Mumbai is a big city,  and to be honest, I am still trying to find its charm. I suspect it is lurking under the surface somewhere but it will take some time to be found. Japan was similar in a way, as I found that to discover the soul of a country it was more easily accessible away from the hustle and bustle of economic transactions. In a country of over a billion people, however, finding the slower paced country life in India is not so easy.

The world has also changed since the 1990s when T and I used to backpack around Asia. As diplomats, security is an ever present concern, and as parents (of children who may or may not actually want to be in this country) our actions are a bit more constrained than they were when we were much younger and carefree (yes Mom, this means my bungee jumping days are behind me). I also now have a real job — writing a book — which means that much of my time is spent in front of a computer as opposed to aimlessly wandering the streets with my camera. But occasionally I hear the streets calling.

Actually, we hear the streets all the time. Mumbai is an incredibly loud and noisy place. Cars, motorcycles, auto rickshaws all honk their horns instead of using directional signals and there are always people, cows, goats, and water buffalos on the street no matter what time of night or day. Lately, however, I have been hearing a lot of drumming and music because it appears to be festival season, and oh how I love me a good festival.

(this is supposed to be a 3 lane traffic circle – usually there are at least 5 – and this isn’t even close to rush hour!!!)

Gokulashtami 

Last week we got to experience the events of Gokulashtami, (elsewhere in India is sometimes called Krishna Janmashtami). Celebrating the birth of the Hindu deity Krishna, the eighth avitar of Vishnu, this festival reenacts the story of him, with the help of his friends, stealing various dairy products (milk, yogurt, curds) from earthen pots, Dahi Handi, hung up in trees. According to legend the town Krishna grew up in had plenty of cows and goats but all that they produced had to be given to the King, thus depriving the townspeople of dairy products. Everything was stored high in the Dahi Handi, and the intrepid young Krishna and his friends would form human pyramids, enabling them to reach the pots and take what was, in their minds, rightfully theirs.

As it has evolved in modern days, community groups (often associated with political parties) will hang up Dahi Handi, and teams of young women and/or men, called mandals, travel around town making human pyramids trying to reach as many of these pots as possible. The prize is no longer milk but rather Vitamin M, as one local called it, Money. Prizes vary depending on the sponsor and neighbourhood, but can be anywhere from $1000-$30,000.

(so as not to make it too easy, locals throw water at the prize seekers)

Now it all seems like good fun, and what harm could come of stacking tiers of people up to sky, you ask? Well, injury and death, actually. Last year apparently 225 people were injured and 1 person actually died. As a result the High Court has ruled that the handi pots could be no higher than 20 feet, and that participants had to be at least 18 years of age — though from the looks of things not many people followed these new rules. These festivities also tend to be quite loud so the court mandated that blaring music and PA systems be a maximum of 65 decibel, though this too was largely ignored.

The fun thing was that were two Dahi Handi within walking distance of our apartment and I was able to watch teams as they came and went trying to claim the prize. It went on all day, and by 4 pm nobody had managed to reach either of the pots. And when the Mandals weren’t busy, kids were having fun trying to create their own pyramids.

And now Ganesh is coming….

M