Rickshaws in Gujarat have been largely upgraded since I last visited - the engines run quietly and cleanly on compressed natural gas. However, a few of the old-style rickshaws remain - they scoot along making a distressing smell (it's like they run on kerosene) and an odd putt-putt noise as they move along.
If it has wheels, it's used to move goods. This old rickshaw has been converted for use as a truck to deliver bread.
Bicycles are also a common mode of transporting goods - I saw quite a few of these bicycles with a large tray and axle on the back. Note the complete lack of gears - I saw quite a few riders sweating and pedaling with difficult strokes on uneven, bumpy roads with a huge load of cargo on the back.
Complex, beautiful modes of dress were no obstacle for determined bicycle riders in Rajkot.
Scooters and motorbikes seemed to be, by far, the most common mode of transport on Rajkot. You'd see as many scooters with two or more riders as you did with one rider; again, they seemed to be yet another way of getting people and goods around. The sheer volume of them and their sooty exhausts let me to wonder if they were a big part of the pollution problem in the area.
Honda Heroes were the most common type of motorbike that I saw over there. The roads were chaotic (traffic driving in both directions on a one-way road, general multi-way chaos when it came to roundabouts) but, in the end, accidents were few and there was a bizarre sort of logic to it. The driving algorithm went like this:
1. Start the vehicle, honk your horn. 2. Head in the direction of where you want to go (doesn't matter if you're moving against the direction of traffic). If there is someone where you want to be, honk your horn. 3. If there is someone bigger than you, give way.
It's completely insane, but it seemed to work even with the insane combination of pedestrians, bicycles, rickshaws, cars, trucks and cows on the road.
There are plenty of family-carrying motorbikes out on the highways.
One way to pass the time in Rajkot was to levitate objects using telekenisis. It's not as easy as it looks.
Rajkot is a city of 1.5 million people, having rapidly expanded in the recent past. I remember lying on the rooftop of my grandmothers place and sleeping out under a blanket of stars; nowadays, it's difficult to see more than a few points of light on a clear night due to the haze and pollution that covers the city. The city is one of the world leaders in manufacturing diesel pumps, but the success has come at a high environmental price.
The Aji dam collects water from the river and supplies Rajkot; poor planning, however, means that some parts of the city (notably the large quarter where my grandmothers place is) sits above the level of the dam. As such, after industry has taken its (fairly hefty) share of the water, there isn't much left for residents in these areas. The dam is about as full as it's ever been - the drought has been broken here for several years and heavy rains means that the dam is nearly overflowing.
In this part of town, water runs for 20 minutes a day. When the water is running an electric pump runs the water up to a storage tank on the roof - a fixed amount that is carefully used during the course of the day. If the pump is out or if the water runs at another time of day, the water is lifted out using buckets from the small well in the house where it collects for pumping. This picture shows my awesome cousin, Jagrut, doing just that.
Rajkot is an industrial town; near my grandmothers place, there are a few motorcycle repair shops just like this one. Often it's too hot to work during the day, so a good chunk of the work gets done after the sun has set.
Stray dogs are sometimes looked after by local shopkeepers.
The local bazaar sells fresh produce; it's a rickety old building with high ceilings and it stays cool during the day. My mum went along to get a few vegetables and I snuck about unsuccessfully, noticed at every turn.
Gujarat state is one of the world's centres for textiles - a lot of cotton is grown here, and much of the chemical industry needed to dye the fabrics is also well established. Bright, vibrant textiles are a staple here, and are easily and cheaply available.
This guy: rolling tobacco in his palms.
The market district in Rajkot seem to consist entirely of narrow laneways, light filtering down between three-story buildings and the rats nest of wiring that seems to accumulate on every street corner.
Archways and ancient doors hint at the remains of the old city, which is being (very gradually) replaced by neon shop fronts.
I stayed in a poor part of Rajkot, far removed from the spectacular success and riches of other part of the country. There are impressive stories of runaway success and prosperity in India, but this isn't one of them. Here in the industrial heart of Rajkot, water runs for twenty minutes a day, and there are parts of town where closed sewers have only been recently introduced. It's polluted, its noisy and at times overwhelmingly difficult to comprehend.
Despite the obvious difficulties, there's this relentless sense of pride and dignity. Across the road from my grandmothers place, every day I'd see a group of kids playing outside in the street. Their hands and feet would end up covered in grime, but setting out they'd always be neat, hair combed, faces washed and clothes pressed.
