Itchy Feet

Konark journey... poetry in stone

2007-02-15T16:30:00.000+05:30

The beach at Chandrabhaga near Konark was a dull grey blanket when I reached there early in the morning, eyes half shut, mind still on "where-is-my-filter-coffee" mode. What ever happened to the "famous" East Coast Sunrise that I woke up at 5 a.m. for? The rain. That is what happened. Who has heard of rain in February? Where are we living, for heaven's sake? In London? *end of rant*

Chandrabhaga wore a deserted look, a few early morning types wetting their feet tentatively in the angry waters, creating enough noise to make up for their lack of numbers. I walked away from the group towards the fishing hamlet between the narrow road and the sea. I found small groups of fishermen sitting on their haunches, staring at the sea with desperate eyes. Are you not going in to the sea, I asked one of them in Hindi. I don't know if he understood my words, but he followed my hand pointing to the sea, and pointed towards the sky in return. Both hands up, a sign of despair.

I stood staring at the waves for a few minutes, mind a peaceful blank, unmindful of the cold wind playing havoc with my already sore throat and aching ears. The sea, in all its dreary tones, was still magnetic. As I headed back to the car park, the sun was just peeping out and the boats standing desolate on the shore suddenly seemed to get a life of their own. I turned back and saw a few of the fishermen already heading out into the sea. Good luck to them.

By the time I reached the temple at Konark, the sun had resumed its game of hide-and-seek and the skies were again colorless and pale. I seem to have a talent for choosing the most dismal days in the year for visiting the most beautiful places in the country - just perfect for that washed-out background in the photographs.

Admittedly, no sun is not the best way to visit the sun temple. But for all the dullness in the sky, the temple stands tall and majestic, inspiring awe without any effort.

I hired a guide to show me around the temple, eager to know more about its history and keen on not missing out the finer details. The guide starts off with the story that all such monuments have - about when and how it was built. Twelve hundred workmen toiled at it for twelve years, using up twelve year's worth of state revenue to build this magnificent temple. And as a fitting climax, a twelve year old master craftsman fixed the kalash at the top of the temple, a feat none of the other older more skilled workers could achieve - and jumped to his death into the sea, protecting the honor of the clan. To this day, the child's sacrifice haunts the temple, no puja has ever been carried out there. It stands proudly, much of it in ruin as a reminder of the grandeur that was. Even today, in all that ruin, there is a profusion of carving all around the temple, intricate and astonishing in detail. Animals, people, clothes, jewellery, even emotions and feelings... seeing them, one understands what made Rabindrabath tagore enthuse - here the language of stone surpasses the language of man...

It is believed that the temple was originally constructed right on the shore, till the sea receded a couple of kilometers sometime in the past. European sailors were said to use this black pagoda as a navigational point in the sea. The temple, as is well known, is dedicated to the sun god, Surya who resides there (says my guide) with his two wives Chhaya and Sandhya. The scorching, all-powerful sun with his soft, gentle consort - shade and evening. Heat and cool. Life and stupor.

And that is what Konark is all about. The never ending cycle, the ever moving rhythm of life. The East-West axis of the temple shaped like a chariot on twelve pairs of immense wheels, the rays of the sun following the circumference of the temple as the day progresses. The lower part of the temple walls carved with images of elephants and horses - for the child to enjoy. Right on top, where the gods anyway reside, are carvings of Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva, for the aged to look at.

The middle part, at eye level - for the young - is full of erotic carvings - man and woman, intimacy and togetherness, procreation, recreation. As natural and joyful as life itself. My guide spares no pains to point out the spicier carvings to me - lesbian, woman with animal, group sex - see, he tells me, all this has existed in India centuries ago. Foreigners take these ideas from us and they make films out of these. Chalk up one more for Global India.

Another recurring motif throughout is that of victory-defeat. Just as you are about to climb the steps to the natyamandapa, you are greeted by two statues ofn either side of the steps. There is a lion (signifying power), riding an elephant (connoting wealth), which is in turn trampling a man (standing for justice). What this means, my guide is unable to explain - is it to acknowledge and accept that justice wil be trampled upon by might and wealth? Or is this a metaphor for the eternal food chain... or is it meant to remind all visitors about the ephemeral quality of life?

Right towards the end of our tour, my guide points out this carving of a woman standing by the gate - she is all dressed up and waiting for her husband. He adds for good measure, in those days, women used to wait for their men. Nowadays, often men have to wait for the women to come back home.

I think of my husband waiting for me back in Bombay and feel a quick pang. I pay the guide his fee and head towards the exit when I stop. I want to go back for another round, this time on my own, just to take in the magnificence of it. Standing in the shadow of the temple, watching the huge wheel intently, it is almost possible to feel it move, taking you back in time with it. Close your eyes, and you can hear the waves crashing aginst the walls of the temple, eroding the sandstone slowly through the centuries.

A morning at Fort Kochi

2007-01-26T21:09:00.000+05:30

Cochin has not changed a bit in all the years that I have been going there on work. True, the airport is larger, glitzier and farther than it used to be ten years ago. There is more chrome and glass all over the city, Subways and Coffee Days alongside the Dwarakas and smaller eating places of old. Mammooty and Mohanlal beam at you alternately from all the hoardings in the city. And then suddenly, near the old airport area, there is a faded hoarding with Amitabh Bacchan with a - do not throw your garbage out into the open. Why, I wonder...

I had a few hours in the morning before my flight to Bombay and I decided to explore the Fort Kochi area; the weather was cool by Kerala standards and I had a car with Jomon the driver eager to double up as local guide and broken-Tamil translator. We crossed many bridges, most of them built recently to make local it easier to travel through Cochin, with its many tiny islands now part of the main city. We then drove through narrow lanes, romba neraiyya humbu - too many humps - speedbreakers - on the road because of schools in the area, Jomon informed me seriously. Road humps notwithstanding, we narrowly missed being run down by a bus headed towards navel base at breakneck speed.

Fort Kochi could be charming; centuries of history and culture squeezed tight within a few square kilometers of narrow lanes all leading to the sea. Now there is garbage all over, there is kitsch all the way from Rajasthan, there is the dust and mud of of construction.

Empty coconut shells lie strewn all over the place, alongside lie empty boats, colorful in their fresh coats of paint but looking tired and just wanting to sleep through the heat of the day... Local guides take groups of foreigners around relating tales of the portugese and the chinese that sound too rehearsed to be true. Fishermen wait for foreigners to walk up to them before they start operating their fishing nets; only two hundred rupees madam, one of them told me, offering me a "dicsount rate" in honor of my Tamil.

Despite all this, Fort Kochi is charming. Just as you get off the car at the Vasco Da Gama (he is all over the place here), you catch sight of the chinese fishing nets waiting for you, waiting for the right tide to begin their descent into the sea. Picturesque and pretty, these nets which operate on a simple system, were brought all the way from China centuries ago. Many of them lie broken today, and my driver says that few local fishermen know how to repair them. Now they seem to act more as tourist traps rather than traps for fish.

Just down the road is St. Francis Church, built in 1503, some say by the Vasco man himself, definitely by the Portugese, in any case. The church is undergoing renovation work now, but despite the buzz of the cleaners and carpenters, there is a sense of peace and quiet inside. The high wooden ceilings and the brilliant stained glass have clearly withstood centuries of well-meaning renovation. On one side is a rectangle where Vasco Da Gama was said to be buried initially, before his remains were shipped off to Lisbon.

Just as I walk out of the church, a guide escorts a group of middle-aged English women, he leads them to a step where they can sit comfortably while removing their shoes. In India it is customary to remove shoes before entering any temple, he says in English that sounds more like Malayalam. It is amazing how India swallows up centuries of foreign influence, churches become temples and English is embraced in one fell swoop into the numerous local dialects and accents of the country.

My last stop was at the Dutch Palace, now also the local archaeological museum. The palace - museum, not as popularly mentioned as the fishing nets and the church, was a wonderful surprise. For an entry fee of Rs.2, I spent an hour gazing at the collection of arms and coins and palanquins, and more importantly the fascinating murals in the first floor and the basement (which is actually at ground level, but is reached by narrow steep steps from inside the museum). Most of the murals depict scenes and stories from the Ramayana. there is also one entire blank wall in the basement, where there was at some time in the past, murals depicting the entire Kumarasambhava by Kalidasa. It has now been sketched in black and displayed along with the information board.

The murals were breath-taking in their detail, with their rich vermillons and vibrant ochres and deep reds of vegetable dyes. The blues and indigos, so much a feature of mural work in the North, especially that associated with Rajasthan, were prominently missing here; only one solitary figure of Vishnu carried dark greens, which seemed too fresh to have been painted centuries ago. The basement also had an inside room filled with what can only be described as the Kamasutra of the gods; siva playing with vishnu-maya, parvati looking on in anger and envy in one; siva playing with parvati herself, seated on his lap, in another. Krishna in rasa leela, the gopis dancing intoxicated by love and lust for him.

