- the scent that lingers in the air, the trail left in water, the impression made in space after something or someone has gone, the trace of someone's scent
Tuesday, 15 March 2016
SPRING
A four metre sprawling hibiscus sits just off the balcony. Full of flower, brilliant carnelian, in full light, all seem to be worshipping the sun, five petals radiate with an alluring darker centre. Red twisted candles sit vertically along branches awaiting their turn to shine. Small green leaves adorn the stems providing sanctuary for a thriving ecosystem. The tangle of branches provide haven for small birds. The purple sun bird, iridescent turquoise with the deepest blue black tones as light catches its' wings, steals nectar, flower to flower. The behaviour is like a hummingbird, furious wing activity that makes it seem to hover from bloom to bloom. The female is smaller and without exotic colour, neutral brown tones. They visit morning and afternoon, in the cooler hours.
The bulbuls are busy all day. I have counted at least six different types including the red-vented bulbul easily identified by its short crest giving the head a squarish appearance. The body is dark brown with a scaly pattern while the head is darker or black. The rump is white while the vent is red. Other variations, a yellow vent, white vents and those with darker neutral colours or black. They forage, looking for insects or fruit, and are often more than one. Small sparrows also take their turn in the foliage, well camouflaged.
Of an evening in the garden their is a chorus as dusk descends and all roost until dawn brings their call again.
The mango trees is in full flower and new leaf, producing the necessary energy to turn into natures sweetest fruit nectar. Grevillea grandiflora provide a gold yellow to the skyline, flowering horizontally in the upper branches crowning the tree line. Coral trees are in full glory. They are leafless with an abundance of multiple 'cockatoo cone' flower heads on every branch. Their colour is intense especially against a cloudless blue sky. It is called the Tigers claw or sunshine tree here. With curved thorns on the trunk and branches it is protected from the local people who harvest wood from anything possible. This allows for the current profusion of red. In the past both the hibiscus and coral tree flowers were harvested to make the red colour for the Holi festival, now replaced by chemicals colours.
Resplendent is the bougainvillea in full colour. Magenta gives way to a huge variety of colours, including white, red, orange, gold yellow, pink, and variegated versions, while avenues of colour brighten the environment. The plants, ornamental, thrive in the poor soil conditions and lack of attention and are full of thorns. The actual flower of the plant is small and generally white, but each cluster of three flowers is surrounded by three or six bracts with the bright colours associated with the plant. Most often they are used as border hedges around properties and can reach ten metres. These huge bushes are a tangle of branches and thorns with growth struggling to get to the light and often it falls in on itself due to the weight.
One of my favourites permeates the evening. An unobtrusive plant with small white flowers. Queen of the Night scent is alluring. It arrests me as I walk. The flower blooms only of an evening and the fragrance meets you well before the plant. A natural pure incense that cannot be manufactured, the scent is intoxicating to the senses. It is also called night jasmine, though not of the same family.
The bamboo is also in flower. Small unspectacular pom pom flower clusters weigh heavily on the branches, curving them. The fruit is similar to rice. Bamboo takes a long time to flower and a species seems to flower at the same time. The clusters then tend to die out. It is almost as if it is at its' lifecycle end and new life and variation needed for survival. Research says that the bamboo cycle is typically between forty and eighty years though some have been recorded up to one hundred and thirty years. This is amazing for a grass species.
It is dry, arid, dusty and hot yet Spring has arrived and nature shows its wonders.
The bulbuls are busy all day. I have counted at least six different types including the red-vented bulbul easily identified by its short crest giving the head a squarish appearance. The body is dark brown with a scaly pattern while the head is darker or black. The rump is white while the vent is red. Other variations, a yellow vent, white vents and those with darker neutral colours or black. They forage, looking for insects or fruit, and are often more than one. Small sparrows also take their turn in the foliage, well camouflaged.
Of an evening in the garden their is a chorus as dusk descends and all roost until dawn brings their call again.
