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Only took me three years but converted my house into a street side hawker stall and threw a noodle & ice cream pop up I’ve always wanted to do inspired by my travels to Sichuan.

I’ve always said I’m the luckiest person in the world because there hasn’t been a single friend in my life who hasn’t shown up for all the wack shit I want to do in life.

@harshalalala for making the best ice cream for this pop up, she’s actually a genius. The black sesame and buckwheat ice creams she made were just uff chefs kiss ❤️

@ruchirakhemka who showed up and helped me get all the crates in the world to make my house into a Chinese hawker style situation.

@bhavyapansari handsdown best photographer to exist in this city showed up for the whole day and shot the most amazing pictures ❤️

@gaurielisa for the best looking menu card to exist. I am so obsessed w you ❤️💕

@atulpinheiro @aarogheeroast @fluffyorangutan @foodstylist_harshita @aalok.____ & Thippasandra market who have always been there for me❤️

Only took me three years but converted my house into a street side hawker stall and threw a noodle & ice cream pop up I’ve always wanted to do inspired by my travels to Sichuan.

I’ve always said I’m the luckiest person in the world because there hasn’t been a single friend in my life who hasn’t shown up for all the wack shit I want to do in life.

@harshalalala for making the best ice cream for this pop up, she’s actually a genius. The black sesame and buckwheat ice creams she made were just uff chefs kiss ❤️

@ruchirakhemka who showed up and helped me get all the crates in the world to make my house into a Chinese hawker style situation.

@bhavyapansari handsdown best photographer to exist in this city showed up for the whole day and shot the most amazing pictures ❤️

@gaurielisa for the best looking menu card to exist. I am so obsessed w you ❤️💕

@atulpinheiro @aarogheeroast @fluffyorangutan @foodstylist_harshita @aalok.____ & Thippasandra market who have always been there for me❤️

Only took me three years but converted my house into a street side hawker stall and threw a noodle & ice cream pop up I’ve always wanted to do inspired by my travels to Sichuan.

I’ve always said I’m the luckiest person in the world because there hasn’t been a single friend in my life who hasn’t shown up for all the wack shit I want to do in life.

@harshalalala for making the best ice cream for this pop up, she’s actually a genius. The black sesame and buckwheat ice creams she made were just uff chefs kiss ❤️

@ruchirakhemka who showed up and helped me get all the crates in the world to make my house into a Chinese hawker style situation.

@bhavyapansari handsdown best photographer to exist in this city showed up for the whole day and shot the most amazing pictures ❤️

@gaurielisa for the best looking menu card to exist. I am so obsessed w you ❤️💕

@atulpinheiro @aarogheeroast @fluffyorangutan @foodstylist_harshita @aalok.____ & Thippasandra market who have always been there for me❤️

Only took me three years but converted my house into a street side hawker stall and threw a noodle & ice cream pop up I’ve always wanted to do inspired by my travels to Sichuan.

I’ve always said I’m the luckiest person in the world because there hasn’t been a single friend in my life who hasn’t shown up for all the wack shit I want to do in life.

@harshalalala for making the best ice cream for this pop up, she’s actually a genius. The black sesame and buckwheat ice creams she made were just uff chefs kiss ❤️

@ruchirakhemka who showed up and helped me get all the crates in the world to make my house into a Chinese hawker style situation.

@bhavyapansari handsdown best photographer to exist in this city showed up for the whole day and shot the most amazing pictures ❤️

@gaurielisa for the best looking menu card to exist. I am so obsessed w you ❤️💕

@atulpinheiro @aarogheeroast @fluffyorangutan @foodstylist_harshita @aalok.____ & Thippasandra market who have always been there for me❤️

Only took me three years but converted my house into a street side hawker stall and threw a noodle & ice cream pop up I’ve always wanted to do inspired by my travels to Sichuan.

I’ve always said I’m the luckiest person in the world because there hasn’t been a single friend in my life who hasn’t shown up for all the wack shit I want to do in life.

@harshalalala for making the best ice cream for this pop up, she’s actually a genius. The black sesame and buckwheat ice creams she made were just uff chefs kiss ❤️

@ruchirakhemka who showed up and helped me get all the crates in the world to make my house into a Chinese hawker style situation.

@bhavyapansari handsdown best photographer to exist in this city showed up for the whole day and shot the most amazing pictures ❤️

@gaurielisa for the best looking menu card to exist. I am so obsessed w you ❤️💕

@atulpinheiro @aarogheeroast @fluffyorangutan @foodstylist_harshita @aalok.____ & Thippasandra market who have always been there for me❤️

Only took me three years but converted my house into a street side hawker stall and threw a noodle & ice cream pop up I’ve always wanted to do inspired by my travels to Sichuan.

I’ve always said I’m the luckiest person in the world because there hasn’t been a single friend in my life who hasn’t shown up for all the wack shit I want to do in life.

@harshalalala for making the best ice cream for this pop up, she’s actually a genius. The black sesame and buckwheat ice creams she made were just uff chefs kiss ❤️

@ruchirakhemka who showed up and helped me get all the crates in the world to make my house into a Chinese hawker style situation.

@bhavyapansari handsdown best photographer to exist in this city showed up for the whole day and shot the most amazing pictures ❤️

@gaurielisa for the best looking menu card to exist. I am so obsessed w you ❤️💕

@atulpinheiro @aarogheeroast @fluffyorangutan @foodstylist_harshita @aalok.____ & Thippasandra market who have always been there for me❤️

Only took me three years but converted my house into a street side hawker stall and threw a noodle & ice cream pop up I’ve always wanted to do inspired by my travels to Sichuan.

I’ve always said I’m the luckiest person in the world because there hasn’t been a single friend in my life who hasn’t shown up for all the wack shit I want to do in life.

@harshalalala for making the best ice cream for this pop up, she’s actually a genius. The black sesame and buckwheat ice creams she made were just uff chefs kiss ❤️

@ruchirakhemka who showed up and helped me get all the crates in the world to make my house into a Chinese hawker style situation.

@bhavyapansari handsdown best photographer to exist in this city showed up for the whole day and shot the most amazing pictures ❤️

@gaurielisa for the best looking menu card to exist. I am so obsessed w you ❤️💕

@atulpinheiro @aarogheeroast @fluffyorangutan @foodstylist_harshita @aalok.____ & Thippasandra market who have always been there for me❤️

Only took me three years but converted my house into a street side hawker stall and threw a noodle & ice cream pop up I’ve always wanted to do inspired by my travels to Sichuan.

I’ve always said I’m the luckiest person in the world because there hasn’t been a single friend in my life who hasn’t shown up for all the wack shit I want to do in life.

@harshalalala for making the best ice cream for this pop up, she’s actually a genius. The black sesame and buckwheat ice creams she made were just uff chefs kiss ❤️

@ruchirakhemka who showed up and helped me get all the crates in the world to make my house into a Chinese hawker style situation.

@bhavyapansari handsdown best photographer to exist in this city showed up for the whole day and shot the most amazing pictures ❤️

@gaurielisa for the best looking menu card to exist. I am so obsessed w you ❤️💕

@atulpinheiro @aarogheeroast @fluffyorangutan @foodstylist_harshita @aalok.____ & Thippasandra market who have always been there for me❤️

Only took me three years but converted my house into a street side hawker stall and threw a noodle & ice cream pop up I’ve always wanted to do inspired by my travels to Sichuan.

I’ve always said I’m the luckiest person in the world because there hasn’t been a single friend in my life who hasn’t shown up for all the wack shit I want to do in life.

@harshalalala for making the best ice cream for this pop up, she’s actually a genius. The black sesame and buckwheat ice creams she made were just uff chefs kiss ❤️

@ruchirakhemka who showed up and helped me get all the crates in the world to make my house into a Chinese hawker style situation.

@bhavyapansari handsdown best photographer to exist in this city showed up for the whole day and shot the most amazing pictures ❤️

@gaurielisa for the best looking menu card to exist. I am so obsessed w you ❤️💕

@atulpinheiro @aarogheeroast @fluffyorangutan @foodstylist_harshita @aalok.____ & Thippasandra market who have always been there for me❤️

Only took me three years but converted my house into a street side hawker stall and threw a noodle & ice cream pop up I’ve always wanted to do inspired by my travels to Sichuan.

I’ve always said I’m the luckiest person in the world because there hasn’t been a single friend in my life who hasn’t shown up for all the wack shit I want to do in life.

@harshalalala for making the best ice cream for this pop up, she’s actually a genius. The black sesame and buckwheat ice creams she made were just uff chefs kiss ❤️

@ruchirakhemka who showed up and helped me get all the crates in the world to make my house into a Chinese hawker style situation.

@bhavyapansari handsdown best photographer to exist in this city showed up for the whole day and shot the most amazing pictures ❤️

@gaurielisa for the best looking menu card to exist. I am so obsessed w you ❤️💕

@atulpinheiro @aarogheeroast @fluffyorangutan @foodstylist_harshita @aalok.____ & Thippasandra market who have always been there for me❤️

Only took me three years but converted my house into a street side hawker stall and threw a noodle & ice cream pop up I’ve always wanted to do inspired by my travels to Sichuan.

I’ve always said I’m the luckiest person in the world because there hasn’t been a single friend in my life who hasn’t shown up for all the wack shit I want to do in life.

@harshalalala for making the best ice cream for this pop up, she’s actually a genius. The black sesame and buckwheat ice creams she made were just uff chefs kiss ❤️

@ruchirakhemka who showed up and helped me get all the crates in the world to make my house into a Chinese hawker style situation.

@bhavyapansari handsdown best photographer to exist in this city showed up for the whole day and shot the most amazing pictures ❤️

@gaurielisa for the best looking menu card to exist. I am so obsessed w you ❤️💕

@atulpinheiro @aarogheeroast @fluffyorangutan @foodstylist_harshita @aalok.____ & Thippasandra market who have always been there for me❤️

Only took me three years but converted my house into a street side hawker stall and threw a noodle & ice cream pop up I’ve always wanted to do inspired by my travels to Sichuan.

I’ve always said I’m the luckiest person in the world because there hasn’t been a single friend in my life who hasn’t shown up for all the wack shit I want to do in life.

@harshalalala for making the best ice cream for this pop up, she’s actually a genius. The black sesame and buckwheat ice creams she made were just uff chefs kiss ❤️

@ruchirakhemka who showed up and helped me get all the crates in the world to make my house into a Chinese hawker style situation.

@bhavyapansari handsdown best photographer to exist in this city showed up for the whole day and shot the most amazing pictures ❤️

@gaurielisa for the best looking menu card to exist. I am so obsessed w you ❤️💕

@atulpinheiro @aarogheeroast @fluffyorangutan @foodstylist_harshita @aalok.____ & Thippasandra market who have always been there for me❤️

Only took me three years but converted my house into a street side hawker stall and threw a noodle & ice cream pop up I’ve always wanted to do inspired by my travels to Sichuan.

I’ve always said I’m the luckiest person in the world because there hasn’t been a single friend in my life who hasn’t shown up for all the wack shit I want to do in life.

@harshalalala for making the best ice cream for this pop up, she’s actually a genius. The black sesame and buckwheat ice creams she made were just uff chefs kiss ❤️

@ruchirakhemka who showed up and helped me get all the crates in the world to make my house into a Chinese hawker style situation.

@bhavyapansari handsdown best photographer to exist in this city showed up for the whole day and shot the most amazing pictures ❤️

@gaurielisa for the best looking menu card to exist. I am so obsessed w you ❤️💕

@atulpinheiro @aarogheeroast @fluffyorangutan @foodstylist_harshita @aalok.____ & Thippasandra market who have always been there for me❤️

Only took me three years but converted my house into a street side hawker stall and threw a noodle & ice cream pop up I’ve always wanted to do inspired by my travels to Sichuan.

I’ve always said I’m the luckiest person in the world because there hasn’t been a single friend in my life who hasn’t shown up for all the wack shit I want to do in life.

@harshalalala for making the best ice cream for this pop up, she’s actually a genius. The black sesame and buckwheat ice creams she made were just uff chefs kiss ❤️

@ruchirakhemka who showed up and helped me get all the crates in the world to make my house into a Chinese hawker style situation.

@bhavyapansari handsdown best photographer to exist in this city showed up for the whole day and shot the most amazing pictures ❤️

@gaurielisa for the best looking menu card to exist. I am so obsessed w you ❤️💕

@atulpinheiro @aarogheeroast @fluffyorangutan @foodstylist_harshita @aalok.____ & Thippasandra market who have always been there for me❤️

Only took me three years but converted my house into a street side hawker stall and threw a noodle & ice cream pop up I’ve always wanted to do inspired by my travels to Sichuan.

I’ve always said I’m the luckiest person in the world because there hasn’t been a single friend in my life who hasn’t shown up for all the wack shit I want to do in life.

@harshalalala for making the best ice cream for this pop up, she’s actually a genius. The black sesame and buckwheat ice creams she made were just uff chefs kiss ❤️

@ruchirakhemka who showed up and helped me get all the crates in the world to make my house into a Chinese hawker style situation.

@bhavyapansari handsdown best photographer to exist in this city showed up for the whole day and shot the most amazing pictures ❤️

@gaurielisa for the best looking menu card to exist. I am so obsessed w you ❤️💕

@atulpinheiro @aarogheeroast @fluffyorangutan @foodstylist_harshita @aalok.____ & Thippasandra market who have always been there for me❤️

Only took me three years but converted my house into a street side hawker stall and threw a noodle & ice cream pop up I’ve always wanted to do inspired by my travels to Sichuan.

I’ve always said I’m the luckiest person in the world because there hasn’t been a single friend in my life who hasn’t shown up for all the wack shit I want to do in life.

@harshalalala for making the best ice cream for this pop up, she’s actually a genius. The black sesame and buckwheat ice creams she made were just uff chefs kiss ❤️

@ruchirakhemka who showed up and helped me get all the crates in the world to make my house into a Chinese hawker style situation.