The huge compound also contains a temple of the bhagavati, the protector deity of the rajas. The palace was built and presented by the Portugese to the Raja of Kochi, Vira Kerala Varma in 1555 AD. It came to be known as the Dutch Palace from 1663 after they carried out some renovations in the palace.

In all, a couple of hours well spent. Fort Kochi has more, notably the famous Jew Town, also home to the oldest Synagogue in the country, built in 1568. I intend to visit it the next time I am in Cochin. And also wait patiently to watch the chinese nets in action. Trapping fish and tourists alike cleverly.

Dubai or not to buy?

2007-01-15T20:23:00.000+05:30

The Dubai Shoppping Festival had just began - earlier than usual - when I went to Dubai. And it was the weekend before Christmas. Half the world seemed to have landed in Dubai at that time, to shop, and shop some more. One crazy evening at the maddeningly crowded Mall of Emirates, and I decided to stay away from the mall-mess.

I hopped on to an open top bus that Sunday and explored Dubai on foot, by bus and by boat. I discovered more "shopping" opportunities in Dubai - the souks, or local markets, filled with the sounds and smells of the Middle East and South Asia. Tiny shops selling incense sticks and pictures of goddess Lakshmi. And cheerful yellow marigold flowers that belong right in any shop lining the main street leading to the large temple in any town in South India. And then the ads on the walls announcing "bed space available for Tamil Bachelor. Please contact..." it is possible to close your eyes and wonder for a minute about where you are.

I walked through narrow winding lanes, each sharp turn leading into narrower lanes, each filled with some sort of "speciality goods" or the other. These souks seem right out of the distant past, with their deep red high arches and wooden lanterns that bring the lanes alive after the world outside gets dark. For these souks represent a world inside another world.

The shop-keepers along these souks seemed to be as much of detached observers s we, the tourists were. Chatting among themselves, sipping glass after steaming glass of fragrant tea, they seemed to know the real buyer from the rest of the interested crowd. Most often, they simply ignored your presence, or welcomed you into their little group of gossiping men with a smile.

Silks and cotton, spices and nuts, silver and gold... Large air-conditioned shops, their windows glittering with all the gold on show, and small roadside stalls, their wares seeming to wink at your right out of the tall rickety tables on which they are displayed.

Surely, there is a lot to buy in Dubai!

***

Note : Here is my earlier post on Dubai on Itchy Feet- Dubai and the -est obsession

Dubai and the -est obsession

2007-01-04T18:22:00.000+05:30

Pointing out through the window of his living room, G said, See that building there, the one with all the cranes.... that is going to be the tallest building in the world. I am guessing the look on my face said 'how interesting, yaaaaawn'. Dubai is suddenly obsessed with being and building the largest, the biggest, the mostest, he explained. The new airport coming up is supposed to be the largest in the world. There we go again, I thought.

The next day, on the open top hop-on-hop-off bus, the guide shreiked into the mike at intervals of five minutes, pointing and waving franctically (she was in a state of feverish excitement, you must understand) - this building you see is going to be the tallest in the world when it is completed in 2009. And she added, there is provision on the top to add on more floors in case any other building in the world overtakes this one, so our Dubai always has the tallest building in the world. How reassuring.

Then we were treated to the sight of the eighth tallest building in the world, the guide trilling on with the names and exact heights of each of the seven taller than this one. No, I do not exaggerate. The heights, down to the last inch or whatever it takes to be on that list.

This is a land obsessed with creating. And why not? the city itself was created out of nothingness - this lot of buildings here, this was just sand two years ago... And to think I found Singapore fake. Everything in Dubai is created to attract attention - snow and ski slopes inside a shopping mall, Christmasy decorations and teddy bears (or were they polar bears?) in red coats singing Merry Christmas in an Islamic country, a hotel built on reclaimed land to resemble a sail-boat (this, the Burj Al Arab, incidentally is not among the -est buildings, but it does happen to be the only seven star hotel in the world. So there).

But I am not complaining. I loved it all... Camels in pink and yellow, the dumb looks on their faces intact in The Camel Company. Breath-taking sunsets along the beach, the sails of the Burj Al Arab hotel, magically opening up to the sun in front of your eyes.

The creek with its traditional abras (tiny taxi boats) ferrying locals in a hurry and tourists with all the time on their hands across. Old and new mosques with tall minarets reaching to the very skies, the sun sitting like the flame on top of a candle, and beautful detailing in blue on the walls (with a lift inside to get to the top floor!)

I cheerfully gave the desert safari a miss, keeping my tender back in mind. Instead, I hopped on to the tour bus and spent the day riding around the city, taking in the smells and sounds. And the unexpected bursts of colors everywhere in the desert city. And shivering slightly in the chilly breeze in the middle of the day. I spent the evenings at eating places by the creek, watching the city lights twinkle in the distance, looking up suddenly to catch the fireworks that go off in the city every night during the DSF.

Dubai is full of these surprises. Ignore the obvious, the cliches that Dubai has been selling hard and fast for a long time now - yes, even the shopping - scratch a little deeper and there is a surprisingly modest and fun Dubai.

Note : Did I say ignore the shopping? Expect my next post Dubai or not to buy up on Itchy Feet as soon as I find the time for it.

***
Update : Read Jai Arjun's Dubai Nuggets for more on Dubai's state of perpetual wannabeness. ...This is bizarrely appropriate, for more than anything else Dubai gives the impression of being perpetually in labour, straining to produce one of the great metropolises-cum-tourist centres.

***
One more note : as promised - Dubai or not to buy? finally on Itchy Feet

On and of the road

2006-10-27T12:10:00.000+05:30

Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,

Healthy, free, the world before me,

The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.

---Walt Whitman - Song of the Open Road

Sometimes... the road takes you far far away, sets you free, lets you explore, allows you to discover... youself.

Roads.

They let you get away. From the smoke and the dust. From the noise. From the heaviness in your heart.

Sometimes, they take you home... after a long tiring day. When you just want to not think about the hard journey but the warmth that lies at the end of it.

Sometimes you walk with a spring in your step, head looking up, mind looking ahead. Or with your head bent. Counting the concrete squares on the pavement. Noticing the way the water creeps into the tiniest cracks on the side. And try to forget.

Often, you stand in front of two. Or more. And wonder which way lies happiness. Fulfilment. Which way is just the right one? And even long after you have chosen, you never know...

They tease and tantalise... and constantly surprise... what is in store at the turn?

The sun high above your head. The wind on your cheeks, sometimes the raindrops on your hands... You walk, drive, smell the flowers and the fumes and find your destination in the company of a friend.

And then sometimes, you walk alone...

Is it any wonder then that I love being on the road?

Cruising on Superstar Libra

2006-10-23T17:38:00.000+05:30

My overnight trip aboard Superstar Libra was everything I had imagined and hoped it would be... The idea was to go some place far away from Diwali crackers and the smoke that gets in your eyes and throat and refuses to leave it is time for you to go back to work after the holidays (last minute tense question to husband - they wouldn't burst crackers on a ship, would they? husband seeing the printed program and answering in a distracted manner - well, they seem to have a Diwali theme party on later tonight... that, that, should have warned me, but never mind that for now).

I had hoped to leave behind on shore all stress, forget about work, completely unwind, stare at the water, sleep under the stars... where no mobile signal can interrupt your pleasant dreams with "before all networks get jammed, here is an early diwali wish for you, may your life sparkle like those bright..." you know what I mean. I had also hoped that my husband would not discover his long forgotten sea sickness and decide to throw up all over the place the minute we set sail, Thailand memories still green in our minds (pun intended somewhat, but only if you think it is funny) - (no, he did not - he just developed a fever and a grumpy look as a result, poor man).

In short, a quiet, peaceful relaxing holiday.

Quiet? Did I say quiet? I actually got quite a few things I did not expect. Jain cuisine at all meal times and Himesh rocking through the night, just to name the most painful of those. It turned out that Libra had a truckload of travel agents (SOTC? one of them asked me during the emergency drill that took place in the first few minutes after I got on. What, do I look like SOTC??, I stared in reply) who had been invited for a free ride so they could in turn pass on the PR to their clients. Who, surprise surprise, were mostly the Jain-cuisine-eating, pocketfuls-of-moneyed, Gujarati-loudly-speaking, Himesh-loving variety... They who have the money call the shots, said a wise friend when I cribbed about it the next day.

Indeed they do.

The first I noticed anything amiss was when I went all the way up to deck 10 (the terrace, so to say) just after we started sailing, in the hope of enjoying a quiet drink. And then the skies erupted - it sure felt that way to me - to the strains of jhalak dikhla ja. The DG, bless the man, a Philipino promising more of the stuff and those pretty young things in small skirts, (one of them Rina, all the way from China) circulating among the crowd which was straining at the leash to get at the poolside barbecue, and pullling people on to the dance floor. At Just chheeell, cheeelll, just cheeeelll... I started to walk away in search of a quieter spot.

