On the Move

Indian Folk Art: Pithora, Gujarat

2012-01-31T23:30:00.000+05:30

Published in Deccan Herald, January 29, 2012

Indian folk art: Mata ni Pachedi, Gujarat

2012-01-01T11:51:00.001+05:30

Published in Deccan Herald, Bangalore, Jan 1,2012

Bastar, Chattisgarh

2011-12-10T13:10:00.010+05:30

Rich times in Bastar

Monarchy may have been abolished years ago, but in Bastar it's unshaken. That, and other unexpected experiences, make a trip to this part quite memorable.

The streets have turned into ribbons of dazzle. The glowing October evening sun pales in comparison as a multitude of tan-taut figures attired in vibrant hues... shocking magenta, vermilion red, blazing orange to scorching saffron hurriedly march on. It’s the concluding day of the region’s biggest annual event and the celebratory mood is clearly palpable. Sewak, the cab driver, is manoeuvring his way through the milling crowd and at one point announces he can go no further, in the same breath adding, “I need to exit quickly. The Raja’s convoy is approaching and no vehicle dare come in his way. The public will not tolerate it.” I make insipid noises about law and order and query him on it. He politely informs, “Minister ho ya police, es waqt Raja ke samne koi matlab nahin rakhte.”

What a stunner!

I don't attach weight to that declaration. A few minutes later, though, the cabbie’s statement rings true. A maroon hatchback blocking the convoy’s path is lifted and flung aside with matchbox disdain. The procession of the king’s men — tribespersons as Gonds, Parajas, Bison-horn Marias, Murias, Halbaas, Dhurwas — nonchalantly carries on. And none, not even uniformed men on duty, challenge them. This is an affair of a Raja and his praja (subjects), the world outside their kingdom may please step aside.

The episode is of

India

, circa 2011, and no, it didn’t take place in a back-of-beyond jungle where, purportedly, men dressed in feathers pirouette around fire and their king sits on a throne decked with skeleton heads. I witness it in contemporary Jagdalpur, district headquarter of Bastar, southern Chattisgarh. The region’s crowd had gathered for the Bastar Dusshera finale, and the king they hailed — not overbearingly Rajasthanesque but almost-devotional — was the boyish Kamal Chandra Bhanj Deo, the 22nd Raja of Bastar from the Kakatiya dynasty. Deo, incidentally, holds a foreign degree and when not in royal robes for better part of the year is just another regular 27-year-old guy in jeans and tees who enjoys doing what anyone his age likes to.

Sirpur

Monarchy may have been abolished decades ago but in this part of the country dominated by tribes, despite winds of change (dish antennas atop humble huts, cell phones in most hands), core beliefs have remained intriguingly unshaken. One of these being customs linked to the 75-day Dusshera, which distinctively, is not about Rama or Ravan but a fusion of Hindu-Tribal rituals associated with the worship of Ma Danteshwari Devi and concludes with a rath yatra. It’s then that the clock is rewound, and just the once when doors of the modest white-blue lime-washed Bastar Palace in Jagdalpur thrown open to let the constant stream of tribespersons pay heartfelt obeisance to their chief and invite him to participate in festivities.

Raipur, Chattisgarh’s capital, has negligible brand recall; ‘exotic’ Bastar having always been the magnet. The city displays precious little that’s inviting. But move out a bit and the state’s hidden gems shyly shine.

Relatively-unknown Sirpur, 83 km northeast from Raipur, off NH 6, is an archaeological treasure-trove. Way back in 639 AD the intrepid Hiuen Tsiang on visiting its impressive temples and Buddhist viharas had felt euphoric! My stopover at the verdant village evokes similar feeling. Untouched by tourism, it is a canvas of quietude, letting me appreciate the effortless beauty of its 7th century Lakshman Mandir, evidently the country’s only brick temple in a well-preserved state, or making me soak in the calm radiating from Lord Buddha’s sculpture in bhumisparsha position at the Tivaradeva Mahavihara, considered most stunning amongst vicinity viharas. The quirkily steep-stepped Surang Tila proudly displays its share of splendour. Around Sirpur lies much more and deserves at least a day’s attention. These are tributes to the song of the chisel and I feel the legacy needs tender, loving care. As a start, can the muggy on-site museums be given a makeover, please?

