Pushkar

It was a warm and sunny day in Pushkar, India. I was working as a receptionist in the very hippie
Pappi Chulo Hostel. By then I was travelling through India for 3 months when I decided to settle
down in the Aladdin-like, fairy-tale town Pushkar. The hostel offered me a place as a
receptionist but I was always dreaming of doing something for the environment and to learn
more about eco-living. Somehow in Pushkar I never had to seek for things, they would just
come to me at the moment I needed it. Call it the universe or magic, but this time it send me
Ben and Saeesh. They just walked into our beautiful green garden, with big smiles on their
faces and they asked me for my assistance. The project they were starting was just outside of
town, next to the railway tracks and in the middle of local farmland. The plan was to build a
sustainable community center out of waste and natural materials, this on a budget of 800
dollars. The whole project would be run by volunteers and a few local workers. Ben and Saeesh
had rocked up to Puppi Chulo to find volunteers. I smiled and new immediately that this was a
new path on this journey. I offered my help to collect volunteers, and I asked if they would
have a spot for me to work on the project. Yes, there was plenty of room. So a few days later I
rented one of the so called chicken bikes, packed my backpack and drove up to the farm where
I would spent the next few weeks.

The farm appeared to be a beautiful stretch of land with a small orchard, an aloe vera
plantation and flowerbeds. Parrots were chatting happily in the trees and further away I heard
peacocks scream with my arrival. From the corner of my eye I could see something brown
charging at me and a friendly voice shouts “Buddy No!”. This was Prashant, the other member
of the Vasudhaiva Ride with his dog Buddy, a crossing between a French Bulldog and a Pit-bull.
They welcomed me on the farm and showed me where I could pitch my tent. Raffa, another
ex-guest from Pappi Chulo, was already working on the project. The small family who owned
the property existed of colourful Nevedita (and artist from Pune), her child Rowena and
boyfriend Manish. The project site was behind their big white house. Brick layers had already
laid the first layers of the walls and Raffa was busy putting water on the cement so the hot
desert sun wouldn’t crack it. That evening we prepared dinner together in the kitchen (rice,
chapatti, dal and sapgee) and I slowly started realizing what a colourful company I joined. Ben

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and Prashant explained how they created the Vasudhaiva Ride when they lived together in
Pune. Both owned Royal Enfield bikes, with which they wanted to drive all the way from India
to Scotland. On the way to Scotland they dreamed of setting up social, political and
environmental projects to make the world a little bit of a better place. Vasudhaiva
Katumbakam, their motto, means one world one family. Buddy was joining them on the ride
through India. My head was spinning with enthusiasm and I knew straight away that I made
the right decision to move in with them. Travelling is such an amazing opportunity to meet
unique human beings and I’m a strong believer that one should take every opportunity to get
inspired by these individuals.

The next day we got up with yoga exercise, “watering” the unfinished house and some home-
made granola for breakfast. We ate contently under the big tree in front of the house and
discussed all the possibilities with this project. Big part of the project would be the up-cycling
of waste materials and Prashant, engineer and up-cycling artist, was planning a trip to the
scrapyard. I would be making a hanging garden with ropes, pots, plastic and old wood. I’ve
always loved being creative, so it was amazing to get so much artistic freedom. An addition to
our group, Jimmy, was going to work on a permaculture plot next to the house. Jimmy one of
these typical fashionable French photographers living in Mumbai and he wanted to gain some
experience in permaculture. The entire day filled itself with collecting materials for the center,
making designs and exploring our new living area. Around sunset Ben got all the volunteers
together to smoke a big fat joint. We all leaned back with a satisfied smile on our faces and I
was already looking forward to another day on the project.