Just to get you to speed on how I got to deck 10, here is the flashback. Superstar Libra has started sailing from Mumbai since last year. We got on the ship Friday evening for a cruise that was to take us into the seas off Bombay and get us back the next day at 2 p.m. We 'checked in' rather late, which was just after 6 p.m. for the cruise that was to start at 8. We had a cabin, I am embarrassed to say, at deck 2, which I figured was only slightly above the level of the water, a cabin so tiny that one look at it and we decided that this was not the best thing for two generously built people. We put our combined brains to the problem and finally figured out a way to manage. One of us would lie down on the tiny bunk while the other contorted the body and stood / walked to the tinier loo - which incidentally, has a shower and a hair-dryer and soap / shampoo dispenser and the works. A miniature marvel, that is what it was. And then the other would lie down... Finally, the experience gained from years and years of squeezing in and out of Mumbai locals paid off. (Apparently, there are larger cabins with bathrooms that have bath tubs inside and large windows looking out into the sea on decks above but that is for the seriously rich and the travel agents).

The lift took us all the way to deck 9, with the swimming pool and the jacuzzi tubs and the restaurants and the bars. And also alas! to the DJ and the Himace-bhai and the ultra-cute, namaste, bahoot accha hai female crew. Starters and drinks in hand, we walked all the way to the end of the ship, far away from the noise, where the only sound was that of the Titanic tune hammering loudly inside my head... Hush. And then silence... This was more like what I had imagined. There is no feeling of movement till you look down at the sea and see the ship cutting rapidly through the waters.

More exploration took us to the shop (where you can buy Star Cruises souvenirs at unbelievably high prices), the spa and the beauty parlour and the other restaurants and clubs inside the ship. It also took us to deck 4 through which we had entered the ship - where now, a sad little band was playing soulful music. I looked up and was startled - pictures of goddess lakshmi and ganesha all over. And paper, plastic garlands. And two tiny, bright little idols of Radha and Krishna right next to the band.

Why? Oh why? I had not noticed all this at the time of entry, as I had been busy trying to avoid being photographed with a couple of extremely brightly and scantily dressed dancers. We ate in peace at the Continental restaurant (which also serves, among things, Jain Continental. Actually I don't know that - I didn't notice any sign boards to this effect) which serves a passably decent set meal.

We ended up on the dot of 11 at some club or the other for the promised gala diwali party, cheerfully giving the "production show" (what on earth is a p.s.?) a miss. Different DJ, same south east asian girls (having quickly changed from short skirts to silky saris) - chaalo chaalo, come and dance, same music - just cheeelll cheelll. Well, there was a topless "erotic" show on the cards at midnight but I figure my husband and I had the same thought - of south east asian girls dancing topless to aashiq banaya aapne remix - since we did not consider going for that show.

And so went the night...

The best part of the cruise for me was early the next morning - I was up at 5.30 and out on deck 10. And for a full 45 minutes, I had the ship all to myself. Not a soul except the man cleaning the deck who smiled and said good morning and left me to my own devices. Coffee cup in hand, I stood at the railings watching the water under the ship, now pitch black, now glittering a pale green in the lights of the ship. Just me and the sea gulls who refused to be photographed. And slowly, slowly, in front of my eyes, first a patch of shy pink, some purples thrown in... and finally yellows and orange.

A wonderful half hour in the "hot tub"- jacuzzi - and an exotic breakfast of upma and idli (no, serious - jain idli at that) later, hubby and I found empty deck chairs, pulled them under the shade and proceeded to vegetate. We must have definitely started sprouting roots since we were left alone when all else around us were being dragged in to "exerdance" classes and jackpot tambola games. Such joy. We dragged ourselves out of the deck chairs at noon, went exploring again, duly shopped for Star Cruise souvenirs (hey, there was a discount on them, so there), waddled towards lunch and went back to our cabins to pack and get ready to get off. We had a short wait for the port to give the ship clearance where a man in white shorts came on stage to entertain us and kept asking us in turn to come up on stage and dance. He also kept asking us to crack jokes - but only veg ones please - no, he seriously said that. And then we were on the gangway getting off into the heat and dust of Diwali in Bombay. The end of our first cruise.

In all, a wonderful time, the Hindi remixes and mostly bad food (jain or otherwise) eaay to ignore in light of the otherwise relaxed and pampered feel. Superstar Libra has longer cruises to Goa and Lakshadweep. And my husband and I definitely intend to take one of those soon. And this time, definitely on a higher deck, in a larger cabin. We intend to dress up as travel agents and see if we can wrangle a free ride, if not, well, the money is very worth it.

***
Related post - Some thoughts on - Going local... to what extent? on my Mindspace blog

And then night in Delhi

2006-09-27T21:04:00.000+05:30

If days in Delhi are about long hot cab rides with drivers insisting on playing CDs of Kumar Sanu hits, or have the FM stations belting out the latest Hindi filmi hits, the nights are almost magical. The heat of the day is gone, there are early signs of winter in the air. As most of New Delhi is slowly drifting to sleep, Old Delhi continues to bustle with chaos. Traffic piles up at 10 p.m. on a Sunday night at the intersection outside the Red Fort, horns blare with abandon and fist fights threaten to break out any moment.

The fort meanwhile has shut for the day for visitors, but is illuminated, coyly waiting for the sound and light show to commence. We walk through group after group of policemen, and barricade after yellow barricade (which incidentally, I do not grudge since they serve me very well in the absence of a tripod).

I stop in front of Lahore Gate for this crooked view at the majestic fort, making a mental note to return sometime during the day. More metal detectors and frisks later, we are suddenly walking through the covered bazaar which now boasts of some of the ugliest touristy trash that can be found in Delhi...

And well inside the fort, we sit in the open, facing the diwan-e-khas, watching the lights dance and the sounds roll through the open spaces; the laughter of women at the all-women Thursday bazaar, Shah Jahan's vision for the Taj, Aurangazeb's bigoted pronouncements all the way to the call for independence early last century. We shiver slightly in the nippy air, as the son-et-lumiere brings alive centuries of Mughal Delhi.

We walk out after the show, hurried along by the slightly impatient securitymen who are waiting to lock up behind us and leave for the day. A quick dinner and a strange desire for late night ice-cream at India Gate expressed by the husband later, we find ourselves at the said gate.

India Gate is strangely dark and inaccessible; more policemen, more yellow barricades. However, all around is activity - balloon sellers and buyers, icecream vendors on their cycles and icecream eaters, photographers and the photographed, cops going round and round in their vans, children at their loudest best and couples very quiet on the lawns...

Bahut sari tasveeren khichvayi hai humne... I have had lots of pictures taken, said the balloon man, feigning great reluctance, and promptly putting his hands out and his smile on for this perfect pose. All is almost well with the world, if I can bring myself to ignore the number of security checks and police vans I encountered in a single evening...

Aching backs in Goa

2006-09-09T12:53:00.000+05:30

In sunny Goa, not all signboards are scary. Some of them are well, interesting...

I hung around for a bit hoping to meet the John massagist (from Delhi) himself. And then figured out that if he is 'gents', chances are he would meet only other 'gents'...

And while on Goa, here is a relevant if cheesy line I came across - Life is not measured by the number of breaths you take; but by the moments that take your breath away... Which leads smoothly to these moments which almost did...

Football fever in Goa...

2006-09-05T09:50:00.000+05:30

There is cricket in Goa. Match on a hot Sunday morning, complete with a small stadium, spectators and commentators...

And then there the more serious business of football. On the roads, in the playgrounds, in schools. Even in hoardings. Everywhere...

You are in Goa and you are not cheering for football??

Hot? Who says it is hot? 11 am on a Saturday morning, these kids were plaing football and screaming their lungs out. Notice that some of them are actually playing barefoot. Ouch! Just watching them made me tired....

Can you spot the football in the air?

Abrupt cessation of sport when one of the kid spots me. Time out under the tree to discuss the stranger with the camera. Play not to resume till she moves away.

Oh, by the way...

2006-09-04T10:40:00.000+05:30

So long as we are telling you what not to do, we thought we may as well tell you this too - do not abuse children

I mean... what?

Spotted across Goa beaches and snapped at Palolem finally...

Snapped in more than one way. Picture this - group of drunk bare-chested, beer-bellied, white under-weared (yuck, don't even let me get started on this one) Indian men playing leer-leer on the beach. Young white mom in swimsuit and very pretty little girl (not older than six) in pink swimwear playing on the sand, building castles, complete with pink pail and shovel. Men watch for over ten minutes, as they frolick like fat dolphins who have lost their way and landed on the shore, and found paradise there.

Little girl cannot bear the midday heat and takes off top while mom just just gone to fetch a bottle of water. And suddenly one of the men rush towards the girl with camera in hand. I start to scream, hey you cant do that - while mom returns and with a firm shake of her head, refuses to allow the budding photographer to click a picture of the kid.

And before you jump up and tell me how much I am over-reacting, please read this. And this. And many many other such discussions that I keep coming across. And also open your eyes and see the world around you carefully. It must be scary being a parent in today's world...

