Memoirs from Gujarat: Reliving Bollywood, one palace at a time

The sights and sounds of Gujarat constantly remind you of one or the other Bollywood movie. Filmmakers like Sanjay Leela Bhansali, Ashutosh Gowarikar, and Sooraj Barjatya, smitten by its picturesque locales and larger-than-life forts and palaces, have repeatedly taken recourse to shooting for their films in Gujarat, giving birth to such visual treats as Lagaan; Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam; Kai Po Che; Ram Leela; Saheb, Biwi aur Gangster; and most recently, Prem Ratan Dhan Payo.

This past December, my friends and I took the opportunity to explore the filmy charm and beauty of two such palaces in the Kutch area of Gujarat. The first palace on our royal itinerary was Vijaya Vilas Palace, which many will recognise as the British house from the movie Lagaan, and also Aishwarya's Rai's family home in Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam (refer to this video).

The kingdom of Kutch was established in the mid-12th century by the Jadeja Rajput rulers, who had migrated to Gujarat from Sindh and rules the kingdom for 800 years. Kutch later became a princely state under the British rule. Vijaya Vilas Palace was commissioned by Rao Khengarji III in 1920 as a summer resort for his son and heir, Vijayaraji (hence its name). Built in true Rajput style, the palace took a decade (1920-29) to be completed. Architects from Rajasthan, Bengal, Jaipur, along with the local Kutchi artisans and builders erected this marvel in red sandstone (which has yellowed suspiciously over the years, if I may add). Its huge pillared halls, domes, stained-glass windows, old-style furniture, plush interiors, and relics of a life lived royally (including a life-like stuffed tiger skin on display) make the palace a must-visit for all heritage enthusiasts. At its rear end are beautiful, sprawling lawns and water channels with fountains. The royal family of Kutch, who used the palace as a summer retreat until 2001, now reside there and run it as a private resort. Vijaya Vilas Palace Resort has its own private beach where visitors can rent out tents.

A little before dusk, we reached the nearby Mandvi Beach and watched as the sun sank beyond the western horizon (I wrote free verse about it earlier). It was so soothing that by the time we were done, it was quite late and we were told we might just be able to catch the last bus to Gandhidham. We hurried in an auto, stopping at every travel agency on the roadside to ask if a bus was leaving anytime soon. Luckily, we found one and heaved a sigh of relief. It was a luxury sleeper bus and would otherwise have been one expensive ride, but astonishingly, it cost us just ₹100 per person - exactly what we had paid in the morning for a 2-hour bumpy ride on a rickety old public bus. We were awestruck! Settling into an upper single berth, I looked out of the window into the bright moonlit night. The moon cast an eerie silver glow on the passing trees and bushes. I put on some music and lay there, quietly, for the two and a half hours it took us to reach our hotel.

Our second royal visit, a couple of days later, took us to the famous Prag Mahal Palace in Bhuj. Having expected the palace to be built in the western Indian architectural style, like the Vijaya Vilas Palace, I was surprised to find in its place a stunning specimen of Gothic architecture! Prag Mahal Palace was commissioned in 1865 by the then ruler, Rao Pragmalji II. Apparently he had a thing for European architecture, because he brought in famous Italian architect Colonel Saint Wilkins to design the palace, while the local Kutchi builder community was hired for its construction. The palace took a whole 12 years to build, but the Rao did not live to see its resplendent glory. He passed away in 1875, leaving the palace to be enjoyed by his son, Rao Khengarji, who later built the Vijaya Vilas Palace to be enjoyed by his own son, Vijayaraji. What a grand, loving family.

Prag Mahal palace is the first building in India to be built in the Neo-Gothic architectural style. It is home to one of the only two surviving colonial-era clock towers in the country, the other being in Bombay. Built in Italian marble and red sandstone, the palace shows off brilliant carvings and stucco work complemented by Rajput-style Jali work and carvings. Inside the palace are on display various artifacts used by the royal family during colonial times, such as palanquins, percussion instruments, furniture, stuffed heads of animals hunted by the kings, etc. My eye was especially drawn to the many cracked or rusted mirrors that lined the walls of various chambers. It was before one such old mirror, cracked and stained, that I took the picture that is my blog's present cover image. It isn't hard to tell how much I love it.

A rare picture of yours truly modelling for the camera in broad daylight.

