Retrieved via the Wayback Machine. Originally posted by addytorials4:35 am · General · Walkabout

Festival - (n) a day or period of celebration

(Oxford Dictionary)

And a festival it truly is. Day 2 of the Kala Ghoda Arts Festival finds itself bang in the middle of a Sunday. Rampart Row is a teeming mass of children, their respective parents, couples, friends, tourists and those who prefer to soak in the arts in their own individual space.

Cameras click and whirr (or maybe they don’t due to technological advancements, but it sure would be poetic to hear a whirr once in a while). The lights are blinding and inviting all at once. Colours invade your ocular senses.

There, the children scream for cotton candy. The man is unfortunately equipped with only two hands, one of which hugs the frail cane from which hang his pink and blue goodies. He is swamped by a myriad sweet toothed adolescent. And, oh look, some adults as well.

The lone flautist at the other end is surrounded only by his bamboo friends. He looks like a God against the imposing backdrop of his musical wares as he serenades the festivities. A young Hariprasad is dragged off the scene by his mother. Where are they going?

Oh, bookstores, paper-stores, handicrafts, food stalls. There is no dearth of places to go here.

And what about those appreciating the arts? Where? It is too crowded to be standing in one place for too long. The most you can do is catch a glimpse of the dance recital depicting Shri Chaitanya as you are jostled across Rampart Row. Serves you right for being late. How about taking in the cinema? No. The dispassionate security guard at Max Mueller Bhavan informs you that they are restricting entry now in not so many words. “Housefull” is what he actually says.

Not to worry. A casual walk through the Bollywood Exhibition outside Jehangir Art Gallery will satiate your thirst for cinema to some extent. Spend a minute or two to marvel at the static displays that scream filmdom to you in unimaginable ways.

But not me. I take a seat at a white table in the middle of Rampart Row and look around me. Mumbai coming together on one small stretch of road to laugh and hug each other in an otherwise cynic’s paradise. That is Art.