[Originally Posted by Mihika Mirchandani]

As much as we like to believe we don’t go by stereotypes, there is a certain personality that comes to mind when you hear the word rickshawalla, especially if you are a Mumbaikar: mostly brusque, often unwilling to ferry you to your destination, annoying you with unnecessary questions and evoking a response of utter surprise when they are in the least bit helpful. 



Udaybhai defies every stereotype in the book. Fondly known as ‘Amdavad no rickshawalo’, he has the warmest smile you’ve ever seen, and is the proud driver of a beautifully designed rickshaw that operates on a gift-economy. The meter is always zero and the passenger is asked to pay from his heart on a pay-it-forward basis. As part of a packed three day itinerary I’d planned for my mum and friends who were visiting me at the end of my stay in Ahmadabad, a tour of the city with Udaybhai was our special treat at the end.

It isn’t just the mode of payment that sets Udaybhai and his rickshaw apart, the entire experience of being a passenger in his vehicle is something else altogether. We called him a day in advance to book a spot on his calendar, and he arrived punctually at 11 am on a Sunday to take us four women on our Ahmadabad darshan. We weren’t as punctual, so Udaybhai had to wait, but he didn’t seem to mind. We got chatting about his life journey, he shared how he was inspired by the work of Ishwarbhai Patel and Manav Sadhna, an NGO that works for underprivileged children, and decided to do something meaningful by operating his rickshaw on a gift economy. At first, he was faced with a lot of scepticism, people wondered if he had ulterior motives behind this ‘pay as you wish’ method, but the love and support of countless people and Udaybhai’s faith and determination kept him going. I’m always amazed to hear the stories of extraordinary people like Udaybhai, it’s a reminder to all of us that you needn’t have it all figured out to start thinking of giving back. Udaybhai supports his family of 10 through what he earns from the rickshaw, and he’s a happier person for it.

My mind wandering to the questions of life and its endless possibilities, our group of four girls made its way to the rickshaw, excited to begin our sightseeing of Ahmadabad. We were welcomed as all passengers are with heart shaped and smiley faced pins, that Udaybhai put on, introduced to the cool features of the rickshaw which include a dustbin, a fan, and a magazine rack. And the four of us still managed to fit ourselves in, albeit slightly squished.

Our journey began with an apt song, Amdavad no rickshawalo’ sung by Kishore Kumar. We were headed to Adalaj on the outskirts of the city to visit a step well and possibly a few temples. 
Our first stop was the step well, a beautiful 500 year old structure, once used for water, bathing and holy rituals but now a tourist spot. The story goes that Rena Veer Singh, the ruler of Adalaj laid the foundation for the well in the 15th century but before he could complete it, he was slain by a Muslim ruler, Mohammad Begda. Mohammad Begda was enamoured by the beauty of Rana Veer Singh’s widow Rani Roopba and wished to marry her. She agreed on the condition that he would finish building the well. Once it was complete she gave her life in the very same well, sacrificing herself so her people could benefit for years to come.

Although it is hard to discern the layers of reality and fiction in such stories, they add to the experience of visiting the place, imagining where the young queen might have given her life. We walked down, stopping to admire the intricately carved beams and plinths where the village folk used to pray. The well is 5 levels below the ground and the temperature drops at each level which is a great relief from the heat of Ahmadabad. The water which was someday potable is now sadly green and covered by a scum of algae. We saw people flinging coins into the well, some sort of a ritual. I couldn’t help but wonder how much better use it could be put to rather than just lying there rotting.

Udaybhai knew the place well, he’d brought many wide eyed tourists like us here before, and it was nice to know the little details, like the roof which used to be open was now covered by a net to prevent accidents, and the spikes around the ledges were put there for the same reason. The well near the back was open to tourists earlier but had been shut down after an accident. After reaching the bottom and enjoying the cool temperature, trying to ignore the putrid smell, we made our way up and to the back, where we caught a peek at the secret staircase that was used to fetch water and check on the level of the well earlier. We were tempted to laze in the grass and pluck some flowers from a tree nearby but Udaybhai advised against it, since we’d be late for lunch. It was truly a joy to have him show us around, he added his own special touch to everything, indulged in our silliness and laughed at our jokes, besides peppering the conversation with his historical anecdotes.

