86.80%
she scored in her PTC final exam( Primary Teachers' Training College), 6th rank
in the district. A brave woman, must say. 6 animals pounced on her nonchalantly
day in and day out. They were her professors. She is too strong to have crawled
and found her way out.
Today
she walks with pride. As she puts it, with voice, not choked: “my native had
earned a blot, I wiped it off”. Her voice heard, my tears couldn’t be held
back. Patan no longer remains the famous hub for weaving Patola.
Sorry
state we live in. It hasn’t as yet rained here in Ahmedabad. Accursed land, by
Joe!
This
weekend I had taken my “aunties” who have mewed down considerably for an
interesting trip around their own native land. Most of them hadn’t seen the
places visited. Full on trip. The girls were never out alone. Independence and
responsibility made them women. It was great to witness the baby step.
Our
first stop was Step well of Adalaj, which compelled me to take an hour extra to
complete my individual work. An artistic manifestation of ones creative
thought. You could see the fingers laying out designs on every corner of the
well. Sadly though, the well was brimming with filth all over, kurkure packets
floating. Dead bats, remains of birds and then a drunkard following us. It all began
from hereon.
Lothal
again took all of them to a different height. They got to hear all that they
had learnt in texts. They got to see all that the books showed. But now live.
The sun above wasn’t leaving us alone. The dockyard ones blue had become earthy. We
returned tanned!
Tired
till the throat…we sought for a decent restaurant and had real great fun with
my favored ones. Sarkhej Roza- the next stop. A sprawling mosque with visitors
crawling all over. Sunday siesta!
Mr.
Kadri guided the students with his inputs while I got hooked on to the display
of another great artistic manifestation.
Alas!
The reservoir, that had ones migratory birds as guests had become a grazing
land! Desert stretch. This year no pouring Ma’am-, said a young fellow as I
exclaimed aloud. We couldn’t save it! Disheartened we boarded our vehicle. Modi
became a hot topic. There were more 'I’s' in support. Before the fight could
bring in trouble for us, I intervened and suggested them to take over a project
to save Sabarmati which has gone Kareena way, my poetry “Sabreena” would be
able to narrate what I exactly wanted. Sidi Saeed Mosque revisited only to
capture few pictures which were not very different from what the world has
already seen.
Sabreena
Hunched up between
the dividing brothers
silently rubbernecking,
my fate-engineered.
once a baggy Ghat
with newly-wedded brides
leaving their dreams afloat
the diyas had love tales
drafted.
Performing rites
on my reef
the priests have past their primes.
Many crowned heads
have strolled past, hand-in-hand
with their paramours
brought moon on their foreheads,
and lit candles on those eyes.
The serpentine alleys have taken me
and built teensy castles.
The tall building now
becloud me.
while I
with time
not sinking into the sands
but fermenting
in my today,
see- dry flowers, incense sticks, ashes
road-rolled by plastic sheen
giving me
a size zero.
___________________________________________________
(N.B:Rivers across the world are forced to go
Kareena way, Sabarmati no exception!)
The
second last stop. We were drained out. Rani
nu haziro: a total disastrous visit. Amid a number of retail shops, the
location had to be hunted for. The structure was no less attractive but it has
become a shelter for the squatters. A huge lock at the entrance welcomed us.
Cots, hanging clothes, utensils in the courtyard. A huge opening in one of the
ventilated walls let my camera buzz in. There laid down a number of tombs
locked up, covered with never turned shroud. Aghast! History
here is a waste of space.
The
other side of the glamorous expanse, Ahmedabad has far more to show than what
meets the eye. The sleety lanes on the other side of the bridges, which the
natives address as the old city has fables screaming aloud as
you zoom past. Years needed to work on them. My eyes captured the rejection.
Wheels
turn, pollution inhaled, bridges crossed. Patang Hotel guards. My girls could
sniff the familiarity, the all pervasive difference between the past and the
present. I want to go back, announced one of them. It was difficult for most of
them to relate to what they were seeing now from their windows. A long day left
behind.
Their
teacher wiping away the sweat. Smile plastered, thoughts rambled on the temple.
My
girls had become sensitive. Penetrating my stiffled lungs, an impossible prayer
of her presence amongst my girls escaped in the gushing dust...
We
were approaching Science City…