The mango trees is in full flower and new leaf, producing the necessary energy to turn into natures sweetest fruit nectar. Grevillea grandiflora provide a gold yellow to the skyline, flowering horizontally in the upper branches crowning the tree line. Coral trees are in full glory. They are leafless with an abundance of multiple 'cockatoo cone' flower heads on every branch. Their colour is intense especially against a cloudless blue sky. It is called the Tigers claw or sunshine tree here. With curved thorns on the trunk and branches it is protected from the local people who harvest wood from anything possible. This allows for the current profusion of red. In the past both the hibiscus and coral tree flowers were harvested to make the red colour for the Holi festival, now replaced by chemicals colours.
Resplendent is the bougainvillea in full colour. Magenta gives way to a huge variety of colours, including white, red, orange, gold yellow, pink, and variegated versions, while avenues of colour brighten the environment. The plants, ornamental, thrive in the poor soil conditions and lack of attention and are full of thorns. The actual flower of the plant is small and generally white, but each cluster of three flowers is surrounded by three or six bracts with the bright colours associated with the plant. Most often they are used as border hedges around properties and can reach ten metres. These huge bushes are a tangle of branches and thorns with growth struggling to get to the light and often it falls in on itself due to the weight.
One of my favourites permeates the evening. An unobtrusive plant with small white flowers. Queen of the Night scent is alluring. It arrests me as I walk. The flower blooms only of an evening and the fragrance meets you well before the plant. A natural pure incense that cannot be manufactured, the scent is intoxicating to the senses. It is also called night jasmine, though not of the same family.
The bamboo is also in flower. Small unspectacular pom pom flower clusters weigh heavily on the branches, curving them. The fruit is similar to rice. Bamboo takes a long time to flower and a species seems to flower at the same time. The clusters then tend to die out. It is almost as if it is at its' lifecycle end and new life and variation needed for survival. Research says that the bamboo cycle is typically between forty and eighty years though some have been recorded up to one hundred and thirty years. This is amazing for a grass species.
It is dry, arid, dusty and hot yet Spring has arrived and nature shows its wonders.
Monday, 14 March 2016
THE MAGIC SHOW
The Magic Show
The location, Mt Abu Polo Ground.
The occasion, an Indian 'well known' magician.
Performance time - 6.30pm. That was the advertised time, yet if nothing else time is stretchable here and patience boundless.
The performance space - an outdoor stage, bare, with some simple lighting.
Seating, first come first serve.
The crowd starts to gather towards six pm. There are fifty seats opportunistically set in several rows well back from the performance area. White brittle plastic traps of un-comfortability. These are quickly occupied or saved. The bare earthen ground has been covered with hundreds of metres of green carpet, hard wearing, pegged into the ground. The area decorated with waving flags caught in the chill breeze that has been with us all day. Fairy lights are spread from pole to pole, wires precariously taped together hanging from power, providing some ambient light though it is spring and sunset is late.
The children start to arrive. They have heard about the magician all day. A vehicle with an enormous megaphone has been cruising the Mount blaring out advertisement between Hindi songs. Think of a Mr Whippy van on steroids and with ADD. Even the profoundly deaf would be aware of this event via the sound vibrations emanating from the boom box.
Curiosity draws the crowd. Not only the young. There are the 'too cool' mischievous male youth, fresh hair cuts, full of energy, testosterone and little release. They gather in clusters and initiate alpha male rituals. It's funny to watch from a distance as I have known some of them their whole life. To see them away from family prodding independence is entertaining. The expanse of the Polo Ground has in play several football and cricket games. Serious training is in session as well for the local teams. Families arrive and there is much arranging with the young seated at the front beneath the stage. The wary cling to mum who has to sit with them encased in the folds of her sari.
Dads stand to the side or at the back.
It is well past the advertised starting time. On stage the magician, not yet dressed is still laying out the tables and props full of potential wonder. The apprentice seems out of his depth. There is so much stuff piled around, there must be some sequential order. The crowd swells further and now there are many standing at the back and to the sides. The space on the ground is full yet still more urchins find their way through the sea of legs penetrating the interior. Lots of shuffling as the wait continues. Someone checks the microphone for sound, looks at his watch, speaks with the magician and then returns randomly asking someone in the audience if they could sing a song. An announcement finally, the show would start in five minutes. Hopeful. Further people arrive vying for clear sight of the stage. Vehicles parked close by are moved backwards opening more space on the sides. The magician has disappeared, a good sign. Several assistants are moving the tables forward on the stage. Anticipation. It is now after seven pm. The light is fading, the breeze increasing. I wish I had another layer and think myself warm.
