Deepa Deedee's Wedding

Marriages are one of those few, sacred occasions where people generally gain more than they lose. Inhibitions are broken, malice is done away with, love is what people tend to talk about and unity in diversity is the flavour of the dessert. Deepa deedee is Harsha’s elder sister. She got married to Umesh jee. She is a native of Gulbarga. Umesh hails from Bidar. Many souls in the city got the invitation to attend their marriage. I got added allurements of getting the opportunity to have the first-person details about a Marathi-Kannada alliance and chance to make the first visit to Gulbarga. Also, Harsha is one of those fellows who can be ignored as a friend and intellectual at one’s own peril.

Reaching Gulbarga

It was Saturday evening when I reached Yeshwantpur to board Basava Express. Reservations were in place and the general feedback on the train running time was good. When I stepped on to the platform No.1, it was 4’o clock and the scheduled departure of the train was 90 minutes later. There was already one train on the platform with name plates showing names of 5 different cities alongside 5 distinct train numbers. At the first glance, I was sure that this is not my train. Also, the coach no. of my reservation was N3 which was unheard of till that time. For dispelling early doubts, I scanned the length of the train to find out if there was any coach named “N3”. I could not find one and decided to relax.

The official status for the station is a Junction but the facilities are nowhere to be seen - only one tea shop minus the tea. No shades for the larger part of the platform where this train was stationed. No one was there at the Enquiry counter. Alas! This is not the story of just one station but there are several Yeshwantpurs in India. I comforted myself on a bench. My idea was that my train will come to the platform some 30 minutes prior to the scheduled departure. To give company, a Maaza bottle was in my hand.

At around 5 PM, the announcer started doing usual rounds about departure of Basava Express and he reiterated the information I already had. But the train was nowhere to be seen. With butterflies in my stomach, I started making some effort to obtain the exact whereabouts of the train. But as I said, no one was in a position to help. Another 10 minutes to go, I became frantic. Luckily, one of the passengers inside the strange, multi-city named train told me that it was Basava Express. I was destined to believe him. Next, where was the fancied N3 coach? TTEs helped me in realizing that certain seats in S3 are reserved using the name N3. Big relief, you see. I had barely moved into the train when it chugged on.

The co-passengers in my compartment were of various age groups. A young girl of age 7, perhaps, and an aged man, in early sixties, marked the lower and upper bound of that spectrum. It is just a courtesy service to remind the readers that the measurement of the fondness of the journey comes with the quality of rapport you can establish with your companions. A journey undertaken alone seldom gives the complete joy of reaching the destination. They all looked quite reserved and the vast difference in age meant that it was not easy to pick the soft target right away. A teenaged girl was totally tight-lipped so she got ruled out immediately. There were three ladies, all in their late 40s, who obviously had a lot to curse and fume about. The two kids were hooked to the window seats and could not be lured into any conversation. The old man was looking tired but exchanged the gestures promptly. There was a Marathi couple as well who was travelling up to Sholapur.

The Lok Sabha election results were declared that evening. This helped the male elders to start a conversation. I snatched the opportunity and pitched in with my opinions. This allowed me to become a little more comfortable with them. They all could speak Hindi and that made things much easier. They offered me food items, books to read and lots of inputs about the weather in Gulbarga. And then they ensured that I woke up at correct time to alight at Gulbarga. The train reached 30 minutes prior to the schedule. Many thanks to them, otherwise I would have ended up I don’t know where.

Reaching the Marriage Hall

Harsha’s house was just a km away from the station. I ended up paying Rs.30 for that distance. But then that will happen anywhere in the world if you land at the station at 5:30 in the morning – the price rigging. :) So, no complaints. There was a park near his house which had a Lord Shiva temple at one end of the rectangular structure. The temple was well-built with ample seating spaces near the Gopuram. The door of the temple opened to a small pathway lined with seating benches on either side. In fact, it was a playground and not a park as we did not have plants and trees. The main door was made of iron bars so that I could seek the blessings of the Almighty without entering the temple. A devotee cum traveler cannot ask for a better beginning at dawn.

