A Surreptitious Shit Storm

‘It’s a car, dude’.

‘Yeah! I can see that. What is it doing out there’?

‘It’s stuck’.

‘Stuck? But that’s BYOT, man. And this ain't even a crew car. How did it fucking get there’?

‘I don’t know. Someone must have driven it’.

‘Driven it - yeah, no shit. Real piece of work you are, man’.

‘Say what’?

That was then - November 16, 2012, the mother of all mothers, inaugural day – inaugural edition. Ragasthan 1.0 – a surreptitious shit storm that sneaked up on us like it was nobody’s business.

‘What do we do, dude’?

‘What? I am no Sunny Deol, man. My hands don’t weigh as much as an elephant’s trunk – you know that’.

‘What then, what do you have in mind’?

‘Well. I suggest we walk right past it’.

‘Say what’?

We were all waiting for it, yes. We had been. Some of us, in fact, had been waiting for this day since late 2009 – three years and counting.

Yet not one of us was the least bit ready for it.

Is that a Bat Signal?

It's not always that you can think back to the year gone by and remember to the day, to the minute, exactly what you were doing.

I was doing antibiotics. And Contramol.

It had been about three weeks in Jaisalmer. We'd been waiting for the Ragasthan team to arrive. Meanwhile, we were done with the touristy thing already. We'd been all over the Golden Fort. We knew where to park for free, which alleys to duck into when eager guides and shopkeepers chased after you. Not that they did any more.

We were creating reviews and content for the Ragasthan social media, guidebooks and whatnot. In the process, we were having each meal at a different place almost every day for three weeks. One of them had sent my stomach to hell and I'd locked myself in the loo to exorcise the demon for two days. That was this day, this minute, last year.

Beer. Takes you back in time faster than a DeLorean.

A day after that, Ragasthan Unit One arrives. And then things get hazy.

It's like I stepped on a carousel and it went so hard, so fast and for so long that now that I've stepped off, all I can remember is a barrage of music, colours, lights and shapes. It's all mixed together in a giant, euphoric smoothie of a memory.

That's what makes this a little difficult.

A couple of days back, a post showed up on the Ragasthan Facebook page that looked oddly familiar. As it should. It’s the first entry from this blog. They’re hosting the blog on their page one post at a time as a run-up to the next edition.

Correction: That was less eagle and more Black Hawk

This is a bit of a worry. Because this blog is not complete. Two days before the festival, our walkie-talkies switched on at the site and the blog switched to total radio silence. What happened in the days to come would fill this blog once over. There was just no way and no time to put it down.

And after it was all done, there was no reason to either. The blog wasn’t a marketing vehicle. There was no audience we were writing for. If we stopped, there was no one we’d disappoint. We’d only started because we thought there was a story to tell.

Which is why, now that Batman is taking this skeleton out of the closet for spring cleaning, it seems rather unfair that the blog stopped just before the story really got started.

Before the devilish design of the festival site had driven us all to tears, before that first disastrous day when Murphy’s Law made us its bitch, before the intruders, before the scorpions, before that magical sunrise over Ammara, before the power went out for two hours at sunset over a two square kilometre festival site in the middle of a desert with no other source of light for miles.

There’s a story there, and then some. And just for that, it deserves to be told.

So. I'm Back.

All but inspirational

Sheriff has lost his voice. Ragasthan 2012 has announced another casualty. It’s probably the intense man management that’s speaking for itself. High time those morning speeches and drinking binges acted out.
At its best, his throat can now utter muffled noises.

Yet he speaks.
When not a terrible reminder of the shithole we’re in, it’s all but inspirational.

Exchanged identities

‘Come in Deputy S. This is Batman’.

‘What’?

‘Oh, shit! So sorry! Come in, Batman. This is Deputy S’.

Overworked and sleep deprived, the deputies now get confused with their own names. I can only imagine what lies ahead.

One for the Team

‘Stage, do you mind taking one more for the team’?

