Trudging along the edge of the Little Rann of Kutch in September is horrendous work. The claylike mud clings to one's boots in ever enlarging balls that make each step heavier and all the more energy-sapping in the humid morning. And I was doing this for pleasure, or at least that was what I kept telling myself. I had come to stay in the old darbargarh in Dhrangadhra, along with a BBC crew, and we hoped to see flamingos.