@bhavyapansari handsdown best photographer to exist in this city showed up for the whole day and shot the most amazing pictures ❤️

@gaurielisa for the best looking menu card to exist. I am so obsessed w you ❤️💕

@atulpinheiro @aarogheeroast @fluffyorangutan @foodstylist_harshita @aalok.____ & Thippasandra market who have always been there for me❤️

Only took me three years but converted my house into a street side hawker stall and threw a noodle & ice cream pop up I’ve always wanted to do inspired by my travels to Sichuan.

I’ve always said I’m the luckiest person in the world because there hasn’t been a single friend in my life who hasn’t shown up for all the wack shit I want to do in life.

@harshalalala for making the best ice cream for this pop up, she’s actually a genius. The black sesame and buckwheat ice creams she made were just uff chefs kiss ❤️

@ruchirakhemka who showed up and helped me get all the crates in the world to make my house into a Chinese hawker style situation.

@bhavyapansari handsdown best photographer to exist in this city showed up for the whole day and shot the most amazing pictures ❤️

@gaurielisa for the best looking menu card to exist. I am so obsessed w you ❤️💕

@atulpinheiro @aarogheeroast @fluffyorangutan @foodstylist_harshita @aalok.____ & Thippasandra market who have always been there for me❤️

Only took me three years but converted my house into a street side hawker stall and threw a noodle & ice cream pop up I’ve always wanted to do inspired by my travels to Sichuan.

I’ve always said I’m the luckiest person in the world because there hasn’t been a single friend in my life who hasn’t shown up for all the wack shit I want to do in life.

@harshalalala for making the best ice cream for this pop up, she’s actually a genius. The black sesame and buckwheat ice creams she made were just uff chefs kiss ❤️

@ruchirakhemka who showed up and helped me get all the crates in the world to make my house into a Chinese hawker style situation.

@bhavyapansari handsdown best photographer to exist in this city showed up for the whole day and shot the most amazing pictures ❤️

@gaurielisa for the best looking menu card to exist. I am so obsessed w you ❤️💕

@atulpinheiro @aarogheeroast @fluffyorangutan @foodstylist_harshita @aalok.____ & Thippasandra market who have always been there for me❤️

Only took me three years but converted my house into a street side hawker stall and threw a noodle & ice cream pop up I’ve always wanted to do inspired by my travels to Sichuan.

I’ve always said I’m the luckiest person in the world because there hasn’t been a single friend in my life who hasn’t shown up for all the wack shit I want to do in life.

@harshalalala for making the best ice cream for this pop up, she’s actually a genius. The black sesame and buckwheat ice creams she made were just uff chefs kiss ❤️

@ruchirakhemka who showed up and helped me get all the crates in the world to make my house into a Chinese hawker style situation.

@bhavyapansari handsdown best photographer to exist in this city showed up for the whole day and shot the most amazing pictures ❤️

@gaurielisa for the best looking menu card to exist. I am so obsessed w you ❤️💕

@atulpinheiro @aarogheeroast @fluffyorangutan @foodstylist_harshita @aalok.____ & Thippasandra market who have always been there for me❤️

This is my ultimate favourite go to food. Whenever I'm confused on what to make at home or when people are over it's always time to make Buddae Jiggae (Korean army stew) that I learnt from my Korean cooking guru @maangchi. The stock is prepared with shiitake mushrooms and kombu, later mixed with the seasoning paste consisting of garlic, soya sauce, gochujang, gochujaru, then topped with homemade kimchi, tofu, mushrooms, sausages, onions, a packet of instant noodles and a slice of cheese. I can't tell you how much I love this dish and how many unexpected friends I've made while feeding people this.

This is a throwback photo to last year, when making staff lunch at @4burner.studio was a daily ritual. Consisting of me experimenting on random food and @ravenous._ (best and most hardworking/talented bossman ever) took photos of everything I made. #gocoronago :(
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#foodphotography #foodstyling #foodporn #foodblogger #feedfeed #indianfood #bangalorefoodies #delhifoodies #koreanfood #mumbaifoodies #vscofood #onthetable #foodphoto #bangalore #huffposttaste #buzzfeast #foodblog #foodgram #buzzfeedfood #foodshare #foodspotting #nomnom #forkyeah #foodforfoodies #igfood #food52 #likeforlike #followforfollow #noodles

My project called Kütche-n has been one of the most wholesome experiences I've had. I spentfive weeks in Berlin, being fed by strangers (now friends) learning about the intricacies of their city, its history and identity through what I know best- food.

This is a tiny sneak peak into what you'll see if you drop by into @goetheinstitut_bangalore this weekend (16-17 December) Come by between 2-8! There will be cake 🍰 made by my fav @makipatisserie ❤️ and a fun potato pancake cook along on Sunday, 4 PM where we can talk about our food memories.

#exhibition #berlin #berlinkitchen #kitchens #homecooking #foodphotographer #germanfood #showcase #foodstagram #berlinfood #germancooking #kitchen #kitchenspaces #uniquekitchens #kitchendesign #berlinkitchens #zine #foodzine #bangalore #mmbangalore #bangalorefood #artresidency

My project called Kütche-n has been one of the most wholesome experiences I've had. I spentfive weeks in Berlin, being fed by strangers (now friends) learning about the intricacies of their city, its history and identity through what I know best- food.

This is a tiny sneak peak into what you'll see if you drop by into @goetheinstitut_bangalore this weekend (16-17 December) Come by between 2-8! There will be cake 🍰 made by my fav @makipatisserie ❤️ and a fun potato pancake cook along on Sunday, 4 PM where we can talk about our food memories.

#exhibition #berlin #berlinkitchen #kitchens #homecooking #foodphotographer #germanfood #showcase #foodstagram #berlinfood #germancooking #kitchen #kitchenspaces #uniquekitchens #kitchendesign #berlinkitchens #zine #foodzine #bangalore #mmbangalore #bangalorefood #artresidency

My project called Kütche-n has been one of the most wholesome experiences I've had. I spentfive weeks in Berlin, being fed by strangers (now friends) learning about the intricacies of their city, its history and identity through what I know best- food.

This is a tiny sneak peak into what you'll see if you drop by into @goetheinstitut_bangalore this weekend (16-17 December) Come by between 2-8! There will be cake 🍰 made by my fav @makipatisserie ❤️ and a fun potato pancake cook along on Sunday, 4 PM where we can talk about our food memories.

#exhibition #berlin #berlinkitchen #kitchens #homecooking #foodphotographer #germanfood #showcase #foodstagram #berlinfood #germancooking #kitchen #kitchenspaces #uniquekitchens #kitchendesign #berlinkitchens #zine #foodzine #bangalore #mmbangalore #bangalorefood #artresidency

My project called Kütche-n has been one of the most wholesome experiences I've had. I spentfive weeks in Berlin, being fed by strangers (now friends) learning about the intricacies of their city, its history and identity through what I know best- food.

This is a tiny sneak peak into what you'll see if you drop by into @goetheinstitut_bangalore this weekend (16-17 December) Come by between 2-8! There will be cake 🍰 made by my fav @makipatisserie ❤️ and a fun potato pancake cook along on Sunday, 4 PM where we can talk about our food memories.

#exhibition #berlin #berlinkitchen #kitchens #homecooking #foodphotographer #germanfood #showcase #foodstagram #berlinfood #germancooking #kitchen #kitchenspaces #uniquekitchens #kitchendesign #berlinkitchens #zine #foodzine #bangalore #mmbangalore #bangalorefood #artresidency

My project called Kütche-n has been one of the most wholesome experiences I've had. I spentfive weeks in Berlin, being fed by strangers (now friends) learning about the intricacies of their city, its history and identity through what I know best- food.

This is a tiny sneak peak into what you'll see if you drop by into @goetheinstitut_bangalore this weekend (16-17 December) Come by between 2-8! There will be cake 🍰 made by my fav @makipatisserie ❤️ and a fun potato pancake cook along on Sunday, 4 PM where we can talk about our food memories.

#exhibition #berlin #berlinkitchen #kitchens #homecooking #foodphotographer #germanfood #showcase #foodstagram #berlinfood #germancooking #kitchen #kitchenspaces #uniquekitchens #kitchendesign #berlinkitchens #zine #foodzine #bangalore #mmbangalore #bangalorefood #artresidency

My project called Kütche-n has been one of the most wholesome experiences I've had. I spentfive weeks in Berlin, being fed by strangers (now friends) learning about the intricacies of their city, its history and identity through what I know best- food.

This is a tiny sneak peak into what you'll see if you drop by into @goetheinstitut_bangalore this weekend (16-17 December) Come by between 2-8! There will be cake 🍰 made by my fav @makipatisserie ❤️ and a fun potato pancake cook along on Sunday, 4 PM where we can talk about our food memories.

#exhibition #berlin #berlinkitchen #kitchens #homecooking #foodphotographer #germanfood #showcase #foodstagram #berlinfood #germancooking #kitchen #kitchenspaces #uniquekitchens #kitchendesign #berlinkitchens #zine #foodzine #bangalore #mmbangalore #bangalorefood #artresidency

I want to make all variations of cold noodles at this point 😭
Chicken Vietnamese inspired rice noodles
Crispy pork belly salad
Sichuan cold shredded chicken noodles
Cute big jar of cowpea beans fermenting

I want to make all variations of cold noodles at this point 😭
Chicken Vietnamese inspired rice noodles
Crispy pork belly salad
Sichuan cold shredded chicken noodles
Cute big jar of cowpea beans fermenting

I want to make all variations of cold noodles at this point 😭
Chicken Vietnamese inspired rice noodles
Crispy pork belly salad
Sichuan cold shredded chicken noodles
Cute big jar of cowpea beans fermenting

I want to make all variations of cold noodles at this point 😭
Chicken Vietnamese inspired rice noodles
Crispy pork belly salad
Sichuan cold shredded chicken noodles
Cute big jar of cowpea beans fermenting

I want to make all variations of cold noodles at this point 😭
Chicken Vietnamese inspired rice noodles
Crispy pork belly salad
Sichuan cold shredded chicken noodles
Cute big jar of cowpea beans fermenting

I want to make all variations of cold noodles at this point 😭
Chicken Vietnamese inspired rice noodles
Crispy pork belly salad
Sichuan cold shredded chicken noodles
Cute big jar of cowpea beans fermenting

I want to make all variations of cold noodles at this point 😭
Chicken Vietnamese inspired rice noodles
Crispy pork belly salad
Sichuan cold shredded chicken noodles
Cute big jar of cowpea beans fermenting

I want to make all variations of cold noodles at this point 😭
Chicken Vietnamese inspired rice noodles
Crispy pork belly salad
Sichuan cold shredded chicken noodles
Cute big jar of cowpea beans fermenting

I want to make all variations of cold noodles at this point 😭
Chicken Vietnamese inspired rice noodles
Crispy pork belly salad
Sichuan cold shredded chicken noodles
Cute big jar of cowpea beans fermenting

I want to make all variations of cold noodles at this point 😭
Chicken Vietnamese inspired rice noodles
Crispy pork belly salad
Sichuan cold shredded chicken noodles
Cute big jar of cowpea beans fermenting

My father was six years old when he left his village in the mountains of Uttarakhand for Delhi with his parents. There are no roads to Sunao gaon, and the map on Google takes you the wrong way. For someone who has travelled to the most obscure of places, I always felt guilty for never going to the place where my ancestors had lived. My dad, my mum, and I went for the first time in thirty years recently.

We crossed pine forests, my father and I trekking up the hill looking for his old school. We passed the crops that no longer grow, the houses that stand empty, and he told me about the friends and family who have all moved away. We have become a ghost village. We walked the same path he walked sixty years ago, looking for his school. It wasn’t there anymore.

Five families still live there, watched over by our family temple of Mathiyana Maa. A woman who threw herself onto her husband’s funeral pyre after he was murdered, and became a deity who both protects and takes revenge. My family has kept her temple for generations. The rituals involve sheep blood being drunk, the body later rolled down the mountain after being possessed by her.

I had always wanted to document the kitchen my great-great-grandmothers had lived in. Our house is easily two hundred and fifty years old. Rummaging through the kitchen attic, I found milk cans and a hookah that had belonged to the women who came generations before me. My uncles hadn’t seen them in years and were surprised I had found them. They gave them to me.

The milk cans and the hookah will migrate with me to Bangalore, the furthest they have ever been from home. Much like my grandfather, my father and now me. I hope I take care of them. I hope they travel through me to someone who cares.

My father was six years old when he left his village in the mountains of Uttarakhand for Delhi with his parents. There are no roads to Sunao gaon, and the map on Google takes you the wrong way. For someone who has travelled to the most obscure of places, I always felt guilty for never going to the place where my ancestors had lived. My dad, my mum, and I went for the first time in thirty years recently.

We crossed pine forests, my father and I trekking up the hill looking for his old school. We passed the crops that no longer grow, the houses that stand empty, and he told me about the friends and family who have all moved away. We have become a ghost village. We walked the same path he walked sixty years ago, looking for his school. It wasn’t there anymore.

Five families still live there, watched over by our family temple of Mathiyana Maa. A woman who threw herself onto her husband’s funeral pyre after he was murdered, and became a deity who both protects and takes revenge. My family has kept her temple for generations. The rituals involve sheep blood being drunk, the body later rolled down the mountain after being possessed by her.

I had always wanted to document the kitchen my great-great-grandmothers had lived in. Our house is easily two hundred and fifty years old. Rummaging through the kitchen attic, I found milk cans and a hookah that had belonged to the women who came generations before me. My uncles hadn’t seen them in years and were surprised I had found them. They gave them to me.

The milk cans and the hookah will migrate with me to Bangalore, the furthest they have ever been from home. Much like my grandfather, my father and now me. I hope I take care of them. I hope they travel through me to someone who cares.

My father was six years old when he left his village in the mountains of Uttarakhand for Delhi with his parents. There are no roads to Sunao gaon, and the map on Google takes you the wrong way. For someone who has travelled to the most obscure of places, I always felt guilty for never going to the place where my ancestors had lived. My dad, my mum, and I went for the first time in thirty years recently.

