Lalpania Diary 3

Ma is getting another ek sau bees pan made from her favourite panwari here. He puts too much supari in it but she likes his meetha patta. A bike with 'pahadi nagin' written on it. Raza book depot va screen prints. Dulhan shringar center.
Standing at the kinara of the dammed river, the waves lash against the rocks like it were a sea. I'm feeling like a kabeela ka sardar, with my pink pagdi standing on top of a rock with my kurta salwar flying to the right, pretending to be all regal and shit. The kansi ghas is swaying delicately in the wind, it's everywhere. I'm collecting little memories. Shells, trippy pseudo crystals, Chameli matchis, a vial of Avil. We go on a little boat ride, the water is really choppy today because of the wind so we can't go on the island like we had planned. We go instead to the plant. Mama wants me to see the turbines. Imagine the hottest day in Delhi, that's the constant temperature of this place. Add to it the overpowering noise of whirring fans and drills. I feel like I'm in a scene from Metropolis. We're walking over jaalis, when you look down you can see the lower floors, horror movie maker's wet dream. It's completely opposed to everything thats on the outside - fields, white weeds, AIR! Breeze!, the river. We're taken into a control room that looks like the Chandrayan control room as represented in a bad Hindi movie. Engineer babu is giving me full gyan about the station, pointing to a schematic diagram. Bahut paka raha hai salla. I'm in another world, marveling at the shiny buttons. We see the turbine which underwhelms me. Maybe I was just not looking at the right thing?
We drive around aimlessly, me taking a million pictures of everything and nothing. We pass a Karma Puja. The girls are shy in front of my camera. I fucked up the pictures anyway. Gomati gaon where the market is in full swing. 'Yahan fancy chaddi aur gift items milte hain', Paris Tailors, the fish sellers.
I'm sitting in the middle of a raging river. Raging bole toh one step off this rock and I'm dead and gone forever. It's cutting through the rocks, under the bridge, you can see the lines formed from years of riverflow and sediments. The waves spray me with foam and it's fucking terrifying but also the best thing I've felt in months, because at this point my existence is exposed in all its fragility - it's one step on the rock, one step off. When you're constantly in your shell, in your little mechanical, routinized life, thinking only in terms of "I", you don't imagine things bigger than yourself. Like roaring torrents and white whipcrack rapids. Soon we're told that they're opening the sluices from the dam. And we have to get back before dark anyway. The bastis we pass - Chainyatola, Dalaltola, Bangalitola, Lalbag. The gray clouds hang heavy over the gentle incline of the hills, the liquid orange dying sunlight peeps through. The sky spreads its arms wide over the green fields, trees, water. There's nothing constraining it and it takes on the most beautiful colours. Yellow flowers that match the colour of the saris that look so good on the women here.
We stop at another Karma Puja. The women are dancing around the branches of the karma tree. They keep a fast for their brothers, but it's basically a festival to pray for a good harvest. They're linking their arms and stepping to and fro. I stop to get the pictures I really wanted. All the alien sardar chick in the pink pagdi has to do is smile and they all smile back and continue dancing. People gather around, the women are all dressed up and enthu. They ask me to show them the pictures, which I do, my latent Lucknow accent suddenly bursts forth. All the ladies crowd around me to look, ask me curious questions about what I do, where I'm from, which I answer with my usual wallflower shyness. They ask me to make a cassette, I evade the question with a nod, a smile and a 'dhanyavad'. They giggle as I hop back to the car.
The sun is setting and you can see the lights spotting the hills. This is the area where the Naxals usually move around from.
We got some grade A Mahua bought for us, we all cheered and tried a shot, it's desi hellfire blazing down your throat, Ganga maiyya ki saugandh. Currently drinking Castle beer, eating the soft makkai bought from the fields yesterday and working on my Opium and society in 19th century China project.