Music announces the show start. Dressed in black pants, shirt and jacket, the magician strides forward followed by his apprentice, in jeans a colourful vest and an ill fitting magicians black hat sitting low over his eyes. Mr Magic twirls a baton, Ta da! It lands in the sea of kids. Recovered, having survived the fall, it becomes a scarf. Nothing from the audience. He continues with more simple tricks, appearing flowers, nothing up the sleeve, garlands of flowers out of empty containers , others tinsel and confetti. One trick is an acrylic 'empty' box that is incredulously covered and fills with sweets that he launches into the crowd, causing a riot amongst the kids as there are not enough. They scramble over each other, the mothers and small ones. Crying erupts. The music stops and the kids are asked to find peace, 'shanti, shanti, shanti' and sit back down.
Half of us are to the side and for a magician that is not optimal. Because of the limited lighting he is forced to be directly front of stage. There is little room the hide or distract. His little dance is not effective and there is no glamorous beauty to focus on. The apprentice has no clue and keeps picking up the wrong things or cannot find the equipment. I wonder to myself if he would do any better just removing the hat. The 'magic' is evident from the side. I want to still be in wonder but the bumbling makes it difficult to sustain. A few more tricks where the kids are covered in metallic confetti, that was a bucket of water, brings an applause. An hour in and most tricks are just not quite polished enough. The magician spills an awful lot of milk and water on stage that also sprays the first couple of rows. I think the apprentice picked up the wrong glass and there was too much for the trick. It is so incredible that it is hard not to watch, wanting to see what next happens. The floating glass of water, being poured, was my wonder.
Mr Magic started a trick, innocently enough, some string, water, and then a razor blade. I should have left at that point instead I watched, rapt, as did all. This was the suspense thriller trick. A young lad was called from the audience to verify it was a new razor blade, unwrapping it, checking, then place it on the table. First he swallowed metres of thin string, but then he placed the razor blade on his tongue. I know there was a swap but visuals stick. He chewed down on the blade and the acting started. Grimaced face as he continued munching on metal, the movements become further exaggerated until he spat a 'bloody mixture' on the stage ( hopefully not those below ) before furiously indicating to the stunned apprentice to run to the back of stage and get a bucket. Chewing and convulsing in turn, spitting a decent volume of red saliva, he then drank from the tumbler only to bring this up as well. This exaggerated performance carried on for minutes. The crowd was still, the suspense had grown and anticipation of the outcome palpable. I wanted to walk but couldn't drag myself away. I needed to see the outcome. No longer was it a kids show. No community service announcements about not trying this at home. Falling to bent knees the convulsions continued, the bucket close by, the retching, revolting. Finally, it seems, he found the trick and had his apprentice move off stage to the audience and clear a central avenue, one last gag and the end of the string was in one hand. He pulled slowly and a tied razor blade came out, and then another, and another. He handed e string end to the apprentice who stretched the garland of razor blades, about fifteen metres, before the magician untied the string from his back tooth. Ta da!! A big applause from the crowd.
I walked away at this point. There was more to come but my head was filled with a visual horror of the last act.
The location, Mt Abu Polo Ground.
The occasion, an Indian 'well known' magician.
Performance time - 6.30pm. That was the advertised time, yet if nothing else time is stretchable here and patience boundless.
The performance space - an outdoor stage, bare, with some simple lighting.
Seating, first come first serve.
The crowd starts to gather towards six pm. There are fifty seats opportunistically set in several rows well back from the performance area. White brittle plastic traps of un-comfortability. These are quickly occupied or saved. The bare earthen ground has been covered with hundreds of metres of green carpet, hard wearing, pegged into the ground. The area decorated with waving flags caught in the chill breeze that has been with us all day. Fairy lights are spread from pole to pole, wires precariously taped together hanging from power, providing some ambient light though it is spring and sunset is late.
The children start to arrive. They have heard about the magician all day. A vehicle with an enormous megaphone has been cruising the Mount blaring out advertisement between Hindi songs. Think of a Mr Whippy van on steroids and with ADD. Even the profoundly deaf would be aware of this event via the sound vibrations emanating from the boom box.
