Return of the native
The concept of a native place is alien to most of today's youth who fail to understand what all the brouhaha is all about . But in our childhood it was part of an elaborate annual ritual to go to Kapadwanj, a town in Kheda district of Gujarat and about 100 kms from Ahmedabad.
Usually we would go there during our summer holidays. Bags would be packed and elaborate preparations made as if it was a migration or adventure into the unknown. With an air of excitement pervading, we would catch the Gujarat Mail from Bombay Central, an overnight train that would reach Nadiad in the pre dawn hours. Groggily we would awaken from our slumber to catch a narrow gauge train that would leisurely make it’s way through parched and barren countryside, reaching Kapadwanj as the sun rose on the horizon. Alternatively we would alight at Ahmedabad and after breakfast of samosa and khari, do the ziyarat and take a rickety ST bus or a taxi to the town.
To get to Kapadwanj one had to cross a bridge over the Sangam river on the edge of town, past the bus stand and the Siraji club bungalow, then through the market and the Gandhi putla into the Vohrwad ( road of Bohras). It was like a gated suburb and the road split into two ( moti and nanhi vohrwad) at the big mosque. The houses were all of a particular style or format, with exquisitely decorated and carved exteriors with a gokh, a window which projected into the street, where we would often sit and watch the world go by indulging in social banter as we shared information and gossip.
Our house was located in the Tajubai ni Sehri(alley) which was flanked by two stone platforms(otla), which served as a resting place, another focal point of conversation.
The houses had an enclosed central courtyard with a skylight that consisted of a large metallic grill (jali). Surrounding the courtyard were tiny rooms that served as a kitchen, a storeroom, a bathroom, a toilet. On one side were stairs leading to the upper storeys and on the other a door led to the middle room and through it to the master bedroom cum large living room. The walls were solid and sparse with the exception of cupboards inbuilt into them. There was usually a navkhunya (nine indented enclave) inset into the wall wherein which vases and showpieces were displayed.
The ceiling was decorated in intricate plaster of paris design whilst the floor was covered by a jhajhum or carpet mat.
The houses usually had multiple stories with some having an attic and/or basement as well.They often shared a common wall with adjoining houses on the street.Some houses were well maintained, whilst others were in varying states of disrepair , still others were decrepit and in ruins whilst the odd modernistic mayhem had begun insinuating itself here and there.
Whilst most residents had left the town for greener pastures or opportunities in metropolises like Bombay, turning it into a ghost town, the Vohrwads came back to life at the Urs of feast of Khoj bin Malik Shah, one of the foremost Dawoodi Bohra historians and a saint in his own right. Houses were opened and cleaned and the Kapadwanjis flocked back like bees to the hive. The baugs or clubs of Kapadwanj located in wooden bungalows served as dormitories to those who didn't have homes of their own and a place for feasting on local delicacies whilst catching up with acquaintances old and new.
Kapadwanj was very progressive, being one of the first towns to have an underground drainage and electricity. There was a love for the good life especially the food, but there existed side by side a thirst for knowledge and also the liberal hand of philanthropy. It was not quite the city, not quite a village hamlet. It had the quintessential gadheras roaming the roads, but also men of letters and learning. For some strange reason the incidence of blindness was high, but blind faith was not and a Kapadwanji prided himself on his progressive outlook.
Life was good and uncluttered by technology. Simple joys and childhood games like lagori and gilli danda were enjoyed.The food was delicious and lipsmacking with melt in the mouth khaman and the visually appealing goli soda in the market to hearty simple meals that were tucked into with much gusto at the communal jamaatkhanas such as piping hot dal chawal palida or the kebabs at home , all rendered delicious by the fresh ingredients, simple cooking over wood or charcoal sprinkled with a generous dose of love. Excursions to the waterworks, river bank, baugs and kabrastaan ware something we looked forward to as much as a constant stream of visitors to our home who entertained and enriched us with their wit and wisdom.To conclude I quote one of my grandfather's favorite sayings that stresses the importance of being attached to your roots, about the prodigal son who returns to his village after a lifetime abroad.
Des gayo pardes gayo sikhi lavyo vani, water water kari ne jaan gayo par khatla niche pani.
For feedback contact me,Hashim Mirza on my email mirzaanent@gmail.com
Some interesting photos of Kapadwanj in this link below.