State

Capital : Gandhinagar

My bags are packed and my seat belt is fastened and I am ready to fly. Only this time I am seated inside an airplane. This is my first trip since the virus and the lockdown rendered me immobile. There is a squirming excitement building inside me as I look out of the window and see the minuscule buildings, trees and vehicles of Ahmedabad. Yes, I am off to Gujarat!

From ancient times India has always been a much sought after destination. Either to visit, to trade, to live or to conquer, people somehow by hook or crook find their way here. While they say that all roads lead to Rome, it seems more like all paths physical or metaphysical find their way eventually to India. One of those paths was through Gujarat. The reason why India is one of the oldest civilizations in the world is because of what once existed along the ancient plains of Gujarat. Now they are searching for conclusive evidence of an ancient civilization in the south, probably older than even the Indus valley civilization, but that story is for another time. For someone like me who loves history and heritage travelling, standing on the soil where people of millennia past once stood gives me goosebumps.

I think my first association with Gujaratis happened in college when they became my close friends. I’ve visited their homes, shared meals together, gone on long drives, played board games and even worked with them.

One of my friends is a Jain. I have always wondered how Jain food could be, considering that it’s vegetarian but also excludes root vegetables and others that may harbour some life forms, like potatoes, garlic, onion, carrots, mushrooms, beets, radish etc. I remember that his mother had made Khakras (internet describes it as a thin cracker made with pulses, wheat and oil) that I had with oodles of ghee and a chutney powder over it; Theplas (soft flat Indian bread similar to the chappatis except that it’s multi grain), and served with curd and a sweet pickle; and pulao rice with a gravy made with peas. I remember stuffing my belly and sitting on his red oxide bedroom window seat in a stupor. Who knew that Jains could eliminate so many vegetables from their diet and still make their food taste like that!

In my other Gujarati friend’s (who happen to be Brahmins) house, his mother had cooked a considerable lunch spread when I was invited. I unfortunately didn’t count all the dishes that were served but I could cry in delight at the variety. The one dish that I remembered to have loved and could manage a second helping of, even though I was stuffed already with single helpings of the others was Undhiyu. The internet describes it as a mixed vegetable dish, but it is such a tame description for the explosion of flavours in my mouth. I desperately waited to eat it again and this time in my trip I rushed to the counter when I saw the tag ‘Undhiyu’. When I took the first bite of it I was immediately disappointed. It tasted nothing like what my friend’s mother had made. I ate it in dejection, feeling that I had cheated my mouth of a good dish. It is true when they say that restaurant made food cannot compare to home made preparations. But saying that, I also relished many soft, spongy cubes of Khaman Dhokla at the restaurant. Restaurant made or homemade or even with ready mix versions, Dhoklas in general is a dish that I can’t say no to. Not ever! 

While we were driving along the roads of Bhuj, which is like the capital of the Kutch region, our driver showed us entire stretches of villages that were completely devastated during the 2001 earthquake. I could see the vestiges of the old foundation walls where new bricks were put over to build new homes. The cracks left by the earthquake still visible. Incidentally my cousin pointed it out to me that I was travelling to Bhuj exactly 20 years later and around the same time when the earthquake took place. This time that year full-fledged rescue operations would have been happening to locate bodies buried under the rubble. I wondered if the Earth would break open while I was travelling there but thankfully the tectonic plates were at rest.

Almost as if to break the sombre mood the driver said that we needed to try the Dabeli there. Dabeli was a dish that originates in the Kutch region and the flavours there will not be found anywhere else in Gujarat. I sprang to that opportunity as a woman on a mission. We went to a tiny store that had a board saying “Since 1965”. It was my first time trying a Dabeli and I had no clue on how it even looked like. The man gave me a small paper plate with two pavs (puffy Indian bread/burger) sandwiching a patty that was packed with spiced peanuts, pomegranate, and sev (crunchy flour noodles –I liked the internet description of sev!) I remember taking a deep breath before biting into the Dabeli. If I try to explain the symphony in my mouth I may not do justice to it. I went on to try Dabeli wherever I could including at Ahmedabad, but I’ll suggest that you try it in the Kutch region for that perfect blend of salt, sweet, sour, umami and fresh flavour in every bite.

