Ahmedabad, July 29
It is mildly drizzling in the afternoon, three days after the serial bombs ripped apart peace and security machinery of the city. Ever since, there is insecurity in the air and now there's moisture. On my way to the Sabarmati Ashram, I gather news about figures of diffused bombs touching close to five, in near by Surat. Inside the ashram, there are people strolling, others squatting on benches, couple of them earnestly observing every image on display. There are people, but there are lesser people since the blast have occurred. At the far distance, a lady sweeper does her chore. On approaching, she quips, " most of who you see around are all visitors who come from far flung places, which has just gone down after the recent blast".
I am directed towards a veteran, a 72 year old, who volunteers to reflect on the current waves that sweep the larger city space in relation with the symbolic significance of the ashram space. He has been associated with the ashram since he was 17, is a telecommunication engineer by profession. He is ambiguous in his acknowledgement of a rising communal tension in the city, agreeing and quickly disagreeing afterwards. Seated at the cool porch of the Hridaykund, "Reaction", he says is what has gotten on the larger mass while Gandhi's message had always been to "respond". " We would offer prayers", is all he has for an answer, when asked about how could the ashram supposedly intervene in these hard times. I search for the missed 'action' in his response.
We enter into a moot reflection. I excuse myself, climb up the porch, bare feet and snake through the rooms of the cottage; modest and minimal. At one corner of what reads as Mahatma's Kitchen, I see a pair of spectacles, carefully kept on display behind square glass doors.
On my way out, I cross check the sweeper lady's words by approaching random visitors. Most of them are tourist to the city, rounding off their itinerary. A close look up at the visitor's diary display learned expressions of appreciation for the Father of the Nation. . It's still drizzling. I walk out of the exit gate, search for my pack of cigarette while I wave for an auto rickshaw. On my way back, I find out, the number of diffused bombs in near by Surat has crossed fifteen.
NB: I didn't know how else to perceive.
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Contributed by a friend of mine from the "Family".
