It was past 11 in the night. The city was pretty much alive. There were people on the road, in parks and in the market place, where shops had begun to pull down the shutters. We had come out of the hotel in downtown Xian to meet people and savour the night life in one of the oldest cities in the world.
Under the bridge, near the east gate of the fort, was a group of people, singing and dancing. A woman, well in her 40s, daintily made, was dancing to the song sung by a group of Chinese men and women. The audience clapped to the beat and cheered as the lady picked up the steps.
Her movements were natural, fluid and flawless. She saw us and tried a few steps of what looked like a Bharatnatyam mudra... we smiled and she smiled doubly at us. The crowd spotted us in the merrymaking and pulled us in. “Indua?” (Indians?) We nodded.
“Awala ku?” A voice from the crowd asked. We were one week old in China and knew what it meant. “Awala ku” is the Chinese interpretation of the famous Hindi song of the 50s from Raj Kapoor’s film Awara — Awara hoon... They simply love it, though they do not sing it. They hum the tune perfectly, and with emotion.
The Chinese love Laj and Lida (their names for Raj Kapoor and Nargis Dutt. They pronounce “R” as “L”).
Surprisingly, the Chinese are not aware of any other Indian song or star. In their collective memory, from Beijing and Shanghai to Hangzhou and Xian, Laj and Lida, and “Awala ku” are etched forever.
We sang and revelled in an innocent vibrant bonhomie, never experienced before. The warmth was palatable. They clicked photographs and so did we. The night eternalised in our mental and physical frameworks.
Night life in China is vibrant. In night bars young belly dancers gyrate their svelte hips to Chinese adaptation of Arabian music. There are people everywhere, chilling out. It’s not just the young people who come out at night. Many elderly people hang out for a change and fresh air.
In Xian, behind the Bell Tower is a popular Muslim-dominated area. Muslims in China are referred to as Hois. The place is a world in its own. A lot of Hois trade in dry fruits and the market place is full of them.
The bazaar is a labyrinth, one has to go through makeshift shops brimming with dry fruits and merchandise. On the other side of the road are eateries. The aroma of kebabs was compelling and so was the ambience.
Parked on foldable chairs outside the eateries, the roadside was full of people, local and foreigners feasting on the aroma, food and the celebration. We looked for an empty place and sat down and ordered Chinese beer for three yuan and sheekh kebabs.
Our neighbours looked at us and raised the toast — “Induas!” We picked up our glasses and gulped the drink in one go — that’s the way to do in China. Bottoms up! The night had just begun past 12 midnight with the carnival that knew no boundaries, no politics and no debate.
