On my way out to Aparna’s, I stopped off part way to do some shopping – it was as well that I had things to do, for a car stopped, and honked; it was my friendly District Superintendent from the Police School, who offered to take me where I needed to go, but I w3as able to dismiss him with the (true) excuse that I had chores to perform. Which I assume he accepted readily enough, for with a friendly wave from him and his driver, he drove on.
I bought some sweets from the cake shop (who asked where my wife was – I suppose we are somewhat memorable) and then, fulfilling a long-term promise to Aparna, bought her a couple of large pots for her garden. Transporting them to the turn off to her house was no problem’ for I hailed a tuk tuk; carrying them down the lane was rather more problematic, for they were heavier than I had imagined they would be.
We were to be visiting the Chaat festival, which, so far as I understand it (I am always a little in the dark about such things) was a festival which is particularly associated with sunset. It was to take place near her house, on the river separating Nepal from India, and turned out to be quite the event; as we walked there, we soon encountered large crowds of people, all heading in the same direction, and there was a huge collection of stalls, gazebo-like structures along the river bank, and people selling sweets, toys, balloons etc. Some of the pavilions were huge structures, set up for a concert, or containing funfair like stalls.
Like most Hindu festivals, it was essentially religious in origin and essential nature (though also very much incorporating secular enjoyment.) It was indeed to honour the setting of the sun, but since it was disappearing behind the trees on the far side of the river, I suppose its disappearance had to be imagined. It also included fasting -many of their festivals do, so far as I can see – as well as groups of people, mostly women, wading into the shallow river (plus, of course, lots of young boys in their underpants simply splashing about, rather detracting from the religious aspect in my opinion, but boys will be boys.)
Aparna performed their own, rather more low-key, ceremony, lighting a small candle and launching it, with some flowers, into the river; other than that, we wandered about soaking up the atmosphere. Aparna’s sister-in-law had arrived, with Aparna’s mum, but the latter was settled into the large concert tent, and then the rest of us strolled about, taking photos, and greeting various of Aparna’s friends, ex-pupils, and the like. We wandered through a really quite impressive long tunnel of light – not on a par with the ones in English stately homes, which go all out on the technology, but along the same lines. At this point, we were just on the point of returning, presumably collecting her mum along the way, when light beams strafing the sky indicated the concert was starting. Aparna insisted we went to see this, promising it would be a highlight, but actually there was little to see, with huge crowds blocking out any view of the proceedings.
However, there now followed my least enjoyable part of the whole festival, when Aparna led us down to the4 front, somehow squeezing us through the crowd, and attracting the attention of one of the organisers. They both insisted I somehow squeeze myself onto the stage area. I was not at all keen, since I felt massively underdressed, and in any case did not see what right I had to bee accorded any sort of privilege… apart from thee colour of my skin, I suppose. But it seemed rude to refuse outright, and a way through was found for me, and a chair provided, just below the stage (which was indeed welcome enough, for I was pretty tired.) But there I sat for getting on for an hour, with very little happening on stage, apart from playing some interminable piece of music, and the two comperes occasionally attempting to ruse the crowd. At a late stage, a young girl came on and apparently improvised some dance moves to the music – no small achievement, as it showed no signs of stopping, and did meander between lyrical and lively, so she did very well. And then a rather older, more stately woman did much the same thing, and at the same time, on the ground in front of the stage.
I had written my name down on a piece of paper, and eventually I, along with various other “special” guests, was welcomed onto the stage, and we all sat down on some special chairs around the edge of the stage, then were presented with garlands made up of marigolds. I was becoming anxious that the time was slipping away, especially since we were then treated to four dancers lip-synching and performing some Bollywood-style choreography; not at all my sort of thing. At this point, Aparna got one of the officials to summon me off the stage, to my immense relief, and all of us, including her mum, started to make our way out. No small achievement, since we were very definitely swimming against the tide of a huge number of people still coming in.
Aparna’s mum, being very old and very frail, was inevitably slowing us down, and after a while, sensing my anxiety that I would be locked out for the night, Sabitra and I were urged to shoot off ahead; I assured Aparna I had no need of dinner, as I could sort that out for myself. I led Sabitra on a pretty rapid route march, and then assured her, when we got back to Aparna’s, that I needed to go straight home. I knew the route of courser, but she insisted on accompanying me out to the main road.
Luckily, there were plenty of tuk tuks, ferrying people away from the festival, so one stopped for me straight away. It had two young girls, sixteen or so, on it, and they were very chatty and interested in me and what I thought of Dhangadhi, so it was a pleasant enough ride home. And to my relief, though the Bread Boc itself was all shut up, the back door was still open; I could get into my room.
