Memories Of A Lost World
Continued...
None of us saw the logic of travelling 18 kilometres from the
city to
Adalaj
to see a defunct well. But we did make the
trip and were surprised by the 15th century structure leading
into the earth. Built over 30 years the water now lay contaminated.
Shri Ram told us there were 400 step wells between Gujarat and
Rajasthan of which only 25 remained. "Didn't know a well
could be so interesting and beautiful," said Rosemary, who worked with
the East European Bank of Reconstruction and Development.
Between billowing smoke from mills and torn kites on electricity
poles from the recent kite festival, we made our way
back into the city. "The Sabarmati Ashram" There
was a stillness amongst us on hearing our arrival at this historic
site. A respectful silence. With no traces of that debauched view
held by the politicians who riled the Mahatma's contribution
to India a few days back.
Sixty seven years ago, here at the banks of the Sabarmati, the Mahatma
started the Salt March. And never returned. The Sabarmati,
a river so closely linked to the nation's Independence, now runs
dry. Buffaloes basked on its bed. That glorious river so momentous
in our history was a slender trickle. I didn't know that and stood
shaken by its dryness.
Vijaybhai, the ashram's manager, told us
that Gandhi's grand-daughters Ela Gandhi
and Sita Dhupelia from Durban had visited
Sabarmati the week before. Original posters of the freedom movement adorn
the ashram's spartan walls. We are disappointed to have seen just a section
of the ashram before moving on.
"Ashoka, seems like an Indian favourite," says Colin
Trigger, the Englishman who lived on the Thames. The legendary
Mauryan king, the hotel group and now a tree called Ashoka in
the Sabarmati ashram. The president of the British Association
of Travel Agents, Colin seemed to have seen a lot of that name on his
third visit to India. Though a little perplexed by the unavailability
of wine in Gujarat he told us he felt privileged to be discovering
this state. Colin and Rosemary were leaving The Royal Orient
at Jaipur to join another group.
The
Calico Museum of Textiles
was our second stop in Ahmedabad.
Housed in a haveli constructed
from parts collected from different areas of Gujarat, the textiles
are part of the Sarabhai collection. The museum has some exquisite
samples of material used between the 15th and 18th centuries.
"Like the Chinese, Indians too like the colour red,"
Colin declares after imbibing the sheer opulence of the textiles inside.
Dr Raj takes over from the guide this time, telling Colin how
the people in Kutch and Rajasthan used bright fabrics to
enliven the aridness of their land.
Though we had ready access to newspapers on the train, there were
still some more rushes from that old world charm. We didn't
realise this until the phone rang at the Hoilday Inn, Ahmedabad.
The first time we had heard the phone ring all week. Gupte told us
the Gujarat Tourism Development Corporation -- which runs The Royal Orient --
were working on installing telecommunication facilities on
the train.
We only had a day before the trip drew to an end. The colourful
capital of Rajasthan was our last destination.
"The
Hawa Mahal
is like a Hollywood set. Sometimes
I think maybe it's not there when I go there next," Raj Singh
had said about the monument during lunch in Udaipur.
Jaipur
was in the midst of feverish political development that day. A Congress
rally had blocked the city's roads.
We met Geeta and Kewda outside the Rajputana Sheraton. She was sprawled on the hotel lawn,
Kewda beside her. Every time Banwari stroked
Geeta she would move a little. Banwari encouraged us to wrap her around
us. I did and she nearly gave me a sprained neck. Kewda didn't
approve of all this. He was seething. Each time Banwari got near
him, he would lunge. They were under Banwari's control, swaying to
his tune...literally. Geeta was his python and Kewda his cobra.
"Keep in touch," said Banwari sapera, giving us his card. Pleased with our
visual souvenirs with Geeta and Kewda and the impromptu neck massage, we took
off for the Amber fort.
The 16th century Amber fort lies in poor shape. Graffiti
and messages scribbled across the structure. Monkeys eroding ledges
and cupolas, hundreds of visitors each day, the old fort is under
excessive tourist exploitation. "They should increase the
entry fee. That's why miscreants come inside so easily," said
Amit Prasad. A short elephant ride took us to the fort. Bijli,
our elephant, was not in the most pleasant of moods. The mahaut
said he did six to seven trips each day.
Emotions ran high at breakfast that morning. Chandra and Rosemary
cried. We were all parting company, going to our corners
of the world. "It's been so nice to be with a group of Indians
rather than Germans, Americans or French. I take back memories
of some great Indian friends and colours... of the beautiful saris
of those women climbing the temple steps of Palitana," Rosemary
said, tears streaming down her face.
It was Marilyn's turn. "Ollie always speaks in terms of A-
or B+. Every day we returned to the train he made a similar assesment.
He says our happiness in life is 85 %... but I think on this trip
it has been 98%." Chandra
invited us all to Madras. "My doors are open for each one
of you morning, noon and...night," she stressed between sniffs.
Colin was most eloquent. "I had come onto the trip
looking for a quiet Indian train ride, stopping at places of bustling
activity. But here we were climbing 3,000 odd steps up the hill,
walking 75 steps into the earth, wading in water, woken with rude
jerks that made me fall off my bed at 3 am and guides who often
know less than the people they were talking to."
On a cold and misty morning we pulled into the Delhi cantt station.
It was a hasty farewell. Some had connecting flights in a few
hours. Ollie and Marilyn were off to Banaras. Chandra and Raj
to Madras. Prasad and Rani to Lucknow. The Chauhans to Navsari.
Like always, Parmar was behind us helping with the luggage. "You
must take care," he smiled and stepped aside. His eyes were
moist. We looked uncomfortable. The friend who came to receive
me looked confused. Perhaps, it would take him a trip on the Royal
Orient to understand.
|