Our next stop was lunch at the canteen of Trimandir. A welcome simple meal after gorging on not-so-healthy food the day before. It was a traditional vegetarian spread, and a delicious one at that, even for a mostly-carnivore like me! The gorging continued, on more healthy food, all of us went back for seconds, washing it down with some refreshing chaas afterwards. We were too stuffed to move and actually look around the temple, but somehow, we managed.
A more modern structure than the 15th century well we had just seen, it was two stories high made of pink sandstone and marble flooring. A non reflective paint on the marble steps prevents your feet from burning. If you visit and are tempted to test the temperature difference, don’t, you will regret it!

Apart from the high ceiling huge doorways and all the opulence, the temple wasn’t quite so fascinating, to me at least, I’m not one for idols. The man who built the temple, Dada Bhagwan had an epiphany whilst sitting at a railway station as Udaybhai told us. Now I know it isn’t fair to compare but the tale of the widowed princess made for a much better story!

An air conditioned Audio visual presentation and a quick walk around the place, and were out of there. There wasn’t much to see and the heat was getting to us. Udaybhai sensed that temples weren’t really our thing and suggested we skip the rest and head back to the city.

After stopping for some Havmor ice cream we proceeded to visit the Kalam Khush paper factory, a quaint unit in a lush green compound right opposite Gandhi Ashram. Peacocks in all their brilliance greeted us at the entrance as we made our way inside. Kalam Khush is the first place where Gandhiji introduced paper made from khadi, and it continues to be made in the traditional method till date.

Everything used in the paper making process is natural, including the dye. We were taken on a tour of the processing unit, watching how the rags are turned into pulp; the pulp is treated and washed several times, strained, pressed and dried to create the final product.



I was amazed to learn that quality control is completely manual and all the paper is scrutinized by Leela ben, a wonderful lady who flashed all of us a warm smile as we passed by and observed her, and she observed the papers. I got chatting and discovered she’d been working with Kalam Khush for the past 25 years, and was originally from Maharashtra. She was delighted to know I was from the same state, and something told me to give her the heart pin Udaybhai had welcomed me with, I pinned it on to her sari blouse as I was leaving. She put her hand on my head as a sign of blessing. It’s hard to describe the warmth I felt in that moment.

We deliberated over the vast array of handmade paper products, and saw a demo of a model charkha being used to spin cotton, whilst Udaybhai patiently waited for us to finish our shopping. 

Once done we embarked on a search for a 100 year old mithai shop that was known to make the best halwassan in town, an Ahmadabad speciality that my Dad had asked me to bring home. The name of this shop could not be recalled or traced online and apparently there are lots of 100 year old mithaiwallahs in Ahmadabad. But Udaybhai came to the rescue and took us to the nearest store where we sampled an entire array of cholesterol laden happiness, from basundi to kalakand, halwassan pedas and what not, ending our day on a sweet note.

We headed back home for tea, where Udaybhai surprised us with a dabba of methi puris sent by his wife. They were outstanding; we could not stop raving about them! Udaybhai called his wife so we could tell her ourselves, which we did, also promising to meet her the next time we were n Ahmadabad.

It was time for Udaybhai to get home to his family and for us to put something in the envelope. We were faced with odd question, how much is enough? The math was too hard. How much was enough for the fuel, the transport, the little anecdotes, and all the love Udaybhai had showered on us. How much? Which made me realise that the gift economy is truly a test in every way: for the person providing the services to trust in the generosity of the giver, and for the giver to leave aside all reason and calculation and truly pay from the heart. I’m not sure we succeeded but we surely did try.

And so the last day, and my stay in Ahmadabad came to a close; I thought back on the two months I’d spent there, and found that all my wonderful experiences had a name on them, a name of another person, who I’d shared a beautiful moment with. And it’s those memories that make me go all warm and fuzzy when I look back on them, the time I spent with everyone around, from friends strangers to everyone in between. The sharing of personal stories, the instinctive connections we form when looking at someone and realising you have something in common, the love showered on you by everyone you encounter, that’s what makes for the best souvenirs of all.



Pictures courtesy: Aditi Kulkarni & Divya Talwar
 

Posted by Mihika Mirchandani on Jun 4, 2013 | permalink