The day was young when I left the apartment. The auto driver dropped me on the wrong entrance to the site and I wasn't too compelled to correct him. Knowing that it would be more than half-an-hour till the park opened, I pass time by slinking into the huge auditorium compound next to the park. Banners of a Scottish band ran along the walkway leading to the foyer. There were no one there, except for the cleaners and a security guard sitting most comfortably at another gated entrance. When I have had my fill walking around and tailing stray dogs, I walked up to the gate with the security guard and pretended to be lost. He soon pointed me to where I should be going, from where I shouldn't have been in.
The portal to the craft village was beautifully decorated. A pair of majestic terracotta colored riders flanked the gates as wind chimes dangled from above.
Beside the gates, were these triangular niches and nails where the security would hang their caps and jackets.
Presiding high above, looking over all who pass through the gates were 3 miniature musicians.
Even though I was early, a sizable group of people had already gathered to await the ticket booth's opening. Of these visitors, 2 groups made up the majority, young couples and school children. There weren't many foreigners as far as I could guess from physical appearances. However, there might have been visitors from other parts of India.Once through the gates. These man-height beautiful beasts stood in the shade by the lane.
A Hindu goddess monitored a junction while some Indian mermaids watched over the boating lake.
A painted elephant guarded the entrance to the rural museum. You can see a giant chair at the corner of the picture. It was meant for someone of its stature. On our first visit, the giant was there. I would be a hobbit beside the lanky but hunched over man twice my height.
Near the elephant was a great hall where cultural performances and events would be held.
This is the rural museum, depicting an Indian village to let visitors experience what rural and tribal lifestyle was suppose to be like. The huts of baked clay and thatch were nearly life size and many of the statues were certainly lifelike. From artisans, to weapon smiths and religious performers, they did present an interesting facet of Indian life we could not otherwise have seen in our stay.
Half-way through my visit of the rural museum, the tranquil morning air was shattered by the joyous laughter and incessant chatter of youngsters. The school children had caught up and they were busy weaving in and out of the many huts. A few took to the swing.
Initially, I was planning to take pictures of the frolicking children discreetly. Little did I expect them to turn the table so completely on me. Just by responding to the greeting of one of the boys consequently got me 'hired' as their photography for the remainder of the trip.