Haveli hopping in Shekhawati

2006-08-09T12:13:00.000+05:30

It is fascinating. It is colorful. It is even slightly bizarre. A freshly painted wall at Saraf haveli, with two images vying for our attention – one of the Wright brothers making their first trip up into the air, looking very tiny and unsure in their brown European coats. And right next to it, a prince on horseback, long pink flowing silk robes and all, attacking a tiger with a spear. The caption under the first says, udne wala jahaj [the flying machine] while the second is well, self explanatory.

Elsewhere, there is a car of unknown shape and make, a woman near a gramophone, and scattered across havelis are various men in bowler hats, some twirling their bushy mustaches, some content to just be clean-shaven Englishmen. On the outer wall of the Modi Haveli, in a puzzling juxtaposition, is an image of a rather thin Lord Shiva in a typical dance pose, next to it a herd of cows looking up longingly at Krishna high up on a tree (why?), and right below that a longish train, with exactly two people peering expectantly out of each window. Amidst all this, Ram and Sita are depicted with their retinue, the picture of piety. And Krishna the lover-thief-cowboy-god is shown everywhere, frolicking with the gopis inebriated by the sound of his music, and dancing the eternal dance of life with him.

If you happened to read my earlier post when art is irrelevant and thought that all of Shekhawati was in decay and disrepair, well, that is not true... Parts of Shekhawati are well maintained, colorful, even spectacular, boasting [albeit very quietly] of some of the most remarkable wall murals and frescoes you can see anywhere in India. And as guide books never seem to tire of saying, the world’s largest open air art gallery…

Built mostly in the nineteenth century, these havelis are the property of the local business-trading community, the Marwaris. In a way, it was part of their commitment to give back to the community they had left in search of money and fame. All at once, the larger the haveli, the higher the prestige of the owner – according to our guide, Ishwardas Modi haveli in Jhunjhunu where we started our haveli-hopping from had 365 windows, and I have read of one with over a thousand... And the more elaborate the frescoes and murals, ditto. Additionally, the women who were left behind in these havelis had more colour around them to make up for the absence of colour in their surroundings and perhaps, lives too...

As for the somewhat weird cacophony of images, they were representative of the changing times. My guess is that the owners and the artists themselves must have started safe with those images that were familiar and even essential, gods and goddesses and other mythological themes. At the same time, somewhere out there in the wide world, someone had found a way to fly… The nouveau-riche traveled to England and other parts of Europe and brought back with them images of snow covered mountains and gondolas and motor cars, all of which were faithfully translated on to the walls and ceilings of their homes by craftsmen rich in artistry and richer in imagination. Cars and airplanes painted by men who had never seen one in their lives; nor for that matter had they seen the any of the gods they painted on these walls. Closer home, for these men with a sharp business sense, it was imperative to please the Englishmen whose approving nod held the key to their success. So on came the images of bolwer-hatted and brown-suited Englishmen, and ladies in their stiff evening gowns and delicate parasols.

We could cover only the towns of Jhunjhunu and Mandawa since we had only one day with us devoted to the frescoes. And in any case, by the time we had finished wandering around Jhunjhunu, my husband had developed a severe case of frescophobia. Jhunjhunu is the largest town in that area, and bursts with the naïve self importance of the typical regional headquarters. Be sure to take in some of the more accessible havelis and the Khetri Mahal. This palace of winds is strikingly similar to the Hawa Mahal in Jaipur, although locals will tell you proudly and somewhat indignantly, that this was built ay before its more famous cousin. Walk up the narrow winding ramp, through the various levels to the top, startling hawks and kites that have made it their base, for a lovely view of the town and the distant hills. If you have the time, make a trip to some of the cenotaphs and stepwells that the region is famous for.

Of the temples, give the Rani Sati mandir a cheerful and firm miss but try to include a visit to the Bihariji temple – when we went there, we found it locked since the pujari had gone away for the Sunday, locking the temple behind him. The board just before you enter assures you that this temple contains some of the finest examples of the art work that this region is famous for. After that build-up, we felt disappointed to have missed it, but evidently the gods need to rest too.

Mandawa is dominated by the imposing Castle Mandawa (fort converted into a hotel, surprise surprise); stay there or just grab a meal and chat with the friendly staff to have a look around the castle. Walk into the town and you will find little kids walking up to you offering to show you around. In Mandawa, the star attraction is the Jhunjhunwala haveli with the famous gold room said to contain three kilos worth of gold etched in the frescoes. Enter the haveli through the partially opened small gate (which was earlier meant for the sentries and servants while the owner himself entered royally through the large gate) to be greeted(?) by clothes set out for drying flying in the breeze and the grumpy greedy chowkidar. Once a small sum of money changes hands, you get to enter the gold room and spend as much time as you wish, just staring at the murals, made all the more beautiful by the faint sunlight streaming in through the colored cut glass set on all windows and door tops. Gold or no gold, this room has some magic; request for the door to be shut for a minute and stand in the centre of the room, as the art fills up your senses as your eyes get slowly used to the semi darkness.

The technique used in painting these frescoes, I discovered is the Italian method of fresco-buono dating back to the 14^th century. The artists made etched the design on the walls with sharp sticks and painted on the wet plaster using natural vegetable and plant dyes mixed in lime water. The colors set naturally along with the wet plaster, thus sealing the mural from the harsh weather conditions. A pity there was no method discovered then – or even now - of protection from damage caused by human interference and equally, neglect…

We were based in Surajgarh in Northern Rajasthan at the newly restored Surajgarh fort-hotel. We spent the weekend there, Saturday devoted entirely to R&R, listening to the plaintive wails of the peacocks that fly in and out of the courtyard and watching the sun go down in the distant plains, a deep brilliant blue bed-sheet spread across the sky, with layers and layers of warm colors rolling in and out of the canvas.

While the hotel suffers from many teething problems, its advantage lies in its proximity to Delhi. Pilani is just half an hour away while other important towns in the area are three to four hours by road. However, if you are interested in a serious exploration of the Shekhawati region, I would recommend a base at one of the more centrally located towns like Mandawa or Jhunjhunu. At every town, find a local guide to take you around; we did not carry a map with us, and going by the twists and turns the narrow lanes in Jhunjhunu took, I doubt if even a map would have served us very well. For the most part, the locals are indifferent, even amused when you ask them for directions; some of them plainly ignorant – kaun si haveli? As one who has suffered the dry heat of Rajasthan, not expecting it in the monsoon months, I would also recommend travel only during the cooler months, from October till March. Shekhawati deserves a minimum of three days, a week if you are an art lover. There are no easy connections to the region from Bombay, but if you happen to be in Jaipur (or anywhere else in Rajasthan) or even in Delhi, do not miss a trip to Shekhawati.

When art is irrelevant

2006-08-08T18:22:00.000+05:30

Aap yahan ghoomne ke liye aaye hain? [have you come here for sightseeing?] asks the aged shopkeeper as he hands us the bottle of Bisleri... I nod as I wonder whether his emphasis is on yahan or ghoomne...

Aap Jhunjhunu dekhna chahatey hain? [you wish to see Jhunjhunu?] he continues. The question unsaid but loud and clear in his eyes, par yahan dekhne ke liye hai kya? [what is there to see in this place?] He sees us, eager faces on a Sunday morning, camera and guide book in hand, peers across the road and sees our car parked there under the tree and decides that we mean business. You can see the Rani Sati temple, he concedes...

We explain to him, politely but firmly that we do not wish to see temples but havelis - the painted havelis that the Shekhawati region is so famous for. Accha, haveli... woh toh saare bandh padey hain... [oh, the havelis, they are all mostly shut now]

We drive into town and cross Gandhi chowk as directed (wondering at the absence of the promised statue) and park in one corner of a busy road, hoping to ask the cop standing there for further directions. He points us to the man standing next to him, voila! he is the local guide and can show us round for "whatever we pay out of our hearts"... And with that, Raju Guide (I am not making this up) took over our lives and "sight-seeing" plans for the next few hours.

Raju starts off with turning back towards the road we came from - and minor warning bells go off in my head - just where are we going? Rani Sati Mandir says Raju. Surprise, surprise. And this is what I found out later, much much later, after we had returned to Bombay - out of the one hundred odd sati temples in Rajasthan, the Rani Sati temple in Jhunjhunu is the most "famous", attracting over 300,000 people every year during the three days of ceremonies in honor of Rani Sati Narayani Devi, a woman who died in 1295 upon the funeral pyre of her husband, Tandhan Das...

And more... If we go into the history of the practice of sati in Rajasthan there can be no denying that the phenomenon of sati revival in Rajasthan is directly linked to the phenomenal expansion of the commercial returns of the Jhunjhunu Rani Sati temple. This has led to the proliferation of sati temples all over the state, particularly the Shekawati region ( comprised of Churu, Sikar and Jhunjunu districts). And wealthy businessmen hailing from this region have established sati temples in other parts of the country for example in Bombay and Delhi as well in a dozen foreign countries.

