High As A Kite

Ahmedabad, India

In this blog... I go to the world's biggest kite festival, spend a day in the homes of five local families and see a truly amazing night sky.

------------------------------------------

Tuesday 14th January

By chance I'd found myself in Ahmedabad for Uttarayan - the world's biggest kite festival. It's a two day public holiday for the city which everyone spends with their family and friends, stood on the flat rooftops of their homes flying kites, eating food and having fun. With no central event as such, it wasn't at all obvious how I would be able to see or join in with the festivities, with neither the internet nor hotel staff shedding any light. I decided it would likely be a spectacle just being out and about, and rather than roam aimlessly, walked across the city towards another stepwell nearby, to see what happened on the way. 

About a mile along the road I first saw the extent of the celebrations, with kites filling both the sky and every nearby tree, and people flying them from every available open space. Walking beside a main road, a local guy enthusiastically called me across and encouraged me to fly his kite, much to the delight of him and his family, none of whom who could speak any English. Despite being obviously being quite poor - I'm guessing they lived on the street, they were all smiles. There's something I love about the Indian passion for kites - it's so simple and innocent, and accessible to anybody which is refreshing in the world of today.

The guy who dragged me 

across the street to fly his kite

Kites everywhere

I continued on another half mile, and took a short cut through an side street, beside densely packed, poor-quality housing. The quality of housing and the crime rate don't usually seem to go hand in hand in India. A guy of around fifty was stood by the road with his group of friends, gathered around a motorbike. 'Hello, how are you?' he said, surprised to see a foreigner, and after a minute of chatting invited me up to his rooftop to fly a kite. I was caught off guard by the invite, but thought why not, and so began a day of some of the best hospitality I've ever received. 

Climbing the almost ladder-like stairs of the typical three story home, and passing tiny one-room concrete homes, I was on his flat rooftop, and saw for the first time the most amazing sight - a panorama full of brightly coloured kites and rooftops full of people as far as the eye could see. I was once again given the kite strings, and introduced to a few of his local friends and children. A nineteen year old lad, I think called Nirali pointed to another rooftop nearby where his friends were, and asked if I'd join them, so I thought why not.

Reaching the rooftop of house two, I was greeted by extremely loud Bhangra music, and a throng of about twenty mostly late-teenagers with the odd uncle, grandad and young kid thrown in, all of whom immediately wanted to know the usual questions. I'm now convinced the Indian government issue the population with a 'questions to ask foreigners' guide sheet, such is the consistency of questions I receive. I was immediately accosted with a blur of camera phones, with arms pulling me this way, that way, come here, go there, eat this, do that. All spoke over the top of each other, completely oblivious that the others exist and fought for my attention. Once again, I must point out before I'm accused of egotism, that this is not in any way a reflection of me but typical of the way Westeners are received in India, though less so among more educated people, for whom the novelty is often long past. Despite only being 11am, the music blared non-stop, and I had little choice but to a oblige when they started dancing, Indian style and got me to join in. There wasn't even any beer involved, since it's illegal throughout the state of Gujarat. I soon picked up the basic moves and had a whale of a time. After a while what with this, and all the attention I needed to take a rest, at which point I was well fed and watered with home-made sugary snacks. Nirali could see I was struggling with the sun when holding the kite strings, and gave me his sunglasses to use, then refused to take them back afterwards - 'they're yours now'.

House party number two. Not sure 
what forced that daft expression!

After an hour or so, Nirali pointed to his home, about five houses away, and told me to wave to his family who were looking my way, after which they ushered for me to visit them. This was turning into quite a day. I arrived in their family home, which in their case took over all three stories of this building, and was simple, colourful, clean and pleasant. I met his sister who is a bit of a taekondo champion and proud of it, his Mum who immediately brought me some chapattis and curried mixed veg, and his Dad - Mahesh who works in accounts for the government, and is a civil defence volunteer as well. All could speak a bit of English, but only the daughter was fluent. All sorts of neighbours, cousins and uncles soon arrived from nearby, who were all extremely friendly, and once again I was accosted with camera phones and demands to dance with them in a group, hilarious. By this point I'd given up all thoughts of doing anything else with the day, feeling like I'd struck gold already with these excitable locals. There is a saying in India - 'the guest is god' and they certainly follow through on the claim.

House party number three. Mahesh is on the right.

