Filth

All this toilet humour has to stop. Right now! You at the back, the one making botty burps with the palms of your hand, it’s not big and it’s not clever. Unlike Derrick with dwarfism who recently gained his Msc.

Life’s not all about japes, jokes and quips you know, so stop tittering Wigglesworth minor. I’m now a changed man, for tonight I went to the theatre for an evening of classical dance. I didn’t know I was going to be honest. I’d just had a traditional Assamese dinner, risking even the chicken curry after abstaining for the past few days. Let’s hope that decision doesn’t come back to sting me in the ass in more ways than one. So, meal eaten, curry down my front, we passed by the local library’s auditorium. Jyoti was first to sneak up and see if we could go in. Success, it was a free (I love the word free) function performed by local young people and we were welcome to enjoy the evening.

It doesn’t take long for heads to turn when a middle aged white man walks through the door on performance of classic Assamese dance. I got to my seat as inconspicuously as possible and performance. Though after only five minutes I was invited up to the front to be guest of honour. Oh no, not his time thinks I and politely but firmly declined their kind invitation. Colour galore, the dancers were amazing and how they remember the myriad hand and feet movements is beyond me. The young people’s proud parents were out in force taking snaps of their pride and joy performing. It’s proper good to see young people keeping in touch with their heritage and it was also a joy to see both them and their parents enjoying themselves so much.

If you’re owt like me, you’ll know nowt of classic Assamese dance. So, I’ll try and describe the goings on to try and give you a bit of an insight. The girls, for that’s all I saw, lots of girls, were dressed in vibrant traditional dress that reminded me very much of Balinese dancers. Or Thai maybe? I’m presuming this goes back to Ahom days when the Ahom kings came from Myanmar/Burma and ruled over Assam? I’m also probably totally wrong but once again I have no net access, so can’t check it. The girls had trousers on but with a piece of material that comes down to in front of the the knees in a sort of half moon shape. They had little bells on their ankles that chinged every time they twisted and shook their legs or feet. The hands and feet are used to describe actions in the storyline and their eyes are very expressive. The dances can go on for five minutes or more with thousands of foot/hand combinations. Well, that’s the best I can do I’m afraid, like it or google it.

I have to admit that before my cultural evening, the rest of the day had been a hard slog. Mind you it was a delight to have a warm shower after I was awoke bright and early by the village dogs. Bark Bark Bark Bark! Spot on 5.30am. I lay there wondering how their owners could stand the noise without telling them to be quiet. And then I had a thought. I know, I really shouldn’t think, it leads to no good every time. Anyhow, I thunk… and I thunk…and do you know what I came up with? Well the population of the area is overwhelmingly Buddhist. The Buddhist people believe in re-incarnation. That dog that is barking non stop might be Uncle Joe that passed away just last Friday. “He always liked to chatter did Uncle Joe. Non stop he was, chatter chatter, gossip gossip. He did it in his past life and he’s doing it again no. Yes that dog is definitely Uncle Joe. So don’t tell it to be quiet Doris, let him have a bark, it’s what Auntie Mavis would have wanted”. Told you what happens when I think!

From there on, it was a long hard slog down the mountain, into the valley and then back up another mountain, through a forest and finally to leaving Arunachal Pradesh via Bhalukpong. Oh, I had a shave on the way costing me twenty rupees, the thieving hounds!

As we entered Assam, the temperature immediately rose and I began divesting myself of clothing bit by bit. Go on, imagine that eh? Fwooooaar eh? Ok, maybe not but at least I’ve put you off your dinner now. Two more hours later and we’d arrived at our destination. The town of Nagaon, where I’m due to stay at the Government tourist lodge seeing as there’s nothing else in town with anything like proper facilities. Still, the place is clean (apart from one huuuge dead cockroach lying to be swept up by the cleaner) and it has hot and cold running water coming from the taps and shower. What a novelty! Seeing as Assam is in the high risk category for malarial infection. I’m perturbed by the welcoming committee laid on for me. Six million mosquitoes, all sharpening their proboscis, in readiness for the oncoming feast. I’m slightly happier when the mosquito net is arranged over the bed. Let’s hope for a peaceful nights rest and a hungry one for the mossies.

So you oiks, take a tip from me. Curtail your common pursuits and take comfort in the finer things in life. Art, beauty, literature. For when I get back to dear old blighty and it comes to picking my new butler I want him to be able to converse with me in the manner for which I have now become accustomed. Yes indeed, I want my butler to butle bloody brilliantly!