Bala Mela

I hate carnivals.

The girls have been so excited – and I have too – for today. It was “Bala Mela”, which is a big festival put on by an NGO called ECHO for the NGOs of Bangalore hat work with underprivileged children. A day when each can come, the children can perform, and there are food and games. Nazar started working on a drama about the story of the Indian girl child with the girls, and he was gone in Koppal so I have been practicing with them. They really are talented, and the story is moving. So YAY we’re going to Bala Mela with 5,000 other children. Great, awesome, wonderful.

For some reason, it didn’t register until today that “food and games” meant, in essence, a carnival. I also didn’t think about the fact that I was going to be basically the only white person there.

Picture this: the Annandale 4^th of July carnival. Or any small-town Minnesota carnival. Old, dirty games, cheap prizes, nasty smells, loud noises, rude children and sooooo many people. Now imagine that, in addition, you are the only person attending from the city. Everybody else is a country mouse, and you can tell. Because you’re from the city, you’re a big deal. Everybody stops and stares, the brave come touch your hair or pinch your skin, the women ask you to tell their daughters they are beautiful and hold their babys’ hands. Oh, and all of the men ask where you’re from and tell you you are looking very beautiful today.

It’s a fine line for me, because while I don’t want to perpetuate the ideology that being white is better or more beautiful than being of Indian skin tone, but neither do I want to ignore people who are just trying to be friendly. Normally, I don’t notice that I’m the only white person, and I make short and friendly conversation with those who initiate it. But the girls have never been with me in this kind of situation, and you better believe that they noticed that everybody else noticed that I am white. And they didn’t like it one bit. Even for me, today was overwhelming. I became an attraction. I dreaded leaving the program pavilion. And the girls kept me there, because “There are very bad people here, Aunty.”

We were sitting on the curb waiting for our bus when some women walked by lookoing at me. I smiled, and one of the girls aske,d “you know her, Aunty?” no, I said, “But why did you smile?” she asked. I explained a little bit of Minnesota nice, and they laughed. A few minutes later a group of guys walked by and said, “you look very beautiful in the Indian sari today”. I said thank you and averted my eyes, and Renuka proceeded to tell me that the next time anybody said anything she was going to stand up and fight them. Deepa covered my face with her scarf so I wouldn’t have to see anybody when they looked at me. These girls are the sweetest, and the cutest, and I am so thankful (a) to have them and (b) that they don’t esteem me any higher than themselves because of my skin color…that to them, I am just an aunty and a friend.

Oh but P.S. our drama was awesome. Most of the other NGOs did dances, and a lot of them were to modern music. I was appalled because a lot of the songs were sexual…and these were vulnerable children. However, you can also note that the only reason I knew the content was that those parts were in English. Thank you, Western influence. Even the other dramas, though, were waayyyy too long or confusing. Ours was simply music, it was 6 minutes long, and it was powerful. I filmed it…