Right across from Prag Mahal is 'Ranivas' or the residence of the queen, said to have been built in the 16th century. Both the palaces were severely damaged in the 2001 Bhuj earthquake, and even before repairs could be started, double tragedy struck when in 2006 robbers looted the palace of all its riches. It was much later, when Amitabh Bachchan seemingly took personal interest in its reconstruction, that the palace was declared a heritage site and restoration work initiated. It is open to visitors now from 9 am to 12 pm and 3 pm to 6 pm on all days except Saturday. The Ranivas, however, is still in a sorry state. On the left of Prag Mahal is Aina Mahal, which for the lack of time I couldn't cover in its entirety. But the entire complex was so beautiful and majestic that reproducing a few pictures here just wouldn't do justice to it. I have compiled some great shots of Prag Mahal and its surroundings into a short video, and I'm rather excited about it. Check it out below!

You can visit my Youtube channel for exclusive videos I've uploaded recently (including a short film I just made). Also head over to my Facebook page for latest updates on my travels and blog posts. I've got a lot more to share from my Gujarat trip, so stay hooked until I return. Ciao!

The One with the two Secret Santas

"Secret Santa is a Western Christmas tradition in which members of a group or community are randomly assigned a person to whom they anonymously give a gift."

This is how Wikipedia defines 'Secret Santa'. I have vague memories of having heard of or read about this tradition on American TV series and the Internet. But come December 2015, I saw this amazing activity unfold before my very own eyes at the Young India Fellowship. It turned out to be an immensely beautiful way of spreading love and cheer around Christmas, and I'm sure the world would benefit greatly from more people adopting it.

Here's how we executed it: an excel sheet was sent to everyone, and those who wished to take part in the activity put in their names. A random assortment algorithm was then used to assign one Secret Santa to each person, so that every person got one present and in turn gave one present. It was overwhelming to see a large majority of my batch sign up for it - it reflected the deep sense of giving and sharing that the people around me harboured. The deadline for the exchange of gifts was mutually set at 22nd December, since that was the last day for most Fellows on campus before leaving for the holidays. For over a week after this, there ensued on campus a heart-warming gift exchange drive, mostly in the form of surprises springing up on people in random places at random times. Some would wake up in the morning to find a present and a beautifully written card/note on their doorstep or table. Some would receive presents from messengers. Some would return to their rooms in the evening to find a surprise waiting for them on the bed. Some lucky ones even received a series of presents for each day in the run-up to 22nd! It was an utter delight to watch the entire spectacle unfold.

I was to play Secret Santa to this wonderful girl on campus whom I really admired for her lively spirit and lone-wolf-like capabilities. So I researched a bit on her likes and passions, and then went back to Delhi to fish for presents. I had less time at hand, so I could only muster up 3 little presents, but I was sure she would love them. Back on campus, I found different ways to send them out to her. My simple efforts didn't go in vain, I'm glad, because I was later told by my messengers that she really liked all her presents. I did want her to know who her Secret Santa was - I'm sure you understand the temptation of receiving a simple thanks - but I didn't tell her. I'd heard this activity was all about the joy of giving and receiving, so I thought the identity of the benefactor didn't matter as long as both the giver and receiver got happiness out of it. Which I in fact did, because as my friends would surely tell you, I love giving out presents!

But I love receiving them too. Who doesn't, right? It's a wonderful feeling to be taken by surprise as you receive something you weren't expecting in that moment. That is why I was beside myself with excitement ever since I'd signed up for Secret Santa. I wanted to have the best Santa ever, one who would know the kind of person I am, and then surprise me with something I'd love. That sounds like a far-fetched fantasy now, but oh well. That's what I thought back then. And so I lay in wait, day after day, watching everyone around me receive their presents while my Santa took his/her time. Gradually I was convinced that my Santa had forgotten me. All my excitement had been in vain, because my present was clearly not coming. I may have bitched about my Santa to a couple of friends too. I was exceedingly disappointed, leaving campus on the 22nd without stories of how my Santa took my breath away and all that jazz. I felt sad; my Christmas wasn't going to be all that happy this year, I thought. But then I told myself that the joy of giving was way above that of receiving, and I was happy again. Then I went to Gujarat and had a great vacation, and almost forgot all about Santa.

