Camels, colour and a million gods

The scene at Pushkar is everything I expect from a mela. Not surprising, considering that like many of my generation, urban born and bred, my idea of a mela has been shaped by innumerable Hindi films where young hapless children are forever being separated from their mothers and siblings. Sure enough, the loudspeakers blare out names of such children, requesting their parents to rush to the main office to reclaim them.

The loudspeakers announce other things too. “Sabse Saandar So!”—the most splendid show, claims the man advertising the circus. There is Bhojpuri and Rajasthani music, the women in the videos gyrating in an impossible manner. Someone else is calling out to people to see—and shell out money for—the Amazing Computer that tells your fortune; the digital version of nadijosiyam (astrology) which has come all the way from Thanjavur in south India. Above all this din, children manage to make themselves heard as they clamour for rides on the Ferris Wheel.

My favourite, though, is the one that promises, in a not particularly devout manner, “Barah mahine me barah tarike se tujhse bhakti jataunga re” (In 12 months I’ll find 12 ways to show you my devotion).

Even God goes Dhink Chaka Dhink Chaka in Pushkar at this time.

For most of the year, it is a sleepy town that backpackers have just begun to discover. Then in November, the mela arrives, turning it into a party zone and, for an all-vegetarian temple town, Pushkar parties hard. All the action is centred on the large open ground where camel herders from all over the state gather to trade (over 12,000 camels this year, says one of them).

The fair, which usually takes place in late October—early November, ends on the day of Kartik Poornima, when it is believed that all the millions of gods and goddesses descend to bathe in the sacred lake in the centre of the town. What began as a religious festival grew into a camel trading fair and is now one of the largest attractions Rajasthan has to offer eager visitors, locals and foreigners alike.

Now, apart from the trading of camels, there are plenty of events on the periphery: a hot air balloon show twice a day, competitions like turban-tying (for foreigners) and longest moustache (for locals) and of course, the noisy mela itself just outside the trading ground.

In 1940, I read somewhere, the most expensive camel went for `77. In 2011, the price went all the way up to `5 lakh for a good camel. And far, far more expensive are the horses; there are whispers of amounts like `2 crore around a gorgeous all-white one standing tall and proud, just like his owner. As the sun begins to set, the hot air balloons floating above the grounds begin their slow descent and cooking fires spring up in front of the tents where the traders stay for the duration of the fair. The women pull the ghunghat of their saris closer against the evening chill as they flatten out rough chapatis on the braziers, while the men in bright yellow and orange turbans begin to light up their chillum, discussing the day’s trade.

Normally — other than these eight days — life in Pushkar revolves around the lake (known as the sarovar), surrounded by 52 ghats. The hour prior to sunrise sees a flurry of activity as pilgrims take a dip in the sarovar, before heading to the 14th century Brahma temple, one of the few that are dedicated to the god of creation in India. In the lanes by the temple and the ghats, well-worn clichés come to life: the old meeting the new, and the sacred the profane.

For instance, amid the stalls selling piping hot kachoris and malpua that melts in the mouth are small cafes with names like Out of the Blue and Honey Dew, the latter serving coffee procured all the way from Colombia. And it is in the lanes that the real Pushkar shows its face; a place where pilgrims and backpackers flock to, each in search of his own personal nirvana.

***
Mu photostory on Pushkar published in the December issue of Fountain Ink.

A day at Melkote

Melkote is a small temple town, just over 150 km – two hours drive – from Bangalore. It is home to a couple of Narasimha temples, a large Iyengar community and lip-smacking puliyogare (tamarind rice, for you unenlightened souls, but calling it that really takes away from the drop-dead spicy yumminess of it).

We’d heard that the temple closes by 1 and planned to get there early in the day. Weekend mornings being what they are and Bangalore traffic being what it is, not to mention having to stop for thatte idli at Bidadi on the way, it is well past noon when we reach Melkote. The temple, it turns out, is open till 2.30 p.m. or even later.

