Well as the drama unfolds it gives you what you need.
The intention was to go to the Indian Art Festival instead I ended up at the
World Book Fair. Thousands of stalls. Amazing selection of books. Actually it
was overwhelming. There was just so much. Languages varied from the sixteen
recognised Indian languages, English that binds them all together and then
international language books. It was not the word that attracted me the most
but the cover art. It is always refreshing immersing in another culture who
differently image.
Not only were there books, but guest speakers,
discourse, performance; such as a wonderous Khartik dance troup, with live
singers and what could only be a condensed dramatic performance of the Gita,
from the epic Mahabharata. It was so stage crafted and would have worked with
distance but this was an intimate, in the round, performance space. One could
have touched the actors.
One blessing was that there were empty chairs and I
happened upon a white leather two seater lounge. I don't think it was reserved
for anyone more special than myself, certainly no one intimated that. After
wandering through the multitudinous forest of text, display and illustration it
was such a pleasure, on the feet, to sit down. Only thing missing was a chai
and I looked, let me tell you.
By the time I exited Pragati Madan Hall # 6 it was
dark and colder. A rickshaw drive home, after quite a standoffish negotiation
process with the driver, was welcome. The Metro was an option but I did not
feel like entering the sardine can again today. I am sure when the other
patrons see me at the station they wonder how one more can fit in. It is
possible if you lift your arms and have snuggle bunnies occupying the space
underneath.
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