SURAT NU GRAHAN KASHI MA PRASANN...............
For the first time in the history of mankind, the eyes of the entire world were set on Surat. Declared as the first place in the Universe that would experience the century’s total solar eclipse, the city was all set to shine when the Sun would hide.
The respected chief minister was calling out from hoardings around town; beckoning one and all to celebrate the celestial sighting. Dressed in the colour theme of the Sun and Moon [maybe he was hopeful of a Junagadh victory that would have called for a double celebration.]
Following instructions the SMC conjured up a magical, musical evening on the eve of the event at the indoor stadium which was open to all who cared to come visit, the Chamber of commerce networked to spread the good word and school children and teachers were informed to take time out from their tiresome schedule and report attendance at the airport instead.
The honourable CM, who hoped to be the star of the show, was to drop in for an hour at the newly equipped airport that now boasts of ILS-Instrumentation landing system. An LCD, airshow, flower shower, live commentary from scientists, you name it, the state had arranged for it all. Precious Solar viewer goggles that all Surtis seemed to seek in the past few days had been arranged as party favours for all guests.
But unfortunately, what was to be a hot and happening party, turned out to be a damp squib instead. The clouds played party poopers and it was a dark dawn with a no show. The disheartened CM decided at 5 a.m, that since the Sun was not willing to turn up, nor would he. Surtis were left in the lurch.
All the hustle bustle in town along with the chirping of the birds went into an eerie silence as dawn turned to twilight zone. Even as the world observed Surat plunge into darkness on international television, Surtis had no vision to boast about.
Although NASA had forewarned against the same and declared Teragana as the perfect place for eclipse sighting, it seemed that the ‘made in China’ pictures would, as usual outsell the Indian ones.
But voila! That was not to be and Surat’s mythical partner in piety-‘Surat nu jaman aney Kashi nu maran ‘, Varanasi, came to the rescue. Well, the rest is history, what more can be said other than, ’Surat nu grahan, Kashi ma prasann.’

HOOCH HIKING IN TAPI TOWN.....................
As Gujarat’s news shame and its worst kept secret come to fore, the state, it seems is divided in two kinds of people.
The first kinds are the social drinkers, who enjoy their alcohol in a stately ambience, guzzling from fancy cut glasses that rattle with cubes of machine made ice. Sipping on either single malts, chardonnays or chilled fizzy beer, Russian vodka or the flavour of the month Bacardi. With starters and hot nibbles from an up market restaurant down the road. With music and conversation flowing along with the booze. Maybe a little dancing or, a lot more, if they get lucky.

The second kinds are those who are labelled drunkards or ‘darudias’. Their day ends with sipping a hazy white coloured fluid from a dirty plastic potli that reeks of rotten fruit and chemicals. This is the liquid that gives them an instant high, not for them any fancy bottled stuff [no, Mr.Mallya, that won’t work] or even the Rs.40.’quarteriu’that requires soda or water but is not even half as potent. Food is the last thing on their mind because the shot of this sharab zaps their senses till they are ready for the next. Anyone trying to even initiate a conversation would be sure to get a hearing of the choicest profanity.

Surat is certainly no exception when it comes to this divide. As most social conversations revolve around the headlines of the week, majority of suburban Surtis looked at the hooch issue indifferently, stating it is not an issue that concerned them,’’kuch bhi peetey hai toh aisa hi hota hai’, ’ae loko ne koi fark nahi padey’.’Yeh sab slum area mein hee hota hai.’
Well dearies, the truth of the matter is ‘hooch hooch hota hai ‘is closer than we think, here is why-

I live at Parle Point, the area that is more notorious for snooty socialites than for illicit liquor but, at a distance of five minutes from my house is the Ambaji temple, the river banks alongside the same are often used as temporary breweries to concoct deadly brews.

As if that is not close enough, my toddlers masseur, a robust woman who comes in from Katargam has single handedly raised her three children not because she is a divorcee but because her husband spends all his earnings as a barber on the ‘potli’.

My housemaid, a pretty young twenty something, refuses to marry the love of her life because the rent of her home and ration are paid by her. Her father and brother are jobless [conveniently] and depend on her for their daily dose from Bapunagar.

My cook’s spouse is a teetotaller but her son in law often turns up at her place in Limda Chowk,asking for an ‘English batli’, for which she happily spends saying, ‘amara ma batli no rivaaj chey.

Lurking over our labourers, whether in Dumas, Bhimpore, Udhna Magdalla, Hazira, Bhatha, Dumbal, Machlipith, Varachha, Ved, Adajan, Pandesara, is ‘lattha ni lut’ the smooch of the hooch is much closer home than we think.

Tapi town tattle- Sakhi Mandal-Gujarat’s new AA group=Anti batli Aunties.