Election Special

Wednesday 30^th April 2014

It's election day here in Gujarat. Not quite as crazy as I had imagined, but the polling stations are certainly busy. Narendra Modi himself will therefore be voting today, in this, his home state. Perhaps the lack of election fever here is because the result is a forgone conclusion: Gujarat is a BJP stronghold, with Modi leading the government here uninterruptedly for 12 years. Their promoters at stands on the streets are certainly in good spirits. Much as I'm not a fan of Mr. Modi and the BJP, his campaign is undeniably smart. 

A cheerful wave from the BJP guys in their 'Modi for PM' hats.

   Here's how I see the three main parties and their frontmen (these are just my own views, no authority or offence intended):

Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), Narendra Modi: Hindu Nationalist, right-wing. Modi: a snake. Clever, a bit sneaky, somewhat feared. Could be dangerous, but we're not quite sure. Has plenty of lovers, but plenty of haters too. 

Indian National Congrees, Rahul Gandhi: centre-left, mostly led by the Nehru-Gandhi dynasty. A teddy bear. Comforting, familiar, but perhaps a bit out-dated. Nice on the outside, but stuffed with drugs? (I'm talking about corruption, in case my metaphor is a little too abstract). 

Aam Aadami Party (Common Man Party; AAP), Arvind Kejriwal: centre-left, decentralisation, anti-corrpution. A baby. Novel, open to new things, youthful, bringer of hope, but naïve. 
Honestly, I don't know who I'd vote for if I had the opportunity. At least there is a 'none of the above' option. 

   It was great to see so many young people voting, and being proud to do so. There are around 150 million first-time voters in these elections. As the world in general becomes an ever more tough place for youth, but especially in India and the Global South, its previously apolitical youth are finally taking a stand on the system that makes decisions impacting on their everyday lives. 

A young voter we met outside
a local polling station.

   I love ice cream. Anybody who follows me on Twitter or Instagram will be fully aware of this.  The hot days in the office last week were vastly improved by a flurry of colleagues’ birthdays, because birthdays mean ice cream at work. Late July must be popular time to conceive in India.

From one of the best things about India, to one of the worst: shit. While it's at the opposite end of the spectrum from ice cream in my affections, it's equally as important, which is why I've written an article about some of the dire issues India faces regarding sanitation. People don't want to think about poo, let alone talk about it, so I hope that my voice may help, even it is only a tiny bit.

   Walking home on Friday, I decided to take what I thought was a path through trees, it was hot, I wanted shade. Turns out I had actually accidentally gone through a side gate (in my defence, it should have been closed) into Sundarvan Nature Discovery Centre. I stood transfixed by a group of peacocks for rather a long time, and was treated to a full display by one of the males - quite spectacular. It’s a shame the park rangers – and most of those employed in positions of minor authority - have such strong Napoleon complexes (short man syndrome). Clearly, my standing 5 metres from the birds, still and silently watching is far more disturbing to them than the rangers shouting at me, each other, and spitting everywhere. I didn’t stop to see the snakes, or the huge monitor lizard in its worryingly small, open enclosure (please excuse the oxymoron).

   As has seemingly become a little tradition, Sunday was given over to doing some touristy stuff here in Ahmedabad. A few weeks ago, I reserved a place on the morning tour at the Calico Museum of Textiles. While plenty of people are usually yawning before I’ve had time to finishing saying the word, I love museums. The Calico Museum was no exception. I’d been forewarned about the tour, and so went with relatively low expectations. The tour guide was formidable, to say the least. Our small group was marched through the galleries with precision and at rather a rapid pace, but the collection is truly fantastic. The museum itself is housed in a series of beautiful early 19^th century buildings brought from the old city and reconstructed in the lush (like actually, not in the Indian sense of the word), bird-filled, botanic gardens of the Sarabhai Foundation. The structures are resplendent with carved wood, and are an attraction in themselves. Unfortunately, cameras are not allowed anywhere near the museum. I even had to leave my mobile phone at the gate (its most high-tech feature is the colour screen – certainly no camera).

