A Narration of Melancholic Elation

“Life’s hard, life’s easy, life’s everything in between, life’s peachy like James and the Giant…”- Aesop Rock

I left Mt Abu on March 9th, arrived in Ahmedabad by evening, and took a rickshaw to the Gandhi Ashram. Noone in India has known about this 75th anniversary of the Dandi march, and as the bus rode & entered Rajisthan from Gujarat… only then did I finally see billboards advertising the event.
In 1930, Gandhi and 78 folks set out from Ahmedabad to Dandi - 241 miles - an act of civil disobedience, to protest the Britishs’ recent monopoly on the production and selling of salt. Salt was basically free prior, so for the government to increase its price by many times with a monopoly was an outrage.
The irony in this 75th anniversary, is that the government in Gujarat is currently seeking to increase the tax on salt.
The purpose of this reenactment is to promote peace, justice, and freedom. Unfortunately, politics decided to become greatly involved in the process. The government of Gujarat is a “dry” (alcohol is illegal) state. It is the only one of twenty-four in India with this policy. But of course, people say that this state is the number one consumer of liquor amongst them all. Hmmmmmm. interesting
Let me break it down: Mad liquor is smuggled here. Since it comes in untaxed, it’s dirt cheap. A beer in Bombay is 60 rupees. In Rajisthan 100. Gujarat 40. Gandhi believed alcohol to be detrimental to the mind, body, and soul, so Gujarat (being Gandhi’s home state)) has had prohibition since Independence. With such a volatile political situation here, due to religious animosity and state sponsored terrrorism over the past few years… it’s no wonder that the politics of prohibition are the center of debate.
This is what Parhad and Uncle Rustom both said:
“Prohibition here is silly. Regardless of Gandhi’s ideology, why should Gujarat be the one state to suffer? People will still get the liquor and the government is the biggest loser because they are not collecting on the taxes. And the patrolling to try and control the illegal smuggling is costing them even more money. ”

So I arrived in Ahmedabad, Gujarat with three big things on my to do list:

1) Go to the Sabarmati Ashram and check in with Tushar Gandhi (Gandhi’s great-grandson who is the honcho) regarding specificities on the march.

2) Meet Uncle Rustom and the Postwalla family for the first time.

3) Meet up with Orsi and Kata (the Hungarian girls I met in Goa) again.

So I went to the Gandhi Asshram and talked with Tushar and some fellow foreign participants before walking out front to meet Uncle Rustom’s son, who was picking me up. Prahad rolled up in his skooter, I hopped on with my bags, and we left for the house. Their household is quite amazing: A truly traditional Parsee home- Self-made entrepreneeurs, prayer twice a day, pictures of Zarathushtra everywhere, typical Parsee food…Parhad (age 28) and his Parsee wife both live in the home with their adorable twin daughters, and Hanooz (age 24), Parhad’s younger brother will marry a Parsee and also live in the home and work in the family bussiness.
After spending 3 nights with the Postwalla family (typical Parsee name because it’ss derived from an ancestor’s profession- Postman. Other Parsee popular Parsee last names are Engineer, Contractor, etc.)
It was excellent meeting family for the first tim and I’m gladd to have established this connection with people my age, my religious background, and in a bustling city like Ahmedabad.
It was also super to meet Orsi and Kata again. During my travels thus far, I have made few meaningful connections. People come and they go. Decent conversations happen with daily interactions. Email addresses are exchanged. And that’s usually that. But the five times we have met, enjoyed each other’s company, and conversated… it’s been tremendous. We talk about our lives thus far, our experiences in India, in Hungary, in the States, our past, and future… and especially what Orsi was mentioning - “Our previous conceptions” - in the short 2 months that we’ve been in India our conceptions and previous perceptions have altered. Our expectations have been exceeded. And the most beautiful thing - The meaning of coming and being in India has changed.

So since I tried to spend as much possible time with Parhad, Hanooz, Uncle Rustum, and Orsi & Kata, I neglected my initial obligations of the Dandi March. I was supposed to report and be at the Ashram on March 10th, until the commencement on the morning of the 12th. Instead, I went on the evening of the 11th to get my identification card and get information on the itinerary for the 12th. I was told to be there at 5 a.m., Sonia Gandhi (India Congress President, no relation to Mahatma) would speak at 6:15, andd we would depart by 7.

I got there at 5… and the security was tight as hell… I got into the entrance, with my ID, but wasn’t allowed up front, because it was already full of participants and press. So I sat in the section behind… with all 3 pieces of my luggage. A medium sized backpack, a duffle bag, and a small little carry sack. The luggage was to be carried by a truck for all the participants, but I had no idea where the truck was or who to ask. So I sat anxiously, waiting. All of a sudden, Sonia Gandhi finished and an old Goan man told me “It’s starting, we must go!” I grabbed all my bags and tried to push my way towards to direction of the exit. Swarms of people were doing the same thing, but the police weren’t allowing a budge…but the participants in the front were all making their way out with ease. I was thinking, “Damnit, they are all leaving and I have no idea where the luggage truck is.”
They finally allowed people through an it was chaotic. The street was blocked off and crowds of children in school uniforms were on each side of the street, chanting “Mantrum!!….Gandhi!!”
Large groups were running to make their way to the front. Their are about 400 registered participants, but thousands of Indians are walking in the commencement… and then coming for the end of it.
So here I am…in my Kurta, sandals, and about 50 kilos of weight on my back….walking amongst the crowd and chatting with another NRI (Non-resident Indians) from Pennsylvania. I can hear people cracking up at me everywhere and some asking me, “What are you doing with all that? Don’t you know that there is a vehicle to carry your stuff? Are you going all the way to Dandi like that?”
Finally after a few miles, the India Youth Congress President found me, “You don’t need to carry all that. Give me your duffle bag.” So he gives me his card, hands the bag to a youth volunteer, and I go to grab my backpack from an old man (now my Kaka (uncle), new best friend, and mentor) who was helping me out.
The first day was intense with cheer, chanting, and thousands of people. Media were everywhere - journalists, local news, and many filming documentaries. People were lined up from Ahmedabad to twenty kilometers south…where we camped the first night. I’ll write about the conversations in the next post.

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