3 Key Reasons Why Gujaratis are a Nuisance

Deeply disturbed by the incessant sharing and relentless re-sharing of  posts like "10 Reasons Why Gujjus are the Best People on Earth!", I bring to you, as I must, the counter points.

Dear Gujaratis, enough of your self-aggrandizing and megalomania on the internet.

1. Travel Nuisance:

Gujaratis, specially on holidays, travel in herds. Sadly, Indian Railways and IRCTC do not exist for exclusive use of Gujjus, and there's a cap on number of tickets you can book in one go. Result is berths scattered across coaches. But what to do? No matter how many we are, we HAVE to travel together, according to Article 37, Para 2 (b) of the Constitution of India.

God help you if you are traveling alone on a line that remotely touches a popular holiday destination. Large, large groups of Gujjus will storm into your trains, and once they are done arranging their 18 tonnes of luggage ( 70% food, 30% utilities is the thumb rule), they will maraud from coach to coach, looking for those who are "single" - Gujju for traveling alone - and coax you for your berth because you know "Ame badha group ma che" and there are "laddies and nana chokra" and the classic "saathe jamvama takleef padse". You change your berth, often twice or thrice, and still find yourself in company of Gujjus.

It's late night, and you want to sleep. But you can't because Gujju ladies around are talking (loudly of course) about all the snacks they prepared and packed for this trip, the difficulties they faced while making them, arguments and counter arguments on the correct recipes, in between lambasting children to stop running around and finish their food.

Wait, your ordeal isn't over.

Not yet.

Some uncle in the group has his b'day tomorrow. The clock strikes twelve. You are in the clutches of sleep.

A voice booms nearby "Ae halo, utho! Dilip bhai no budday celebrate karvano he!"

And then there are celebrations, complete with the cake, the singing (happy budday to you followed by tum jiyo hajaro saal), and the clapping.

At midnight. In a moving train.

By the time your journey comes to an end, the coach smells like a restaurant's unventilated kitchen, its air heavy with the smell of thepla, dhokla, pickles, three types of fruit and on bad days, a half eaten cake.

Somewhere in the air , there's also the smoke of your AC ticket money burnt to ashes, and your rage.

2. Eating Out Nuisance:

Gujaratis are vegetarian*

*Terms and Conditions are generally different permutations and combinations of the below:

a) No onions

b) No garlic

c) No onions AND garlic ("delicious" snacks are exempt)

d) No onions and garlic and potatoes and beetroot and everything that grows under the soil (except in samosa, sometimes)

 e) Restaurant should be 100% pure veg.

f) Veg plus Non Veg eateries won't do because *wide eyes, horror* they might be using the same spoons and vessels to cook both. SO WHAT THEY ARE WASHED. ANIMAL FLESH IS IMMUNE TO WATER AND SOAP YOU EMBODIMENT OF BLASPHEMY. McDonald's though is exempt, mostly.

Result is, eating options for Gujaratis are severely limited in places outside in Gujarat and in a multi-cultural group. So while you are out to eat with your bunch of friends and order a round of drinks with chilly chicken to go, the gujarati across the table stares nervously, and you tell the waiter - "ek pepsi aur french fries add kar do"

"Err..French fries ki jagah peanut masala kar do..pyaaz mat daalna".

"French Fries me aaloo..."

Thus, every dinner outing involving Gujjus, considerable time is spent fretting over the place to go and food to eat. What if the eatery cooks veg and non-veg meals in the same kitchen? What if there are no no onion-no garlic dishes? What if people at adjacent table order chicken..or god forbid, fish?

We Gujjus are the odd ones out, a minority for which special provisions are to be made.And comments on B school forums and caste-centered op-eds will tell you, no majority likes to make special provisions for the minority.

3. Festival Nuisance:

Makar Sankranti is the first festival every new calendar year. While people across the country mark the beginning of harvest season, bathe in holy rivers, visit their near and dear ones, visit temples to perform religious ceremonies, Gujjus are slightly more traditional and understated in their celebrations of Uttarayana.

