Episode 4  -                                
                          GYPSY WANDERINGS

                                NAUCHANDI KA MELA

                                                                   AND

                                                       THE WELL OF DEATH

                         

               
                

                
......Our Uncle was commissioned to start the construction of a ‘kothi,’ as small bungalows were then called.

However, some hurdles stood in the way. My grandparents did not want to accompany us. They were attached to their home in the village and spent only a month or so with us, every year. Although my grandmother had not treated my father well as a child, she was very loving towards the grandchildren. I looked forward to her visits because of the delicious , beaten silver foil covered  ‘pedas’ she used to bring for us from the village ‘halwai’, packed in a colorful cardboard box. (Plastic was nowhere on the planet then!)

The night of a terrible storm, when lightning struck a dead tree, standing near the outer wall, my grandmother insisted it was a bad omen and an inauspicious time to start building a new house.

Daddy however brushed aside her misgivings and plans to move to Dehra Dun were drawn up. The bungalow was still in the initial stages, but Mummy wanted to be there to supervise work herself.
From that bungalow onwards, I do not remember any time in her life when she was not getting some construction or the other done, up to her death at 85. It is surprising that she did not become a construction contractor herself, so fond was she of being present on the construction site and supervising all the work herself!  She would sit on a ‘moorha’ watching each worker, when she was not walking around, getting the best out of them. She loved the smell of freshly mixed cement and wet bricks and would supervise each step personally. Woe to the laborer who walked or worked slowly or the mason who set a brick out of line!

Before my grandparents went back to the village, they were treated a visit to the much awaited local annual fair- ‘Nauchandi Ka Mela.’ It was held in a very large ‘maidan’ and attracted large crowds from the town itself and villages around.

The small town of Meerut took on a vivacity of its own for the whole month that the ‘mela’ carried on. Spread over acres it catered to all types of entertainment and fun. Bright lights, loud speakers and the glitzy glamour of all types of novelties for sale along with delicious food and sweets, attracted young and old, as the crowds milled to it. Men, women and children came in droves with families and friends, dressed in colorful clothes,out to enjoy themselves. Some came from far off places on foot, by bus, cycling or even on bullock carts.  Raising clouds of dust, they thronged around stalls of eatables and entertainment mostly, while children cajoled their parents into buying balloons and balls that were flung in the air and shone fluorescent in the darkness of the night.

 Mummy being a great sport, always knew how to keep her children and elders happy and sat us down to a feast of 'chaat' and something I was drooling for - 'jalebis' ! The golden yellow, syrupy sweets were my favorite and I had enough to fill my need and my greed. She herself loved both - it was a good thing Daddy wasn't with us or else he would never have allowed us to eat by the roadside like this.

                                         

                              

                                                             

      Although I was too small to remember many details, I have a memory of stalls of eatables vying for space with those selling curios. Bawdy film songs on loud speakers mingled with the loud raucous voices of hawkers as well as those shouting  to attract people to certain shows.

   
       I trudged along with the elders, my tiny hand held tightly by Didi, my sister. Kaka, my younger brother was happily perched on the shoulders of our cook, who, Mummy thought, deserved an outing too. My elder brother, Bhaji, walked along, on the lookout for things not made at home, like the ice balls drenched in many colors and flavors.                                             

 

Stalls with colorful goods for sale, stood in rows, decorated with buntings and balloons ; gas lamps strung in rows, enhanced the light of a solitary, although large electric bulb. One particular stall with colorful bangles and artificial jewelry sparkled and glistened in the neon lights and my girlie heart  yearned to buy them all but  didn’t ask, knowing well enough I’d be told I could get them once I grew up! The fetish stayed put for a lifetime and even now I love visiting ‘melas’ and ‘bajariyas’ , feasting my eyes on such baubles, though having no use for them.

                        


But another stall caught my mother's attention where an old Chinese man was making toys and figures of plasticene(called clay by children today).There were some of historical and religious figures, humans, animals, flowers and other things at random. She liked a cycle which the old man made in a few minutes . It decorated the mantelpiece in our drawing room for long, till the clay dried so much that it became friable and started crumbling.

                                                           

While different rides for children and adults were fun, I enjoyed the mini circus in which the hall of magic mirrors made us squeal with laughter, seeing the distorted faces and figures of others, till we saw our own. But got scared, clinging to my sister when seeing a girl with two heads and another one whose head was visible but body wasn't  and yet spoke normally.

                                 MAUT KA KUAN or THE WELL OF DEATH’

                    

        

                                                     

But, the high point of the evening was watching the dare devil act called ‘Maut ka Kuan’ or the ‘Well of Death.’

A young girl in a glossy black leather jacket and tight pants, embellished with shiny and frilly trimmings, descended into a huge circular pit in the ground into which was sunk a metallic cage. The upper half was open. She mounted a motorcycle which stood at the bottom of the cage. With a deafening spluttering and booming she started the engine, revving it up and slowly wheeling it into motion going around in concentric circles; the crowd whistled and hooted and some watched spell bound, wide eyed and gaping.

I myself stood open mouthed in fear and fascination as the speed kept getting faster and faster while the machine took bigger circles in its stride, at every round moving up higher in the round cage, in a jaw dropping act. My head kept spinning along with the bike, trying to see it, but it soon became one fuzzy, blurring movement and my head like a spinning top. Then, reaching the highest point, it started moving downwards, gradually slowing and coming to a halt at the bottom. I stood rooted in awe, dumb struck and admiring. I had met my role model and with the steely determination of a five year old I made up my mind to join the circus as early as possible!                                                                                           

Images -courtesy Google
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