Message #17: Ahmedabad

(Message sent Mon, 20 Nov 2006 02:53:52 -0700)

I wasn't sure about coming to Ahmedabad, capital of Gugarat state. There didn't seem to be much of interest, but I thought I'd give it a chance. On the first morning I thought I had made a big mistake. I got an auto-rickshaw driver to take me around the sights, and was duly led from one place to another. It has to be said that, compared to the splendors of Rajasthan, the sights ranged from the tawdry to the merely dull. But three things happened to save the day: a well, a welcome, and a woman.

I guess that it makes sense that wells would become very elaborate structures in areas where water is scarce. I saw several such in Rajasthan, though none as interesting or as peculiar as that first one in Abhaneri that I mentioned in a previous post.

One of the stops on my tour was to a complex well. It was very different from the Abhaneri one, but just as fascinating. It's rather hard to describe. Picture a normal well five stories deep. Now, right beside it, build a second well. this time octagonal. Only, instead of having a simple octagonal shaft, build the second well as a series of five octagonal balconies, each supporting the ones above it with pillars. Then put two spiral staircases down besdie the octagonal well, to take you down to any level. Connect the first and second wells together, right at the bottom. Cut all of this out of the living rock. Finally, build a wide stone staircase from the bottom of the octagonal well to ground level. Make the staircase alternatively open to the sky and enclosed by stacks of platforms supported by pillars. So as you walk up the stairs there is first open sky above you, then a stack of four platforms, then open sky, then a stack of three platforms and so on until you reach ground level.

The well is totally dry at the moment, presumably because of the recent bad monsoons. As the well fills, successively more and more of the staircase would be submerged.

There is another well nearby, much smaller, although of similar construction. Also dry, it has been converted into a temple, with little shrines to various gods at each level, culminating in a shrine to Krishna right at the bottom. A little boy of about six latched on to me and acted as my guide, giving me a commentary on each shrine as we passed - in, I take it, Gugarati!

After the well my rickshaw driver offered to take me home to meet his family and see his apartment. I'm always very apprehensive about these offers, as I'm always afraid that my discomfort at the way other people are forced to live might communicate itself. I was doubly concerned in this case as my driver - who had the disconcerting habit of turning to face me while driving, in order to get his message across using halting English and mime - seemed to be saying that his wife suffered from a number of ailments, including a tumour on the neck.

But in the event the visit was a delight. My driver's appartment was very small - two rooms, a kitched, a bathroom, all of which would have fitted into my bedroom at home - but clean and comfortable. The Indians have shrines absolutely everywhere, and I was intrigued to see photos of holy men pasted on to the apartment's fusebox, presumably in the hope of a more reliable power supply.

As soon as I arrived a gaggle of kids poured into the room, all keen to see the funny-looking guy. They insisted on having their photos taken repeatedly, and squealed in delight at the images on the camera's screen. One little bloke kept pointing excitedly at himself and then at his image on the screen, over and over, I think to make sure I know that that was him in the picture.

The encounter was very good for me, as it showed me that for some Indians at least there is a step above abject poverty. While they owned basically nothing that we would consider goes with a normal life they seemed happy and clean and well-fed.

The last place the driver took me to was Gandhi's Ashram. An ashram is a place where people live and work communally. Gandhi spent a lot of his time at this one, and it was from there that he set off on his salt march. There isn't a lot to see now, but it was still cool to be where history happened.

While wandering around the ashram I bumped into Jennifer, a woman from the States who has been travelling, off and on, for two years. It was fun to hang out with her for a while, swapping travel stories, wandering around the markets, and eating ice-cream lassis. She comes across as an effortless traveller, someone who handles the rigours of life on the road well.

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