Curiosity draws the crowd. Not only the young. There are the 'too cool' mischievous male youth, fresh hair cuts, full of energy, testosterone and little release. They gather in clusters and initiate alpha male rituals. It's funny to watch from a distance as I have known some of them their whole life. To see them away from family prodding independence is entertaining. The expanse of the Polo Ground has in play several football and cricket games. Serious training is in session as well for the local teams. Families arrive and there is much arranging with the young seated at the front beneath the stage. The wary cling to mum who has to sit with them encased in the folds of her sari.
Dads stand to the side or at the back.
It is well past the advertised starting time. On stage the magician, not yet dressed is still laying out the tables and props full of potential wonder. The apprentice seems out of his depth. There is so much stuff piled around, there must be some sequential order. The crowd swells further and now there are many standing at the back and to the sides. The space on the ground is full yet still more urchins find their way through the sea of legs penetrating the interior. Lots of shuffling as the wait continues. Someone checks the microphone for sound, looks at his watch, speaks with the magician and then returns randomly asking someone in the audience if they could sing a song. An announcement finally, the show would start in five minutes. Hopeful. Further people arrive vying for clear sight of the stage. Vehicles parked close by are moved backwards opening more space on the sides. The magician has disappeared, a good sign. Several assistants are moving the tables forward on the stage. Anticipation. It is now after seven pm. The light is fading, the breeze increasing. I wish I had another layer and think myself warm.
Music announces the show start. Dressed in black pants, shirt and jacket, the magician strides forward followed by his apprentice, in jeans a colourful vest and an ill fitting magicians black hat sitting low over his eyes. Mr Magic twirls a baton, Ta da! It lands in the sea of kids. Recovered, having survived the fall, it becomes a scarf. Nothing from the audience. He continues with more simple tricks, appearing flowers, nothing up the sleeve, garlands of flowers out of empty containers , others tinsel and confetti. One trick is an acrylic 'empty' box that is incredulously covered and fills with sweets that he launches into the crowd, causing a riot amongst the kids as there are not enough. They scramble over each other, the mothers and small ones. Crying erupts. The music stops and the kids are asked to find peace, 'shanti, shanti, shanti' and sit back down.
Half of us are to the side and for a magician that is not optimal. Because of the limited lighting he is forced to be directly front of stage. There is little room the hide or distract. His little dance is not effective and there is no glamorous beauty to focus on. The apprentice has no clue and keeps picking up the wrong things or cannot find the equipment. I wonder to myself if he would do any better just removing the hat. The 'magic' is evident from the side. I want to still be in wonder but the bumbling makes it difficult to sustain. A few more tricks where the kids are covered in metallic confetti, that was a bucket of water, brings an applause. An hour in and most tricks are just not quite polished enough. The magician spills an awful lot of milk and water on stage that also sprays the first couple of rows. I think the apprentice picked up the wrong glass and there was too much for the trick. It is so incredible that it is hard not to watch, wanting to see what next happens. The floating glass of water, being poured, was my wonder.
Mr Magic started a trick, innocently enough, some string, water, and then a razor blade. I should have left at that point instead I watched, rapt, as did all. This was the suspense thriller trick. A young lad was called from the audience to verify it was a new razor blade, unwrapping it, checking, then place it on the table. First he swallowed metres of thin string, but then he placed the razor blade on his tongue. I know there was a swap but visuals stick. He chewed down on the blade and the acting started. Grimaced face as he continued munching on metal, the movements become further exaggerated until he spat a 'bloody mixture' on the stage ( hopefully not those below ) before furiously indicating to the stunned apprentice to run to the back of stage and get a bucket. Chewing and convulsing in turn, spitting a decent volume of red saliva, he then drank from the tumbler only to bring this up as well. This exaggerated performance carried on for minutes. The crowd was still, the suspense had grown and anticipation of the outcome palpable. I wanted to walk but couldn't drag myself away. I needed to see the outcome. No longer was it a kids show. No community service announcements about not trying this at home. Falling to bent knees the convulsions continued, the bucket close by, the retching, revolting. Finally, it seems, he found the trick and had his apprentice move off stage to the audience and clear a central avenue, one last gag and the end of the string was in one hand. He pulled slowly and a tied razor blade came out, and then another, and another. He handed e string end to the apprentice who stretched the garland of razor blades, about fifteen metres, before the magician untied the string from his back tooth. Ta da!! A big applause from the crowd.