   My personal highlight of the tour were the exquisite embroidered pieces made for the British and Portuguese. Three hundred years later, the incredibly fine work and colours are vibrant as ever. Ahmedabad, throughout its history established itself as the home of a developing textile industry, which earned it the nickname ‘Manchester of the East’. It may be very different from contemporary Manchester in terms of size and culture, but the curries in both are certainly in close competition. After a several shawls from Kashmir, gold stitched saris from Maharashtra, and patola pieces from Patan (it’s a unique and impressive technique, but I don’t care for the products personally), there is a large gallery of brightly coloured patchwork pieces from Orissa (Odisha). They reminded me of Matisse’s paper cut-outs. And then came the Bihari quilts: their animal designs looked like Miró sketches.

   That afternoon, my friend Chintan and I, along with his latest Couchsurfer, headed a few kilometres southwest from the city to Sarkhej, the site of a beautiful complex of monuments arranged around an artificial lake. We had tried - unsuccessfully - to visit Sarkhej Roza a couple of weeks ago, so it was nice to finally get there.

Queen's Palace, Sarkhej Roza.

   The lake was dry, save for a few stagnant puddles left over from the rain at Easter, but the majesty of the site was barely diminished. Constructed in the mid to late fifteenth century, there is a mosque, the mausoleum of Sheikh Ahmed Khattu (spiritual mentor of Ahmed Shah, founder of Ahmedabad), along with palaces and tombs. Sarkhej became a retreat for the sultans of Gujarat, and remains popular with many people today, for both spiritual, social and recreational purposes.

Basin for ablutions, Sarkhej Roza.

Sheikh Ahmed Khattu's Mausoleum, Sarkhej Roza. 

   Standing in front of the Sheikh’s mausoleum is the sixteen-pillared structure with nine domes, known as the Baradari is situated in the central portion of the open courtyard. Its floor is paved with coloured stones, and was surrounded by life, from pilgrims, to musicians, to children playing. 

Baradari, Sarkhej Roza.

   The dry lake bed was filled with youngsters playing cricket, seen against a backdrop of the glowing sandstone of the monuments and the encroaching skyscrapers of Ahmedabad’s urban sprawl.

Lake bed, Sarkhej Roza.

   Before I forget, I’d like to publicly thank Gemma at The Philosophy Club for the first decent coffee I’ve had since arriving in India. The macchiato was marvellous. I'm very much settled into life here in Ahmedabad, and while I'm excited to get onto the plane in exactly two weeks' time that will take me to Mumbai beginning my four weeks of travelling, I will miss my Gujurati comfort zone. 
   

Una Pascua perfecta en la playa

Monday 21^st April 2014

I arrived back in Ahmedabad from Diu at 6 o’clock this morning to scenes of what looked to be something akin to a mini-apocalypse. Parts of buildings lay shattered in the street, hoardings and signs buckled and hanging precariously from façades, and several whole trees were blocking the roads. Sadly, it was nothing so dramatic; there had just been a thunderstorm the night before.

   Googling Diu, you're likely to be directed to Dhaka International University, websites giving instructions in Spanish or Portuguese about contraceptive devices  (dispositive intrauterino, or 'DIU'), or "Did you mean 'DUI'?". While it may not be well known outside of India (or Gujarat particularly), it's certainly a popular spot for local tourism.

   Diu is tiny island just off the southern tip of Gujarat. It was a Portuguese colony for over four hundred years (one of the world’s longest-held colonial possessions), from 1535, when Nuno da Cunha was finally allowed by Sultan Bahadur of Gujarat to construct a fort on the island, until 1961 when a hasty bombing campaign carried out by Nehru’s government returned Diu to Indian control. Since then, it has been governed from Delhi along with its sister city Daman as a Union Territory. This means the laws and taxes there are a bit different from the rest of Gujarat, but most importantly: alcohol is legal.

   The island appeared to be the ideal place to spend Easter weekend, and so, on Thursday night, I boarded the 10-hour overnight bus from Ahmedabad. It cost Rs. 300 (3,50€) for 650km, and therefore, I wasn’t expecting much from the journey. The ‘bed’ was relatively comfortable, but did not come without a few issues: I’m only 5’7” (170cm) and my head touched one end and my feet the other; and there was nothing to stop me falling from my upper bunk into the aisle (people were sleeping there too) or out of the window if it was open.   

