Calico and Red Tape

Sunday 18th May

- the Calico Museum of Textiles
- bureaucracy of which Sir Humphrey would have been proud, Part II
- the Shaking Minarets
- Manek Chowk

morning broke, for us at least, relatively early - but not too early for some of the damage done by the journey to Ahmedabad to have been repaired. as the '24 Hour' restaurant did not open until 10am, we breakfasted on the hotel's unusually strangely unpleasant tea and refreshing sweet lassis in its far more basic, street level cafe. we vaguely considered having something to eat, but the profusion of Gujarati script on the wall menu was sufficient to put us off - it was too much effort to even ask this morning!

the day was fresher and more manageable in temperature, even if that meant that it was still extremely hot. the traffic in Ahmedabad is clearly a constant and we weaved our way as safely as we could back to the train station's reservations lounge and our old friend Mr Joshi. a brusque, stern-faced man informed us that Mr Joshi did not get in until mid-morning, which would have been a good thing to tell us yesterday. attempts to explain our situation to him were smartly rebuffed, the man declaring that there was nothing he could do and, furthermore, that we would require a specific, numbered form - that would then need to be posted to Mumbai! we quickly decided to come back - just one more time - for Mr Joshi and left, red tape catching our heels as we escaped.

rickshaws have usually been caught thus far on the best price offered, but our journey to the Calico Museum was the latest of a few that have made us wonder if we should now factor in an understanding of English or our poor local language attempts to at least the same importance, if not more. the driver we picked agreed on a price for the journey before stopping outside the station and asking someone to find out where we wanted to go. the journey had a further four stops for the driver to ask for directions from people who spoke English, several times with a map and once with hand signals so clear that we could have followed them ourselves, but our driver strayed this way and that before finally arriving at the Museum more by way of luck than design. he then tried to demand more for the fare. Indian cities have not introduced anything like The Knowledge, it is clear.

gaining access to the Calico Museum is about as difficult as it could be. we had to ring to book a place in advance, then sign in at the gate with many personal details before leaving the only bag we'd brought with an attendant - the museum does not allow them in, nor photos or indeed anything else bar water. we crossed the gardens, their planted beds shaded by large trees and dotted with old buildings and the occasional peacock. the main reception is, like most of the museum, sited in 200 year-old havelis that have been relocated to this spot from old Ahmedabad. once there, we had to sign it yet again, in case we had swapped with our evil twins, this time detailing our professions as well. the temptation to write 'Textile Spy' was great by now. a woman appeared who was to be our guide on the 2 hour tour and ordered the 20 or so assembled people about with an efficiency that bordered on the brusque, as she would for the entire morning.

a video was first shown of the interior of the museum before we were led around the various havelis and floors of the museum's extensive premises. the collection it contains is literally priceless and you are really made to feel it - each room was closed and sometimes locked behind us as soon as we had left it, with the lights extinguished (we realised later to help protect the precious fabrics from over-exposure). the range and extent of the textiles is vast and touring it in two hours, at significant speed, is a little bit like attempting to see all of the British Museum in the same time, even if the beautiful buildings themselves are on a far less significant scale. Philippa and one equally textile-enthused person were understandably a little frustrated at the velocity with which we were escorted, but it became clear that it was impossible to see all of the museum and the delights that it offered in the available time they allowed for a tour otherwise.

each room was themed around the textiles and some sculptural items as well from differing regions of India, with the pieces excellently curated, each stunning in its intricacy and execution. it was difficult to focus on specific pieces sometimes with the walls and ceilings covered in so many fine examples, and the necessary speed of the tour made close of lingering analysis dismayingly difficult, but there were some in particular that muscled themselves into the memory.

for example, a giant embroidered and woven desert tent, the size of a church hall and hung from the ceiling. antique storytelling - and even argument-settling - textiles filled with primitive depictions of people and animals that so closely resembled Picassos that one could only conclude that they were an inspiration. discovering that the Paisley pattern was copied from a Gujarati method of textile printing, using the edge of a clenched fist dipped in pigment, the curled little finger translated into the 'tail' of the Paisley motif. marvelling at a specific type of sari made in Patan (also in Gujarat) called patola. this hideously complicated design takes up to 6 months to produce one garment, due to both the warp and the weft threads being dyed to a set pattern before being woven. only one family now makes these cloths and, when they have passed on, the technique will be lost forever. such fragile riches.

