Monday, October 2 Gandhi Jayanti, Dussehra, Ahmedabad Tour

Today there are two holidays in one; Dussehra/Durga Puja, a Hindu holiday to celebrate Ram killing the evil demon Ravana in the Ramayana epic. Effigies of the demon are burned and people perform puja to Durga after the nine nights of Navratri. Today is also a national holiday to celebrate the birthday of Gandhi, the Father of India. I’m not going to even explain who he is; if you don’t know, you’re an idiot. I got up early and went to Swaminarayan Temple, to catch a walking tour of the Old City. The guide was good, and it was all in English. He showed slides, gave us background, and took us through back alleys and coves in the narrow maze of streets in Ahmedabad. Now the largest city in Gujarat, the city is the Manchester of India with many mills, and it was the largest pre-British city and a hub for business. It was made up of a bunch of pols, or neighborhoods surrounded by a gate, and have an excellent network of escape routes and cooling systems. The plinths were all intricately-carved of wood that supported the old buildings. The city is and was dominated by the strong Gujarati merchant class. It is said that Gujaratis are such good salesmen they can sell refrigerators to Eskimos. There’s also a joke that a kid falls off his bike and the Bengali asks if he’s ok, the Sikh walks by without helping, and the Gujarati runs up and tries to sell him bandages. We saw a bunch of ornate Jain temples, with lots of large marble statues of the 24 saints, some of which were underground and well-hidden because idol worship was outlawed by the Muslim ruler Aurangzeb. Each pol had a chalkboard to inform residents of upcoming events. Birdfeeders were everywhere, but so were chipmunks that eat all the feed. City dwellers looked out at us from their balconies as they hung saris to dry. The tour went through the dusty old town and ended up at Jami Masjid, which like any other mosque has a courtyard surrounded by columns and a fountain, with long prayer mats lain on the ground. After the tour I walked to Lal Darwaza, an entrance to the Old City, which today was turned into a huge flea market for apparel and house wares. I took a rickshaw to Gordan Thaal again, and got ripped off by the rickshaw. I’m never having them use the meter; many times they’re tampered with, and this guy took me in a U-Line, completely unnecessary and ripping me off. The lunch was, again, and amazing. By the time I left it was packed. I got up to use the bathroom and my table was already set up for the next customers. I took a rickshaw back and looked for an hour for the second bus, but couldn’t find it because everything was in Gujarati. I was angry, but I hired a motor rickshaw to chauffer me around to all the sights for the afternoon. We stopped at a bunch of mosques where men (and only men) prayed to the direction of Mecca (West from India) standing up, and on their knees kissing the ground. There was a small zoo, and a place for royalty to escape the heat of the day; a complex of 95 steps leading down to a dirty underground well. People were laughing because I got scared and ran out of the deserted place after hearing squeaks and seeing bats flying around over me. We went to some intricate Jain temple, which was a sandstone replica of the marble one I saw in Mount Abu. Then there was a brand-new modern Hindu temple, with beautiful carved marble roofs, spires, and floor. There was an adjoining ashram where a concert was being held. It was all women, so I felt out of place and left. But they would have felt out of place at the main temple, where women were explicitly not allowed. Exploring Ahmedabad’s modern history, I visited the office of another Patel, one of Gandhi’s very influential advisors. He had much better ideas for economic development than the idealist Nehru, who in actuality succeeded Gandhi. Speaking of Gandhi, the last stop in the circuit was his ashram where he lived much of his adult life. It was really nice, and pictures and quotes lined walkways in honor of his birthday, along with many flowers around his statue. The ashram featured his round glasses, spinning wheel, and kitchen. He had no servants because he didn’t like the employer-employee relationship, choosing instead doing everything for one’s self if possible. There were a bunch of paintings, as well as articles and pictures documenting his extraordinary life. Someone from the Times of India interviewed me regarding my opinion of Gandhi, and his views of ahimsa (simple living) and nonviolence. While I live all but a simple life, I have studied and admire Gandhi’s ideas. I do live according to his doctrine that “An eye for an eye will leave the world blind”. I also agree fighting only leads to more fighting, and loving thy neighbor and using peaceful resistance and positive reinforcement is far more effective. Fighting is harmful, stupid, irrational, and useless. But the best thing about Gandhi was that he was from a modest working-class background, and he preached a ton of ideals, and actually lived