Gujarati tourists have lately made headlines for their brash public behaviour—marked by overflowing confidence and a sense of entitlement—both at home and, more conspicuously, abroad. They can be spotted breaking into Garba on airport tarmacs, at Pangong Lake, or atop the Burj Khalifa; singing in full chorus while riding buses in Germany; or passing food across rows mid-flight, filling the cabin with aromas fellow passengers may find intrusive.
The thought that such actions might inconvenience others rarely seems to occur to these troupes, for reasons that run deep:
- Fun must be had—at any cost, even at others’ expense.
- Having spent money on travel, the tourists feel entitled to “vasoolify” it by doing whatever they please, unchecked.
- It is, after all, the ‘Gujarati Era’: two Gujaratis lead the nation, proof that the community has finally arrived.
- Long disadvantaged by a lack of English proficiency, some Gujaratis now revel in defiance. The ruling duo themselves are no masters of English, yet it has hardly mattered. For many, this is payback time, and they intend to enjoy it.
At heart, this is about a new asmita, an identity, quite unlike Kanaiyalal Munshi’s conception. Munshi, a man of letters, wrote popular, rhetorical novels extolling ‘Gujaratni asmita’ and leaned right-of-centre in politics, but he never celebrated crassness. Indeed, when the Mahagujarat Movement began in 1956 demanding a separate Gujarat carved from Bombay State—with Bombay (now Mumbai) included—Munshi, the original flag-bearer of Gujaratni asmita, opposed the idea. To him, cosmopolitan Bombay did not belong within Gujarat’s fold.
When ‘asmita’ turned aggressive
The shrinking of Gujaratni asmita began before the state itself was carved on the map. Umashankar Joshi, a towering figure of Gujarati literature, warned against presenting artificial Ras-Garba as the singular cultural emblem of Gujarat (Samayrang, January 1958, p 237). Ironically, love for the Gujarati language was never central to this idea of asmita, despite the region producing some of the finest poets, novelists, humourists, and essayists. Gujarat also gave the country giants in fields far beyond the stereotypical realm of business. (I chronicled many such figures in my series Gujarat Giants.) Yet, for the past three to four decades, their names have faded completely from public memory.
Under Chimanbhai Patel’s chief ministership, Gujaratni asmita took a violent turn. In confrontations with Narmada Bachao activists, pro-dam groups—often emboldened by the state’s tacit blessing—resorted to hooliganism. Not all supporters of the dam subscribed to this aggressive version of asmita, yet it took root. The erstwhile Opposition’s usual political narrative was ‘injustice to Gujarat by the Central government’. As chief minister, Narendra Modi leaned on the same theme, blaming the UPA government for neglecting the state.
Elsewhere, the stereotype persisted: Gujaratis were seen as wealthy but lacking refinement and scholarship. This generalisation conveniently ignored stalwarts such as Rajni Kothari, Dhirubhai Sheth, and Ghanshyam Shah, important names of CSDS, the country’s prominent intellectual institution. The stereotype contained a sliver of truth, but was exaggerated into a caricature: Gujaratis came to be mocked for their awkward English, dismissed as knowing nothing beyond making money, and dabbling in scams.
One of the weakest points in Gujaratni asmita has always been the lack of genuine love for the mother tongue. Yet, this did not prevent Gujaratis from waving the flag of asmita through other markers. Modi’s rise became one of the most defining of these, alongside the emergence of a new middle and upper class after liberalisation. In the aftermath of the 2002 violence, Modi was projected as the long-awaited saviour by the Right wing. He was bitterly, and validly, criticised for his commissions and omissions during and after the communal carnage. But Modi reframed that criticism as an attack on Gujarat and Gujaratis themselves.
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Modi, Gujarat, and new money
A sizeable section of Hindu society in Gujarat, instead of feeling grief or shame, began to take pride in nearly everything that might once have provoked shame—including violence—thanks to Modi. He created and sustained an environment in which clear lines of right and wrong blurred into issues of opinion and debate. Defending the indefensible became mainstream sentiment, ably reinforced by government policy and action. What once was hesitation about causing discomfort to others hardened into entitlement, a newfound brazenness. Popular songs such as ‘Gandhiji Gujarati Modiji Gujarati’ flattened the narrative, presenting Gandhi and Modi alike as Gujarat’s pride, and casting Gujaratis as “lahere lala”—merry-makers, a term once reserved for Surat.
Of course, this does not apply to all Gujaratis; there are vast exceptions. But those prone to unruly conduct in public places, both at home and abroad, have been emboldened by the “Power of Modi, Power of Gujarat”, combined with the power of new money. Earlier, the only disturbances Gujarati travellers might cause were playing antakshari—a wider Indian pastime—and their insistence on having Gujarati food wherever they went. “Rome maan ras-puri ane Paris maan patra (Aamras-puri in Rome and patra in Paris)” was a famous travel-agency tagline in the 1990s, and Gujaratis were mocked for preferring Ras-puri over pizza in Rome. Beyond that, their quirks were largely indistinguishable from other Indian tourists, and they were not singled out.
However, the behaviour of some Gujarati tourists, and the disdain it repeatedly attracts online over the last few years, is the product of a volatile mix: religious fundamentalism, the assumed global stature of Modi, and the belief that India itself has risen in the eyes of the world under his leadership. Basic civility and respect for others’ rights have fallen out of fashion in Modi’s regime. The refrain is clear: Gujaratis have arrived with a bang, and they will bajao your band. Under this banner, some tourists behave badly, tarnishing the reputation of the entire community. Obviously, an entire state cannot be painted with one brush, though many are tempted to do so. Yet, that does not excuse or dilute the dishonourable conduct into which many Gujaratis have fallen.
Urvish Kothari is a columnist and writer based in Ahmedabad. He tweets @urvish2020. Views are personal.
(Edited by Prasanna Bachchhav)