The Heart of Hospitality: Lessons from Jhabua, Madhya Pradesh (Part 2)

When I first visited Jhabua, nestled in the vibrant heart of Madhya Pradesh, I was unprepared for the wave of warmth that greeted me. The Bhil community, with their rich cultural heritage and deep connection to their land, surprised me with their unparalleled humility and hospitality. Their love and acceptance for a stranger like me felt almost unreal, like stepping into a world far removed from the guarded interactions we’re so accustomed to in cities.

At Maniya Bhai's Home in Bhajidungra Village, Jhabua

As I returned for my second and third visits, this wasn’t just a fleeting experience. I came to realise that this sense of open-heartedness is deeply ingrained in the values of the Bhil community. It’s not just a gesture of politeness; it’s a way of life. The warmth and generosity they exhibit aren’t reserved for special occasions or specific individuals—they extend it to everyone, even a wandering stranger.

In contrast, urban life teaches us to value personal space and boundaries—important but often isolating. Many of us would hesitate to invite a colleague over for dinner, even after working alongside them for years. We double-check schedules, wonder if it’s appropriate, or worry about imposing. Hospitality in cities often feels transactional or planned, stripped of spontaneity and emotional connection.

Jhabua, however, stands as a stark and beautiful contrast. In any tribal home there, you’re not merely a guest; you’re treated like family. It’s not unusual for someone to serve themselves a meal or feel completely at ease in a stranger’s home. There’s no awkwardness, no second-guessing—just a genuine sense of belonging that’s as refreshing as it is rare.

I remember walking into a tribal home for the first time and being invited to join a meal as if I had always been part of their lives. Plates were passed, stories shared, and laughter filled the air. It was seamless, organic, and profoundly human. The simplicity of it was humbling. There was no grand preparation, no fuss about entertaining a guest—just an unspoken rule that every home is open, and every meal is shared.

Deeksha and Me relaxing at a Dangla(a heighted bamboo platform to keep a watch on fields)

Reflections from My recent visits:

During a recent visit, I fell sick with a sore throat. The family I stayed with cared for me as though I were one of their own. They ensured I had soft, easy-to-swallow meals and warm water at all times. They even prepared saltwater for me to gargle. Their thoughtful care extended to traditional remedies—offering "adosi ke patte" (Malabar nut leaves) known for their healing properties. Boiled into a soothing drink, these leaves helped ease my discomfort. This thoughtful blend of traditional knowledge and genuine compassion left me deeply touched.

On my second visit to Jhabua, I stayed in Mohanpura village at Premlata’s house. After two wonderful days with her family, it was time to leave. As I said my goodbyes, her neighbours approached me with a humbling question: why hadn’t I stayed at their home as well? Despite not knowing me personally, their invitation was genuine, a reflection of the Bhil community’s remarkable openness.

With Ganga Devi Ji and Deeksha at Bhajidungra Village

This attitude stems from their sense of community, where relationships are not measured by the time spent or formalities exchanged but by the mutual respect and care they hold for one another. Their homes are extensions of their hearts, and in their world, a stranger is not a threat but a friend they’ve yet to meet.

As I left Jhabua, these experiences lingered with me, reshaping my perspective on hospitality and human connection. The Bhil community reminded me of the beauty of simplicity, the strength in kindness, and the power of genuine inclusivity. In a world increasingly driven by individualism, their way of life offers a gentle yet profound lesson: that true hospitality isn’t about perfection or performance; it’s about making others feel like they belong.