Being Vibrant, Part – 1

Last December I had to “undertake” a highly eventful trip to Baroda. Baroda, or “Baro Dada“, as the name suggests (in an otherwise neglected language prevalent in a symmetrically opposite part of India where I hail from) is the big brother among the highly ambitious cities of the Vibrant Gujarat. I could not deprive myself of the opportunity of being highly biased as I waited calmly in anticipation. It was early morning and our train tiptoed into the homeland of my homeland’s father, His Truthfulness Mr. Gandhi. This consciousness heavily affected the train driver who was busy sowing the seeds of non-violence in his heart, and in this process he let go every other “tracktripper” he could, be it another “Superfast” train, or a goods train or engine or repairing van for that matter and himself stayed static for hours.

Turning my attention from the murmurs of disgust that was gaining volume in the compartment, I slowly concentrated on the word “Vibrant” of “Vibrant Guja…“, and yonder, outside the train windows live synonyms started surfacing one after another. Be it farmers, speeding on designer bikes through swaying bajra crops or the shining red Maruti Wagon-R resting beside an otherwise inaccessible waste water canal. Between agricultural lands were pockets of modern housing units trailed by wide roads- “the farmer’s apartments“, they must be called.

One thing is clear, that preservation and restoration of history is a heavily neglected exercise here. While most other Indian states take utmost care to preserve her vast expanse in exactly the same state that Lord Mountbatten left them, Gujarat doesn’t. Keeping stride with the changing times is what Gujarat is all about and as your train runs, urbanization, in its ‘ high rises + malls + busy streets + “innumerable hoardings” ‘ avatar passes you more frequently than the mysterious “Chowdhary ka Chai” guys.

All round me were a big bunch of “Gujjubens“, all young and ‘jabbersome’ geared up to display a 10pm Ekta Kapoor soap episode. On the other side were, once poverty stricken families from Bengal who were allowed to reap dividends of Gujarat’s prosperity. One specialized in “manufacturing” and “packaging” prasads at some famous Gujarat temple, while the other was in building body parts of big containers. I wont be surprised if I got to know that back in Bengal, the chappals hung to the Modi effigy’s neck before burning were bought with the money earned somewhere in Gujarat.

All throughout the morning I stayed alarmed and terrified expecting another bunch of eunuchs every other second. The ordeal hardly spared me a moment of peace as their onslaught continued in surges and my fragile defenses crumbled down inevitably. Every time they passed by, my purse lost weight, and I was left wondering how well off these “dacoits” must be. I would take this opportunity to strongly urge the apex of the Government of India to put to an end their unfair protection of their own kind and allow the “Happy Journey” imprinted on the railway ticket to make some sense.

At last Baroda, oops sorry Vadodara, as they might like me to call her, arrived. As I stepped on the platform somebody hit a coconut shell hard against my mind and it broke into two pieces. Welcome to the land of business and prosperity, he said.

At this point I must mention that Baroda Station main building is a fine example of architectural beauty, designed by some genuine architect (not by the one who often confuses himself with an intellectual).

I, then spent 25 bucks on rickshaw to cover a 5 minute’s walk distance and my introduction to the economic big boss of the economic big boss of India was complete (or it was just starting…..).

End of Part 1

–