We crossed pine forests, my father and I trekking up the hill looking for his old school. We passed the crops that no longer grow, the houses that stand empty, and he told me about the friends and family who have all moved away. We have become a ghost village. We walked the same path he walked sixty years ago, looking for his school. It wasn’t there anymore.

Five families still live there, watched over by our family temple of Mathiyana Maa. A woman who threw herself onto her husband’s funeral pyre after he was murdered, and became a deity who both protects and takes revenge. My family has kept her temple for generations. The rituals involve sheep blood being drunk, the body later rolled down the mountain after being possessed by her.

I had always wanted to document the kitchen my great-great-grandmothers had lived in. Our house is easily two hundred and fifty years old. Rummaging through the kitchen attic, I found milk cans and a hookah that had belonged to the women who came generations before me. My uncles hadn’t seen them in years and were surprised I had found them. They gave them to me.

The milk cans and the hookah will migrate with me to Bangalore, the furthest they have ever been from home. Much like my grandfather, my father and now me. I hope I take care of them. I hope they travel through me to someone who cares.

My father was six years old when he left his village in the mountains of Uttarakhand for Delhi with his parents. There are no roads to Sunao gaon, and the map on Google takes you the wrong way. For someone who has travelled to the most obscure of places, I always felt guilty for never going to the place where my ancestors had lived. My dad, my mum, and I went for the first time in thirty years recently.

We crossed pine forests, my father and I trekking up the hill looking for his old school. We passed the crops that no longer grow, the houses that stand empty, and he told me about the friends and family who have all moved away. We have become a ghost village. We walked the same path he walked sixty years ago, looking for his school. It wasn’t there anymore.

Five families still live there, watched over by our family temple of Mathiyana Maa. A woman who threw herself onto her husband’s funeral pyre after he was murdered, and became a deity who both protects and takes revenge. My family has kept her temple for generations. The rituals involve sheep blood being drunk, the body later rolled down the mountain after being possessed by her.

I had always wanted to document the kitchen my great-great-grandmothers had lived in. Our house is easily two hundred and fifty years old. Rummaging through the kitchen attic, I found milk cans and a hookah that had belonged to the women who came generations before me. My uncles hadn’t seen them in years and were surprised I had found them. They gave them to me.

The milk cans and the hookah will migrate with me to Bangalore, the furthest they have ever been from home. Much like my grandfather, my father and now me. I hope I take care of them. I hope they travel through me to someone who cares.

My father was six years old when he left his village in the mountains of Uttarakhand for Delhi with his parents. There are no roads to Sunao gaon, and the map on Google takes you the wrong way. For someone who has travelled to the most obscure of places, I always felt guilty for never going to the place where my ancestors had lived. My dad, my mum, and I went for the first time in thirty years recently.

We crossed pine forests, my father and I trekking up the hill looking for his old school. We passed the crops that no longer grow, the houses that stand empty, and he told me about the friends and family who have all moved away. We have become a ghost village. We walked the same path he walked sixty years ago, looking for his school. It wasn’t there anymore.

Five families still live there, watched over by our family temple of Mathiyana Maa. A woman who threw herself onto her husband’s funeral pyre after he was murdered, and became a deity who both protects and takes revenge. My family has kept her temple for generations. The rituals involve sheep blood being drunk, the body later rolled down the mountain after being possessed by her.

I had always wanted to document the kitchen my great-great-grandmothers had lived in. Our house is easily two hundred and fifty years old. Rummaging through the kitchen attic, I found milk cans and a hookah that had belonged to the women who came generations before me. My uncles hadn’t seen them in years and were surprised I had found them. They gave them to me.

The milk cans and the hookah will migrate with me to Bangalore, the furthest they have ever been from home. Much like my grandfather, my father and now me. I hope I take care of them. I hope they travel through me to someone who cares.

My father was six years old when he left his village in the mountains of Uttarakhand for Delhi with his parents. There are no roads to Sunao gaon, and the map on Google takes you the wrong way. For someone who has travelled to the most obscure of places, I always felt guilty for never going to the place where my ancestors had lived. My dad, my mum, and I went for the first time in thirty years recently.

We crossed pine forests, my father and I trekking up the hill looking for his old school. We passed the crops that no longer grow, the houses that stand empty, and he told me about the friends and family who have all moved away. We have become a ghost village. We walked the same path he walked sixty years ago, looking for his school. It wasn’t there anymore.

Five families still live there, watched over by our family temple of Mathiyana Maa. A woman who threw herself onto her husband’s funeral pyre after he was murdered, and became a deity who both protects and takes revenge. My family has kept her temple for generations. The rituals involve sheep blood being drunk, the body later rolled down the mountain after being possessed by her.

I had always wanted to document the kitchen my great-great-grandmothers had lived in. Our house is easily two hundred and fifty years old. Rummaging through the kitchen attic, I found milk cans and a hookah that had belonged to the women who came generations before me. My uncles hadn’t seen them in years and were surprised I had found them. They gave them to me.

The milk cans and the hookah will migrate with me to Bangalore, the furthest they have ever been from home. Much like my grandfather, my father and now me. I hope I take care of them. I hope they travel through me to someone who cares.

My father was six years old when he left his village in the mountains of Uttarakhand for Delhi with his parents. There are no roads to Sunao gaon, and the map on Google takes you the wrong way. For someone who has travelled to the most obscure of places, I always felt guilty for never going to the place where my ancestors had lived. My dad, my mum, and I went for the first time in thirty years recently.

We crossed pine forests, my father and I trekking up the hill looking for his old school. We passed the crops that no longer grow, the houses that stand empty, and he told me about the friends and family who have all moved away. We have become a ghost village. We walked the same path he walked sixty years ago, looking for his school. It wasn’t there anymore.

Five families still live there, watched over by our family temple of Mathiyana Maa. A woman who threw herself onto her husband’s funeral pyre after he was murdered, and became a deity who both protects and takes revenge. My family has kept her temple for generations. The rituals involve sheep blood being drunk, the body later rolled down the mountain after being possessed by her.

I had always wanted to document the kitchen my great-great-grandmothers had lived in. Our house is easily two hundred and fifty years old. Rummaging through the kitchen attic, I found milk cans and a hookah that had belonged to the women who came generations before me. My uncles hadn’t seen them in years and were surprised I had found them. They gave them to me.

The milk cans and the hookah will migrate with me to Bangalore, the furthest they have ever been from home. Much like my grandfather, my father and now me. I hope I take care of them. I hope they travel through me to someone who cares.

My father was six years old when he left his village in the mountains of Uttarakhand for Delhi with his parents. There are no roads to Sunao gaon, and the map on Google takes you the wrong way. For someone who has travelled to the most obscure of places, I always felt guilty for never going to the place where my ancestors had lived. My dad, my mum, and I went for the first time in thirty years recently.

We crossed pine forests, my father and I trekking up the hill looking for his old school. We passed the crops that no longer grow, the houses that stand empty, and he told me about the friends and family who have all moved away. We have become a ghost village. We walked the same path he walked sixty years ago, looking for his school. It wasn’t there anymore.

Five families still live there, watched over by our family temple of Mathiyana Maa. A woman who threw herself onto her husband’s funeral pyre after he was murdered, and became a deity who both protects and takes revenge. My family has kept her temple for generations. The rituals involve sheep blood being drunk, the body later rolled down the mountain after being possessed by her.

I had always wanted to document the kitchen my great-great-grandmothers had lived in. Our house is easily two hundred and fifty years old. Rummaging through the kitchen attic, I found milk cans and a hookah that had belonged to the women who came generations before me. My uncles hadn’t seen them in years and were surprised I had found them. They gave them to me.

The milk cans and the hookah will migrate with me to Bangalore, the furthest they have ever been from home. Much like my grandfather, my father and now me. I hope I take care of them. I hope they travel through me to someone who cares.

My father was six years old when he left his village in the mountains of Uttarakhand for Delhi with his parents. There are no roads to Sunao gaon, and the map on Google takes you the wrong way. For someone who has travelled to the most obscure of places, I always felt guilty for never going to the place where my ancestors had lived. My dad, my mum, and I went for the first time in thirty years recently.

We crossed pine forests, my father and I trekking up the hill looking for his old school. We passed the crops that no longer grow, the houses that stand empty, and he told me about the friends and family who have all moved away. We have become a ghost village. We walked the same path he walked sixty years ago, looking for his school. It wasn’t there anymore.

Five families still live there, watched over by our family temple of Mathiyana Maa. A woman who threw herself onto her husband’s funeral pyre after he was murdered, and became a deity who both protects and takes revenge. My family has kept her temple for generations. The rituals involve sheep blood being drunk, the body later rolled down the mountain after being possessed by her.

I had always wanted to document the kitchen my great-great-grandmothers had lived in. Our house is easily two hundred and fifty years old. Rummaging through the kitchen attic, I found milk cans and a hookah that had belonged to the women who came generations before me. My uncles hadn’t seen them in years and were surprised I had found them. They gave them to me.

The milk cans and the hookah will migrate with me to Bangalore, the furthest they have ever been from home. Much like my grandfather, my father and now me. I hope I take care of them. I hope they travel through me to someone who cares.

My father was six years old when he left his village in the mountains of Uttarakhand for Delhi with his parents. There are no roads to Sunao gaon, and the map on Google takes you the wrong way. For someone who has travelled to the most obscure of places, I always felt guilty for never going to the place where my ancestors had lived. My dad, my mum, and I went for the first time in thirty years recently.

We crossed pine forests, my father and I trekking up the hill looking for his old school. We passed the crops that no longer grow, the houses that stand empty, and he told me about the friends and family who have all moved away. We have become a ghost village. We walked the same path he walked sixty years ago, looking for his school. It wasn’t there anymore.

Five families still live there, watched over by our family temple of Mathiyana Maa. A woman who threw herself onto her husband’s funeral pyre after he was murdered, and became a deity who both protects and takes revenge. My family has kept her temple for generations. The rituals involve sheep blood being drunk, the body later rolled down the mountain after being possessed by her.

I had always wanted to document the kitchen my great-great-grandmothers had lived in. Our house is easily two hundred and fifty years old. Rummaging through the kitchen attic, I found milk cans and a hookah that had belonged to the women who came generations before me. My uncles hadn’t seen them in years and were surprised I had found them. They gave them to me.

The milk cans and the hookah will migrate with me to Bangalore, the furthest they have ever been from home. Much like my grandfather, my father and now me. I hope I take care of them. I hope they travel through me to someone who cares.

My father was six years old when he left his village in the mountains of Uttarakhand for Delhi with his parents. There are no roads to Sunao gaon, and the map on Google takes you the wrong way. For someone who has travelled to the most obscure of places, I always felt guilty for never going to the place where my ancestors had lived. My dad, my mum, and I went for the first time in thirty years recently.

We crossed pine forests, my father and I trekking up the hill looking for his old school. We passed the crops that no longer grow, the houses that stand empty, and he told me about the friends and family who have all moved away. We have become a ghost village. We walked the same path he walked sixty years ago, looking for his school. It wasn’t there anymore.

Five families still live there, watched over by our family temple of Mathiyana Maa. A woman who threw herself onto her husband’s funeral pyre after he was murdered, and became a deity who both protects and takes revenge. My family has kept her temple for generations. The rituals involve sheep blood being drunk, the body later rolled down the mountain after being possessed by her.

I had always wanted to document the kitchen my great-great-grandmothers had lived in. Our house is easily two hundred and fifty years old. Rummaging through the kitchen attic, I found milk cans and a hookah that had belonged to the women who came generations before me. My uncles hadn’t seen them in years and were surprised I had found them. They gave them to me.

The milk cans and the hookah will migrate with me to Bangalore, the furthest they have ever been from home. Much like my grandfather, my father and now me. I hope I take care of them. I hope they travel through me to someone who cares.

My father was six years old when he left his village in the mountains of Uttarakhand for Delhi with his parents. There are no roads to Sunao gaon, and the map on Google takes you the wrong way. For someone who has travelled to the most obscure of places, I always felt guilty for never going to the place where my ancestors had lived. My dad, my mum, and I went for the first time in thirty years recently.

We crossed pine forests, my father and I trekking up the hill looking for his old school. We passed the crops that no longer grow, the houses that stand empty, and he told me about the friends and family who have all moved away. We have become a ghost village. We walked the same path he walked sixty years ago, looking for his school. It wasn’t there anymore.

Five families still live there, watched over by our family temple of Mathiyana Maa. A woman who threw herself onto her husband’s funeral pyre after he was murdered, and became a deity who both protects and takes revenge. My family has kept her temple for generations. The rituals involve sheep blood being drunk, the body later rolled down the mountain after being possessed by her.

I had always wanted to document the kitchen my great-great-grandmothers had lived in. Our house is easily two hundred and fifty years old. Rummaging through the kitchen attic, I found milk cans and a hookah that had belonged to the women who came generations before me. My uncles hadn’t seen them in years and were surprised I had found them. They gave them to me.

The milk cans and the hookah will migrate with me to Bangalore, the furthest they have ever been from home. Much like my grandfather, my father and now me. I hope I take care of them. I hope they travel through me to someone who cares.

My father was six years old when he left his village in the mountains of Uttarakhand for Delhi with his parents. There are no roads to Sunao gaon, and the map on Google takes you the wrong way. For someone who has travelled to the most obscure of places, I always felt guilty for never going to the place where my ancestors had lived. My dad, my mum, and I went for the first time in thirty years recently.

We crossed pine forests, my father and I trekking up the hill looking for his old school. We passed the crops that no longer grow, the houses that stand empty, and he told me about the friends and family who have all moved away. We have become a ghost village. We walked the same path he walked sixty years ago, looking for his school. It wasn’t there anymore.

Five families still live there, watched over by our family temple of Mathiyana Maa. A woman who threw herself onto her husband’s funeral pyre after he was murdered, and became a deity who both protects and takes revenge. My family has kept her temple for generations. The rituals involve sheep blood being drunk, the body later rolled down the mountain after being possessed by her.

