At ten thirty pm, I’m curled
up on my couch, alone for a few hours.
I’m working on some recent photographs, my computer overheating from the
task. In the distance, I can hear the
tempo of elaborate drumming. I ignore it
for the time being. The celebration of
Ganesh Chaturthi is still in full swing, and every day the gaiety of the
festival seeps into my apartment.
Firecrackers go off at any time of day, their explosive booms causing my
heart to skip a beat. After nightfall, multicolor
fireworks burst above apartment complexes and company buildings miles
away. A few days ago, well into the
night, I watched a group of 15 men and boys celebrating courtyards over. The quick drum beat music quickening to a
climax over and over. Full of energy, they
danced wildly, bodies outlined by a tungsten lit shack housing a Ganesh idol. Yesterday, while visiting Hosa road’s market,
the street reflected the ongoing celebration.
Amongst the fruit and vegetable vendors, a large corrugated metal
structure covered in plastic loomed.
What it contained wasn’t a mystery to me, I touched the plastic outside
cover as we drove by on the bike and twisted around to see a dizzying display
of colors inside. Ganesh in all his
splendor, drawing Hindus from every angle.
On the opposite side of the street, where alleyways between the small
business shops lead to apartment villages, clusters of women were gathered
around on the pavement, crafting deeply colorful rangolis (freehand design of sacred shapes using natural sand-like
ingredients). Children squatted around
the finished designs, laughing and playing.
Above them, thin strings of blue, orange and green lights zigzag across
the alleyway’s gap between apartments.
In the fading cloud diffused light, I stood watching them, cursing
myself for not having brought my camera for fear of rain.
Back in the present, I’m
analyzing a photograph I took on Ganesh Chaturthi during my visit to the
temple, a close up of a bronze color metal entryway, Ganesh’s image imprinted alongside
another God. As I play with the sepia
tint, the drumming gets louder, harder to ignore. The bass resonates through my windows and
walls, the rhythm filling me with an irresistible urge to move my body in tandem. I toss my computer aside and run to the
southwest facing windows of my bedroom pull back the curtains, and slam open
the window. I’m struck by the cool night
wind, tainted with the fresh scent of rain, and further excited by the sharp
increase of the drums echoing across the distance, and reverberating around the
walls of my room as if it were a cave. The
subtle glittering lights from the hundreds of apartments outside provides the
room’s only illumination as I search in my closet for my camera and zoom
lens.
Camera assembled by feel, I
pad across the icy marble floor and climb onto my bamboo chair propped against
the wall. I start video taping the scene
before me, my camera unable to perceive the light that my eyes still see; the
image grainy from pushing the ISO. Although
I could only dream of catching the constellation of Bangalore lights outside my
wind at night, what I really want to document are the beat of drums. Ten stories below, on the small road running
parallel to my apartment, and disguised by the deep shadows of the buildings, I
make out a tractor slowly pulling a flat trailer with a ten-foot high Ganesh
idol. A group of performers surround the
idol, entranced by the rhythm of their music.
I make out the sound of South India’s classic bronze cymbals known as elathalam.
They complement the sharp and impossibly fast beat of tasha drums. Several people make a shrill whistle common
to popular Punjabi songs. The most
overwhelming sound is a deep base drum, its eerie thum thum… thum thum….thum
thum… beat booming through the house and my body, reminding me of the alien
heartbeat of a monster. As Ganesh is
escorted down the road, random spectators dance in celebration. The tractor comes to a halt under the orange
light of a street lamp, and passersby stop their motorcycles to observe and pray.
Two days later, the
celebration is repeated at 11:30 pm, this time the escort includes several idols
of Ganesh, with a larger crowd of drummers.
A small goods truck carries an idol backdropped with a flat display
comprised of small neon lights. It
reminds me of a large light bright
display, the bulbs illuminating buildings with unnatural florescence in
passing. As they reach the intersection
of the dirt road with Hosur main, a series of firecrackers are set off, and the
beat of drums quiet for only a few minutes, before another three displays roll
through. Each night’s celebration, I
spend it half hanging out the window from my vantage point, shooting the scene
and attempting to keep the heavy camera body balanced and still. I am utterly enthralled by the display, moved,
and energized by the archaic sounds of exotic drums. When both groups meet at the intersection,
they meld into one giant and bedazzling herd of noise. As they head back to their village their images
slip into the night, though windows closed and wrapped in my blanket, I can still
hear them playing into the distance
Check out this video, it is a
closer look at a similar drumming celebration:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0YKCue8KvnQ
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