As sun rises on 14th of January, a Gujarati rises to his terrace, armed with a bunch of kites and bulky spool of string, tiny shreds of glass in it glinting in  morning sun. Soon enough, the latest item song played at full blast rends the air. The entire city is on its terraces, water tanks, balconies - engaged in fierce kite battles, shrill war cries of lapppppeeeetttt and hooting and whistling and bollywood music all around. Drowned somewhere in all the din and bustle is a desperate flutter of terrified birds.

The sun sets and it is too dark to fly kites. But, WE ARE GUJARATIS AND THIS IS GUJARAT AND THE PARTY IS STILL ON! So we light chinese balloons and dispatch  them from the top of our terraces. So what if they might cause fire somewhere and result in huge losses? They make for great facebook pictures!

And how do we cap a day of excellent kite flying and bird slaughter? Fire crackers, of course! Gujaratis are too rich to buy fire crackers just for Diwali, and the chinese-lantern-lighting-potential-facebook-profile-pic-clicking ritual is followed by a round of lighting all fire-crackers from bombs to rockets right up there in the terraces. The force of explosion shakes buildings and rockets might fly off course to injure someone... but - tu jalsa kar ne yaar!


Navaratri (Rest of India) - a festival to worship nine forms of Goddess Shakti
Navaratri (Gujarat) - Worship? LOL. Chalo garba ramva! Also, dandiya!

Who has the time and the energy and importantly, the money to celebrate a festival nine days at a stretch? Right, Gujjus. A Gujarati's preparation for Navaratri can only be rivaled by a Bihari's preparation for UPSC exams. Such are the stakes. Gujaratis pay their obeisances to the Goddess of Shakti by dancing around in circles, for hours together, to songs that go - yaad piya ki aane lagi, haay bheegi bheegi raaton mein...played at loud, loud volumes.

Make no mistake, Navaratri in Gujarat is a visual treat but an acoustic pain.

Following nine nights of revelry, Gujjus celebrate Dusshera - the historic victory of Lord Rama over king Ravana, a victory of good over evil, of truth over falsehood - by gorging  on fafda-jalebi. What is the relevance of fafda-jalebi to Lord Rama's victory? Did Lord Rama and his Vaanar Sena have fafda-jalebi for breakfast in Lanka the day they finally decimated Raavan? Or is it a Supreme Court directive?  Never mind. In Gujarat, Jai Shri Ram is Jai Shri *burps* Ram.

Gujjus burst crackers on Uttarayan evening. So you can imagine the level of celebrations on Diwali. The peculiar thing about Diwali in Gujarat is, it isn't a one day or two day affair. It lasts for an entire week. The entire place comes to a virtual standstill.

Why?

"DON'T YOU DARE ASK WHY. WE ARE GUJARATIS AND THIS IS GUJARAT. WE ARE THE KINGS OF BUSINESS. WE ARE THE CREATORS OF WEALTH. WE ADD MORE TO THE GDP IN ONE YEAR THAN YOU DO IN YOUR ENTIRE LIFE. SO WE CAN TAKE A WEEK OFF FOR A ONE DAY FESTIVAL, OKAY?

Also, END THIS POST ALREADY! WE ARE FASTEST GROWING STATE ON EARTH. WE ARE DEVELOPMENT. WE ARE 24*7 ELECTRICITY. WE ARE ROADS. WE ARE CUTE. WE LOVE FOOD. WE ARE MATHS WIZARDS.

NARENDRA MODI IS A GUJARATI!"- Gujjus

The State of Road Transport in MP and an Evening to Remember

Government's failure in delivering basic services to its people, is fertile ground for shady private enterprise.

