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holy holi
Entry 9 of 12 | show all | print this entry |
the short haired, babyfaced israeli took a deep drag on his cigarette. "let's fucking kill them", he said as he blew lazy o's that hung in the still air. "we can gang up on them and make them cry. this is war. we can't take it easy on them just because they're kids."
as i chewed my muesli, i nodded my head in such a way that i figured would neither commit nor excuse me from anything. murder isn't exactly the best breakfast conversation, but at the same time, the israeli had a point. i stared off into the distance, admiring the landscape but hoping that my silence wouldn't stop the israeli from talking. it didn't.
i had only met uri ten minutes earlier, but for some reason i wasn't put off by what seemed to be deep-rooted disgust. actually, that's not true; i had seen uri around the guesthouse a couple times, and i might have even sat beside him at dinner one night, but we had never done the traveller catch-up thing - you know, where are you from, where have you been, how long are you travelling, where are you going, what monumental life event brought you to india - typical traveller small talk intended to find some common ground that will keep the conversation going. when you're travelling by yourself, these conversations occur constantly, and with no one around to giggle when you answer, you have a fair amount of latitude with your replies. like, if you want to be an architect, poof you're an architect. i decided to be an architect.
for uri, the answers were israeli, all over, ten months, two months left, and the rapid decline of his restaurant and catering business in tel aviv. at 38, he didn't fit the mould of a typical israeli traveller - most israelis here are 22-24 year old graduates of recent military service, filled with energy and aggressiveness and a desire to escape that can only be tempered by consistent and creative ganja smoking. but uri was different. in his ten months in india, he had travelled selectively, generally avoiding the well-trodden hot spots, mostly spending his time hanging out at temples watching the world go by. he was the breed of traveller that was too old to grow an unkempt beard or pierce a nipple, wise enough to understand that these experiences were equally valid ways of experiencing india, but then israeli enough to look down his nose at the travellers who decided to spend their time partying. these differences meant that he spent most of his time with foreigners, not daring to navigate the oddly hierarchacal waters of the typical israeli social group.
you can learn a lot about a country in ten months and uri was keen to show off what he knew. "it took me about six months to really feel comfortable here, to really understand how the society works." i nodded my head in mock interest; really, i was upset they put only bananas in with my muesli and i was desperately trying to catch the waiter's eye so he could bring over a pineapple or something, but he was busy being yelled at by another group of travellers who had ordered their food an hour and a half ago. i decided against ordering the pineapple. "but after a while, you get to know the secrets of the society - what words to use, who to talk to, when no means no, when no means yes, things like this. when i walk down the street, i see things that i didn't see at the beginning, i understand how the indian culture works." uri spoke english with a thick israeli accent that had been bastardized by months of speaking pidgin english to indians. when travelling, you quickly learn that indians respond almost universally to the same key words and phrases, but it takes a bit of time to start hearing them as part of your own vocabulary. a politely worded question turns out to be less effective than the more abrupt "bus. when?", and phrases that include the word "problem" tend to be especialy useful at geting a particular point across. incidentaly, "why like deese?" - said with a heavy israeli accent and coupled with the somewhat ingratiating baya or brother - has proven to be an effective weapon when you feel like you're getting ripped off when bargaining. these are things that you don't learn in guidebooks.
"travelling in india has two distinctive sides. both are important to experience. one is Out There, an hour's ride in any direction. and the other is this", uri said as he moved his hand in an arc across the guesthouse's restaurant. my eyes followed his outstretched arm, past the hungover american covering his eyes with a blanket as he lay draped on a nearby bench, past the impatient israelis still fuming about their missing breakfasts, past the french couple silently passing a joint between themselves. i nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. hampi is the kind of place that sucks you in, that makes it easy to cancel bus and train tickets and stay 'just one more day'.
