:::Banishing and Bollywood:::




Namaste sweet friend!

I apologize for the lapse in communication.  Our trip
has been so crazy busy that we have been wont for much
free time to sit and do internet.  I apologize for not
responding personally to those of you who have written
me- I love receiving your responses... it makes me
want to keep writing!

Ahhh, yes, the saga continues. So much has happened
between then and now.  I write to you from the magical
deserts of Pushkar, Rajisthan about the magick of
union in the dusty little town of Siligury.  Let me
see if I can teleport back a couple weeks...

Day two of the wedding, yes that's where I left off.
Day two actually started the night previous, with the
beautician who was scheduled to henna the hands of the
females in the wedding party suddenly and inexplicably
cancelling.  As it turns out, it wasn't such an
inexplicable cancellation.  Gina, who is famous for
her ability to create ultimatums had given one to the
beautician a couple days before:  "you're gonna do the
makeup my way or I wash it all off and make you do it
again."  Apparently she didn't like that very much and
retaliated by 'accidentally' double booking herself
that night.  She sent a servant woman who happened to
know a little about henna instead.

So there we are, getting our hands covered in
sandalwood-scented dookie when we realize this woman
really doesn't know what she's doing.  her lines
aren't straight and her patterns are inconsistent.
Rather than call her on it, we do the politely Indian
thing and wait until she is gone to rush to the
bathroom and wash it off.  Gina is more than a little
upset that her hands look like they have been dipped
in cow pies.  But that is the least of her worries.






The florists have arrived and are beginning work on
the room in the hotel that is to house the ceremony
and her 100 guests. If you've seen Monsoon Wedding you
might know what I'm implying when I say this.
Apparently the florist decided that someone else was
going to build the stage.  Who that someone else is,
no one can quite figure out.  So its 9am Saturday
morning and there is no stage for the ceremony.  Gina
is running around like a chicken with its head
recently severed trying to get everything arranged.  I
don't really understand why she's freaking out until I
see the room...  before I tell you about it, I should
preface it by saying that Gina is severely allergic to
Marigolds.  Marigolds grow abuntantly in India and are
used en masse in nearly EVERY wedding decoration.  But
Gina, as I said, is severely allergic to Marigolds.
And Indians, as I have mentioned previously, are
severely biased towards using marigolds.  For Gina it was a
battle just getting the florist to understand why she
wanted him to completely abstain from using marigolds.
Let alone explaining to him how to execute her
elaborate plan for a fairy-tale wedding gazebo in the
middle of a concrete room in the middle of a dusty
town in West Bengal, India.  But she did a magnificent
job. 

The room is concrete with no ventilation, no decor,
stained pergo floors and not even a hint of good feng
shui.  Gina had told me about her plans for the room
but I couldn't imagine.  I come downstairs around 3pm
to check on the progress and figure out where my
altars to the four directions were going to go.




The first thing I see is a 3 foot wide path of perfectly
placed red rose petals running from the front door of
the hotel to the front door of the ceremony room.
When I enter the room, the smell of freesia and lilac
and rose and lily tickles my nose.  My breath catches
in my throat.  The room has been transformed into
something that is later described as, " the place
where people get married in heaven".  The walls are
covered in white satin.  the floors in white pillows.
all over the walls are bouquets of roses and purple
orchids and ferns and lilies and... and... wow.  Tears
are streaming down my face.  It is the most beautiful
wedding arrangement I have ever seen.  And I've been
to a lot of weddings.



So the ceremony is set to begin around 7, as this is a
very auspicious time.  Though we are on Indian
Standard time here, remember?  So the guests begin
arriving around 7.  They flood through the perfectly
decorated front gate and the breathtaking arch over
the front door and mar the perfect trail of
rosepetals.  Deepayan's father and Pael's mother are
bantering about when Gina's ritual will take place.
Pael's mother wants us to do it before the Hindu
ceremony begins, while all the guests are still
eating.  Gina gets wind of that and firmly puts an end
to that idea.  We will perform our ritual when each
and every guest is sitting with rapt attention, and
not a moment before.



So we go upstairs and wait. and wait. and wait.  we
have been assured that it will be only 15 minutes
while they round up the guests and that James will
come upstairs to retrieve us.  I light my chalice full
of dried coconut and dhoop and incense and wait.  and
wait.  and wait.  I light a fire so big, trying to get
the smoke going that I have to actually pour water on
the whole concoction to put it out, lest I light my
sari (which the beautician, by the way, intentionally
wrapped me in so I would look like a brightly-colored
hippo and thus not outshine the bride) on fire.