At the haat in Munda village

With poor railway connectivity, the NH 43 is the state’s lifeline, linking Raipur with Bastar. The highway is considerably smooth except for the potholed 12-hairpin loops of Keshkal ghati that re-jig inner vitals. This spot is a little ahead of Kanker, the gateway to Bastar and the subtle change in terrain from plains to plateau begins appearing during the onward drive. The eyes scan dense green hills of the distant Dandakaranya range, miles of soothing-green paddy interspersed by the revered mahua tree or slate-stone huts flank the tarmac, a trail of erect women in conventional knee-high sarees unflappably carrying aluminium handis swiftly walks past, a sulfi (fish-tail palm) tree waves its leaves and though I’m familiar with the tree’s ornamental value in cities it’s near-reverential status among tribespersons for its toddy, comes as a pleasant surprise. In fact a family’s status is indicated by the number of trees it owns. This is a prelude to discoveries ahead.

Kanker Palace: Period cloth ceiling fan

The stately 1937 AD Kanker Palace, initially built for the kingdom’s British agent, is a welcoming throwback to the days of the Raj, its lived-in Diwan Hall filled with characteristic bric-a-brac, sepia photographs and mounted animal heads. The Deos were the first royals to convert their property into an elegant heritage hotel, the resurrection breathing life into the walls and acquainting travellers with lovingly-preserved original features as hand-pulled ceiling fans. I lunch with amiable Jolly Deo, the younger royal, a chef by profession, who’s got prepared a scrumptious North-Indian spread. I snoop around for local taste and the tangy bamboo-shoot pickle plays saviour for Deo, who promises to lay out a typical Chattisgarhi spread if I come by again. Now, that’s a tempting reason to return.

Chitrakote Falls

Jagdalpur is a base for Bastar’s myriad attractions: dhokra (bell-metal) craft villages as Kondagaon, wildlife parks, trekking trails, fascinating village haats etc. The most popular seems the Chitrakote Waterfall, and rightly so. They are spectacular! Fortunately I reach early morning, far before the tourist rush, and enjoy the powerful display of nature. I feel it’s needlessly compared with the Niagara. The raw beauty around it is more compelling than manicured perfection.

Dusshera Haat, Jagdalpur

A haat experience has been missing from the itinerary and tour guide Hiren enterprisingly locates one in Munda village, close to Chitrakote. I’ve always felt a local market is an expression of the place. Munda turns out to be an absorbing sliver of Bastar’s spirit. Under the shade of a few peepal trees, majority ware is spread out by brightly-clad Muira tribe women, picturesquely-conspicuous with side hair-buns, kilos of silver adorning hands and feet, gigantic gold nose-pins and a ready smile for the camera. I spot a young girl wearing a comb in her hair... customarily presented by a suitor. Deals are struck over gourds, tamarinds, red chillies, cane baskets and custard-apples; dried mahua flower heaps vanish fast with kilos being purchased for brew; earthen pitchers regularly undergo the sound-quality test; and despite being in a corner the landa (rice wine) ladies always have a gaggle of customers around them. It’s a quintessential atmospheric Indian village down to its caste hierarchies and yet another stimulating frame of a land full of legends, colour and staunch customs. The state tourism catchline is: full of surprises. I wasn’t surprised, just overwhelmed by the wealth of

India

once again. I’d say, visit Chattisgarh, it’s still original.

Muria tribe girl wearing comb presented by suitor

The Maoists have made sure Chattisgarh stays in news for not very encouraging reasons. The upshot: A friend pleads I rethink before undertaking the trip. Crucially, gun-totting Maoists are not lurking behind every tree waiting to make instant fodder out of you. Insurgency-related incidents do happen, as it did when I was there, when unfortunately three jawans were killed but “fear did not sweep through all of Bastar”, as a leading English daily reported. Bastar was in the heights of festivity and life carried on.

FYI

Chattisgarh has a rich green cover. Over a dozen wildlife sanctuaries and national parks dot the terrain. There are two splendid options on this circuit: Barnawapara Wildlife Sanctuary, 85 km from Raipur (Stay: Eco Resort, Mohda, a tourism property in the buffer zone, wonderfully overlooks a small lake and at times avifauna spotting is possible from the confines of the room. Tariff Rs 2,500). The engrossingly-verdant Kanger Valley National Park, 38 km from Jagdalpur, has added attractions in the Tiratgarh Waterfall and limestone formations at the 40-feet-deep Kutamsar Cave. Be prepared to cautiously tackle the cubby hole which leads down under. Tip: Carry a powerful torch to make certain the experience of viewing the stalactites and stalagmites doesn’t turn out to be a darkness-at-noon affair, courtesy sarkari bandobast.

