Tag Archives: singing

Mangalore

Standard

Because I’m feeling lazy, and have a busy week ahead, I made this week’s post in a checklist format:

Tuesday 26th – my 23rd birthday! I didn’t really start the day with any celebration, as I had to go to the Commission for my report, but I was given flowers and a card by SICHREM staff, and I wore my new turquoise sari, which seemed to please almost every woman I met on the bus/street/stairs. Ate dinner at Pizza Hut (oh pizza how I missed you!).

Wednesday 27th – Holi, and I even brought my colours to work. But no one wanted to play. 😦 Next year’s resolution to be drenched in colour.

Thursday 28th – Emma and I met at Majestic bus station to catch our sleeper bus to Mangalore. Our easter weekend away!

Friday 29th – Ullal beach, an hour’s bus ride south of Mangalore. Went to see Himmatwalla in the evening, a surprisingly funny film.

 

Saturday 30th – Headed to Sultan’s Battery, which Lonely Planet describes as

Sultan’s Battery, the only remnant of Tipu Sultan’s fort, is 4km from the centre on the headland of the old port; bus 16 will get you there.

via Sultan’s Battery in Mangalore, India – Lonely Planet.

but which actually looks like this.

Mangalore 1383

Sultan’s Battery – more apt to call it ‘small stone circle with steps’

Mangalore 1379

The old port *ahem car park*

Sick of stupid guide books, we took a 5 rs. boat across the lagoon to a hidden local beach; pristine, empty, divine. Ate fish on the sand and slept on a log bench lashed between two trees. Accidentally photographed a man washing his testicles in the sea. Naughty sun burnt my face.

Sunday 31st – Emma got bored of Mangalore, split off to Mysore. I went north to Udupi, for Krishna temple. Huge temple complex; main temple like a religious theme park, with plastic tat, food vendors, one-way systems and sign posts. Ate lunch in a mass-feeding hall for pilgrims – bath tubs of rice on trolleys, priests running and sloshing sambar onto plates, lines and lines of people sitting on long marble slivers.

Outside was an elephant trained to take money in its trunk, and tap a blessing onto children’s heads. Hopped barefoot over the boiling pavement and passed a limbless cow with some terrible infection. Turtles in the temple pool! Men singing and drumming in another temple; hypnotised by the main singer’s voice, and the rhythm.

Took a bus to Malpe, then a boat to St Mary’s Island (though the sign said “CocoanutIsland”). Arrived drenched. Fine sandy beaches scarred by basalt hexagons belching from the sea. Got the climbing itch, others then copied. Boat back literally rode each wave to reach the shore, stalling in each lull then charging as the next one crested.

Knackered, nearly fainting, made it back to Mangalore and ate, and ate. Also drank and drank, meaning I had to stop the sleeper bus and pee in its shadow at the side of the road. Didn’t sleep, but home happy.

One Billion Rising in Cubbon Park, Bangalore

Standard

Valentine’s Day this year was more special than usual. Instead of the romantic day out with a meal or flowers, I headed to CubbonPark for a different sort of event.As Julika and I wound our way through the park, we became increasingly lost. After several phone calls and accosting strangers for directions, we finally stumbled upon our destination, where we could see banners and more and more people milling around.

The crowd surrounded a group of young teenage girls performing a dance where they would hit a metal handheld block with small symbols in time with singers standing nearby. Then they began doing acrobatics, and group formations, which culminated in a fantastic three-tiered human pyramid.

Their mothers then started singing and dancing to the beat of a tambourine, as a much larger group of protesters made their way jubilantly across the busy junction next to the park.  Carrying banners and wearing ribbons tied around their heads, proclaiming an end to violence against women,  the women also started dancing in the road clashing sticks and singing. Some men accompanied them in the rear beating drums, and everyone was shouting slogans in Kannada. I felt like I was missing the significance of some of these events due to the language barrier, especially when a handful of balloons were suddenly and ceremoniously released amidst the confusion.

The ensuing disco rave however was much easier to be involved with. Every woman there, of which there were a few hundred, began jumping up and down ecstatically, and dragging me and Julika in to dance with them. There was a real feeling of being part of something bigger, and of barriers breaking down. Dalit women were dancing next to students and middle-class office workers. It was a very real celebration of being a woman, by women.After a few songs over the loudspeakers, I drifted away to watch a couple more dancing groups spread along the road further into the park. Each group had an entirely different style of music and dancing, but people were again joining in with wild fervour at every opportunity, no matter what their own cultural background.

Feeling the need to exercise my shrivelling artistic skill, I added my own message to the plain banner strung 50 feet along the fence. It was only after Julika had written her message, and we regrouped under the shade of the bamboo trees for a bit of relaxation, that I realised others were painting canvases. And these canvases were free! Anyone could grab one and paint their masterpiece as part of the event. There were some fantastic images emerging from others’ brushes, and I walked around for a bit trying to think of an idea which would fit the theme of One Billion Rising, and also stand up next to these other works.

Once it came I set up camp on some plastic chairs and cheekily borrowed a neighbour’s brushes. Many people were wondering around watching the painters, some with brushes, others using fingers. I was concentrating hard when a reporter squatted down next to my chair from the Hindu (a national newspaper) and began interviewing me! And I actually got a mention too! There were some more reporters from other papers and institutions, and a cameraman with a female reporter also panned past my canvas as they walked around the area. The Indian media really loves to include foreigners in its news.

3-4 hours and 24 mosquito bites later, I put the last touches to my canvas under torchlight from a stranger’s phone. The candlelit vigil was being held under the trees nearby, as individuals told their stories of survival and resistance, and everyone held a candle in a paper cup. I was sad to have missed it, but felt like I had released so much stress through the process of painting. When I walked my picture over to the stand I was told that all the works were being submitted to an exhibition. I couldn’t believe that not only had I been in the paper twice in one week, but I was now also having my artwork put into an actual gallery.

More importantly, the One Billion Rising event had been a fantastic success, with cars and police stopping to take note, lines of office workers pressed against the glass of their city towers for a better look, and so many women making a stand against the culture of violence which permeates not just Indian society, but so many societies across the world. Oh India you are spoiling me!