I visited campus after returning from Gujarat, just for one night so that I could work on an essay submission in peace. The campus was deserted, and thus the perfect setting for spending a quiet night away from all the noise of city life. I entered my room, lost in thought, and what did I find? A nicely rolled up pink thing sitting on my bed along with a scribbled note. My heart took a leap as I rushed forward and grabbed it - it was a very pretty Yoga mat. I was a little taken aback! You ask why? Well, it doesn't sound nearly as funny now, but in that moment the first thing that came to my mind was - ummm, is this to tell me that I'm fat and need to exercise? I didn't take it in the wrong way, no. I was rather amused by the thought. I instinctively knew the present was from a harebrained person who didn't think that deep into the present as I had. The handwriting on the note - rather child-like - gave me the feeling that it was a guy. Even though I was happy to have finally got my present from Santa, I was also a little miffed at having got it so late and there being nothing written in the note except, "with love and affection, Santa". I was really desperate to know who it was, so to lure them into owning up, I put up a status on Facebook that read:

My Secret Santa be like "Yo Mahima so fat, let her Christmas present be a Yoga Mat."

The status caught on with friends; everyone liked the witty humour. And then days went by and I never got to know who it was. Until on 3rd January, a friend on campus revealed to me that it had been him. He apologised for any discomfort the idea of a yoga mat may have caused me, and I in turn assured him that it was all in a light vein, and I in fact was sorry for having put it up on Facebook. But then came the big revelation: He wasn't my assigned Secret Santa at all! He was just this nice guy who had decided to play Secret Santa to a few of his friends on campus without having been assigned the obligation to do so by anyone. I was floored! Never before had I experienced anybody do such a benign thing for me. I felt even worse now for having complained about my Secret Santa earlier. My dejection with the whole thing had been answered by something I wouldn't have expected in a hundred years. And so, with that single act of kindness, my New Year kicked off to an utterly beautiful start.

Bad photo, but really pretty yoga mat. Thank you Secret Santa!

Is that cute or what?

The same evening, I was returning to my room after dinner. Little did I know another surprise awaited me - a gorgeous green dupatta with gold trimming, might I say ALSO ROLLED-UP, along with an exquisite burnt-edged card with the most lovely wishes scribbled on it. I instinctively knew it was my closest friend Nikita's doing, and yet I was truly amazed. Lots of hugging followed. And guess what? She did not forget to include a pun either. "This is not a yoga mat!" So, so her.

I love you, Nikita. Thank you.

A couple of days later, I was woken up from my precious mid-day nap by a pretty little messenger who claimed to have brought me a present from my Secret Santa - a silky soft, deep blue scarf and a pair of rustic earrings (both of which I've been obsessively wearing since that day). As it turned out, my good ol' Santa had handed her the present on the 22nd. But I had left campus by then and she forgot all about it after a few days. And hence, my sweet Santa's present reached me only after the first week of January. But this time round, instead of miffing me, it actually had me all excited; it actually made me feel kind of privileged. How many people get their Christmas presents well into the new year? I did. So thank you, Santa. I know who you are, and I love you for this.

Sheer beauty!!!

It all worked out best for me in the end, didn't it? People often ask me what the basis of my unfaltering belief in the justice of the universe is. THIS, people. This, and many more such events that keep happening to me all the time, make me believe that there is a fairness to the working of the world which makes life worth living. While I sat ruing that I did not get a Christmas treat from my Santa, somewhere in the world there were three Christmas presents just waiting to reach me. Is that not a Christmas miracle? I like to think it is.

So it's right, isn't it, what they say? All's well that ends well. On that hopeful note, here's wishing you a happy new year, folks! May you give and receive lots of love, happiness and (of course) presents this year.

~

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Memoirs from Gujarat: Why Gujjus are such wonderful people

The year 2015 was all about travel for me. It took me to Bombay, Nainital, McLeodganj, Dalhousie, and the United States (some of these places twice in the same year). And if that wasn't enough geographical variety, the run-up to the New Year washed me up on the westernmost shores of our beautiful country - in Prime Minister Modi's homeland. Travelling in Gujarat was in striking contrast to all my other trips of the past year. The land was arid and devoid of colour or vitality in a lot of places I visited. Everywhere you'd look, you'd find vast, naked landscapes. Your eyes would be deprived of conventional scenery, that is, unless shrubs, grasses, and rocks appealed to your senses (which was certainly the case with me). It was while on this trip that I began to develop a deeper understanding of and a profound respect for the people of Gujarat and Rajasthan. It also occurred to me that their colourful costumes, accessories and traditions could perhaps be their way of making up for the barrenness and lack of colour that characterise their desert lands. Plausible? No? Okay.

