Oggu Ravi’s father wanted him to become an engineer.
Today, he paints his face with bright streaks of yellow, dabbing on a large, twirly moustache in black paint for effect. He wears a faux tiger-skin dhoti, and smears turmeric on his forehead, before applying it to his 39 team mates. One, with long, smooth hair, electric eyes and a pot of leaves on her head, looks like a goddess – but is actually a man.
One by one, they strap the Oggu (drums) to their waists, and Ravi grabs his mic. They walk on in silent procession through a crowd of bookworms and artists – who wonder which tribe they came out of. The Master of Ceremonies doles out an introduction and advises the crowd to step back. Ravi’s squad is set to finish a literary festival as its closing act.
With military precision, the performers form two lines and pound their drums. Ravi walks in between them, narrating a story on the mic. The beat is hypnotic, and sets a mood – one feels as if part of an ancient ceremony designed to lift you up into a trance.
The artists, moved into a sense of divinity, perform acrobatic stunts to Ravi’s command. Two men wrap their legs around their leader, who lifts them off the ground and spins – like a makeshift human helicopter. In the end, Ravi and the ‘goddess’ circle each other; she chews up the leaves and he thrusts a dash of turmeric into the air.
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