One shoe and a big stick

I crawled into bed at 3am this morning after having spend the last 4 hours in Old City chasing down groups of men with a big silver stick. Now it's not what you're thinking, I wasn't stranded in the narrow maze like streets left to my own devices or picking up a side job, rather I was participating in a traditional Marwari festival. As Rajasthan is the most traditional (and conservative!) state in India, everyday life in Jodhpur is rich with traditional ceremonies, foods, and clothing. Last night was, as my host sister told me, 'the night when housewives break free and have some fun,' a night when groups of women dressed in outlandish costumes take to the streets and swat any men in their way with big sticks. Before making our 10:30pm arrival at the Old City gate, I had no idea what to expect given the very vague description I was given. I had no idea what I was in for. We joined the hoards of people that were pouring into the crumbling blue and white-washed alleyways that were filled with music, lights, and shrieks from the women as they charged and the men as they fled. Totally confused at first by what was going on, I assumed that we were merely there to watch the eccentric procession of stick wielding women dressed as traditional grooms, policemen, and gods. I soon found out that, as usual, a few plans got lost in translation. 'Sarah, stick! Go! Boys hit hit!' I was handed a silver stick and pulled into the parade that was making its way down the center of the packed street.


At first, the prospect of running at full speed into a group of eager boys (in front the huge crowds) seemed a little strange, yet as I watched women old and young charge with sticks raised overhead into clusters of soon-shrieking men, I figured 'why not!' Apparently the 'foreigner costume' was the hit of the night. Upon even lifting my stick at the crowd, they scrambled against the doorsteps of closed shops. Soon I was running through the crowds alongside women with fake mustaches and face-paint as we threatened our subjects with our decorated sticks. It was a wonderful tension-release to be given the opportunity to give some of the many city creepers a much needed smack across the knees. It was also the most exercise I've done all month! The men were of all ages (I didn't have the heart to hit the old ones in fear they might break something) and seemed to enjoy the attention of the night throughly. It's all for fun of course, but I was surprised at the beating that some of the men took... all of those chapatis make for some strong armed women! The air was filled with laughter and yelps as the procession wound through the tiny alleys. 

When we came upon a raised stage raised 4 ft with a 'DJ,' I knew we were in for it. Forced up the stairs, we soon found ourselves entertaining an uncomfortably large, cell-phone picture snapping, crowd with our live performance of Hindi hits and Shakira's 'Waka Waka' (just substitute 'Jodhpur' for anytime the song says 'Africa'). I think the fact that I unknowingly ate a very large handful of 'special' puja (food for the Gods eaten during festivals) that apparently was prepared to make you feel that much closer to the heavens above, put my hesitations to rest. Oops! Six stages, four awards, and one broken sandal later, we finally escaped the excited crowds would cheered for just 'ek aur (one more)' rendition of Justin Bieber. With one barefoot (hello, strange disease) and a newfound confidence for swatting the masses, I continued to thrash my way through the streets of beautifully ornate temples, balloons, and of course, cows. It was the most bizarre festival I think I will ever attend but it was too fun to question. Before collapsing into bed to cherish my mere 5 hours of rest before heading to the office, I scrubbed my foot in the sink and doused it with hand sanitizer.

On the way from Bhadvasia to the office today, the two GVSS outreach workers and I stopped for a glass of freshly squeezed sugarcane juice on the street. I don't know if it was my sagging eyes of 5 hours sleep or the color of my hair, but the sugarcane man immediately recognized me and started swatting the air as if with a bat as he laughed that he had seen me the night before. A few others joined around and started shouting with laughter that I they saw me. One of them then brought over a page from the morning newspaper covered in action shots of the night's comical brutality. There, between a picture of a woman painted blue as Krishna and a group of smiling, yet helpless men, was a picture of the one-shoed gora mid- 'Waka Waka!' That's one for the photo album.