After a couple of hours, Mahesh, who's around 45, kindly offered to take me on a tour of the area, so we went off in his little Maruti-Suzuki car - an Indian made machine. It was a bit of a strange tour in that we went a few miles across town first stopping off to see his office block, which was closed for the celebrations but impressively clean and modern, then onto another rooftop party where his boss was spending the afternoon. Arriving at house number four, I was led into the living room where the family were having lunch, which in the traditional manner was sat on the floor cross legged, with a range of dishes and accompaniments on the tiles that everyone helps themselves to. I was plied straight away with food, then we went up to the rooftop where some of their other friends were flying kites. I met Mehesh's boss Pinakin, and heard stories about his six months in England in the eighties - playing cricket and working. Interesting guy. After an hour or so, Mahesh then drove me back to base.

The fun continued as Mahesh dropped me round to his neighbours across the street, house five of the day, then disappeared after a few minutes leaving me on the rooftop with yet another extended family. I chatted with the son and daughter who's names I forget, who were well educated and talkative, him being a lecturer in mechnical engineering and her an IT professional. Once again, the cameraphones were out in force, I was passed a kite to fly, and I was served a range of sweets - thin slabs of caramelised peanuts amongst others. Kite fighting is part of the celebrations, where people purposely try to take each other's down. This is done by buying string that is coated in very fine particles of glass, so therefore when the lines contact and rub each other, one of them is going to break. Unfortunately this results in many injuries each year, both to passing birds, and humans, who often sustain cuts to their throats from stray strings, and fall off rooftops whilst concentrating too hard on looking upwards. Three hundred people were injured and eight died at this years festival (article here). Only in India.  

I may have mentioned before that you don't normally see that many women out and about in India, it's often a real old-fashioned man's world where women are usually hidden away as housewives, or work  on farms or building sites. There are exceptions of course such as in the previous paragraph. Therefore being in so many homes over the day gave me the opportunity to actually meet some women for a change, who were all very pleasant but struck me as overwhelmingly shy. Times are changing, and many young and educated women now go out to work, and live more western lifestyles, for better or worse.

House party number four

My new buddy Mahesh returned around fiveish, and decided to drive to show me a nearby Jain temple. Jainism is a minority religion in India, practiced by about 2.5% of the population (which is still 30 million people!), and based on Hinduism with a twist from what I can work out - they have some interesting views including not killing anything at all, insects included. I'd not come across one of these temples before, but to be honest couldn't really tell the difference with a Hindu one, as they all vary so much anyway. We then drove back across town to where we'd been earlier - house number four. Can you keep up, cause I can't, it was non-stop! Pinakin, the boss, then immediately loaded a few of us in his car to go and get some supplies for the evening. One of the guys bought me a panipuri to try from a streetfood vendor - a hollow pastry shell, filled with cold veg and water, whilst someone else bought me a bottle of water. All of this without asking, such amazing kindness. Unfortunately upon returning to the car, he realised he'd locked his keys in the ignition! After twenty minutes of trying to break-in, he abandoned it for the night and hailed us an auto-rickshaw home.

Four families enjoying Uttarayan 
together - at house party number four

It was now dark, and most of the kites had been packed away for the night and replaced with something even more spectacular. Back at his house I walked up the steps onto the roof, and my jaw dropped at the sight that lay before my eyes. The sky was absolutely full to the brim with Chinese lanterns - those cresch paper balloons powered by candles. There were literally tens of thousands of them, set off by people from rooftops all over the city. The photo below really doesn't do it justice, it was one of the greatest sights I've ever seen, second only to the a Northern Lights. Of course, this sight would rightly never happen in a developed country, because of fears over fire, rubbish and cows choking on the remains, so it felt all the more special because of it and we joined in by lighting a few ourselves. It was then dinner time, and the four families who comprised the party sat cross-legged on the floor and served a type of rice dish called hotchpotch with a khichdi masala curry. With a nightbus to Mumbai to catch, at eight I had to say my goodbyes and thank you's, and Mahesh offered to drive me back to my hotel.

Now there my friends is real hospitality. Over the day I'd met so many amazingly kind, welcoming, curious and friendly people. I was absolutely bowled over by the experience, and all I did to make it happen was it was go for a wander. The way all the best things seem to happen!

The amazing night sky full of Chinese lanterns.

