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Radhey Radhey...

O'er the neue Jahr weekend maid, me and mom landed in Vrindavan. I'd been wanting to go there a while, and it was strange that in all these years in Delhi, I never had. The first sight, isn't pretty. There are animals all around like the cows and pigs you see in India, blocking traffic, jumping from one open drain to another, feeding on food from open garbage dumps- which are visible in every galli and kucha. And that's not pretty, you could call me snobbish, but seriously.

We begin with the Brij Bihari temple, if you like me decide to pretend the quick gajjar ka halwa before that didn't exist. The gallis are small, even so, it's not hard to recognise which one leads to the temple. It's so crowded, that you can't quite forget to take a deep breath just before you enter the street. You look around a little to see people dressed in yellows with big chandan (sandalwood) pastes smeared all over their foreheads. I make a mental note to get one too, for kicks?  The Joota ghar (shoe house?!) is barely visible from the scores of heads and falling children, so you do what you do in India, keep the shoes near the thele wallah selling necessary flowers and accessories for entry. Oh but I wait near them shoes and let the maid and the mother go in first. They come out gushing that they couldn't reach the God with flowers. I go in next. Of course in a women only line, I reach the God easily even without having to stand up on my toes. I feel very smug about being reasonably, un-Indian-ly tall. At these times I wonder if God's peeping at me sneering at that woman who just pushed me. I keep a note to remember where the mother was left by finding a post office adjoining the temple, barely visible. Of course when I step in, they only open at "10" and don't keep postcards (that's for private guys they tell me). I tell God, he needs to stop making fun of me.

picture from here

We step out of the street again, and at the head, we meet a man, 5 feet, who I tower over, but he doesn't care- offering a 'guide' service for Rs 20. He's a find! I readily agree. He guides us through a blurry of streets, I tell myself I would positively not see a thing if not for him. Mother and maid walk really slowly and I keep pace. The man tells me I am walking through the Kunj galliyan people rave about. One person can walk past those at one time, so I am not sure what I am supposed to be impressed about. I hmm him. Finally, while walking to Madhuban (or van) he asks me the critical question- madam aap kahan se aaye hain? [madam, where art thou from...since I am wearing jeans I am madam, and not behan]. I dryly mention Delhi. He continues, Delhi waale kafi aatein hain yahan. [Delhi people come here often] Forced to respond, I say, paas hai na. Radha Rani ki kripa hai Dilliwaalon par. [ Delhi people are Radha Rani's blessed lot] Takes me a while to gulp, till a man walks to overtake me, but says Radhey Radhey. I look back to see if it's for real. He passes me by casually. A blonde lady then comes by and exchanges Radhey Radhey with my guide. Madhuban- the garden of the Maha Raas, where speculation says, post 7pm the Tulsi [Vrinda plants] change into Gopis and anyone who sees the spectacular scene either dies or goes into trance unable to explain the experience. It has the only Krishna temple where the God is seen as a 'sevak' of Radha. Just as he is telling me these stories about Radha Rani, my phone rings. I realise in a very un-Indian way, it seems to be not cool to take the call while he's talking. I am impressed.

We walk again to reach the Radha Vallabh temple next. In this one, Radha mein Krishna dikhta hai aur Krishna mein Radha. [it is here that you find Radha in Krishna and Krishna in Radha] I am still breaking my neck and trying to see what others can see. The payal on one foot and the guy's clothing on the other side. I wonder, if gender really is only just a structure. I think of the Pregnant King. Vrindavan shows you the concept of Shri Radha. All with graffiti on the wall to go along. And then, I turn back to see a massive crowd. Dancing.