Leafy Secret Pr0n

Short Version:
We go to market and are impressed by some leaf-based pr0n and a dance.

Long Version:
We'd read somewhere that Dilli Haat was a must-see while in Delhi; a massive open-air market with a ever-changing population of stallholders from all over the (blimmin big) country purveying a variety qwality wares at very reasonable prices.

So we went.

Mildly confused en route to the Metro by... well, many things, actually, but most were just standard Delhiisms (roadside urinating next to food stalls; beggars and filth; walled compounds in which clean people lived, guarded by heavily-armed and -moustachioed men... that sort of thing). The non-standard confusion source was more-or-less musical: more when it sounded like devotional song; less when it sounded like angry grrrrl hardcore punk. Or possibly the other way around. Confused? Us also.

The confusion didn't wane when we reached Dilli Haat, either: the red carpet had been rolled out through the front gate, and a large group of men in old-style crimson-and-white quasi-military garb were parked outside playing music on an assortment of instruments including huge drums with black rubber skins that were being struck with what appeared to be fish-slices. Other, similarly-clad chaps danced energetically. People - some of whom were fat - watched.

We paid the nominal entry fee and snuck in to the market area through a gap between the entrance wall and a potted plant at the edge of the red carpet. Inside we found many, many stalls, most of which sold either pashminas*, fabrics, or carpets. Some sold furniture or artworks. None sold anything we wanted.

And it really wasn't a particularly large space.

We kept looking for the hard-to-find gateway to the other part of the market that we knew must be around somewhere, but to no avail. Even assuming that the area which had been filled with a stage and many rows of seats was usually filled with stalls, either our concept of how big acres actually are in the real world is way off or the thing we'd read about the scale of the market was inaccurate. Possibly both.

We blundered into the fringes of a slightly odd, televised, and massively-photographed opening ceremony replete with persons of obvious importance** ceremonially cutting a ceremonial ribbon, and then found some interesting stuff at a stall with a stallholder so friendly that not only did we learn a heck of a lot about palm-leaf etching processes, history, and market forces, but we also had to be photographed with the artist, and with his guru, and his brother. His art was pretty cool, especially the pictures with small shutters that opened to reveal not one but two hidden pictures, depending on which way you opened them. Generally the main picture was a Hindu religious scene, the upper hidden picture animalian, the lower a graphic representaton from the Kama Sutra. One of us spent quite a while peering intently at this divinely-sanctioned smut before realising what it was she was staring at and turning bright red, drawing gales of laughter from artist, guru, brother, and Puppet alike.

We bought a painted coconut inner and headed for the exit, via the foodstalls.

Delicious snacks procured, we were about to park ourselves on a low stone wall beneath a tree for massive consumption when we heard snatches of music, and saw action around the stage area. We meandered over, found seats in the small section that wasn't reserved for media, VIPs, or VVIPs, and watched the madness unfold:

Prologue:
Speeches over, dignitaries hustle away.
Musicians begin warming up in earnest, or hand-butchering small animals, not sure which.
Dancers start limbering up at the sides of the stage. There are three women - two dressed identically in blue and silver, the other in gold - and one man. He looks like Heath Mortlock circa 1991 en route to a costume party dressed as Louis XIV. In non-Mortlockian terms, that means that the chap had funny hair and a pleasant smile, and was dressed in a shining gold outfit that included tights.

Dance#1:
Music starts.
Dancers take the stage.
Man and gold woman strike a series of static poses, many of which include his flute. Did I mention that he has a flute?
Blue/silver women dance around them.
Man looks quite pleased with himself.
Music stops.
Dancers look slightly surprised.
Dancers leave the stage.

Dance#2:
Music starts.
Dancers take the stage.
All dancers have augmented their outfits with ENORMOUS peacock tail-feather fans.
All dancers are active; no more static poses from man and gold woman.
Man produces what appears to be a deep-dish pizza tray and spins it on one finger. For a long time.
Man looks quite pleased with himself.
Still spinning the pizza tray, the man puts his finger inside the tray near the edge. Yellow petals spray out. This is actually pretty cool.
Man looks quite pleased with himself.
Petals gone, man ditches pizza tray.
Feather-waggling dancing around occurs, from all four dancers. For a long time.
Rag-wearing and somewhat grubby chap with a rusty old bicycle ute appears, starts removing the potted plants from the front of the stage. He manages to swipe about half of them before someone in authority cottons on and makes him stop.
Feather-waggling dancing around continues.
Women leave stage.
Man drops to knees and spins around in circles. For a long time.
Man leaves stage.


We snuck away while the dancers weren't there to be offended.

The fruit stalls near our Metro station seemed to have multiplied throughout the evening, to the point where they were now choking the road, as was the long queue outside the liquor store, where the most common purchase clutched in the hands of those leaving the store appeared to be one single can of beer.

Back at the hotel, we washed our feet and ate delicious foods before falling asleep in our incredibly comfortable bed. All of those things were very much needed.







* = Scarves, basically, although many places also sold scarves, so there must be some difference, the subtleties of which are obviously beyond somePuppet

** = Sheila Dikshit, bane of Paul Henry. Keep your mind peeled, you'll meet her again soon.