It was to be a day of disobedience.
We awoke. We left the hotel to go to the 'Turban Tying Competition' and the 'Moustache Growing Competition'. Exactly what it says on the tin. (except obviously you don't sit there watching people grow their moustaches as that would be extremely dull and you would probably end up with a very numb derriere and heatstroke).
Anyway back to the plot.
It was hot. Hot as a bitch. The sun was low in the sky. I, for one, felt a betty* coming on. The fact that Pushkar was a town of propriety and purity meant that one's shoulders and chest area were to be covered. I was therefore sporting a bizarre dress/ t-shirt conconction. I did not look good. We weaved our way down the dusty sun-beaten track to the town, staring straight ahead so as not to be led by temptation into one of the many jewellery shops that we were a constant source of delight and distraction.
We arrived in the arena. A veritable feast for the eyes. I posted some pictures in a previous post but here they are again.*
Event one - the turban tying competition. After swatting away a couple of Indian pesterers (the innocent question "Where you from?" and the response "Ah lovely jubbly, sound as a pound", which had once been endearing and the source amusement, had become a source of exceptional irritation), we waded through the sweat of bodies (deodorant obviously not in vogue in this arena) and plonked ourselves down on the floor.
In all honesty, I couldn't see a thing. I am short. People were standing up in front. Not a good view.
However, they had picked out some Western women to tie turbans on the heads on their loved ones. Here is a small example below. Although the event was haphazard to say the least, there was certainly a huge amount of enthusiasm from the crowd and so I was excited. Camels to the left of me, camels to the right and there we were, stuck in the middle of a sea of excited, angry (because of people standing in the way), smelly Indian men. The men in front were particularly uncompromising. They kept turning and glaring at us. Mainly because Faye's and my feet*** were pretty much up their bums. I gave them my best evil eye back. It is a good evil eye. Although some people have told me it looks more 'come hither' than evil. This is, I wager, not a good thing under the circumstances. I certainly did not want them to come hither, but rather go...er...thither...
Event 2 : Moustache growing.
Faye and I were hot. Hot as bitches (yes this is a common theme). And so we had moved from our sitting positions to stand at the back of the 'stage'. This was unwise for two reasons
1. we couldn't really see
and
2. we were once again bothered by whereyoufrom-ers.
I can't remember what the latter was trying to sell us but I think it was truly bizarre.
It is hard to tell from these photos, but you may all take my word for it. The moustaches were incredible. The men had them wrapped around their heads and proceeded to unwind them for the crowd. One man opened his arms to their full span to hold out his moustache. Whatever would possess you to allow such a creature onto your face is beyond me. I mean I'm all for a bit of designer stubble, but this was a yard of hair. Plait-able hair. Braidable hair. Longer than my long hair. And growing from a lip. It must have been really heavy and sweaty - I wondered it didn't make their heads lollop forward in an unseemly fashion.
And so we left, happy as Larry. We were to have lunch and then meet the group again as they joined us in Pushkar.
This post is quite long so I will save our lunch in a lovely rooftop restaurant (at which we did not accept drugs) and the pigeon water and the shithead and the breaking of the rules until next time. Which will be much sooner than the last time I said next time.
*If you don't know what this is then shame on you.
** NB my shoddy camera, which had by this stage of the journey acquired a black spot across the viewfinder, doesn't quite capture the wonderful colours. Think of The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, add a splash of lung-constricting dust and dirt and you will have a clearer idea.
***This syntax perturbs me. My Grammar Nazi-ness has failed me momentarily. I have pharyngitis and a dodgy wisdom tooth and it is 23:22 so please correct me quietly and without disdain if this is wrong. Too in pain to check and this entire blog is a stream of consciousness. So no smart alec wisecracks please.
We awoke. We left the hotel to go to the 'Turban Tying Competition' and the 'Moustache Growing Competition'. Exactly what it says on the tin. (except obviously you don't sit there watching people grow their moustaches as that would be extremely dull and you would probably end up with a very numb derriere and heatstroke).
Anyway back to the plot.
It was hot. Hot as a bitch. The sun was low in the sky. I, for one, felt a betty* coming on. The fact that Pushkar was a town of propriety and purity meant that one's shoulders and chest area were to be covered. I was therefore sporting a bizarre dress/ t-shirt conconction. I did not look good. We weaved our way down the dusty sun-beaten track to the town, staring straight ahead so as not to be led by temptation into one of the many jewellery shops that we were a constant source of delight and distraction.
We arrived in the arena. A veritable feast for the eyes. I posted some pictures in a previous post but here they are again.*
Event one - the turban tying competition. After swatting away a couple of Indian pesterers (the innocent question "Where you from?" and the response "Ah lovely jubbly, sound as a pound", which had once been endearing and the source amusement, had become a source of exceptional irritation), we waded through the sweat of bodies (deodorant obviously not in vogue in this arena) and plonked ourselves down on the floor.
In all honesty, I couldn't see a thing. I am short. People were standing up in front. Not a good view.
However, they had picked out some Western women to tie turbans on the heads on their loved ones. Here is a small example below. Although the event was haphazard to say the least, there was certainly a huge amount of enthusiasm from the crowd and so I was excited. Camels to the left of me, camels to the right and there we were, stuck in the middle of a sea of excited, angry (because of people standing in the way), smelly Indian men. The men in front were particularly uncompromising. They kept turning and glaring at us. Mainly because Faye's and my feet*** were pretty much up their bums. I gave them my best evil eye back. It is a good evil eye. Although some people have told me it looks more 'come hither' than evil. This is, I wager, not a good thing under the circumstances. I certainly did not want them to come hither, but rather go...er...thither...
Event 2 : Moustache growing.
Faye and I were hot. Hot as bitches (yes this is a common theme). And so we had moved from our sitting positions to stand at the back of the 'stage'. This was unwise for two reasons
1. we couldn't really see
and
2. we were once again bothered by whereyoufrom-ers.
I can't remember what the latter was trying to sell us but I think it was truly bizarre.
It is hard to tell from these photos, but you may all take my word for it. The moustaches were incredible. The men had them wrapped around their heads and proceeded to unwind them for the crowd. One man opened his arms to their full span to hold out his moustache. Whatever would possess you to allow such a creature onto your face is beyond me. I mean I'm all for a bit of designer stubble, but this was a yard of hair. Plait-able hair. Braidable hair. Longer than my long hair. And growing from a lip. It must have been really heavy and sweaty - I wondered it didn't make their heads lollop forward in an unseemly fashion.
And so we left, happy as Larry. We were to have lunch and then meet the group again as they joined us in Pushkar.
This post is quite long so I will save our lunch in a lovely rooftop restaurant (at which we did not accept drugs) and the pigeon water and the shithead and the breaking of the rules until next time. Which will be much sooner than the last time I said next time.
*If you don't know what this is then shame on you.
** NB my shoddy camera, which had by this stage of the journey acquired a black spot across the viewfinder, doesn't quite capture the wonderful colours. Think of The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, add a splash of lung-constricting dust and dirt and you will have a clearer idea.
***This syntax perturbs me. My Grammar Nazi-ness has failed me momentarily. I have pharyngitis and a dodgy wisdom tooth and it is 23:22 so please correct me quietly and without disdain if this is wrong. Too in pain to check and this entire blog is a stream of consciousness. So no smart alec wisecracks please.
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