Dasara represents a unique interval in Mysore's year. You begin to wonder if one of those industries touted as a fillip to the City's financial clout is actually a cloning facility, which unable to confine its unexpectedly numerous produce just opens the gates and drives all these beings into a routinely tranquil city. At nightfall, jostling through the main thoroughfares, you could be forgiven for wondering if the enormous colony of stars has finally met its match in the glittering embroidery of lights. Then, even as you raise your voice to talk to the one with you, you experience an abnormal rage - a rage born out of the excoriating honking within earshot. Turn around, and you see a severely constricted artery of a road. A moment later, you realize, that it's the traffic that has multiplied manifold. You see the traffic cop frantically waving cars on, trying to prevent a clog, but none seems sure of where they want to go. You do fear for his heart. He survives, as does the city.
You begin to feel shock waves moving up your spine in a locale having one of the biggest and oldest educational institutions in the city: Yuva Dasara - a tailored for the young version of the state festival - which teems with people willing to stay up beyond midnight to dance to the music of their beloved Bollywood performers. It would be normal, but for the fact that Mysore is usually fast asleep by then. So, who are these head-banging, feet-tapping aliens?
With the climax nearing, you encounter even stranger things; the strangest perhaps being the one-way streets. You do wonder if these were completely planned, for there are no sign boards directing commuters which way to go to get to their destination. Rather, you find barricades plugging your path, and a cop or two pointing in the only direction you can proceed. Snailing home through a circuitous route is not really ideal for two reasons: you usually can traverse the two antipodal points of the cultural capital of Karnataka in less than half this time; and two, fuel stations don't offer a Dasara discount!
Then, there's Vijayadashami when the heart of the city is virtually sealed off to all locals, except the ones who have friends/employers in high places, who can shoo them into the Palace. The ones who buy the Gold cards are usually tourists sold on the promise of privileged treatment, which does not even vaguely imply a designated seat, leave alone a shade from the sun or a cool breeze, as you await the iconic moment - when the elephant carrying the 750 kg howdah sets out on a 5 kilometer plod to Bannimantap, following the many tableaux from the various districts and government departments.
The torch light parade is the marquee event of the evening. It is preceded by a few performances that should either whet your appetite, like the daredevilry on the bikes and the equestrian display, or make you impatient for the finale, like the unsynchronized dances of excessively large, and therefore evidently entropic, groups. Yet, when the time comes to say goodbye, the torch light arrangement reading 'SEE YOU IN 20XX,' the fireworks lighting up only to fade, it is hard. At school, I believed this was because the vacations were coming to an end. Now, I feel it is but a reluctance to part with the royal splendor that to Mysore is so natural, one that wouldn't be chaotic if only it weren't fleeting.
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