Along the street there were groups of people centering their attention on one participant who carried a large shine atop their heads. These are called kavadis and are somewhat like the tiers of a very large bird cage. This structure is made from a flexible metal armature and many bundles of peacock feathers are attached along with images of the gods formed usually from metal but I also saw paintings. The feathers then arch and sway as the participant dances. These structures are over 3 feet high and 3 feet wide and rest primarily on a padded waist band and shoulder braces. But many long spikes radiate from a crown-like armature and poke into the skin of the worshiper. Also there are many hooks both small and very large that are hooked through the skin and hold chains which dangle limes or small packets wrapped in gold.
Larger hooks may also attach to the skin at the shoulder blades and pull a separate rolling chariot containing images of gods with incense and flowers. These are not as common but infinitely more pious. The rolling shrines are steadied and perhaps even held back by the partipant’s entourage. The skin then flexes out dramatically in this case. Some participants also run the supporting braces through 4-inch bundles of skin before ending in the padded belt. None of the wounds are bleeding and are covered in a white powder substance, that is perhaps ash. The person carrying the shrine is further “adorned” with a lance or rod running inside the mouth and out each cheek terminated by limes or tridents. These can be gold or silver. There will, many times, also be a rod running through the tongue from top to bottom. Obviously the participant is not able to speak. A few of the mouthpieces also had a gold plate obscuring the mouth. The participant does not seem to be in any pain and cannot speak. The festival “parade” continues from one Hindu temple to another over a 4-k walk. The participants are bare footed. Some women carried wooden sandals with spikes on a tray but I never saw these being worn.
Only men carry the large shrines atop their heads but women may have the mouthpiece.
Many other women and men carry silver pots full of milk, some may also carry honey and flowers all offerings to be made at the final temple. Many people wore orange and golden garments.
Along the way the families might stop to allow the devotee to drink a sip of water or to message their feet. They may get very close to the devotee and encourage them much like a labor coach might do to a woman in labor. Only one party seemed to enjoy adding to the torture of their devotee. This group bothered me a lot. Once they saw me photographing they held back the shrine that this tiny man pulled to show the flexing skin to me. They flexed their arms in a macho style in front of the devotee to urge him on. This man was tiny and certainly unable to speak or object. He looked me in the eye as if to say sorry. But I am viewing that situation in an ethnocentric way that may not reflect their intentions.
Along the way the entourage chanted and played drums they also shook a long stick with tambourine-like rattles. The ankles of the devotee held many bells and as they twirled with their heavy kavadi these bells made their own music.
The people were neither sad nor jubilant in the morning. They didn’t seem to mind being photographed and in fact one woman told me they like to be photographed. The people were so kind to me and answered my many questions.
The devotees are making either an offering or asking for favors of Lord Murugan who is also known as Lord Subramaniam. He is the son of Parvati. This festival commemorates Lord Murugan’s defeat of a demonic creature named Surapadman. It all sounds like a super hero comic book but is so much more historic and mythical.
I was entranced from the first moment and kept running ahead to try to capture the event on camera. I’m afraid my images simple do not do the festival justice. I didn’t know that the course was so long but just kept up with the groups. At one point I joined the parade and this enabled me to eventually walk with the devotees into the temple.
Entering the temple sounds easy enough but this large structure had to be walked up many steps and the way cleared so that the structure didn’t catch on anything. By the time my little group reached the temple the festival had backed up and so we waited in the sun for a long while inching towards the temple. Along the way a few of the long spikes are removed but the devotee still has the hooks and mouth rods. 
Once inside the temple the drums and chanting and dancing becomes frenetic and the party gave the milk to the temple guardians to pour into the shrine. This is a lot of milk, perhaps many hundreds of gallons. Then finally all the people go into a park and they gently remove all the hooks and rods. I saw one very thin man who seemed to tremble as they took the shrine from his shoulders and he looked as though his eyes were rolling back under his lids but once it was removed he seemed to be fine. I saw men who had small puncture wounds but none of them were bleeding or needing medical attention. There seemed to be a picnic atmosphere in the large tent as they removed the shines and rested.
This festival begins at dawn and when I returned to the hotel it was still going on. Even at 10 pm there were still people walking the route but at night the spectator crowd is much, much larger than I experienced in the morning. This must mean that hundreds of people undergo this form of self-mutilation which is remarkable. This festival apparently only takes place here and not in India.
I saw a small boy who carried his own tiny alter only not the type carried on the head. He had one tiny hook in his forehead.
Younger babies might have their head shaved and covered with a mustard-colored powder. I believe some people also cut their hair as offering because I saw a shrine with long, black tresses adoring it.
The women who formed the entourage are often dressed in their finest saris, some with beautiful golden threads and the colors are brilliant. Women may have on their finest jewels too. So the gold of their necklaces and earrings looked beautiful against the rich color of their skin. I stopped many women to tell them that their sari was stunning. Their hair was so beautiful too. I’ve decided that a sari is perhaps a very sexy garment because the folds and movement as one walks creates a rhythm and the colors seduce the eye.
After seeing something like this you want to hold onto the sights and sounds and smells. A camera helps with the sights but the sound of the drums and chanting are a bit more ephemeral without a recorder. The intense smell of incense especially at the temple is imbedded in my memory. Even the smell of the warm milk is there in my memory. But oddly there are the sounds of a modern city too; there were sirens, policemen’s whistles, Buses roaring past and honking horns alongside chants and drums. Plus there are the visual memories of commercial posters for cellular phone companies alongside the faces of determined participants.
Other contradictions I saw: a male drummer talking on a cell phone as he helped along a friend enacting this ancient ritual, a man with his cheek pierced and carring a shrine taking a small inhale on a cigarette held by his entrouage as he walked along the route. Singapore is like that; so modern and so ancient, so diverse and so unified. So beautiful!
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