We were a group of 5 friends travelling together for the first time. Needless to say, we were super excited, especially because we knew this was the only long holiday we were going to get while at the Young India Fellowship. We travelled from Delhi to Gandhidham on the Bareilly/Ala Hazrat Express. It was a 21-hour journey and the five of us had only 2 confirmed seats in 3AC. How we managed to sleep at night and the amount of fun we had on that train journey are subjects for another post. On the journey we got acquainted with two really sweet and friendly Gujarati families who were also travelling with unconfirmed seats in the same compartment. It made us feel all the richer for not having got confirmed seats, because if we had, we probably wouldn't have gelled with them so well. We also ran into one of the two families on Day 3 in Bhuj; a lovely middle-aged Gujarati couple, who live in Delhi, and their daughter Poorvi. The uncle was witty, and he taught us how to be a smashing player at Bluff, a card game I newly learned on that very journey. The aunty was smart, immensely caring, and reminded me of my own mom, not in the least because she had the same hairdo. Poorvi turned out to be an engineer, as are 3 out of the 5 of us, and it was most amazing to know that she had ALMOST applied for the Young India Fellowship herself! We had a beautiful, if brief, reunion in Bhuj and amidst much hugging and photographing, we avowed to keep in touch. Here's really hoping we do.

The lovely Gujarati family from Delhi who made our train journey one to cherish forever.

Tired after the journey but excited to be in Gujarat.

Our itinerary mapped five cities in and around Kutch district in western Gujarat. We de-boarded the train at Gandhidham and checked in to Chandan Hotel, located right across from the railway station and undoubtedly one of the better hotels in the city. Having a Gujju friend (Priyank) with us proved to be a blessing throughout the trip - it got us many a good bargain, as also great help whenever we needed. With his help, I also began to understand and read Gujarati very quickly. Today I can proudly claim that I can't get lost in Gujarat even if I weren't able to ask anybody anything - I can read the road signs and billboards now. Mean feat for a five-day trip, eh?

Our itinerary marked on the map of Gujarat.

On Day 1, we took a local bus from Gandhidham to Mandvi beach. This was my fourth brush with the mighty Arabian Sea, after three visits to Bombay in the last two years. There is a direct road from Gandhidham to Mandvi, but the bus took a longer route that passed through Bhuj. And so our journey unwittingly took us through the city that always reminds me of the devastating earthquake that hit it in 2001. (It was only later in the trip, while exploring Bhuj and Morbi, that we discovered that the damages from 15 years ago had still not been completely undone. Seeing the destruction with our own eyes was unsettling.) We passed through the Gujarati countryside, along the Bhuj-Mirzapur road, that basically had sparse vegetation but loads of rocks, cacti and dust on both sides. This fairly uniform landscape was broken every now and then by a tiny water body, too small to be called a lake or even pond. I had studied in high school geography how the soils of semi-arid and arid areas could grow very little crops. In Gujarat I came face to face with this reality; all I could see for miles and miles on end was shrubbery and fallow croplands. Did they grow nothing, or was it off season for agriculture? And that very instant, as if in answer to my question, the rocks on my left gave way to a particularly green stretch of land with sugarcane and mustard plantations, newly sowed fields, and lush palm trees. I was taken aback for a second. Was I still in Kutch? Clearly a lot of hard work and toil had gone into turning these dry fields into arable, fertile land. The indomitable spirit of the people of Gujarat blew my socks away.

Cacti and grassy terrain...

...interspersed with the occasional canal...

...and giving way to lush green fields and palm trees. Gujarat never ceases to surprise you!

It was an entirely pristine feeling being the only tourists on the bus. As we were to discover over the next 5 days, there weren't many tourists in any of the places we went to (except at the White Rann). It got me wondering why so less people visit this immensely beautiful and culturally rich state of India. Gujarat needs a better tourism promotion strategy. Gujarat Tourism's ad campaigns starring Amitabh Bachchan clearly aren't working very well.

