rope in the weaver's hand is pulled to throw the shuttle from side to side in an amazingly rhythmic and musical way, happening so fast it is hard to see the shuttle flying. the yarn on the spools strung behind the sheds are used to repair broken warp threads.
the weaver's looms have been passed down through the family; many are over 100 years old. they hold a place of honor in each home.
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