10 minutes wait near the temple and Harsha was there to welcome me. We met like lost brothers and were shouting at the top of our voices. He was visibly happy to see me there and my joy just cannot be paraphrased. :) The early morning breeze was also there to greet me and the notorious Gulbarga heat was nowhere to be experienced. We walked into the house which was just 100 meters away. The power supply was there. Windows were open to allow cool ventilation. Not many things were in order as you can expect. It’s like somebody preparing for the exams just a day before. Weddings are just fine to attend but never easy to arrange and manage. I’m a sort of veteran in the area of attending nuptials. The count will be 50+. So, I knew how to justify the chaos that confronted me. But, frankly speaking, I was also little perplexed to be there. But, among all the guests, I was the privileged one to be accommodated right at the host’s den. And this was an honour in itself.

Water supply was restored 15 minutes after Harsha left me. He asked me to settle down, get fresh and then speak to one of his friend, who lived upstairs, to take me to the place of real action. I thanked him a lot for all these gestures. Some heartfelt, some customary. J The immediate target was to respond to the Nature’s fiercest call and I could not afford to wait for the water supply to be up and running. There was some water in a small plastic tank in the bathroom. I took the plunge by just glancing at the depth and not measuring it. :) 30 minutes later I was ready, fresh from a good bath. Harsha’s brother-in-law visited in between. Such a nice gentleman with a down-to-earth approach. In the absence of Harsha’s father, he took up the baton of being the male elder in the family and organized the entire event almost single-handedly. How often can you meet an individual like him who grows up to be an institution in a single mould of bones and flesh? I can only wonder.

The city is not big in terms of area and major centers of business and social activities are all located within a periphery of 10 kilometers from the Railway station. I found out that the marriage hall was just a kilometer away and in no time I decided that this is the opportunity to walk and explore the early morning mood. I took tea at a roadside shop and spent sometime in realizing that the way people go about their daily lives becomes so interwoven in the culture and ethos of the places they live in. And this is so fundamental to the human race which means that the difference on the surface of humanity is necessary to vindicate the various gifts of Mother Nature. People just fail to acknowledge that and embrace the fact that humans are born alike and thus must be allowed to die with the same dignity.

The Wedding Ceremony

Rameshwar Sabhagruha is well-known in Gulbarga for its spacious main hall, big-sized rooms, neat kitchen facilities and good ventilation. High-ceiling fans were installed at regular intervals to cover the entire hall. They were running at good speed though their effort seemed to be dwarfed by the scorching heat outside the hall. The white, plastic Neelkamal chairs were neatly laid on either side of the aisle. The podium was decorated with layers of flowers of myriad shapes and colours. Good-looking wooden frames were used throughout to support these decorations as well as add a glitter of their own. The name of the couple was embossed in between the flower patterns. The floor of the podium was even more stunning with Rangoli formation of a sunflower in hues of blue, red, yellow, green and smoke black. A sight to behold and capture in memories for ever.

There were many guests when I entered at around 9 AM. Most of them were busy in preparing for the function. Some were chatting merrily. Kids were using the chairs as instruments of playmaking to a telling effort. Some chairs were as good as torn to pieces because of ruthless tramping and collisions. Poor them. J I took a seat close to where a fan was placed. An old man offered me tea and I can’t say for sure if that was really needed. I drank it anyhow and the rate of sweating increased with every sip. :) People were ready for the breakfast and I spared no time in joining them.

The eating hall was in a building adjacent to that of the main hall. It was also on the ground floor compared to the main hall which was on the first floor. The hall could accommodate 100 people at a time. The kitchen was attached to it. I had a peep inside the kitchen and found it be typical, 1930s like Indian chamber of food preparation. Dish-washing was carried out 5ft away from where the steps, leading to the eating hall, ended. The entrance of the eating hall was 5ft away to the right of the steps. So, good use of space was made but the choice of location may draw some irking remarks. As is the trend these days, bottled, supposedly mineral water was made available. Few seats were placed alongside the middle of one of the walls.

Upma, Idli, Dosa, Kaaraa Baatha and Poodee-Saagu were of offer and I ate to the brim, heat and humidity notwithstanding. One cup each of hot tea and coffee completed the breakfast. Some of the guests quickly became companions owing to my Gentleman-like behavior. They told me interesting things about the place and the Kannadigaa people. I was more than pleased though the heat was getting in to the top echelons of my body slowly and steadily.