While hurtling down the dusty roads, I spotted a lot of temples from the window. Some stood out in the middle of fields, while others lay cramped between narrow rows of houses in urban settings. Priyank explained that Gujaratis are intensely religious people. Their daily lives, including their professions and relationships, are greatly influenced by their religious beliefs. Everything in the state in fact begins and ends with myriad deities' names. Their unfaltering faith in the Almighty certainly seems to contribute to their happy spirits and undying vivacity. Gujjus are such warm, straightforward, gracious and generous people! The flippant and comical way in which this community is painted on TV and in films may be a case of stereotyping (remember Khichdi, Kal ho Na ho, Sarabhai vs Sarabhai?), but Gujaratis really have a great sense of humour. And they absolutely love food. To quote our wonderful taxi driver (who took us to the White Rann on Day 2), "Hum Gujarati log sabko hasa hasa kar khush rehte hain." So the stereotypes have some truth to them after all! And maybe, just maybe, this inherent sense of benevolence and bonhomie also makes them a happy clan? (Inviting all Gujaratis reading this to offer their own opinions on the matter!) 

You're right - that's a religious shrine all right. But is it a temple or a mosque? Hard to tell? Well, that's the point.

Call me crazy for over-generalising, but Gujjus are also the most optimistic people I've ever seen. A little while after I had boarded the train from Delhi, I fished out my camera to take some shots - only to find the battery slot empty! An awkward realisation hit me: I must have left the battery at home. I was disappointed beyond measure, but more profound was my embarrassment at having left behind an important component of the one reason people take me on trips with them. (Kidding...I hope that's not true.) But I was bent upon not letting my camera go to waste, so on reaching Gandhidham, I paid a visit to the nearby market to look for a camera store. Acting upon a series of directions given by random locals, I managed to locate a store after a while and was promised that they'd order a battery for me and it'd arrive by the same time next day. Happy with the turn of events, I went about the rest of the day clicking pictures with my phone. The next morning, when I called up the store owner, I was informed that there was some problem in supply due to which they hadn't got the battery yet, BUT they would surely get it the next day. Not wanting to put all my eggs in one basket, as they say, I set out for the market again to look for another store. To my utter surprise and amusement, at every shop I showed up to, they wouldn't have what I needed but they would unfailingly direct me to another shop where they thought I'd get it. In the process I paid a visit to a grocery shop, a general store, and a telecom store as well. I was utterly amazed by the Gujaratis' heights of optimism!

Need I say I didn't find a battery that day?

This sign at Prag Mahal (Bhuj) says that the 'Khushboo Gujarat ki' ad film with Amitabh Bachchan was shot here in August 2010. Some proud resident of Kutch decided to add the additional bit in Hindi right below for added effect.

No matter how marvellous I found the state of Gujarat, there was this one thing that caught my eye and irked me quite a bit: most signs, billboards, and bus routes in Gujarat were in the native language. There were very little Hindi or English translations, with the only exception being the signboards put up by Gujarat Tourism, which had English as well as Gujarati. Now I do recognise the need for every ethnic and linguistic group to assert its identity, most of all in their own homeland. But to expect visitors from across the country and the world to be able to read these signs is asking for too much, isn't it? Just because I picked it up doesn't mean everyone can, or would even want to. Whether this could be explained as a case of ethnocentrism or linguistic chauvinism, or something entirely else, I leave it to each one's own interpretation.  But in many ways, it effectively shuts off the group and their land to the outside world. But I will admit here: I'm unable to connect with this feeling of linguistic pride, since I've been brought up on Hindi and English, even though my native language is Punjabi (and part Multani). I understand and regularly speak in all three languages, but having lived in Delhi all my life, I am accustomed to a multi-lingual existence where the language I use isn't necessarily an assertion of my identity or nativity. That brings me on to the threshold of an even more complex question: do I even have a native place? Can I call pre-partition Pakistan, where my roots apparently lie, my native place? I'm not sure if any signs of my family's existence across the border remain to this day. But I'd like to cross the border and find out for myself. Someday.

 ~

I have a lot more to recount from my days in Gujarat. So stay tuned, for I'll be back with a proper travelogue very soon. Till then, keep travelling, and keep smiling!

P.S. I've got some really exclusive pictures and travel tales up on my Instagram from when I was still in Gujarat. Check them out now!