The days just filled themselves with yoga, eating, group-meetings, watering the house, helping
on the construction site, collecting materials in Pushkar, finding volunteers and the evenings
were filled with bonfires, jam sessions, smoking weed and sharing stories. It was a very peaceful
time and my heart started filling itself with love for these people. It really felt like being part of
a family, a family that was working together for a greater cause. Volunteers joined and
volunteers left, but the core of the group was always Ben, Prashant, Saeesh and me. We
worked extremely hard in cooperation with the locals. One job I got was to learn weaving a
roof from a local farmer. The man looked like he walked away from a cartoon, with his big
mustache and colorful turban on his head. He sat smoking alongside the house and I tried in

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my best Hindi if he could teach me. They all started laughing (women usually don’t do physical
work in India) and his response was that it was not a job for girls. My inner-feminist did not
agree so after asking a couple of times more he decided to teach me some. Together we sat
on the ground weaving the local reed. It’s an old technique with which you take a hand full of
reed stems and you start moulding reed around it in spirals. This has to be done quickly because
the hot Rajastani sun dries the leaves which make them break. The result is ‘bati’, which is used
as the base for a reed roof. The man, named Bulram, lost his scepticism as he saw me learn the
technique quick. Bulram and I worked together for days to build the roof. We didn’t talk much,
because my Hindi was terrible, and his English was less than zero. But I apparently earned
enough respect to be invited in his home. He picked me up on his small motorcycle and we
drove to his home, not far from the project site. It was a huge sandstone house, painted white
on the outside. His grandchildren were already waiting outside. The excitement was big to have
a foreigner in their house, for Indians this is quite the honour. Inside the house I found an entire
clothing factory. His family members also made cheap clothing. Rows of sowing machines were
stitching clothes together and on the ground women were cutting the fabric with big scissors.
Apparently Pushkar is a town where a lot of clothes are made. Clothes we often find on markets
in Europe for about 10 times the price.

They put down a chair in the middle of the courtyard where the entire family collected. One
by one they asked me questions, some touching my hair and giggling at this tall blond person
sitting in their midst. I tried to communicate as well as possible, often just using hands and
facial expressions because the language barrier was big. We sat on the ground talking for a
while and later the wife of Bulram cooked us fresh chapatti and dal. On the background the TV
was on, it displayed shows of the Hindu gods. I was totally out of my comfort zone, but still felt
at home strangely enough. It kind of reminded me of grandma her house where we would
always sit at the kitchen table with the TV on the background. Unfortunately, I had just lost my
grandma, so being here brought back a lot of memories of my family and I felt lucky to be
adopted by this family for a bit. Expecting to have my own room to sleep in, I was a little
surprised to see them roll out a big matrass on the floor where we would all snuggle up
together for sleep. That night I didn’t sleep a lot. With the grandson cuddling next to me and
the blinking lights of their altar, I listened to the sounds of rural India and realized again what
an adventure I was in…

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Ben and Prashant are individually strong and charismatic, but together they could move the
world. And that was exactly what they were doing. To spend time with these guys I really found
new inspiration for my life and how I want to live it. After feeling so lost at home, this was a
welcoming development. I worked very hard on my hanging garden and together with Jimmy
we roamed around town to collect materials for the permaculture farm. Collecting materials
for the permaculture sounds more interesting than it was. We really just picked up compost
(old fruit and vegetables) from the local market while being laughed at by the locals, who had
never seen white people picking up their garbage. But India wouldn’t be incredible India if the
locals didn’t help us after a few days. And they did.
One day Prashant took us to the waste depot. Piles of plastic bottles, toothbrushes, old toys,
ventilators, car parts, tubes, tires, and whatever it is that people throw away were towering
above the gates. Inside we saw guys sitting on the ground separating all the useful materials
from the non-useful ones. I was again reminded of how much waste humans produce and this
waste was actually in the depot. How much of our waste is just floating around in the ocean?
Or piling up behind our backyards? We have to think of ways to create less of it, otherwise we’ll
be swimming in our own garbage pretty soon.