them himself. I rested up for an epic night; three celebrations in one night (Dussehra, where effigies are burned, a service for Gandhi at his ashram, and Durga Puja which is worship of the mother goddess). I headed out to the main promenade on the lake. It’s still pretty hot, even at night. I walked to the same amphitheatre as last night, and it was again quite fobby. I apparently missed the 6:00 service for Gandhi. I saw Durga Puja, though, where everyone walks up to the mother goddess statue, and waves candles in front, puts a bindi on her forehead, and gives an offering. The priest gives the devotee red powder to put on their heads, which turned into a bunch of guys chasing each other, smearing red dye on each other’s cheeks and hair. Everyone was having a good time. The portable musicians rolled on with their trailer of loudspeakers, beating drums and playing trumpets. People went crazy dancing, and by ‘crazy’ I mean violently shaking hopelessly out of rhythm, grinding upon each other. Once again, the place was crawling with men holding hands or hugging in acid-wash jeans. At 8 the Durga statues were carried into the crowd and held above a group of dancers. Then they were loaded onto camel-drawn huge carts. And guess who was also on the cart. You guessed it, drunk Indian Newman, now wearing a pink turban and dancing by the statues. Seriously, this guy is a party king; I’m going to smuggle him past customs in my luggage to Santa Barbara….well, my oversize luggage. The loud parade proceeded down the street a ways. Meanwhile, I walked back over to the football field to see the Dussehra burnings. However, when I got there it was completely deserted. If it was a movie, there would have been the lone Morgan Freeman janitor man telling me, “Sorry, you’re a year late. It’s 2006.” So I walked over to where I heard loud music, and it turns out it was coming from a private garba celebration. It was a full house, and apparently they required a pass I didn’t have, so instead I, along with dozens of others, climbed the fence and sat on the poles on top. I watched the sea of young people dancing in circles under the stadium lights. Security guards came and chased everyone with sticks to get off the fence. Not wanting to deal with breaking laws in India, I walked to the entry gate, and sat on a motorcycle, people-watching for what seemed like hours. Two street kids approached me and I proceeded to ignore me, so they flashed me, hoping that this would embarrass me and I’d give them money. But to me it was simply hilarious. I really enjoyed watching India’s A-list from afar, without being bombarded by people trying to make contacts with Westerners. And plus, there were actually a lot of decent girls here, something that, in India, apparently only happens at random dance parties in Gujarat. So yes, I’m a creepy voyeur. The girls were again dressed in sparkly red and black dresses, and the boys in kurta. But there were also equally as many in trendy Eurotrash Western clothes. These were rich Gujaratis, compared to the middle class fobs in the amphitheatre, and the lower-class street vendors, rickshaw drivers, and beggars. It was weird, though. In a matter of 75 miles I went from being the only foreigner to come to a village and my every move being studied, to not even being noticed, talked to, and instead watching others. Such is the gaping discrepancy between urban and rural India. The bouncers were a joke. They were two guys about 20 years old each, and combined weighed probably 250 lbs. They didn’t let in groups of girls, but let in a guy with an assault rifle. After the crowds died down, I went inside, where guys were standing around, lots of people were dancing, and old people were singing to an altar devoted to Durga, in the middle. I felt like that weird guy that comes to a dance club alone and creepily sits on the sidelines the entire night without dancing and just watching people. But what was actually sad was walking back and seeing sleeping dusty bodies lying on the sidewalk, right next to dogs, cows, human waste, piles of trash, their nonexistent homes, or if lucky squatter tents made of tarp, tires, and plastic bags. And Gujarat being a dry state, you could be sure they weren’t passed out after a raging party. What made it especially poignant was the fact that out of all the street dwellers, half were small children, mostly naked and sleeping with their mothers. And they will most likely spend their entire lives on the streets like they do now. Among the homeless were hundreds of couples lining the bank of the lake. They were all hugging, talking, or sitting in each others’ laps watching the glitzy lights of the festival reflect off the lake, and the blaring white and red ‘Airtel’ sign. It’s funny though, because they are all sitting in dark corners (like they’re doing drugs) for privacy and because PDA’s are normally not accepted (except of course between men and other men). But it was a romantic night, and it’s no wonder that nine months after Navratri the birthrate is significantly higher.