i had never heard of hampi before i came to india, but every traveller i met seemed to rave about it. i asked one of the swedish girls that we spent some time with in goa about what made this place so special. "it's great," she said, "there's all these rocks everywhere. and there are these ancient temples. and a monkey temple! and you can rent bikes and go swimming in a lake. we were there 4 days and i could have stayed longer." this didn't clear anything up, but she was blond and swedish so i took her word for it. after daniel left, i spent another week in goa, and then hopped on the most uncomfortable of night buses, crammed so full with travellers that i had to share a double sleeper with a french guy who i swear to you kept touching my ass. when i arrived, overheated and exhausted, hampi was exactly as she described. there WERE all these rocks everywhere; flintstone sized boulders, stacked one on top of the other, dotted the landscape for miles, the view only broken by the giant, 15th century towers of a hindu temple and the acres of ruins that surrounded it. (a popular conversation starter my first few days was inquiring how exactly all these massive rocks ended up here, until i learned that the story was that hanuman, the monkey god, dropped the rocks when he got bored on a trip either to or from sri lanka, which - again - seemed like a response that didn't require any further pursuit.) and the guesthouse she recommended turned out to be like the four seasons, a (comparative, $5) luxury resort, with a pool table, a chess set, movies at night, and a long, cushioned table - with a beautiful view out into rice paddies dotted with palm trees - that filled up every evening with travellers chatting in a dozen different languages. i spent my time doing the things she suggested: renting bicycles and mopeds, swimming in a lake, going to the monkey temple, hanging out with the sadhus who spent all day smoking charras from a chillum and all evening watching sky tv, meeting other travellers, lying around like a cat, watching the sun rise and watching the sun set. and life was very good.
after a few days of indulgence, i had had my fill of rocks and began feeling as if it were time to go and see whatever lay in uri's mysterious Out There. but as i began discussing the idea of leaving, the guesthouse owner urged me to stay: "saturday, big festival." he said. "colour festival. very beautiful in hampi." colour festival seemed like just an attractive enough phrase to keep me around a bit longer (notwithstanding all the other activities); i cancelled my ticket and bought a new one for sunday.
it's been my experience in india that festivals just happen, so the fact that people were talking about this one three days in advance led me to believe that something special was going to go on. in an attempt to better understand what i was celebrating, i asked the owner for an explanation, but his story, which started with a mention of the ramayana (a hindu epic story), and then progressed to include the god hanuman, and then also krishna, and then also lakshmi, ended up concluding with "i don't really know. anyway, everyone really happy. everyone put colour on face, on body, on clothes. some people drink bhang (marijuana). some people drink beer. it nice celebration." for lack of a better one, i accepted this explanation as well, only mildly losing faith when i woke up saturday morning and found out that the festival was actually on sunday. in india, things just happen, and you don't really question them; it turned out that the jewish holiday purim - described to me as the one night of the year when jews are supposed to get so drunk that they can't tell the difference between right and wrong - fell that evening, so i embraced my jewish side, told the israelis my name was pinchas, and did my best to follow jewish doctrine.
so it was with a a considerable hangover that i sat down next to uri the next morning, ordering my muesli, dispensing with the pleasantries, and then gazing blankly out at the boulders in the distance. when i mentioned in passing how great it was that india could have such a warm, happy festival, he sneered at me and sucked on his cigarette. "this isn't about fun. this is about attacking. this is the one day of the year where they can get back at anyone they want. we're going out into a war zone. you better be prepared." he caught my eye roll. "seriously. the adults aren't so bad; it's the kids who you need to watch out for. we need to put together a team, a gang." looking around the table, he casually inquired "who wants to come with us into town? i'm warning you, you need to be ok with hitting kids." it turns out several people were ok with this (i.e., hitting kids). while i finished my muesli, uri rounded up some volunteers, put on battle clothes - the shittiest clothes he owned - and even threw on some war paint. this guy was hard core. as we set off, he spotted the camera in my hand and immediately stopped the group. "do you know what we're in for? bring nothing you value." so, cameraless, we were off, into town, to war.
