The bait was simply irresistible. Straight
in my face; a collage of Tang Dynasty characters. I could be one of them too. I
could be Tripitaka, long tails flowing down my ears. I could be General Zhang
Liang, with spiky armored plates all over my body and a menacing sword. Or
perhaps, I should become a Tang prince, taking a leisurely stroll along a lotus
pond, caressing my beard and making sure my arm folds are just right. And
surprise, surprise, I could even dress up like a court eunuch. As I stood
mesmerized in front of this dream collage, the sales lady delivered the deal
clincher, “Only 20 yuan here, at Yan’an, you pay 40.
The place is just outside the Big Goose
Pagoda at Xi’an, China. The traps had been set up at several vantage points,
collage of costume photographs pasted on cardboards. These are common in all
tourist attractions in China. There are some local flavors too. In Yan’an, holy
site #2 for communists, you could dress up like a soldier from the Long March,
with a plastic pistol and a toy mule. Costume photography is one of those
greatest tourist moments in China and demand is high in this society hungry for
antiquity long after the cultural purges of the Cultural Revolution.
The bait |
As soon as we nodded, the photographer
arrived. She was in her forties, with a weather beaten skin, dressed in a
well-worn but not well-washed t-shirt and track pants. A professional looking camera
hung from her neck. Otherwise, she could be mistaken for an in-process
Christmas tree, big bags dangling from all around her. We followed her inside a
souvenir shop, walked up a few floors and then finally, after a good fifteen
minutes of walking, we were at the studio; my first encounter in life with a
time-machine.
This time-machine cum studio was dim and
greasy. First, there was a huge plastic throne, all gilded. Then followed a
wallpaper imitating a bamboo forest, then a wallpaper imitating a lotus pond,
then a lot of trash and junk, broken imitation terracotta statue, and a crazy
horse; heavily duct-taped. On the opposite wall, there was a backdrop of
heaven, then another lotus pond scene, then again a lot of trash, headless
terracotta soldier, air-cooler, and broken props. The carpet pretending to be
verdant lawns was crumpled. An umbrella,
a hand-fan and a plastic sword lay on the floor without purpose. A fake guzheng and a fake pipa had the same fate; their strings were made of washing lines.
We walked past the studio to the dressing
room. Four other customers were dressing up, three girls and one boy, all
teenagers. These princesses were wearing sports shoes and big floral headgear with
horns. The boy had chosen to be a warrior. Each customer had their own
photographer, all women. The closet was overflowing with costumes and it was
hard to choose any in this abundance. There was a big group of villagers who
had just come in and waiting behind us. We just took whatever we could pick up.
I would be Tripitaka, the fictionalized
version of Huen Tsang. My wife would be the princess who tries to allure him;
an obstacle in his holy journey to get Buddhist scriptures from India. The
photographer quickly fit the costumes on us with Velcro. I, an Indian Huen
Tsang, drew laughs from everyone around. By the way, Tang Dynasty costumes
seemed perfectly designed for Hot Yoga, for as soon as we wore them, we began
sweating profusely.
Time-travel |
Back at the studio, a queue had already formed
for the backdrops. When our turn came, the photographer became a sudden bundle
of energy, “Make a lotus with your hands, ok, look at camera, smile, ok, now
make Orchid finger pose, ok, smile, click, now point your finger to the left,
look at your finger, smile, click… now move to the bamboo garden, put the umbrella
behind you, look, smile, click.. leave the umbrella, move to the throne, sit, spread
out your hands, look up, smile, click, one leg forward, click.. you want the
horse? No? ok, move over to the lake then, sit down, touch the strings of the
guzheng, click, now look up, smile, Orchid finger pose, no, no, why orchid
finger pose on guzheng, just look down, click.. wait, your headgear is
falling…ok, now, look down, click…lotus pond now, want to do something funny,
ok, never mind, click, want more? Ok then, come, choose what you want at that
desk.”
She had taken fifty photographs in ten
minutes, talking non-stop, juggling around all the bags she was carrying. We
were sweating profusely but delighted that we were finally leaving our mark in
human history.
The processing counter was a computer whose
display had been somehow held up with used soda bottles and tape. At the
processing counter, you have to follow Hamurabi’s code of law:
You
will be shown the pictures on the computer screen one by one. Before moving on
to the next picture, you have to decide whether you want a print of the picture
or not. You can’t go back. Once you have shortlisted the pictures, you can’t
select from among these. You have to buy all of these, 20 yuan for each. You
can and you should laminate these, 2 yuan a piece.
And how did it feel to be Tripitaka? Of course, it is suffocating
hot to be a Tang Dynasty personality. When I was dressed and waiting in the
queue for the backdrops, I felt anxious; move on others, give me my turn. And
while I was against the backdrops, I transformed into a tea-party radical;
worried from all the clicks; what will the total bill come to?
And yes, it is tempting to drool over the uniqueness
of the man who managed to form a tenuous link between two neighboring
civilizations; neighbors who couldn’t be any further apart.
Duck-taped Terracotta horses |
Final touches |
The bait |
The bait |
No comments:
Post a Comment