Mysore

I took a break from Bangalore and went to Mysore to celebrate Dussehra – one of the biggest Hindu festivals. It’s about the victory of the good over the evil. 

 

 

So there is god Rama who get lovely Sita for his wife. And there is this demon king of Lanka (Sri Lanka) Ravana. Ravana has sister who fells in love with Rama and his brother. She wants to marry one of them but Rama is already taken and his brother…said no to the lady… She gets a bit angry and threatens to kill Sita and then marry Rama. So his brother gets more angry and cuts the tantrum lady her nose and ear. Ok, so now Ravana gets really pissed off and kidnapps Sita to Lanka. Rama and his bro teach successfully a lesson to Ravana quite successfully and that’s how the good wins over the evil.

And life is simple in these stories – there is good and bad, beauty and the ugly jealous one, siblings that are loyal to each other no matter what. Why to complicate things with some nuances? Some other shades of gray? Black and white is good enough ;-)

Anyway, Hindu love their heroes, as they call them here. They can wait in the sun for many hours to see the parade with elephants, the gods and heroes, and their goddess Chamundeshwari. And I waited with them. For 4 hours…in the burning sun…on the side of the road… That’s how devoted Hindu I became :-)

I had so much fun with my fellow “waiters”!!! I love the feeling of belonging that one can develop with the Hindi.  Starting innocently asking “what country?”, then they look over my shoulder what I’m reading, then we play with my camera and everybody is laughing around. The kids are taking all kinds of photos. Even “Sir”, the police superior, got into the game and smiled. Before you realise, you are belonging to a circle of people around. There is a little community, a micro village where people start to feel familiar with each other. Children ask for my water, they share their sweets, my cookies get in the crowd and never come back and the fresh lime soda that the kids fetch every so often, is shared among all the “villagers” (not equally but they remember about the elderly man who doesn’t say anything).

Indian hospitality is huge. They spoil me with their attention and care. I’m a guest so I get the best bits to have pleasant time in their country. And I do, big time J  Before even I belong to the “village” I get the best place to watch the parade, they insist that I sit and not tire myself standing, they explain what is happening during the parade, what are the names of the elephants and what gods are coming. Even the police worried about “white sister” when the crowd started to push too hard. And after all this fun together, they returned my camera (sb was taking pictures for me) and my scarf (we shared for protection from the sun) and we waved goodbye with big smiles.

And what language we use to communicate? I guess just a human language – sincere interest in each other and mutual will to communicate and connect.