Fireworks light the sky and thunderous explosions fill the night, every night. It's the Wedding Season ! Venues for weddings are lavishly decorated and a million lights adorn every corner with elaborate entrance gateways and fabulous flower decorations. The festivities go on for days and no expense is spared in the celebration. Street processions include dancing troupes and horses as the couple are welcomed into the state of marriage.
An astrological chart is drawn up when you are born, based on the place, year, day, hour and minute of your birth and when marriage negotiations between families take place, these charts are carefully studied in order to find the most suitable match. Although 'love' is a factor, it is by no means the most important factor and emphasis is placed on marrying into the right family and cast. Brahmans, the highest cast, would not consider marrying into the lowest cast. In choosing a husband, girls place emphasis on the character of the person and that he should respect them and their beliefs and respect their parents. Food, also plays a part, and a vegetarian would not find it practical to be married to a non-vegetarian, as meals could not be shared. Strangely, although there is such strict control regarding cast and family conventions, they are very accommodating about religion and accepting of each other's gods and religious practices. The community is such a strong aspect of Indian Culture, for us Westerners, it is strange to think outside of the individual and individual needs - consulting ones parents on the choice of a suitor would be practically unheard of, but in India the whole family is involved and it is in the interests of the whole family for the marriage to work !
Monday, 14 December 2009
Saturday, 12 December 2009
CHRISTMAS
A palm tree transformed with red bows, the table was laden with sliced turkey, cranberry sauce and a number of salads, french bread, fruit punch and chilled white wine - one was transported home by the sight. This was the International Women's Club Christmas Lunch. India is good at celebrating and if I thought Diwali was difficult to beat, then they are not doing too badly with Christmas. Shops are draped in Christmas lights, Artificial Christmas trees are for sale, wrapping paper and decorations. The children's party will include Santa with a bag of presents and party games ! The amount of preparation and devotion to the cause of the Festive Season is more concerted and the care with which the image of Santa was prepared for the 'Pin the beard on Santa' game, was remarkable. Having limited artistic skill, but in the quest for authenticity, Santa was required to lie on the piece of calico, so that his outline could be drawn to achieve the right proporations for the image. Children, be impressed, you don't know how much, has been done by so few.
LILY OF THE VALLEY
Lily comes in every morning to clean my floors. She's a village woman of indeterminate age, but like all village women, she's cast in a different mold to the rest of us. For a variety of reasons, probably poor diet and general lack, they are a race of pygmies - tiny, about 4' and weightless, they bend in a number of directions - floors are swept with a long swishing handle less broom. Wielding this piece of home equipment requires a full bend from the waist best suited to stick figures, so Lily manages this with dexterity and ease. Floors are then washed, which requires equally unique gymnastics. Floors, like all floors in India, are made of the most beautiful marble squares, creating a brilliant, shining surface on which to walk. Shoes, of course, are never worn indoors. India is always full of surprises and the lavish use of marble is one of them. The other surprise is stainless steel. Everything is made of this material - dishes, bowls, mugs, cups - they shine from every corner, even in the villages.
Saturday, 5 December 2009
JETALPUR ROAD
You haven't lived until you've resided on Jetalpur Road. It must be the heart and soul of the town - it has character in every pothole.
Getting up at 6 a.m. to go power walking, is one way to see life begin on the road. As the dawn breaks, you hear the chorus from the mosque, a dark shadow on the street corner, turns out to be a woman selling plastic packs of milk. "Is it safe to drink", I ask my companion, a Canadian, "Only if you boil it" is the reply. Packs of dogs are also shaking off the chill of sleep and beginning their quest for food, marking out territory with growls and snarls and full-blown fights.
On the walking track round the field, other walkers have started their peregrination in the half light. With a polite 'good morning', we ignore each other, as we repeatedly pass on the circuit. One elderly man is sitting cross legged on a bench and doing his yoga breathing exercises, pinching a nostril and exhaling loudly. It's getting lighter and the full moon is beginning to fade. We've done our 20 laps - back to Jetalpur Road....the chai wallahs are setting up shop, auto rickshaws are taking children to school and I pass a man who is on his haunches shivering and washing himself in cold water under a garden hose, his hair lathered with soap !
Jetalpur Road, is under permanent reconstruction, with new holes and ditches being dug along its course every day and now the gangs of sari clad women are arriving to begin their labours. Missing my footing in the ups and downs of this problematic road, I land up in the chaiwallah's basin of washing up water - and am helped to my feet. Shops open at 11 a.m., but until then, life on the road is dominated by the breakfast canteens gearing up for business. Groups of men gather round them, some read newspapers, some smoke, some stare at nothing much. Poha is made, samosas and pakoras are deep frying in deep pans on portable gas cylinders and spring onions are being cut up, to be added to the rice. Cows snuffle through the rubbish heaps - the early light is being replaced by another sunny day.
Getting up at 6 a.m. to go power walking, is one way to see life begin on the road. As the dawn breaks, you hear the chorus from the mosque, a dark shadow on the street corner, turns out to be a woman selling plastic packs of milk. "Is it safe to drink", I ask my companion, a Canadian, "Only if you boil it" is the reply. Packs of dogs are also shaking off the chill of sleep and beginning their quest for food, marking out territory with growls and snarls and full-blown fights.
