Gujarat, Recurring

A huge problem the author had with this piece: how to write it without veering into pathos?

When it became clear it is impossible, it was a bit easier.

How could one write about friends and not get emotional?

On the first night people from all over the world were dropping in one by one …

… and the never ending stream of friends meant we didn’t get any sleep after 30 hours of air travel.

But who needs sleep when it’s finally the gathering of best friends – it’s IKF Gujarat 2025!

The first real contact with India, the moment we know we’re there is when the last door of the last airport finally opens, and the heat and humidity slap us in the face.

*Smoking area, P6 West, outside Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj International Airport terminal 2, Mumbai*

Mumbai airport. The Irani chai. The smoking area in P6 West (they change the location every year). The beer at Blackberry, our old place.

And then onwards, to Ahmedabad.

Say, how on Earth we became friends with Bakul? Two years ago we thought he was a bit too arrogant for his competence (we were wrong, of course; his curt answers were a consequence of him having absolutely no room for improvisation), and he was certain we were annoying entitled brats, set to make his already hard job even harder – and his life miserable.

*Proof of friendship with Manoj, the best bus driver in Gujarat!*

Was it the fact we really are friends with Manoj, which Bakul couldn’t believe (really? these guys – and Manoj?) until Manoj himself enthusiastically confirmed?

Was it the hotel in Bhuj that Bakul arranged when it became clear we’d be wayyy too late to arrive at the freezing tents of Rann Utsav in Dhordo? (Bakul gracefully said it was “a joint decision”, but we know it was him.)

Was it the silent pact we made when the alternator died and we had created an adventure out of mishap – and we communicated without words and together made it happen (with Bakul doing his magic to claw back three hours of four lost)?

Or was it just the fact we are all good guys?

We don’t visit Gujarat. We return, we come back home. We don’t come to Gujarat to fly kites (we do, of course, we love kites!) – we come to meet our friends, our families.

“Boris … he is now very old. In Autumn he visited his last festival – and like he knew it, he was running around, pulling his kite, happy and content. That’s what we want to do for him: give him the best years of his life, the years he has left …”

*Boris the Kite Flying Dog at the IKF Stožice a couple of years ago*

Coming to a kite field in Ahmedabad is like stepping into a classroom after a long summer break. Everywhere you look there is an old friend lurking. Peter, Laszlo, Vinita, Bob, Thomas, Tonje, Brian, Nitesh, Andres, Natalia, Johan, Claudia, Tony, Aji, Maxime, Dipen, Nikolai, Jan … There is Cisca worrying about the beloved Boris the Kite Flying Dog, the Tunisian girls are dealing sweets, our neighbours from Slovakia are laughing at Gregor’s accreditation, and the other neighbour from South Africa is new to us – which meant we got a new friend!

*As Helmi said – Gregor by day, Georgina by night …*

To further the classroom analogy – the festival is also much like a high school trip, especially at night. Even though Gujarat is a dry state.

“It’s a hospital.”

It’s the middle of the night and we are on a roof terrace of a hotel (the one with the madhūka tree and the flying foxes) selflessly destroying illegal contraband (hi, Hardik!), when Maxime starts wondering what could the word KAUSHIK on a giant illuminated billboard could mean. Luckily, there is Juan, a linguistic prodigy.

“Well, ‘kau’ is ‘you’ in Javanese, and the rest is … ‘sick’ …”
“What?”
“What what … it means ‘you sick’!”
“So …?”
“So it must be a hospital!”

We go back to our hotel (which doesn’t have a rooftop terrace) quietly, as it is the middle of the night and we don’t want to disturb our tired kiters.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAhahahahaha!”

*“Don’t go!” … “I must go!” … “I love you!” … “I love you too, Marczin!”*

Shahir and Marzcin barge through the door screaming and laughing, and in the lobby a total party is in full swing … the Mauritians took over the music, the Colombians lead the dance, the Poles were pouring – and Christopher was the star.

One night in Ahmedabad …

Sometimes a place grows into you. The first time you return you know it, and every visit makes the place cling more firmly to your heart. That’s Ahmedabad for us. We are in President A hotel? Great, the Law Garden where Ivor gets the silk for his girls back home is right there, and Jamshed’s place is just across the river! (We still pay 200 rupees going there, and 80 going back – it’s important who calls a tuk-tuk.)

And, due to our Mitteleuropäisch heart, even in Ahmedabad we can find a café on a street corner, sit down and enjoy a cup of … whatever they think coffee is …

It’s dizzying, Ahmedabad, though … even the trees … yet it’s familiar, friendly, easy: a home away from home.

After the longest day on the kite field – the inauguration ceremony starts at 10, but the VIPs never arrive before 11, so we kiters must be there at 6:40 AM, because we must – it was time for the feast of the night.

The Babalu symposion.

*The transmogrification of a crossroad into a feast*

The most incredible dinner is held every year at Jamshed Turner’s place – which is actually not his place, as the Turners simply cordon off an intersection in the heart of Old Ahmedabad, put mats on the floor, bring tables and chairs, create an incredibly cute place – and serve fantastic delicacies that everyone just have to come back for a second serving.