Streets of Ahmedabad

Typical rooftop scene throughout the day

House party number three - looking like a plonker whilst being taught to dance Bhangra style

Kite reels

Mehish taking me on a tour across town

Dinner time at party number four

Gandhi's House

Ahmedabad, India

In this blog... I go to Gandhi's house, visit a step well and, errr, eat a pizza.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

After the lake cruise at Udaipur, I took a mid-afternoon bus to Ahmedabad, about five hours south. Ahmedabad is a typical Indian commercial and industrial city, and not really a common stop off for tourists, but I wanted to break up the long journey south to Mumbai, and there were a couple of things worth stopping a day for. Which ended up being three. 

Saturday 11th January

Motorway services

As ever, there were a few interesting happenings on the dual carriageway on the way. The road was well built and fast, and we passed along scrubby hills, later followed by flat arable land. A jeep overtook our bus, and despite doing sixty miles an hour down the outside lane, had four people sat on the roof and one sat on top of the spare wheel, which certainly made me double take and smile. A cow walked up the fast lane towards oncoming traffic which swerved around without eyebrows being raised. Brightly painted lorries overtook, hooting their two tone horns. We braked hard for a very out-of-place and unmarked set of speedbumps on a fast section, presumably there to slow everyone for the corner - what's wrong with using a sign?! At late dusk, a tractor with a trailer packed full of people, pulled across the centre of the road, and onto our lane with no lights on. Lights seem to be very much optional until needed here, only used when you can no longer actually see.

Our driver was typically lacking in skill as well, constantly swerving out violently to overtake and therefore making the bus lurch to one side. At one point something hit the roof, possibly a tree branch, and immediately after, strangley the whole cabin filled with smoke, which soon dispersed when everyone slid open the windows. For some peculiar reason the bus terminated about eight miles outside of Ahmedabad, which annoyed me greatly since I'd booked a bus to Ahmedmabad, and not 'eight miles north of Ahmedmabad by a hardware shop'. I took a conveniently-waiting rickshaw for the final leg, with him trying to scam me as usual, until I asked the bus driver the distance and worked out what it should cost, finally agreeing the right price.

---

I found a hotel in the very noisy city centre known as Lal Darwaja, and after moving to the second room since the first was missing an entire window pane (fairly handy in a city as noisy as this), I checked in. This process in India is always typically beaurocratic, requiring you to fill in a 'foreign guest' form followed by a separate guest book, both requiring every conceivable detail including your age and marriage status, followed by them photocopying your passport and visa and submitting it to the Police. Here in the state of Gujarat, I interestingly also had to give my left thumbprint as well, apparently a security precaution, but gave the feeling of checking-in at jail. That night, I was still recovering following a week of 'irregular bowel movements' and couldn't face Indian food, so went to a nearby pizza shop. What they cooked up wasn't a bad effort, though Indians are definately best at their own food - though at £1.50 (150 rupees) I couldn't complain too much. Just as I went to bed at midnight that night, what sounded like a live drumming ensemble, or possibly a crew of jackhammers, started up on a street nearby, but thankfully stopped after half an hour. Indians are so tolerant to noise (read: totally oblivious) and seem to have no understanding that their neighbours might want to sleep.

Sunday 12th January

The guys at the bus stop in Gandhinagar

I was heading for Adalaj step well, about fifteen miles north of town and walked to the local bus station to find a way there. There's never any signs to tell you which bus to get on, so I asked around until a conductor told me I was on the right one. Which it actually wasn't it transpired. I ended up another five miles north of where I should have been in the city of Gandhinagar, and was pointed not across the bus yard, but to a dusty car park along the road for the connecting bus. Once there, a group of about ten guys were sat around some shacks idly chatting, and enthusiastically called me over, with one of them turning out to be the conductor. In broken English they asked the usual set range of curious questions, and kindly provided a chai (masala milk tea) in return. Friendly bunch. 

---

Adalaj step well

I eventually ended up at Adalaj step well. A step well is exactly as it sounds - a well, with a stepped embankment surrounding it, built in a range of styles. This was a particularly grand and impressive one, built from sandstone in the sixteenth century by a king in honor of his wife, with extremely detailed carvings and mouldings. An.interesting sight, and pleasing to see that it was well preserved. After an hour I walked back to the main road and a local lad helpfully hailed the right bus back to the city. It was so jam-packed, as they often are, that I had to sit right by the windscreen on the engine cover, facing backwards and grabbing the handrail. The hot seat you might say. I stopped for lunch in a fairly smart looking restaurant (though still a bargain) and tentatively tested my stomach with a thali - a set lunch comprising a range of spicy soup, curries and accompaniments, washed down with a lassi - basically a glass of yoghurt by my reckoning. I didn't really enjoy the meal for once, and wasn't sure whether to blame that on the food, or my still recovering intestines. Probably the latter.

