Ramlila
Wednesday night, my actual host uncle (so my H-Father’s brother who lives upstairs) took me, Anna, H-sister Nandini, H-brother Surej and H-cousin Pial to the Ramlila. The Ramlila is one of the coolest things ever. Wikipedia it. Basically it is the enactment of the Ramiana, the epic story of Ram. It is complete with: singing, dancing, groovy music, Hanuman (the monkey god), lots of other people, and ends with the shooting of flaming arrows into huge paper-mache things full of fire-crackers.
The entire experience was confusing and hilarious, and goes as follows:
We squish into Uncle’s car and drive across Delhi, finally parking at a police station. Uncle gets out, so we stay in the car and fiddle with the radio and wonder what is going on. He comes back and hurries us out of the car and into the back of the police van, where we are introduced to the woman who is the head police general for all of Lajpat Nagar, which is the huge market and neighborhood in which we live. Big deal.
The police car drives us into the site of the Ramlila, which looks like a giant fair-ground. There are thousands of chairs set up, decorations and lights strung-up, ferris wheels in the distance. Uncle proceeds to lead us to THE FRONT ROW. Of the Ramlila. At the Red Fort. Apparently, Uncle has connections.
We watch the show from our VIP area, receiving refreshments and watching the important people around us. The show was just alright—unfortunately we came at a boring part of the story (it goes on for 10 or so days) and most of it was two women speaking in Hindi.
In the middle of the show 20 men abruptly came onstage. Nandini told us they were honoring a member of Parliament who had been in the audience. Meanwhile, the actors stand frozen onstage. Confusing.
We are in the middle of Holiday season here, which is exciting. Durga Puja has been going on all week. Last night I went to temple with my H-Mom. It was very peaceful and I love all the rituals involved. We poured water on the heads of statues of the gods and Aunty told me the story of each of the mosaics on the walls. She has told me several times now, “This time will not come again,” which I take to mean that I should appreciate every moment here, which I have been doing, or trying at least.
