“Good morning, Sir. Morning tea.” 

The faint but repetitive call seeped into my dreams and nudged me awake. For a moment, I wasn’t entirely sure where I was. My eyes fluttered open to soft folds of fabric above—the canvas ceiling of a luxury tent—while my body basked under the embrace of a warm quilt. A king-size bed cocooned me, the gentle hum of the room heater weaving a futile battle against the biting cold that had gripped the Rann overnight. I saw the watch. It was six in the morning. I unzipped the tent flap, and there stood Kailash, my tent manager, handing me the much-needed cup with a smile that instantly thawed the morning chill.

Back inside, I cradled the steaming cup of masala tea, inhaling its spicy-sweet aroma. One sip, and my mind wandered back to how this journey began—an invitation from Evoke Experience to witness Rann Utsav in the greater Rann of Kutch. I accepted without hesitation, not only because I’d never been here, but also for the impeccable reputation Evoke carried among seasoned travellers.

Truth be told, as a lover of mountains and wildlife, Gujarat’s dry desert had never been my first calling. But the moment our car left the sprawling cityscape, the surroundings began whispering a different story. The terrain shifted to long stretches of tawny land dotted with stubborn tufts of grass. Vast, open, and hauntingly beautiful. There were moments when no sign of human life appeared for miles.

Our guide, Iqbal—a soft-spoken man whose knowledge of the Rann ran as deep as its history—explained the uniqueness of this landscape. I had visited the Little Rann of Kutch earlier, but as Iqbal pointed out, the Greater Rann had an entirely different character. The Little Rann charms like a rustic poem, but this? This felt like stepping into a mystical painting, yet unfinished.

We paused midway for tea at a roadside stall, where locals sipped their chai directly from the saucer—a tradition both curious and charming. Then, just as the sun dipped behind the horizon, filling the air with coppery light, our destination began revealing itself.

It felt like stepping into a fairy tale. The grand entrance to Tent City loomed ahead, illuminated against the night sky. Local musicians greeted us with vibrant beats of drums and folk tunes, their energy infectious. Inside, rows of tents stretched like a patterned fabric against the desert sands—each category offering its own luxury.

The reception gleamed under festive lighting, and dinner awaited at the VIP restaurant, a lavish spread with Gujarati flavours that danced on the palate.

As the moon smiled from above, we joined the cultural festivities—mehendi stalls, intricate handicrafts, puppet shows, and even open-air foot spas dotting the grounds. Laughter mingled with music in the air, and I couldn’t help but think: I had underestimated this place. Completely.

Chapter Two – Sunrise, Stories, and Stars

The next morning, my tea was consumed quicker than the one before—because the clock was ticking. I’d signed up for a 6 km sunrise bicycle ride, a dash against time to witness the desert awaken.

The ride itself was an exhilarating one; desert air rushed past as we pedalled towards an expanding strip of gold on the horizon. And then, without warning, magic happened. The sun rose—a molten, golden orb—over the endless white expanse of the Rann. Salt crystals underfoot shimmered like stars caught on earth. All five of us in the group, journalists and writers from across the country, stood still. Awestruck. Words seemed unnecessary and even intrusive at that moment. This wasn’t just a sunrise; it was a communion with nature at her purest.

The day unfolded like a colourful tapestry. We explored Tent City, strolled between artisan stalls, and took short trips into neighbouring villages. We met the family of Padma Shri Abdul Gafur Khatri — a master of the Rogan art – the unique Persian-origin textile painting from Nirona, Kutch, Gujarat, kept alive for centuries by the Khatri family.

The age-old art form was passed down through generations. The “tree of life theme” flows beautifully across their canvases, fabrics, and frames, carrying stories through colour, texture, and heritage.

Despite winning multiple awards from the Government of India and being showcased on prestigious platforms, for the humble Khatri family, craftsmanship is simply a way of life.  It was indeed a special experience to witness the Khatri family busy working in ‘another day in the office’ in the tiny village of Kutch.

Another stop introduced us to an equally fascinating craft: iron bells made for cattle, but also celebrated for their musical resonance. The artisan there spoke of a lineage spanning seven generations as he gently rang a bell whose tone seemed to float through the air long after it was struck.

Our cameras clicked. Our notebooks are filled. But far more valuable were the stories we carried away in our hearts.

