Four
We reached Parekh-ji's residence at around eight in the evening. Two armed
guards manning the front gate let us in after checking our names. The entrance
of the house had an elaborate rangoli, dozens of lamps and fresh flowers.
'See, what a gathering,' Bittoo Mama met us at the door. 'Have dinner before
the talk begins.' From an aarti plate, he put big red tikkas on our foreheads. He
told us Parekh-ji would make a speech after dinner.
We moved to the massive food counter. A Gujarati feast consisted of every
vegetarian snack known to man. There was no alcohol, but there was juice of
every fruit imaginable. At parties like this, you regret you have only one stomach.
I took a jain pizza and looked around the massive living room. There were fifty
guests dressed in either white or saffron. Parekh-ji wore a saffron dhoti and white
shirt, sort of a perfect crowd blend. Ish looked oddly out of place with his skull
and crossbones, black Metallica T-shirt. Apart from us, everyone had either grey
hair or no hair It looked like a marriage party where only the priests were invited
Most of them carried some form of accessory like a trishul or a rudraksha or a
holy book.
Ish and 1 exchanged a what-are-we-doing-here glance.
Omi went to meet a group of two bald-whites, one grey-saffron and one bald-
saffron. He touched their feet and everyone blessed him. Considering Omi met
these kind of people often, he had one Of the highest per-capita-blessings ratio in
India.
'The food is excellent, no?' Omi returned. Food in Gujarat was always good. But
still people keep saying it. Ish passed his Jain-dimsum to Omi.
'Who are these people?' I asked idly.
'It is quite simple,' Omi said. 'The people in saffron are priests or other holy
men from around the city. The people in white are the political party people. Why
aren't you eating any dimsums?'
'I don't like Chinese,' Ish said. 'And who is Parekh-ji?'
'Well, he is a guide,' Omi said. 'Or that is what he says to be humble. But
actually, he is the chairperson of the main temple 1 rust. He knows the
politicians really well, too.'
'So he is a hybrid, a poli-priest,' I deduced.
'Can you be more respectful? And what is this T-shirt, Ish?'
Everyone shushed as Parekh-ji came to the centre of the living room. He
carried a red velvet cushion with him, which looked quite comfortable. He
signalled everyone to sit down on the carpet. Like a shoal of fishes, the saffrons
separated from the whites and sat down in two neat sections.
'Where the hell do we sit?' Ish said as he turned to me. I had worn a blue T-
shirt and couldn't find my colour zone. Bittoo Mama tugged at Omi's elbow and
asked us to join the saffron set. We sat there, looking like the protagonists of
those ugly duckling stories in our mismatched clothes. Bittoo Mama came with
three saffron scarves and handed them to us.
'What? I am not...,' I protested to Omi.
'Shh ... just wear it,' Omi said and showed us how to wrap it around our neck.