Smi is spitting fire. She wants someone to put up posters, banners and direction signs on the road to Kanoi. She insists that it has to happen today itself. I haven’t seen her so animated since that time in Ladakh when she lost all pictures from her camera. Well, someone else deleted them actually but that’s probably a story suited for later.

‘And don’t you worry. You’ll have Den and Volunteer SK to help you out. Take a few labourers along. You might need them’.

‘Is that all, Smi’? Just the posters’?

‘Well, yeah, pretty much. Den does have a few other things to take care of but you need not stress about that. In fact, in that time, you can probably sit at a café and get some writing done. What say’?

‘I’d love that, yeah. When do you want me to leave’?

‘Right now’!

So we begin.
We take Young Zuzu along. He is a good driver for his age. I really trust his sense of the local terrain.

Deputy SK follows us in a pickup truck. He is supposed to bring with him a few labourers and some 24 bamboo poles. Two for each poster, I am intimated. However, we soon realise that the truck isn’t following us at all. It’s nowhere to be seen. We try getting in touch with Deputy SK but his phone refuses to comply. No network, it seems.

Den and I decide to head to the city anyway. We might as well finish what we can, in the meantime.

He tells me that he has to send a courier each to Pushkar and Ahmedabad. It’s for the caravan guys. They need a few banners for their buses. He also has some work at a bank in town. Money transfer, I presume. A lot of that has been happening.

He drops me at the fort and leaves.
I head straight to La Puerta Del Sol, my favourite restaurant in the city. The idea is to sit back with countless cups of chai and write some shit. Like always, it works like magic. Now that I think of it, I have probably spent more time here than anywhere else in the last 45 days.

Den comes back in a few hours with absolutely nothing to show for his efforts. He looks like he is going to pull his hair out of his skull. That could mean one thing and one thing only, a shit day. Apparently, all banks and courier shops in and around the city are still shut in lieu of Diwali. Lost and irritated, he chokes with anger.

‘Please tell me Deputy SK is here with everything we need. I can’t stand wasting an entire day, man’.
I make a final call to his number. This time around, it rings.

‘Where are you, dude’?
‘In the city. Why’?
‘What do you mean, why? We’ve been waiting for you for over 3 hours now’.
‘Waiting for me?
‘Arrey! Ajeeb aadmi hai yaar. You were supposed to get us some stuff from the venue, remember’?
‘No. No, I don’t. What are you talking about’?
‘What? Are you serious, bro? No shit, you are serious. What a fucktard, I should have seen it coming’.

Denver is absolutely shattered. He looks at the posters and cusses hoarse, like gentleman King Kong. I think he is a little too familiar with this act of taking one for the team.

Buzzing with activity

The flies are here again. They haven’t yet missed a date. Every day, bright and early, they throng to our faces and wake us up. They are our alarm clocks.

I put my hat on and walk out the tent. Without the hat, braving the desert sun isn’t too great an idea. It feels pretty much like walking straight into an overexposed film. Any other day, I would have put my shades on. Not today, though. Not since Batman flicked mine last night. He is an exceptionally cheeky man, that one.

Sheriff is up and about as always. He is beaming with joy. The man wakes up at 5 in the morning, works all day like a motherfucking machine and never sleeps for more than 3 hours. Yet somehow, he always greets with a smile.

He tells me it’s Diwali today, even gives me a bear hug to prove it. Forget dates, I can’t even tell a rabbit from a car. Is it Diwali already? If it is, moreover, shouldn’t we be scared shitless? Aren’t we too close for comfort now? In just about three days, we are going to open our shores for an ocean of people to alight upon. They will obviously want to find everything they have been promised. Are we even prepared?

It turns out we are.

The venue is buzzing with activity. Walking in, I find a man draping a 30 feet canopy. He looks really happy to be up there. Further ahead, I see a man working under a canopy of tables. I can’t quite make out what he is doing but he seems intent on doing it. I presume it is important.

There is movement all around.

‘Haan! Now it looks like we’re going to have a festival here’.

Batman can see no wrong. It could well be my shades. They tend to make things look better than they actually are.

Brothers in tights

Robin is here.
Batman must be absolutely thrilled to have him.