Street fun
It reminds me of an Indian movie minus the plot. But then again, you don't watch Indian movies for the plot. Nothing is missing -- the colourful outfits, the children running around, the troupes dancing and singing in the street. But this is no movie set, and the people around me are real, not extras. An entire neighbourhood is out to enjoy itself in the street, not a usual scene in hectic and crowded Cairo, but it is all around me, in the central part of Heliopolis known to the locals as Korba.
The annual festivities started three years ago, when Mrs Suzanne Mubarak launched the event to mark the centennial anniversary of one of Cairo's best planned neighbourhoods. On this day every year, Baghdad Street, or Korba (a reference to its curved shape), is closed to traffic and exhibits all the paraphernalia one associates with carnival. The festivities are boisterous, not on the gaudy or grand scale one sees on television, come the time for the Rio thing, but still a pretty convincing sight. Since the morning, children armed with colour chalk have been painting the pavement, and no one is telling them off. Freedom at last, the true spirit of a carnival which carried the slogan of "One World".
You'd think that such an event can get out of hand, with a bit of orderliness here or there, but think again. The crowds are well-dressed and -behaved, and the event far from unwieldy. On a normal day, a crowd of this size would usually deposit litter knee-high, but not this time. As if to honour the loveliness of it all, the crowds make sure they leave the street as clean as they found it -- a behavioural change perhaps worthy of some deeper contemplation. I am just listening to music and watching entire families dance to the music and enjoy the traditional costumes, accessories, food and folk dancing of different countries participating in the carnival.
The painting is still going on. Children have finished painting one side of the street and are now applying their crayons to the other side. I spot one of our prominent artists, Ishaq Azmi, with them, painting, chatting and giving advice.
Coffee houses have laid out tables on the pavement, and those who have had enough of the action sit down for a bite or a drink. At one point, some grown-ups cannot take it anymore. Jealous of the children, they too grab some crayons and bend down to apply colour to stone. Korba is happy, and in my mind it will never be the same again.
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