A few days ago, in mid-March, I was in Mumbai, documenting the vibrant festival of Koli Holi — the chaos, the colors, the people, all moving like waves. In the midst of it all, I got a call.
It was from Chintan bhai — a good friend and someone I deeply respect — and Ajit bhai, whom I had the pleasure of meeting through him. They asked if I was available for a project.
That project was The Salt Ride: Enroute to Dandi March.
A cycling rally retracing the historic path Gandhi Ji once walked — starting from Sabarmati Ashram on the very same day he began the original Dandi March, and reaching Dandi on the exact day Gandhi Ji did.
I was called to document it — the cyclists, the pre-flag-off mornings, the heartfelt welcomes at every Yatri Niwas (the places Gandhi Ji stayed at night, now preserved as humble yet beautiful rest points).
The rally began on March 12, but I had a prior commitment. I joined them on March 17 from Nadiad — not knowing that I was about to step into one of the most special journeys of my life.
From the very first day, I was embraced by the team with so much warmth and respect. Everyone made me feel like I belonged — like I had been a part of it all along.
Every morning, we’d wake up, freshen up, and gather at the village’s Yatri Niwas for the daily flag-off. I’d hop into the back of the lorry — our moving support van stacked with t-shirts, caps, water, juice — and that’s where I worked.
I was a one-man army.
My main camera hanging on my shoulder, an action camera (generously given by Chintan bhai) for wide-angle shots, and my phone in the other hand — constantly capturing moments, switching angles, syncing emotions with frames. It was a dance of chaos and rhythm — and I loved every second of it.
And there’s something I’ll never forget —
On the very first day I joined, I was visibly struggling with the heat. Chintan bhai noticed, and without a second thought, handed me his white gamcha so I could cover my head.
That one small gesture made such a big difference — not just in handling the sun, but emotionally too.
The gamcha stayed with me throughout the journey. It became a part of me. It even matched every outfit!
So thank you so much, Chintan bhai, for giving me that gamcha — this journey wouldn’t have felt this good without it.
The cyclists changed every village — new faces, new stories, new energy — and witnessing that spirit renew itself over and over was beautiful.
And amidst us, there was Rob.
Rob — 66 years old, from England, who’s been reading about Gandhi Ji since he was young. He wasn’t cycling. He was walking.
He began every day before us, walking the Dandi Path step by step, and joined us again at night.
Rob was hilarious, thoughtful, and full of love for India. Together, we had this small ritual: aamras for lunch and aamrasagain for dinner.
We’d joke about it, crave it, enjoy it like kids. That simple joy is something I’ll never forget.
As we moved from village to village, I had the rare chance to meet people whose grandfathers, great-grandfathers, or grandparents had actually been part of the original Dandi March.
They shared stories passed down through generations — tales of courage, sacrifice, and simplicity.
I remember standing quietly sometimes, just listening, holding back tears, realizing how sacred these roads truly were.
And let me tell you — rural Gujarat?
Is magic.
Each night after a long day of documenting and traveling, I’d step out under the open sky… and the stars. Oh, the stars.
So many. So clear. So close.
Coming from the city, I rarely ever get to see stars anymore. But there — in the quiet of those villages — it felt like the sky was alive.
And that moment alone, beneath a thousand stars, made every dusty kilometer worth it.
From Surat onwards, Manoj bhai took over the management of the Salt Ride and led everything with such calm and kindness. He made sure things flowed smoothly till the final halt at Dandi.
I really appreciate how welcoming and organized he was — handling everything with patience and a smile.
I met so many beautiful souls on this ride. Neel and Vikram — who played massive roles in managing everything so smoothly.
Our fun-loving lorry drivers — Suresh bhai and Mukesh bhai — always cheerful, always helpful, always making us laugh.
And of course, Chintan bhai.
The one who got me into this.
A friend, a mentor, a guide — someone I learn from constantly. His wisdom about photography, life, Gandhi Ji… it flows so naturally, so humbly.
Every day with him was a chance to absorb something new.
Ajit bhai — the CEO of Dandi Path — made sure I had everything I needed.
Though I met him through Chintan bhai, he treated me like family. His kindness, thoughtfulness, and care made my journey feel smooth, secure, and valued.
Now, we must talk about food.
From day one, it was a celebration.
The traditional gamda nu jamvanu — that soulful Gujarati cuisine — gave me foodgasms (yes, plural).
And to beat the heat? The OG — chaas and the king — aamras.
After eating like that, the sleep? Unmatchable. The kind of sleep that heals you.
Every night we rested at a Yatri Niwas, marking where Gandhi Ji had paused during the original march.
These are not just rooms — they’re memories. And they’re open for anyone who wants to walk this path. My favorites were in Kankapura and Vanz — both overflowing with warmth and care.
This project — without a doubt — was the biggest one I’ve done yet.
Especially at the age of 20… or maybe 21 — because yes, I turned 21 during this project, on March 28th.
And what a way to begin this chapter of my life.
I’m proud of myself — for showing up, for working hard, for giving everything I had.
And I’m beyond grateful.
Thank you, Chintan bhai — for trusting me, guiding me, teaching me, and for that precious white gamcha.
Thank you, Ajit bhai — for your kindness, your care, and for making me feel at home.
Thank you, Manoj bhai — for taking the lead from Surat with such grace and for managing everything so beautifully.
Thank you, Rob — for the stories, the wisdom, and our daily aamras traditions.
And thank you to every single person who welcomed me, spoke to me, smiled at me, helped me.
This wasn’t just documentation.
This was living history — with my heart, my camera, and my whole being.
And I hope, truly, that I get to walk — or ride — this path again next year.
Because this? This was never just a project.