The Kite Museum at Jakarta
“Museum of layang-layang?”, asked Fery, my Go-Ride driver.
“Yes,” I said. “Museum of…kites”
Fery’s bewilderment, as he later told me during our ride, was natural. Why would someone make a museum of kites? And why was I going to visit it?
As we rode along Jakarta’s congested streets on his two-wheeler — Go-Ride is the bike taxi version of ride-hailing, and often is the fastest way to get around Jakarta — it started raining.
We stopped under a flyover, and Fery handed me a poncho that was large enough for me to pull over my bag as well.
“More time, due to rain,” he said.
I wondered if we would make it on time. Google Maps said the museum shut at 4 PM, and our estimated arrival was just half an hour before that. Was it really worth traveling all the way for a half hour at the museum? I thought I’d switch the destination and get back to the hotel, but there was no option in Go-Ride, and Fery told me he would get into trouble if he closed the ride when not at the destination.
“Fine,” I said. “Let’s go, as fast as we can.”
Kites have fascinated me since I was young, though I must confess that I was never good at flying them myself. Kite flying in Gujarat, where I grew up, is a hugely popular sport and is a yearly activity around Makara Sankranti or Uttaryan (usually Jan 14th or 15th of the year). Unlike other dates which are based on the lunar calendar, Makara Sankranti (which translates into the transition into the house of Capricorn) marks the transition of the sun into the zodiac of Capricorn.
Uttaryan (northern movement) used to coincide with the winter solstice that is currently in December, due to slight time shifts in the solstice over the years. In popular culture, both terms are used synonymously, and the movement is considered auspicious.
All through Gujarat, and a few other states, the event is celebrated with every family making its way to the terrace or open grounds and fighting kite battles. As a kid, I remember going through the process of getting ready for the day — we would buy string and then take it to one of the many tiny roadside shops that sprung up before the festival. These shops had men sitting with a solution of powdered glass, often in various colors. To get the strings coated with glass, it would first be stretched between two spinners and would be pressed into the solution as it unwound from one onto another. This would coat the string with the powdered glass solution that made it sharp and ready for battle.
Kite battles would often be fierce, and stalwarts would engage in a “pench” (duel) that ended with one of the kites being severed. The winner celebrated, and the loser often tried to retrieve as much of string possible to start afresh.
Of course, though we went through the motion, my brother and I enjoyed the process of catching the kites that were cut. These kites, unlike those controlled by the flyer, traveled abandon, and we loved following the whimsical paths of the kites as it made its way back to the ground. Not all of them returned safely though, as many would get stuck on trees or get caught on balconies. Kites that landed on open ground were fair game for all kids, and often many of us would pounce on the same kite to claim it for ourselves. There were fights, of course, and many kites torn in anger if someone else snatched a kite that you had caught. But these never lasted too long, as the entire gang of kids would soon rush, following another free kite, hoping to add it to our kitty.
I was lost in memories as we turned into a narrow alley that housed the museum.
The Museum of layang-layang (which is the Bahasa word for kites) is at a remote corner of South Jakarta. It was set up in 2003 by Endang Ernawati, who is a professed kite lover and wanted to preserve the unique kite-making skills from across Indonesia.
As we entered, I noticed that the cobblestones had a pattern of kites on them. The staff was courteous, and when I said I had come all the way from India, they said we could stay on till 5 PM. Since we were at a remote location, Fery offered to stay back and drive me back to the hotel after I was finished. As he hadn’t seen the museum either, I got him a ticket and we began the tour with Fajar, the genial English-speaking guide at the museum.
Kite-flying is an ancient sport at Jakarta. Cave inscriptions have been found depicting kite-flying. Indonesia is an archipelago, and various regions have their own preferences for kites. While some have the regular two-dimensional battle kites, there are many variations beyond these.
Some of the earliest kites, Fajar told us, were those used by fishermen. These were just large dried leaves that were put on fishing strings. As the wind blew, the leaf kites swayed and made the bait seem lifelike to the fish, often improving chances for the fishermen.
The region of Borneo saw early kites made of dried leaves, stitched together with small slivers of wood. The frame of the kite was also wooden, and these kites were flown with string made from the pineapple tree bark.
Over time, kites became more sophisticated and were made from dried banana hemp. These kites were often painted and carried a small bow that swung around to create a buzzing sound as they flew.
Of late, many of the larger kites are made of plastic or parachute material.
The museum also hosts a variety of kites in unusual shapes. We were told that all the kites had been flown earlier, incredible as it seemed. Some of these kites were so large that it took seven men pulling the string, while another seven balanced the kite on the ground as it took off. These flying activities took a lot of coordination, and villages often had teams that competed in group events for flying kites.
Kites of various forms are displayed at the museum. As you walk in, a large kite in the shape of an elephant stares at you. Kites in the form of a huge dragonfly, a ship, and even a horse-driven chariot swing from the ceiling.
As you walk inside, a huge flying fish dangles overhead, facing an orange hybrid between a dragon and a horse. A terrifying dragon kite rests on a table, even as a fairy spreads her wings. A large kite from Bali is painted in three colors — red, white and black — signifying the Hindu trinity of Brahma, Vishnu, and Mahesh. Another kite painted like a dragon has a huge ornamental tail. Fajar told us that some villagers built kites with tails as long as 250m for their kite festivals.
One of the most innovative kites is built in the shape of the kite museum and was presented when the museum was set up.
Another room houses kites from other countries. Kites from India have pictures of Hindu deities. A kite specially gifted from Italy is hand painted and has a rectangular frame. The museum also has Chinese kites in the shape of dragons, and Korean kites that have a hole in the center of the kite to stabilize them. A kite from Thailand that was displayed was flown when a child was born to keep evil spirits away. And tucked away in a corner was a kite from Cambodia, painted with the Angkor Wat.
Fajar later took us to another room that housed kites that were flown when the Indian Prime Minister had visited Indonesia in 2018. To celebrate the friendship between the two countries, Indonesia had arranged for a kite flying festival, sporting amongst others, kites with the faces of the Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi and the Indonesia President Joki Widodo.
Fajar was a great host, and he patiently answered my barrage of questions as I walked through the museum. He rued the fact that foreigners seem to be more interested in the museum. Many Indonesians didn’t even know about it, he complained (a legitimate complaint, as many people I met at the conference were surprised that there was such a museum in Jakarta). To keep the tradition alive, they also conduct classes for children on kite making.
The battle to keep traditional skills and interests alive in the face of modern pursuits ranges everywhere. But then, as we left the museum, I realized the kites have a lesson for us. With the right lift, our traditional pursuits can soar too.