Getting there

Landa in leaf cup

Air: Direct flights to Raipur from all metros, Hyderabad, Indore, Bhubaneshwar, Vishakapatnam and Bhopal

Railway: From New Delhi: Bilaspur Rajdhani (12442, Tue, Sat), From Kolkata/Mumbai: Howrah-Mumbai Mail (12810, daily), Azad Hind Express (12130, daily); From Bhopal: Amarkantak Express (12854, daily)

Road: The NH 43 connects Raipur with Bastar/Jagdalpur via Kanker: 300km appx/6 hours. No state transport buses; private carriers easily available, one-way ticket to Bastar Rs 125-250. Cabs charge up to Rs 1,500 for a day trip.

When to go: September to March

Stay

Raipur: Hotel Babylon International (www.hotelbabylon.com) Quite simply the best address in the state. Significantly, serves delectable cuisine. Tariff: Rs 5,000 onwards.

Kanker: The Kanker Palace (www.kankerpalace.com) Delightfully-old-world heritage hotel. Tariff: Rs 6,000 onwards.

Jagdalpur: Bastar Jungle Resort (www.bastarjungleresort.com) Kurandi village (12 km). King-sized cottages set in a sprawling estate fringing the jungle. Squeaky-clean washrooms with mod-cons. Also offers the luxury of a hot shower under an open sky. Tariff: On request

Shop

Kondagoan (en route Jagdalpur) and its surrounding villages are recognised for trademark ‘ghadwa-kaam’ or metal-casting, including dhokra (bell-metal) and wrought-iron figurines, besides straight-off-the-kiln terracotta. Don’t skip visiting national award-winning dhokra artiste Jaidev Baghel’s modest residence-workshop that has over the decades produced outstanding masterpieces.

Drink

At a local haat take your pick between freshly-brewed Mahua (seasonal) or Landa (rice wine) served in a leaf cup and temptingly accompanied with a masala mix of salt-red chilly powder

Edited version appears in India Today Travel Plus, December 2011

Chamba

2011-11-18T23:04:00.001+05:30

Pretty perch

BRINDA SURI

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Chamba in Himachal Pradesh is an ancient town cradled by incredibly beautiful mountain ranges.

Cocooned amidst lofty mountains and rolling hills of the incredibly beautiful Pir Panjal, Zanskar, and Dhauladhar ranges, Chamba tiptoes up and down a two-deck plateau rising from the banks of a gurgling Ravi river. Over a thousand years old, this little outpost in northwest Himachal Pradesh was once a remarkable royal dominion established by Raja Sahil Varman in 920. Its geography cosseted it from invasions, letting it develop a culture of its own. Here the arts found patronage, literature strengthened roots and education was encouraged. Its royalty was continually farsighted and the region benefited. Chamba, for instance, was one of the first towns in the north to get electricity as early as 1910, with the dynamic Raja Bhuri Singh (1904-19) tapping into the era's newest concept of hydro-generation. As testimony to his vision, the main market retains several ornate electricity poles erected way back then.

CHOWGAN AT THE CENTRE

In days of yore, Chamba was a tiny town built around the Chowgan, a verdant central square, which continues to be its most popular public venue. In the past, it hosted coronations and sundry imperial ceremonies, now it's used for almost anything from social functions to political rallies and even leisurely picnics. On its flanks rose the attractive royal quarters and the market. Today's town has moved way beyond the Chowgan, with urbanisation creeping into the surrounding hills. The changing times have also diluted or destroyed the finer aspects of traditions. Yet, what remains shyly shines through the clutter, drawing the eye of the keen visitor and enthralling with their varied attributes.

The calling card of Chamba is its ancient shrines and their distinguishing architecture. Amongst the oldest and most revered on the checklist is the 11th century Lakshmi Narayan Temple. A short uphill walk from the market leads to its complex of six shrines dedicated to Lords Shiva or Vishnu. Each of these has been erected by rulers at different points of time and enshrine exquisitely crafted idols, which are now caged behind iron grills. A beautiful Garuda at the entrance is another highlight. Built in shikhara style, or tapering stone towers, it's their slate-wood chattris or canopies that make these temples typical to the area.

