After just getting back from Thailand, on the 20th October, it was off to Mysore on the 23rd for the annual Dasara parade. It is an important festival in India and refers to "The remover of bad fate" celebrating the victory of good over evil. It was Jen and I, Jen's sister Laura, her friend Nicola and Jen's friend from work, Claire. The girls left it too late to book a train as they were all fully booked due to the festival (the trains, not the girls), so we decided to hire a car and driver for the two days, which is inexpensive, especially when divided by five.
We got picked up at around 5am I think, and it was so obvious that the driver was like a lot of people in India - in their job for some time, but somehow cleverly portraying the illusion that it was their first day. When we were on the main Mysore highway, he seemed to have some phobia of fifth gear. It was high revs and fourth all the way. He was incapable of judging speed or distance, which meant that he was constantly accelerating and braking all the time. I don't get travel sick, but there were a few times I was on the edge. I was eyeing up the gap between his neck and shirt should I be unable to prevent the rising tide of vomit welling up from the depths of my being.
We did arrive without getting killed, or running anyone over, which is good for India, and checked into the Ginger Hotel. This was a budget hotel and reminded me very much of a borstal. It was clean and tidy, but absolutely no character. The rooms were very utilitarian, but it served out purposes for one night.
We headed out to see the parade, and walked the short distance down to the Palace. We couldn't get inside as you needed to book ticket a day in advance. While there were a number of touts around, we thought it best no to risk it. Not knowing the procedure, we asked a few people what gate the parade would leave from. We asked at least six people, and of course in true Indian style, got six completely different answers. Even asking the police on duty there yielded no better result.
There were just so many people in the city. I mean too many. They were in their hundreds of thousands I am sure. There was no way we were even getting close. The five of us jammed into one small rickshaw and headed a bit out of the centre to the hospital which was on the main parade route. Even there, it was heaving. We picked a viewing spot, but the crowds just kept
getting bigger and bigger. It is always
the same in large crowds in India
– you get the gropers. Especially with
four white females, they were trying to queue up to get a good feel. I had to stand with my back to the parade
route and stare at them to get them to move on.
Even the locals were getting uptight, and arguments ensued.
We were most fortunate. A shop owner
who had his family up on a balcony beckoned to us to come up and gave us front
row seats on the first floor. It was a
welcome relief. Eventually the parade
started. While it was nice to see the
elephants etc. once you have seen one Indian drum band, you have seen the other
150. Almost three hours of it was more
than enough.
Once the parade was over, we waited until the police had stopped beating
people with sticks, and made our way back to the hotel, and went to Brindavan Gardens - of Bollywood fame - for dinner.
The next morning we headed to the silk factory to see how the famous Mysore silk is made. An interesting trip in a number of ways. Again, typical Indian with no organisation whatsoever. You just walked around this noisy working factory wherever you wanted. You could go right up to the clattering looms and get your arm ripped off if you really wanted. Alternatively you would watch your child fall into a vat of boiling dye or get decapitated by the next to invisible hundreds of threads strung across the factory floor.
It was then on to Chamundi hill to see the main temple. This is one of the most sacred places in India, and we went into the temple with the other thousand or so people that were there. I would like to say that it was different to all the other temple I have seen, but can't. We queued up several times, eventually got several coloured dots on our foreheads, gave some flowers to a bloke in some robes, and that was it. We didn't get killed on our journey home.
Afterwards it was down the hill to the bull temple - another sacred site. It was a big bull. Great.
A short stay there, and then another four hours of vomit inducing transport back to Bangalore.