At that time, blissfully unaware of all this, we do not wish to hurt Raju's feelings. We put off this mandir trip to the end ignoring his protests that the temple shut at 1. We chat with Raju as we walk through narrower-than-a needle's eye lanes, shops selling everything from tacky plasticware to bright and cheerful glass bangles to dull and withered vegetables...

So do you get many tourists here, I ask, when Guide tells us that he is indeed that, a full-time guide. Yes, we get a lot of tourists but most of them are foreigners... Par baahar se loge jyada nahi aatey, [but we don't get many people from outside] he says non-chalantly, in one sweep cleanly stating that big divide between that town and the rest of India, while including unselfconsciously, the larger world out there which has maintained Shekhawati and even Jhunjhunu on its radius over the years...

I mull over this as we kept walking, awkwardly negotiating cows and camels on these lanes, as Raju walks ahead with a quick confident step... At our first stop at Ishwardas Modi haveli, I find an answer -

Vides se toh bahut loge aatey hain - aap jaise loge toh bahut kam aatey hain aur jo aatey bhi hain, unko kuch accha nahi lagta... [A lot of foreigners come her, but a very few people like you]. And in an instant, I felt conscious of being an outsider, an 'aap jaise loge' in a tiny corner of my own country. Over three hundred thousand people enter this little town every year; their tracks stop at the Rani Sati temple...

And as I walk around looking at the havelis and the state of the walls and the frescoes, I wonder if that is not actually for the best. Art that has survived the extreme temperatures of the whimsical desert country, the furious heat of the days and bitter cold of the nights is now in utter decay. Havelis that were once the pride of the owners, and the community itself, have now been let out to families who need a cheap room to stay in, and treat that space as just that.

At the Jhunjhunu haveli in Mandawa, close to Jhunjhunu, the caretaker charges us fifty rupees to enter the "gold room" - over three kilos of gold foil has gone into the murals adorning the walls and ceilings of this room alone - although how much of it survives is anyone's guess... We spend half an hour in that room admiring each of these masterpieces, repeatedly declining the caretaker's offer to sell us that torn "picture postcard books" of the area at a discount.

I feel quite overwhelmed as we walk out of that room - and in that mood, cross the main doors of the haveli to enter what must have been the mardana, or the main courtyard once upon a time... and wham! Four different families live there now, the cooking smells and smoke of each fight for space to settle on the same walls where the frescoes have bravely fought their own colorful battles for over a century. Clothes hang out of the once ornate windows which served the women, literally, as windows to the outside world... And where the original paint has peeled off beyond repair, there is a coat of fresh whitewash over the walls...

Turning, in one stroke of the brush, a century of art into wall paint...

The families inside carry on with whatever they are doing; the awkwardness about intruding only on our part and not theirs... We step out of the havelis feeling a deep sense of loss and life there goes on as usual too... What has caused this, I wonder aloud... callous owners? ignorant occupants? greedy caretakers? an utterly indifferent government? Or more likely, a combination of all these...?

Raju Guide says that the owners of these havelis are rich businessen in Bombay and Calcutta; they can afford to maintain these homes if they so wish (as indeed some of them do). But the problem is just that - these havelis are no longer home to them, and the art that was once a source of pride and pleasure to them, no longer relevant...

I wonder about a society where art has been allowed to decay and be destroyed because it is no longer relevant? I wonder about all the travel guides and articles I had read before setting off, which wax lyrical about the "open air gallery" nature of Shekhawati, but maintain a puzzling silence over the state of a majority of these "galleries"...?

Moored in Murud-Janjira

2006-05-01T19:06:00.000+05:30

Driving to Murud on Sunday morning from Kashid, I had the sense that I was traveling back in time. Small sleepy hamlets all along the way, not fully awake but for the early morning fisher folk on the roads and children learning to ride the bicycle, swinging dangerously in the middle of the lane, cattle looking equally bleary-eyed and surprised each time they heard the honk of a passing car. Most of this route is along the coast, the sea suddenly appearing at your side on the curves and then going off view till the next sharp turn.

We drive all the way through Murud, stopping only to stare at the sea from high in the hills, just in front of the ornate palace of the Nawab and then for directions to get to the jetty for Janjira. We reach Rajpuri from where the boats leave and see a sign at the entrance, happy new year 2006; enhanced sense of time travel. We park the car and walk through small lanes to get to the jetty, young men calling out from tiny shop windows along the lane, Bisleri, cold drinks, chai, nashta, and more shops selling Konicca colour film with cheerful disdain for all branding. We pass the local Urdu school and the English medium school right across it, and resist the temptation to step into the ubiquitous Chinis ‘hotel’ for a quick Manjuri meal.

Janjira is a short boat-ride away, the young man at the helm, imparting little bits of information about the fort reluctantly, and withholding the rest; we get into the fort and he turns around and says, let me be your guide.

So, guide and we walk though the purported twenty two acres of the awesome sea-fort, which took twenty two years to build, or what remains of it. Twenty two acres, twenty two watch towers, each manned night and day by armed sentries, huge cannons at the ready, three entrances, all cleverly concealed so they were not visible anywhere from the sea except from very close by. The enemy did not have a whiff of a chance.

The guide (and guidebooks) say that this fort built by Siddi Johar, head of the Siddi clan who moved to India all the way from Abyssinia, has never fallen to enemy hands, not even the all-conquering Marathas. Some sources I read (and my guide) say that the fort was built around 1118, while others place it some time in the 16^th century. Ismail, our guide also says that till as recently was 1972, people lived inside the fort – including his father who was born there – I have no idea about the veracity of this claim, but the fort does seem capable of supporting human life – mosques and a temple, a huge granary and two fresh water lakes right in the middle. The outer walls cemented by a mixture of lime, jaggery and lead have withstood centuries of the sea battering against them and the sun and rain. Inside, everything is now in ruins, most of it man-created; the lakes are being drained and cleaned out since the water had become too contaminated for the fish to survive.

The half-empty emerald green fresh water lake and the scores of white plastic Bisleri bottles tell a sad tale. So do the graffiti and the broken stone edifices across the fort.

I would have loved to spend all day there under the shade of a tree, but the tide was rising and our guide-boatman was in a hurry to get back to land. The waters had covered two more steps by the time we got down to the boat. In his hurry, Ismail still stops to point out the insignia of the Siddis near the entrance of the fort, a tiger holding six elephants in its clutches – the might of the Siddis…

Weekend bliss in Kashid

2006-05-01T18:56:00.000+05:30

A good holiday is one that is spent among people whose notions of time are vaguer than yours - J. B. Priestley. I smiled as I read this and cltr-c-ctrl-v’d it on the side-bar of my travel blog. This weekend at Kashid was just one such holiday.

Kashid - three hours from where we live, the drive till Alibag on smooth roads leading tantalizingly to Goa, and beyond that part of the route along the sea, through small villages and narrow roads, villagers carrying on with their lives as usual, responding to queries about directions and distances with practiced ease. Earlier just an isolated beach now suddenly finding world-weary holiday makers from Bombay rushing towards it every weekend, Kashid has responded by staying isolated and laidback. The ideal weekend for those seeking to get away from it all - and not carrying it all with them. Plenty of stay options – small and large seaside resorts (offering distant views of the sea), a FRIENDS (and hastily added for reassurance) AND FAMILY HOLIDAY HOME, even a NEHA TRUEST HOME - VEG, NON-VEG. Touching. Food options not much but for the shacks and plenty of Chinis eateries all along the way and around, from the pompous New China Town in a shed just after Alibag to the more honest Sadguru Chiniss joint in Murud.

Saturday lunch at four followed by two hours in the shaded porch under the coconut trees, looking at the sea in the distance, blue now, a shimmering white a few minutes later. I spent a pleasant and instructive afternoon, the Simoqin Prophecies lying opened and unread (sorry Samit) on my lap, eyes closed and trying to identify bird calls and spot the corresponding owner of the voice. I admit I didn’t make much progress beyond the kroaky kraws. Husband spent an equally p. and i. afternoon making conversation with the resident resort cat, giving up soon when the white and brown animal showed no interest in his friendly hey cat calls, and then staring at the television, Ajay Devgan and Akshay Kumar mouthing unbelievable bilge in a movie called Suhaag. In all, a very good afternoon with ipod and television but no mobile phone and no laptop.

Saturday evening a Kashid beach, the few shacks that displayed signs of cold drinks and oily snacks just right for an evening at the beach all shut. I remarked to my husband that the entire village(?) must have gone to Bombay for the long weekend to escape the heat and the crowds. He glared at me and kept walking, looking down at the patterns his muddy wet feet made on the clear white sands, turning golden with the sunset colours.