An hour later (it's now 8:30), all the fires are out
and James finally arrives upstairs to retrieve us for
the ceremony.  I am sure that they have finished the
whole thing by now and all the guests are gone, but he
assures me that the ceremony has just begun.  I
arrange everyone in the proper order and we all take a
deep breath.  This is the first time I have ever
conducted a truly public ceremony.  My heart is racing
and I am making a concerted effort to stay grounded
and centered at the same time.

We enter the heavenly room and all one hundred and
fifty eyes are on us.  I can feel each eyeball on me
like little laser lights.  The videographer sticks his
camera and his uber bright light in my face and I keep
breathing deeply; stay calm, Alli.

We get to the stage and all of my perfectly laid
altars have been carelessly shoved to the side.  I
insist wordlessly that they be moved, and relatives
scramble in all directions to restore my offerings to
the four directions to their original position.

James begins throat singing.  The low, earth-shaking
kind of throat singing and we encircle the stage, each
of us landing in their assigned direction and me in
the center.  I light the center candle and I pass the
flame around the circle, bringing light to each
direction.  I unsheath my athame, raise it to the sky
and then to the ground and I banish the evil spirits
and unwanted guests from the room.  James aids me with
his deep undulations.  When I utter for the last time,
"BE  GONE!"  the stillness in the room is tangible.  I
feel the rush of adrenaline I have known and loved so
well from my past on the stage.  But this time, there
is another kind of fuel behind this surge, a desire to
create sacred space, a sincere intention to create a
safe circle for the union of two people.

We begin in the north, where Deepayan stands.  I call
to the guardians of the North and Deepayan reads from
his card the invocation I have written for him.



(The cards I used, by the way, were a synchronistic
addition, as they were postcards that I happened to
have, printed with my dear friend Roman's depiction of
the Green Tara on them.)  Linda sprinkles salt water
to purify and Gina charges with fire and air.  We
continue around the circle, James in the east, Gina in
the south, Linda in the west.   We all come into the
center bearing candles from each direction and light
the center candle together.  The circle is cast.  I
can see it ringing us, like a blue flame. I step down,
into the North to hold the space.  The ritual has
begun...





The hindu side of the ritual is fascinating, though I
have very little context with which to understand it.
A fire is lit and Gina and Deepayan are asked to
repeat sanskrit phrases over and over again and then
throw things into the fire.  Every once in awhile a
relative is called up to do the same.  It becomes a
little repetitive on the thirtieth time around, but
all the same entrancing.  The most interesting part
for me is the casual nature with which most guests
regard the ceremony.  By the end, not more than 25 of
the original 125 guests are left in the room- they
have left to mill around, get some chai, snack a bit,
you know... the ceremony doesn't seem to be all that
important to anyone but the bride, the groom and their
immediate families.

In the middle of the ceremony I notice that the
videographer is also the photographer.  Being a
wedding videographer myself, I know that's all but
impossible.  I realize that if he is trying to capture
decent video he won't get many still photos of the
ceremony.  So I coax Deepayan's uncle into translating
for me and convince the guy that- no, I'm not trying
to steal your camera- I'm a professional- and he hands
over the goods.  heheh.  Priestess and videographer
all in one.  What a package, eh?

Afterwards, the trickle of guests that's left gurgles
their way into the dining hall and feasts together.
Banerji-Da, the vedic priest who had conducted the
ritual approaches my table.
"Very beautiful.  I know very well, the offerings you
make to the elements.  Our practices have many things
in common, priestess."
"Thank you Banerji-Da.  Your ritual as well, was very
beautiful.  I only wish I could have understood half
of the sanskrit.  It is so beautiful."
"Tell me, are you Christian?  Buddhist? Jewish?"
I smile- this again- and with a little more confidence
this time,
"I believe that all gods are one god, that all beliefs
are really the same, and that all forms of worship are
but one path to the same mountaintop"
It still surprises me, but he smiles with
understanding at a deep level.
"we believe the same, that all gods are one and that
we all have a different path towards the light"
(well, that was pretty much it-- he speaks only broken
English and it takes him a few more words than that to
get his point across, but you get the idea).
We shake hands and look the other in the eye.  I feel
something profound exchanged.  For the first time
since arriving in India, I feel truly understood.

That night is a beautiful extension of this
understanding.  I finish my dinner, take some photos
with Deepayan and James and Banerji-Da and then head
upstairs to take off my uncomfortable shoes and have a
clandestino sip off the warm beer that awaits me in my
room.  But I am met with a surprise-- a soundsystem--
A  SOUNDSYSTEM!!!  on the upper floor of the hotel
playing nothing less than super funky arabic remixes
from the archives of the Tandav crew, aka Baba James
and Shri Deepayan.  Yes, J&D have not only managed to
find a great soundsystem, they have managed to talk
the hotel into letting them blare it late-night in a
town where there is a strict noise ordinance
punishable by a hefty fine.