   Regardless, I made it to Diu and checked in to the charming Herança Goesa, a guesthouse run by a lovely couple from Goa. Here, I met Ester and Belén, two delightful Spanish ladies, and we hit it off immediately, and became almost inseparable from then onwards. I even got to practice my Spanish. Friday afternoon was spent on the nearby Chakratirth Beach, which we had entirely to ourselves. The sunbathing, swimming and ball games were of course fun, but the real highlight of the afternoon was the strange lump we saw bobbing around in the water, a few metres from the beach. It turned out to be an enormous green sea turtle, and what a sight it was to behold! We stood transfixed for the best part of an hour watching the magnificent creature drifting in and out on the waves.

Chakratirth Beach.

   Strolling through little Diu Town, the main settlement on the island, is quite enchanting. The older part consists of a maze of alleys and narrow streets lined with Portuguese buildings and wayside shrines. There are also a few whitewashed Portuguese churches, of which the most elaborate is St. Paul’s, where Portuguese Mass is still celebrated.

St. Paul's Church.

   Unfortunately, all of Diu’s architecture is not so charismatic. There is a proliferation of brightly coloured (both painted and tiled) houses spread throughout the town. Now, you might be imagining something like Balamory, or even a picturesque seaside town on the Italian Riviera, but Diu’s houses are nothing like those. Each building is covered in at least three colours, most frequently pinks, blues and yellows, but there were some even more garish combinations with greens, reds and purples thrown in. It was like Barbie’s dreamworld on steroids. Yuck.

Diu Town.

   At breakfast on Saturday I met a fellow Oxford geographer, he’d been at Merton College in the 1960s, and even knew Utrecht a little from his travels. ¡El mundo es un pañuelo! Gomtimata Beach, towards the western end of the island was our chosen destination for Saturday. It was totally deserted (no, I’m not attempting a sand-related pun), and had some fantastic waves. Apart from being a little dirty (although the litter was all from the sea and consisted mostly of onions, flowers, and coconut husks), it was the ideal place to relax with nothing but a book and the sound of the sea. I'm already missing the peace and calm of Diu. After dinner, we decided to treat ourselves to bottle of red wine. Despite being twice the price of a bottle of vodka/gin/rum/whisky, it was absolutely vile. India may be excellent for food, but it’s got a long way to go when it comes to making wine.

Beach-selfie with Belén and Ester, Gomtimata Beach.

    Our last touristy visit was to Diu fort on Sunday morning. The imposing edifice still stands robust, jutting out into the sea on the eastern tip of the island. Inside its crumbling colonial buildings have mostly been left to nature, and the ground is littered with centuries-old cannonballs. For the hoards Indian tourists, the main attraction seemed to be posing for photos on the bastions with the old cannons. Of course, Belén and I were coerced into countless pictures with random men. We quickly succumbed to the sweltering heat at the fort, and swiftly made our way back to the beach for one final afternoon of swimming and sunburn. There were spoonbills fishing in the rock-pools.

Diu fort.

    Alas, the weekend had to end at some point, so we made our way to the bus station, and after waving off my new amigas on their bus (which was full of drunk Indian guys), I headed back to Ahmedabad. This bus was far more comfortable; I even had my own coffin-like box to sleep in. It may not sound too appealing, but when the rest of the bus is either snoring, singing, or eating, it provided welcome shelter. The journey took eleven hours. Not because the bus drove slowly (quite the opposite in fact), but because it stopped every half an hour or so for people to use the toilet (well, wall/bush/side of the road) or buy snacks and drinks. Vicious circle much?

   If you’re wondering why I haven’t mentioned anything about last week, it’s because nothing particularly noteworthy happened. I had a few interesting chats about Indian politics over lunch with Saath’s director. I saw an advertisement for denim underwear (who on Earth wants that?!). Oh, and I wrote an article about Eurovision. 

   Happy Easter.

A temple, a step-well, and a sitar-player: a stereotypical Indian weekend?