And then a quick walk around town, a puliyogare pit-stop and some photographs later, we head towards the Narasimha temple on top of the hill. There are no large restaurants in the town (or I am told, places to stay), but there are several eateries known as “mess” which offer delicious local food. The steps to the temple begin from near the water tank, known locally as the kalyani.

The banks of the kalyani are abuzz with activity; bangle-sellers and coconut-vendors, pilgrims and locals, women carrying their clothes for washing at the tank, young children running up to the camera with a smile and a pose.

The friends we are with huff and puff their way up the 300 odd steps; V and I sit on the steps and watch people. There is a cool breeze and a great view from where we are sitting. The old man near where we sit clangs on his metal plate every so often to attract the attention of passersby; he is offended when a group of women ignore him and give alms to the women sitting next to him. The kid with the little shruti box is busy playing; his mother chides him from across the steps and he absent-mindedly chants govinda, govinda even as he is eying the frisky goat, his playing companion.

Fathers are carrying their small children on their shoulders, the mark of Vishnu bright and shiny on both foreheads; the mothers can barely carry themselves up the steep steps. There is a doli lying neglected on one corner, meant for people who are too old or infirm to walk up. Nobody is using it though – it is as if being carried up equals a serious loss of brownie points in the eyes of the god siting in the temple on top of the hill.

Our friends join us and we head to the kalyani for some much-needed rest (heh!). That is when we meet Arun; Puneet Rajkumar devotee, body building ustaad, aspiring superstar, eager model – all of 12 years. He poses, and poses, and poses – alone, with friends, smiling, frowning, jumping. His friends squirm with the awkwardness of that age; Arun takes of his shirt, flexes his (non-existent) biceps and says, take a photo of my body. After each shot, he looks into the LCD and proudly says, HERO.

It is time to leave then and we head back into town, to the place of the original puliyogare halt. More puliyogare is consumed, as is curd rice and sakkare pongal. The lady at the cart tells her friends in the neighboring stall, these girls came in the morning, they liked my food so much, they have come again with their friends. Indeed, aunty.

The drive on the Mysore road, the several pit-stops for fuel (of the food variety) and the friendly folks of Melkote – definitely worth another visit soon.

(More photographs from Melkote here)

Faces of Hampi

The buskers are abusking

A set of images from two of my favourite places in London for catching street performers at work – Covent Garden and SouthBank. Although Covent Garden is no longer the fresh fruit and vegetable market that it was for a few centuries, it is today one of the best places in London to walk around in – and this is largely due to the buskers in the area. SouthBank is even nicer, somehow the atmosphere is more relaxed – it is perhaps the fresh cool air from the Thames – and the artists more friendly and fun. Apart from these, Leicester Square on weekends and the London Tube stations are places to find some of the best in the business.

London takes it street performers very seriously. Street performing is illegal in London – I just read that the Covent Garden Market Association pays hefty sums of money to the government for the privilege of having buskers all the year round. Though the comics and acrobats do not need licenses to perform, the musicians – especially the musicians on main squares and the Underground circuit – go through auditions and are checked for quality before they are issued licenses. And there is even a street performer of the year contest.

This is usually a smash hit with kids – look ma, no head!

I like the way these artists engage with people on the streets, drawing them into their circle, making them laugh and pay up willingly…

I have spotted some of the best photo-ops when the artists are on a break – stolen images from their moments stolen from work…

These artists are to be found everywhere in the world – art at work…

The entertainers and acrobats are fun – but the musicians are my favourites – there is great talent out there – many of them have been performing in their spots for years, some happy to just earn a living, some still hoping to be noticed by agents and companies…

And finally the ‘you pay and we move’ ones…

Just as I wonder how it is to wear silver paint and stand still all day, I read this about a silverman at Covent Garden – On a sunny Saturday or Sunday, in a good spot, as much as £50 an hour rattles into his hat. More on the busking business here.

***
An earlier post on Covent Garden