I had always wanted to document the kitchen my great-great-grandmothers had lived in. Our house is easily two hundred and fifty years old. Rummaging through the kitchen attic, I found milk cans and a hookah that had belonged to the women who came generations before me. My uncles hadn’t seen them in years and were surprised I had found them. They gave them to me.

The milk cans and the hookah will migrate with me to Bangalore, the furthest they have ever been from home. Much like my grandfather, my father and now me. I hope I take care of them. I hope they travel through me to someone who cares.

My father was six years old when he left his village in the mountains of Uttarakhand for Delhi with his parents. There are no roads to Sunao gaon, and the map on Google takes you the wrong way. For someone who has travelled to the most obscure of places, I always felt guilty for never going to the place where my ancestors had lived. My dad, my mum, and I went for the first time in thirty years recently.

We crossed pine forests, my father and I trekking up the hill looking for his old school. We passed the crops that no longer grow, the houses that stand empty, and he told me about the friends and family who have all moved away. We have become a ghost village. We walked the same path he walked sixty years ago, looking for his school. It wasn’t there anymore.

Five families still live there, watched over by our family temple of Mathiyana Maa. A woman who threw herself onto her husband’s funeral pyre after he was murdered, and became a deity who both protects and takes revenge. My family has kept her temple for generations. The rituals involve sheep blood being drunk, the body later rolled down the mountain after being possessed by her.

I had always wanted to document the kitchen my great-great-grandmothers had lived in. Our house is easily two hundred and fifty years old. Rummaging through the kitchen attic, I found milk cans and a hookah that had belonged to the women who came generations before me. My uncles hadn’t seen them in years and were surprised I had found them. They gave them to me.

The milk cans and the hookah will migrate with me to Bangalore, the furthest they have ever been from home. Much like my grandfather, my father and now me. I hope I take care of them. I hope they travel through me to someone who cares.

My father was six years old when he left his village in the mountains of Uttarakhand for Delhi with his parents. There are no roads to Sunao gaon, and the map on Google takes you the wrong way. For someone who has travelled to the most obscure of places, I always felt guilty for never going to the place where my ancestors had lived. My dad, my mum, and I went for the first time in thirty years recently.

We crossed pine forests, my father and I trekking up the hill looking for his old school. We passed the crops that no longer grow, the houses that stand empty, and he told me about the friends and family who have all moved away. We have become a ghost village. We walked the same path he walked sixty years ago, looking for his school. It wasn’t there anymore.

Five families still live there, watched over by our family temple of Mathiyana Maa. A woman who threw herself onto her husband’s funeral pyre after he was murdered, and became a deity who both protects and takes revenge. My family has kept her temple for generations. The rituals involve sheep blood being drunk, the body later rolled down the mountain after being possessed by her.

I had always wanted to document the kitchen my great-great-grandmothers had lived in. Our house is easily two hundred and fifty years old. Rummaging through the kitchen attic, I found milk cans and a hookah that had belonged to the women who came generations before me. My uncles hadn’t seen them in years and were surprised I had found them. They gave them to me.

The milk cans and the hookah will migrate with me to Bangalore, the furthest they have ever been from home. Much like my grandfather, my father and now me. I hope I take care of them. I hope they travel through me to someone who cares.

My father was six years old when he left his village in the mountains of Uttarakhand for Delhi with his parents. There are no roads to Sunao gaon, and the map on Google takes you the wrong way. For someone who has travelled to the most obscure of places, I always felt guilty for never going to the place where my ancestors had lived. My dad, my mum, and I went for the first time in thirty years recently.

We crossed pine forests, my father and I trekking up the hill looking for his old school. We passed the crops that no longer grow, the houses that stand empty, and he told me about the friends and family who have all moved away. We have become a ghost village. We walked the same path he walked sixty years ago, looking for his school. It wasn’t there anymore.

Five families still live there, watched over by our family temple of Mathiyana Maa. A woman who threw herself onto her husband’s funeral pyre after he was murdered, and became a deity who both protects and takes revenge. My family has kept her temple for generations. The rituals involve sheep blood being drunk, the body later rolled down the mountain after being possessed by her.

I had always wanted to document the kitchen my great-great-grandmothers had lived in. Our house is easily two hundred and fifty years old. Rummaging through the kitchen attic, I found milk cans and a hookah that had belonged to the women who came generations before me. My uncles hadn’t seen them in years and were surprised I had found them. They gave them to me.

The milk cans and the hookah will migrate with me to Bangalore, the furthest they have ever been from home. Much like my grandfather, my father and now me. I hope I take care of them. I hope they travel through me to someone who cares.

My father was six years old when he left his village in the mountains of Uttarakhand for Delhi with his parents. There are no roads to Sunao gaon, and the map on Google takes you the wrong way. For someone who has travelled to the most obscure of places, I always felt guilty for never going to the place where my ancestors had lived. My dad, my mum, and I went for the first time in thirty years recently.

We crossed pine forests, my father and I trekking up the hill looking for his old school. We passed the crops that no longer grow, the houses that stand empty, and he told me about the friends and family who have all moved away. We have become a ghost village. We walked the same path he walked sixty years ago, looking for his school. It wasn’t there anymore.

Five families still live there, watched over by our family temple of Mathiyana Maa. A woman who threw herself onto her husband’s funeral pyre after he was murdered, and became a deity who both protects and takes revenge. My family has kept her temple for generations. The rituals involve sheep blood being drunk, the body later rolled down the mountain after being possessed by her.

I had always wanted to document the kitchen my great-great-grandmothers had lived in. Our house is easily two hundred and fifty years old. Rummaging through the kitchen attic, I found milk cans and a hookah that had belonged to the women who came generations before me. My uncles hadn’t seen them in years and were surprised I had found them. They gave them to me.

The milk cans and the hookah will migrate with me to Bangalore, the furthest they have ever been from home. Much like my grandfather, my father and now me. I hope I take care of them. I hope they travel through me to someone who cares.

My days in Urgam Valley always started and ended with a long walk. After two buses and a shared cab, I had accidentally stumbled upon a small piece of paradise with streams, mountains, dogs, and horses.

I came with the mission of having nothing to do in the middle of nowhere. Yet I found myself walking past wild vegetables growing in the forest, with a kitchen waiting for me to use it. @kalpvann was a very random Google find, like all my adventures. Everything badly planned, yet this turned out to be one of the nicest groups of people I’ve had the pleasure of spending time with.

@dhruv_panwar______ and I spent our entire time bonding over cooking. One of my favourite twenty-year-olds I’ve ever stumbled upon. The ten-year age gap feels like nothing when you share a love for food. And @soulchheck I never thought I’d find someone so passionate about music that they’d hauled an entire drum kit, guitars, and a saxophone into the middle of nowhere, just to lock in and practice. To do what you love with absolutely nobody listening but the trees and animals around you, to practice your craft so quietly, with so much devotion, that’s something I deeply aspire for

Truly one of my favorite walks.

My days in Urgam Valley always started and ended with a long walk. After two buses and a shared cab, I had accidentally stumbled upon a small piece of paradise with streams, mountains, dogs, and horses.

I came with the mission of having nothing to do in the middle of nowhere. Yet I found myself walking past wild vegetables growing in the forest, with a kitchen waiting for me to use it. @kalpvann was a very random Google find, like all my adventures. Everything badly planned, yet this turned out to be one of the nicest groups of people I’ve had the pleasure of spending time with.

@dhruv_panwar______ and I spent our entire time bonding over cooking. One of my favourite twenty-year-olds I’ve ever stumbled upon. The ten-year age gap feels like nothing when you share a love for food. And @soulchheck I never thought I’d find someone so passionate about music that they’d hauled an entire drum kit, guitars, and a saxophone into the middle of nowhere, just to lock in and practice. To do what you love with absolutely nobody listening but the trees and animals around you, to practice your craft so quietly, with so much devotion, that’s something I deeply aspire for

Truly one of my favorite walks.

My days in Urgam Valley always started and ended with a long walk. After two buses and a shared cab, I had accidentally stumbled upon a small piece of paradise with streams, mountains, dogs, and horses.

I came with the mission of having nothing to do in the middle of nowhere. Yet I found myself walking past wild vegetables growing in the forest, with a kitchen waiting for me to use it. @kalpvann was a very random Google find, like all my adventures. Everything badly planned, yet this turned out to be one of the nicest groups of people I’ve had the pleasure of spending time with.

@dhruv_panwar______ and I spent our entire time bonding over cooking. One of my favourite twenty-year-olds I’ve ever stumbled upon. The ten-year age gap feels like nothing when you share a love for food. And @soulchheck I never thought I’d find someone so passionate about music that they’d hauled an entire drum kit, guitars, and a saxophone into the middle of nowhere, just to lock in and practice. To do what you love with absolutely nobody listening but the trees and animals around you, to practice your craft so quietly, with so much devotion, that’s something I deeply aspire for

Truly one of my favorite walks.

My days in Urgam Valley always started and ended with a long walk. After two buses and a shared cab, I had accidentally stumbled upon a small piece of paradise with streams, mountains, dogs, and horses.

I came with the mission of having nothing to do in the middle of nowhere. Yet I found myself walking past wild vegetables growing in the forest, with a kitchen waiting for me to use it. @kalpvann was a very random Google find, like all my adventures. Everything badly planned, yet this turned out to be one of the nicest groups of people I’ve had the pleasure of spending time with.

@dhruv_panwar______ and I spent our entire time bonding over cooking. One of my favourite twenty-year-olds I’ve ever stumbled upon. The ten-year age gap feels like nothing when you share a love for food. And @soulchheck I never thought I’d find someone so passionate about music that they’d hauled an entire drum kit, guitars, and a saxophone into the middle of nowhere, just to lock in and practice. To do what you love with absolutely nobody listening but the trees and animals around you, to practice your craft so quietly, with so much devotion, that’s something I deeply aspire for

Truly one of my favorite walks.

My days in Urgam Valley always started and ended with a long walk. After two buses and a shared cab, I had accidentally stumbled upon a small piece of paradise with streams, mountains, dogs, and horses.

I came with the mission of having nothing to do in the middle of nowhere. Yet I found myself walking past wild vegetables growing in the forest, with a kitchen waiting for me to use it. @kalpvann was a very random Google find, like all my adventures. Everything badly planned, yet this turned out to be one of the nicest groups of people I’ve had the pleasure of spending time with.

@dhruv_panwar______ and I spent our entire time bonding over cooking. One of my favourite twenty-year-olds I’ve ever stumbled upon. The ten-year age gap feels like nothing when you share a love for food. And @soulchheck I never thought I’d find someone so passionate about music that they’d hauled an entire drum kit, guitars, and a saxophone into the middle of nowhere, just to lock in and practice. To do what you love with absolutely nobody listening but the trees and animals around you, to practice your craft so quietly, with so much devotion, that’s something I deeply aspire for

Truly one of my favorite walks.

My days in Urgam Valley always started and ended with a long walk. After two buses and a shared cab, I had accidentally stumbled upon a small piece of paradise with streams, mountains, dogs, and horses.

I came with the mission of having nothing to do in the middle of nowhere. Yet I found myself walking past wild vegetables growing in the forest, with a kitchen waiting for me to use it. @kalpvann was a very random Google find, like all my adventures. Everything badly planned, yet this turned out to be one of the nicest groups of people I’ve had the pleasure of spending time with.

@dhruv_panwar______ and I spent our entire time bonding over cooking. One of my favourite twenty-year-olds I’ve ever stumbled upon. The ten-year age gap feels like nothing when you share a love for food. And @soulchheck I never thought I’d find someone so passionate about music that they’d hauled an entire drum kit, guitars, and a saxophone into the middle of nowhere, just to lock in and practice. To do what you love with absolutely nobody listening but the trees and animals around you, to practice your craft so quietly, with so much devotion, that’s something I deeply aspire for

Truly one of my favorite walks.

My days in Urgam Valley always started and ended with a long walk. After two buses and a shared cab, I had accidentally stumbled upon a small piece of paradise with streams, mountains, dogs, and horses.

I came with the mission of having nothing to do in the middle of nowhere. Yet I found myself walking past wild vegetables growing in the forest, with a kitchen waiting for me to use it. @kalpvann was a very random Google find, like all my adventures. Everything badly planned, yet this turned out to be one of the nicest groups of people I’ve had the pleasure of spending time with.

@dhruv_panwar______ and I spent our entire time bonding over cooking. One of my favourite twenty-year-olds I’ve ever stumbled upon. The ten-year age gap feels like nothing when you share a love for food. And @soulchheck I never thought I’d find someone so passionate about music that they’d hauled an entire drum kit, guitars, and a saxophone into the middle of nowhere, just to lock in and practice. To do what you love with absolutely nobody listening but the trees and animals around you, to practice your craft so quietly, with so much devotion, that’s something I deeply aspire for

Truly one of my favorite walks.

My days in Urgam Valley always started and ended with a long walk. After two buses and a shared cab, I had accidentally stumbled upon a small piece of paradise with streams, mountains, dogs, and horses.

I came with the mission of having nothing to do in the middle of nowhere. Yet I found myself walking past wild vegetables growing in the forest, with a kitchen waiting for me to use it. @kalpvann was a very random Google find, like all my adventures. Everything badly planned, yet this turned out to be one of the nicest groups of people I’ve had the pleasure of spending time with.

@dhruv_panwar______ and I spent our entire time bonding over cooking. One of my favourite twenty-year-olds I’ve ever stumbled upon. The ten-year age gap feels like nothing when you share a love for food. And @soulchheck I never thought I’d find someone so passionate about music that they’d hauled an entire drum kit, guitars, and a saxophone into the middle of nowhere, just to lock in and practice. To do what you love with absolutely nobody listening but the trees and animals around you, to practice your craft so quietly, with so much devotion, that’s something I deeply aspire for

Truly one of my favorite walks.

My days in Urgam Valley always started and ended with a long walk. After two buses and a shared cab, I had accidentally stumbled upon a small piece of paradise with streams, mountains, dogs, and horses.