Monday 14^th April 2014

Despite my best efforts at procrastination, I submitted my interim report this morning. Also, I wrote an article about India's new middle class. Last week was, again, relatively routine, with most of my time spent either in the office, or in the café near my house. I did, however, have a couple of evening ice cream excursions, which were of course excellent. My latest favourite flavour: fig.

    I spent Saturday finishing up the report, and later on met up with a friend and his latest Couchsurfers, a charming couple from Iceland. Somehow, the subject of Eurovision came up (apparently it’s pretty big in Iceland), and so we spent the evening watching videos of past entries, laughing and reminiscing. It was great to be able to indulge in a lengthy discussion about one of my favourite things, that I rarely get to talk about, and in India of all places…rather surreal.

    Sundays are apparently becoming my local tourist days. Originally, a visit to Sarkhej Roza had been planned for this week, but upon discovering that there was to be a collective wedding of 254 couples there, we decided to postpone for the time being. Instead, we went to Hutheesingh Jain Temple and Dada Hari ni Vav (another step-well). Located just north of the old city, Hutheesingh (or Hatheesingh, Hathi Singh, Hutheesing, etc.) Temple was built in 1848 of white marble and is dedicated to Dharmanath - the 15th Jain Tirthankar (a sort of teacher/apostle). Like most Jain temples, it is richly decorated with intricate carvings. The main edifice is beautiful from almost every angle (I managed to take a few sneaky snaps, although photography was prohibited), and glowed marvellously in the balmy early evening sun.

Hutheesingh Temple.

    Dada Hari ni Vav is a step-well, similar in design and function to the one in Adalaj, but a couple of storeys deeper, slightly more narrow, and with less decoration. It was completely devoid of visitors apart from several bats, and us, giving it a rather eerie atmosphere – very different from the cheerful calm of Adalaj.

    Although it's a Muslim structure, the craftsmen were Hindu, and their influence can be seen in the sumptuous carvings. All levels of the step-well were accessible, including its two magnificent shafts, one octagonal, galleried, and connected by (very dark and quite scary-looking) spiral staircases, and the other circular with daintily carved rings of decoration.

    Constructed in the late fifteenth century by Bai Harir Sultani, locally known as Dada Hari, the step-well is another of Gujarat’s finest. Sadly, its relatively hard-to-find location and lack of visitors mean that it receives little attention in the way of conservation and care, evident in the graffiti on its columns and the poor state of many of the carvings. If you 

want to learn more about this step-well, don't rely on its Wikipedia page, which is littered with errors (due to the fact that most of the information looks like it is simply copied from Adalaj Vav's page).  

    We had dinner at a vegan restaurant, The Philosophy Club, which serves a fantastic soy spaghetti Bolognese. I’d been missing pasta, so it was a real taste of home. Our meal was accompanied by music from Sukumar, a local sitar player, who turned out to not only be an excellent musician, but also a former professor of economics, journalist, and all-round fascinatingly wise man.

Music at The Philosophy Club.

    A few recent observations:
1. I’ve noticed that at least once a day, someone will ask me how I’m coping with the spicy food and the heat. Whilst I appreciate their concern, I can’t help but wonder what sort of reaction I’d get if I were to approach an Indian in northern Europe and ask them how they’re coping with the bland food and miserable weather.

2. “What’s up?” appears to be a very popular (or at least frequently used) greeting here. Maybe it’s just me being a bit stupid, but I never know how to respond. I usually just end up mumbling something incomprehensible in order to move the conversation along.

3. Auto rickshaw drivers will be shocked when you give them directions, and probably won’t believe you and stop to ask anyway. This morning my driver actually congratulated me on knowing the way to my office.
4. I could work in a call centre: I've been offered jobs by two people so far. 

    One final thought, on skin-lightening. Ok, this is nothing new, and most of you reading this have probably heard at least something about this trend in India (amongst other places). It's made international news, been the subject of plenty of debate, and has been playing on my mind for a while. So why mention it now? I've suddenly noticed huge billboards across the city advertising a product for this purpose. The advertisement features a woman's face divided in half, the left side dark ('Before') and the right side pale ('After'). It never fails to send a shiver down my spine. 
    When I asked someone about their opinion about this trend, they told me about how pale skin is beautiful, being dark is ugly, and that it's just like westerners wanting to be tanned. Yes, some people take the desire for that sun-kissed glow a little far, spending too much time sunbathing on holiday, using tanning beds to excess, or plastering themselves in superfluous amounts of carrot-coloured fake tan, but we (generally) don't consider pale people to be 'ugly'. You'll find plenty of people of all shades in western media. If and when I see an Indian hoarding featuring someone with dark skin I'll happily eat my words. Until then, I remain at odds with this truly unpleasant trend. 