Gandhi's bedroom and living space

I walked to Ghandi Ashram (Sabarmati), where Ghandi himself lived for thirteen years between 1917-1930. An ashram to remind you, is an Indian concept, a spiritual commune where like-minded people live, pray, study and work. The ashram is now closed and preserved as it was, with a fascinating museum within on Gandhi during this period of his life, and the display of his bedroom made it clear to see the simple and unmaterialistic life he lived, whilst devoting his life to freeing India from a British rule. His approach was through protest and non-violence, and really struck a chord with the world. And worked, for India was set free from Britain in 1947. I was quite taken by what I'd learnt about the great man, an inspiring figure around the world.

I'd planned to catch a night bus to Mumbai that evening, but back in the room just felt shattered, and lacking in appetite, eventually having another small and boring pizza. Funnily enough, the illness and therefore delay of my departure, had a silver lining a couple of days later as you'll see in the next blog.

---

Monday 13th January

With nothing else I wanted to see in Ahmedabad, I took the opportunity to catch up on writing my blogs, but not until I'd spent an hour sat in a cafe waiting for my breakfast to turn up. Despite complaining twice and being told to wait, after an hour it turned out they'd not actually written down nor passed the order to the kitchen - the second time in as many weeks this has happened. Writing down orders here is rare. Delirious from hunger, I walked out in disgust and instead ate chapattis with veg curry next door. The rest of the day was spent sitting in my hotel room with the windows wide open, letting in the glorious warmth. I realise sometimes I pack too much into my time without a break, so it was good to relax for the day and just write. And after a couple of months of often being in the cold, the heat was a pleasant change. 

The chaotic city markets

Around 5pm I was done, and decided to go for a stroll round the nearby street market; as usual hectic, noisy and dirty, and full to the brim with clothes, housewares and every bit of tat you could possibly want, as well as the usual crowds of thousands of people with motorbikes ignorantly beeping to try to pass between. I was a both a bit shocked and amused (does that make bemused?) when I found a guy sat on the pavement, legs dangling in the rubbish filled gutter, whilst another man sat alongside, cross legged in the lotus position applying a tattoo to the guys forearm, using just a little battery powered kit. I then realised this wasn't just one guy, but a whole line of around twenty of them - an extra-hygienic pavement tattoo parlour. He asked if I wanted one. Funnily enough I declined.

---

A strange perculiarity was the amount of belt shops nearby to my hotel, there must have been over twenty of them. Having made do with a crappy plastic belt since loosing mine in Germany months ago, I took advantage of this and ironically despite the huge choice, bought the simplest brown leather one I could find for just £3 (300 rupees), which the owner even tailored for me by cutting to size and putting an extra hole in.

I was looking at going to Alang the next day, a town six hours away where the world's largest ship breaking facility  can be found, a place where old ships from mostly developed countries come to die due to the much lower cost. This is due to both the low labour cost, and the blind eye often turned here to safety and environmental implications that couldn't happen at home. Passing your own problems to someone else basically, at a big cost to their health and environment - manynpeoplemdie there every year. It comprises a six mile long beach, where they intentionally drive ships at full tilt into the sand to allow them to be dismantled. I've seen a documentary on it before and it looked an amazing place to visit, but because of said issues, security is now very tight so I wouldn't have seen that much given the long journey. I consoled myself by reading some great blogs on it, by a retired American captain who goes there to buy salvaged goods to sell on, and also a backpacker who visited in 1998. Both very interesting. 

---

Having a TV in my room for a rare change allowed me to flick around the Indian Sky TV channels that night, which were mostly in Hindi with the odd US import, and on the whole pretty cheeses and rubbish. After some time without seeing a movie, I was pleased to find and watch the Sly Stallone movie 'Lock Up' though, which despite being in English, had English subtitles - maybe Indians struggle with the accents or something. 

After a bit more reading about the city I was in that night, I found by chance my timing coincided with a big event, so despite not really liking this particularly dirty and noisy place, decided it was definitely worth adding yet another day. 

Getting a quick tattoo done... by a guy sat on the pavement