Oh. My. Ganesh. (Part I)
This is going to be a two-part entry, even though it's all about one weekend. Too many things happened for me to cram it all into one exhaustive entry. I can't expect that sort of attention span from anyone. Anyway, Part I!
Here I sit in a bedroom in the heart of Mumbai, reeling as much from the sheer amount of people as from the six-year-old boy singing along to the likes of "In Da Club" and "Candy Shop" in the room next to me. I calm my racing pulse by reminding myself that he has no idea what he's doing when he screams lyrics that would make his first-grade teacher fall over into a dead faint.
I'm in Mumbai during the Ganesh festival to do research for my project (which seems like it's actually going to happen, by the way). Anju from ACM and I arrived from Pune last night after a surprisingly low-key bus journey. As in the US (especially in movie theatres, for some odd reson), "air conditioning available" is secret code for "frost bite will ensue." Getting off the bus to meet the 9 PM Mumbai heat made me think of one of the slightly insane rituals that us Minnesotans have. You know-- the one where you sit in an outdoor hot tub with some friends in the middle of January and then jump out to roll in the snowbank. Come on, you know you've done it. But this time, the heat-then-cold order was reversed, and somehow I felt that squealing with glee (or pain) at the temperature change wouldn't be especially appropriate in this situation.
So, we arrived in Mumbai. A soon as we walked in the door of Anju's family's flat, we were whisked out to attend the Ganesh festivities. I soon realized exactly where we were going, and I was simultaneously enthralled and petrified. Funny how often I've felt that way over here...
In Maharashtra, the Ganesh festival is roughly like combining Christmas with a Super Bowl party for the winning team. "Dancing in the streets" isn't at all figurative during this eleven-day festival. On the cab ride from the bus station to the flat, we'd seen groups of mostly men jumping up and down, dancing, throwing colored powder at each other, beating huge drums, and basically having the time of their lives. And that's what we were headed to... into the middle of the biggest one in the city.
Before anyone freaks out about the concept of me walking into the middle of a crowd of several thousand Indian men, let me say that the festival organizers and chief of police (!) had been notified of our arrival. Did I mention that Anju and her family are possibly the most socially well-connected people who I've ever met? I tell you, if anyone else had brought me here, I would've fallen into a dead faint. Instead, the Red Sea of people parted (once again, I'm not exaggerating for poetic expression here), and Anju and I were escorted into the throbbing, colorful, chaotic center.
We stood on the edge of the drums and dancers for a minute before a festival organizer greeted Anju and then said something to me that sounded like, "Do you like the festival?", to which I enthusiastically nodded and smiled. Can't go wrong with that, right? The next thing I knew, Anju and I were in the midle of the dancers, and everyone was staring at me. I stood rooted to the spot like a scene from a movie about a really, REALLY weird middle school dance. Everyone else stopped moving and looked to see what I'd do.
There was a beat of silence (I know it was a full beat, because my heart skipped it), and then I unfroze and danced like a maniac. I twirled and jumped and did the dance that Darcy in Bollywood's Bride and Prejudice called "petting the dog with one hand and screwing the lightbulb in with the other." Watch the movie if you have no idea what I'm talking about.
And that's when everything exploded. I was hit by a wave of cheering and laughter as everyone started dancing and beating on the drums, some looking majestic as they did the traditional dances. Others, on the other hand, were imitating my awkward "what the heck am I doing?" dancing. It was nice to have company in Silly Person Land. Flashbulbs exploded like fireworks as a dozen cameras and cell phones grabbed my image. My Anti-Flag shirt and I will end up in some random guy's photo album, no doubt. "Oh, this photo! Some crazy Swedish girl tried to dance in our Ganapatti festival. Ever seen a scarecrow in the wind? There you have it."