the tour concluded with an all too quick scurry through rooms of displays on textile techniques, but fortunately these were replicated in a handsomely bound set in the museum shop. even here we were hurried on by the woman in charge. the museum is free to enter, but we'd be happy to pay to do so if it meant that we had more time among the precious artefacts. but regardless of this, it had been a fantastic opportunity that even Edd had found enthralling.

our rickshaw to the station was swift and our driver knew where it was, marked improvements on our journey out. steeling ourselves once more, we sought out Mr Joshi for what we had promised each other would be the last time, regardless of the outcome. Mr Joshi was at least at work, now, asking us to sit down before belching loudly and without reaction, a totally day-to-day, common experience in every walk of Indian life. if we had thought that the previous day's faffing had been the extent of the red tape tangle, we were sorely mistaken. over an hour of fastidious minutiae later and we were only just nearing the conclusion of this epic bureaucratic tale. three separate, new men took the ticket away separately and appeared with it again much later. numerous phone calls were made by two other people. the brusque man of earlier came in and seemed most put out that we were being dealt with at all. in the end, a photocopy of our passports - which, of course, they could not action themselves - was apparently required, leading to Edd having to run back to the hotel in the lunchtime heat to fetch the passports and then find somewhere to photocopy them on a Sunday. the seventh place tried was able to help. by the time he got back to the office, the post-journey maximum refund of 50% had already been decided on and they only needed one passport photocopy to dot some 'i' or other, unsurprisingly, we were less then elated, even with half of our money back. we thanked Mr Joshi out of habit rather than gratitude as we left. 'it is our duty to serve,' he said proudly, chest slightly puffed out.

it was little wonder after these fun and frolics that we needed a rest, which turned into a sleep. several hours later, we ventured out into a day still heavy with heat for a few little tours. we walked past the railway station to the 'Shaking Minarets,' two 21 metre high towers with flexible sandstone foundations so as to resist earthquake tremors.

the city was once full of such towers - there are another two on the other side of the station, for example - but many have now gone, or are hidden by modern developments. finely carved and impressive in design, they poke up from behind the main road and cheap shacks and shops, remnants of the past incongruous in their modern, short term surrounds.

the penultimate rickshaw of the day took us down to Manek Chowk, one of Ahmedabad's main bazaar areas.

older buildings still survive (left), but most of Ahmedabad now is a jumble of unattractive, hastily erected structures.

being a Sunday, at first everything appeared to be shut. but one turn later and we hit a huge tumble of streets and alleys selling possibly all goods known to man, as well as a lot of textiles.

Philippa got lost for a bit in a textiles and accoutrements shop, while Edd finally got a belt for his trousers, an undeniable looser fit than when he arrived in India. everyone was universally friendly, smiling and bereft of hassle, a welcome change from the officiousness of earlier in the day. it was quite refreshing to walk among the crowds, even if they were extensive and very busy. some of the food stalls were fascinating to examine, as we could not identify many of the items for sale.

Philippa twice had her attention drawn, with generous accompanying smiles from shopkeepers, to their mentally ill children, asking for photographs, which was a little odd, but the over-riding atmosphere was a tonic to us both and really helped us to relax.

hotel bound once more, we had our final meal at the hotel's restaurant, squeezed into a small, two person side booth due to a huge demand for covers. the food and service remained impeccable as ever. our professional and well taught waiter also remained unchanged, retaining his air of slight bemusement, while the bearded man in charge greeted us warmly and smiled us out of the room when we finished. on the landing area outside, overlooking the main road, large numbers of people were waiting to get in, as they had been all evening. the restaurant was no doubt a popular destination in its own right, even with its strange, low level mezzanine layout.

squeezing past the hungry queue, we turned right and walked down to the end of the corridor and our quiet room. tomorrow we leave Ahmedabad. it seems we have barely been here two minutes, but we do return after our time in Mount Abu. after all of the tedium of the train tickets, the beauty of the Calico Museum collection and the bustle of Manek Chowk had buoyed our spirits again and we were ready for moving on.

our best

edd & philippa