Standing on the Rann of Kutch at sunrise felt like stepping into a different world.

Endless white salt stretched in every direction, meeting the sky so softly that I couldn’t tell where the earth ended and the clouds began. The air was cold, the silence deep. For once, I didn’t feel the need to speak.

I felt small — but not lost.
Small in a way that made sense.

As the sun slowly rose, the white ground began to glow, like it was waking up with me. Each step crunched gently beneath my feet, reminding me that even silence has a sound if you listen closely.

There was something grounding about being there. No noise. No rush. Just space. Just stillness. Just me, standing in the middle of something so vast and so calm.

Every meal came with memories. Of childhoods, festivals, and times when food was simpler but never less meaningful.

The White Desert didn’t ask anything from me. It didn’t try to impress. It simply existed — and somehow, that was enough to steal my heart.

I left the Rann carrying more than photos.
I carried a quiet feeling I know I’ll come back to — whenever life feels too loud.

Whenever life feels too loud, I return to the silence of the white desert.

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