Declarations of love, some young and innocent, some suggesting dangerous and illicit out-of-town week-end relations. Groups of shrieking teenagers (grrr, I assure you I was never one) running around in and out of the waters, group photographs in great demand. Families playing cricket (husband wanting desperately to join in), rules made and broken at will, taking a break for a buggy ride into the sunset; husband unceasingly humming humko tumse ho gaya hai pyar kya karein… and getting nostalgic about good old Hindi cinema.

Later at night, the roads deserted and dark, my search for an STD booth, having lost the mobile connection a few kilometers and hours earlier, futile. Back at the resort, the disco jumping with exactly one person - mami of Tamil origin (not me, I assure you) rocking the floor – we peeped in for exactly four seconds and beat a hasty retreat, mami-jiving and Himesh-crooning not the ideal way to end a happy day.

Kashid beach, sleepy and forlorn on Saturday evening came alive on Sunday. The swings were occupied, shacks open and dispensing countless plates of omelettes and pakoras, cooling coconut water and Coke jumping off the shelves rapidly. Plastic chairs had appeared as if out of nowhere, and some kind soul had put up hammocks across the sandy stretch. Two hours on the hammock, watching the sun go down in the sea just a few feet away, feeling the gentle evening breeze on the face, listening to people all around discuss their jobs and PhD plans. It was totally dark by the time I stepped off the hammock, my spine having developed an abnormal curvature. The shacks were closing and the cars had all but left and the sky had switched on its lights – we stepped on to the beach for a few minutes looking up at the night sky, the stars that shy away from city lights out in full force…

Fort of the lion

2006-04-11T17:16:00.000+05:30

Memories from a rainy morning drive up to Sinhagad fort from Pune...

Stopping at this curve on the road when the clouds looked threatening and the roads dangerously slippery...

Near the top, stopping for chai and garam pakoras, and to take in the fog rolling all the way towards Pune many kilometers away...

Climbing the steps to get to the top of the fort with only the regular peanut sellers on the way for company - garam garam timepass - few tourists on a wet Sunday morning...

Here I what I found about Sinhagad : It was here that Shivaji's general, Tanaji Malusare launched an attack to recapture the fort. In the ensuing battle, Tanaji valiantly laid down his life, but captured the fort. A grieving Shivaji is known to have said,"Gad ala pan sinh gela" (The fort is won but the lion has gone). And this is how the fort got its name: sinh (lion's) gad (fort).

Kumaon journey 2

2006-03-29T10:31:00.000+05:30

This is the second part of my memories from a holiday in Uttaranchal a couple of years ago. Read Kumaon journey 1 first.

***

Moving on half-heartedly from Kausani, we then made our way to Binsar. We had been warned that travel to Binsar included a steep incline on a one track road for the last twenty kilometers or so, and we were looking forward to that.

From Kausani to Binsar, we drove through some of the most beautiful countryside; every turn of the road producing a new surprise. On the way, we cross quaint bridges, and stop at the banks of little streams that crisscross all over the valleys. We catch the distant snow-covered mountains play hide and seek with us and we play along. They travel with you all through the way, now you see them and now you don’t.

We passed through the Baijnath temples, situated on the banks of the river Gomti. Morning prayers were going on in one of the temples containing a large idol of Goddess Parvati. The remaining idols have been kept in the local museum; this is the only temple where the deity is worshipped everyday. These temples date back to the twelfth century and in the early morning quiet, it is almost possible to close your eyes and feel transported back in time. Stepping down to the river banks, it is a pleasure to watch the fish come out to feed. Breakfast time, folks!

And we seem to have saved the best for the last. Binsar was in a word: spell-binding (or is that actually two words?). As you drive up the narrow, steep, single-lane tracks, the view gets better and better. A short two km trek along shaded paths with tall oak and rhododendron trees lining the way, takes you to the top. At 8000 feet above mean sea level is a rickety looking watch-tower. Steel your nerves, take a deep breath and climb on. For, the view from the tower is that of a 300 km stretch of the Himalayas, all the way up to Badrinath and Kedarnath on a clear day. Our guide even tried to point out his house on the China border but then you know what tourist guides are like.

The entire region is a protected bird sanctuary and home to a large number of animals including leopards and wild boar. As you trek up, you can almost hear the laughing deer and growling leopards above and below you. The guide tells you abut the wild animals that come out on to the roads you are walking on at night. You glance nervously around you and note that there are no other humans in sight and that you have been hearing strange noises for a while.

Away from civilization as we know it, near the top is a KMVN (Kumaon Mandal Vikas Nigam) guest-house. Stay there for an out-of-this-world experience – the guesthouse has no electricity! We wanted to stop for the night there but opted out on the advice of our driver – Aap Bombay se hain? Aap ki toh kulfi jam jaayegi. Binsar, we were told, is cut off from the rest of the world for two to three months a year. The employees of the guesthouse stock up on their needs by end of November and stay prepared awaiting the bitter winter months.

Incidentally, throughout Kumaon, you can safely stay at the KVMN guesthouses everywhere. They are decent and well priced, and are built at the best locations.

Stop at the Khali estate either on your drive up or down from Binsar. Soak in the views and have the famed Gujarati thali if you are there in the right season. And reflect on the fact that the estate is called ‘khali’ not after some local deity but to signify ‘empty’… Imagine the place as it would have been fifty years ago, isolated and completely khaali… That is such a humbling experience in itself.

A word of caution here: if you are the types looking for touristy ‘sight-seeing’ things to do, you’d do well to stay away from Kausani and Binsar. The only sights here are those of the magnificent mountains, which one can never tire of…

Coming down the hills, we stopped at Naukutchiatal on our way back to Kathgodam for the train. You would do well to overlook the more crowded Nanital and Sattal and head straight for this peaceful spot. This lake with nine corners is the perfect place to just relax and savour those moments before heading back to city life. Amble along the walks on the banks, take a slow shikara ride and chat with the boat-man about the region, take a pony ride or just hire a boat and row out into the lake yourself.

Kumaon is a place where nature completely takes over… where else would you see a signboard saying ‘animals have right of way’. Through your journey in Kumaon, you will hear the tinkle of temple bells; these are offered to the local deities here in return for divine favours sought and bestowed. As for the smells, we caught only the waft of alu parathas in winter, but in peak season, the smell of apples and rhododendron flowers accompany you. And of course, through the year, the smell of fresh and clean mountain air stays with you… And leaves you longing for more.

Kumaon journey 1

2006-03-29T09:59:00.000+05:30

The hills are alive with the sound of… silence? Although calling the magnificent Himalayas ‘hills’ is rather like calling Mickey Mouse a rat.

Uttaranchal offers something for everyone… mountains, rivers, lakes, glaciers, wildlife sanctuaries, temples. You can stand by and watch from a distance and be awed by the breath-taking splendor of it all - the way I did. Or you can jump right into the spirit of things and trek, ski or raft if the adventure bug has bitten you. Either way, Uttaranchal fills your senses…… and the feeling remains long after you leave the place.

Uttaranchal is divided into two regions : Kumaon and Garhwal. We went to Kumaon in December last year. Looking for peace and quiet. A place to get away from it all. And no, we didn’t take it all with us… not even a good camera – which is why the bad quality pictures that do no justice to what I saw. Kumaon region itself offers many many holiday ideas, of which we managed only a few within a short holiday of five days. Starting from Ranikhet, the queen’s field.

As you alight at Kathgodam, the last railway station in this region, you feel the difference in the air. The air here is so fresh and pure that you can almost hear your city-smoke filled lungs crying out in pleasure.

True to its name, Ranikhet is a lovely place. The best thing to do in Ranikhet is simply walk around the town, soaking in the long-range views of the Nanda Devi and Trishul. It was early winter and the trees were a riot of the colours of autumn. If you want to get the true feel of the place, then stay away from the marked touristy spots and chart your own course in and around the town.

A day in Ranikhet and we were hungry to move on… the promise of better things to come. And we made our way to Kausani. Where Gandhiji had spent a few months meditating and writing on Anashakti Yoga. A memorial to Gandhi stands there, with rare pictures of the man and his life. Which is the only place to ‘visit’ in Kausani. Other than this, what Kausani offers is Himalayan views, splendid and uninterrupted. Nanda Devi, Nandakot, Trishul, Panchchuli. I cannot think of anything better to do on a holiday than to sit on the low walls of the Anashakti Ashram and sip chai, as you watch the sun go down on the distant mountain ranges.

Ditto for the sunrise. Kausani is one of those rare holiday options where one feels inspired to brave the bitter cold and wake up early just to watch the sun rise over the distant mountain ranges. It is a wonder how nature can play around with so many colours at the same time on the same large canvas… the bright oranges and purples merging with the muted yellows and pinks, all against a pale blue background…

Different viewpoint, same view...

2006-03-22T21:12:00.000+05:30

Matheran is said to have a purported thirty eight view points - all duly identified and named. When we reach there on a rainy Saturday expecting it to be empty (why did we think no one else was foolish enough to brave it all the way up in the heavy rain?), the place is jumping with tourists. They hurry from view point to view point, loudly complaining, arrey par view to same hi hai...

Thirteen viewpoints down, how many more to go?

