Travel Journals IX: In Which We Discuss the Nature of Reality and Being Upstaged
Seasoned backpackers have a convenient fiction involving two separate Indias. there is the "Real" India with it's overcrowded trains, shanty towns and people who have never before seen a westerner. Then there is the "Fake" India which has Yoga courses, plumbing, and the menus feature items that are meant for traveller's pallets if not their sense of proper spelling. Items like: Mesh Potatoes, Pouched Eggs, and Maxicon Food . these seasoned world travellers usually make absolutely no secret which of the two Indias they prefer. they sing the unabashed praises of "real" India and how much better it is there and all the adventures they have there. The only flaw to this weird elitism is that most of the time the advocates of "Real" India are praising it from the safe boundaries of places like Arambol which is definitively "Fake" India.
This distinction of two worlds within one geographic area is of course completely artificial. There is only one India and no matter how remote and far afield you go someone is bound to speak English and help you find the bus station. on the other hand even deep in the heart of the most touristy parts of the country, there are still milling cattle and Indian culture is bound to erupt suddenly and unexpectedly like a firework.
Cafe Samsara is a typical open air beachfront restaurant that specializes in (of all things) Italian food. it is also the regular home of Arambol's weekly open mike/ variety show. This week there was a slight hitch to the ordinary scheduled events as during the day preparations for an annual festival could be observed right next door. when someone asked one of the men about the festival, he responded simply "It's for God". As it transpires, God really likes when you play very loud Hindi music and gambling until the early hours of the morning. I can't help but feel some critical stage in my spiritual upbringing has been neglected. How could i not know such a basic theological fact?
This presented a problem. The show had already been scheduled and it was definitely too late to change locations, yet ordinary conversations were difficult to hold because of the amplified, nasal, ultra-soprano that defines Indian popular music. We couldn't very well go down and ask them to turn down the volume just a little either. After all, it is their country and they have the right to play the music as loud as they wanted. after much discussion the performers decided to press on anyway. i would be lying if i said things went flawlessly or the audience had no difficulty concentrating but the show went on regardless.
After the last guitar was packed away and the audience was reduced to small knots of casually chatting friends, i decided to walk through the festival tent just to see what the "competition" was. it readily became apparent why our show had been sparsely attended.
to properly understand the spectacle i am about to describe i must preface it with this: regular readers of this page will notice that, as a whole, I have not mentioned much about women in India. there are of course plenty of women here, it's just not culturally acceptable for the sexes to interact. outside of a few shopkeepers and eager schoolchildren, my interaction with the opposite sex has been limited to a few smiles and muttered "Namaste"s or suspicious glares executed expertly by middle aged women.
on stage at the festival was an exhibition of traditional dancing. the schoolgirls (the youngest was about six, the oldest must have been around sixteen) each costumed elaborately in vivid saris and sarongs that could make a garden full of flowers seem dull, took to the stage in turn. once the music was cued, each girl would launch into a vigorous series of perfectly timed leaps, twirls and symbolic hand gestures. halfway through each routine, i found myself nervously looking for the paramedics in case the young performer should collapse from exhaustion. I was apparently the only person worried about this. everyone else was riveted by each dancer, who would lip sync expressively with the female singer's voice. every single performer was more convincing and captivating than any five pop stars you would care to name, and clearly they were all having the time of their lives. it was a rare and enchanting glimpse into a world i will see very little of
J
This distinction of two worlds within one geographic area is of course completely artificial. There is only one India and no matter how remote and far afield you go someone is bound to speak English and help you find the bus station. on the other hand even deep in the heart of the most touristy parts of the country, there are still milling cattle and Indian culture is bound to erupt suddenly and unexpectedly like a firework.
Cafe Samsara is a typical open air beachfront restaurant that specializes in (of all things) Italian food. it is also the regular home of Arambol's weekly open mike/ variety show. This week there was a slight hitch to the ordinary scheduled events as during the day preparations for an annual festival could be observed right next door. when someone asked one of the men about the festival, he responded simply "It's for God". As it transpires, God really likes when you play very loud Hindi music and gambling until the early hours of the morning. I can't help but feel some critical stage in my spiritual upbringing has been neglected. How could i not know such a basic theological fact?
This presented a problem. The show had already been scheduled and it was definitely too late to change locations, yet ordinary conversations were difficult to hold because of the amplified, nasal, ultra-soprano that defines Indian popular music. We couldn't very well go down and ask them to turn down the volume just a little either. After all, it is their country and they have the right to play the music as loud as they wanted. after much discussion the performers decided to press on anyway. i would be lying if i said things went flawlessly or the audience had no difficulty concentrating but the show went on regardless.
After the last guitar was packed away and the audience was reduced to small knots of casually chatting friends, i decided to walk through the festival tent just to see what the "competition" was. it readily became apparent why our show had been sparsely attended.
to properly understand the spectacle i am about to describe i must preface it with this: regular readers of this page will notice that, as a whole, I have not mentioned much about women in India. there are of course plenty of women here, it's just not culturally acceptable for the sexes to interact. outside of a few shopkeepers and eager schoolchildren, my interaction with the opposite sex has been limited to a few smiles and muttered "Namaste"s or suspicious glares executed expertly by middle aged women.
on stage at the festival was an exhibition of traditional dancing. the schoolgirls (the youngest was about six, the oldest must have been around sixteen) each costumed elaborately in vivid saris and sarongs that could make a garden full of flowers seem dull, took to the stage in turn. once the music was cued, each girl would launch into a vigorous series of perfectly timed leaps, twirls and symbolic hand gestures. halfway through each routine, i found myself nervously looking for the paramedics in case the young performer should collapse from exhaustion. I was apparently the only person worried about this. everyone else was riveted by each dancer, who would lip sync expressively with the female singer's voice. every single performer was more convincing and captivating than any five pop stars you would care to name, and clearly they were all having the time of their lives. it was a rare and enchanting glimpse into a world i will see very little of
J
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