Sitting under the night sky of Old Ahmedabad, the discussion about the education systems, the threats and opportunities of social media with Madame Rao, pierced with Airbuses on the final approach right above us.

Messing with Juan …

Having another discussion with the kids …

Eating till the point of bursting.

In a pop-up courtyard full of best friends.

A professor from Korea comes to me and says, come, we must take a picture. He’s holding a piece of cloth that we are supposed to unveil to the camera.

I mean – what … such nice gestures from people half around the planet away … Emotional?

You bet!

Prisha is now a young woman, a graduate in psychology, an accomplished bright person with bright eyes looking into a bright future. And yet we remember Uttej going “Prishaaaa…” through his teeth six years ago, because she was too loud or something. They are beyond friends, Uttej, Prisha and Madame Rao …

This year the fog made everything a bit tense.

“Don’t you mister Rao me!!!”, and slam! …

The fog was covering Delhi airport, and while the big planes could take off, the aerial buses flying kiters to Delhi couldn’t land. So one by one kite flyers were realising the plane they are on will be seriously delayed, but their onward journey planes were all on schedule.

What to do but call Uttej?

There are many facets of a Gujarati businessman. One of them is shutting down annoying idiots who call every five minutes despite Uttej saing he is on it. When Uttej says he’s on it, he’s on it – period. The problems are gone, sit down, have a drink (or a bidi), and wait.

“I’m not a robot!!!”

We were winking at each other – Madame Rao was smiling, so we knew everything was fine – but Juan was really stressed out:

The dinner – Moughal Chowk FTW! – was above and beyond amazing …

I see Gregor hugging some Indian guy like they haven’t seen each other in years (they haven’t).

“Who was this guy?”
“I have no idea …”

Lakesh? Nitesh? The other Nitesh? Sandeesh? Rajesh? Only a thorough search through our Facebook (not a small feat, there are 4992 of them!) friends revealed who was Gregor’s best friend of the moment.

“Where is Min?”
“I’m here!”
“Oh dear … I miss him so much I feel like I’m still hearing his voice …”
“I’m right here, Bob.”

We lost Min at the airport and later in the hotel, so it became a running gag.

*Bakul knows where Min is, for all his kite flying sheep are always accounted for*

“Oh my, we lost Min … Where is Min? Where is Min!”
“I’m right HERE, dammit!”

He can fly, too.

Meanwhile Vinita was in a cab driving to the head office of Gujarat Tourism to kickstart a plan that in the end got her on Indian national TV.

Because not everything should be about kites, friends, and parties.

It’s also about nurturing the creativity of children.

Bachpan Manao.

Bachpan Manao is a mission and a celebration to recognise the abundance of childhood for kids under 8. A springboard for the future, a wind under their wings, a firm foundation to reach the highest, to develop their full potential.

Vinita was, of course, born to be involved.

She brought the kids and the representatives of EkStep foundation tot he kite field, and organised a kite making and kite painting workshop.

Of course everbody helped. It’s Vinita, remember?

And the TV came.

Not just any TV, but NDTV, a national television channel from New Delhi. Vinita’s fantastic effort – the kids, the kiters, the kites – was broadcasted nationally. Over all India – and India has over 1,5 billion people!

It soared.

As if competing, Saud had an idea of a feast too – though he smartly camouflaged it into a casual “why don’t we go to my aunt’s place for some relaxing rooftop kite fighting?”

Come on, Maxime, we have manjhas to cut!

It was a day after Uttarayan, but the real Amdabadlije were still flying their patangs and cutting the manjhas.

A long tuk-tuk trip through the maze of Old Ahmedabad, and on to a roof! The kites were there, the patang masters were there waiting for us. Let the fight begin – Kai po che!

This video might not be very exceptional, but hearing this old Slovene chanson in the background of people fighting with patangs on the roof in the middle of Old Ahmedabad …

Emotional? You bet!

After the fight – we lost a dozen or so patangs, but then Saud outshined everybody, and later still his younger sister showed the neighbourhood who’s the real boss – another feast came.

I can taste this photo. Samosas and kebabs, green rice and chutneys and impossible tasty bites … Saud’s aunt is a wizard.

So many things, so many memories …

The crowds.

And the kids.

And Krish, a student from Ahmedabad whom Ivor smuggled past the security (just like last year) to have hours long debate about anything and everything …

And the three wise men.

And the lifting power of Denmark.

And the Fat Boys who simultaneously look completely out of place, and as they belong exactly there.

And Ozgun who made the best photos we’ve ever seen in a kite festival.

The master knows: it’s about the people. We stole these, so don’t tell him …

Though, truth be told, it’s not hard to make art if your subjects look like this:

Or this:

The whole world of kiters is in Gujarat. Argentina, Bhutan, Belgium, Brazil, Bulgaria, Cambodia, Chile, Colombia, Costa Rica, Denmark, Egypt, Estonia, France, Germany, Greece, Hungary, Indonesia, Ireland, Israel, Italy, Japan, Korea, Lebanon, Lithuania, Malta, Mauritius, Mexico, Netherlands, Poland, Portugal, Romania, Slovakia, Slovenia, South Africa, Spain, Tunisia, Turkey, Ukraine, United Kingdom, United States, Vietnam, and India.