I came with the mission of having nothing to do in the middle of nowhere. Yet I found myself walking past wild vegetables growing in the forest, with a kitchen waiting for me to use it. @kalpvann was a very random Google find, like all my adventures. Everything badly planned, yet this turned out to be one of the nicest groups of people I’ve had the pleasure of spending time with.

@dhruv_panwar______ and I spent our entire time bonding over cooking. One of my favourite twenty-year-olds I’ve ever stumbled upon. The ten-year age gap feels like nothing when you share a love for food. And @soulchheck I never thought I’d find someone so passionate about music that they’d hauled an entire drum kit, guitars, and a saxophone into the middle of nowhere, just to lock in and practice. To do what you love with absolutely nobody listening but the trees and animals around you, to practice your craft so quietly, with so much devotion, that’s something I deeply aspire for

Truly one of my favorite walks.

My days in Urgam Valley always started and ended with a long walk. After two buses and a shared cab, I had accidentally stumbled upon a small piece of paradise with streams, mountains, dogs, and horses.

I came with the mission of having nothing to do in the middle of nowhere. Yet I found myself walking past wild vegetables growing in the forest, with a kitchen waiting for me to use it. @kalpvann was a very random Google find, like all my adventures. Everything badly planned, yet this turned out to be one of the nicest groups of people I’ve had the pleasure of spending time with.

@dhruv_panwar______ and I spent our entire time bonding over cooking. One of my favourite twenty-year-olds I’ve ever stumbled upon. The ten-year age gap feels like nothing when you share a love for food. And @soulchheck I never thought I’d find someone so passionate about music that they’d hauled an entire drum kit, guitars, and a saxophone into the middle of nowhere, just to lock in and practice. To do what you love with absolutely nobody listening but the trees and animals around you, to practice your craft so quietly, with so much devotion, that’s something I deeply aspire for

Truly one of my favorite walks.

My days in Urgam Valley always started and ended with a long walk. After two buses and a shared cab, I had accidentally stumbled upon a small piece of paradise with streams, mountains, dogs, and horses.

I came with the mission of having nothing to do in the middle of nowhere. Yet I found myself walking past wild vegetables growing in the forest, with a kitchen waiting for me to use it. @kalpvann was a very random Google find, like all my adventures. Everything badly planned, yet this turned out to be one of the nicest groups of people I’ve had the pleasure of spending time with.

@dhruv_panwar______ and I spent our entire time bonding over cooking. One of my favourite twenty-year-olds I’ve ever stumbled upon. The ten-year age gap feels like nothing when you share a love for food. And @soulchheck I never thought I’d find someone so passionate about music that they’d hauled an entire drum kit, guitars, and a saxophone into the middle of nowhere, just to lock in and practice. To do what you love with absolutely nobody listening but the trees and animals around you, to practice your craft so quietly, with so much devotion, that’s something I deeply aspire for

Truly one of my favorite walks.

My days in Urgam Valley always started and ended with a long walk. After two buses and a shared cab, I had accidentally stumbled upon a small piece of paradise with streams, mountains, dogs, and horses.

I came with the mission of having nothing to do in the middle of nowhere. Yet I found myself walking past wild vegetables growing in the forest, with a kitchen waiting for me to use it. @kalpvann was a very random Google find, like all my adventures. Everything badly planned, yet this turned out to be one of the nicest groups of people I’ve had the pleasure of spending time with.

@dhruv_panwar______ and I spent our entire time bonding over cooking. One of my favourite twenty-year-olds I’ve ever stumbled upon. The ten-year age gap feels like nothing when you share a love for food. And @soulchheck I never thought I’d find someone so passionate about music that they’d hauled an entire drum kit, guitars, and a saxophone into the middle of nowhere, just to lock in and practice. To do what you love with absolutely nobody listening but the trees and animals around you, to practice your craft so quietly, with so much devotion, that’s something I deeply aspire for

Truly one of my favorite walks.

My days in Urgam Valley always started and ended with a long walk. After two buses and a shared cab, I had accidentally stumbled upon a small piece of paradise with streams, mountains, dogs, and horses.

I came with the mission of having nothing to do in the middle of nowhere. Yet I found myself walking past wild vegetables growing in the forest, with a kitchen waiting for me to use it. @kalpvann was a very random Google find, like all my adventures. Everything badly planned, yet this turned out to be one of the nicest groups of people I’ve had the pleasure of spending time with.

@dhruv_panwar______ and I spent our entire time bonding over cooking. One of my favourite twenty-year-olds I’ve ever stumbled upon. The ten-year age gap feels like nothing when you share a love for food. And @soulchheck I never thought I’d find someone so passionate about music that they’d hauled an entire drum kit, guitars, and a saxophone into the middle of nowhere, just to lock in and practice. To do what you love with absolutely nobody listening but the trees and animals around you, to practice your craft so quietly, with so much devotion, that’s something I deeply aspire for

Truly one of my favorite walks.

Early in the cold morning in Srinagar, @taiyabaali , @aarogheeroast and I went on an adventure to look for a Kandur Waan. We were on the lookout for these neighbourhood shops that start as early as 4:30 am, to bake various breads that are so integral to Kashmir. We stumbled upon Ijaaz, the main head Kandur (baker), who very sweetly made us sit down on his cushion chairs and mat around the wood-fired clay tandoor and gave us salted tea and some bakarkhani that he had just finished baking, asking Taiyaba to brushed them with some ghee.

We sat there chatting with him as he told us about his shop and the workings of his days and how it is organised into what bread is made at what time, about his nephews Sheheb and Rameez who now work and learn under him, and the many customers who came and sat and gossiped about their day with him. Some joined in to see, curious about who these three peculiar girls were doing all the way from Bangalore, sitting for three hours,we had been asked at least 15 times where we were from and what we were doing- also where our husbands were lol. He made Chochwor, the last bread of the day, he reduced the flames of his tandoor and rolled it out into round doughs, cutting through them making them almost like a flower and adding sesame seeds on top. He asked me if I could make a reel for him from my camera,I sadly have not, and have taken some photos instead.

Naikoo brothers, Harwan road, Srinagar ♥️

Early in the cold morning in Srinagar, @taiyabaali , @aarogheeroast and I went on an adventure to look for a Kandur Waan. We were on the lookout for these neighbourhood shops that start as early as 4:30 am, to bake various breads that are so integral to Kashmir. We stumbled upon Ijaaz, the main head Kandur (baker), who very sweetly made us sit down on his cushion chairs and mat around the wood-fired clay tandoor and gave us salted tea and some bakarkhani that he had just finished baking, asking Taiyaba to brushed them with some ghee.

We sat there chatting with him as he told us about his shop and the workings of his days and how it is organised into what bread is made at what time, about his nephews Sheheb and Rameez who now work and learn under him, and the many customers who came and sat and gossiped about their day with him. Some joined in to see, curious about who these three peculiar girls were doing all the way from Bangalore, sitting for three hours,we had been asked at least 15 times where we were from and what we were doing- also where our husbands were lol. He made Chochwor, the last bread of the day, he reduced the flames of his tandoor and rolled it out into round doughs, cutting through them making them almost like a flower and adding sesame seeds on top. He asked me if I could make a reel for him from my camera,I sadly have not, and have taken some photos instead.

Naikoo brothers, Harwan road, Srinagar ♥️

Early in the cold morning in Srinagar, @taiyabaali , @aarogheeroast and I went on an adventure to look for a Kandur Waan. We were on the lookout for these neighbourhood shops that start as early as 4:30 am, to bake various breads that are so integral to Kashmir. We stumbled upon Ijaaz, the main head Kandur (baker), who very sweetly made us sit down on his cushion chairs and mat around the wood-fired clay tandoor and gave us salted tea and some bakarkhani that he had just finished baking, asking Taiyaba to brushed them with some ghee.

We sat there chatting with him as he told us about his shop and the workings of his days and how it is organised into what bread is made at what time, about his nephews Sheheb and Rameez who now work and learn under him, and the many customers who came and sat and gossiped about their day with him. Some joined in to see, curious about who these three peculiar girls were doing all the way from Bangalore, sitting for three hours,we had been asked at least 15 times where we were from and what we were doing- also where our husbands were lol. He made Chochwor, the last bread of the day, he reduced the flames of his tandoor and rolled it out into round doughs, cutting through them making them almost like a flower and adding sesame seeds on top. He asked me if I could make a reel for him from my camera,I sadly have not, and have taken some photos instead.

Naikoo brothers, Harwan road, Srinagar ♥️

Early in the cold morning in Srinagar, @taiyabaali , @aarogheeroast and I went on an adventure to look for a Kandur Waan. We were on the lookout for these neighbourhood shops that start as early as 4:30 am, to bake various breads that are so integral to Kashmir. We stumbled upon Ijaaz, the main head Kandur (baker), who very sweetly made us sit down on his cushion chairs and mat around the wood-fired clay tandoor and gave us salted tea and some bakarkhani that he had just finished baking, asking Taiyaba to brushed them with some ghee.

We sat there chatting with him as he told us about his shop and the workings of his days and how it is organised into what bread is made at what time, about his nephews Sheheb and Rameez who now work and learn under him, and the many customers who came and sat and gossiped about their day with him. Some joined in to see, curious about who these three peculiar girls were doing all the way from Bangalore, sitting for three hours,we had been asked at least 15 times where we were from and what we were doing- also where our husbands were lol. He made Chochwor, the last bread of the day, he reduced the flames of his tandoor and rolled it out into round doughs, cutting through them making them almost like a flower and adding sesame seeds on top. He asked me if I could make a reel for him from my camera,I sadly have not, and have taken some photos instead.

Naikoo brothers, Harwan road, Srinagar ♥️

Early in the cold morning in Srinagar, @taiyabaali , @aarogheeroast and I went on an adventure to look for a Kandur Waan. We were on the lookout for these neighbourhood shops that start as early as 4:30 am, to bake various breads that are so integral to Kashmir. We stumbled upon Ijaaz, the main head Kandur (baker), who very sweetly made us sit down on his cushion chairs and mat around the wood-fired clay tandoor and gave us salted tea and some bakarkhani that he had just finished baking, asking Taiyaba to brushed them with some ghee.

We sat there chatting with him as he told us about his shop and the workings of his days and how it is organised into what bread is made at what time, about his nephews Sheheb and Rameez who now work and learn under him, and the many customers who came and sat and gossiped about their day with him. Some joined in to see, curious about who these three peculiar girls were doing all the way from Bangalore, sitting for three hours,we had been asked at least 15 times where we were from and what we were doing- also where our husbands were lol. He made Chochwor, the last bread of the day, he reduced the flames of his tandoor and rolled it out into round doughs, cutting through them making them almost like a flower and adding sesame seeds on top. He asked me if I could make a reel for him from my camera,I sadly have not, and have taken some photos instead.

Naikoo brothers, Harwan road, Srinagar ♥️

Early in the cold morning in Srinagar, @taiyabaali , @aarogheeroast and I went on an adventure to look for a Kandur Waan. We were on the lookout for these neighbourhood shops that start as early as 4:30 am, to bake various breads that are so integral to Kashmir. We stumbled upon Ijaaz, the main head Kandur (baker), who very sweetly made us sit down on his cushion chairs and mat around the wood-fired clay tandoor and gave us salted tea and some bakarkhani that he had just finished baking, asking Taiyaba to brushed them with some ghee.

We sat there chatting with him as he told us about his shop and the workings of his days and how it is organised into what bread is made at what time, about his nephews Sheheb and Rameez who now work and learn under him, and the many customers who came and sat and gossiped about their day with him. Some joined in to see, curious about who these three peculiar girls were doing all the way from Bangalore, sitting for three hours,we had been asked at least 15 times where we were from and what we were doing- also where our husbands were lol. He made Chochwor, the last bread of the day, he reduced the flames of his tandoor and rolled it out into round doughs, cutting through them making them almost like a flower and adding sesame seeds on top. He asked me if I could make a reel for him from my camera,I sadly have not, and have taken some photos instead.

Naikoo brothers, Harwan road, Srinagar ♥️

Early in the cold morning in Srinagar, @taiyabaali , @aarogheeroast and I went on an adventure to look for a Kandur Waan. We were on the lookout for these neighbourhood shops that start as early as 4:30 am, to bake various breads that are so integral to Kashmir. We stumbled upon Ijaaz, the main head Kandur (baker), who very sweetly made us sit down on his cushion chairs and mat around the wood-fired clay tandoor and gave us salted tea and some bakarkhani that he had just finished baking, asking Taiyaba to brushed them with some ghee.

We sat there chatting with him as he told us about his shop and the workings of his days and how it is organised into what bread is made at what time, about his nephews Sheheb and Rameez who now work and learn under him, and the many customers who came and sat and gossiped about their day with him. Some joined in to see, curious about who these three peculiar girls were doing all the way from Bangalore, sitting for three hours,we had been asked at least 15 times where we were from and what we were doing- also where our husbands were lol. He made Chochwor, the last bread of the day, he reduced the flames of his tandoor and rolled it out into round doughs, cutting through them making them almost like a flower and adding sesame seeds on top. He asked me if I could make a reel for him from my camera,I sadly have not, and have taken some photos instead.

Naikoo brothers, Harwan road, Srinagar ♥️

Early in the cold morning in Srinagar, @taiyabaali , @aarogheeroast and I went on an adventure to look for a Kandur Waan. We were on the lookout for these neighbourhood shops that start as early as 4:30 am, to bake various breads that are so integral to Kashmir. We stumbled upon Ijaaz, the main head Kandur (baker), who very sweetly made us sit down on his cushion chairs and mat around the wood-fired clay tandoor and gave us salted tea and some bakarkhani that he had just finished baking, asking Taiyaba to brushed them with some ghee.

We sat there chatting with him as he told us about his shop and the workings of his days and how it is organised into what bread is made at what time, about his nephews Sheheb and Rameez who now work and learn under him, and the many customers who came and sat and gossiped about their day with him. Some joined in to see, curious about who these three peculiar girls were doing all the way from Bangalore, sitting for three hours,we had been asked at least 15 times where we were from and what we were doing- also where our husbands were lol. He made Chochwor, the last bread of the day, he reduced the flames of his tandoor and rolled it out into round doughs, cutting through them making them almost like a flower and adding sesame seeds on top. He asked me if I could make a reel for him from my camera,I sadly have not, and have taken some photos instead.

