Dwaraka Trip: Combining Pleasure with Pilgrimage (Chapter 1 of 5)

Dwaraka Trip: Combining Pleasure with Pilgrimage
(Chapter 1 of 5)

When Siva and Prashanti (B-702) asked us, out of the blue, if we would join them for a weeklong trip to Ahmedabad, Jamnagar, Nageswar, Somnath, Veraval, etc., I flatly declined. After all, no senior with a sense of propriety would wish to be a spoilsport tagging along with a young couple for the entire duration of their vacation.

“No uncle and aunty, my parents from Hyderabad will join us,” hastened Prashanti. “My mother too,” added Siva. Again I wriggled out, for who would disturb a perfect family re-union where exclusivity is the name of the game.

“UNCLE, not just that, Ashutosh, Ruchi and kids (B-701) will also be with us, as will Ashu’s mother be from Delhi,” emphasizded Siva raising his voice a little, guessing by then that I was the stumbling block for B-703 joining the bandwagon.

“Yes, we will,” I said, before the Lady of the House could say so, as I side-glanced her rushing from the kitchen.

With an itinerary worked out meticulously by Siva and Ashutosh, it was decided that Prashanti’s parents and Siva’s mother would fly from Hyderabad, and Siva, Prashanti, and the two of us would from Bangalore and meet at Ahmedabad.

Ashutosh, Ruchi and kids would leave for Mumbai a few days earlier to be with Ashutosh’s friends, and his mother would join them from Delhi.

The confluence of the two groups would take place at Dwaraka, one of the favourite abodes of Lord Krishna. I deliberately use the term one of the… lest any Srishti-ite from Mathura should raise an objection.

It always augurs well to start with a bang. And so did we, in Ahmedabad. Siva had google-searched one of the finest restaurants for dinner where they recreated a village ambiance - a side pillow to recline on a coir cot, have a sip of lemon juice with bon-fire helping you stay warm from the nightly cold, enjoy the mutka dance with incredible speed, culminating into a balancing act on sharp steel or glass objects. Then their turbaned man in the typical Gujarati attire sporting a liberal moustache (one that you get to see at the doorstep in any five-star hotel ushering guests) escorts you to a dinner area. Again another typical village setting that you love to be in. Then follows a deluge of dishes for you to try out, so much so that the very sight fills your belly.

Fortunately everyone had come prepared to have a go at them, setting aside temporarily one’s health constraints. But in the end, I bet no one could vouch that he/she tried all the items. To sum up, each one helped the other to get up and walk up to the area where, once again too many varieties of suparis, mukhwaas, digestives and paan were served with gay abandon.

The result? Each one felt there would be a casualty or two during the night to hamper the next early morning train journey to Jamnagar. Fortunately, the pattar-hazams and lakkad-hazams served post-dinner (digestives that are capable of assimilating stones and wood) did their job well. Everyone reported at the lobby on time to head for the railway station.

Rail journey to Jamnagar (to be continued).