Back in Bangalore

This past month was nothing short of amazing! I was extremely busy, and so incapable of updating. I mainly traveled in northern India, first visiting the northwestern state of Rajasthan. We spent about four days each in Jaipur and then Jaisalmer, excluding travel days. Then, I headed to Agra to see the majestic Taj Mahal. Afterwards, a couple friends and I went to Rishikesh, in the state of Uttaranchal, at the foothills of the Himalayas. After so much traveling, I feel like I've experienced a totally different India from what I know in Bangalore. I fell in love with Rishikesh and plan on returning as soon as possible. Unfortunately, I was so busy I didn't have much time to write about what I was seeing, but in the next couple of weeks, I plan to produce numerous essays about my experiences. The only negative about the trip was I no longer have a camera, and so I won't be able to share the thousand of photos I took (I'll try to get some from friends who were with me).

Before I left, I wrote this about Dandiya, a dance that takes place at the festival of Navratri:

Red and green covered her tiny body. She stood motionless as we took pictures of her, no doubt uncomfortable at all the attention she was receiving. Bangles gently jingled up and down her tender arms like waves and a headdress fell down the course of her back which gracefully moved with the nightly wind. Her two piece garment was completely adorned with jewels and ornaments. Near her petite feet the skirt was green as a forest, with topaz, turquoise and magenta gems keeping the fabric company. Moving upwards, the hue changed to a deep cranberry red mingling with silver designs and tiny mirrors besides the precious stones. The belt returned to a green color, this time lighter in its shade. Over her upper body hung an equally extravagant and colorful garment, the same majestic red as before. At her elbows were what appeared to be bracelets made out of the same cranberry and silver fabric. Her neck showcased a cowrie shell necklace which her earrings matched. If one looked closely, they could notice the existence a tiny silver nose piercing. And of course, a bindi completed her attire, resting between her eyebrows.

We were so hypnotized by the sight of such excessive color and jewels that I found myself envious of the night this little girl would have. At 10pm, it was already far past her bedtime but this was no matter. She had come to dance. In a city where dancing is officially banned, the Hindu festival of Navaratri not only brings to life the spellbinding colors of the Rajastani North but also allows for traditional dancing styles to be exhibited and embraced by the public. For nine nights and for only 150 rupees (less than $5), residents of Bangalore can meet at the Palace Grounds for an enchanting evening of music, dance, and festivity. As we walked past the main gate, a statue of the elephant god Ganesha greeted us. Seconds later, we approached the pavilion where the celebrations were to take place and quickly took notice of the stately building we were entering. The exterior displayed a pink flower design against a white and gold backdrop, subtly illuminated by the tinkling lights hanging close by. But below, it was the sight inside that enraptured us. We walked into a large, spacious room with a colorful green floor and bleachers filled with spectators lined up against the walls. It looked as if sporting events took place here on regular occasion, but right now, everyone could be a participant in the game of dance if they so wished. Like many Indian experiences, in the first few moments of entering the pavilion, our senses were overwhelmed. Hindi music sprang forth, attaching hold to our ears for the rest of the night. My eyes were immediately directed towards a group of Indians dancing in a circle. Some were dressed as beautifully as the little girl I saw earlier, and still, some Indians looked as if they had just came from work. But together they leaned and swayed with equal amounts of intensity. Western forms of dance are nowhere near comparable to the languid movements these dancers demonstrated, where the bodies were slaves to the melody. They looked like they were all in a trance, themselves mesmerized by the music. And there we were, mesmerized by them. Smiles fleeted across their faces and as they danced clockwise in the circle, their bodies bending and bowing and twisting and turning. It was a movement far beyond what I could hope to accomplish but watching them was thrilling enough. I decided to walk to the side and take a seat in the bleachers amongst other Indians to have a better look.

Most everyone had come for dandiya, a type of interactive stick dance which is specifically designated for this festival. But before that would commence, there would be a puja and various dance contests. As the night went on, more and more Indians arrived and we seemed to be the only foreigners in the room. My group and I had especially come to take part in dandiya, whose steps we had learned earlier in the month. So when a enormous circle gathered around 11:30pm all across the floor, my peers excitedly raced with their sticks to take part. Ailed with a stomach ache, I chose instead to be an observer. For the next couple hours, I watched as hundreds of Indians moved in a circle, dancing with friends and strangers alike, each individual exuding the same amount of exhilaration. The dance is fairly simple: each person holds a stick in both hands and faces opposite a partner. Every individual hits their own personal sticks together as well as the sticks of the other person in about a five step count. Two circles are therefore formed, and after the sequence is completed with the person facing them, they move on in opposite directions to meet the next dancer. In the course of an hour, a person would have interacted with a hundred different people, sharing mirth and sharing missteps. Dance was bringing together the sexes, connecting the young and the old, and bonding the native to the visitor in a way language fails to accomplish. In this environment, identities were stripped. The only label which existed was that of the dancer.

As we departed, the little girl who so enraptured our eyes earlier in the evening stood beside us, our lifestyles connecting like two hands shaking. She wasn’t a child and I wasn’t a foreigner. We were just human beings with legs and arms meant for movement’s sake.