This is all far removed from the reality that I'm used to. When dinnertime comes around, parents weren't asking kids to peel themselves away from the television - they had to be recalled from wherever it was they were playing outside to come in and eat; a sort of fifty year old inversion on the way of life I'm used to. There was a simple joy to the way they interaced that I sometimes think is missing from the world I commonly live in.
Kite-flying is a common activity for kids; from the rooftops you can often see kites hovering over the city or tangled up in power lines.
I didn't think it would still be the case, but a camera seemed to be a cause for genuine excitement for some kids. At one point I was just watching general goings on in front of my grandmothers place when the group of kids playing outside spotted the camera, and there was a mad scramble to get in front of it. Whenever I'd be able to get one framed on their own, they'd sometimes have an awesome, rigid camera pose - not unlike this fellow just here.
Cows are still a common sight in towns in India. They're considered still sacred; if cow decides to park itself in the middle of the road, traffic will cheerfully route itself around it. They're also the garbage disposal for parts of the city; often they'll cheerfully eat up rubbish thrown out of windows.
In Rajkot it wasn't unusual to see kids working during the day. Here a young chai-wallah is bringing tea to shopkeepers.
Every seven years or so, I make a trip back to my family hometown of Rajkot, India. Every trip, I'm struck by how much and how quickly it changes. My family originates from this place, but we're far from it - we're into the third generation that has lived outside of Gujarat, our home state, and coming back is invariably a culture shock.
One of the most striking differences between India and the countries I've lived in the western world is how people carry themselves. There's a striking difference in the demeanour they have - right down to how people walk and the expressions they wear.
I spent a lot of my time just wandering around with my camera. One of the most striking places I spent time in was the commercial and shopping district of Rajkot; it's an old part of town and here life continues on in part how it may have been doing so for at least decades, if not longer.
I'd made the foolish assumption that since I was on holiday, I wouldn't need to pay much attention to my appearance. I left my shaving kit at home, and quickly sprouted a stubbly, ugly beard. While most Indian men sprout an impressive mustache under the nose (my cousin assures me that it's a sign of manliness), few men in Rajkot under retirement age have a full beard. Along with my awkward demeanour, the beard in particular made my stand out from other Indian guys, and I was the subject of many a stare as I walked around. However, since everyone was looking at my face, they weren't seeing what I did with my hands. In them, I kept my camera and I shot almost exclusively from the hip. Each time I saw something I'd fire off five or six quick shots in the rough direction of what I saw while my subject was still working out where I was from, and moved on before they worked out what was going on. I'd never really shot from the hip before, and it was a glorious experience.
It's common to see guys on corners and shopfronts just watching the world go by. I've got no idea what they're doing - are they between jobs, taking a break, or just hanging out? - but there are an awful lot of them. The thing that stands out for me, though, are the strong expressions they wear as they watch the world go by - a sort of focused scrutiny the minute a new satellite enters their orbit.
Note the bloke on the far left - he's sipping on some chai from a saucer before the start of the working day.
Saris and Punjabi dresses are the dominant mode of dress for ladies in India; the country is a centre for textiles and bright, vivid materials are cheap, accessible and still enormously popular after hundreds (thousands?) of years. They're also worn with some flair - ladies around here don't just walk, they sashay from one place to the next.
It's not uncommon to see ladies carry loads on their heads. It looks enormously difficult; most impressive is that some seem to be able to do it without using their hands at all.
Wandering around the streets, I saw a lot of gentlemen who appeared to be praying as they were walking. They'd stride purposefully along, looking at the skies, hands clasped together. After seeing a few individuals doing this, I asked my cousin what was going on and he informed me that they were actually rolling tobacco.
The gentleman in the foreground is a chai-wallah; in his right hand you can see the saucer and cups, and in his right he's got a pot of tea. Working neighborhoods seemed to each have their own chai-wallah (sometimes there were pairs of them) and shopkeepers would call on them to get their caffeine fix at the start of the day.
Same as the chai-wallahs, there were also people who delivered milk and cream. This was often carried by hand, or, sometimes by bicycle.
At the Rajkot bus terminal.
Just to be clear here: this isn't a dark-skinned Terry Jones. He's dealing in paan, a slightly carcinogenic but nevertheless delicious mix of spices and chewy bits wrapped up in betel nut leaves.