Harsha made a very brief appearance and introduced me to some of his fast friends. All good chaps with plenty of sense of humour. I had a good time owing to their company. They made me do a couple of short trips out of the function hall under the relentless sun. My handkerchief was crying for some respite as well. :) It must have soaked at least half a liter of sweat by then. But because of these mini-adventures out in the market allowed me to purchase a good envelope to put the money I wanted to present. The ceremony was approaching fast.

Around 13:00 hours, everybody settled into their seats and the main ceremony started. Lots of religious chants, traditional dos, flower and rice sprinkling, mixed with instructional music, kept us glued to the podium and slightly away from the agony of heat. Each member of the families of the bride and the groom took turns to perform some or the other rites and blessed the couple with loads of wishes and goodies. The groom was wearing a crown made of pearls and silver strips, was clad in a Dhotee and wore a hibiscus garland over a thick gold chain. The bride was looking beautiful in a plain blue-violet saadee. Her hair were neatly tied with a string of white roses and they made a very pretty headgear. Her jewelry was simple and traditional and I was happy to note this simplicity. The whole drama was much to my expectation of a simple, traditional stuff without any pomp and show.

After the wedding vows were exchanged, one unique action unfolded. The brother of the groom paraded him up and down the aisle in a boastful manner as if he a jackpot winner was showcasing his winning horse much to the delight of the onlookers. :) People on either side of the aisle showered flowers and Akshata. Some shouted slogans and others assumed themselves to be professional photographers for the moment. All in all, the atmosphere of the hall and the mood of the gathering were ecstatic. Heat had taken a backseat. Delicious sweet drinks were pressed into service and suddenly, the joy and camaraderie outshone any grudge or grief the people in the hall carried.

The Return

Lunch was called for soon after at around half past two. It was difficult to be in the eating hall with so many people around. Heat was causing lot of suffocation and unfortunately, we did not have any ventilators. Yet, the quality of food was good and all the cultural items from Karnataka were on the menu. Buttermilk and Jowar Roti/Baingan kee Sabjee were my favourites. I ate a lot more than what was required. I indeed needed a bed to rest after the sumptuous meal. But it was not to be. Instead, I spent quality time with Harsha and his friends.

My return journey started at 8:30 in the evening. All well-wishers were there on the platform to see me off. I was happy and sad together for obvious reasons. I thanked them all for the great time I had and prayed for the newly-weds. On reaching the Bangalore City Railway Station, I congratulated myself for a day well spent and recollected the memories of enthusiasm, cultural ethos and friendship. These are the values and earnings that I wish each one us continue to accumulate. :)

Our "DHARMA" towards Women

According to the Hindu mythology, the most complete conversation about the Dharma, one’s values and practices, took place between Yaksha, the benevolent spirit, and Yudhishtira, the eldest son of Pandu. Even today the questions and their answers carry a lot of significance. They give you a very good understanding of the ethics of life. No doubt, Hindus revere them now and hereafter.

I wish to highlight another set of timeless questions that Draupadi, the wife of the Pandavas, put in front of the pantheon of the Kuru dynasty. She had been lost to the Kauravas in the ugly game of gambling, Chausara. Those questions sought replies not only from the legend of Bheeshma, Dronda, Krupachaarya, Dhrutaraashtra, and Vidur, but also to the rest of the civilized world, to us who are the inheritors of the past. What makes them invaluable is the context, pattern and organization of the society to which they belonged.

The one that haunts me the most is “Does a man own his wife? If yes, doesn’t he lose her the moment he loses himself? If no, how can one individual offer another up for grabs without his/her consent?” Yudhishtira had no answers. Others were silent too. She kept insisting for the answer. Finally, Bheeshma did break his silence and opined that “A man has every right over his wife.” To this Draupadi ripostes that “If this is the case then isn’t the man responsible for safeguarding the honour and life of his wife?” No more answers were given.

During those days women were accorded a high social pedestal. There voices were heard and good measures taken. Still, through this incident, the treatment of women as the objects of rebuke, vengeance and lust whenever things get a little bit ugly. What occurred before and after Draupadi came up with these questions can be discussed separately though that information is no less useful. The situation demands a careful study indeed.

Men have not learned any lesson in this matter. They continue to dominate, own, trample and humiliate women brazenly. We do get odd reporting of an event of men selling women for as hideous a thing as prostitution as well as a petty thing like a bottle of wine. Sometimes they stand on the side of the victim and at other times, they will be colluding with the perpetrators of the crime. They may feel bad when their own women get insulted but any other case can garner only lip service from them.

