Vaisakhi Festival
I spent the better part of my Sunday at a sikh parade in Southall. A friend of mine, who’s into photographing all sorts of events, called me up last night and asked if i’d like to tag along. Sundays are traditionally dull and bluesy so I thought what the hell, woke up an hour early and met him at Paddington station by 10.30. I’ve never been to Southall and have only heard that it’s very Asian, Indian in particular. This was confirmed by the welcome notice at the station written in both English and Hindi. It was quite nice and sunny so a fairly decent day was in prospect. I nicked my housemate’s camera for the occassion but it was no match for my friend’s hardcore Nikkon which had about 8 appendages, all of which barely fitted in his rucksack. We reached Southall around 11.15 giving us plenty of time before the scheduled start of the parade at noon.
The Vaisakhi festival is a celebration of several different events. All over India, and in the North in particular, it is a celebration of the new harvest. In the Punjab it is a commemaration of the creation of the Order of the Khalsa by Guru Gobind Singh, making the day of special relevance to Sikhs. In the South the festival is a celebration of the Tamil new year. Just like the Sinhalese and Tamil new year the festival falls on the 13th and 14th of April. I was also happy to hear that like the Dhansel in the Sinhala and Tamil new year, the Vaisakhi festival is famous for the free distribution of food and drink.
The festival in Southall leans heavily towards the Sikhs’ celebrations. According to the map that my friend had acquired, the parade was to start from a temple quite close to the railway station and then meander along a 5 hour rectangular trek around the city before returning. The crowd was thin at 11.30 and we worried that it might be quite an anti-climax. Some lukewarm masala cha lifted our spirits as we wandered around the town while the atmosphere and crowd quietly began to build around us. We finally reached the temple and the floats appeared to be warming up, the cops had gathered to ensure smooth progress of the parade, and important looking sikhs were buzzing around making final arrangements. My friend’s very pro looking camera allowed us to get very close to the action without being told to shoo away, I guess they assumed we were press, and that worked well for us. Soon after 12 the parade took off, led by a slight old man in orange with a long white beard and a sword that was almost his height. In front of the parade there was a small army of ppl with brooms who sweep the ground immediately before the floats, it looked exactly like curling, though I think the purpose was more spiritual than frictional. The first vehicle was an open backed truck housing a massive drum that different ppl took turns to beat. The next vehicle was a large orange truck with loud speakers blaring prayers, chants and songs. It carried the main religious figures of the parade and as soon as it started moving the devotees lining the streets swept towards it, touching the sides, offering prayers and making donations to the holy men within the truck before neatly filing behind the vehicle to join in what would become a mass of fervour and devotion.
After taking some pictures of the start of the parade we decided to stay ahead of it since the crowds around the main vehicles made it impossible to move independently. The parade moved at the pace of a Hippo with a hernia, so it gave us plenty of time to locate an appropriate vantage point. We ran into some other ppl who had been photographing the festival in the previous year and they suggested an elevated fork in the main road, so we made our way there. On the way I stopped to have some more masala cha and some form of roti like thing with chick peas. Naturally the food wasn’t particularly flash, but somehow things that are free taste better than they really are. The fork in the road is marked by a flower bed, or should I say was marked by a flower bed. Within minutes it was full of ppl clammering on top of one another to get a decent view. Naturally the flowers drew the wrong end of the stick. But it was worth it. From that point the whole road is visible and as the parade reaches its crescendo the road transforms from black tar to a riot of vibrant colours and faces. From the young in prams to the old with walking sticks, the Sikhs made their way slowly along the road.
The parade is a feast to the senses. The men and women dress in vibrant colours and don their best saris, salwars, turbans and pointed shoes. There is a great deal of chanting, shouting and singing admist the beat of drums, the ringing of bells and the tooting of horns. Incense is burned and talcum powder appears abundant, clashing with the harsher smells of food preparation in the many stalls that line the road. These food stalls combine an odd mix of Eastern and Western cuisine. Some hand out masala cha and different curries of chick peas or lentils with rice or some form of chapati, whilst others hand out Pepsi and chips with Heinz tomato sauce. Handing out is probably not the best terminology. The distribution of food varies from having gulab jamun forced upon you by insistent old men to having to prize out a particularly tasty looking dish from a chap who is obviously more keen on chatting up the salwar clad female in the next stall. Whatever said and done there was a lot of food, and I probably ate more than I should have. So much ghee, so little time.
Another interesting aspect of the parade is the variety of the ppl. Now a parade 50,000 sikhs, 2 Sri Lankans, a white guy with a Muslim cap (BNP in a cunning disguise?) and a few bored English coppers doesn’t sound like the most diverse of communities. But the variety among the Sikhs was fascinating. You had the old first generation guys who were senior enough to carry massive Punjabi swords and look particularly regal, but you also had the young guys in their Nike hoodies and Reebok trainers walking around with their Ipods and mobile phones, whilst taking the Queen’s English for a trip through the gutters (Long live the Queen). What was nice was to see them all flush with pride in their heritage despite living so far away from home. One of the nice photographs I got was of 2 guys waving St. George’s flag admist the parade, it symbolized how it’s possible to have a multicultural society within one nation. To be a Sikh and to be English. That is certainly one of the good things about living in England, and I should say London in particular.
Being part of the crowd and part of a parade is a wonderful feeling. For a few moments you lose your identity as an individual and take on the single identity of one large mass of ppl. I just felt happy and proud, I don’t know of what. Unfortunately towards the end of the day it began to rain, a British Sunday would not be the same without rain would it? It also became absolutely freezing, and my hands abandoned the camera for the safety of my pockets. We stayed ahead of the float most of the way and took short cuts and by-roads to get past the crowds. Because of the rain the crowd thinned towards the end of the parade and we decided to take shelter under the porch of one Mr. Khan until the rain called it a day. We took our time bc judging by the broken glass near the door handle, Mr. Khan had made haste following what was apparently an untimely break in. Southall seems a dodge neighbourhood. But the town itself is endearing, if nothing else for its similarity to Pettah, full of shops blaring Hindi music, selling Salwars, Saris, sweet meats and CDs of dubious origin. All that walking left me quite tired, and on the tube back my stomach was making its first complaints about all that ghee. I hope the Immodium isn’t expired.
