Go, Fly a Kite

Over the weekend, the state of Gujarat was held hostage by some bits of coloured paper and sharp string. The sky was dotted with millions of multicoloured specks. Kites, kites everywhere: some lazily sauntering around, some slashers aggressively on the lookout for "victims". Patang enthusiasts stringing along family and friends could be found on every roof top, every terrace, every open ground.
Here, if you told someone to go fly a kite, you would not be telling them off. The hubby, an honorary Gujju by virtue of being born and brought up here, got a wonderful opportunity to show off what serious business kite-flying was here by taking me to the crowded kite market in the heart of the old city. The spectacle was breathtaking: kites of all hues, shapes and sizes; from teeny-weeny ones to gigantic ones; the single-hued plain Janes in turquoise, ruby red, magenta, pristine white; the ones with colourful patterns on them, some carrying the mug of local posterboy Irfan Pathan while others with a backless Bollywood nymphet. Colourful manja being rolled on frames, charkhis and iron frames to hold the charkhis, condom-shaped finger guards to protect your digits from serious injuries, noise-making implements like crude horns and drums and cheep-cheeping toys to create a racket when your kite cut someone else's. That's not all, also on offer were cheap sunglasses to ward off the sun and knock-off binoculors to get the full view of the kite-cutting action.
Some superheroes tried to navigate their cars through the narrow lanes made even narrower by the encroaching vendors who had spread their wares on the greater portion of the road. It took them 40 minutes to cover a five-minute stretch. Minor skirmishes, like choice gaalis being hurled and fists being waved at an ST bus driver who had the temerity to venture out onto what was rightfully his bus route, added to the fun. Of course, we didn't stay there long enough to find out what the outcome of the bus invasion was.
Saturday dawned for us at 7 am with some shrieks and blaring Hindi music. The neighbours had decided to usher in the kite festival with panache. I realised that this would be the signature tune of the weekend: loud toot-tooting with the makeshift horns, cries of exultation and despair, and seven loud songs from five different directions as everyone and their uncle set up booming sound systems on their terraces. Unlike in Sanjay Leela Bhansali's world, the air was not rent with cries of kaipo chhe. Instead, all I could hear was that nasal Pakistani singer belting out Aashiq Banaya Aapne and Aapki Kashish. Seriously, my ears are still ringing with those songs.
It being my first Pongal after marriage, there was stuff I needed to do like make the pongals and the vadais and draw the kolams. Could not wait to finish all that and get to the terrace. S had begun pacing around restlessly, so much so that he decided to draw some of the kolams to expedite the process. Anyway, it was afternoon by the time we finally got free and managed to go upto the terrace. The breeze was non-existant and managed to dampen whatever little enthu we had left. But Sunday was better. S was a total pro and again got the opportunity to show off, while I was struggling to have my kite lift off the ground. When it did move a couple of inches into the air, it headed straight for a giant tree in our yard. Hmpf!
However, the best was yet to come. At night we saw a kite that had been strung at regular intervals with several phaanas or paper lanterns, in which candles were lit. It was amazing, from afar you just saw these beautiful lights rising higher and higher as the kite rose and finally became an indistiguishable dot in the sky.
Can't wait for next year. I'll make sure that I steer the kite in the right direction, even if it means that I have to cut that tree down.