Kutch
My last day in Ahmedabad was hectic. As much as the idiosyncrasies of that city can hinder your productivity, if the wind is blowing in the right direction and the gods are smiling, you can accomplish great things. I put the finishing touches on my research paper (´Rural Household Cash Flows: the Mota Sakphar Case´), printed several copies and had them posted to the right people in the right places. I endeared myself to some nice ladies in the office by printing some photos of their children that I had taken at our office party, finished off some graphic design work that I had started, and frantically backed up all my data. Appropriately, I was the first one in that morning, and the last one out (FILO), and closed up the office with Vinay after hours. Outside, I glanced back at the office building, feeling exhausted and grateful for an incredible experience with AKI.

I had made the decision to forgo my trip to Himalchal Pradesh and its mountains and forests in favour of a visit to Kutch, my ancestral homeland. I had started thinking of India as a flat surface tilted downwards toward kutch, the turtle shaped outcrop of land on the western edge of Gujarat. As much as I wanted to see what this Himalchal Pradesh was all about, I could feel myself slipping towards kutch, and when my work in Ahmedabad was finally finished, I hopped on a train to Bhuj, Kutch.

A few years ago, Bhuj experienced a massive earthquake that was powerful enough to destroy buildings in Ahmedabad, an eight hour train ride away. Ten percent of Bhuj´s population died. I was immediately struck by the unique character of Kutchis as soon as I arrived at the station--taxi drivers politely inquired as to whether I would require a ride, and when I said no, they kindly made way so I could pass.

I snoozed in my hotel that afternoon while the rain roared outside, and a few hours later, I was sitting in the back seat of a Jeep bouncing towards a remote village 3 hours away from Bhuj.

We eventually stopped on the dirt road leading into the small village, and as the dust cleared, tiny little kids gathered around our legs. But as soon as I moved towards them, they took off running, not in a playful way, but with a genuine look of fear in their eyes.

Once again, my digital elph camera compensated for my lack of interpersonal skills, and I snapped a few photos of the kids from a distance, and then crouched down and held the camera screen low so that the littlest of the kids could see their photos. I have never seen kids so excited. They started hopping up and down, squealing in delight.

Then I switched to video mode and captured the kids jumping around and generally being kids, with some close-ups on their faces. And when I played it back to them, they went absolutely nuts. The bigger kids sprouted big, goofy grins, and the little kids were ecstatic. One young boy ran a few meters away from us and starting spinning in a circle while chanting, ´photo!, photo!, photo!´ until he was so dizzy he fell in the dirt on his bum.

Another little one simply couldn’t contain himself. When he saw the video, he started giggling, then laughing, and then he started to squeal (high pitched and drooling: eeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!). The other kids, unable to hear the audio coming out of the camera, had to cup their hands over his mouth and subdue his flapping arms.

The jhat Muslim farmers, whom the staffers had come to meet, were the most hospitable and friendly people I met in India. Perhaps it was because the staffers introduced me as someone who had come from far away, a Shia Muslim, whose great grandparents had come from Kutch, and whose parents spoke Kutchi. The farmers told me stories and asked me questions, pointed out their fields and seemed to be quite happy with my visit. I was, by now, also quite happy to be there, and I chatted with all of them in my broken Kutchi. They posed for my camera in dramatic positions on top of big boulders in their rocky fields, with their flowing, bright blue Salwars flapping in the strong wind.

By the time we left a few hours later I was exhausted, but felt deeply contented. What an experience.

- posted by aziz @ 1:48 p.m.