Dear Friend,
It is half past four in the morning.
Somewhere in the neighbourhood, a kettle has been put on. The sound of a pestle against stone drifts through the window. Cardamom, probably ginger. The peacocks have not yet called. The sky is still completely dark.
And already, Rajasthan is awake.
People often ask what keeps drawing us back to Rajasthan.
The question always makes us smile because the answer has changed over time.
When we first arrived, we were captivated by the architecture, the craftsmanship and the landscapes. Like many visitors, we wanted to explore the forts, wander through old cities and better understand the traditions that make this region so distinctive.
Today, the answer is different.
Rajasthan is no longer simply a place we visit.
It is where we live.
It is where Charpai Life slowly took shape.
Living somewhere changes the way you see it.
The places that become familiar are not always the ones in guidebooks. They are the corner where you stop for chai on the way home. The workshop you visit every few weeks. The local market where familiar faces begin to recognise you.
After a while, the fruit seller no longer asks where you are from. He simply smiles, asks how you have been, and reaches for the mangoes he knows you like. A shopkeeper notices when you have been away for a few days. You notice when a new tea stall appears, or when an old workshop has quietly moved across the street.
One afternoon, not long after we had settled in Rajasthan, I arrived at a workshop expecting to stay for no more than half an hour.
There were a few practical questions to discuss before heading to another appointment.
Instead, I met Ankit.
Tea was served.
One conversation led to another.
Family photographs appeared.
Stories wandered from craftsmanship to local history, from local history to family memories, and eventually to the ordinary details of everyday life.
By the time I left, most of the afternoon had disappeared.
Years later, Ankit is still a friend. We still rarely leave his workshop without another cup of chai before saying goodbye.
Some of the relationships we value most today began in much the same way.
Not through careful planning.
Simply through conversation, curiosity and staying a little longer than expected.
That afternoon quietly changed the way we thought about Rajasthan.
It also changed the way we began to work.
We still admire the forts, palaces and remarkable architecture. They deserve every bit of their reputation.
But what continues to stay with us are smaller moments.
The dogs sleeping peacefully outside neighbourhood shops during the afternoon heat.
The monkeys racing across rooftops before disappearing into the trees.
The familiar greetings exchanged with people we now see almost every day.
These moments are ordinary.
Yet they are the moments that quietly turn a place into home.
Family workshops continue to thrive.
Skills pass from one generation to the next.
Objects are repaired instead of discarded.
Conversations are rarely rushed.
These are not things you notice during a short visit.
They reveal themselves slowly, through everyday life.
When we think about Rajasthan today, we rarely think first about landmarks.
We think about people.
The artisan who introduced us to another artisan.
The workshop that now feels familiar.
The neighbour who waves as we walk past.
These places would mean very little to most travellers.
To us, they have become part of home.
This is not a guide.
It is simply a letter, written from the place we are fortunate enough to call home.
A note of gratitude for the people who have welcomed us into their workshops, their homes and, over the years, their lives.
Tomorrow morning, before sunrise, the sound of cardamom being ground will drift through our window once again.
The peacocks will call.
Someone will put the kettle on.
Rajasthan will quietly begin another day.
And, as always, we'll be grateful to call it home.
The Charpai Life
