India Journal 3

Monday June 23, 2008

A holy celebration with my Sikh family.
300 yr parade.

For the past three days we have been hearing about the arrival of a big procession through Raja Park (my neighborhood in Jaipur, Rajasthan). This year marks the 300th anniversary of the compilation of the Sikh holy book. Sikhs worship no guru or idol but they revere this text greatly. In celebration of three hundred years a parade has been making its way through Rajasthan. Tonight, it came through Raja Park at about 11:30 pm. My devout Sikh family took me and my roommates to see the procession.

There were hoards of people in the street just near my school and home. At the front of the parade men on their scooters were waving orange flags and popping their engines. Some wielded long swords: an homage to one of the 5 important symbols in Sikhism. Everyone’s head, including mine, was covered: the men wore turbans, as they always do, and the women wore their dupathas/scarves, as they do in temple and at ceremonies. Fireworks lit up the sky and marigold petals showered the streets. Further down the parade a truck moving very slowly had kirtan playing over the loudspeaker. People took turns chanting into the microphone, playing drums, and clapping bells. Prasad offerings were being given out every few minutes. Women would come place butter bisquits, sweet rice, or some other potent concoction in my hands as we followed the procession.

At the heart of it all was a giant float with big golden towers and transparent walls. It held the holy book and a tower of sword-like weapons. Because I still only know a little about Sikhism I had the pleasure of observing the whole seen as a visual stimulus without much deeper understanding. When you have no personal attachment to most of the symbols and customs it becomes somewhat of a farce. Just like an outsider might be disgusted by the idea that Christians drink the blood of Christ and revere the image of his emaciated body on the cross, I found it strange that people were holding a parade for a tower of impressive metal weaponry while handing out the Indian equivalent of Ritz crackers. Other than this comical sideline in my head I was totally impressed and moved by the happy gathering of so many people for one purpose.

Mostly I was fascinated by the lamp-lighters that bordered the procession. On each side of the street, between the parade and the sidewalk, there were men dressed in poorly fitting colonial style uniforms. They carried on their shoulders, or heads, big fancy lamps to light the parade. Each lamp was connected to the next by a power cord. When one man would fall behind, his cord would yank on the lamp held by the man in front of him and that man’s cord would pull on the man in front of him, in a domino-like fashion. The men were very thin and dark, they had yellow eyes and the expression of all the homeless people I see on the streets every day. I don’t even think they were Sikh because almost none of them had their head covered. While everyone in the parade and those watching it were singing and eating biscuits, these men were laboriously carrying the lamps that allowed it all to be seen. The unhappiness on their faces, the way they were attached by the lamp cords and the roundedness of their backs caused by their heaving loads made them look like slaves. It was such a paradox to me...and no one else seemed to even notice them.

Earlier in the afternoon, after school, I went with a few friends to the Old City to shop for a Sitar.

Continue reading: India Journal 4