trayled by Kaaku

I am , for the time being , living near a village in the outskirts of the desert. It has no name. Here, the villages do not have names; they are numbered. And this one is: 156-NP. This system of nomenclature was introduced by the British when India was a part of their Empire and, they say, the sun never set in the British Empire; it was so vast extending from the shores of Africa to the foot of the Himalayas.

This village, 156-NP,  is some eighty kilometers from the heart of the desert. The land is fertile, although the subsoil water is not suitable for irrigation. They grow cotton, wheat, pulses, grams and such other crops. The land owners, big or small, have their own flock of cattle: buffaloes, cows, goats and sheep. They keep them in their houses, with their children, and rear and care them as their folks. And even mourn their deaths whenever one of their loved Katta’s die.

If you love solitude; a calm and quiet place to enjoy holidays, this is the one. 

I live in a small  “haveli” of a local friend, at the edge of  the dusty road that links the nearby town, Sadikabad, to the village.

Sadikabad is a small town but a good shopping place where you can buy anything from handmade Mughal shoes and rallies to imported perfumes. It has some worth seeing sites in the suburbs. The best way to explore a new place, I think, is to spend  a few days with some local friends; and that’s what I am doing just now. Next week we intend to go deep into the desert for game and hunting.