Both the contemporary and previous women folk have been subjected to this type of questionnaire more often than not. Alas, we have no answers even now. Of course, laws and regulations are there to protect and uphold women rights but that is it. Laws are paperwork if not implemented. A modern day Draupadi can be found so easily. Oppression of women, physical and mental, continues unabated.

Those answers must be researched to really ascertain what women mean to our society in particular and humanity in general. We treat women in ways that suit our needs for the occasion. Tradition is always tweaked and adulterated to drive home the purpose. Rape, molestation, punishment etc. are ways used to treat women when enemies want to settle scores, be it individual, group, countries or whatever.

A good society hoping to continue its journey into time must define an unbreakable code of conduct w.r.t. women. If men do the job, the groundwork is done by the women. They are complimentary for the society. They must be given the security and opportunity they need to live a life of dignity and purpose.

No Dharma is more important than establishing women as equals, at least.

Importance of The Family

The point that I am trying to reinforce is that your family and relatives are indispensible to you. Here is a commentary on one of the incidences in the Mahabharata that supports this idea.

Karna, the greatest giver of all-time, was lonely in his contemplation after Yudhishtira was crowned the Chakravartee Samraata, the king of kings. The entire Kuru clan was present in the main hall to celebrate this coronation. Karna was rightfully missing from the scene. He did not belong to the Kurus. But, he belonged to nobody either. This thought was occupying him badly. He told Shakuni, “The biggest punishment that you can give somebody is to leave him alone with no family.” He was found by a charioteer of Dhritarashtra and brought up as his own child.

We know that Kunti was his biological mother. And in the core of her heart, she loved this abandoned son more than the Pandavas. But, she was unmarried when Karna was born. The social stigma was too strong to resist. When Yudhishtira was paying regards to all his family, he obviously missed Karna. Kunti whispered to herself praying that Yudhishtira may also greet his elder brother. The disappointment was written large and clear on the faces of the wronged mother-son duo.

All of us know how dear our family is to us. Without there constant love, care, encouragement and support, all at absolutely no cost, we would mostly be cutting a sorry figure in our lives. There cannot be a better illustration for that than Karna. He got into the company of Duryodhana and bound himself by the virtue of friendship to do or die for him. He unknowingly chose the path of destruction, misery and retribution. He died on the other side of the Truth.

If only Kunti had courage to accept her adolescence mistake and given Karna the status and acceptance he needed, he could have been as great and beloved as Arjun. In the absence of a family, there was nobody to guide him and he took false steps regularly. I am peeved to think of the great injustice doled out to him. He died in grief of having nobody to weep for him. Such agony and pain.

He remarked in the same pensive mood, “A family provides backbone to the soul of an individual.” So very, very true. With the backbone in place, body gets strength to do wonderful things. Same applies to our beings. Without moral, emotional and parental backings, we would not only miss impetus to purpose but also fail to perform our best.

Please be 100% committed to your families, especially parents, without fail.

Dusshehra in Mysore

When you have information, the most important thing to consider is how you are going to preserve and disseminate it. People in-charge of conducting the Dusshehra at Mysore seem to be totally oblivious to this fact. Stalls were put up at almost all key spots of Tourist visits yet the act of obtaining any information was a non-starter for even the localites. I had deputed a Mysorean friend of mine to get hold of the tickets for the Torch Light Show on the Viajaydashamee day. The online ticketing said that the hard copy of the online tickets needed to be redeemed for the actual paper tickets. But there was no hint on the ticket as to when, where and how this redemption can be done. He was made to run from pillar to post yet he couldn't get any concrete information. This caused a heartache before we left for Mysore on the Dusshehra day as there were no usable tickets even after we paid the money in advance. Very poor beginning to a day supposed to bring in cheerfulness.

The taxi arrived in time and the driver was well aware of Mysore. We were prepared for a day of hectic fun and frolic. My mother and wife were not very supportive of the idea of jostling through the crowd and try and enjoy the Dusshehra. But I told them to look forward to the Torch Light show which would be a good compensation for any other disappointments and fatigue. Early morning blues apart, our preparations were spot on. Except the umbrella or any warm clothing, we had everything for comfort. Leaving around 8 am meant that the traffic was negotiable. Very soon we hit the NICE road and sped off.