On the walking track round the field, other walkers have started their peregrination in the half light. With a polite 'good morning', we ignore each other, as we repeatedly pass on the circuit. One elderly man is sitting cross legged on a bench and doing his yoga breathing exercises, pinching a nostril and exhaling loudly. It's getting lighter and the full moon is beginning to fade. We've done our 20 laps - back to Jetalpur Road....the chai wallahs are setting up shop, auto rickshaws are taking children to school and I pass a man who is on his haunches shivering and washing himself in cold water under a garden hose, his hair lathered with soap !
Jetalpur Road, is under permanent reconstruction, with new holes and ditches being dug along its course every day and now the gangs of sari clad women are arriving to begin their labours. Missing my footing in the ups and downs of this problematic road, I land up in the chaiwallah's basin of washing up water - and am helped to my feet. Shops open at 11 a.m., but until then, life on the road is dominated by the breakfast canteens gearing up for business. Groups of men gather round them, some read newspapers, some smoke, some stare at nothing much. Poha is made, samosas and pakoras are deep frying in deep pans on portable gas cylinders and spring onions are being cut up, to be added to the rice. Cows snuffle through the rubbish heaps - the early light is being replaced by another sunny day.
Saturday, 28 November 2009
ROAD RAGE
Google Earth was a tool used by an artist I met recently to provide the underlying idea for a huge canvas he is preparing - it's roughly square and covered with small abstract rectangular blocks, representing city life seen from an aerial perspective, but what transforms this art work, is the network of red lines, representing roads, which he called 'lines of rage', as the towns, without facilities to support a growing population, become clogged with traffic of every description - auto rickshaws, cows, carts, dogs, bicycles, motorbikes, lorries, cars, all hooting - a stream of life jostling for an inch of space, elbowing the other person out of the way, no time to stop and think, everyone getting there no matter what.
Adding to the confusion are the ubiquitous road works which dismantle whole lanes of traffic as a million workers, mostly women in saris, dig huge holes in the ground with their hands and then traipse along with a wide basin of earth sitting elegantly on their heads, to be gently lowered onto a heap somewhere else. Finding the road completely blocked by an impromptu mountain of earth, the traffic shudders to a halt for a second before the intrepid at the head of the line go over the mound, others follow and after half-an-hour the mound has been firmly trodden down by a million feet and vehicles, until it is a makeshift road again. Money, to keep these projects in an endless state of incompleteness, seems to be no object.
As India builds a new global image with her burgeoning economy, concrete is being poured not only in the cities but in the countryside too and a Mumbai artist was particularly stricken at the loss of green meadows that she had known as a child. Now steel rods project from concrete casings in the middle of nowhere, like the flagpoles of medieval turrets, proclaiming territory, civilization and progress, as India gears up for a transition from a rural to an urban culture. But is there a guiding hand in all this development ?
For Mahatma Gandhi, the spirit and the soul of India rested in the village communities. He said, "The true India is to be found not in its few cities, but in its seven hundred thousand villages. If the villages perish, India will perish too."
Adding to the confusion are the ubiquitous road works which dismantle whole lanes of traffic as a million workers, mostly women in saris, dig huge holes in the ground with their hands and then traipse along with a wide basin of earth sitting elegantly on their heads, to be gently lowered onto a heap somewhere else. Finding the road completely blocked by an impromptu mountain of earth, the traffic shudders to a halt for a second before the intrepid at the head of the line go over the mound, others follow and after half-an-hour the mound has been firmly trodden down by a million feet and vehicles, until it is a makeshift road again. Money, to keep these projects in an endless state of incompleteness, seems to be no object.
As India builds a new global image with her burgeoning economy, concrete is being poured not only in the cities but in the countryside too and a Mumbai artist was particularly stricken at the loss of green meadows that she had known as a child. Now steel rods project from concrete casings in the middle of nowhere, like the flagpoles of medieval turrets, proclaiming territory, civilization and progress, as India gears up for a transition from a rural to an urban culture. But is there a guiding hand in all this development ?
For Mahatma Gandhi, the spirit and the soul of India rested in the village communities. He said, "The true India is to be found not in its few cities, but in its seven hundred thousand villages. If the villages perish, India will perish too."
Sunday, 22 November 2009
Saturday, 21 November 2009
MUMBAI
It's big, the population is huge, the slums are huge, the skyscrapers advertise the huge corporate wealth. People pour into Mumbai with expectations high. The capital of Bollywood, the purveyor of dreams, hopes are high, the sky is the limit, but too often dreams end in the cramped slums, where existence is eeked out. Taxis are part and parcel of this coming and going. In fact many of the taxi drivers have come up from the south of India to work and make a living. Their yellow and black cars become little homes, the upholstery crudely covered with cheap fabric and decorative items added to give personality, pizazz and a certain unique quality, even though they are all identical. I photographed one such taxi which paused at a street corner and the light transformed it into burnished gold, a dream machine, the only reminder of reality was the exterior meter, which said 'For Hire'.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)