Back from Ahmedabad

If you are a Gujju, with a weak heart and feel strongly for Ahmedabad, I suggest- stop reading further. Chances are that you will get up from your seat, throw away the chivda packet in your hand, call all your fellow Gujarati friends and pass judgment in Gujarati and then, when the anger subsides, you’ll again pick up the chivda packet and start munching on it, since Gujjus don’t believe in wasting anything that costs money.

So, I land in Ahmedabad, and see fog outside. Believe me, for a north Indian who is now settled in Mumbai (where it never gets cold. NEVER!), seeing fog was thrilling. My heart was pumping harder to get out of the plane and feel the weather. Everything was going perfectly normal. Just like any other airport, there were families waiting outside to receive their people. Most of them were FAT Gujju aunties, who had come to receive their dear ones with one BIG tiffin each, which I am sure, was loaded with Thepla and khakhra. Every family that came out had at least 4 huge cartons/ bags, which were piled up in one trolley blocking the view of the person pulling it. I sure have seen such scenarios in Punjab but that was quite some time back.

I then, headed towards my office (where Nirav was to give me contacts of some brokers); pretty much relaxed, since Binoy and Pratixa had assured me that finding an accommodation in Ahmedabad would be a cake walk.

Cutting the long story short, it was nothing like I expected. The city was over polluted. It was hot, maybe not as much as Mumbai. But still hot and dry. It seemed like a dead city. No life. Everything was moving in slow motion, like how they show in movies when the focus is to be on the actor and rest everybody is in standstill position. I met with almost 10 brokers who showed me nearly 40 places in 4 days and yet nothing worth it. It reminded me of the time I was looking for an accommodation in Mumbai. Only difference being, the situation now was even worse.

I could have killed Binoy for telling me the Ahmbad is a clean city. By no means did I find it clean. In fact, all the houses that I was taken to were in a run-down condition, shady looking and pan spits on the stair-cases with men in their banyans roaming in building corridors.

I also did get the luxurious opportunity to have lunch in Ahmedabad, (apparently, Ahmbad is known for its food). No doubt the food was delicious but I can’t let it go without narrating my experience at the restaurant. The place was overcrowded by a load of noisy, thick-armed women, who carried large heavy shopping bags and were accompanied by the ripe mixture of odor. While I stood in the buffet line, I couldn’t help but notice this lady’s plate who headed me. It merely had any place left, yet she struggled to fill it as much as possible when a voice came from around the corner,

“Madam, this is buffet system. We won’t charge extra if you come back for a second helping” (of-course the dialogues were in Gujarati)

Her square body remained ponderously immobile, but she turned her head around as far as her massive neck would permit and rejoined:

“Yeah, I know. I just didn’t wanna rise up from my seat once I am settled.” (Either she was making it up for saving herself from the embarrassment or she was too lazy)

After all the struggling with her food, she came to her table and narrated her little conversation with the waiter to her friends and added “As though I am dumb” at the end. All this was said in a tone intentionally loud enough to entertain everyone, and the women showed their appreciation by cackling loudly, rocking their bodies as much as the crowding permitted.

I then realized, Gujjus are all about FOOD.

With the intention of not hurting my Gujju readers’ sentiments, I shall not say anything controversial anymore, expect for narrate the following incident:

So I call up this broker whose name in his visiting card was printed as “Hasmukh Bhai”

Me: Hello! Hasmukh Bhai?

Him: Haan! Deepali Ben, bolo.

Ben, Ben, Ben… the word echoed in my head and I stood in a moment of shock till I shouted out “Dude! If you call me Ben, I am not gonna do any transaction with you”

Eeewww, if I stay here for long, I’ll become a Gujju ben. The thought scared the hell out of me.

At least one good has come out of my visit, I can read Gujarati now. Well!!! Do I have any other option? All the sign boards, all the hoardings, name plates and even big showroom names like Provogue and Nike were written in Gujarati. And then they talk about Raj Thackeray inexcusably promoting Marathi.