Oh, I'm crazy, I know. Anyway! The next morning, I bolted my egg (!), orange juice (!!), and Corn Flakes with boiled milk (!!!) and set off with Anju for one of her contacts' houses. The man I was meeting was in theatre, and I was told that he was the perfect person to talk to about my project. After an introduction and a few nervous sentences on my part, he said, "but what is it that you want from me?" Uh... "I'm not a playwright. I just translate plays. And I didn't understand a single word you just said." Oh, dear.
As fate would have it, his wife felt sorry for me and agreed to be my first interview. I'd asked all the questions that I'd written down and started to feel pretty silly that I hadn't gotten much information that I could use. But then, in a strange leap of faith, I said something that changed the direction entirely.
"I know that this is sort of strange, since we've just met, but I'm doing this project to get a better understanding of India that I can't get from guidebooks and history books. I chose to write a play because I feel that theatre has the ability to convey things that can't be easily written down or simply explained. If you have any personal experiences that you'd like to share with me, I'd appreicate it." Oh! Well, in that case...
Turns out she's a playwright whose plays and puppet shows on social issues have been performed internationally. Twenty minutes and one cassette tape later, I'd found my main character and possibly my guide. Funny how life works out sometimes, isn't it?
I'll write about the next two interviews in Part II. For now, I need to go take a really, really long nap.
Love,
Sarah!
Here I sit in a bedroom in the heart of Mumbai, reeling as much from the sheer amount of people as from the six-year-old boy singing along to the likes of "In Da Club" and "Candy Shop" in the room next to me. I calm my racing pulse by reminding myself that he has no idea what he's doing when he screams lyrics that would make his first-grade teacher fall over into a dead faint.
I'm in Mumbai during the Ganesh festival to do research for my project (which seems like it's actually going to happen, by the way). Anju from ACM and I arrived from Pune last night after a surprisingly low-key bus journey. As in the US (especially in movie theatres, for some odd reson), "air conditioning available" is secret code for "frost bite will ensue." Getting off the bus to meet the 9 PM Mumbai heat made me think of one of the slightly insane rituals that us Minnesotans have. You know-- the one where you sit in an outdoor hot tub with some friends in the middle of January and then jump out to roll in the snowbank. Come on, you know you've done it. But this time, the heat-then-cold order was reversed, and somehow I felt that squealing with glee (or pain) at the temperature change wouldn't be especially appropriate in this situation.
So, we arrived in Mumbai. A soon as we walked in the door of Anju's family's flat, we were whisked out to attend the Ganesh festivities. I soon realized exactly where we were going, and I was simultaneously enthralled and petrified. Funny how often I've felt that way over here...
In Maharashtra, the Ganesh festival is roughly like combining Christmas with a Super Bowl party for the winning team. "Dancing in the streets" isn't at all figurative during this eleven-day festival. On the cab ride from the bus station to the flat, we'd seen groups of mostly men jumping up and down, dancing, throwing colored powder at each other, beating huge drums, and basically having the time of their lives. And that's what we were headed to... into the middle of the biggest one in the city.
Before anyone freaks out about the concept of me walking into the middle of a crowd of several thousand Indian men, let me say that the festival organizers and chief of police (!) had been notified of our arrival. Did I mention that Anju and her family are possibly the most socially well-connected people who I've ever met? I tell you, if anyone else had brought me here, I would've fallen into a dead faint. Instead, the Red Sea of people parted (once again, I'm not exaggerating for poetic expression here), and Anju and I were escorted into the throbbing, colorful, chaotic center.
We stood on the edge of the drums and dancers for a minute before a festival organizer greeted Anju and then said something to me that sounded like, "Do you like the festival?", to which I enthusiastically nodded and smiled. Can't go wrong with that, right? The next thing I knew, Anju and I were in the midle of the dancers, and everyone was staring at me. I stood rooted to the spot like a scene from a movie about a really, REALLY weird middle school dance. Everyone else stopped moving and looked to see what I'd do.
