The Tomorrowland Experience

There is a reason why the Belgium music mecca tops global bucket lists and it has very little to do with BPM

- Nirmika Singh

At Tomorrowland, I discovered the magnetic pull of the humble bindi. My first few hours at the venue saw at least a dozen sociable (and high af) strangers at the festival greeting me with a spontaneous shimmy—“Hey, you Eendeeah right?”— accompanied with swift Bollywood-style neck and hand movements. All sealed with speedy selfies and Snapchat stories. Of course I relished the entertainment I spawned. Or rather the red dot between my brows—bought a few months ago in an oppressive Thane- bound local—did.

The previous day, before the festival opened its doors to the public, the visiting press was permitted to run wild in the scenic premises. You only had to set foot on the entry bridge made of wooden planks engraved with ubiquitous festival branding and wanderlust quotes to know you were in for some serious Alice In Wonderlanding (brought to you by generous alcohol sponsors, of course). Earlier in the morning, the apples offered to us as a snack in our Tomorrowland shuttle from Brussels to the venue, Boom, bore impressive, presumably edible branding. Over the next three days, I would be savoring Tomorrowland Freshly Squeezed Kiwi Juice at the media center and wiping juice mooch with napkins bearing the Tomorrowland logo. The locks that secured our Dreamville camps were also branded, just like the highly sought-after cell phone power banks on sale at the venue. Toilet paper at porta-potty was left untouched. I got my first lesson in branding at Tomorrowland.