Sex in my first Punjabi Bhangra wedding romp

Oh my goodness!



I had a Color Purple moment ya'll. I swear I did!!

At lunch time today, I stepped out the shower and right into the blare of dhol drums pounding through my windows and right into my heart.

Instantly, the drums grabbed my feet and I started running to the sound, running and running, and running-- practically yelling "where are those drums!? where are those drums!?"

I didn't even have on shoes.

So I went back in, grabbed my bag, a camera, and some shoes. On my way out again, I grabbed one of the house men and begged him to take me to the sound, which had snaked out of an alley right behind my guest house.

When we rounded the corner, I spotted the a cluster of dholis, rapping out the Bhangra sound and dressed out in button-downs and fitted slacks -- no different than the Indian men who show up to New York's Bhangra nights.

A ring of young men flung their Bhangra arms and twitched their shoulders to the boom -- the signature riff of Bhangra dance. All smiles and curious stares, the wedding parade invited me into their flock, racing toward me first with their piercing eyes and shocked reception.

A few women stood by staring hard as hard can stare at me, waiting to see if I'd take on the man crowd or race out screaming.

I did both! And all the while, I kept thinking -- THIS is my dream. One of my biggest reasons for coming to India was to witness the dhol sound live and among the people closest to its origin. Already, so much of my hope for my India trip has been fulfilled. And today's wedding was a good savor for the future.

I tried taping it all. But my camera kept blinking out.

And in the midst of about three guys yanking my arms and plopping me in the middle of the dholi donut -- I had to just go with it.

The lead dholi even stopped the whole drum round to introduce me with the silence of the gawkhers. A herd of people looked on, stuck on my foreignness.

When the lead dholi broke into a round --me and the guys jumped up and down. Ya'll know I couldn't bust out the Zulu because it would have turned into a feeding frenzy quick -- and I would have been carted off by the crowd and my wallet would have been stolen for sure by about a dozen kids who kept harassing me during this whole affair (those brats even threw some rocks at me. They're sooo lucky I was engrossed with the wedding and the dhol!)

But knowing the party wasn't mine -- and knowing I hadn't even stretched to take on the dance challenge -- I ran out the Bhangra gang to take some footage-- which again failed to shoot.

So the men pulled me in again to the steppin' orgy. I ran back out. In and out. In and out!

Until finally, a tall smiling man calling himself David came to my rescue. He stuck his hand out and said Hi. We had a great talk.

Most amazing, David invited me to another Punjabi wedding Tuesday. I'll be ready then. I will bust out the Shaka Ya'll. Lets face it: the Indian Dhol party is an ode to our African rhythms and traditions.

For now, I just have to laugh at myself -- at the way the dhol drum possesses me. It's my holy ghost for now. It's the spitfire spirit that makes me wide-eyed and even dangerous with arousal and energy (I relent to my Xena force over watching out for bodily injury) -- much like the West African djembe drum was for me 5 years ago.

Running to the dhol, and abandoning my everything for the sound, I realize that drums are meant to call us together. We have to continue to sensitive our spirits to receive the givingness and totalizing rapture of drummers who drum for love and for celebration.

The beauty of the drum must be a lesson in love and the uniting of people.

But I'm afraid India's strong male contingency -- and the aggressiveness of Indian men will prevent the Dhol circle from being a co-ed space of joy and abandon.

I practically had to break limb and leg out of that alley to make it home. Thank god Sundeep, a house man was with me. But he wasn't much help. He didn't see much wrong with the throngs of guys grabbing me and getting toooo close.

--Malena