It is the desert that calls out with music and merriment – life that fights against all odds to survive in the middle of dust and heat. The atrocious red, magenta, orange and indigo dupattahs that light up the lacklustre sands. The trumpet and the drums that beat.. women who swirl their mirrorwork skirts and clamoring metal jewelry and sing a brazen song and men who smoke a cheroot that glimmers through the inky night. Hoarse voices that fight the mundane fears with hope, joy and an undying thirst for life.

The sunbaked clay walls smell like fresh paper. Women who spin their rotis deftly on scorching tawas. Men with neverending dreams spun around their heads like brilliant turbans. Lilting voices that lift you up as if you are a question without an answer… as you watch from the dizzying height of a camel’s back. The unkempt hair and the rotten teeth of some vagabond whose eyes shine with a mystic light.. the hunger and thirst drowned in music and intoxication. Rajasthan, you never say “die”.. is it because you know death so well?

~ Continuing the experiment

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