All Ye Faithful

A couple of days back, Deputy S asked me, “You want a story for the blog?”

“Sure.”

“Musician has bought a new tractor!”

But that’s not the story. The story is that Master and Musician have been on-site every day since Day One. They have been there sun-up to sun-down and beyond. They have cleared land and transported supplies all over the site. When not on their tractors, they have gone about on foot doing every odd and even job possible.

They are no less than any member on this team. They are friends.

I ride in Musician’s tractor every evening. It’s ritual by now. And every morning, Master comes by to share his cigarette with me. He found me at noon today, hiding behind the tent for shade while I write. He offered a cigarette and said, “I was looking for you all day. I have been saving this.”

Musician has bought himself a new tractor because he knows we’ll need a more powerful machine at the site. He has bought it because he knows we’ll be here again next year. Because he knows he will again be part of this team. Because he has faith in us.

This festival would not be possible without bucket-loads of such faith.

It’s not just Master and Musician. Gajju Banna was only supposed to put up a colony of 200 Swiss Tents for us. He has been with us every day on every small detail. He has let us use his own camp site wily-nily. He has helped us supervise and pull through more than his domain.

Grand Meister and his brother, Padam Ji, have been with us every step of the way. We are strangers in this land, helpless without them. They are the two able feet this festival is standing on.

But why? It’s not the money. It cannot be. I personally don’t think there’s enough to go around for the hours and the sweat that has gone into this festival already. What they do it for is worth much more than money.

They do it because they share our dream. They believe that even if not probable given the time and resources, it is still possible. They believe that, together, we will make it happen. They have faith.

Faith makes stronger men of us all.

The only problem with it is that acting on faith has stolen Musician’s mojo, his eponymous identity. The new tractor plays no music.

Can we please buy him a transistor for it?

MIA

Deputy V and Deputy N have been missing in action. But they are finally here again. They had been in Jodhpur for five days sourcing equipment and materials for pretty much the whole festival. They would check out at nine in the morning every day, hoping to wrap up and leave for Jaisalmer. But every night, they would have to check back in.

“Arre, it was so embarrassing,” laughs Deputy V.

“Wahan toh dukan-wale bhi pehchaan-ne lage apne ko,” says Deputy N.

They are a welcome sight. They have been sorely missed. Especially when the sun bites and the shade looks like heaven and you need all eyes on the field.

“Woh log hote, na, toh yeh sab kaam aaraam se sambhal lete,” said Deputy S one day.

I doffed my hat at the fire in the sky and agreed. So did Deputy H. “Woh to akela hi poora ek team hai,” he said about Deputy V.

And now Deputy H himself is missing in action. At this time, it is exactly three days to the festival. And he has gone back to Delhi. We suspect it’s because he doesn’t want to miss the Diwali goodies at home.

We hope he gets back some at least.

Dark Night

It was a scary Saturday night at the campsite this week.

The team had scattered. Some had gone to get drinking water. We keep running out of it. Some had gone to get diesel for the generator. We keep running out of that too. Trucks needed to be directed over dirt roads into the venue. Some had gone to rescue one that had its wheels stuck in a pocket of sand.

The crew camp was plunged in darkness when Batman snuck in to the tent.

“I need to figure out five lakhs cash in ten minutes,” he said in a hoarse Batman whisper. Very unlike him. “I mean, I had to figure out five lakhs in one hour,” he said. “I’ve been trying for the last fifty minutes already. Think, think. How do we do this?”

Holy shit-my-pants, Batman! I don’t think I’ve ever seen five lakhs worth of currency.

So I did the best I could. I held my knees to keep them from knocking, zipped my lips to keep them from hyperventilating, and racked my brain to oblivion.

A couple of weeks earlier, something similar had happened. Batman walked out of the ATM with a grin and said, “There’s no money in the company account.” It was Navratri week. Banks opened and shut every alternate day. Deposits stayed uncleared. But advances paid to vendors had been immediately debited.

At that time, Batman said they would probably need to crowd-source investment for the festival. Sponsors are few and the scale is immense. The partners have been reaching into their own pockets already. Before leaving for Mumbai, Batman had asked Kaptaan, “So should we start looking for alternate sources of money? ...Moms and Dads, I mean.”

Batman laughed then. Not now.

Less than a week to the festival, Saturday night, 45 kms from an ATM, and a vendor is refusing to unload his goods if not paid five lakhs in cash immediately.

