Delhi Commonwealth Games: cynicism swept away by breathtaking opening ceremony Telegraph Blogs
Delhi Commonwealth Games: cynicism swept away by breathtaking opening ceremony - Dean Nelson : Telegraph.co.uk
As we sat in the splendid Jawaharlal Nehru Stadium on Sunday evening, looking at the five million pounds aerostat blimp waiting to be raised for the opening of the cursed Delhi Commonwealth Games, a Telegraph colleague turned to me and said: This is the only place I know where if the balloon goes up, it will be a good thing.
It was a great line which captured the cynicism many of us, myself included, felt about Indias preparations for the Games, in particular in the collision weve seen in recent weeks between Indias overblown claims for its capabilities and the harsh reality of suspected corruption, mismanagement and incompetence.
But the cynicism was swept away by Bharat Balas breath-taking opening show.
It was impossible not to be charmed by the joy on the face of seven year old tabla drum prodigy Keshava Danukar, or any of the hundreds of Kathak dancers, or the epic sight of hundreds of bare-chested and turbaned mridangam drummers.
I was impressed, but thought some of the snap shots seemed to be from Pinewood Studios, Michael Caines Peachy Carnehan in Kiplings The Man Who Would Be King perhaps, at least up until the section which captured Indias roots in Gandhis freedom struggle and the one which portrayed the India he founded.
The ceremony had already showcased Indias great craftsmanship, its folk song and dance culture, the role of its gurus and great religions in shaping the country, but then a locomotive train engine emerged into the stadium to lead the most honest depiction of India Ive seen in my five years of living here.
Behind the engine there were carriages carrying the distinctive horn speakers of Indias unique wedding sound systems, another with big-headed babus of Indias civil service. Giant turbans, each representing different regions and traditions, passed by on wheels, as Indias iconic Ambassador car a barely updated Morris Oxford rolled stately by. Tradesmen on boneshaker bicycles wobbled and weaved in amongst the traffic carrying outsized milk churns and red gas canisters while rickshaws with giants melons cut them up.
There were men with bricks piled several metres on top of their heads striding confidently through the chaos, while on the blimp above live television pictures showed craftsmen drawing amazing portraits of Gandhis freedom march in sand on a glass screen.
In the background more than ten different Indian dance troupes, each in different primary colours and dancing to different rhythms, completed the picture: A chaotic country teaming with individuals, united by an energy we in Britain no longer have.
It all came together, what should be blindingly obvious, and yet isnt, especially for the legion of myopic Indian nationalists who want the world to think India is something it isnt.
The China they want India to best could never have produced a performance of such genuine joy and natural exuberance. It couldnt tolerate the chaos and the freedom which fuels it. It could never celebrate the chaos and diversity in this way.
Remember Lin Miaoke, the pig-tailed, beaming nine year old who wowed the world with her rendition of the national anthem and was later revealed to have mimed her song? It had in fact been sung by another young girl, Yang Peiyi, who was told she couldnt actually appear at the ceremony because of her buck teeth.
Indias charm, what gives it its extraordinary soft power in the world, is that people love it the way it is: the worlds largest, if imperfect, democracy, home of argumentative Indians, centre of a song and dance culture, a country able to romanticise even the bullock carts which block its highways.
Theres no doubting Indias recent growth, its accelerating progress in science and technology, or even the new global empires being built by its corporate captains. But the India we love isnt the one boasting of how it has leapfrogged the West while it cannot supply clean water, electricity, or universal education to its people.
Its the one that does its best in daunting circumstances, which embraces and carries on through the commotion, and still manages a song and dance scene.
As well as being a consummate showman, Bharat Bala may well be Indias most honest journalist. He sent me home thanking my lucky stars I live in Delhi.