“As the tour progressed, we were beginning to become professional prasadam hawkers, fine-tuning the mantra and positioning ourselves closest to the concert gates so that we were the first ones the concertgoers met as they exited the show.”

On Summer Tour with the Band
By Savyasaci das

When I ended the article of our adventures at the New Year's Eve Phish concert (see Volume 2 Issue 1) with the hope that we would be able to distribute prasadam along their whole summer tour, I didn't think we'd actually do it. It was just hyperbole-something writers do to end a story. There was no way we'd really do it, no way we could do it. So I thought.

Soon after the article was finished, we found the Phish concert dates on the Internet. They would be embarking on an eighteen-show tour, which began in Tennessee and ended nearly a month later in Ohio. Although not easy (to say the least), it would be possible. Now to translate the idea into action.

Bhakta Doug had an old trailer, which was in pretty bad shape, but could be fixed up. Some pots would have to be obtained along with extra burners and other equipment of the sort. We had two cooks, Radha Raman das and Bhakta David, from Poland and Italy respectively, who would get a chance to experience the U.S.A in all its so-called glory. The other travelers would be Savyasachi das and myself, who had both been on previous summer concert tours distributing books, but never the uncharted territory of prasadam. It seemed, however, that Lord Krishna wanted us to go, because everything fell into place, and by the weekend before the first show, we were ready to depart.

Then we received an unexpected phone call from Purusa Sukta Prabhu in Detroit explaining that his party, along with another party from New York, was planning to follow the tour as well. They planned on setting up a book table and bhajan tent and they requested us to cook prasadam. If there was any doubt in our minds, it was completely eradicated after this. Next stop: Tennessee!

If you wanted to know our plan at the time I couldn't have told you. We didn't have one. Just get there, set up, and start cooking. We had a vague notion that if we cooked it then they would come. So when we pulled in to park we didn't consider that we were way off the beaten path. The tents were set up, burners lit, and everything was jolly and good. Soon the prasadam would be ready and the lines would start forming. Hope we cooked enough, we thought. But of course, it wouldn't be much of a story if there weren't any obstacles. The first day hardly anyone came to our table, what to speak of buying a plate. The book table was not having much success either and the chanters had already gone to look for greener pastures elsewhere. So much for our festival.

We knew that for the coming shows our strategy had to change. The first step: go to where the people were, namely move to "shake-down street". For those fortunate people who have never heard of it, this is an entirely insane place. A microcosm of capitalism at its worst, it consists of an array of do-it-yourself vendors converged on a single makeshift "street". On this street people were hawking everything imaginable from hand-made jewelry and glass-pipes to varieties of foods (especially grilled cheese), and, of course, plenty of intoxication (both legal and illegal). Meanwhile, every man, woman, and child-was yelling at the top of their lungs to come buy their goods, giving them alluring adjectives such as "phatty" and "dope".

There we were, alongside a psychedelic poster table and yet another grilled cheese stand along with some beer vendors in the middle. We could hardly hear ourselves think with all of the yelling, but as we watched everyone pass up our homemade spaghetti for the grilled cheese, we knew we had to yell as well. "Get your veggie spaghetti," we began timidly. But soon people started approaching and eyeing our unusual table. "Whatcha got," they asked. "We got spaghetti with homemade sauce (not from a can), salad, Indian bread. You even get a cup of lemonade." Next thing we knew they were buying plates and even telling their friends to come get some too.

As the tour progressed, we were beginning to become professional prasadam hawkers, fine-tuning the mantra and positioning ourselves closest to the concert gates so that we were the first ones the concertgoers met as they exited the show.

Our routine was as follows: 3 p.m.-The cars start arriving. Distribute books as they pull in. 7 p.m.-Concert begins. Set up tent, burners, etc. Start cooking. 11 p.m.-Concert ends. People stream out, tired and hungry. Serve prasadam. 2 a.m.-Pack up and head towards the next show (usually a five hour drive).

Of course the schedule was hectic and there was many a time when I thought I couldn't continue. But what would our loyal prasadam fans do. Amongst the ones who followed the band from city to city were many who ate with us night after night. They were counting on us to be there and serve them the best meal on the lot and were eager to hear of the secret ingredient-spiritual love. So as hard as it was, we continued.

And there were more obstacles than that, namely our usual nemesis: the police. We were used to their presence at these kinds of events and as book distributors we knew some tactics to evade them. But now, with our immobile prasadam table, we were sitting ducks. I still have nightmares of them storming in, threatening to knock over our table if we didn't pack it up immediately. Of course, we were learning some defensive maneuvers as well. One time, after a policeman told us to leave, we packed up deliberately slow. One man took the napkins to the van. Another took the sign. Meanwhile a third continued to serve prasadam to the throngs of people who were requesting it. When our police friend came back fuming to see us still there, a hippie girl, appearing from nowhere, gave him an enormous hug that startled him, or should I say stunned him, to the point where he walked off in a daze (giving us time to serve out our very last noodle).

Columbus, Ohio was our last show and turned out to be the best. The first night we sold out in less than an hour and the second night cooked double, selling out just before the security, and then the rain came in to break everything up. As we were packing up, people were coming up to us telling us how much they appreciated what we were doing and how much they'd miss us now that it was over. They actually began to feel like old friends and believe it or not, I felt we'd miss them too. We gave them our address, and a book or two to those interested and parted ways.

What a whirlwind of a tour! After seeing the country our foreign devotees concluded that everywhere you go it was all the same-McDonalds and Wal-Marts here and there in every town and village. I do have to admit I appreciated the experience. I'm not sure if I could do it again, but just because I said that, I think you'll find me writing yet another installment of the Phish saga. I better watch what I say.

© CHAKRA 27-September-2000

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