What is development? What does it mean for a city like Ahmedabad which became the archetype for a state like Gujarat, and for Gujarat which became the model for the rest of the country? 

I have spent some of my foundational years in Ahmedabad when our current Prime Minister was the Chief Minister of Gujarat. I have seen old buildings being revamped with hi-tech facilities, malls coming up in the city, streets being overhauled and a dried-out riverbank being transformed into the iconic Sabarmati riverfront. I have seen the coming up of the city’s most-talked-about transportation corridor – the BRTS – which runs on its designated path on four or six-lane wide roads. Yet when I visited Ahmedabad again this year to know what people are voting for, I questioned: What is development? 

Is it these sprawling high rises, the widened streets, the beautified pavements? Is that all that development means to the people? And who are these people – is it those who are looking to move to the States eventually, those who will take forward their fathers’ businesses, or those who have moved to the city from villages afar in search of jobs and a decent living?

As I began my reporting for the Lok Sabha elections, I travelled to Ahmedabad with these questions in my mind. I scanned the roads, the buildings, the monuments that I once knew. Some of them wore a jaded look, while the others were so changed they were hardly recognisable. The election fervour I was expecting to see was also hard to find. After a long search, however, my cameraperson and I landed at an event organised by the saffron party where they were inviting people and serving them food for free. We asked a BJP worker, what the party’s main agenda was this time. He laughed and said, “BJP has no need for an agenda anymore. Hundred per cent work is done.” I was stunned at this response. Is this the impression the party wants to give to outsiders?

A search for these answers took me to the side of Ahmedabad that finds a mention in the UNESCO heritage list but whose dilapidated structures tell a different story. “Aapne Atal Bridge to dekha hi hoga (You must’ve seen Atal bridge),” said a local, as I stepped into old Ahmedabad’s Dariyapur. I said yes, I saw it while crossing the river. “Modiji aaye the wahan (Modiji had come to inaugurate it),” he said, took a pause and added, “Par wo yahan nai aate (he doesn’t visit this side).”

Dariyapur, one of the oldest parts of Ahmedabad, is predominantly a Muslim-populated area. It lights up in the evenings with stalls selling kebabs and other street food. People from around the city and tourists frequent this area for its delicacies. On a closer look at the buildings, however, I couldn’t help but see the cracks in the walls, beams peeking out from the ceiling and windowpanes now covered with pieces of newspaper. What happened there? Was it just some storm or years of decay that wore them down? Did anyone throw stones at these houses that broke the glass? These questions came rushing to my mind as I thought about how it must have been for those who lived here through the Gujarat riots. Because all I remember from my days in Ahmedabad are stories of violence. All I remember is standing on the balcony of my multi-storeyed apartment and watching flames rise up at distance.

It was not very easy to ask the people what they felt back then. As a journalist, it is my job to find out these stories but while I nudged for some answers, I felt the anxiety and hopelessness within me. What could they tell me? That they saw the rioters come and attack their loved ones? That they had to stay put within the four walls until days of curfew was called off? That they did whatever they could to survive and keep their family safe? In fact, most of the people were in denial. Most of them told me about how things have not been “as bad” since 2002. Yes, they still don’t have clean water supply, they don’t have good public schools or hospitals nearby, and they may not always have electricity. “Par hum yahan khush hai, yahan hamare log hai (But we are happy here, we have a community).”

Then we crossed the river again, saw the Atal bridge once more to come back to the newer side of Ahmedabad. As we were headed to Juhapura, which is known as India’s largest urban Muslim ghetto, our driver assumed, “Madam, aapko jo lagta hai waisa hai nai wahan. Juhapura me alishan bungalein hai, building hai; jhopri nahi dikhegi. Development to hai (Madam, you won’t find what you’re looking for there. Juhapura is a developed area with sprawling bungalows and high rises. You won’t see slums here).” This little gyan was not expected. However, this is the truth that the government wants the people to believe. It is when one enters one of the lanes that one sees that part of ‘new’ Ahmedabad where development has barely reached in 25 years of BJP rule. It is impossible to miss the disparity here based on religion. A woman tells me that candidates do not even visit for votes here, forget any work. 

Despite the multilayered problems of these ghettoised communities of a highly communalised city, one thing that remained common throughout the trip was the unlimited hospitality. Every five minutes we were offered tea. “Garmi ho chahe thandi, cha non-stop chalta rehta hai.” Every home and shop we visited, we were offered soda to beat the heat. The people here have grown resilient to the government’s negligence. They take their problems into their own hands to build a home, a community, a living.