Hiding In Your Cupboard

Hiding In Your Cupboard
Banksy's desecration of the Palestinian wall

Sunday 4 March 2007

Udapussy

The seminal Bond classic Octupussy was shot in Udaipur. It is a faintly ridiculous tale revolving around, circuses, Faberge Eggs, teams of sexy female smugglers dressed in red lycra catsuits and a nuclear bomb that may just may allow the Russians to overtake Western Europe.

All the cheap hotels here show the film at seven pm. Although in the hotel we watched it at the kitchen staff kept on turning our telly down and their radio up so we couldn't really hear it.

If we thought Jodhpur was beautiful - Udaipur trumps it. A serene lake surrounded by an impressive palace, , and some beautiful Haveli's. In the centre of the lake there is a floating palace - a picture of which Jayne has helpfully provided you with. This serenity was perhaps boosted by our dodgy start in the city.

After enduring a terrifying bus ride (overtaking on blind corners, bravely taking on huge lorries in games of chicken) we made our way to Badi Haveli, a hotel which according to our guidebook is delightful with a garden restaurant. We get into our room and its a shit heap, Jayne isn't feeling too well after the bus journey so I try to put a brave face on it and resolve to leave the next day. However, when we find out that our shower doesn't work and that the sink leaks and that they no longer have a restaurant we decide to move next door to a hotel that really did fit the bill of delightful. To top it off our friends Rich and Shona were staying there.

This turned out to be a big mistake as when we I informed the hotel owner that I wouldn't be staying because of the state of our room he went completely ballistic called us a "pair of fuckers" and Jayne a "stupid fucking woman". At one point after I laughed nervously he shoved a finger in my face and warned me of the "direst consequences". Well nothings happened yet.

The palaces are beautiful etc but I am sure you must be bored of such things by now so I'll skip straight to the Holi festivities.

Holi is one of the four major Indian festivals (Diwali, Dhussera, Holi and one whose name escapes me but involes sisters travelling to meet their brothers to give them a bracelet that will bring good luck). According to the elderly gentlemen weho is making me a tailor made suit for sixty quid (bargain!) the festivals were traditionally designated to each caste. The brother sister thing was for the Brahmins (top caste, nearly out of the circle of reincarnation, priestly types), Dhussera is for the Kyshatriyas (warriors and second from the top), Diwali is for the Veshu (merchants etc) and Holi is for the Lebud (labourers and the lowest caste). He warns Jayne and I to be careful as these "bloody vagabonds are drinking too much whiskey and feeling up the women".

As it turns out all the festivals are now celebrated by everyone in India. The first night in Holi involves huge bonfires filled with firecrackers all around the city. Once these are burned people rush to the temple to see dancing and so on and for the final burning. The dancing is done on a stage next to the temple and we are treated to a performance by the Hedran, a community of eunuchs and drag queens that come to events like these to dance and earn money, or beg for it - one or the tuther. After that they drag some reluctant western travellers onto the stage and make them dance to Lonely by Akon and an Indianised version of Firestarter by the Prodigy.

After this has finished they go to light the bonfire. Unfortunately one of the power cables behind JAyne and I catches fire - there is a power cut and a mad scramble to get out of the way of the fire. The fire is sson out though and we spend the next twenty minutes watching a little man with a pair of pliers and some marigolds shin up the pylon to restart the power. There is a great cheer when it comes back on and the bonfire is lit - this is the biggest one and the noise from the firecrackers is deafening. As Jayne mentioned, this would never be allowed in England as it seems that the whole place is just one misplaced firecracker away from complete incineration.

The next morning is the main part of festival (or at least the bit people look forward to). We descend to the streets to find that everyone is covered with luminous powder paint. The indian men come up to you smear paint on your head and then give you a hug and say Happy Holi. Some of the hugs that they give the women are a little over-amorous but people for the most part are very friendly. We start water bomb fights with local children and generally get covered with paint. By the end of it all we look like a couple of purple turds but it was great fun. Some groups of lads got a bit unruly but we were protected by the staff at our hotel and a young lad of eighteen called Balu.

When Holi dies down we play cricket with Balu and his little brothers. They are amazing... although I obviously play an obdurate innings full of grit and then get out playing the hook shot for four like all great English batsmen.

Udaipur is the first place in India that we have had a television so I have only just been introduced into the joys of Indian programming. The sitcoms are great, plenty of tripping on banana skins, canned laughter and suggestively raised eyebrows. The adverts for men are hopelessly unrealistic - portraying the average Indian guy as a nightclub crawling, womaniser whose girlfriend always wears a mini-dress reminiscent of Jamie Lee Curtis in True Lies. My favourite adverts are for the Get Wet range of mens products. The hair gel apparently makes your hair turn into "maffia style!!!!". The advert for deodarant rather bizarrely involves two, White!??, adolescent boys queuing up for a blue movie. They are obviously worried about getting past the lady on the door but entrance her with a spray of their deodarant while sneaking past.

The best programme by far is one called "Champion Of Knowledge" - unfortunately this range of knowledge is restricted to cricket and besuited and bespectacled boys, paired up, compete for a top prize of about 120 pounds. The presenter is an Indian version of Lloyd Grossman. One of the competitors hobbies was actually "mathematical statistics" which even surprised Lloydy. Questions generally run in the form of:

Who scored the fourteenth run of the match when India played the West Indies on 24th April 1978. They almost always get the answer right and give eachother innapropriate high fives for each point they get. Easy questions get you a quick single, harder ones a four and super hard ones a humongous six! At the end of the show the winners are presented with an oversize cheque for ten thousand rupees (120 pound) which they have to give to their school. Considering the amopunt of bullying they must be about to receive its surely not worth it?

Anyway better go.. lots of love

James and Jayne xxx

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