What's more, there is a gold kalash (holy urn) atop each, and legend says these were added in defiance to Emperor Aurangzeb's decree ordering temples to be razed. Apparently Raja Chhatar Singh (1664-90) took the audacious step in 1678 to indicate he wasn't afraid of the enemy forces! Other significant medieval shrines in the region include Champavati temple, Hari Rai temple (known for its Vaikuntha idol, a form of Vishnu with three faces — human, boar and lion), Bansi Gopal temple, Bajreshwari temple (that's a little beyond town) and Chamunda Devi temple.

Owing to topography, palaces in the hills are, in general, nowhere as palatial as those on the plains; at best, they are akin to huge mansions. Overlooking the Chowgan is the erstwhile royal address, Akhand Chandi Palace, built by Raja Umed Singh in 1748-64. The unplanned construction in the neighbourhood nearly hides it from view but, like a pretty diamond, it manages to grab the eye, the gaze returning often to its striking green roof and stained-glass windows. Part of the palace has been turned into a college while the rest is still home to the Varman descendants.

PAHARI ART

British influence began making inroads from 1840 onwards and their architectural imprint is noticeable in the post office, the courthouse complex, the well-maintained Circuit House and the Church of Scotland.

The Chamba royals were patrons of fine art, and the region's collective wealth of art history is showcased at the Bhuri Singh Museum, established in 1908, making it one of the oldest in the country. Here you'll find sculptures, costumes and miniature paintings belonging to the Pahari school of art, comprising the Chamba, Kangra, Basholi and Guler styles.

Live art in progress can be viewed at the town's small but lively bazaars, where weavers make shawls on wooden looms, silversmiths craft pendants, metallurgists hammer on copper and brass to produce trumpets, bells and pujaplatters, artists work on Pahari paintings, and girls embroider the Chambarumal — an inimitable do-rukha, or reversible, embroidery on square cloth used to cover gifts and holy offerings. Traditionally, the rumal is part of a bride's trousseau and her grandmother embroiders it for the special occasion.

Like in many of the region's hilly towns, a plethora of fairs and festivals take place in Chamba the year round. The Sui Mela held in April pays tribute to Shail Varman's queen who, according to folklore, sacrificed her life so that Chamba would never be without water. The Sui Mata temple is dedicated to her and, during the festival, women gather and sing praises of her valour and devotion. It's the poignant tale behind the event that draws devotees from far-flung areas. And on such days, otherwise quiet Chamba comes alive with festivity.

Published in The Hindu Business Line

Spain by train: Segovia, Valencia

2011-10-16T08:57:00.005+05:30

Ever since Spain expanded its high-speed train network (AVE) — now the largest in Europe — travelling within this vivacious country has become perceptibly convenient. For a visitor with budgeted time, day-trips are far more doable and if planned prudently a Eurail pass (www.eurailtravel.com) makes the outing cost-effective too, happily leaving a few extra euros in the pocket.

On a brief trip to Madrid recently, train travel nudged me into packing in two additional destinations, allowing the experience of contrasting cultures and bringing into focus Spain’s absorbing historical canvas.

Valencia

, Spain’s orange country and the birthplace of paella, is on the Mediterranean coast to the east. The high-speed train from Madrid has shrunk the 391 km distance to a feasible 90 minutes; in comparison the 362-km Chennai-Bangalore route by Shatabdi Express takes 4.50 hr. The country’s third-largest city, it’s a tempting mix of favourable climate (Mediterranean, of course), diverse cuisine (paella, tapas, horchata, turron etc) and engaging culture (historic and futuristic). And of course, it’s the home of the Valencia Football Club, a top ranker in La Liga, Spain’s premier league. Off-late Valencia has emerged out of the shadow of the two biggies, Barcelona and Madrid, but has retained its leisurely character and not turned aggressively touristy.

The non-stop train journey has made it the closest seaside town for Madrid and it’s not uncommon to hear holidayers heading-off for “paella-by-the-beach lunch”. I would vouch for it as a must-do when in Spain, having savoured this experience on the popular Playa (beach) de Las Arenas, which had a picturesque waterfront, a string of heritage restaurants and a lively Sunday market where among other buys were freshly-pickled olives.