The part of Madhya Pradesh where i work and roam, which is about the same, state road transport is like sanity in Bollywood remakes of Tamil/Telugu films - there is none. To be fair, they haven't yet built the roads too. And so, inter-city road transport is entirely at the mercy of private players that constitute the venerable Transport Mafia. Often, their bus service is just one of their businesses... other interests being politics, mining, truck transport, construction and other such avenues of black entrepreneurship. Depending upon the condition of roads, they ply a variety of buses. This includes an ingenious jugaadment of the blue-colored Tata 407 bus, the ultimate epitome of rickety, where leg space is essentially a state of mind - to run on severely potholed roads that often see long traffic jams because aage truck ka axle toot gaya hai, and on routes that see lower demand. And of course, there are the Baalvo buses - yet another jugaad in the form of Tata/Eicher make buses that become Volvo solely by the virtue of "VOLVO" written in bold font on all sides of the bus - for longer duration runs on decent roads. The bus services are known by the names or surnames of their respective owners, the name being plastered at the top of front glass pane of each bus in their fleet. They do not have offices or ticket booking centers. There is no fixed time table too. The timings of each operator's buses, their frequency on a certain route, their parking area in the bus stand etc. is a kind of tacit agreement between all the operators. Every operator has a key man marauding about the bus stand and managing operations, ensuring the agreed-upon schedule between the operators is implemented to the letter. Under him is a team of helper, conductor and driver allocated to each bus. Irrespective of the operator, all buses have an inexhaustible playlist of love and longing themed songs from yesteryears. The tickets are in the form of small, rectangular pieces of cheap paper with the seat number written on them, and change due to the traveler, if any. On any route, the bus stops for anyone holding a jhola in one hand and waving the other. The bus might be filled to the brim, but there's always some space for one more.

A couple of weeks or so ago, I traveled to Anuppur to meet a couple of people in Kotma. Anuppur, 260 odd kilometers from Jabalpur, is at Madhya Pradesh - Chattisgarh border and assumes its place in prominence by virtue of its proximity to Bandavgarh Tiger Reserve (150 km) and Amarkantak (80 km), besides housing a major thermal power plant and a sand mining belt. Kotma is a small town 40 km from Anuppur on Manendragarh road and is thus a corner of the state of Madhya Pradesh. The problem of public transport is all the more pronounced here, given the remote location coupled with a low population translates into very less demand for bus services. The private players, of course, wouldn't ply their buses on routes that are not commercially viable. Plus, being a no man's land between two states doesn't help the cause. This was my second trip there, and knew of a bus that runs from Anuppur to Manendra via Kotma at 8 in the morning. For the return journey from Kotma to Anuppur, there are Tata Magic vehicles that start once there are enough people on board.

A very brief note on Tata Magic:

The Tata Magic is an illustration of excellent product development. A four-wheeled public passenger vehicle that can seat 9-10 people is redefining short distance public transport, especially in rural areas. Tata Magic is being extensively used to ferry people over distances ranging from 20 km to 50 km. . A lot of people buying Tata Magic vehicles are young men from villages who invest a small amount of their own, and get the remaining amount financed, thus leading to business for the finance companies too. Their cause is being helped by the increasing road connectivity between villages through the Pradhan Mantri Gram Sadak Yojana. Good quality roads mean faster transit, lower wear and tear of vehicles and a better fuel efficiency. Being a four-wheeled vehicle, it is much safer than the bulky three-wheeled Piaggio auto-rickshaws, occupies lesser space on the road and can carry more people. Its compact version, called the Magic Iris, is being used for public transport in urban areas. Overall, the Magic series of vehicles are effective products that are improving the quality and safety of public transport.

At about 5:15 pm in the evening, as I was planning to return to Anuppur, I received information of a certain Mr. Gupta in Anuppur inquiring about one of our competition machines. I called him up. Mr. Gupta, in fact, lived in Funga, a small village midway between Anuppur and Kotma. We agreed to meet at Funga in the next half hour. Fortunately, a Funga-based Magic operator was about to leave from Kotma for his last trip of the day. We reached Funga at 6:15. The operator warned me that from here, my only means of transport back to Anuppur would be a Pushpraj bus that started from Kotma at 6:30 and crossed Funga at 7:00. There wasn't any bus after that till morning and the Magics too had called it a day. At Funga, I realized my phone was dead... Though, I had a spare phone, there was no means to retrieve Mr. Gupta's phone number. There, at the crossroads, a man was idling on a cot in front of his kirana shop.