There was an accident somewhere near Wonderla. The Lord of Death had come to accompany one of the mortals back to the Eternal abode. We did not have the courage to step down and see the corpse on our own. The witnesses told us that a biker had been hit by a speeding lorry. The age old method of booking a ticket out of the Earth. But our mood was hit more by the timing, on the Dusshehra day. GOD must have accepted the departed soul. Nobody should die such meaningless death. Somehow, we pushed the scene out of our minds and motored along.

Our next halt was at the famous Bidadi Idli shop. The driver had made special recommendation and it was a new experience for me to despite having visited Mysore 5-6 times. The crowd was huge and the shop was mere a hut with few tables laid outside. The cleaning was done behind the hut, there were 6-7 waiters who must be approached to get any hold of the fare. Mr. Driver was a regular customer it seems. With his influence and some man-management skills, we got not only the hot Idlis but also the seats to enjoy them. Really, they were true to their reputation and our inhibitions came a cropper. Typical modern Indians, you see. Anything done with a Western method into it is the only thing to go with, Indians are way behind, should be shunned. ALAS!

The traffic was very smooth and, though we were not cruising at any Hollywood-promoted speed, Mysore was right up there in good time. And guess what how did we confirm this? No, not the milestones. The hoard of motor cars waiting at the entrance to the city was simply too big to manoeuvre. We wasted 45 odd minutes just to reach the first circle in the city. Weather also played against us. Sun was blazing all of a sudden. We had no problem in getting the directions as the driver was a Mysore veteran. We went straight to Bannimantap and collected the actual tickets to the Torch Light show against the e-Tickets. As I stated at the beginning, laying our hands on these tickets was the most monumental task that we had envisioned for ourselves. Thanks GOD, it was over and I need not write any expletives that I would have used if we didn't get the tickets.

For obvious reasons, a lot of traffic restrictions were in place. We wanted to do some shopping on the Urs road, the commercial heartthrob of the city of Mysore, but was denied entry. That also meant we had no chance of getting anywhere near the Palace. Other tourist attractions in the ambit of the Palace were inaccessible as well. Utterly disappointed not to have got a view of the palace, we settled into the eatery “Vishnu Bhavan” right opposite the Bus Station. The speciality of the day were the Davangere Banne Dosas. And we were upto the task. Altogether, we ate 5 of them and finished the Lunch with great coffee. The service was poor and it took us 15 minutes just to pay the bill. Quite frustrating to see I-Don't-Bother attitude. God bless them with some courtesy.

St.Philomena's church was one place with no rush and easy access. I didn't visit it before so it was the next stop. The twin spires of the building are 175 ft. high. The nave can seat up to 800 people and contains stained glass windows depicting scenes from the birth of the Christ and other biblical legends. The underground clearing had a statue of Mother Mary. The walls were made of black stones engraved with names of the donors and going by the numbers it seemed they were more than 3,000 of them. We took pictures outside the chapel against the statue of Infant Jesus. The floor was burning under the sun and we had to rush back to our footwear. Outside, there were vendors with religious theme paintings on wood. Their sheen was very attractive but the prices were exorbitant owing to Dusshehra crowd. We couldn't somehow fall into the lure of buying them. Fruit juices came handy to recover from the heat.

It was 1 PM and we found out that the best place to view the procession would be the termination point i.e. the road leading to the Bannimantap. We had no other plans so we got down at the Bannimantap gate and told the driver where to find us in the evening for the return journey. It was a wide road in front of us. One side was the huge open-air auditorium, called Bannimantap. The other was a mix of commercial and residential buildings. Not many shops were open but some which did provided food and beverages and were doing brisk business. Unfortunately, there was no seating arrangement on either side. Some space, similar to footpaths, were earmarked on either side to allow people some clearing which they can use in whatever way they wanted. Some of the early birds had bedsheets laid neatly across some part of these spaces and they had their own supplies of food and water. It didn't take us long to realize that without such makeshift arrangements, we were handicapped and had no chance of finding seats.