Naikoo brothers, Harwan road, Srinagar ♥️

Early in the cold morning in Srinagar, @taiyabaali , @aarogheeroast and I went on an adventure to look for a Kandur Waan. We were on the lookout for these neighbourhood shops that start as early as 4:30 am, to bake various breads that are so integral to Kashmir. We stumbled upon Ijaaz, the main head Kandur (baker), who very sweetly made us sit down on his cushion chairs and mat around the wood-fired clay tandoor and gave us salted tea and some bakarkhani that he had just finished baking, asking Taiyaba to brushed them with some ghee.

We sat there chatting with him as he told us about his shop and the workings of his days and how it is organised into what bread is made at what time, about his nephews Sheheb and Rameez who now work and learn under him, and the many customers who came and sat and gossiped about their day with him. Some joined in to see, curious about who these three peculiar girls were doing all the way from Bangalore, sitting for three hours,we had been asked at least 15 times where we were from and what we were doing- also where our husbands were lol. He made Chochwor, the last bread of the day, he reduced the flames of his tandoor and rolled it out into round doughs, cutting through them making them almost like a flower and adding sesame seeds on top. He asked me if I could make a reel for him from my camera,I sadly have not, and have taken some photos instead.

Naikoo brothers, Harwan road, Srinagar ♥️

Early in the cold morning in Srinagar, @taiyabaali , @aarogheeroast and I went on an adventure to look for a Kandur Waan. We were on the lookout for these neighbourhood shops that start as early as 4:30 am, to bake various breads that are so integral to Kashmir. We stumbled upon Ijaaz, the main head Kandur (baker), who very sweetly made us sit down on his cushion chairs and mat around the wood-fired clay tandoor and gave us salted tea and some bakarkhani that he had just finished baking, asking Taiyaba to brushed them with some ghee.

We sat there chatting with him as he told us about his shop and the workings of his days and how it is organised into what bread is made at what time, about his nephews Sheheb and Rameez who now work and learn under him, and the many customers who came and sat and gossiped about their day with him. Some joined in to see, curious about who these three peculiar girls were doing all the way from Bangalore, sitting for three hours,we had been asked at least 15 times where we were from and what we were doing- also where our husbands were lol. He made Chochwor, the last bread of the day, he reduced the flames of his tandoor and rolled it out into round doughs, cutting through them making them almost like a flower and adding sesame seeds on top. He asked me if I could make a reel for him from my camera,I sadly have not, and have taken some photos instead.

Naikoo brothers, Harwan road, Srinagar ♥️

Early in the cold morning in Srinagar, @taiyabaali , @aarogheeroast and I went on an adventure to look for a Kandur Waan. We were on the lookout for these neighbourhood shops that start as early as 4:30 am, to bake various breads that are so integral to Kashmir. We stumbled upon Ijaaz, the main head Kandur (baker), who very sweetly made us sit down on his cushion chairs and mat around the wood-fired clay tandoor and gave us salted tea and some bakarkhani that he had just finished baking, asking Taiyaba to brushed them with some ghee.

We sat there chatting with him as he told us about his shop and the workings of his days and how it is organised into what bread is made at what time, about his nephews Sheheb and Rameez who now work and learn under him, and the many customers who came and sat and gossiped about their day with him. Some joined in to see, curious about who these three peculiar girls were doing all the way from Bangalore, sitting for three hours,we had been asked at least 15 times where we were from and what we were doing- also where our husbands were lol. He made Chochwor, the last bread of the day, he reduced the flames of his tandoor and rolled it out into round doughs, cutting through them making them almost like a flower and adding sesame seeds on top. He asked me if I could make a reel for him from my camera,I sadly have not, and have taken some photos instead.

Naikoo brothers, Harwan road, Srinagar ♥️

Early in the cold morning in Srinagar, @taiyabaali , @aarogheeroast and I went on an adventure to look for a Kandur Waan. We were on the lookout for these neighbourhood shops that start as early as 4:30 am, to bake various breads that are so integral to Kashmir. We stumbled upon Ijaaz, the main head Kandur (baker), who very sweetly made us sit down on his cushion chairs and mat around the wood-fired clay tandoor and gave us salted tea and some bakarkhani that he had just finished baking, asking Taiyaba to brushed them with some ghee.

We sat there chatting with him as he told us about his shop and the workings of his days and how it is organised into what bread is made at what time, about his nephews Sheheb and Rameez who now work and learn under him, and the many customers who came and sat and gossiped about their day with him. Some joined in to see, curious about who these three peculiar girls were doing all the way from Bangalore, sitting for three hours,we had been asked at least 15 times where we were from and what we were doing- also where our husbands were lol. He made Chochwor, the last bread of the day, he reduced the flames of his tandoor and rolled it out into round doughs, cutting through them making them almost like a flower and adding sesame seeds on top. He asked me if I could make a reel for him from my camera,I sadly have not, and have taken some photos instead.

Naikoo brothers, Harwan road, Srinagar ♥️

Early in the cold morning in Srinagar, @taiyabaali , @aarogheeroast and I went on an adventure to look for a Kandur Waan. We were on the lookout for these neighbourhood shops that start as early as 4:30 am, to bake various breads that are so integral to Kashmir. We stumbled upon Ijaaz, the main head Kandur (baker), who very sweetly made us sit down on his cushion chairs and mat around the wood-fired clay tandoor and gave us salted tea and some bakarkhani that he had just finished baking, asking Taiyaba to brushed them with some ghee.

We sat there chatting with him as he told us about his shop and the workings of his days and how it is organised into what bread is made at what time, about his nephews Sheheb and Rameez who now work and learn under him, and the many customers who came and sat and gossiped about their day with him. Some joined in to see, curious about who these three peculiar girls were doing all the way from Bangalore, sitting for three hours,we had been asked at least 15 times where we were from and what we were doing- also where our husbands were lol. He made Chochwor, the last bread of the day, he reduced the flames of his tandoor and rolled it out into round doughs, cutting through them making them almost like a flower and adding sesame seeds on top. He asked me if I could make a reel for him from my camera,I sadly have not, and have taken some photos instead.

Naikoo brothers, Harwan road, Srinagar ♥️

I’ve always wanted to go to my dad’s ancestral village for as long as I can remember. For someone who has gone to the most remote parts of various parts of the world, I’ve never had the chance to go back to see where my dad grew up.

Last week, my cousin (whom I have never really met before) got married, and so I decided to hitch a ride with my parents to where my grandparents and their parents before them used to live, Sunao Gaon, a village that’s not even correctly placed on maps.

The village is almost a ghost village now, with only five families living there, yet everyone showed up for Ankita’s wedding. The women sat together and everyone got their sil battas to make urad dal pakodi, danced to Cream Powdera, some ancestors also showed up and took possession of relatives (not a Pahadi wedding without a spirit showing up), and the groom’s side trekked all the way down to our village all dressed up for the wedding. We all sat down on the soil and enjoyed meetha bhaat, arse, pakodi and welcome the grooms family with cigarettes and beedi’s.

I’ve always wanted to go to my dad’s ancestral village for as long as I can remember. For someone who has gone to the most remote parts of various parts of the world, I’ve never had the chance to go back to see where my dad grew up.

Last week, my cousin (whom I have never really met before) got married, and so I decided to hitch a ride with my parents to where my grandparents and their parents before them used to live, Sunao Gaon, a village that’s not even correctly placed on maps.

The village is almost a ghost village now, with only five families living there, yet everyone showed up for Ankita’s wedding. The women sat together and everyone got their sil battas to make urad dal pakodi, danced to Cream Powdera, some ancestors also showed up and took possession of relatives (not a Pahadi wedding without a spirit showing up), and the groom’s side trekked all the way down to our village all dressed up for the wedding. We all sat down on the soil and enjoyed meetha bhaat, arse, pakodi and welcome the grooms family with cigarettes and beedi’s.

I’ve always wanted to go to my dad’s ancestral village for as long as I can remember. For someone who has gone to the most remote parts of various parts of the world, I’ve never had the chance to go back to see where my dad grew up.

Last week, my cousin (whom I have never really met before) got married, and so I decided to hitch a ride with my parents to where my grandparents and their parents before them used to live, Sunao Gaon, a village that’s not even correctly placed on maps.

The village is almost a ghost village now, with only five families living there, yet everyone showed up for Ankita’s wedding. The women sat together and everyone got their sil battas to make urad dal pakodi, danced to Cream Powdera, some ancestors also showed up and took possession of relatives (not a Pahadi wedding without a spirit showing up), and the groom’s side trekked all the way down to our village all dressed up for the wedding. We all sat down on the soil and enjoyed meetha bhaat, arse, pakodi and welcome the grooms family with cigarettes and beedi’s.

I’ve always wanted to go to my dad’s ancestral village for as long as I can remember. For someone who has gone to the most remote parts of various parts of the world, I’ve never had the chance to go back to see where my dad grew up.

Last week, my cousin (whom I have never really met before) got married, and so I decided to hitch a ride with my parents to where my grandparents and their parents before them used to live, Sunao Gaon, a village that’s not even correctly placed on maps.

The village is almost a ghost village now, with only five families living there, yet everyone showed up for Ankita’s wedding. The women sat together and everyone got their sil battas to make urad dal pakodi, danced to Cream Powdera, some ancestors also showed up and took possession of relatives (not a Pahadi wedding without a spirit showing up), and the groom’s side trekked all the way down to our village all dressed up for the wedding. We all sat down on the soil and enjoyed meetha bhaat, arse, pakodi and welcome the grooms family with cigarettes and beedi’s.

I’ve always wanted to go to my dad’s ancestral village for as long as I can remember. For someone who has gone to the most remote parts of various parts of the world, I’ve never had the chance to go back to see where my dad grew up.

Last week, my cousin (whom I have never really met before) got married, and so I decided to hitch a ride with my parents to where my grandparents and their parents before them used to live, Sunao Gaon, a village that’s not even correctly placed on maps.

The village is almost a ghost village now, with only five families living there, yet everyone showed up for Ankita’s wedding. The women sat together and everyone got their sil battas to make urad dal pakodi, danced to Cream Powdera, some ancestors also showed up and took possession of relatives (not a Pahadi wedding without a spirit showing up), and the groom’s side trekked all the way down to our village all dressed up for the wedding. We all sat down on the soil and enjoyed meetha bhaat, arse, pakodi and welcome the grooms family with cigarettes and beedi’s.

I’ve always wanted to go to my dad’s ancestral village for as long as I can remember. For someone who has gone to the most remote parts of various parts of the world, I’ve never had the chance to go back to see where my dad grew up.

Last week, my cousin (whom I have never really met before) got married, and so I decided to hitch a ride with my parents to where my grandparents and their parents before them used to live, Sunao Gaon, a village that’s not even correctly placed on maps.

The village is almost a ghost village now, with only five families living there, yet everyone showed up for Ankita’s wedding. The women sat together and everyone got their sil battas to make urad dal pakodi, danced to Cream Powdera, some ancestors also showed up and took possession of relatives (not a Pahadi wedding without a spirit showing up), and the groom’s side trekked all the way down to our village all dressed up for the wedding. We all sat down on the soil and enjoyed meetha bhaat, arse, pakodi and welcome the grooms family with cigarettes and beedi’s.

I’ve always wanted to go to my dad’s ancestral village for as long as I can remember. For someone who has gone to the most remote parts of various parts of the world, I’ve never had the chance to go back to see where my dad grew up.

Last week, my cousin (whom I have never really met before) got married, and so I decided to hitch a ride with my parents to where my grandparents and their parents before them used to live, Sunao Gaon, a village that’s not even correctly placed on maps.

The village is almost a ghost village now, with only five families living there, yet everyone showed up for Ankita’s wedding. The women sat together and everyone got their sil battas to make urad dal pakodi, danced to Cream Powdera, some ancestors also showed up and took possession of relatives (not a Pahadi wedding without a spirit showing up), and the groom’s side trekked all the way down to our village all dressed up for the wedding. We all sat down on the soil and enjoyed meetha bhaat, arse, pakodi and welcome the grooms family with cigarettes and beedi’s.

I’ve always wanted to go to my dad’s ancestral village for as long as I can remember. For someone who has gone to the most remote parts of various parts of the world, I’ve never had the chance to go back to see where my dad grew up.

Last week, my cousin (whom I have never really met before) got married, and so I decided to hitch a ride with my parents to where my grandparents and their parents before them used to live, Sunao Gaon, a village that’s not even correctly placed on maps.

The village is almost a ghost village now, with only five families living there, yet everyone showed up for Ankita’s wedding. The women sat together and everyone got their sil battas to make urad dal pakodi, danced to Cream Powdera, some ancestors also showed up and took possession of relatives (not a Pahadi wedding without a spirit showing up), and the groom’s side trekked all the way down to our village all dressed up for the wedding. We all sat down on the soil and enjoyed meetha bhaat, arse, pakodi and welcome the grooms family with cigarettes and beedi’s.

I’ve always wanted to go to my dad’s ancestral village for as long as I can remember. For someone who has gone to the most remote parts of various parts of the world, I’ve never had the chance to go back to see where my dad grew up.

Last week, my cousin (whom I have never really met before) got married, and so I decided to hitch a ride with my parents to where my grandparents and their parents before them used to live, Sunao Gaon, a village that’s not even correctly placed on maps.

The village is almost a ghost village now, with only five families living there, yet everyone showed up for Ankita’s wedding. The women sat together and everyone got their sil battas to make urad dal pakodi, danced to Cream Powdera, some ancestors also showed up and took possession of relatives (not a Pahadi wedding without a spirit showing up), and the groom’s side trekked all the way down to our village all dressed up for the wedding. We all sat down on the soil and enjoyed meetha bhaat, arse, pakodi and welcome the grooms family with cigarettes and beedi’s.

