Sometimes a motor scooter’s passenger is holding hands with a bicyclist, pulling the bicycle and rider along.  Trucks, buses, cars, cows, pedestrians, pushcarts—all are sharing the one lane in each direction, though all pretty freely swerve into the oncoming lane.  It looks like the whole city is out, having a good time.  It’s not a dangerous city at night, because the people themselves own the city at night, unlike most of America, where we stay indoors in the evening.  The mass of people, the constant noise, the new sights, the relaxed attitude towards the rules of the road which lead not infrequently to near-misses at slow speed with oncoming trucks, have an unsettling effect. I simply decide to go with the flow.  Much of my difficulty in relating to this society is just a matter of submitting.

We drive to the southern extremity of the city, to a well-designed and well-tended garden.  It has chairs set on a spacious lawn, and broad, flower-lined pathways.  Trees are laden with fruit; one has what look like huge green grapefruit.  Some trees have lights in them, like Christmas lights.  There are trimmed, pungent cedar bushes.  When we arrive, the men and the women immediately separate; a very few women, with their husbands, mingle with the men.  I like a certain type of garment some of the men are wearing, and it is described to me as a pajama, though it is a long shirt worn in public. I am introduced to a man wearing a black jacket over a pajama. 


He is the Past President of this Rotary Club.  He lists a string of prizes won by his club.  He is a Chartered Accountant (CPA) and a lawyer, specializing in charitable taxation.  His Rotary Club, he informs me, did 1,500 projects last year.  I express amazement, and he says that last year they provided 100 scholarships; planted a tree in each of 100 villages; provided a mobile health project with physicians to 100 villages; installed a water project in 100 villages.  He explains that when you count in hundreds, it adds up.  He knows how to attract funding from international agencies, and how to provide the accounting at international standards, and last year brought in 25 million dollars for his Rotary Club's projects. He makes a trip around the world annually, visiting these agencies, and providing the documentation proving how their funds were spent. That competence bringing in that sum of money into this society, goes a very long way, in helping a multitude.
Standing next to him is a very remarkable character. 

He is introduced to me as a poet.  He is dressed up like no one I have ever seen in my life, with two large red dots on his forehead; a string of beads around his neck, carefully placed; granny glasses; makeup; Beatles mop hair; and on the very top of his head, his hair is tied into two little bows.  He looks like a combination of Ringo Starr off to see the Mahareshi; a Peter Sellers character; and Percy Dovetonsils. 

                                                  Percy

The program begins.  The Rotary Governor asks me to sit up front in the first row with him.  Introductions are done, and several guests including me, are each handed a long-stemmed red rose. 

Then the poet takes the microphone, and once he has it, he doesn’t want to let go – nor do the people want him to.  I very soon see that he is a capable standup comedian.  I don’t understand a word he says, but the cadences of punch lines are the same, whatever the language, and the laughter of the crowd shows he knows how to deliver them. They are having a very good time, and they absolutely love his performance.  The Rotary Governor is laughing so hard his lawn chair is shaking.  His presentation goes on without letup and without notes for an hour and a half.  After a while, this unrelenting string of Hindi words, punctuated by laughter at punch lines I don’t get, leads to a kind of inner disorientation.  In addition I am tired and try to sit in a position to drop off to sleep.  That doesn’t work.  Percy is carrying on, and I am struggling to find something, anything, familiar.  Everything is different – food, clothing, customs, tastes, habits, sounds, everything.  I decide to take a walk through the garden.  It is approaching 10:30 at night.  To grasp something tangible, I handle the flowers; I squeeze some cedar and inhale its fragrance; it is very powerful, and I think of the native Americans and how important cedar is in their culture.  I take out a photograph of the Universal House of Justice and look at it.  I still feel like I am swimming, unmoored, and underwater; though in another sense I feel perfectly all right.  I see that in a different part of the park, people are waiting with food for the program to end.  There is a long line of warming dishes, and I realize that after Percy is done, the people will stroll together through the garden pathways, and a late dinner will be served. 

I walk back towards the seated crowd, and sit way in the back. 


Percy is still going strong, and I wonder why they have called him a poet; he seems much more like a standup comic, and I wonder if they have incorrectly named his profession.  Then, his cadence changes; the laughter stops.  There is a rhythm, and repeated sounds.  The tone of his voice has changed; it is very soothing and warm and sincere. Now he is reciting poetry, and he has the crowd in the palm of his hand.  This is the heart of the Holi celebration, and this is why they have come. The cadence and sound of his poetry reminds me of some of Tahirih’s divine love poetry I have heard chanted in Farsi.  This whole evening is similar to cultural events the Iranians have; they, too, love events held in gardens, where poetry is chanted.

I am quite tired, but I move back up to the front row.  When the program is over, and people are milling about, I mention something to the Rotary Governor in response to his question about what I thought of the program. He listens, then brings Percy over to me, saying, “Listen to this.  He doesn’t understand a word of Hindi, but he got your message.”  I repeat, that he has at first made the people laugh; helped them drop their defenses; he has in this way opened their hearts, and then, with his poetry, planted the seeds.  Then when he is done, he covers the seeds by making them laugh some more.  So his comedy routine is a means to getting the people to really hear his poetry, and it works.  The people love it. 

We amble over to the food area, but I have a sour stomach, and don’t partake.  It is really a splendid evening, and a complete and very enjoyable program.  I still don’t know if Percy’s garb is a comic sendup, or if it’s a serious wardrobe.  It's clear that he has a good understanding of human nature, and how to educate people.