Intriguing isn't it, how the difference between day and night down here tends to work out to 72 hours. Would be inappropriate if I took till Christmas to put the rest of the pictures up. Different sort of colour theme altogether.
-wince-
But here we go. The event Vasantha Oli is in two segments. After the active active activities too early in the morning, you get to look at the exhibits and watch performances till about two in the afternoon. Then everybody goes home for a siesta, and come back in the evening for the other half of the party.
And this other half is where the party genes really show.
You know what happens at Chinese-themed events of this sort? About twenty people come to an area with seating for four hundred. Performances inevitably involve Chinese dialect songs from twenty years ago. Sung by people who were thirty, twenty years ago.
The crowd here? Ladies and germs, I present you:
And they weren't there for fifty-cent prizes in a lucky draw, either. Cheering, screaming, whistling and flinging of undergarments aplenty. Well maybe not the last one. I only saw two pair flung.
What I didn't get: A pretty girl comes on stage and the crowd erupts.
Fair enough. Famous singers come on stage to perform and the crowd erupts.
Fairly logical. They were pretty good, too. Even for the little ones performing, the crowd erupted.
I can understand that. They were adorable, and the dancing ones fairly good.
But when nothing happened:
...they also screamed and cheered like Britney Spears just dropped her top, lah.
These people really had fun. Without any sort of overtone, I note that most of the ones MAKING SOME NOISE seemed to be foreign workers, in the sea of people by the side. Sad, how apparent sophistication seems to put sticks up everyone's arses. Though, I don't know, perhaps they were helped along by generous doses of Black Cat or Baron's Strong Brew.
But to wrap up the night, you must meet the person I thought was just fan-fuckin'-tastic. Being a dancer of the epileptic monkey persuasion myself, I nonetheless appreciate good dancing when I see it. The Indian culture, at least to me, is known for dance. Their footwork and booty-shaking started long before Beyonce came onto the scene.
Pictures tend to be unable to do good dancers justice. But I tries.
The way he moved, you'd swear he was quadruple-jointed and smoking that shit. Needless to say, the crowd pulled all the stops out while he was dancing. People living on the twenty-fifth floor of nearby flats must have thought there was a riot.
And my pride and joy of the night:
And meh to you people who think photography is easy, alright?
An enjoyable event, it was. Would have been more so if I didn't have to toast a Sunday on it but if wishes were fishes the smell would be terrible.
I think it's to do with the bling bling. When they're about two years old, a lot of Indian children get their ears pierced for gold earrings? I mean, how could you not grow up happenin' happenin' like that eh? eH?
So now, I have my parents to blame.
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