The goal of this visit was to collect materials for upcycling designs around the house. Prashant
used to work as an upcycling artist in Pune, so he had a ton of ideas to make this waste useful
again. We went through the depot and came home with tires, wood, steel frames, old fans,
chains, buckets, pipes and bottles. Eventually these materials would give the house the
character it has nowadays. The Earthship-like looking, natural home.

Another job that took basically most of the time and required most volunteers was mudding
the house. In India houses are often made from the simple materials of mud and cow shit (in
Hindi: gober). By mixing these two ingredients together you get a strong plaster that is suitable
for housing in that area. Our job was to mix the mud and cow shit, and to apply it to the walls
of the house. A camel with a cart would walk in every day to deliver the ingredients. We created
the “mudpit” that was basically a hole in the ground filled with mud, water and shit. Barefoot
we stamped our way through the mix (masala) after which it would be thrown and smeared
over the walls of the house. The job obviously evoked the regular mud fight and Ben often

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entertained us with his redneck acts. In the meanwhile Buddy would be running around
happily, carrying bricks or giving a love bite to one or another. I never thought that stamping
mud and smearing cow shit would give me such intense joy. But I was happy, very happy.

After a long day of work we cooked the usual meal in the kitchen or when we were lucky our
neighbour Sita had done the job for us already. Still dirty but with an afterglow on our faces we
would attack the meal. Again it was time for some storytelling or some instrumental
entertainment. Ben, who used to play in a dub band and Prashant, just capable of doing
anything, were excellent musicians. We jammed away on Sufi beats, while I fantasized about a
life in India. Was this chapter really going to end?

Another friendship I would like to share the story of is the one with Raju Devi. Pushkar village
is not only house to hippies, tourists and many Rajastani’s, also to the Gypsies who were living
nearby. These Gypsies were officially from the Bopha caste, a caste known for their musical
talents. With self-made instruments they roam around the streets of Pushkar, trying to sell
their CD’s or jewelry. With colorful sari’s and henna on their hands they look as if run away
from a fairytale. Raju Devi was introduced to me by a friend of Pappi Chulo. Me and my friend
Alice, a French girl, professional climber and world traveler like me, drove on our scooters to
the railway tracks out of town. There we found a dry stretch of land with a tent camp. Raju
Devi received us at the entrance of the camp and we were welcomed by big groups of scruffy
looking children. We were more of an attraction to them I suspected, because they all tried to
touch my hair and giggled loudly at my appearance. One of Raju her daughters made us chai
(tea with an insane amount of sugar and milk) and we sat down on a blanket on the ground.
We exchanged some pleasantries and Raju together with her husband gave us a small
performance. It was beautiful, with the lowering sun on the Rajastahni country side. She
explained they have been living like this for generations, in simple self-made huts and tents.
The money they made came mostly from tourists. She asked if we could come over again and
we could bring more people. Raju Devi was the head of the village, a powerful woman,
struggling to take care of her people. I looked into her dark eyes and we both new that this was
the start of a friendship. During the weeks that passed we paid regular visits, often bringing
the guests of Pappi Chulo, or the people from the farm. We managed to collect her some
money, so she could buy a new tent. Where I first ignored all the Gypsies in the streets, I now

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recognized each one of them, which made me feel like being part of a community. My life in
Pushkar was good, interesting and full of love.

The weeks passed by and the house grew. We grew as well. I learned to make a roof out of
reed, how to make cement out of mud and cow shit, to speak some Hindi, I learned how to live
with people from a totally different cultural background and I learned to see the beauty of
India. I also found new inspiration to work on a more sustainable future. It was something I
was interested in for a while. This project gave me very practical knowledge on sustainable
living. We learned hands-on how to build a permaculture farm and to use local materials for a
house that is affordable to anyone. It gave me hope, that even a highly polluted country like
India can make a change.

Our creation: a sustainable community center, entirely made from mud, waste and natural
materials.

Romy Aardse – Freelance writing M: Romyaardse@gmail.com P: +31614188180