Kalmungda Village: Life by the Indian Ocean.

By John Pothala.

A random encounter led me to some of the most untouched waters in India, while I was on a dream ride to explore India and Nepal.

Following a hearty breakfast of Biryani at Padukkotai (that’s right, you can find biryani at 10 am on the coast of Tamil Nadu), I head out onto the east coast road eager to reach Rameshwaram, which is 280 kms away. 30 minutes into the ride, I catch my first glimpse of the ocean after Pondicherry. A huge fan of the ocean, I decide to get down and shoot some footage, when suddenly kids from the few huts that make up a village come out to investigate, followed by a couple of fishermen. 

The kids of Kalmugnda Fishing village.

I talk to them in English / Hindi / sign laguage, whichever works, and they offer to take me out into the middle of the ocean for 100 rupees worth of diesel. I immediately say yes! Before I know it, I’m crossing a swamp to a really authentic looking fishing boat, and heading out to sea with 7 other fishermen. 70 minutes on, we come across a huge log which came in from Sir lanka during the Tsunami. Marimutth, the man who seems to be in-charge, tells me that we are 17 kms from Sri Lanka, and that the log is stuck on a submerged island. The fishermen start insisting that I dive first, so I throw off my shirt and take the plunge, Johnny Depp style.

The submerged Island Log.

Weighing anchor, notice the depth here?

Diving into the Indian Ocean.

I don’t remember  many times that I’ve forgotten everything else in the world, but sitting in knee deep water on a submerged island in the middle of an ocean can do wonders; I can’t help but  forget everything and smile.  Marimutth and the other fishermen seemingly happy with my presence, jump in and take me over to the log. I try to climb on top but get gashes on my toes from all the coral on the surface, to which Marimutth says no problem, and starts rubbing deep into the wound. ‘No tension, salt do magic, no tension, full relax’ he says, and starts commenting on how delicate us city boys are and how he had an iron body. I laugh with him and jump back into the water. My new friends and I spend over an hour there relaxing and playing with the occasional crab. It is an experience that I will remember as the most peaceful of my life. I wonder what city life and my IT job have done to me, so much that as a bachelor at 24, I’m starting to feel so strongly about peace and tension. Good thing I quit my job and bought an Enfield.

Trying my hand at navigating the fishing boat. 

17 km from Sri Lanka, this log.

On the away back to land, Marimutth tells me that I am the first outsider to come to this village in years. That doesn’t surprise me too much, given how everyone looked at me the way you’d look at a plane if it was parked somewhere it shouldn’t be. I am invited for drinks and fish back on land. No way can I say no to that, so the guys take me to one of the ponds where people bathe; every village along the coast of Tamil Nadu has a couple of these ponds. Refreshed and clean, I go apply some Betadine on my toes and head over to party with the fishermen and spend the night sleeping under the stars. I ride only 20 kms that day.

My faithful enfield parked in Kalmungda.

Getting there: Take the ECR from Pondicherry, toward Adiramapatanam, which is 200 kms away. Upon reaching ask for directions to Kalmungda village.

Author Bio: The author is 24 and hails from Hyderabad. In February 2012, he quit his job as a salesman for a major IT company, to go out and explore life. His first adventure started on 4th March 2012, and took him and his bike 13,000 kms around India and Nepal. Follow his journey on www.indiabybike.com.

For more stories off the beaten path in India, visit www.indiauntravelled.com or join India Untravelled on Facebook and Twitter. To contribute guest posts / photo essays to this blog, please send your story ideas to shivya@indiauntravelled.com. 

Pabbu ki Dhani: Adventures in the desert.

By Rakhee Ghelani.

This was my home for 24 hours when I visited this small, isolated village in the Thar desert. To call it a village is probably too big a word, it is a simple home which has 4 small huts for visitors, this is Pabu ki Dhani.  Pabu welcomed us into his home so we could experience a little piece of the Rajasthani desert. Unlike other desert treks near Jaisalmer (I went on another with my father over 10 years ago), there are no other tourists in sight, this is a true rural experience.  There is no running water, no electricity and no glamourous permanent tents. This is real life.

Pabu (along with his wife Capucine who was not there on our visit) aim to support the local villages and expose their visitors to the crafts that are practised every day.  There is no big sales push, just the chance to see people doing what they do every day.

We visited one village where we watched this man create candlestick holders, bowls and cups from a lump of clay.

The village that he lived in looked isolated.

Of course in each village there are children who followed us begging to have their photo taken and then squealing with delight when they could see there visage back on the digital screen.


These young girls were not at school even though it was a weekday, the privilege of education that is something afforded only for the boys in this village. Sadly when we asked their age none of them could tell us because they didn’t know. This was just an afternoon for us, but for them this isolated village is their life. My heart sank as I saw the squalid conditions in which they lived. Rajasthan is one of the least educated states in India and also one where poverty is more marked.

I have written before (here and here) about how helpless I feel when seeing poverty here, I now don’t even think I can verbalise how I felt after meeting these young girls.


As we drove from village to village, the long empty roads of the desert stretched before us.

The landscape is eerie but spectacular.  It seems incomprehensible to me that people have survived in this inhospitable environment for hundreds of years.  It is certainly easier nowadays with jeeps and mobile phones, but even in this modern age one cannot escape the harshness of the desert.

Of course as a guest in someone’s home I was spared the harsh reality of desert life.  Instead I was treated to fabulous home cooked food and had comfortable shelter.

