Three weeks in Hindustan- Part 3
Ahmedabad Interlude and Delhi Finale

Pavan Vangipuram

My time in India was perceptibly coming to a close. With only a week left in the country, I decided to split my time between Ahmedabad, with my father’s side uncle, and Delhi, with my mother’s side uncle.

My four days in Ahmedabad were a much-needed respite from the nonstop traveling I had been doing for the previous two weeks. Ahmedabad is a medium-sized city in the state of Gujarat, known for (among other things) its proximity to the birthplace of Mahatma Gandhi.

In 1917, Gandhi built an ashram, a self-sufficient homestead devoted to his ideas of social and political equality. It was an early attempt at a socialistic, egalitarian commune, and a successful one. The site is now a museum to Gandhi’s memory. I visited it on my second day in Ahmedabad, and I was immediately struck by its tranquil atmosphere, even though it was in the middle of a busy portion of the city.

The ashram occupied perhaps 10 acres surrounded on all sides by urbanization (though when it was built, the city did not reach so far), but immediately after one stepped off the road, the noises of the city seemed to be silenced. Gandhi’s philosophy was one of absolute simplicity, and this was reflected perfectly in the constructions of the ashram; there were only four adobe structures, squat one storey buildings obviously designed only with utility in mind. The museum itself was a humble sort of tribute, offering a few pictures with explanations, newspaper clippings, and personal articles of Gandhi’s. It is interesting to note that Gandhi’s possessions his time of death amounted only to a loom for spinning cloth, a pair of spectacles, two sets of clothing, a walking stick, and a few utensils for eating. Gandhi’s bedroom was a 10x10 square room with a low ceiling and a hard stone floor.

On the other end of the materialistic spectrum lay McDonald’s, whose imperial grasp reached even to the unremarkable town of Ahmedabad. The McDonald’s I visited was located at the foot of a three-storey shopping mall, a compact and concentrated shrine to the Almighty Dollar. Walking into the restaurant, I was amazed at how precisely they were able to duplicate their trademark atmosphere, even here, on the other side of the planet. Except for the swarming crowd that is inseparable from any Indian place of business and a few changes to the menu (in case the reader is curious, a Big Mac in India is called a “Maharaja Mac”), it was nearly indistinguishable from the numerous McDonald’s I had visited previously. The smartly-dressed counter attendant smiled politely and asked “May I take your order?” I ordered a McVeggie combo, super-sized. The food was delicious, identical almost in every way to what you would find in America. The french-fries, in particular, were quintessentially American, and tasted just like what you would find on Grand River. It was disconcerting, to say the least. If this is what’s to replace the traditional Indian restaurant, then there indeed seems to be a dark side to the rapid progress India is enjoying.

My final day in India was spent in Delhi, the sprawling capital. Delhi is divided into New Delhi and Old Delhi, and the contrast between them is as stark as their names would suggest. New Delhi was clearly built with an overall plan, a sense of municipal layout. The roads were wide and neatly divided, with traffic diverted at appropriate areas by the characteristically English roundabout. The homes were newly-built to European standards, and enormous shopping complexes pock-marked the landscape. Old Delhi, on the other hand, was tightly packed and claustrophobic, with a layout that obviously predated automobile travel. Buildings were haphazardly strewn about, and an unspeakable filth pervaded the entire area. The tenements of the old portion of the city gave the impression of separate anthills, with people swarming in and out at all times. The roads were constantly congested with traffic, the horns and shouts combining to form a deafening roar. All this is undoubtedly due to the fact that this particular patch of Earth has been continuously inhabited for nearly 2000 years.

Near the center of the old city stood the Red Fort, a colossal palace and military fortification built by Shah Jahan nearly 400 years ago. We took a tour of the 50-acre compound; our tour guide’s humorously broken English detracting from the grandeur of the palace. But despite that, the fort was truly a humbling sight. No expense was spared; no luxury unthought of. The excess was almost criminal.

There were five marble halls, each carved with impossible intricacy. One, approximately twice the size of a modern house, was the king’s dedicated bedroom. Another was reserved for the queen and princess. The rest of the royal family was lodged in a third, with guests in a fourth. The minister’s hall, where administrative matters were to take place was in a fifth hall. All other palace staff slept in shoddy tenements along the periphery of the fort. As we walked through the compound, our guide explained to us the inner workings of what we saw. It was interesting to note, for instance, that in the absence of electric pumps, the fountains were elephant-powered. Huge leather satchels filled with thousands of gallons of water were placed in a room underground, and an elephant was trained to step on the satchels in a steady rhythm to propel the water through the fountain.