Sometimes truth is too hard to swallow. :) My mother was in bad mood now that we had a good prospect of standing through the afternoon. Nowhere to hide for me. All arguments and anecdotes proved futile. The temper of my better-half was not much different either. Tough nuts to crack both of them. Taking clue from others around us, I started looking for Newspapers as they would serve as bedsheets in such a scenario. It wasn't a easy job. I could locate 1 photocopy shop after 20 minutes of search and was able to woo the owner to give me the old newspapers under the pretext of reading them to kill boredom till the procession starts. She was apprehensive but handed over some old papers. Quickly, we found two slabs of granites and spread the papers on top of them to ready our balcony for the day.

Right in-front of us was a ice-cream vendor; on the left, there was a Chat waalah. These mobile shops were attracting a lot of people. We, at least myself, got some good pass-time watching the kids reluctance to settle for less, adults worrying about their pockets as well as the delay in the procession. The crowd had started to build up and by 2 PM, all the side space for seating had been occupied. Young blokes fancied tree tops as some points of vantage. Lot of security personnel and people were walking up and down the road. Slowly, the weather was also relenting and excitement about a good-spent afternoon was fresh on everybody's face.

Tea was elusive amidst all the festive gathering. We ate apples, Churmura, guavas and some dishes that we had packed from home. Slowly, people started to find seating arrangements near us. There was a local family who were present in three generations. The grandma was accorded a plastic chair such that she and I were almost facing each other. Next to her were two kids, a boy and a girl, who were eagerly describing and commenting on any activity down the road. Yes, most of them were speculations and child-fantasies but they did talk about some of the traditions associated to the Dusshehra in Mysore which made a good learning. Another family parked their car 3 ft. away from us and comforted themselves in the rear section of the car. They were also commenting on their own and telling us about not to entertain people who tried to cross the barricades through some openings behind our slab seats.

Headcount kept rising but the talk of the town was nowhere to be seen. Another hour passed in anticipation. Any movement down the road was greeted by false Hurray by more desperate among the crowd. Cloud cover was also beginning to take threatening proportions. We had no chance of surviving the showers. So, the danger of getting seriously wet added to the agony of eternal wait. Women folks were busy handling kids while the men gossiped about the procession. In all, the atmosphere was one of hope and longing to fulfill the task at hand. Enthusiasm is one medicine, which when combined with some pragmatism, often leads to sustainable results. The same was the case here. Nerve-wracking wait was a real teaser but happiness surrounding the place subdued it.

It was 4 PM by my watch and still no signs of the procession. The Rain God was there though and light showers started coming down. People in and around Mysore are cognizant to the fact that it can rain anytime and 9 out of 10 times, it will be a passing shower. And due to low humidity, things dry out quickly. So, locals stay put wherever they were. We also tried to brave the showers but when the intensity increased, my mother gave up. She had absolutely no intention of watching the procession in wet clothes. We ran for shelter and got into a nearby eatery, Sukha Sagar. Rain continued for another 20 minutes at least. Our place of interest was lost and there was no point in going back and fighting for it. My father always says, "Crowd has its own rules. Better be careful."

Tea, Rava Idlis and Bondas were pressed into service to cater to overcome some of the disappointment and anger. The procession did finally arrive at 16:45 and all of a sudden the air was vibrating with loud cheers, drumbeats and other instruments played by the participant troupes in the procession. People occupied all spots of significance and were eager to topple each other to reach as close to the drama as possible. That meant that we had no chance of watching the procession from the safe environs of the eatery. Human sea was too huge to surmount. Yet, some action had to be taken.

My mother is a woman of steel. And I got a live demonstration of that in what followed next. She took hold of both of us and jostled through the crowd and carved some space for all 3 of us right in front of the Bannimantap entrance where the procession ends. No doubt, we were on our heels, literally, but were able to view at least 80% of what was being paraded. This in itself was a great triumph of Will over Dilemma. Yes, our eyesight was constantly blurred by the heads and shoulders of people surrounding us ,so that we were like a lost Pacific Island, but we had no qualms. This position of vantage was unthinkable of just a short while ago. Hail Mothers of the World!

The theme of the procession was the local folk heroes dating from a period of Mughal rulers till the Independence. Each district and Government Corporations had a tableau of their own showcasing a hero and his/her deeds. The tableaus presenting the Raj Darbaars outnumbered the other representations. Pole dancers, folk musicians, body-painters and acrobats were there in full bloom. It was an illustration to be remembered not only because of the great craft-work but also due to its celebration of the State of Karnataka and its heroes.