As across classical Europe,

Valencia

’s Old Quarter exudes Gothic charisma, and my exploration begun from the popular Plaza de la Reina. This has a clutch of striking buildings, the most celebrated being Valencia Cathedral, which evidently has the Holy Grail, the cup used by Christ at the Last Supper. Its hybrid architecture stood in contrast to my next halt, the 15th century La Lonja del la Seda (silk exchange), a Unesco site for being the best preserved late-Gothic example and a seal of

Valencia

’s golden age as a leading trade centre. What imprisoned my senses here, though, was an overwhelmingly delicate fragrance, which I discovered were from orange blossoms at its small central garden. What blissful natural scent! Oranges piqued my interest once again at the buzzing Mercado Central, the century-plus food market opposite the street, that’s a splendid manifestation of Moorish influences like ceramic tiles and domed glass-roof. It typically offered a window to the city’s culture and as I browsed, observing locals stock-up on paella ingredients, pans, ham and more, I noticed the tag ‘naranja’ on piles of luscious oranges. Apparently the Spanish term for the fruit originated from the Dravidian root naarinja, as oranges were an import from India/China.

Historic Valencia was offset by two cutting-edge architectural spots. The City of Arts and Sciences, was a complex designed on a spectacular scale. Offering museums, opera house, Imax theatre besides Europe’s biggest aquarium, it was conceived to stimulate the mind. However, Bioparc, a new generation zoo got my vote as the not-to be-missed experience. Its uniqueness was the remarkable recreation of assorted yet freewheeling wild habitats: savannah, rain forests, equatorial Africa etc, with respective species co-existing in harmony. So if it was hello to the giraffe and zebra at one instance, a while later I was observing gorillas and flamingos. Truly, an enthralling tribute to sustainability and conservation; and a rewarding wrap-up to my

Valencia

excursion.

My next day-trip was to pocket-sized Segovia. Quaint and delightfully frozen in time, this Unesco heritage town, in the shadows of the snow-capped Guadarrama mountains, was merely 30 minutes by train north of Madrid. A showpiece of the Castile and Leon autonomous province in Spain, centuries of miscellaneous history met around the corners presenting a fascinating museum-like cultural exposition.

The Segovia tour got an awe-start with the multi-arched AD 1 Aqueduct, the town’s symbol. Built with stone but no mortar, it was a characteristic feat of Roman engineering towering over the landscape. Beyond it the skyline dramatically changed.

Dominated by an assortment of quirky Gothic-Renaissance turrets, domes, spires, towers and a labyrinth of twisting alleys, my first impressions were of having almost stepped into fairyland. As I realised, this was an oft-heard reaction. And if modern myth is to be believed, El Alcazar, the erstwhile royal residence on a cliff, at the end of the tourist trail, did inspire the logo of a company that’s enchanted generations with the magic of make-belief world: Walt Disney.

Another multi-spire stunner was the AD 1525 Segovia Cathedral dedicated to patron saint San Frutos at Plaza Mayor. His sculpture holding a prayer book stands in a niche atop the doorway, and legend says the day he closes the book the world will end!

Every step in this dainty, atmospheric town had tremendous architectural power and the liberal sprinkling of outdoorsy cafes, tapas bars, boutiques, old-style restaurants as Michelin-star Jose Maria renowned for Segovia’s signature dish cochinillo, and colourful souvenir shops made my hours vanish quickly. Soon it was time to board the train back to Madrid…with a promise to return.

Published in Deccan Herald, Oct 2011

Lisbon: Memories of another era

2011-09-17T07:30:00.003+05:30

WAYFARER

Lisbon is a small but charming city with many reminders of its glorious past, says Brinda Suri

(From top) A spectacular view of Lisbon from Alfama; The majestic Belém Tower; Passengers step out of a heritage tram Photographs by author

As I stepped out of Lisbon’s stunning Gare do Oriente station — a must-visit for its outstanding contemporary design — I was confronted by a familiar name up in bright and bold neon-lit letters. The ultra-modern shopping mall across the street was called the Centro Vasco da Gama. It was a name we’ve all studied about in our history books.

Once you’ve reached Lisbon, it doesn’t take long to figure out that da Gama is one of the most revered sons of this tiny nation. He’s recognised for single-handedly turning it into a naval power, enabling Portugal to rule the seas and colonise distant lands. Discovering the sea-route to India in 1498 AD was his biggest achievement, and the reason that Portugal hailed him as a hero, and continues to do so.

Lisbon sprawls along the banks of the River Tagus, which drains into the Atlantic Ocean a few miles away. Its location served as the perfect staging point for travels to the east and enabled the country’s seafaring voyages. And it was from Belém — now the country’s most-visited historical district — from where voyagers like da Gama set sail.

