Chapter 7 – Delhi to Ahmadabad

Back at the hotel, we had thoughts of supper; where would we go? Earlier I had noted a pizza shop and a few small restaurants in the area, so that is where we began our search. While wandering through the local neighbourhood we came upon a number of open-air shops set up on tables. Some sold DVDs, some sold clothing and others sold books. We found two book tables that had some English language titles, one of which caught M.’s eyes, a book called Holy Cow. The book was available from both tables which gave us an opportunity to bargain for a lower price. Of course, the books were cheaply produced, likely illegally.

With the book now in our hands, we continued on searching for a place to eat now walking away from the hotel area down a busy street past a number of restaurants. Because the restaurants were unknowns to us with menus offering choices we couldn’t understand as there was no English on the menus, we returned back to our hotel where we tried out the small bar which also served food. Much to our surprise, the food was excellent! Since we were the only customers in the bar, the waiter spent some time with us talking about India. He was particularly talkative when we told him we were going to Rajasthan next as it was his home province.

With supper done, we went up to our room to make sure that all was ready for our early morning ride to the airport which would take us to Ahmadabad. While in the room we checked out the new book and found out that it had an extra sixty-four pages, a whole section repeated. There was no question that we got a pirated edition. All that was left to do was to download the day’s photos and write up my journal, insurance against my aging brain and the possibility of forgetting. That done, it was time for bed. Only, there was a problem. Like the previous night, the heavy bass of loud music began to thrum making sleep difficult to come. Somehow or other, we finally slept.

Breakfast was a repeat of the previous day with Masala tea replacing the coffee. We went down to wait for our ride to the airport in the hotel lobby only to find that the driver and guide were already there. As we drove out of the parking lot, we had to make room for three wandering cows. Then, with the roadway clear, we made our way through the predawn darkness to the airport.

Driving down the roads which had already begun to feel familiar, I looked out waiting for the house before an overpass which had a swastika representing Ganesh and a few other landmarks we had passed a number of times on our brief travels in Delhi. We’ve been here for such a short time, yet there was no doubt that Delhi had left a deep impression. I wondered what would emerge should I have decided to spend much more time in this strange and curious city.

En route we passed an elephant being ridden along the roadside. I couldn’t believe my eyes, an elephant walking the streets of a city! And so much more, scenes that have become almost familiar: people standing in the darkness waiting for buses, small fires just off the edges of roadways along long walls around which figures huddled for warmth, and traffic. Even though it was so early in the morning, the traffic was heavier as we neared the airport.

At the domestic airlines side of the airport, we were pointed towards the entrance where we would have to clear security and then wait for our flight to Ahmadabad, Gujarat. The passage through security was quite different from what we had ever experienced in other countries. Men and women had to go through separate entrances. It seemed to me that the men got through much quicker than the women. In the waiting room, everything returned back to normal. The only difference from past experience was the fact that almost every single person was Indian, many of them Sikhs wearing turbans. There were only a few other foreigners in the crowd waiting for a plane. Here, we were definitely outsiders, strangers in a strange land. Yet, for all the strangeness, there was a comforting sameness. People read newspapers, talked on cell phones, chatted, tried sleeping on the uncomfortable plastic chairs and metal benches: husbands and wives, colleagues, students, business men - travellers moving on to the next stop on their individual journeys.

The flight, like so many others we have taken over the years, was basically uneventful, in other words, a good flight with no excitement. Clearing the arrivals area we were met by our new driver, a man called Sachin, a short and fairly young man that wore a perpetual smile from when we met until we were well on our way from Ahmadabad to Dungarpur, Rajasthan. He led us to his car, a small modern car, which was to serve as our transportation for the next three weeks. In the car with only music from the car’s radio breaking the silence, we began the long drive to our first destination in this north-western province of India which shares a border with Pakistan. Why the quietness? I am certain it had to do with the lack of sleep and a significant dose of culture shock.

As we drove through the outskirts of Ahmadabad, a city of flowers everywhere, I began taking photographs from the moving car. The colours worn by the women were incredible. We passed many carrying loads on their heads. Later, I found out that the content of their containers was dung, cow shit. As I took the photo, they smiled. Somehow, the task didn't seem to be the worst fate possible. I couldn't imagine anyone in the western world being able to smile while carrying this kind of load. Here too, along the edges of the highway, we saw the poverty of India, with people living on the streets. We saw tiny temples with tiny red rags blowing from sticks. Mean huts, lean-tos, and blankets used as both roof and walls served as home to many along the sides of the roads of Ahmadabad.

To be fair, we also saw modern buildings, many signs of a busy and prosperous society. Some small homes that were brightly painted with a small flower gardens, and condos as you would find anywhere in the developed world were also visible. But, it was the poverty that caught the eye the most. India was proving to be a curious contradiction where the modern world and an ancient world somehow exist in a curious relationship, a vivid study in contrast.

Though tired from the flight and a short night of sleep, we both kept our eyes wide open trying to catch everything, trying hard not to miss anything. And then, we left the outskirts of the city heading north for Rajasthan, heading for a small city called Dungarpur.