Episode 1: Cats, dogs and the amazing Play-man Bunny: A party in Sao Paulo
It’s not easy traveling from India to Brazil. One could argue that this is an exaggeration, considering that all that one does is pass a sleepy immigration officer, browse through the liquor section in the duty free to plan the arrival bootlegging, board a flight, watch the most boring movie on the in-flight menu to put you to sleep, eat bland food, drink bad wine, transit through a sterile airport somewhere and do the same thing all over again.
That the aforementioned One can deceive oneself with great dexterity, is the conclusion.
Let me put this succinctly- you leave home at 2 am, board a flight at 4:30 am, fly for approximately 20 hours and land at your destination at 3 pm. i.e. you did all the above mentioned rubbish twice over for 20 long hours and realize that some 7 hours of this eternity of un-eventfulness was flushed away mistakenly the last time you stood in a long queue on the flight to blow your nose.
But there is a cure to such existential musings. And the cure, of course, is that the destination happens to be SAO PAULO, BRAZIL! And to add another touch of icing, to this over-sized cake, it’s Brazil during LA COPA!
So we land amidst several CR7s, Messi10s, Neymar10s and football jerseys of every colour in a festive looking Sao Paulo airport named the deceptively unpronounceable Guarulhos. (the “g” is almost silent and the “r” is not rolled and the “l and h” conspire against the vocal cord- forget it). Never has one felt so happy to see a row of Immigration counters. 15 odd counters all “manned” by those iconic Brazilian belles, smiling sweetly at you and letting you know that the party awaits you outside the gates. They really know how to look festive, I told you.
We’d booked our accommodation in the cities through this marvel of modern technology-airbnb.com. God’s greatest gift to the sleep muddled traveler. Through airbnb.com one gets to shack up in someone’s home in the city. The website crosschecks the accommodation and lets you interact with the host as much as you want before the trip, in fact encouraging you to irritate them with all your doubts and anxieties, to which the host cheerfully replies. And its brilliant! You live the life of a Brazilian at his/her home, sharing their breakfast and the local gossip, discussing football strategy and sharing snide jokes on Argentina and the Americans at large. Can one ask for better?
So in Sao Paulo, we got to stay in this cute little apartment, just a km. or so off from the holy pub crawl streets of Vila Madalena. Secure and sweet, overlooking a wonderful sports complex, the apartment could be just the right place to open a favored can and sit in a balcony and look at the world pass you by. But it isn't. Because the apartment is home to Andy, his girlfriend Rosa and the room-mate Bernardo who are a whirlwind of activity as we enter their home. There is much debate, animated conversation, rustling of clothes and snipping of scissors.
“We are preparing for a costume party tonight”, says Andy dressed in tweed jacket, floral shirt, a painted on black mustache and slickly combed hair. “I am going as a Latino Lover…and I don’t normally look like this.” Fair enough.
The girlfriend Rosa is busy cutting green paper into long strips. “I shall soon be a pineapple” she says. Hmmm.
Bernardo does little except look all around for something to wear and finds nothing but table cloth. “Maybe you can tie it around your head and pass off as a Sheikh”, I suggest. Bernardo’s eyes ooze amazement at such intelligence from the Orient.
7pm. 6 full hours of sleep in 24 hours or whatever-one has lost count. And one is ready to start the party within 2 hours of landing in Brazil.
“What about you?” asks Rosa. “You aren’t dressed as anything.”
I whip out my sole Kurta and ask if I could come as an Indian zombie. Eyes ooze amazement at intelligence…part 2.
So we buy 2 whole crate of Brahma Beer between the 4 of us, load it on to the car and we drive through the green and wide streets of Sao Paulo towards an undisclosed destination. We reach a little two storey house with enormous gates. A tall man wearing an adult diaper and a baby cap greets everyone. Another man dressed as a Play-man Bunny, complete with a cotton tuft tail and fishnet stockings introduces himself as the host. A sweet girl who wears flowing hippie clothes brings a cat over and introduces her as host no. 2. The beer crates are dropped next to 6 other beer crates. I count 10 people so far. “Isn’t that a lot of beer for 10 people?” I ask innocently. A sly smile on Rosa’s lips tells me that the party is yet to start.
Graffiti in every language decorates the walls of the house. Some smooth blues wafts from the giant amps. The cats bounding everywhere attacking the white tuft of the Playman Bunny and soon the guests start coming hoards.
There is a Suarez of course with Vampire teeth. There are several angels, devils, cops, witches, wizards, football referees and even a Madonna and a chain smoking Labrador.
And then the band comes in dressed as prisoners- a mom, two sons and the uncle. And the party is on.
Being Indian, amidst a hundred plus Brazilians makes a difference. In a costume party where everyone tries being exotic one is effortlessly the exotic element and hence the center of much attention.
I learn that June’s a special month in Brazil, when the birth of Saint John the Baptist is celebrated all month. It is actually a Portuguese festival- the festa de Sao Jao- which is actually an excuse to celebrate mid-summer and thanks to all the Portuguese influence Brazilians celebrate it too. And being Brazilians, they celebrate it despite it being WINTER in BRAZIL- because as a girl explains it to me- any excuse is good enough excuse to party in Brazil. Fair enough.
The band stops playing their covers of Coldplay, U2, Beatles peppered with Brazilian hits and starts a rhythmic little tune.
“Time for the Quadrilha!” they announce.
I get pushed into a corner by Rosa and Andy and a girl from nowhere volunteers to teach me the dance. “This is our June dance, performed across Brazil.” The unruly crowd of the costumed is now arranged in four corners as pairs. And the hippie girl and Suarez, I am told, are chosen as the lead pair. They walk, they hop, they run around and do some moves with imaginary hats and fans and we all follow them.
It’s all a little silly and really cute and just a lot of fun.
So the party moves from a costume party full of Brazilians to a Brazilian party in costumes- of greater tourist interest I suppose and just as much fun and just as much beer guzzled.
“Are you hungry?” asks Bernardo, who has been passing himself off to the girls who don’t know him as a young Sheikh from Qatar, who is here to study the World Cup and talking to almost everyone in English till the vocabulary was badly stretched. All that English speaking he confessed had made him ravenous. I looked at my watch 4 am. i.e. afternoon in India. “I can do with lunch, yes!” I tell him.
We drive out to this cute cafe next to the apartment. “Sandwiches?” “Sure.”
And I have a pao filled with cheese, lettuce and tomato. “Back home an entire third of the country lives on pao filled with a patty,” I tell the bemused Bernardo.
“I have never tried that!”
“And we've never tried this one,” I say, thus concluding the night with the first of many culinary exchanges in my trip in Brazil. The Vada Pao for the Pao de Quijo con Tomate. Let the games begin.
Feature by: Lalith Krishnan
Director- Aspirations Advertising
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