I’ve always wanted to go to my dad’s ancestral village for as long as I can remember. For someone who has gone to the most remote parts of various parts of the world, I’ve never had the chance to go back to see where my dad grew up.

Last week, my cousin (whom I have never really met before) got married, and so I decided to hitch a ride with my parents to where my grandparents and their parents before them used to live, Sunao Gaon, a village that’s not even correctly placed on maps.

The village is almost a ghost village now, with only five families living there, yet everyone showed up for Ankita’s wedding. The women sat together and everyone got their sil battas to make urad dal pakodi, danced to Cream Powdera, some ancestors also showed up and took possession of relatives (not a Pahadi wedding without a spirit showing up), and the groom’s side trekked all the way down to our village all dressed up for the wedding. We all sat down on the soil and enjoyed meetha bhaat, arse, pakodi and welcome the grooms family with cigarettes and beedi’s.

I’ve always wanted to go to my dad’s ancestral village for as long as I can remember. For someone who has gone to the most remote parts of various parts of the world, I’ve never had the chance to go back to see where my dad grew up.

Last week, my cousin (whom I have never really met before) got married, and so I decided to hitch a ride with my parents to where my grandparents and their parents before them used to live, Sunao Gaon, a village that’s not even correctly placed on maps.

The village is almost a ghost village now, with only five families living there, yet everyone showed up for Ankita’s wedding. The women sat together and everyone got their sil battas to make urad dal pakodi, danced to Cream Powdera, some ancestors also showed up and took possession of relatives (not a Pahadi wedding without a spirit showing up), and the groom’s side trekked all the way down to our village all dressed up for the wedding. We all sat down on the soil and enjoyed meetha bhaat, arse, pakodi and welcome the grooms family with cigarettes and beedi’s.

I’ve always wanted to go to my dad’s ancestral village for as long as I can remember. For someone who has gone to the most remote parts of various parts of the world, I’ve never had the chance to go back to see where my dad grew up.

Last week, my cousin (whom I have never really met before) got married, and so I decided to hitch a ride with my parents to where my grandparents and their parents before them used to live, Sunao Gaon, a village that’s not even correctly placed on maps.

The village is almost a ghost village now, with only five families living there, yet everyone showed up for Ankita’s wedding. The women sat together and everyone got their sil battas to make urad dal pakodi, danced to Cream Powdera, some ancestors also showed up and took possession of relatives (not a Pahadi wedding without a spirit showing up), and the groom’s side trekked all the way down to our village all dressed up for the wedding. We all sat down on the soil and enjoyed meetha bhaat, arse, pakodi and welcome the grooms family with cigarettes and beedi’s.

I’ve always wanted to go to my dad’s ancestral village for as long as I can remember. For someone who has gone to the most remote parts of various parts of the world, I’ve never had the chance to go back to see where my dad grew up.

Last week, my cousin (whom I have never really met before) got married, and so I decided to hitch a ride with my parents to where my grandparents and their parents before them used to live, Sunao Gaon, a village that’s not even correctly placed on maps.

The village is almost a ghost village now, with only five families living there, yet everyone showed up for Ankita’s wedding. The women sat together and everyone got their sil battas to make urad dal pakodi, danced to Cream Powdera, some ancestors also showed up and took possession of relatives (not a Pahadi wedding without a spirit showing up), and the groom’s side trekked all the way down to our village all dressed up for the wedding. We all sat down on the soil and enjoyed meetha bhaat, arse, pakodi and welcome the grooms family with cigarettes and beedi’s.

I’ve always wanted to go to my dad’s ancestral village for as long as I can remember. For someone who has gone to the most remote parts of various parts of the world, I’ve never had the chance to go back to see where my dad grew up.

Last week, my cousin (whom I have never really met before) got married, and so I decided to hitch a ride with my parents to where my grandparents and their parents before them used to live, Sunao Gaon, a village that’s not even correctly placed on maps.

The village is almost a ghost village now, with only five families living there, yet everyone showed up for Ankita’s wedding. The women sat together and everyone got their sil battas to make urad dal pakodi, danced to Cream Powdera, some ancestors also showed up and took possession of relatives (not a Pahadi wedding without a spirit showing up), and the groom’s side trekked all the way down to our village all dressed up for the wedding. We all sat down on the soil and enjoyed meetha bhaat, arse, pakodi and welcome the grooms family with cigarettes and beedi’s.

I’ve always wanted to go to my dad’s ancestral village for as long as I can remember. For someone who has gone to the most remote parts of various parts of the world, I’ve never had the chance to go back to see where my dad grew up.

Last week, my cousin (whom I have never really met before) got married, and so I decided to hitch a ride with my parents to where my grandparents and their parents before them used to live, Sunao Gaon, a village that’s not even correctly placed on maps.

The village is almost a ghost village now, with only five families living there, yet everyone showed up for Ankita’s wedding. The women sat together and everyone got their sil battas to make urad dal pakodi, danced to Cream Powdera, some ancestors also showed up and took possession of relatives (not a Pahadi wedding without a spirit showing up), and the groom’s side trekked all the way down to our village all dressed up for the wedding. We all sat down on the soil and enjoyed meetha bhaat, arse, pakodi and welcome the grooms family with cigarettes and beedi’s.

I’ve always wanted to go to my dad’s ancestral village for as long as I can remember. For someone who has gone to the most remote parts of various parts of the world, I’ve never had the chance to go back to see where my dad grew up.

Last week, my cousin (whom I have never really met before) got married, and so I decided to hitch a ride with my parents to where my grandparents and their parents before them used to live, Sunao Gaon, a village that’s not even correctly placed on maps.

The village is almost a ghost village now, with only five families living there, yet everyone showed up for Ankita’s wedding. The women sat together and everyone got their sil battas to make urad dal pakodi, danced to Cream Powdera, some ancestors also showed up and took possession of relatives (not a Pahadi wedding without a spirit showing up), and the groom’s side trekked all the way down to our village all dressed up for the wedding. We all sat down on the soil and enjoyed meetha bhaat, arse, pakodi and welcome the grooms family with cigarettes and beedi’s.

I’ve always wanted to go to my dad’s ancestral village for as long as I can remember. For someone who has gone to the most remote parts of various parts of the world, I’ve never had the chance to go back to see where my dad grew up.

Last week, my cousin (whom I have never really met before) got married, and so I decided to hitch a ride with my parents to where my grandparents and their parents before them used to live, Sunao Gaon, a village that’s not even correctly placed on maps.

The village is almost a ghost village now, with only five families living there, yet everyone showed up for Ankita’s wedding. The women sat together and everyone got their sil battas to make urad dal pakodi, danced to Cream Powdera, some ancestors also showed up and took possession of relatives (not a Pahadi wedding without a spirit showing up), and the groom’s side trekked all the way down to our village all dressed up for the wedding. We all sat down on the soil and enjoyed meetha bhaat, arse, pakodi and welcome the grooms family with cigarettes and beedi’s.

I’ve always wanted to go to my dad’s ancestral village for as long as I can remember. For someone who has gone to the most remote parts of various parts of the world, I’ve never had the chance to go back to see where my dad grew up.

Last week, my cousin (whom I have never really met before) got married, and so I decided to hitch a ride with my parents to where my grandparents and their parents before them used to live, Sunao Gaon, a village that’s not even correctly placed on maps.

The village is almost a ghost village now, with only five families living there, yet everyone showed up for Ankita’s wedding. The women sat together and everyone got their sil battas to make urad dal pakodi, danced to Cream Powdera, some ancestors also showed up and took possession of relatives (not a Pahadi wedding without a spirit showing up), and the groom’s side trekked all the way down to our village all dressed up for the wedding. We all sat down on the soil and enjoyed meetha bhaat, arse, pakodi and welcome the grooms family with cigarettes and beedi’s.

I’ve always wanted to go to my dad’s ancestral village for as long as I can remember. For someone who has gone to the most remote parts of various parts of the world, I’ve never had the chance to go back to see where my dad grew up.

Last week, my cousin (whom I have never really met before) got married, and so I decided to hitch a ride with my parents to where my grandparents and their parents before them used to live, Sunao Gaon, a village that’s not even correctly placed on maps.

The village is almost a ghost village now, with only five families living there, yet everyone showed up for Ankita’s wedding. The women sat together and everyone got their sil battas to make urad dal pakodi, danced to Cream Powdera, some ancestors also showed up and took possession of relatives (not a Pahadi wedding without a spirit showing up), and the groom’s side trekked all the way down to our village all dressed up for the wedding. We all sat down on the soil and enjoyed meetha bhaat, arse, pakodi and welcome the grooms family with cigarettes and beedi’s.

I’ve always wanted to go to my dad’s ancestral village for as long as I can remember. For someone who has gone to the most remote parts of various parts of the world, I’ve never had the chance to go back to see where my dad grew up.

Last week, my cousin (whom I have never really met before) got married, and so I decided to hitch a ride with my parents to where my grandparents and their parents before them used to live, Sunao Gaon, a village that’s not even correctly placed on maps.

The village is almost a ghost village now, with only five families living there, yet everyone showed up for Ankita’s wedding. The women sat together and everyone got their sil battas to make urad dal pakodi, danced to Cream Powdera, some ancestors also showed up and took possession of relatives (not a Pahadi wedding without a spirit showing up), and the groom’s side trekked all the way down to our village all dressed up for the wedding. We all sat down on the soil and enjoyed meetha bhaat, arse, pakodi and welcome the grooms family with cigarettes and beedi’s.

Me? a hoarder??????

~ from my suitcase
November 2025, China

Cooking for friends - Episode 1:

What do you do when you miss your friend? Send a meme? Sanskriti is taking it a notch higher and... cooking for them!

Tag along as @squibsters serves up stories, spice, and a whole lot of nostalgia. Today’s tiffin is for Shriya. From sharing late-night pizzas to sharing life’s biggest updates, this one’s a little tribute to their core memories.

[Cooking for friends, College friends, Pizza, Bread Pizza, Oregano, Chilli Flakes, Oregano Pizza Seasoning, SNAPIN Spices]

Love, food and friends- March 2026 edition, (but mostly just a documentation of how I’m in the process of becoming an Asian mom) I am unstoppable.

Love, food and friends- March 2026 edition, (but mostly just a documentation of how I’m in the process of becoming an Asian mom) I am unstoppable.

Love, food and friends- March 2026 edition, (but mostly just a documentation of how I’m in the process of becoming an Asian mom) I am unstoppable.

Love, food and friends- March 2026 edition, (but mostly just a documentation of how I’m in the process of becoming an Asian mom) I am unstoppable.

Love, food and friends- March 2026 edition, (but mostly just a documentation of how I’m in the process of becoming an Asian mom) I am unstoppable.

Love, food and friends- March 2026 edition, (but mostly just a documentation of how I’m in the process of becoming an Asian mom) I am unstoppable.

Love, food and friends- March 2026 edition, (but mostly just a documentation of how I’m in the process of becoming an Asian mom) I am unstoppable.

Love, food and friends- March 2026 edition, (but mostly just a documentation of how I’m in the process of becoming an Asian mom) I am unstoppable.

Love, food and friends- March 2026 edition, (but mostly just a documentation of how I’m in the process of becoming an Asian mom) I am unstoppable.

Love, food and friends- March 2026 edition, (but mostly just a documentation of how I’m in the process of becoming an Asian mom) I am unstoppable.

Love, food and friends- March 2026 edition, (but mostly just a documentation of how I’m in the process of becoming an Asian mom) I am unstoppable.

Love, food and friends- March 2026 edition, (but mostly just a documentation of how I’m in the process of becoming an Asian mom) I am unstoppable.

Love, food and friends- March 2026 edition, (but mostly just a documentation of how I’m in the process of becoming an Asian mom) I am unstoppable.

Love, food and friends- March 2026 edition, (but mostly just a documentation of how I’m in the process of becoming an Asian mom) I am unstoppable.

Love, food and friends- March 2026 edition, (but mostly just a documentation of how I’m in the process of becoming an Asian mom) I am unstoppable.

Love, food and friends- March 2026 edition, (but mostly just a documentation of how I’m in the process of becoming an Asian mom) I am unstoppable.

Love, food and friends- March 2026 edition, (but mostly just a documentation of how I’m in the process of becoming an Asian mom) I am unstoppable.

Love, food and friends- March 2026 edition, (but mostly just a documentation of how I’m in the process of becoming an Asian mom) I am unstoppable.

Love, food and friends- March 2026 edition, (but mostly just a documentation of how I’m in the process of becoming an Asian mom) I am unstoppable.

Love, food and friends- March 2026 edition, (but mostly just a documentation of how I’m in the process of becoming an Asian mom) I am unstoppable.

Chasing my noodle journey along the Silk Road, I landed in Dunhuang on the edge of the Gobi Desert. Apsaras floated across almost every other signboard around me a reminder that India had left its mark on this region centuries ago. But also my fav signboard in China by far, strange and fragrant crispy chicken and duck. (A small reminder to steal this name if ever open a shop)

That day I ate donkey meat hand-pulled noodles for the first time, saw dunes dotted with Bactrian camels, a sign that I needed to climb it. I met a lovely German family driving from Germany to Bangkok, and later wandered through the 4th century Mogao Caves.

There I saw caves filled with paintings and sculptures tiedto Buddhist monks, my fav woman in history and her sculpture- wu zeitan, and even names of a few Indians who had even crossed the Himalayas and deserts carrying religion, art and ideas along the Silk Road, leaving murals and sculptures behind for me to witness nearly seventeen centuries later.

Chasing my noodle journey along the Silk Road, I landed in Dunhuang on the edge of the Gobi Desert. Apsaras floated across almost every other signboard around me a reminder that India had left its mark on this region centuries ago. But also my fav signboard in China by far, strange and fragrant crispy chicken and duck. (A small reminder to steal this name if ever open a shop)

That day I ate donkey meat hand-pulled noodles for the first time, saw dunes dotted with Bactrian camels, a sign that I needed to climb it. I met a lovely German family driving from Germany to Bangkok, and later wandered through the 4th century Mogao Caves.

