It is a crescent.
The day has been and gone. Everybody is a tad disoriented. The air is thick with tension and anticipation. Some of us have our cigarettes. Some have phone calls they'd rather make. Some have their bottles of water, held close to their chests like prized trophies.
We're on a rooftop with our evening chai, awaiting another refill. To our right, is the city of Jaisalmer. To our left, is an endless stretch of open leading straight to the desert. It is quite a sight really, very much in sync with our heads - our thoughts. History on a side, an ocean of possibilities on the other. Uncanny almost, none of us can escape looking left. That's where the dream is. Westwards, to eternity.
And it has only just begun.
The festival crew, rather the first lot of five, got here just last night.
Boys and men amped up and raring to go. Having driven down from Bombay in a SUV that's too tiny to hold their dreams together. It's barely been 18 hours since. With the festival kicking off in exactly 29 days, there's a lot a stake, lots to do. It is that time of the year when promises made need to be kept. A time to deliver every little deliverable that's expected of us. Ragasthan cannot falter. It cannot afford to. It's like a leaking tap. You can either stop it from leaking or let if flow.
Flow, catch a current, let it rip. That's the unifying thought.
There are maps, layouts and sketches scattered about. It's a slosh pile of ideas, of plans that sound as exciting as they are terrifying. Everything needs to be discussed. Everything seems equally important. Yet every time you ask a question, you are asked to kindly repeat it. The immensity of the occasion has crept in. Nobody can now afford paying attention to everybody at once. There's just so much to do, so much nervous energy floating around in a prickly bubble.
If there's one thing the guys are absolutely certain of, it's that they know what they want the festival to be like. They have the image, the personality nailed in their minds. They are in love. Given a choice, they would do it all by themselves. If they could somehow be at the venue, in the city and on the festival bus at the same time, they would have that in a wink. To them, this is an event beyond the actual purview of the event. Like life itself.
It's the kind of hopeful enthusiasm that makes you want to do something good yourself - makes you want to create.
It is a crescent.
The day has been and gone. Everybody is a tad disoriented. The air is thick with tension and anticipation. Some of us have our cigarettes. Some have phone calls they'd rather make. Some have their bottles of water, held close to their chests like prized trophies.
We're on a rooftop with our evening chai, awaiting another refill. To our right, is the city of Jaisalmer. To our left, is an endless stretch of open leading straight to the desert. It is quite a sight really, very much in sync with our heads - our thoughts. History on a side, an ocean of possibilities on the other. Uncanny almost, none of us can escape looking left. That's where the dream is. Westwards, to eternity.
And it has only just begun.
The festival crew, rather the first lot of five, got here just last night.
Boys and men amped up and raring to go. Having driven down from Bombay in a SUV that's too tiny to hold their dreams together. It's barely been 18 hours since. With the festival kicking off in exactly 29 days, there's a lot a stake, lots to do. It is that time of the year when promises made need to be kept. A time to deliver every little deliverable that's expected of us. Ragasthan cannot falter. It cannot afford to. It's like a leaking tap. You can either stop it from leaking or let if flow.
Flow, catch a current, let it rip. That's the unifying thought.
There are maps, layouts and sketches scattered about. It's a slosh pile of ideas, of plans that sound as exciting as they are terrifying. Everything needs to be discussed. Everything seems equally important. Yet every time you ask a question, you are asked to kindly repeat it. The immensity of the occasion has crept in. Nobody can now afford paying attention to everybody at once. There's just so much to do, so much nervous energy floating around in a prickly bubble.
If there's one thing the guys are absolutely certain of, it's that they know what they want the festival to be like. They have the image, the personality nailed in their minds. They are in love. Given a choice, they would do it all by themselves. If they could somehow be at the venue, in the city and on the festival bus at the same time, they would have that in a wink. To them, this is an event beyond the actual purview of the event. Like life itself.
It's the kind of hopeful enthusiasm that makes you want to do something good yourself - makes you want to create.
It is a crescent.
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