    Next up on my itinerary: Easter weekend in Diu.

Meet me halfway

Tuesday 8^th April 2014

Two months ago today, I left Europe for India, which means I’m now approaching the halfway point of my time here. Unfortunately, the last couple of weeks have been relatively uneventful, hence the lack of updates. Since today is a public holiday here in India (Ram Navami), I decided to sit down and write a new entry.

   Since returning from Udaipur, I conducted the last six of my interviews, which means that the data collection (or generation, depending on your view point, but let’s not get into that now) component of my research is now complete, and I am beginning my preliminary analyses. I’ve promised my supervisor my interim report by the 14^th April, we’ll see if that actually happens…

View from the site of my final interviews.

   On Sunday, I decided that I deserved (and needed) a break from work after finishing the interviews, especially considering that one of my participants – bear in mind that they all volunteer and know what the research is about beforehand – turned out to be particularly tedious and decidedly awkward in answering my questions. I met up with some new friends from the city, and travelled a few kilometres out of town to Adalaj, to visit the step-well, one of Gujarat’s most spectacular. You’re probably wondering what on earth a step-well is, and I must admit that I too had to do a little research prior to the visit in order to find out.

   Step-wells are usually deep constructions, with elaborately carved walls and broad flights of covered steps which lead to a main shaft. They are common in the west of India and particularly abound across northern Gujarat. Step-wells serve to collect rainwater during seasonal monsoons in semi-arid regions such as this one. While most are utilitarian in construction, they sometimes include stunning architectural features, something particularly evident at Adalaj.

Adalaj step-well.

   The step-well (or ‘Vav’ in Gujarati) was built in 1498 by Muslim king Mohammed Begda for Queen Rani Roopba, wife of Veer Singh, the Vaghela chieftain. Step-wells were once vital in fulfilling basic water needs of semi-arid regions for drinking, washing and bathing. They were also venues for festivals and sacred rituals.

Adalaj step-well.

   Adalaj Vav is five storeys deep (reaching to groundwater level), and built in the most radiant red sandstone. Its steps, through a series of platforms raised on intricately carved pillars, lead down to an octagonal well shaft (sadly not accessible during my visit). Despite being quite busy with visitors, there remained an atmosphere of cool calm, something refreshing, seeing as the weather here is heating up, with temperatures soaring above 40°C (104°F for the benefit of those poor folks still suffering without the metric system) on most days. The entire structure is brimming with fine sculptures, depicting dance, music, animals, plants, and erotica.

  Upon returning to the city (after stopping at an artists’ residency, which of course, I loved) we went for ice cream. Normally, chocolate ice cream is something I can safely say that I despise. However, Melt In – which is dangerously close to my house – offered a chocolate orange flavour that I decided to risk trying. Sometimes letting your inner YOLO make decisions is definitely a good thing: quite possibly one of the best ice creams (ok, technically it was gelato, but whatever) I’ve ever had. Apologies for using the term YOLO, but it seemed appropriate.

   Sunday evening saw the annual Oxford-Cambridge Boat Race. Thank goodness for Twitter, which kept me updated almost live, seeing as I lack a television or an internet connection fast enough to watch it. OXFORD WON. Sadly, my burst of joy was neither shared nor appreciated by the rest of my housemates (all Indian), who had just watched India lose to Sri Lanka in the final of the world Twenty20. Cricket is a really big deal here, they were not happy.  

    The next week or so will probably be taken up with report writing, so it’s doubtful that anything worth writing about will come up. But this is India, and if there’s a place one should expect the unexpected, it’s here. Also, the general election – the biggest the world has ever seen - started yesterday (Gujarat votes on 30^th April), and it will hopefully bring some exciting happenings.