Local culture v. The Mexican

A few nights ago, I witnessed an incredible display of what Annabelle would call "hot gay indian boys." It was a karaoke and dance competition to benefit a local center for blind boys.

I stayed behind in Varanasi to study more hindi while Michele and AB jumped ahead to Bodh Gaya and then Kolkatta. I realized that I was spending too much time in touristy pursuits (ie, drinking beer and watching movies in rooftop restaurants) so I wanted to hang out with Varanasi yokels and practice my pitiful hindi speaking.

I met Gobind on the steps of the temple that his Father is the priest of. This temple is located on the Main Ghats, and has "microshrines" to Shiva/Brahma/Haunaman/Ganeesha. Gobind and his brother Randhir invited me up to drink tea and hang out. Over broken conversations of monkeys and explosions, Randhir invited me to see a dance competition that he was a part of the next night.

So the next night I arrive by rickshaw to the Amar banquet hall. The evening was entitled "Dhoom Machale" and featured boys and girls of all ages getting down to the latest funky sounds of hindi films. Lots of singing and dancing. The singers were backed by a casiotone, live percussion (a bahgwaj?) and electronic drums. The dancers performed renditions of film dance scenes and struggled to lipsync the singing.

I sat with a group of Randhir's peeps. We hooted and hollared and made fun of most of the singers and dancers, until... Shoona Bata arrived on the scene. She was all sparkled and short skirted and fine figured. The boys and I all agreed that she was "Most sexy." Shoona performed a few numbers that were slightly suggestive but naively innocent in a way that only hindi film numbers could be. Through each song, she was surrounded by a flock of flittering boys. They shimmered in see-through shirts and hot pink rayon pants. The audience of all ages, segregated by sex was so down it was incredible. They were witnessing scenes from their favorite musicals live.

During the performances, older men went into rapturous applause, then stormed the stage with cell phones in hand to dance around and take many pictures. This was much to the dismay of the documentarian (every party has one) with the video camera. The video camera crew then had to shoo the dancing cell phone picture guys out of the picture.

But lets talk about "gay indian boys." They are not openly gay, but their mannerisms and fashion sense seem to imply differently. Men of all ages hold hands and non-sexually embrace and touch each other all the time. But here, Homosexuality is a bad bad thing. Homosexuality in India stands criminalized because of a mid 19th century colonial law. Although very few cases have actually reached india's upper courts level, the law continues to be a "potent tool of oppression... providing the impunity to a venal police to extort money, blackmail, indulge in violence, and extract other favors" (you get the picture).

Now this persecution continues even though the country has a history of accepting sexual deviance, just check out the walls of Khurajaho. Eunichs in india are known as hijra, and make their livings as beggars, prostitutes and by removing "bad luck." They are an essential part of building an indian family, as groups of hijras turn up uninvited at weddings and dance around the guests, ostensibly to take away any bad luck that may befall the groom and bride.

My boy Randhir and his troupe wore matching tanktops and hindi flag colored MC Hammeresque baggy pants. They stumbled and struggled to keep pace to a 170ish bpm techno hindustan YMCA-styled anthem. When they finished together, the audience again was in rapture.

I could only stay for two hours (all in all the event was off the chain, lasting from 2pm to 11:30pm). It wasn't six in the morning, but I later made it home to my rooftop respite amongst dreadlocked Iraeli tourists and awful light beer. I was lucky as it wasn't too late to drink chai, eat a slice of pineapple and watch "The Mexican" on VCD.