It has been raining all week; the drive is smooth and refreshing, the wind rushing up your ears as you leave the car windown down...

We stop regularly at sudden waterfalls that have sprung up on the hillside due to the constant downpour. Ditto for potholes and puddles.

In a world that boasts of largeness and moreness (whatever that means), a charming board at Dasturi Naka enroute to Matheran proudly announces - Matheran is the tiniest hillstation in the world. Awwww...

And more importantly, Matheran is the only pedestrian destination in Asia. Imagine, no cars, no blaring horns, no fumes... Traffic jam is when two ponies meet midway on opposite sides to their ride to and from the top and exchange pleasantries... Other than that, traffic, neigh...

The best thing to do in Matheran is nothing. Walk around aimlessly, do not look for any point - you will hit one or the other soon anyway- and when you do, stop to stare open-mouthed at the gorgeous greens all around... Isn't it funny how good green actually smells?

Stop also for garam chai and pakoras and chikki too. Chat up with local shopkeepers and hears tories of leopards and tigers that used to roam the hills.

Stop glancing around nervously aorund you and resume aimless walk.

Forget that holidays are meant to sleep in late - wake up early and find your way through the fog... Feeel extremely pleased when you land up at a viewpont and find no view there. Just more fog. Heh! Walk to Charlotte lake and tut tut about how muddy it all looks...

Curse when you see the time...

Don't let that prevent you from taking more stops on the drive down, hoping to catch a glimpse of the toy train.

You spot the train, but it is just that, a toy stationed on the tracks...

Take in the smell and sounds of rain somewhere in the distance...

As fellow blogger and flickr mate Chandru said there, funny thing about english language - the skies open up when the clouds close in...

Damn! Bombay is so hot...

Saturday afternoon blues..

2006-01-30T20:46:00.000+05:30

and browns... The hills so green and alive for most of the year, brown and parched, just like the trees dotting their backs. An hour on the super smooth expressway and then a left just after Lonavala. Happy and bright sunflower beds on one side of the narrow road, sugarcane fields on the other. The railway gate shut, people on motorbikes bending under the long barrier and walking across the tracks, impatient to get on with their journey. The road itself getting progressively narrower and stone-ridden. The drive getting more tiring with each mile, the phone calls asking for directions more and more desperate... You can see the lake on your right? Then you are lost. Turn around and drive back on the same road around the hill till you can see the lake on your left...

And so we turned back and drove again on the same road, cattle crossing, road-rollers and melting tar and all. Tired and hungry, sure of finding lunch where we were headed; the place on the banks of the lake that we had read about on the internet, pretty cottages and paragliding courses which we wanted to find out about. We found the place at last, but not lunch - whose was the cheerful voice who had assured us in the morning over the phone? And upon our insistence ( despair?), an astronomical amount thrown casually at us as the cost of lunch, enough to feed the three of us for the next week...

You know this bit that followed. We turned back and drove again on the same road, too tired and hungry to care about which side of the road the lake was on...

Saturday afternoon blues. And oh, some striking yellows on the way too...

***
This was our miserable trip to Vadivilli lake in Kamshet, entirely avoidable unless staying there for the paragliding. If it is a quiet afternoon by the lake you seek, I recommend Pawna, also in Kamshet... As you get off the expressway and drive on to Kamshet, take a right turn for Pawna and a left (preferably not) for Vadivili.

God's own greens and blues

2006-01-05T22:08:00.000+05:30

It all started on our way from Munnar to Alleppy (variously called Alapuzah, Applesauce and whasisname by people at different times) when we had to take the ferry, car and driver and all, because of a road closed for repairs. When our car driver, who so far had displayed all signs of being a normal sane human being, suddenly started pointing to something in the air and jumping wildly screaming "bad bad". Had the man suddenly found religion? Or discovered his hidden morality meter? Or was he merely passing mild judgment on something he found unpleasant? Actually, none of the above - he had spotted a rare water bird and was pointing it out to us. Bad, bird, get it?

We knew then it was going to be a great trip... And great it was. Relaxing kind of great, if you know what I mean. So we got off the car at Alleppy and got into the houseboat, matching smile for smile with the boatman and cook who were waiting with fresh coconut water. Sure, the cook’s smile dropped for just a minute when he asked about our lunch and we informed him about our vegetarian status. He pretended to have misunderstood us, and asked, a tad optimistically, it seemed to me, veggiterians, saar? pyoor veggiterians? When we confirmed we were indeed pyoor, very pyoor, he went away shaking his head and mumbling under his breath about having to return the chicken to the shop and drop back the fish into the rivers. or whatever...

In any case, brave fellow that he was, he quickly erased that appalled look from his face and we were on our way. The boatman and the cook were both extremely cheerful and eager to be friendly. They spoke a lot of broken English and we realized that it was for the benefit of all the foreign tourists that Kerala sees. We stopped for lunch at a small bund near some rice fields, and ate to the accompaniment of the song and dance of the paddy crop in the wind… It was then time to settle down in the front of the boat with a book which I had no intention of reading, and watch life pass by. Or just sit and gaze at the endless greens and blues in front of us, around us...

We snoozed for a while and woke up refreshed and generally indifferent to the stupid
smiles on each other’s faces. The afternoon sun was milder by then and a mellow contented mood had settled in... We sipped our tea and waved at kids playing in front of their houses, at women buying vegetables from the vendors who took their wares around on small boats and at men returning home after a day's work, their bright checked lungis folded well above the knee... We waved at other passing houseboats - moony honeymooning couples and maniacally happy foreigners...

And then slowly and magically, in front of our eyes, the waters turned golden... There was complete peace and silence all around. The mild mellow mood turned into a strong alls-well-with-the-world feeling... Indeed at that moment, all was well with the world. Our world. And we hoped this would never end...

The sun quickly set on us and the boatman skillfully manouvered the boat to the shore where he anchored it for the night. Four or five other boats were anchored close to us, and we discovered that one house there on the banks provided electricity for the generator to run lights on all the boats. Soon darkness fell, the mosquitos took over and we gave up any pretence of playing Scrabble... And then time for dinner. My husband took one look at the food, paled for a brief moment at the sight of all that boiled rice (memories of stomach cramps following an injudicious over consumption of boiled rice at lunch time still fresh in his mind) and then rushed into attack like the brave warrior that he is... And then time for sleep…

It is a wonderful experience sleeping in a houseboat, feeling the boat rocking gently through the night, the waters moving gently below you, the breeze through the open window, the sudden splash splash as a late night traveler made his way home on his small canoe...

We were up early the next morning and urging our boatman to leave; we finished our breakfast of puttu and Kerala bananas with impatience and started on our way to Kumarakom. Houseboat rides usually begin with Alleppy and end there (or wherever else they started from), but we had arranged for the boat to drop us at the Coconut Lagoon in Kumarakom where we were to stay for a day. We glided slowly out of the narrow Alleppy backwaters stretch and suddenly in front of us, Vembanad stretched out like a minor placid sea.

An hour on this lake and we were at Coconut Lagoon. There is much to be said for Coconut Lagoon which is right at the end of the Vembanad stretch and boasts (very discreetly, of course) of its presence on the top ten heritage hotels of the world list. The old houses from all over Kerala that they have dismantled and carefully assembled (mantled?) them back within the resort, the super peaceful sunset cruise on the lake, the "cultural programme" for the unsuspecting foreign tourists at night, the array of delicious food at the restaurant (yes, vegetarian food), the strategically placed hammocks by the waters... But what I enjoyed above all was the early morning excursion into the small bird sanctuary right next to Coconut Lagoon... Ah, bad-spotting has been never so much fun...

Food? Or art? Or religion?

2005-12-19T08:53:00.000+05:30

Street food, in fact, all food in India can be so colourful and interesting... Here is some arty street food from Amber, Jaipur. Photograph clicked from elephant-back...

***
And here is one for the sheer dazzle and striking colours... Carrots so fresh they hurt the eye... From Mahabaleshwar...

Windows by Microsoft?

2005-12-18T13:51:00.000+05:30

A structure made entirely with windows, in fact, built only for the purpose of being a window to the world. For the royal women of Jaipur who used to stand behind the numerous windows at Hawa Mahal

Hawa Mahal, the palace of winds, not just due to the gentle breeze of the evening that the royal women must have felt caressing their faces after the stifling desert heat of the day... Hawa Mahal, not just the palace of winds but a castle in the air... The story being that the foundation of this huge building is just one foot deep but supports five storeys...

A five storeyed structure, Hawa Mahal is not really a palace, but merely a facade; there is nothing inside it. Except level after level of narrow corridor over which the royal women used to be carried on palanquins, intricately carved pillars and windows and more windows than they could have ever looked out of... 953 windows in all, has anyone counted...?

And a structure that tapers towards the top, the entire shape representing the crown on the hed of Lord Krishna... This is in keeping with the other depictions in Rajsthan of scenes from the life of krishna and Radha - frescos, murals, paintings...

