Ram Navami

in this faraway land, few things break the ice as effectively as a camera. saturday afternoon afterlunch aftertheinsaneheat, out i go into ahmedabad's dhal ni pol with one such contraption on my shoulder. ek foto plise plise foto na, ask the little boys and girls. click click, ek foto plise, show na, click click, ek more.
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down the slope hang the motorcycle boys. they tell me
- come this evening, kfdlslkasdfj here, lights and singing.
- what is?, i ask from the heights of my ignorance.
- ksndlekfjiask.
- what?
- jfdkjfhgsnmks.
- ok ok, what time?
- nine.
- ok, thank you, i will come.

wisely, i did not make my way there until ten thirty. preparations were still under way. by eleven it all began, frenetic music spreading in waves from a small stage plus bright lights shining down on flower-framed divinities and a powerful bass booster. an elderly gentleman in a kurta finally brings me up to date with the proceedings. today is ram navami, the birthday of lord rama. and here in this little square which is actually a road cut off by strategically parked motorcycles, gathers the hindu population in this section of dhal ni pol.

the music really is outstanding and the performers dazzling, but our rapture is presently interrupted by a charging cow. with some exalted leaping and gentle pats on the naughty deity, order is soon restored. an order that is segregated enough, with the ladies and only the ladies cross-legged on the ground before the podium, free to clap and swing to the tune.

there is much singing and rejoicing, sudden outbursts of arm-raised frenzy, numerous 'jai shri's and millions of smiles all around. then the moment comes to honour some of the community's men (those who have recently excelled in some thing or another, i assume) with a tilaka and a garland of yellow flowers. to my delight, i discover that the musicians are not a band hired for the occasion but rather inhabitants of the pol.

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no use waiting for the female award ceremony. there is no such thing. instead, just before singing returns in full force, the officials decide to bejewel the gora who has been photographing the whole event half-hidden behind the balustrade of a nearby house. surely the achievement i am being honoured for is that of being foreign and showing an interest - a meagre feat in my books - but the warmth of the gesture and the perfume of marigolds instantly bring home the fact that

yes

i am in india.

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