Sometime ago I met a buddy, Nigel who chastised me for penning the Birds of Paradise series. He criticized me for not writing about Balinese and their exotic culture. So here I am narrating a version of the truth that prevails on the isle. I do hope I’ve got it right, Nigel. If not we can always sit down to a comforting glass of Arak and talk in Balinese in another lifetime.
While traversing the isle one has come across visitors and hangers on wrapped in sarongs trying desperately to imbibe the culture that has been beautifully presented in a palatable form. The food, the arts and the unique life style of the islanders have attracted people from across the globe. They have come to find themselves, whatever this means.
Many people who are looking for a culture to adopt and be adopted by find Bali a fertile ground to settle on. Could it be that these people are culturally bankrupt and therefore need to find the social currency with which to communicate to themselves and others by donning an alien culture?
Last week I met a young lady from Russia at Flava Lounge, Ubud, who offered her services to teach me all about Balinese mythology, of course for a fee. Apparently, she had attended some classes on the subject and thus considered herself an expert.
“Why would I want to consult a person like you on Balinese mythology when I can speak directly to a Balinese. How long have you been staying here?” I asked.
“Since September last year,” she replied, “Actually I was advised to get a local companion as soon as I settled in. It has helped me to quickly assimilate the culture. Now I am ready to offer my services to all visitors to Bali who want to learn the culture. I can also teach the Balinese.”
Six months is all that it takes to understand a culture.
Another enlightening encounter was at Naughty Nuri’s when I bumped into a woman from Calgary who quizzed me about yoga.
“So you’re Indian and you don’t know anything about yoga?” she asked accusingly.
“No”.
“I can teach you because I just completed a month long yoga course in India. I have come to Bali to set up a yoga retreat and wellness center. I have a business plan and US$ 25,000/-“ she said in a tone that sounded like fizz when a coke bottle is shaken and then opened.
There is an interesting addition to the cultural scene – the leathers and feathers – A group of people who are a cross between Rastafarians and aspirants to a non-existent individuality. They are more concerned about their matted stresses, hugging and holding each other tenderly, a show of affection that I am sure surprise the Balinese who are not particularly known for their public display of intimacy.
They dress bohemian with curious appendages like body piercing, leather pouches around their waist and feathers in their caps. In restaurants that they frequent the leathers and feathers huddle together in a manner that announces a preference to be left alone with their hair and laptops. Culture for these folks is probably that which they have brought with them in their hold-alls with a dash of the potent sambal. Balinese look on them with amusement, at least that’s what some of them have confided in me.
And now lets move on to my dear friend and painter, John (name changed for obvious reasons) who is the embodiment of the ready-made branded culture. He has been rubbing shoulders with so many culturally sterile persons that he has become the personification of a culture similar to instant noodles – a little hot water and it is ready to eat. John’s art gallery is akin to a railway platform, with the comings and goings of young women who seek his brand of culture that transcends even the teachings of Osho. He is a soft-spoken native who practices what he preaches – love everybody.
The other day I met him and his latest pupil in his gallery. And when I saw what he was doing I couldn’t help comparing him to Rasputin, although in a more charitable way.
Often we have sat together over a rum and coke and discussed threadbare the intricacies of netting a young lass with the only tool at hand – culture repacked with all the right ingredients but no expiry date. John truly believes that as a son of the soil he can protect its fragile membrane by concocting a Nasir Campur of the prevailing culture so as to make it digestible for the flocks of migratory people who arrive to seek and partake of the rich culture. If this in anyway dilutes the spirit of the island it is a small price to pay for propagating a lifestyle. He feels that marketing a Bali Happy Meal of bits and pieces of his culture is a lucrative business. A friend from a far off land taught him how to do this.
So who are these young women who meet John to collect their Happy Meal in a vain attempt to cultivate a culture like the Balinese who cultivate rice?
I have tried to meet these eager beavers one on one to confront them with a reality that has escaped them, but to no avail. They usually slide around the conversation probably afraid of being uprooted from their misconceived notions of the adopted culture.
Culture chameleons have infiltrated Bali for a long time and now there is a danger of its culture being warped by the continuous onslaught from those who seek a quick fix to patch the gaping hole in their own cultural fabric. When they have tasted the Nasi Campur they assume the mantle of preservers of the faith without even comprehending the subtleties of a social structure that dwells on the seen and unseen, family values and the never-ending obeisance to nature.
For instance, there are people who have married and settled in Bali for the last two decades and yet cannot speak Balinese. They are probably under the influence of the Philosopher’s Stone i.e. the belief that if they rub themselves with the stone they will turn to gold – meaning they could become one with the natives. Sadly this has not happened for many of them. In fact they have played a significant role in entering Balinese homes and ever so gently changing the face of family values and material wants to a point that the natives have begun aping them.
Pre-packed Bali Happy meals are available everywhere for those poor souls who have found it necessary to discard the cloak of a culture worn in their homeland. These species of birds arrive in Bali hoping to find the right spicy sauce for their brand of culture. They are like a branch of one tree that has been grafted onto another. Hopefully the fruits of this tree will bring forth a more resilient strain of offspring who will undoubtedly be hybrid but have the ability to return the effervescence to the prevailing culture that is fast losing its sheen.
Om Shanti Shanti Shanti Om
