Travel Journals XIV: Local Color
Jaipur, the capital city of Rajastan is known as the Pink City even though it isn't actually pink. it has earned this moniker because if seen in the right light when the rising or setting sun sets the buildings aglow, it still doesn't look pink
Once you can grasp the reasoning behind this, nothing in Mama India will have the power to surprise you ever again. You are probably also clinically insane. India works on it's own down-the-rabbit-hole logic. it is a place to be appreciated, not understood. "Intimate" and "Passion" are brands of bottled water and toilet paper respectively. Buildings are constructed around trees, Bob Marley is unexpectedly popular. It's probably best not to think too much about things because they don't make sense anyway.
A popular topic of conversation among travelers are what have been dubbed "India Moments" Surreal everyday events that remind you just how far from home you are and that could occur nowhere else in the world. a serious businessman on a train asks you if there are cows and goats in America shortly after pointing them out through the window. You are interrupted in the process of ordering breakfast so your waiter can chase away the monkeys. "Mambo Italiano" the dance remix of "Brazil" or something equally incongruous can be heard from blaring radios in the background. you could walk out of a shop and be instantly confronted by an ornately decorated cow with a fetching patchwork cloak. They say anything is possible in India and I , for one, believe it. All the events listed happened to me within the past week!
Every so often the low level everyday lunacy is given an official outlet.after a two day train ride, we arrived in the storybook town of Pushkar just in time for Holi.
Pushkar is a small storybook city of ancient white spun sugar buildings in the desert hills of Rajastan. It is nestled around a sacred lake. According to legend the lake formed when Rama dropped a lotus flower. it is as good an explanation as anything else. Pushkar is exactly what i always pictured an Indian city to be like before coming here. it is a small quiet place and a slightly unexpected backdrop for the events I'm about to describe.
Holi is a festival of color. It is one of the most significant events on the Hindi calender. I was unable to find out much more about the reasons behind Holi because i asked about it, and true to form, I got seven entirely contradictory stories from three people over the course of a single conversation. Welcome to India.
Each place has it's own method of celebrating the eve of Holi. in Pushkar there is a series of small processions led by very gifted drummers, a large bonfire that is precluded by a lengthy narration by a man who loves the sound of his voice on a microphone. bits of the fire are collected on long shovels and carried through the streets to undisclosed locations. I would love to know why this is but I'm slightly afraid if i ask, someone will explain it. There is then a vigorous circle dance where the object appears to be to rhythmically hit your neighbors' sticks with yours as hard as possible. sort of like a Morris dance where they're out for blood. all of this is merely a prelude to the main event which happens the next morning.
We were forewarned by many people about Holi, the most recent of whom was Om Baba. Om Baba is my friend who works at my guesthouse and has no functioning legs. this doesn't prevent him from running circles around nearly everyone I've ever met. he is a truly amazing guy and deserves a whole biography rather than the parenthetical treatment I'm forced to give him here. He told us to wear our oldest clothes, offered to take us to a secure location to watch the events of the day (a rooftop restaurant) and even provided with a one liter water bottle full of dye with which to defend ourselves.
The method of observing Holi properly is to douse everyone you encounter with vividly colored dyes. foreigners are especially sought out as targets. it is best to just submit to it and take it all as good natured fun. If you run or become defensive, you really become popular! i saw more than one person pursued by twenty or more Indians because they were foolish enough to run away. it is wise to take shelter if you are a women. some men use Holi as an excuse to sneakily cop a feel. It is a very brave woman who remains on the streets during this day. the only business that doesn't shut down in self defense is the dye seller's cart.
In the two minute walk between the guesthouse and the rooftop, i became dramatically more vibrant courtesy of a gauntlet of small boys with squirt guns bottles, and raw powder. This is only to be expected, as nobody was safe. Even the ordinarily unmolested cows were were wandering around, confused to find themselves unexpectedly technicolored. After i managed to sneak in tone of the last breakfast orders and ate my toast (they refused to make anything more complex). i went to the railing to observe the battle.
Do not imagine the word "battle" was accidentally chosen! I can think of no better label to apply to the carnage below. silent explosions of ripped dye packets blossomed crimson, marigold and cornflower over the bodies writhing to trance music, men chased each other back and forth with full bottles, ambushed one another from behind and converged on new arrivals to smear them with pigment and tear off their shirts. Om Baba, now a rich purple hue ran through the chaos on his hands, shouting encouragement and giving as good as he got.
Don't imagine i stayed on the rooftop either! How could i allow such fun to take place and not participate? within moments of my decent into the throng, i was liberated of my shirt, and richly colored with day- glo green, magenta, yellow, and violet. i became just another vividly hued, dye flinging, dancing, grinning figure shouting "Happy Holi" to fellow revelers.
-J
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