Which is why you enter the mahal not from the front, but from the back... And make your way towards the front. Walking ahead, if you turn around, you see just beyond the mahal Jantar Mantar, or the observatory built by Sawai man Singh and considered a scientific marvel for is times. And from the top, you get views of the Jaigarh and Nahargarh forts in the distance...

You hear from the guide about the place where the women played and prayed. You hear about the angle of the mahal that is such that people inside could see out but not vice versa...
You hear about the secret passage that connects the mahal to the city palace, so the queens could make their way to their viewpoint without being seen by the outside world...

At each level, you stop and stare out of the windows and try to imagine what the women saw in those days. Certainly not this...

And you wonder about notions of privilege and modernity; did the royal women like to be pampered and cosseted and sheltered so? Did they have a choice, or did they even think about it? I once had an interesting discussion with some friends at flickr on this... have a look at this and tell me what your thoughts on this are...

***
Other Rajasthan Posts :

Magical Bundi
A trip to Jodhpur
The magnificent forts of Jaipur

The magnificent forts of Jaipur

2005-12-14T21:56:00.000+05:30

The king wanted to sleep under the open skies. But perhaps it was too cold outside...? This is desert territory after all. So he had a candle lit inside the room. Maybe many candles. And he lay down on the royal bed. And looked up at the ceiling. At the open sky where thousands of stars were twinkling... On the mosaic of mirrors.

The guide has a smug look on his face as he flicks a match stick, the light bounces off his pearly white teeth and suddenly we see stars in the day too.

This was Sheesh Mahal or the palace of mirrors at Amber Fort Palace near Jaipur. Amber, also known as Amer, was once the capital of the Kachhwaha Rajputs who are said to have ruled over the region for over seven centuries. Amber palace has many interesting features inside - gardens and pavillions and smaller palaces and halls, but Sheesh Mahal is easily the most mesmerising... And entire palace with mirrors and glass pieces embedded on all the walls and ceilings.

Brilliant stained glass windows. Enamel work. Striking colours. All of which have lasted over centuries... despite the best efforts of tourists and travelers who have chipped at them and broken pieces off them - to take back home as souvenirs perhaps?

There are two prominent motifs all over the fort and palace - the main is that of the sun, signifying the belief that rulers of this dynasty were descendants of the sun. The main entry to the palace is through Suraj Pol, or the Sun gate which faces the east.

The lattice work seen in this picture is a typical feature of the artchitcture of those times - a veil in stone for the the women of the family, the zenana. The women stood behind the structure to watch the world outside; the world could not see them...

The Diwan-e-am or the common hall for the subjects of the kingdom is to the left just before entering the palace. Here is the other common motif in evidence everywhere, the elephant. The hall is made entirely of pink stone, in keeping with other Jaipur architecture.

Interestingly, both the sun and elephant are believed to be symbols of royalty, even today in some places.

Apart from Jai Mandir or the hall of victory which houses the Sheesh Mahal, the fort palace also contains the royal apartments, the diwan-e-khas the hall for the private privileged audience, the Kali Mandir or the special place of worship for the king, the zenana or the chambers of the women which are supposed to have been designed in such a way that the king had private and secret access to any of the chambers. The other wives had no inkling about who was the chosen wife of the night... And to keep them occupied at other times are remarkable and bright frescoes depicting scenes from Krishna Leela.

The fort palace is on top of a hill and can be reached throught a narrow cobblestone path. You can climb up the path or take a ride on a brightly painted elephant; some of the creatures wear hideous make up, bright pinks and yellows and oranges and blues together... And pink nail polish on the toes too...

We went up on elephant back - it was ceratinly the more adventurous option...You barely get used to swaying rocking motion of the elephant that you begin to notice other elephants passing you by from the other side on the narrow path, their swishing tails barely missing your face, and their mahouts adriotly avoiding collisions... You steady your hand and widly beating heart and suddenly the resident monkeys of the place jump at you from the trees... And on the ground, following you are vendors loudly selling kitschy postcards and souvenirs - and I thought to myself, do the touristy thing and you get touristy treatment... Food stalls, fruit juices, souvenir vendors dotted throughout the path...

If you are ever in Jaipur, be sure to visit Amber fort and palace, barely 11 km from Jaipur towards Delhi. Hire a guide there, or take a match box with you.

On the way to Amber fort palace, Jaigarh and Nahargarh forts, and Jal Mahal in the middle of the lake...

Jaigarh or the fort of victory is atop a hill and was the defence post for the rulers. Based on rumours that they buried all their treasure inside the fort, Indira Gandhi at the time of emergency had excavations made all over. Without success. Jaigarh is also home to jaivan the victory cannon, which is supposed to be the largest moving cannon in the world. It is said that the cannon was never used in war; it is only worshipped on the day of Ayudha Puja. Nahargarh, the summer palace of the rulers... most of it in ruins but with spectacular views of Jaipur city in the distance.

No monkeys here, but birds all the way through the route to these forts...

And perhaps some of the tourists there are looking for hidden treasure, even today...

***
Other Rajsthan posts : Magical Bundi, A trip to Jodhpur

Life on the fast lane

2005-12-10T18:45:00.000+05:30

Some images from drives on the Mumbai Pune expressway- most of these photographs taken from our moving, almost-speeding-but-not-quite car. Driving through the tunnels is great fun, wet tracks inside the tunnels from all the speeding tyres, leaky roofs, losing signal on your mobile phone and all. The mark of the mosoons everywhere...

That was a particularly lucky shot. Most often, the picture is fuzzy, the lights dominant, dancing a peppy disco. Sometimes, a mild star wars effect.

I can never forget that early morning drive back to Mumbai from Pune where the driver of the taxi kept waking me up every ten minutes to say, madam, aap so kyon rahi hain? itna accha scenery hai - aap scenery dekho na - why are you sleeping, why don't you watch the lovely "scenery"? However, there are days when the entire "scenery" is nothing but thick clouds and fog, the entire hillside covered by this magical white blanket.

Driving on the expressway is most fun during the monsoons, the roads washed clean by the rains, vehicles driving slower than normal, the flowers along the sides brighter then ever. Waiting for the rain to stop and then driving with the car windows down, feeling the whooshing breeze on your face, and also those rain drops which have remained hidden so far. Almost unbroken views of lush green hill-side, waterfalls that have magically sprung up in the last one hour...

And stopping for chai and chikki. Watching the kids running all over the place, cranky after the long drive, cooped up inside their vehicles, all their pent up energy suddenly finding release. And the mothers tired and irritated, running after them. Fathers with all their attention on their cars, catching a quick furitive smoke. Or bus loads of travelers alighting for a break.

Wondering about those looming sign boards warning - watch out for falling rocks. How does one watch out for falling rocks? And what does one do if one sees a rock falling - except get out of its way as quickly as possible? I imagine people driving with their necks craned, constantly watching out for loose rocks that might land on the road, or the car...

And suddenly swerving as a solitary scooter rider appears as if from nowhere right in front of you. Where did he come from now? And what is he doing on the expressway, and travelling in the direction opposed to the flow of traffic?

Then you smile thinking of the days of mind-numbing traffic jams on the old Mumbai Pune road through the ghats, what is now NH4. The hugely overloaded lorries with cheerful painted signs on their backs, the scooters and motorbikes weaving their way through the congestion, the never-ending row of chikki shops and the smell of vada pao from all sides as you inch your way through the town of Lonavala, the constant staccato of horns blaring... some peope claim to miss all this on the expressway route... I don't.

In search of the elusive flamingo

2005-12-07T18:05:00.000+05:30

Spotted at Kalyan on the way to Malshej Ghat : Siva Shakti English Covent School

And for famished reptile lovers, on the menu at Sushant Hotel in Malshej Ghat - Veg Snakes

Not spotted : the flamingos we went in search of, all the way to Malshej Ghat, braving the potholes and the heavy rains.

The road was excellent in parts and terrible in others; but the drive was very pleasant, which made up for the craters.

The clouds kept playing hide and seek with us all the way through. Maybe it was because of the thick cloud cover that we lost our way once we reached the top of the hill...? If it is possible to lose one's way on what must have been a straight road, we managed it. We were looking for the aptly if unimaginatively named Flamingo Hill resort, where the birds are said to flock very monsoon. Alas, no resort, no flamingo.

However, lots of brilliant views; verdant green and bright yellows all over. And long walks across narrow paths, minor waterfalls everywhere. And best of all, no holidaying crowds from Bombay...

The next monsoon, we will go back to Malshej Ghat, and this time we will spot the flamingo. And trek to Harishchandragad, and see the rain fall up on the cliffs, and water-rises in place of water falls... some scientists attribute this strange phenomenon to ‘the north-south wind blowing on the plateau changing its direction to east-west; and the south–west wind being channelised into a funnel.

Whatever else, definitely flamingo, here we come...

***
This piece on Malshej Ghat is part of my series on getways close to Bombay - Just few hours away. The first in this was on Pawna Lake here.