This time, Batman hit the panic button. It’s a rare sight. It’s terrifying. But what else can you do at gunpoint? What can you do when one hitch threatens to dismantle everything you’ve brought to the table? What can you do when there are trip wires at the finish line?

Later that night, Batman confessed, “This... this was my lowest point of the entire festival.”

We’re beyond that point now. Things still go wrong every day as they are bound to. And sometimes we’re definitely in the gutter. But, God, we’re looking at the stars again.

Chores on hold

‘No water? Again? I hate this shit, bro’.
Kaptaan is enraged.

Early morning isn't the time to run out of water.

Back Story

The last three days – or was it four? – have been a flurry of heat, sand and Brownian motion. There have been no words at my fingertips. Only stone, chalk, rope and bamboo. And bhuruts.

This was not the plan.

I’m Back.

I’m a writer.

When Batman invited me to stay in Jaisalmer for six weeks and create content for the Ragasthan Facebook page, I had my reservations. They needed only a few posts per day; that’s a couple of hours work at most. I didn’t want to be on holiday. Besides, I dread being a drag on resources.

I told him so. And he mailed me some images of the venue.

I kicked myself and booked the earliest train out. I met Stage at Bikaner (he drove down from Delhi) and we were off to Jaisalmer in the Rabbit.

The first two weeks were placid. Touristy. We put on our shades and roamed this little desert city. We met the people, read the lay of the land and its legends. We went looking for honey pancakes, lemon soda and stories in every serpentine gully. We wrote. We relaxed.

And then Unit One arrived.

That night, they blew the lid off the room. There was so much energy buzzing around that I was zapped long into the night. I told Stage maybe we should write a blog. Just to keep an account of how the team pulled off a desert Woodstock – or not. Either way, it would be a good story.

We would keep it honest. We would keep it unofficial. And we would keep it up every day.

I figured it would be easy. It’s not been.

How do you maintain perspective when you’re writing about an idea you’re in love with? How do you keep yourself in and out of the story at the same time? How do you detail all the little waves that push this boat along?

Besides, how do you write? Electricity is rare. The internet is fussy. And hours go by in the blink of an eye.

Still, this story must be told.

So I left for Jaisalmer this morning. Once there, I pottered around with a pen for an hour, all the while wondering if the barricade has been marked, if the registration counters are up, if the pathway to the BYOT has been fixed, if the backdrops for the stages have arrived, and so on.

There are only four days to the festival now. Every minute spent away from the venue is fraught with concern.

I hopped into the next vehicle back.

It is now night. Almost midnight. Half the team is still on-site. As I write sitting on my dorm bed in the crew tent, my mind wanders and goes out to them. My feet will soon follow.

For now, I’m part of the crew. I’m labour, I’m supervisor, I’m a small cog in a mountain moving machine. For now, as Kaptaan calls it, I’m the Pathfinder. I’m anything Ragasthan needs me to be.

Tomorrow, I’ll be Back again.

For a while.

Deputy Stage, is it?

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A carnival of superheroes

Batman calls for a crew meeting. He needs to know who’s taking care of what. Only then can he best decipher how to distribute responsibilities amongst them.
The guys get together and gather around under a food stall at Mauro. They wait for him to begin.

‘You were wondering what’s next on your plate, right? I’ll tell you what is. Go after Kingfisher. Your deal is to sort all the alcohol and all the water. Get it’?
Deputy M responds with a relieved smile. She has been begging for a piece of the action.

‘Shaktimaan ka kya hua? Have we ordered any’?

‘Shaktimaan’?

Deputy NS can’t quite understand why Batman needs an aging superhero at his disposal. Are we under a threat of some kind? Were those calendar freaks serious about the year 2012?

‘Arrey, those Shaktimaan trucks, dude! We were planning to rent some, remember? The idea was to paint them in striking colours, decorate them with frills and drapes and use them as a festival carrier. You guys don’t remember that’?

‘I do. But I didn’t think you were serious. Were you’?
Sheriff adds in a hushed tone.

‘I most definitely was. Look at it this way, okay. People are going to make trips to the city on a regular basis, crew and guests alike. Correct? Won’t it be absolutely badass then to have a festival truck that ferries them to and fro? All we need is some paint and some streamers. We’ll empty the entire section behind and place mattresses for seating. It’ll be fun, man. Plus it’s excellent branding, you know. There’s no way people won’t notice it’.

Sheriff and Deputy R make a note of all requirements.

Shaktimaan is called for.
This festival has turned into a superhero carnival.