I began my rendezvous with Lisbon, or Lisboa as the Portuguese call it, at Belém. Amongst its landmarks is an iconic trio of 16th century edifices in characteristic limestone and designed in the Manueline style — a distinctively Portuguese version of late-Gothic architecture.

There’s Torre de Belém or Belém Tower, standing serenely on the shores of the River Tagus. It provides a beautiful view of the city’s skyline and the April 25th Bridge **. The Belém Tower was once the last sight of homeland for sailors.

Across the road is Belém’s splendid Mosteiro dos Jerónimos or Jerónimos Monastery, which has all the grandeur of a royal palace. The Portuguese are proud of the Manueline legacy and the monastery is said to be the best-preserved example of it. I loved the rounded arches, floral motifs and stones shaped to resemble twisted ropes. It’s here that da Gama spent the night before sailing for India. The existing expansive structure, however, was built to commemorate his successful return.

Completing the trio of the spectacular structures at Belém is the adjacent Church of Santa Maria. It’s an ornate place of worship and also has tombs of royalty. There are only two commoners buried here — one is, of course, da Gama. The other is the distinguished Portuguese poet Luis de Camões.

Even as I was admiring these iconic landmarks, I was drawn to an interesting-looking construction close to the Belém Tower. From a distance it looked like a ship’s prow on the edge of River Tagus. Indeed, the Padrã dos Descobrimentos or Monument to the Discoveries has been designed to look like that and is dedicated to the ‘Age of Discovery’ (15th to 16th century) when Portugal’s explorers brought glory to their homeland.

A trip to Belém remains incomplete without stopping at Pastéis de Belém, the legendarypâtisserie next door to the monastery. For over a century, it has been serving Lisbon’s best egg-custard pastry with a sprinkling of pounded sugar and cinnamon powder. It’s a buzzing eatery and the fact the recipe is still a closely-guarded secret adds an extra flavour to the treat.

Lisbon is a famously laidback city that comes across as being slightly different from other European metropolises. It’s a montage of pleasing contrasts with ornate palaces, museums, majestic churches and a Downtown with open-air cafés and swanky fashion stores. There are also delightful residential pockets with balconies awash with bright colours or dressed in Moorish blue tiles. Portugal was once under Roman rule and there are distinct Moorish influences from the time the Moors dominated the Iberian Plateau between 711 AD and 1492 AD.

Lisbon’s well-connected public transport system makes it easy to explore the city. I hopped in and out of the trams and suddenly stumbled upon a heritage gem — the Number 28 wooden tram that goes up the steep hill to Alfama district. I was rewarded with panoramic views of Lisbon at sunset.

I wrapped up my Lisboa experience with a traditional meal and port wine at Senhor Vinho, the city’s most authentic and stylish Fado (it’s a type of traditional Portuguese music) restaurant, owned by the country’s top Fado performer, Maria da Fé. It was an an indulgence, but well worth it.

READY RECKONER

Getting there: There are no direct flights from Calcutta to Lisbon. You’ll have to change flights in Delhi or Mumbai and London. For train bookings from other European cities, visit www.eurailtravel.com.

Staying there: Hotel Olissippo Marques de Sa is a good option. Go to www.hotelolissippomarquesdesa.com.

Photographs by author

**Correction made in blog text

Published Sept 17, 2011 in The Telegraph, Calcutta

Ladakh Festival 2011

2011-09-04T10:23:00.000+05:30

Published September 2011, Deccan Herald

Discovery of India in Lisbon

2011-08-26T00:03:00.007+05:30

BRINDA SURI

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brinda suriLand of explorers: Monument to the Age of Discoveries, in Lisbon, Portugal

No worries if you don't know Portuguese, chances are you'll get by with a few Indian words!

I'm at a restaurant in Porto, the city that's given Port wine its name, and I see an order of potato fingers whizz past my table. Despite that irksome word calorie attached to it, it's such comfort food and, a la Jughead, I'm tempted to follow its aroma. Instead I settle for the next best option of hailing the waiter and trying to explain what I want. After a few minutes, the eureka! moment happens. “Ah!Batata,” he says. I nod, slightly stunned. In a country where language is a barrier, I didn't know ordering a plate of chips was as simple as mouthing a term used in my own country. Who in west, or east India hasn't heard of batata vada,batata sev and the likes? Over the next couple of days I come across quite a few Portuguese loan words found in our regional languages: sabonete (soap), almiro(almirah), camara (room), chave (key), balde (bucket), toalha (towel), ananas(pineapple) and pao (bread).