There was a beat of silence (I know it was a full beat, because my heart skipped it), and then I unfroze and danced like a maniac. I twirled and jumped and did the dance that Darcy in Bollywood's Bride and Prejudice called "petting the dog with one hand and screwing the lightbulb in with the other." Watch the movie if you have no idea what I'm talking about.
And that's when everything exploded. I was hit by a wave of cheering and laughter as everyone started dancing and beating on the drums, some looking majestic as they did the traditional dances. Others, on the other hand, were imitating my awkward "what the heck am I doing?" dancing. It was nice to have company in Silly Person Land. Flashbulbs exploded like fireworks as a dozen cameras and cell phones grabbed my image. My Anti-Flag shirt and I will end up in some random guy's photo album, no doubt. "Oh, this photo! Some crazy Swedish girl tried to dance in our Ganapatti festival. Ever seen a scarecrow in the wind? There you have it."
Oh, I'm crazy, I know. Anyway! The next morning, I bolted my egg (!), orange juice (!!), and Corn Flakes with boiled milk (!!!) and set off with Anju for one of her contacts' houses. The man I was meeting was in theatre, and I was told that he was the perfect person to talk to about my project. After an introduction and a few nervous sentences on my part, he said, "but what is it that you want from me?" Uh... "I'm not a playwright. I just translate plays. And I didn't understand a single word you just said." Oh, dear.
As fate would have it, his wife felt sorry for me and agreed to be my first interview. I'd asked all the questions that I'd written down and started to feel pretty silly that I hadn't gotten much information that I could use. But then, in a strange leap of faith, I said something that changed the direction entirely.
"I know that this is sort of strange, since we've just met, but I'm doing this project to get a better understanding of India that I can't get from guidebooks and history books. I chose to write a play because I feel that theatre has the ability to convey things that can't be easily written down or simply explained. If you have any personal experiences that you'd like to share with me, I'd appreicate it." Oh! Well, in that case...
Turns out she's a playwright whose plays and puppet shows on social issues have been performed internationally. Twenty minutes and one cassette tape later, I'd found my main character and possibly my guide. Funny how life works out sometimes, isn't it?
I'll write about the next two interviews in Part II. For now, I need to go take a really, really long nap.
Love,
Sarah!
posted by Sarah! at 10:17 PM
3 Comments:
Sarah- another fascinating entry! good thing that I get to read about all of these things AFTER they happen! India certainly can't be surpased anywhere for it's hospitality! Perhaps youaren't the only one learning something...
Love, M
Wow. Can't wait for Part II...
Sara, I have just caught up with your blog and find it so interesting and insightful. It takes me back ten years when I was there, although it has changed over there quite a bit in a decade. I notice how often you mention the crowds of men that you are finding yourself in. I remember wondering "where are all of the women" and then our professor pointed out that women are the work horses of Indian society. They are not hanging out on the doorsteps or smoking beadies with their buddies--they are working the fields (for the 85% of the population that is rural, anyhow--that number may have changed in a decade!) and trying at the same time to care for the children and get the meals together. So, the men have free time and the women never have any. That is why they are in the background and not dancing in the streets or hanging about in the village stores. I'm not trying to pre-suppose that you haven't figured this out yet, I only comment because your entries remind me of, again, what my Indian professor once "professed" and that was that the Indian women are the backbone of the society, as they are in most societies. They bear the brunt of the workload, doing the work that the men do and then also raising the children and tending to the home. Did you know that in Minnesota 80 percent of women work full time while they raise their kids? Pretty remarkable, as it is quite a lot of work, let me tell you (and I just have one child and work part time) Basically, we concluded from our five month stay in a variety of places in India, that if you want to help Indian society you must focus on womens organizations and womens issues. The quality of life for women in a culture is the number one indication of how advanced a society is. A society will advance only as much as the women advance! Something just to think about! I love reading your blog and seeing your pictures! You have no idea even now how wonderful of an opportunity you have in your grasp--ensconce yourself in the time remaining!
Sincerely,
Erika Vickerman
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