By 6 PM, the procession drew to a close. My mother and wife were not very impressed. They had several expletives to offer which my readers will not have the luxury of listening to. What followed next was even worse. Suddenly, everybody started moving either up or down the road. Great commotion, absolutely mayhem for 30 minutes. In between, there were occasional scuffles which could have taken ugly proportions. People of all ages had wings and they seemed to be walking for their lives. We were marooned in the middle of all this as we couldn't muster the strength to push and shove through this unrelenting flow of people. At last, we lost hopes and took a dip in the human sea. We headed towards Bannimantap Gate 10 from where we had to enter the open-air auditorium. Hands-in-hands, souls-in-souls, we achieved the target.

15 minutes later we were seated on the last concrete row of our pavilion. Our bodies were aching like anything. More than the standing show that we watched, the struggle through the mad crowd to reach the current seat left us completely energy-sapped. Again, there was no food available and we had nothing of our own. Some chips, popcorn and biscuit vendors were serving the 200-odd people in each of the 10 stands. We grabbed whatever we could from them and got back to some level of comfort. The sky had cleared by then and the evening breeze was a little cold. The huge crowd that had just completed the strenuous task of watching the World Famous Mysore Dusshehra procession, beating the elements and all that, deposited itself into all sorts of seating space that the auditorium offered in to time whatsoever. Indian festivals at their best. :)

The evening began with a guard of honour to His Excellency, the Governor of Karnataka, Shree Hans Raj Bhardwaj, complete with 21 rounds of Tank shots. We felt like being sitting through some Independence Day function when the National Anthem, National Song and Karnataka state honour songs were played beautifully by a chorus formed out of local artistes. Such patriotic renditions touch the soul each time they are played. I just find myself on an elevated platform remembering that Mother India loves me so much. We couldn't have asked for a better opening to the show.

Next was the display of motorcycle stunts by the police and para-military forces. Amazing is just one of the several simple adjectives that I can use to describe what I saw there. Formations they had, the synergy they had, their liveliness to the occasion and passion to go for one stunt after the other without any kind of break was breathtaking. We captured many a moments but the permanent pictures that were carved in our minds will stay forever. These performers are often unseen to the Public eye as they undertake numerous behind-the-scene tasks and without their success almost all public events would fail. Kudos to them and all the warm wishes for the future.

Two giant screens were placed on the diagonally opposite ends of the ground. One of them happened to be right behind us. This came very handy when we wanted to concentrate on something at a distance and/or blocked in vision by the mobile set of people. Anytime a particular performance was done away from us, we immediately turned to the Big screen and the great camerawork ensured that we got the complete view. The motorbike extravaganza concluded with a superb unfurling of the Tricolor on the move. Spectacular to say the least.

African acrobats took over after the machines. They were as stretchable as a rubber band. They used different props to very good effect. The display of jumping through the fire ring in synchronized manner was a treat to the audience. Huge rounds of claps appreciated the troupe. Laser show was the star attraction and it started after the acrobats bid a farewell. The illustration of the lasers in a rhythmic river-waves like pattern was brilliant. Then another surprise was thrown. Chorus sang a local film song and the laser moved according to the beats, something very similar to the Visualization effects we see in a Media Player while it plays a song. The evening dew was frozen in between these laser movements and that was a mesmerizing experience. Delight was oozing out of my mother's and wife's faces and all their grudge and pain evaporated in thin air, albeit for an hour or two, I would say. :)

The final event of the programme was the Torch Light parade. Personnel from all wings of State Police force were involved. They were 100+ in number. One after the other, they formed criss-crossing patterns involving the PT drills. Not a single line was broken, not a single person collided with another and no torch was disturbed. An extraordinary, clinical performance. The best was kept to the last. All the artistes divided themselves into 3 rows. A band master gave instructions through the beats. The final beat of every round saw the people rearranging themselves in such a way that the torches formed the words like "Karnataka", "Jai Hind", "Swagatam" and many more. This was in the backdrop of pitch dark settings. The place was full of the glow and warmth of the torches and the hearts were occupied by this numbing orchestration. To say anything more would be a grave overuse of my literary skills.

We left the place at around 10 AM, took food at a restaurant just outside the city limits and braved a tyre puncture to reach home at 2:30 in the morning. We were into bed by 3 am but our mind and soul were left behind in the Bannimantap.