As my days in Baroda are now numbered, I yearn to make most of it. It seems that for the past two years, all I did was: turn myself in a couch potato, oblivious to what the city has to offer. And so quench this thirst of 'knowing'; at least a little, I WALK.
When i moved to the old parts of the city, I was overcome by anxiety of travelling to my workplace everyday- least to mention, reaching on time. The streets seemed serpentine, as if I am caught in a hedge maze. The only markers I had were some peculiar looking houses, which I agree, was a weak link to orient myself. I was almost regretting my decision of moving into the 'bazaar' area of Baroda. Until that fateful day...
I recalled my ajoba solemnly saying :"Keep walking" whenever he put his hand on head to bless. And I would sharply react, questioning him its significance and meaning. What kind of a 'blessing' is "keep walking"? People usually bless the youngsters with good life, success in whatever they do, etc. But this form of 'walking' blessing seemed erratic to me. Furthermore, the coolness with which he used to add: "You'll know... Walking clears out things", further confused me. However, that morning when I woke up, and just decided to take a little walk, it seemed as if ajoba was walking with me. His famous walks from ancestral house to neighbouring villages on weekly basis, his encouragement to his contemporaries to keep walking in spite of all odds, and his enduring activity till his last was like the vivid cinemascope I was carrying with me.
And yes, he was right. Walking in the narrow bazaar lanes the streets were unfolding in front of me, as if disentangling of a ball of wool... I was absorbing each detail as much as I could, as if it is teh last time I would see those shops, trinket selling vendors, handcart pulling men, angry auto-walla, old man with beedi, and the woman in a riff-raff sari balancing the weight of the vegetables on her head. I was trying to connect the pieces of sky which peeped through the mesh of overhead cables and protruding balconies. Trees did not gladden my view-finder, but the mosaic of people, colours, winding roads, symphony of vehicles and grunting engines made me mirthful.
The red brick buildings with the 'english bond', manicured garden patch in one of the buildings from Khanderao Maharaja's reign was a peep into the medieval chapters of the area. Once I was into the open sections of the street, where bridge connecting to wide roads and Audi and Volkswagen driven highway intersected, my heart skipped a beat. The transition from the cozy curvy streets into open artificial landscape was jarring. The organic development of joint residences, creaky wooden structures which sat right at the edge of the street was soulful rather then the glass lined shops and blinky signboards on the highway. I continued walking...
The open-ness of the highway was now slowly growing under my skin. I was beginning to realize its own charm. The vehicles rushing by was frightening, but the open-ness and speckles of greenary, though artificial; was a cute addition to my scene. The plasticity about it continued, but it wasn't bothering me as before. The 'modern' Baroda turned itself over to me. The grandiose shopping centres, the plastic mannequins staring blankly at you and everything else, which is a common picture in any city; was standing proudly in my front. However, there was nothing much to study for me. The angular boxy buildings, neon bill boards and the people getting in and out of cars was just a replica of the modern cities anywhere in the world. The soul of Baroda was in the old city...
I am walking then on, trying to understand the soul of the city, and what is hidden in the unexplored niches of its robust Gaikwad edifice. What walking is giving me, my two-year stay had eluded from me. And so I wake up each day, to explore Baroda anew, with my ajoba's gentle words "Keep Walking"...
When i moved to the old parts of the city, I was overcome by anxiety of travelling to my workplace everyday- least to mention, reaching on time. The streets seemed serpentine, as if I am caught in a hedge maze. The only markers I had were some peculiar looking houses, which I agree, was a weak link to orient myself. I was almost regretting my decision of moving into the 'bazaar' area of Baroda. Until that fateful day...
I recalled my ajoba solemnly saying :"Keep walking" whenever he put his hand on head to bless. And I would sharply react, questioning him its significance and meaning. What kind of a 'blessing' is "keep walking"? People usually bless the youngsters with good life, success in whatever they do, etc. But this form of 'walking' blessing seemed erratic to me. Furthermore, the coolness with which he used to add: "You'll know... Walking clears out things", further confused me. However, that morning when I woke up, and just decided to take a little walk, it seemed as if ajoba was walking with me. His famous walks from ancestral house to neighbouring villages on weekly basis, his encouragement to his contemporaries to keep walking in spite of all odds, and his enduring activity till his last was like the vivid cinemascope I was carrying with me.
And yes, he was right. Walking in the narrow bazaar lanes the streets were unfolding in front of me, as if disentangling of a ball of wool... I was absorbing each detail as much as I could, as if it is teh last time I would see those shops, trinket selling vendors, handcart pulling men, angry auto-walla, old man with beedi, and the woman in a riff-raff sari balancing the weight of the vegetables on her head. I was trying to connect the pieces of sky which peeped through the mesh of overhead cables and protruding balconies. Trees did not gladden my view-finder, but the mosaic of people, colours, winding roads, symphony of vehicles and grunting engines made me mirthful.
The red brick buildings with the 'english bond', manicured garden patch in one of the buildings from Khanderao Maharaja's reign was a peep into the medieval chapters of the area. Once I was into the open sections of the street, where bridge connecting to wide roads and Audi and Volkswagen driven highway intersected, my heart skipped a beat. The transition from the cozy curvy streets into open artificial landscape was jarring. The organic development of joint residences, creaky wooden structures which sat right at the edge of the street was soulful rather then the glass lined shops and blinky signboards on the highway. I continued walking...
The open-ness of the highway was now slowly growing under my skin. I was beginning to realize its own charm. The vehicles rushing by was frightening, but the open-ness and speckles of greenary, though artificial; was a cute addition to my scene. The plasticity about it continued, but it wasn't bothering me as before. The 'modern' Baroda turned itself over to me. The grandiose shopping centres, the plastic mannequins staring blankly at you and everything else, which is a common picture in any city; was standing proudly in my front. However, there was nothing much to study for me. The angular boxy buildings, neon bill boards and the people getting in and out of cars was just a replica of the modern cities anywhere in the world. The soul of Baroda was in the old city...
I am walking then on, trying to understand the soul of the city, and what is hidden in the unexplored niches of its robust Gaikwad edifice. What walking is giving me, my two-year stay had eluded from me. And so I wake up each day, to explore Baroda anew, with my ajoba's gentle words "Keep Walking"...
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| My GoogleFit did not help me transfer my walk record; so the Google map snippet :D (Just showing off)>>> My 'eye-opener' day walk |
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| Walk into the 'student friendly neighbourhood' out of the bazaars |
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| A glimpse of modernising Baroda... And still goin' on :) |
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