DOUGHNUTS ON DURBAR
A CURIOUS WORLD AIDS DAY
World Aids Day 2014 was celebrated with surprising vigour beneath the haunting skyline of the stately palace and looming nine story 16th century pagodas in the heart of Old Kathmandu. Neat white cubicles offering HIV related services appeared like mushrooms in the public square at dawn, displacing the traditional artisan market. Roads were lined with spanking new pearl white Toyota SUVs gleaming in the soft morning fog like slick hulking ghosts, each bearing the insignia of a major NGO from somewhere around the world. An enormous stage was erected on the far side of Durbar Square complete with mammoth sound system and light show ready for the evening performance.
Special guests, donors, politicians, and VIPs all arrived until the stage was groaning with experts of one kind or another.
The thunderous volume and shrill tonal settings of the loudspeaker system, more suitable for death metal than public address, made the next three interminable hours of impassioned speeches quite a deafening experience. The harsher tones of the Nepali tongue ricocheted off at all angles from the many planes and surfaces of the ancient architecture. Rousing articulate speeches uttered into the microphone became a barrage of unintelligible syllables echoing randomly around the town, once spewed forth from the massive woofers.
Finally, when all the words had been said and all the visiting sponsors thanked sufficient times to ensure that World Aids Day 2015 would be equally well funded, the booths were all pushed to one side. The gathered crowd were then herded around to form a long rectangle of fifty by ten metres. I craned my neck above the chattering masses to see what was going on and to my surprise found a team of motorcycle athletes inside the human oblong revving up ready to start some kind of show. ”How can you perform a motor bike show with people standing only metres away?” I wondered.
The entire team looked Bollywood-style dashing as they prepared for their tricks before a spellbound audience.
The men’s performance seemed like a handbook on teenage motor bike delinquency. Stunts such as wheelies, burn outs, doughnuts, jousting and so on brought cheers and shouts of delight from their many adoring fans, most of whom were standing only centimetres away from the action. The two women in the show rode sweeping intersecting arcs on on their scooters with arms and legs outstretched, adopting surprising and exciting poses as they rode – like synchronised swimming on two wheels.
Fortunately, despite several close calls between bike and spectator and a few minor spills, it all ended very well. While the buzzing crowd jostled to procure selfies with their motorcycle heroes, a tasty succession of local musical talent played on loud and hard into the night.
Suddenly, at some pre-ordained hour, the festivities came to an abrupt end and the entire infrastructure was hoovered quickly into the backs of rattling old Indian trucks, ready to be trotted out again at the next day of celebration, which is never too far away in this part of town.
The ancient plaza drifted back into her customary repose to the lingering smell of petrol, the drifting of red balloons and bearing her newest ornamentation – neat connecting rings of thick black rubber.
