Women in sun-bright yellows and deep vermilions swayed into the courtyard, their glass bangles chiming in rhythm with the drums. Men tuned instruments I didn’t recognise—long wooden pipes, hollowed gourds, hand-hewn drums whose bass you could feel in your ribs. A plate with a small diya and rice was passed around; a gentle thumb pressed a red teeka onto my forehead. And then, suddenly, the entire village moved—a wave of music, laughter, and memory layered in their steps.
This was Barda, where Dera Geet is celebrated to mark the arrival of the monsoon. Every movement, every rhythm here is tied to the earth and the rains that sustain it. The women’s dances welcome the first showers, while the men’s songs and drums echo through the fields, celebrating the sowing season and the promise of harvest. Culture here is an inheritance—a living expression of gratitude to the land and the community, passed down through generations.