While vegetarian food is what is available everywhere and is good, my mouth craved for something non vegetarian. Our driver offered to take us to non vegetarian joints but since it was only me who craved for it, I satisfied myself with a chicken shawarma. The familiar taste was such a delight to my senses that with every bite of the roll I felt like I was floating placidly in my happy place. It is amazing how the mouth can trigger so many emotions in the mind. The driver also offered to provide us alcohol if we needed. According to him, Gujaratis drink more alcohol than UP, Bihar and Rajasthan put together. Only a Gujarati can confirm how much of that statement is true and how much is an exaggeration.

If I have to dwell on my ‘take home’ memories of Gujarat, I have some that shine brighter than the others because I repeatedly visit them.

I tried para-motoring or riding the flying scooter, as I preferred calling it, on the salty sands of the Rann. On the one hand it was equivalent to burning money for a two minute ride. While on the other hand, it was the rush of wind and the release of adrenaline as I flew across the sky watching as the setting sun reflected like gold on the white Rann that went on for miles, trying to find an end that wasn’t visible even while on a magical flying scooter. Or maybe, the memory of gazing at an orange-red moon against a soot black sky accompanied by stars with their constellations all within your grasp, in a surreal world where it was difficult to ascertain where the white of the Rann ended and the black of the sky began.

There is also a funny-scary episode when my friend who was walking ahead of me on the Rann suddenly went in as the salty surface gave way. She went in till her thighs. I know that you will think of me as callous and insensitive but I couldn’t help myself as I doubled up in laughter. I still can’t get her shocked expression out of my head. I was bent over with laughing while still walking over to help her. She managed to pull herself out of the slush before I reached her because the ground around her was yet hard. Once the rains set in, the Rann turns into a kind of quicksand and a dangerous adventure for someone who is unaware of it. A highly un-recommended adventure!

Another interesting experience was when our driver took us over a ‘gravity hill’ on Kalo Dungar. At that time we weren’t informed much about such a phenomenon, and so watching the car move from down slope to up slope, defying gravity, was strange indeed. Now I understand that it is an optical illusion though it didn’t seem like one then. You can read more about gravity or magnetic hills on the internet. There are a few in India and many more such hills all over the world.

A strange fact I noticed while in Gujarat is that the auto rickshaws don’t have meters. Coming from a city where the minimum distance has a fare of Rs 25 and the digits add up faster than your racing heartbeat, and yet the drivers haggle for extra, I wonder how the people manage in Gujarat. Our driver told us that the locals know how much the fare is exactly between places. It is the tourists who end up paying heavily. Tip: ask a local about the fares before you ask an auto to ply for you.

On the last day of our trip we visited the Sabarmati Ashram. The tranquillity inside the Ashram is starkly unlike the hustle and bustle of the roads around it. This was the place where decisions and plans were made that would alter the course of our country and its people for ever. The ground in all respects was hallowed, because that is where the people who bought me my freedom walked. The photos of Mahatma Gandhi and other freedom fighters, both the recognisable and the countless other nameless boys and girls, men and women are hung in the museum, and the stories of their struggles are mentioned. These were those who gave the prime of their youth for their country and made it their life’s purpose to fight for freedom, so that generations later one as insignificant as me can travel freely in any train compartment or bus, and visit any restaurant without anyone objecting, and living a life so different in comparison that I have the freedom to dream of things that they couldn’t. Because of the purpose in life they chose in their youth, I can choose a purpose in life that could be as frivolous as travelling and writing about my travels and taking photos to post on social media. The price of the freedom I now enjoy I see on the faces of those who fought the Satyagraha, walked the long Dandi march, languished in jails, suffered unjustly and probably even died before they could see the fruits of their labours on August 15, 1947. With utmost gratitude and with tears in my eyes I bend my knee and bow my head to them.

My experience in Gujarat in this short trip is but a fraction of what there is to experience there. I hope in the coming years I may see more. Like Amitabh Bachchan says, to see, smell, hear and experience Gujarat, let us spend some moments in Gujarat.