To look important, I wore my company ID card and approached him...

"Bhaiya, Gupta ji se milna tha.. aap jaante hai unhe?"

He scratched his grey stubble...

"Kaun Gupta ji?"

 "Kaantractor hai...dumper hai unke paas me"

"Oh.. crusher waale Gupta ji?"

"Ji, ji.. crusher bhi hoga unke paas"



He took out his phone and dialed a number...

"unke saale ka number hai mere paas... kaahe milna hai Gupta ji se?"

"Chakke wali machine kharidni hai unhe...JCB...usi ke chalte milna tha"

"Hmm.. Mood toh bana rahe hai bhaiya..."



Meanwhile the call connected...

"Hello.. Namaskaar bhaiya, Namaskaar.. Jija ji ka number deb... arre woh JCB waale aaye hai Gupta ji se milna chaahat hai"


I took down the number on my phone and dialed. It was 6:30 by the time Mr. Gupta reached. He insisted that we converse there on the road itself, so that we could keep an eye on the bus. He reiterated that the 7 pm bus was the only means of transport to Anuppur available now. I couldn't afford to miss it. At about a quarter to 7, completely against the run of play, the weather took a sudden turn. The searing heat that persisted all day long gave way to strong winds. Within moments, there was thunder, lightning and it began to rain...

We rushed to the nearby dhaba for shelter from the rain that was now coming down in sheets. The sky had turned pitch dark by now and the winds so strong, they made a swooshing noise. He ordered tea and we continued to discuss...

"Tata ka engine hai bhaiya... aapko iske parts aur mistri aasaani se mil jayenge, aur turbo engine hai toh kam diesel me zyada taakat paida karega"

"Hmm, nai Tata ka saamaan har jagah mil jaata hai.. yeh toh hai... abhi humne dumper bhi uthaaye hai Tata ke"

Somewhere behind us, a bus honked twice and and an engine roared. We turned around. A lightning struck across the sky and its white light lit up our surroundings for one ephemeral moment. The 7 pm Pushpraj was speeding towards Anuppur. The only available means of transport, gone. I stared at its fading red back lights. Stuck in the middle of nowhere, with nowhere to go, while it rained and thundered all around.

"Baithiye sir bike par, pakadte hai bus ko..."

It was Mr. Gupta. He put on his helmet and kick-started his bike.

"Mil jaayega aapko bus.. abhi zyada door nai gaya" - the dhaba owner commented.

Amidst the pouring rain, Mr. Gupta blasted his bike through the road. The bus's red back lights were still in sight. The bike's speed touched 40...50...60 even as the bus didn't show any signs of slowing down. Honking wouldn't have helped. The rains would drown out the sound. There were no street lights around. The bike's headlight and the lightning were the only sources of light punctuating the blackness that engulfed us.

My pulse shot through the roof as we accelerated further to close in on the bus. Moments later, the bus showed first signs of slowing down. There was a huge pothole on the road. Thankfully. We managed to close in on the bus as it slowly tided past the pothole. As we neared the bus, Mr. Gupta honked and I shouted asking the bus driver to stop. Mr. Gupta overtook the bus and drove his bike in its path while I turned around and waved frantically.

Three odd kilometers from Funga, we finally managed to catch the bus. I got down from the bike and thanked Mr. Gupta profusely. The fact that he took the pains to drive3 km in the rain to help out a stranger he met half an hour ago was touching.

I got into the bus, and as it waded through the potholed stretch to Anuppur, I wondered if the potholes and the practice of halting for anyone and everyone on the route was entirely bad... At least, the adventure made it an evening to remember.