What a scene it is.  Aunties in their fanciest saris
bobbing their heads at the edge of the crowd, cousins
getting jiggy bollywood style in the midst of it- Gina
and Deepayan in their wedding finery grooving like
they were back in Seattle, the bellhops from the hotel
giggling and watching in awe at the mishmash of
cultures and rhythms and styles.  We dance until the
music stops and our silks are soaked.  Then we retire
to James' and my room for that warm beer.  Ahhhh.
Warm beer never tasted so good.

The next few days are a flurry of activity-  ritual
upon tradition upon meal upon custom are sprung upon
the bride and groom- and us, the wedding party. among
them the eating and feeding of seemingly endless
supplies of Bengali sweets- Rosh Gola and milk cookies
and Gulab Jamon- All interspersed with a lot of
Pranam- the touching of feet to show respect.  You
know, feet and sweets-  they go so well together.

The highlight of the remaining four days of wedding
ceremony is, without a doubt, the reception at
Deepayan's parents' home.  They have spent weeks
preparing their home, building a temporary room with
stretched canvases across the walls, a temporary
dining tent on the lot next door for feeding the
guests.  I don my second sari and prepare to just be a
guest this time.  It feels nice to be able to blend in
with the crowd.  Ok.  I have never once gotten to
actually blend here in India, but you know what I
mean.

James and Deepayan have set up a huge soundsystem
again and are prepared to rock Siligury.  And they do.
Gina and Deepayan endure an hour or so of very
formal gift receiving and guerilla pranams from their
honorary thrones. The traditional Ball singer finishes
his set. James pumps up the volume from the laptop and
we are all amazed at what happens next.

Gina's Mom, silent and sullen all week, jumps up from
her chair and starts flailing around like a seagull
just bit by a sand flea.  This inspires Dadu,
Deepayan's 90-year old Grandfather to get up and
boogie too.  Before anyone can say "pickle up the bum"
nearly half of the 300-odd guests are dancing.
DANCING!!!  And not just politely bobbing their heads
but really getting down_ towwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwn.

We rock Siligury that night.  Correction, James and
Deepayan rock Siligury.  It's like Tandav in the
middle of nowhere, India.  James asks Jaitu,
Deepayan's uncle later if it was perhaps the best
party Siligury has EVER seen.  He replies, prudent as
usual, "well I can't say, since I haven't BEEN to
every party in Siligury.  But I would venture that it
was definitely ONE of the best...  definitely."

We all sleep well that night, and the following day
its time to get out of town for a bit.  We pack up a
jeep with six of us and head out to the Jaldapara
Wildlife Sanctuary for a little peace and quiet.  For
around $15 each we get three lovely rooms,   three
delicious meals plus tea service and a ride on the
back of a beautiful Indian Elephant. We see four
one-horned rhinos (a rare occurence!) from the back of
our wrinkled long-trunked friends at dawn and spend
the morning sipping tea and playing in the  It is the
perfect ending to a hectic but exciting seven days of
wedding preparation and undertaking.

The next day we return to siligury.  James and I pack,
say goodbye to all of our new friends at the hotel and
at Deepayan's home and head off on a very bumpy bus
ride towards Gangtok, Sikkim, the last stronghold of
tibetan buddhist culture still accessible to tourists.
Sikkim was once an independent buddhist kingdom but,
upon witnessing the fate of its neighbor Tibet,
decided to become a part of India instead of being
forcibly occupied by China.  It's tough being bordered
by the worlds two most densely populated nations.
Deepayan tells us that its a good thing we are
visiting now, because in five years, he hypothesizes,
the whole place will be gobbled up by Bollywood.  We
don't quite understand him but we nod agreeably.  We
will come to understand the verity of his words later.


Ok, It is time for me to break here.  In the time it
has taken me to write this email so much has happened-
we have travelled from Rajisthan (or as we now call
it, Raji-SCAM) to Kolkata.  seven people have been
murdered needlessly in Seattle.  Amma has come to
town.  The world keeps moving and here I am babbling.
My words seem so silly and trite when tabbed next to
the grim story I am reading in the Seattle times.  My
heart and my love goes out to the friends and families
of those torn by these horrific crimes.  We are
leaving India tonight on a red-eye to Bangkok.  I will
send my thoughts and my blessings from the sky.

Much more to come when I don't feel the weight of the
cloud hanging over my hometown.  I love you all and
look forward to sharing stories of magical trees and
dung trains with you sometime in the near future.

Kisses and tea and gulab jamon juice,
Alli