Sunday, October 1 Safari, Ahmedabad, Navratri Garba

I got up at 6, took a shower, and got all ready to go to Pattan to see the Gujarati mills and royal palaces. Turns out when they took me to the bus stop, the bus to Pattan doesn’t exist, so I returned and demanded another safari, which they gave me. It was exactly the same as yesterday. This time all I saw were two male asses. Gross. I was surprised to see two males together, but then one ran and “butted” the other, which screamed in pain like a human. They both began hitting, biting, and kicking one another, and they were seriously beating some ass. One emerged victorious by whopping ass, and the loser went running off, while the winner probably ran towards the female herd. I came back and took the bus to Dasada and then to Ahmedabad. It’s really hot, but at least it’s not polluted. Gujarat is extremely rural and I love it so far. However, I find it more difficult to travel here because of the language. I got to the bus stand and Snehal, who’s Gujarati, recommended a really good restaurant. I took a rickshaw to Gordan Thaal, an unlimited thali place where edible dreams are made. It was excellent, and one of my favorite meals so far in India. It is busy, all unlimited with numerous deserts, breads, fried favorites, rice, and vegetables. I then inadvertantly took a rickshaw all over town; over the Sabramati River, through SG Highway (home to the rich people and new malls and chain stores), past Indian Institute of Management (a world-renowned business college with squatter tents right outside the fence), through busy Sunday bazaars, through tiny streets. I refused to pay 250 Rs for a hotel, so I ended up staying in Hotel Mayur for 150 Rs for two nights….killer deal! It’s actually kind of nice to have rickshaws taking a commission. They know exactly what hotels to look for, and they’ll take you right there. The hotel was fine; it had a TV, fan, bathroom, power, and they gave me some drinking water which didn’t take (considering it was a refilled Bilsleri bottle with a non-matching Pepsi cap). After resting, I headed out for garba. I first started walking around Kankariya Lake, which was like a huge boardwalk and carnival. All along the banks there were people out enjoying the weekend. Vendors sold water balls, masala snacks, drink (not alcohol of course), and balloons. Restaurants lined the avenues, as did childrens’ rides like human-powered merry-go-rounds. Everyone was out; parents with their children, men with their wives and girlfriends, and guys hanging out with friends. I ended up settling in a random ampitheatre, where musicians played songs to the huge papier-mâché statues of Durga, the mother goddess who has 10 arms, rides a lion, and protects humans by slaying evil demons. After that, everyone sat down and watched a random religious concert. I’m sorry but that was the most hilarious experience ever. It was probably 90% male and 90% FOB. The singer, dressed in a tight shiny black suit, thrust his hips like Elvis. I felt like I was in Las Vegas, at a cheesy hotel like Circus-Circus. Or I felt like I was born 25 years earlier, and the year was 1981. Probably 25% of the crowd had mullets, 50% had skin-tight fluorescent shirts, and 75% had tight acid-wash bellbottom jeans. Or I felt like I had stumbled across an Indian gay pride parade. The amount of homosexual activity was off the charts. Friends all held hands, everyone was hugging, friends wrapped arms around each other while talking, and because there were a lack of open seats, men sat on other mens’ laps. Everyone was enjoying themselves hanging out with friends, though. What made my night was this fat guy who was the Indian version of Newman from Seinfeld. He was easily 300 pounds, extremely hard to miss. Although Gujarat is a dry state, I swear he must have been drunk. In the middle of the huge crowd, he started a dance circle. But this only happened after 15 minutes of dancing by himself, huge smile on his face and moving his hands like a ballet dancer. He reminded me of Ganesh (the potbellied elephant-headed god) or the fat Buddha figure. Then he got into a couple of fights, so his friends had to restrain him, in other words, take care of the drunk guy. Eventually he just walked away to start another dance circle. I want this guy at all my parties. After I couldn’t take any more acid-wash Fobbiness, I took a rickshaw to Karnavati Club, the site of an enormous city-wide garba. I met up with Kim, Mariel, and Alix, who mistook me for a fobby Indian at first glance. They were completely dressed in garba garb (pun intended). Their dresses looked nice and were intricately-woven with colorful stitching and little glistening mirrors. Gaudy ivory, gold, and silver earrings, necklaces, and bangles adorned all the womens’ arms and necks. Men wore large Rajasthani turbans, scarves, kurtas, poofy pants, Rajasthani slippers, earrings, and small jackets that looked like shirts. It’s the final of the nine nights of Navratri, so everyone was dressed up nicely. This was a hodgepodge of Gujarat’s finest-the rich bourgeoisie, mostly young and hip. We got into the crowded, sweaty, pushy entrance gates into the complex, a huge garba party in a huge grass field, much like a fairground. Thousands of people were everywhere, and the entire place was a crazy chaotic collection of hundreds of dance circles, outer rings of bystanders, and musicians onstage. The highlight was a Gujarati singer named, of course, Patel. Everyone in Gujarat is a Shah or Patel. In fact, there are so many Patels living abroad that the embassy won’t grant visas to people with this surname. But there are already a disproportionately high number of Gujaratis living abroad, as is. 40% of New York Indians are from Gujarat. The music at the venue was energetic, and it kept dancers moving fast. It was really a spectacle. Everyone was dancing around piles of their shoes in the middle of each circle. I kept thinking in disbelief: Not a soul in this entire dance party is drunk! I guess they just really like dancing, and the religion encourages it. I walked into the main dance floor, and the guard stuck his hand out into my chest. Turns out they only allow people inside with proper garba attire. Apparently my fobby outfit wasn’t good enough, so I sat outside watching people have fun. I talked to these two guys named Ronak and Suraj, who were civil engineers. They wanted to dance, so they helped me sneak in. We found Kim and Mariel and started a circle of our own. It was awkward at first, especially being sober. Everyone was staring at the fobby white guy and the white girls in Gujarati dresses doing our own version of a traditional Indian dance. But after seeing that our hosts were horrible dancers, I stopped caring. My dancing, aka stealing moves from everyone else, consisted of a lot of hand-twisting, twirls, foot-kicking, and shaking. It was actually really fun. I was having a great time until my stomach started to really hurt. My stomach kept bothering me, probably as a result of drinking packaged water out of a plastic bag, so I went home through the lit-up festive streets of Ahmedabad.