Evening began painting shadows over the desert, but Evoke Experience had one last surprise. Around 10 pm, we were bundled into a bus and driven into the belly of darkness—no streetlights, no sounds except the occasional rustle of wind. We couldn’t see the person next to us. And that was exactly the point.

There, in the middle of nowhere, a giant telescope stood waiting. The astronomy show was led by an experienced, passionate mentor, his words floating like constellations in our minds. Through the lens, we saw wonders we’d only met in textbooks—the dog star Sirius, the mystical Seven Sisters of Pleiades, the blush of a distant nebula, the proud stance of Leo the lion, meteors streaking like fleeting wishes.

In those quiet moments, the desert no longer felt empty. It was brimming—alive with celestial secrets. The salt below my feet mirrored the stars above, and I felt suspended between two worlds.

When we finally returned to our tents, exhaustion clung to my body, but my mind was wide awake, wandering in galaxies far away. As I crawled under the quilt, the heater humming softly, I thought: The Rann is an experience that seeps into you, turning cold nights into warm memories, and vast emptiness into infinite meaning.

Dholavira: Of Salt, Stars, and Civilisations

“It’s called Road to Heaven,” Iqbal had said with that familiar half-smile that usually meant a story was coming. He was right—at least metaphorically. As our vehicle cruised slowly along that surreal 30-kilometre ribbon of asphalt, the horizon began melting into the salt flats, the sky and land intertwined in dreamy blues and whites.

Imagine driving on the edge of infinity—the road so perfectly poised that in places, it seems to vanish into liquid light. During monsoon, the illusion becomes reality, with shimmering water stretching endlessly on either side, dotted with elegant pelicans, playful seagulls, and cormorants gliding with quiet authority. That morning, the breeze sang through the windows, and every turn felt like we were riding through a painting too perfect to exist in real life.

We were bound for Dholavira—a leap 5000 years back in time.

Evoke’s property in Dholavira was a revelation. Nestled far from the hum of cities, it pulsed with a rare blend of minimalist sophistication, luxury and eco-conscious calm. The architecture was subtle yet striking, built to belong to the land, not dominate it.

The rooms whispered comfort: plush beds, spotless amenities, cool earthy tones. In the heart of the property lay an inviting swimming pool—its turquoise surface mirroring the desert sky. Evenings often slipped effortlessly into conversations at the lobby or open decks under constellations so bright they could almost be counted one by one.

Over a quiet post-dinner chat, the young and lively Bhavik Sheth, Chief Operating Officer at Evoke Experience, spoke of the brand’s journey—of families who had made this place their yearly tradition, and now, the challenge of adapting the experience for Gen Z travellers. “We’ll get there,” he smiled. The confidence was contagious.

Walking into the Past

Dholavira itself is unlike any heritage site I’ve visited. At first glance, it’s just stone ruins—quiet, dusty, almost shy in revealing its secrets. But step onto its grounds, and the world folds back five millennia.

Here lay the meticulous urban planning of the Indus Valley Civilisation—well-defined reservoirs, intricate drainage, colossal gateways. You stand on weathered stones and somehow see bustling markets, hear murmurs of trade, the rhythm of everyday life from 5000 years ago.

I went in expecting mild curiosity. I walked out with awe, questions, and an unsettling humility at how advanced this ancient world truly was.

Fossils in Time

Our next stop was the Wood Fossil Park—an untouched slice of deep prehistory. Scattered across the terrain were petrified wooden remains, silent witnesses to a world without cities, where forests reigned. Standing there, with a desert sunset draping the land in gold, felt like leafing through the earliest pages of Earth’s diary. It was still, peaceful, almost sacred.

The Sweet Hangover

As the trip wound to its final hours, I realised something: The Rann’s stark beauty and Dholavira’s ancient grace are not just places you visit. They become part of you—like a song that lingers in your mind long after it’s played or a fragrance that resurfaces when you least expect it.

From the hypnotic white desert sunrise to the swirling galaxies seen through a telescope, from the hum of iron bells to the silent stones that once cradled a civilisation—this journey had carried me across time, space, and perspective.

When the car finally rolled away, the salt flats glimmered in the distance, the sky holding that impossible blend of colours only the Kutch can paint. The trip may have ended, but it had left me with a gentle, beautiful hangover—a reminder that there are still places in this world where heaven touches earth. And sometimes, you get to walk that road