Hungry Like the Wolf: Travels Through the Land of Scams and Curry

Here's the next installment of my Indian travel saga!

10.13.14

Jodhpur: A beautiful maze from which I will never extricate myself

So much of the Rajasthan portion of my trip hinged on making it to the RIFF (Rajasthan International Folk Festival). True, I didn’t know much about Rajasthan folk music, but what better way to learn, right? Also, since music has not been at the forefront of my life recently, I was desperate for some way, any way to kick start some inspiration.

The view from the fort

The festival takes place in Mehrangarh Fort, one of the most beautiful forts in all of India. It’s a huge, sandstone structure built of heavy, imposing blocks from the outside, and delicate, filigreed work on the inside. Each new twist through the fort offers a lattice-veiled glimpse of a marble courtyard, a golden bed chamber, or the rooftops of the blue city. So you’ve got the setting, right? Gorgeous, sun-drenched paradise. The fort is beautiful year round, but during the festival these courtyards are filled with fiercely virtuosic musicians. Throughout the day you could stumble upon mini-performances of drums and dancing, usually by swaggering, booty-shaking men (in my brief experience it seems that when Indian men dance they incorporate all the standard moves of a Western female: shimmying, hip-swaying, arm-twisting. Not sure about twerking, but that’s mainly because I still don’t really know what twerking is.)

Trust me, there's a blissful smile lurking
just under the surface.

India has a prodigious variety of drums. There are drums that twang, drums that boom, drums that are used for one festival only and then destroyed. All drums, all the time. But my god, the way these men play. On their own they play with precision and intensity, but when playing together they seem to communicate entirely through telepathy, coalescing into one massive, drumming entity. They are like the Voltron of drums. Also, you can see and feel the joy these men take in the music. Some instruments invite a more extroverted style (I’m looking at you khartal, not-so-distant relative of the castanet). Others require a more subdued affect, but even those players will still break into sudden, blissful smiles during a particularly tight groove.

You may have noticed that I've only mentioned male performers. Well, that’s because 99.9% of the performers were male (much like the actual gender demographic found in Delhi, by the way. Where the hell are the women?! Sadly, I think the answer is: not being allowed to leave the house.) There were a few notable female performers, however, all of them vocalists. One woman supported all 19 members of her family through her singing. Others regularly performed for local festivals and ceremonies with their husbands, often singing for the entire night. Most of these women performed from behind spangled veils. And then there was Sumitra. This woman’s voice is a passionate wail, and at the first note that spun out across the moonlit courtyard I was overwhelmed by the heart-breaking sound. I do not exaggerate when I say that I swooned. When she sings it seems as though the sound is somehow effortlessly pouring out directly from the core of her being. I had the privilege of listening to Sumitra sing during evening main stage performances, and as the sun came up during one of the smaller dawn shows. Her music is one of the reasons I’m already planning my trip back for next year’s RIFF.

Another important aspect of the festival was collaboration. Some of the collaborations were between Indian players from different geographic areas; others were between Indian musicians and musicians from entirely different genres of music. Indian Folk was paired up with jazz, Celtic traditional/rock, African folk, and DJ dance party. The disparate parts melded together beautifully every time, and provided insight into both of the styles. It was like super Voltron (there’s a super Voltron, right?)

There were so many unreal moments that I don’t know I can catalog them all. But, as always, India provided both the sublime and the incredibly frustrating. The festival offered almost 20 hours of constant music per day; late night performances included Sufi singers, the aforementioned DJ dance party, and an epic final jam. There was a great group of people at the festival from diverse backgrounds. Everyone in attendance was committed to the music. The only exception to this was the dance party. As concepts go, it was fantastic: folk drumming meets spectacular DJ stylings. In practice, it had some problems.

The experience of traveling solo (and female) through India really deserves its own post, but I’ll say that this party was the only time I was blatantly groped (prior gropings were of the subtle “I’m in a big rush and need to get through this crowd, and the only way I can do it by brushing against your boob” variety). This was also one of the few times when I felt less than safe. This feeling would have been a million times worse had I not had the luck of befriending Rinesh, a fellow festival attendee staying in my hotel. I was not only happy to have someone with whom to share these musical experiences, but I was also extremely relieved to have someone to hang with during the 3am walks home after the late night performances. During the DJ party, however, even the presence of another male was not enough to dissuade the hordes of drunk Indian guys on the dance floor. I could see that women were the minority at the party, but that didn’t feel strange at this point since only 0.01% of Indian woman are allowed out of the house. (I jest! But seriously, the gender disparity is really weird.) As my friend and I made our way to the center of the dance floor I realized that we had now entered an all-testosterone zone. Sweaty, shimmying men surrounded us all sides. And just like that, the ass-grabbing was in full swing. Also, damn, these guys don’t just go for the ass, their goal seems to be to grab anything below the waist, and I mean anything. Ew. Just….ew. Anyway, I turned around and started yelling at the guys closest to me, which had absolutely no effect. Then suddenly a nearby man grabbed me and my friend, dragged us over to the side of the dance floor, and said, “You need to stay over here”. I realized this guy had deposited us next to his female friends. Whom he was kind of guarding. The lady’s safety zone, if you will. Apparently in India, Baby is most definitely put in a corner.

The whole experience was brief, however, because all of a sudden the festival director announced over the loudspeaker that the party was over, effective immediately, and that we all had 10 minutes to leave the premises. Rumor has it that the festival organizers had passed out free tickets to the dance party to a lot of the locals, who are apparently “a bad element”, and the party was cut short because these locals were getting out of control. We’ll have to save Indian class issues for another post as well, but in the meantime, lesson learned: no Indian dance clubs for me.

Reflecting on that night and those disgusting men I can't help but think of all the warnings I was given before traveling to India. I was told to prepare for extreme harassment, both verbal and physical. It was not presented as a possibility, but as a certainty. Luckily I have not experienced anything severe as of yet. But it gave me pause when I realized that the harassment I have encountered is no worse than the harassment I encountered in New York, Vienna, Munich, and Krakow. Frankly, the harassment in those cities was worse. And sadly that's made me kind of blase about the harassment in India. That doesn't mean that India is a magical oasis of safety (that would be Taipei), but it does mean that this kind of crap is a problem that extends far, far beyond this country. When someone grabs your ass your first thought should not be, "Oh well, that's not as bad as the time that guy in Vienna walked up to me on the street and grabbed my breast. And at least no one is masturbating in front of me. So hey, it could be worse, right?" I know there's been a lot of talk about harassment lately, and there will be plenty more, but for the love of god, can we all at least agree that this is a problem? Everywhere? What the hell is wrong with these men?!

Ultimately, despite that unpleasant experience, I still enjoyed the RIFF immensely. And really, those creepy guys do not define the festival for me, anymore than the creepy guys I've encountered in the US and Europe define those locales. My RIFF was not about them. My RIFF will always be about cool desert breezes caressing me under a diamond-like moon, with other-worldly voices serenading me. And that’s what I’ll be coming back for next year.