There I saw caves filled with paintings and sculptures tiedto Buddhist monks, my fav woman in history and her sculpture- wu zeitan, and even names of a few Indians who had even crossed the Himalayas and deserts carrying religion, art and ideas along the Silk Road, leaving murals and sculptures behind for me to witness nearly seventeen centuries later.

Chasing my noodle journey along the Silk Road, I landed in Dunhuang on the edge of the Gobi Desert. Apsaras floated across almost every other signboard around me a reminder that India had left its mark on this region centuries ago. But also my fav signboard in China by far, strange and fragrant crispy chicken and duck. (A small reminder to steal this name if ever open a shop)

That day I ate donkey meat hand-pulled noodles for the first time, saw dunes dotted with Bactrian camels, a sign that I needed to climb it. I met a lovely German family driving from Germany to Bangkok, and later wandered through the 4th century Mogao Caves.

There I saw caves filled with paintings and sculptures tiedto Buddhist monks, my fav woman in history and her sculpture- wu zeitan, and even names of a few Indians who had even crossed the Himalayas and deserts carrying religion, art and ideas along the Silk Road, leaving murals and sculptures behind for me to witness nearly seventeen centuries later.

Chasing my noodle journey along the Silk Road, I landed in Dunhuang on the edge of the Gobi Desert. Apsaras floated across almost every other signboard around me a reminder that India had left its mark on this region centuries ago. But also my fav signboard in China by far, strange and fragrant crispy chicken and duck. (A small reminder to steal this name if ever open a shop)

That day I ate donkey meat hand-pulled noodles for the first time, saw dunes dotted with Bactrian camels, a sign that I needed to climb it. I met a lovely German family driving from Germany to Bangkok, and later wandered through the 4th century Mogao Caves.

There I saw caves filled with paintings and sculptures tiedto Buddhist monks, my fav woman in history and her sculpture- wu zeitan, and even names of a few Indians who had even crossed the Himalayas and deserts carrying religion, art and ideas along the Silk Road, leaving murals and sculptures behind for me to witness nearly seventeen centuries later.

Chasing my noodle journey along the Silk Road, I landed in Dunhuang on the edge of the Gobi Desert. Apsaras floated across almost every other signboard around me a reminder that India had left its mark on this region centuries ago. But also my fav signboard in China by far, strange and fragrant crispy chicken and duck. (A small reminder to steal this name if ever open a shop)

That day I ate donkey meat hand-pulled noodles for the first time, saw dunes dotted with Bactrian camels, a sign that I needed to climb it. I met a lovely German family driving from Germany to Bangkok, and later wandered through the 4th century Mogao Caves.

There I saw caves filled with paintings and sculptures tiedto Buddhist monks, my fav woman in history and her sculpture- wu zeitan, and even names of a few Indians who had even crossed the Himalayas and deserts carrying religion, art and ideas along the Silk Road, leaving murals and sculptures behind for me to witness nearly seventeen centuries later.

Chasing my noodle journey along the Silk Road, I landed in Dunhuang on the edge of the Gobi Desert. Apsaras floated across almost every other signboard around me a reminder that India had left its mark on this region centuries ago. But also my fav signboard in China by far, strange and fragrant crispy chicken and duck. (A small reminder to steal this name if ever open a shop)

That day I ate donkey meat hand-pulled noodles for the first time, saw dunes dotted with Bactrian camels, a sign that I needed to climb it. I met a lovely German family driving from Germany to Bangkok, and later wandered through the 4th century Mogao Caves.

There I saw caves filled with paintings and sculptures tiedto Buddhist monks, my fav woman in history and her sculpture- wu zeitan, and even names of a few Indians who had even crossed the Himalayas and deserts carrying religion, art and ideas along the Silk Road, leaving murals and sculptures behind for me to witness nearly seventeen centuries later.

Chasing my noodle journey along the Silk Road, I landed in Dunhuang on the edge of the Gobi Desert. Apsaras floated across almost every other signboard around me a reminder that India had left its mark on this region centuries ago. But also my fav signboard in China by far, strange and fragrant crispy chicken and duck. (A small reminder to steal this name if ever open a shop)

That day I ate donkey meat hand-pulled noodles for the first time, saw dunes dotted with Bactrian camels, a sign that I needed to climb it. I met a lovely German family driving from Germany to Bangkok, and later wandered through the 4th century Mogao Caves.

There I saw caves filled with paintings and sculptures tiedto Buddhist monks, my fav woman in history and her sculpture- wu zeitan, and even names of a few Indians who had even crossed the Himalayas and deserts carrying religion, art and ideas along the Silk Road, leaving murals and sculptures behind for me to witness nearly seventeen centuries later.

Chasing my noodle journey along the Silk Road, I landed in Dunhuang on the edge of the Gobi Desert. Apsaras floated across almost every other signboard around me a reminder that India had left its mark on this region centuries ago. But also my fav signboard in China by far, strange and fragrant crispy chicken and duck. (A small reminder to steal this name if ever open a shop)

That day I ate donkey meat hand-pulled noodles for the first time, saw dunes dotted with Bactrian camels, a sign that I needed to climb it. I met a lovely German family driving from Germany to Bangkok, and later wandered through the 4th century Mogao Caves.

There I saw caves filled with paintings and sculptures tiedto Buddhist monks, my fav woman in history and her sculpture- wu zeitan, and even names of a few Indians who had even crossed the Himalayas and deserts carrying religion, art and ideas along the Silk Road, leaving murals and sculptures behind for me to witness nearly seventeen centuries later.

Chasing my noodle journey along the Silk Road, I landed in Dunhuang on the edge of the Gobi Desert. Apsaras floated across almost every other signboard around me a reminder that India had left its mark on this region centuries ago. But also my fav signboard in China by far, strange and fragrant crispy chicken and duck. (A small reminder to steal this name if ever open a shop)

That day I ate donkey meat hand-pulled noodles for the first time, saw dunes dotted with Bactrian camels, a sign that I needed to climb it. I met a lovely German family driving from Germany to Bangkok, and later wandered through the 4th century Mogao Caves.

There I saw caves filled with paintings and sculptures tiedto Buddhist monks, my fav woman in history and her sculpture- wu zeitan, and even names of a few Indians who had even crossed the Himalayas and deserts carrying religion, art and ideas along the Silk Road, leaving murals and sculptures behind for me to witness nearly seventeen centuries later.

Chasing my noodle journey along the Silk Road, I landed in Dunhuang on the edge of the Gobi Desert. Apsaras floated across almost every other signboard around me a reminder that India had left its mark on this region centuries ago. But also my fav signboard in China by far, strange and fragrant crispy chicken and duck. (A small reminder to steal this name if ever open a shop)

That day I ate donkey meat hand-pulled noodles for the first time, saw dunes dotted with Bactrian camels, a sign that I needed to climb it. I met a lovely German family driving from Germany to Bangkok, and later wandered through the 4th century Mogao Caves.

There I saw caves filled with paintings and sculptures tiedto Buddhist monks, my fav woman in history and her sculpture- wu zeitan, and even names of a few Indians who had even crossed the Himalayas and deserts carrying religion, art and ideas along the Silk Road, leaving murals and sculptures behind for me to witness nearly seventeen centuries later.

Chasing my noodle journey along the Silk Road, I landed in Dunhuang on the edge of the Gobi Desert. Apsaras floated across almost every other signboard around me a reminder that India had left its mark on this region centuries ago. But also my fav signboard in China by far, strange and fragrant crispy chicken and duck. (A small reminder to steal this name if ever open a shop)

That day I ate donkey meat hand-pulled noodles for the first time, saw dunes dotted with Bactrian camels, a sign that I needed to climb it. I met a lovely German family driving from Germany to Bangkok, and later wandered through the 4th century Mogao Caves.

There I saw caves filled with paintings and sculptures tiedto Buddhist monks, my fav woman in history and her sculpture- wu zeitan, and even names of a few Indians who had even crossed the Himalayas and deserts carrying religion, art and ideas along the Silk Road, leaving murals and sculptures behind for me to witness nearly seventeen centuries later.

Chasing my noodle journey along the Silk Road, I landed in Dunhuang on the edge of the Gobi Desert. Apsaras floated across almost every other signboard around me a reminder that India had left its mark on this region centuries ago. But also my fav signboard in China by far, strange and fragrant crispy chicken and duck. (A small reminder to steal this name if ever open a shop)

That day I ate donkey meat hand-pulled noodles for the first time, saw dunes dotted with Bactrian camels, a sign that I needed to climb it. I met a lovely German family driving from Germany to Bangkok, and later wandered through the 4th century Mogao Caves.

There I saw caves filled with paintings and sculptures tiedto Buddhist monks, my fav woman in history and her sculpture- wu zeitan, and even names of a few Indians who had even crossed the Himalayas and deserts carrying religion, art and ideas along the Silk Road, leaving murals and sculptures behind for me to witness nearly seventeen centuries later.

Chasing my noodle journey along the Silk Road, I landed in Dunhuang on the edge of the Gobi Desert. Apsaras floated across almost every other signboard around me a reminder that India had left its mark on this region centuries ago. But also my fav signboard in China by far, strange and fragrant crispy chicken and duck. (A small reminder to steal this name if ever open a shop)

That day I ate donkey meat hand-pulled noodles for the first time, saw dunes dotted with Bactrian camels, a sign that I needed to climb it. I met a lovely German family driving from Germany to Bangkok, and later wandered through the 4th century Mogao Caves.

There I saw caves filled with paintings and sculptures tiedto Buddhist monks, my fav woman in history and her sculpture- wu zeitan, and even names of a few Indians who had even crossed the Himalayas and deserts carrying religion, art and ideas along the Silk Road, leaving murals and sculptures behind for me to witness nearly seventeen centuries later.

Chasing my noodle journey along the Silk Road, I landed in Dunhuang on the edge of the Gobi Desert. Apsaras floated across almost every other signboard around me a reminder that India had left its mark on this region centuries ago. But also my fav signboard in China by far, strange and fragrant crispy chicken and duck. (A small reminder to steal this name if ever open a shop)

That day I ate donkey meat hand-pulled noodles for the first time, saw dunes dotted with Bactrian camels, a sign that I needed to climb it. I met a lovely German family driving from Germany to Bangkok, and later wandered through the 4th century Mogao Caves.

There I saw caves filled with paintings and sculptures tiedto Buddhist monks, my fav woman in history and her sculpture- wu zeitan, and even names of a few Indians who had even crossed the Himalayas and deserts carrying religion, art and ideas along the Silk Road, leaving murals and sculptures behind for me to witness nearly seventeen centuries later.

Chasing my noodle journey along the Silk Road, I landed in Dunhuang on the edge of the Gobi Desert. Apsaras floated across almost every other signboard around me a reminder that India had left its mark on this region centuries ago. But also my fav signboard in China by far, strange and fragrant crispy chicken and duck. (A small reminder to steal this name if ever open a shop)

That day I ate donkey meat hand-pulled noodles for the first time, saw dunes dotted with Bactrian camels, a sign that I needed to climb it. I met a lovely German family driving from Germany to Bangkok, and later wandered through the 4th century Mogao Caves.

There I saw caves filled with paintings and sculptures tiedto Buddhist monks, my fav woman in history and her sculpture- wu zeitan, and even names of a few Indians who had even crossed the Himalayas and deserts carrying religion, art and ideas along the Silk Road, leaving murals and sculptures behind for me to witness nearly seventeen centuries later.

Chasing my noodle journey along the Silk Road, I landed in Dunhuang on the edge of the Gobi Desert. Apsaras floated across almost every other signboard around me a reminder that India had left its mark on this region centuries ago. But also my fav signboard in China by far, strange and fragrant crispy chicken and duck. (A small reminder to steal this name if ever open a shop)

That day I ate donkey meat hand-pulled noodles for the first time, saw dunes dotted with Bactrian camels, a sign that I needed to climb it. I met a lovely German family driving from Germany to Bangkok, and later wandered through the 4th century Mogao Caves.

There I saw caves filled with paintings and sculptures tiedto Buddhist monks, my fav woman in history and her sculpture- wu zeitan, and even names of a few Indians who had even crossed the Himalayas and deserts carrying religion, art and ideas along the Silk Road, leaving murals and sculptures behind for me to witness nearly seventeen centuries later.

Chasing my noodle journey along the Silk Road, I landed in Dunhuang on the edge of the Gobi Desert. Apsaras floated across almost every other signboard around me a reminder that India had left its mark on this region centuries ago. But also my fav signboard in China by far, strange and fragrant crispy chicken and duck. (A small reminder to steal this name if ever open a shop)

That day I ate donkey meat hand-pulled noodles for the first time, saw dunes dotted with Bactrian camels, a sign that I needed to climb it. I met a lovely German family driving from Germany to Bangkok, and later wandered through the 4th century Mogao Caves.

There I saw caves filled with paintings and sculptures tiedto Buddhist monks, my fav woman in history and her sculpture- wu zeitan, and even names of a few Indians who had even crossed the Himalayas and deserts carrying religion, art and ideas along the Silk Road, leaving murals and sculptures behind for me to witness nearly seventeen centuries later.

Chasing my noodle journey along the Silk Road, I landed in Dunhuang on the edge of the Gobi Desert. Apsaras floated across almost every other signboard around me a reminder that India had left its mark on this region centuries ago. But also my fav signboard in China by far, strange and fragrant crispy chicken and duck. (A small reminder to steal this name if ever open a shop)

That day I ate donkey meat hand-pulled noodles for the first time, saw dunes dotted with Bactrian camels, a sign that I needed to climb it. I met a lovely German family driving from Germany to Bangkok, and later wandered through the 4th century Mogao Caves.

There I saw caves filled with paintings and sculptures tiedto Buddhist monks, my fav woman in history and her sculpture- wu zeitan, and even names of a few Indians who had even crossed the Himalayas and deserts carrying religion, art and ideas along the Silk Road, leaving murals and sculptures behind for me to witness nearly seventeen centuries later.