i quickly learned that holi, this annual festival celebrated throughout the country, was about colour, and that colour really meant paint - either tikka powder, which is generally used for puja or hindu prayer, or actual, ostensibly waterbased, paint. holi is a somewhat casteless day - anyone could colour anyone else; the smallest village child could colour the most respected brahmin, or the most untouchable foreign tourist. let that sink in for a second: the entire country - not just any country, but a country of almost a billion people - had a nationwide paint fight. a billion people throwing paint at each other (actually, more correctly, only about half a billion - the women were doing what they usually do, i.e., all the hard work picking rice and carrying things in the fields while the men enjoyed themselves). and, being india, this wasn't your boring reds and blues; these were flourescent greens and pinks that glowed in the midday sun. i momentarily thought about the absolute absurdity of the entire situation as i saw formerly white haired sadhus coloured pink, formerly white cows coloured bright red, and formerly white t-shirts psychadelically tie-dyed. suddenly, i felt a burning in my eyes and heard a high pitched giggling from a paint gang of 7 year olds. uri was right. this was war. and it was time to attack.
this ridiculous fight went on for more than 5 hours, although we only participated for a fraction of that. in the end, the casualties were heavy: most men were covered in so much paint that their skin had turned something betwen purple and green and most tourist women - the only females in the mob - had the telltale handprint of a not so subtle indian groping on at least one breast. and then, as abruptly as it had started, it was finished, and india went back to its regular routine, with only the stained colours on the asphalt signifying that something had happend that day. two days later, stained hands and ears are the still-enduring secret handshake keepsakes of holi.
"we did well", uri reflected over lunch, passing a joint around the circle. "we got them good." later that day, when we were at the lake swimming with the same indians we were just colouring, i watched the practiced way that uri joked with, laughed, and played with the indians. "india is a land of extremes, and if you don't find a balance between seeing authentic india and chilling out, you'll go mad. when you're in it - when you're surrounded by beggars at a temple or misled by touts - you can forget that these festivals and paint fights can occur seemingly spontaneously. what indians all seem to share is a deep connection with their inner child. it's easy to make their eyes twinkle. once you figure out how to do that, travelling here is simple." i nodded my head, and as i looked around a circle of laughing indians who had invited us to eat rice and homemade masala - with our hands, indian style - in the shade afforded by a large boulder, and who wouldn't let us leave until we had each eaten the last grain of rice, i could see he was right. that twinkle, that curiosity, that joy for life.
on the motorbike back to the guesthouse, uri continued. "life is simple here. in the west, we have rules, fears, dreams, and in trying to figure out how those things fit in with god, and religion, and the meaning of life, we construct even more rules that everyone's too afraid to break. but here, god is everywhere. that banana could be god. and if you really believe that banana is god - really believe it, like the indians do - then life is easy. when things are good, you thank the banana. when things are bad, you ask the banana for its forgiveness. this access to a tangible god - one you can see and feel, regardless of whether it is a plant or a monkey or a man with an elephant's head - gives life clarity. in india, it's tough to live life the wrong way: your life, death, marriage, profession, god, everything is chosen for you. that's not necessarily better than home, it's just simpler. it's what lets people go out in the street and throw paint at each other. because they can. and because they live their lives in joy, not in fear of what might or might not be. i think there's something to be learned from that."
upon returning to the guesthouse, i collected my bags to catch a bus to bangalore. uri and i shook hands, experiencing that moment where we knew that we'd never see each other again; as a single traveller, this occurs a dozen times every day. uri called after me as i gathered my stuff: "a last piece of advice. when in india, say yes to everything. the best experiences come out of nowhere as long as you say yes." he smiled and waved as i turned to leave. i could see the twinkle in his eye. holi was indian v. indian v. tourist. and today, everybody won.
as long as you say yes. so i have. so i am.
jordan.
pictures - india faces and places, feb 15 - mar 5
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