Being a tourist I couldn’t resist the obligatory camel ride in the desert. I recall the last time I was in Jaisalmer I took a camel ride with my father, at the end of which he declared that it was unlikely he would travel with me again (camels didn’t agree with him  ).  Despite this memory I decided to give this odd looking beast one more chance.


Thankfully she was kind to me.

She took me through the sand dunes that seemed to stretch on for hours.

As evening approached we settled on the verandah and listened to some local men sing folk songs around the fire.  Looking up at the stars, I closed my eyes and just listened to the serenity.  This really must be the most peaceful place in India.

The author blogs at aussiegirlinIndia.com and tweets @aussiegirlindia.


For more stories off the beaten path in India, visit www.indiauntravelled.com or join India Untravelled on Facebook.

Pranpur: the craftsmen of Madhya Pradesh weave magic.

As we drive into the heart of India, dubbed Madhya Pradesh, I awake my sleepy self to the sight of the Betwa River, a beautiful expanse of clear water vigorously flowing through a dam. I am suddenly kicked about venturing into an India that is far off the tourist circuit; Spiti & Hegdenagar feel like a long time ago.

Men sort layers of Chanderi Silk in open air in the fields of Pranpur.

My notion that this landlocked state will be devoid of much greenery is dispelled ten minutes past the Uttar Pradesh border. We cross large plots of land growing their own wilderness, andPranpur, a little village just south of Jhansi, throws us a cozy green welcome. I immediately delight in the absence of crowds, and the pace of passers-by. Unlike other rural parts of India I’ve been to, however, the locals do not seem inquisitive about seeing us walk their streets. That is not to say that they are not welcoming; each time we try to peep inside a village hut, we get invited in and offered tea & food.

As we stroll through the two-ish kilometer squares of Pranpur, my friend from the village points to me the three communities that inhabit it. Baboo-da, a 60-something frail man represents the potters; their women make mud utensils (which they use for cooking) and small figurines of gods & goddesses, while the men make bigger festive murals. When I ask him why men don’t make utensils, he smiles broadly to reveal his three teeth, and shyly says it’s the women’s forte.

Potter Bhaiya Lal displays the mud mural he has made for the upcoming Dusherra celebrations.

Baboo-da's wife displays her mud utensil and Ganesha figurine. She proudly claims that the food made on mud utensils tastes much better!

We walk past a traditional step well, locally called a baoli, where kids splash about in the water. The lack of excitement to see foreign faces is affirmed by the children, who don’t watch us curiously or wave to us. Their indifference makes me wonder whether they’ve ever met people from outside of their little village, because it couldn’t possibly be the other end of the spectrum; I see no non-local faces during my weekend visit.

A traditional step well (baoli), made such that people can step down to the surface of the water to fill their buckets.

A little deeper into the village, I constantly hear clicketty-clack sounds. I can sneak a peak into each household we cross, through its open doors, and soon realize that the sounds belong to the looms of the weavers. I meet men and women, young and old, weaving Chanderi Silk saris in different styles, colors and designs. Randhir Kohli, revered as a master of weaving, invites me to try my hand at the loom. His experienced hands make the intricate work seem so easy that my clumsiness surprises me!

Perhaps if Pranpur was in another country, it would’ve been a hotspot for the talent it homes within its narrow borders. But India is peculiar that way; people (women) all over the country are heavy buyers of Chanderi Silk saris, an expensive variety of the traditional Indian costume, but few know that it is weaved & loomed in the forgotten village of Pranpur, where weavers are barely compensated for the days that go into the making of a single sari. I was guilty of that ignorance until a month ago.

Weaving in progress.

The last of the village communities has reduced to two households; that of metal craftsmen. The head of the household greets us with a warm smile, but the sadness in his eyes reflects the state of his business. I look closely at his finished ornaments and instantly draw a parallel to some antiques I’ve seen in a museum in the nearby town of Chanderi. I wonder if his work will be admired only long after our generation is gone…

Wax, mud & metal moulded to form this metal ornament.

Pranpur gives me my first insight into an India that rejoices in its crafts. Hopefully some day, when the middlemen are all gone, I’ll be able to use the word “thrive” instead.

If you'd like to take a trip to Pranpur, all details are here on our website, and you can reach me at +91 8527 141 626 or shivya@indiauntravelled.com to book your stay & plan your trip. Go soon :)


This post was originally published on The Shooting Star.

India Untravelled: an introduction.

India Untravelled is our quest to help travellers discover a side of India that not many people have experienced before. Our destinations lie in rural parts of India with untouched natural beauty, where hospitality comes innately to the people and a traditional, earthy way of life can still be experienced.

Traditional chulha cooking on a farm near Jaipur, Rajasthan.

As you set off the beaten path, our rural homestays & farmstays let you discover the vibrant culture of India’s villages, indulge in delectable local cuisines, uncover ancient traditions, rejuvenate your spirit with the region’s folk music & dances, discuss local legends & stories around a bonfire, and explore centuries old indigenous art forms.

Sarson (mustard) blooms at an organic farm in Punjab, and is cooked fresh.

At many of our destinations, you might be one of the few tourists in the region, and will get a chance to interact closely with the local communities, hosts, cooks and craftspeople. You'll love getting away from the crowds of the cities, and unwinding amid nature, in a safe & comfortable environment. At the same time, the revenue that your visits generate will help support and sustain the local communities, their heritage, culture, traditions and art forms.

Setting off the beaten path in the mighty Himalayas.

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