I walked away at this point. There was more to come but my head was filled with a visual horror of the last act.
SHIVRATRI FESTIVAL
It is Shivratri. This is the festival of Shiva one of the three main deity gods in the Hindu pantheon. It is believed that Shiva saved the universe from darkness and ignorance.
The celebration starts very early morning and continues through the day and night. Shiva temples are flocked by devotees, young and old, who come to perform the traditional Shivalinga worship (puja) and hence hope for favours (a boon) from the God.
There is a constant stream of colour passing by, which becomes a trickle before gaining force again. Group after group, family after family are making their way to their favourite temple. There is a ritualistic bathe, a cleansing which is a rite of purification. Everyone then puts on their finest clean clothes for the pilgrimage to the temple. In Rajasthan that means colour. No one else can pull off the colour and pattern combinations that Rajasthani's wear. Especially the tribals. The women glide in colour as their sari's billow in the breeze. Colour flows into colour as family groups walk together sharing the road with traffic and livestock. Young children tag behind. There are not too many men, their celebration is more towards evening, where a vigil is kept at the temple.
One in the group is carry a pot of water or milk to the temple to bathe the Shivalinga. This is a simple statue representing the male form. The stone pillar sits central, within a base with a spout at the front. Near the temples the air is heavy with fragrant incense and reverberates with the sound of bells and shouts. Devotees circulate the lingam or temple housing it, three or seven times, and then pour water or milk over it, blessing the liquid, making the run off, holy.
The Shiva Lingum has vermillion paste applied after it has been bathed which symbolises virtue. In turn the temple priest places a vermillion tilak centre forehead between the eyes of each worshipper. The rest of the day is celebration and rest. It is a holy day and therefore a holiday. Children play and male youth and young men find a space to play cricket, with games often competing for the same use of space. The games appear age wise, boys, youth, men. The river of colour flows back to houses and disappears, only to be replaced by another equally vibrant flow.
The celebration starts very early morning and continues through the day and night. Shiva temples are flocked by devotees, young and old, who come to perform the traditional Shivalinga worship (puja) and hence hope for favours (a boon) from the God.
There is a constant stream of colour passing by, which becomes a trickle before gaining force again. Group after group, family after family are making their way to their favourite temple. There is a ritualistic bathe, a cleansing which is a rite of purification. Everyone then puts on their finest clean clothes for the pilgrimage to the temple. In Rajasthan that means colour. No one else can pull off the colour and pattern combinations that Rajasthani's wear. Especially the tribals. The women glide in colour as their sari's billow in the breeze. Colour flows into colour as family groups walk together sharing the road with traffic and livestock. Young children tag behind. There are not too many men, their celebration is more towards evening, where a vigil is kept at the temple.
One in the group is carry a pot of water or milk to the temple to bathe the Shivalinga. This is a simple statue representing the male form. The stone pillar sits central, within a base with a spout at the front. Near the temples the air is heavy with fragrant incense and reverberates with the sound of bells and shouts. Devotees circulate the lingam or temple housing it, three or seven times, and then pour water or milk over it, blessing the liquid, making the run off, holy.
The Shiva Lingum has vermillion paste applied after it has been bathed which symbolises virtue. In turn the temple priest places a vermillion tilak centre forehead between the eyes of each worshipper. The rest of the day is celebration and rest. It is a holy day and therefore a holiday. Children play and male youth and young men find a space to play cricket, with games often competing for the same use of space. The games appear age wise, boys, youth, men. The river of colour flows back to houses and disappears, only to be replaced by another equally vibrant flow.
THE STRANGE AND UNUSUAL
I wandered through part of the town of Mt Abu to look see the changes since last here and reacquaint myself with some of the locals. At one point I did a double take. Remembering this is a Hill Station surrounded by desert, mid way down the country on the border with Gujarat, I was mightily surprised to see a sign 'Dr Fish: The real solution for healthier feet'. Besides, a low fish tank filled with small fish over which some cushioned stools presided. The experience is public as it faces the street and the tank is surrounded by many small blue LED lights. The interior of this business is a games arcade. An interesting juxtaposition of business opportunities.
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