Best Laid Plans

The new venue is the old venue. The old venue was the new venue but for a while.

Ah, Batman, you speak in riddles.

As it happens, Batman knows these dunes. He gave us the directions when we drove him there two days ago. This is the location he had always wanted for the festival. This is where he got the idea for it some five years back. A twist of fate had taken it off the table. A twist of fate has brought it back.

And Fate is twisted indeed. It has sown thorns into the previous location. Spread them over more than half the flatland within the intended festival site.

These thorns are sharp, prickly burs the size of your finger tips. They latch on to you in snowy clusters and, God, they hurt. The Rajasthanis call it ‘bhurat’. I call it death by puncture. My toes feel like thimbles.

That venue is definitely out.

But how do you shift to a new venue 20 days before the festival?

Perfect. Now if we can only move those hills a couple kilometers to the right...

The existing layout cannot be retro-fitted to the new location. The crests and troughs in these dunes are completely different. You can either cluster everything into pockets or you can spread them far apart. Neither is ideal.

Then again, the layout cannot be changed much either. Both the functional and the creative aspects of the layout would be compromised. It has already been planned to the last detail; estimates have been drawn up and vendors notified.

So the team spent three days walking across the dunes with tape measures, sticks and rope to find the perfect spot for the festival. Always with the sun beating down on you.

It’s been exhausting.

When the logistics work out, the vision doesn’t. Same the other way around. You have a great spot with access to a water reservoir and flat land where you can pitch tents, but the dunes are too low. At another spot, the stretch of dunes is too narrow. (It was a kilometre.) At yet another, everything is perfect but there’s no road for two kilometres.

There better be some water beyond this dune. Or rum.

After tramping around for more feet, metres and kilometres than one should have to keep track of, Batman and Kaptaan flipped over the immense layout they were carrying and finally sketched out a new one.

The Morio stage should be seen from afar. The residential campsite should not be disturbed by late night music. The medical tent should be accessible by all. Mind where you place the loos. And the beverages. Restaurants. Generators. Activity Tents. The layout is re-designed step by step.

At 3:30 pm, Batman claps his hands.

“People, we have a festival site.”