kites
january. kampala. ten thousand indians. flying kites.
can you imagine anything better? okay, maybe actually being in hyderabad for the festival when supposedly there are so many kites you can't see the sky.
my indian buddy nishant invited me to kampala to spend the kite flying festival with his family. first of all, i would never have guessed there were so many indians in uganda and that so many of them would turn up to party together. second of all, i can't even remember the last time i flew a kite. but everyone was eager to teach me the ways of indian kite-flying.
i was told over and over, "this is not like in america where you just stand on the beach holding a string." i quickly saw what they meant when nishant cut seven or eight people's kites in a row and i thought, man, american holidays are lame. i cut two kites, by the way. probably the most satisfying feeling in the world.
and of course the food was amazing all day long. it kept my mind off the pink gashes in my fingers from the "manjaa" glass-powdered string.
in uganda, hanging out with the indian diaspora. loved every minute of it.
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| nishant, in all his glory, taking 'em down. we had a victory yell every time he cut one. i could hear the little kids crying all over the field. |
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| the art of stringing the kite. not something to be taken lightly. |
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| i think that guy in the back is snapping a picture of the mound of my kite victims piled high after my mad slaughter. actually, it took me two hours and probably 15 kites before i cut anyone's line. by that time, despite my elation, no one was really impressed. |
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