WHAT'S IN A NAME?

Names in South India are known for their record length but, as I saw it, Portuguese ones can easily give them a run for their money. I happened to glance at a cab driver's identity card and it read: Nuno Jose Da Silva Machado Garcia Vilela. How do people address him, I asked. “They call me Nuno,” he smiled, adding, “My original name is longer!” Six-seven deck names were pretty common. So when our guide used the phonetic alphabet to spell the name of a posh area adjoining Lisbon's splendid UNESCO site, Jeronimos Monastery (where Vasco da Gama prayed before departing for India in 1497 AD), a colleague noted it as: Richard Edward Simon Thames Edward Lima Othello. But all that the beleaguered guide had meant to say was, Restelo!

TASTE OF INDIA

There's something very reassuring about home flavours. We had toured the Iberian Peninsula for about a week, and though we had been treated to outstanding cuisine, the taste buds longed for dal-chawal-roti. Very accommodatingly, our guide cancelled a prior booking and led us to a place local Portuguese recommended — India Gate, in Downtown Lisbon, one among the nearly 100 Indian restaurants here. No sooner had our group made itself comfortable than we had owner Hemant — who arrived here from Jamnagar six years ago to marry his ‘Internet lady love', a Gujarati settled in Portugal — scurrying around with our requirements. Oh! We felt quite at home placing the order in Hindi and then digging deep into an absolutely scrumptious fare, including baingan bartha, moong dal, raita, saag-paneer, a variety of non-veg besides aromatic basmati, crisp naan, and a host of accompaniments frompapad, aachar, pyaz to namak. I requested a meeting with the chef, who turned out to be Vijeesh from Thrissur. I complimented the South Indian on preparing excellent North Indian food, and he beamed saying it was a team effort. His squad included a Nepali and two Punjabis: Baljit from Jalandhar and Mumtaz from Lahore, Pakistan.

ROOSTER CALLS

The Galo de Barcelos or the Barcelos Rooster is the national symbol of Portugal.

As legend goes, an accused sentenced to death in the town of Barcelos, celebrated for its pottery, appealed for reversal of judgement one last time before the Judge, who was attending a banquet. The Judge asked him to prove his innocence. The man desperately looked around and, on seeing a platter of steaming hot fowl carried by a waiter, prayed aloud to the Lord to prove his innocence by making the rooster crow. It's believed the cooked fowl got up and crowed loudly. The amazed Judge pronounced his verdict: ‘Never sit on judgment of a fellow man, and let the rooster be a reminder of that for generations to come'.

To this day it remains an emblem of honesty and is meant to bring good luck. I saw the rooster splashed across all sorts of souvenirs, perched on doorways or preening in lovely gardens. Though nowadays available in assorted material and colours, it's traditionally made out of clay, painted black, and decorated with white, green, yellow and blue polka dots.

A STRONG BOND

During World War II, Portugal was neutral territory and Lisbon quickly turned into a rendezvous zone for spies, chiefly because of its strategic Atlantic connections. Many a spy novel was set in and around the capital city and tourist agencies use that feature to their advantage by conducting special walking tours through spy routes. The most famous spy, though, to have set foot on Portugal is a certain James Bond. And Cascais, the cheerful town by the Atlantic Ocean, all of 30 minutes by train from Lisbon, flaunts the Bond connection via the flickOn Her Majesty's Secret Service (1969), which was shot here and in the neighbouring casino town of Estoril.

While browsing Cascais's prettily-cobbled shopping street, I chanced upon a poster of Bond. “No one's been able to replace him,” I jokingly asked the Portuguese sales assistant. “None. They have all been merely 003.5,” he winked.

NO SOUR GRAPES

It seems a borrowed tradition from neighbour Spain but the Portuguese believe in it resolutely. It's the custom to eat 12 grapes on New Year's Eve as the clock strikes midnight. As a ritual, people are tuned to the town's clock tower and munch a grape with every chime. This is supposed to fulfil wishes and bring luck. I was told hardly anyone can finish all 12 in time and Lady Luck continues to act fickle. When I saw the lovely, big-sized grapes in the market, I realised why.

OF PASTRY AND MONASTERY

You can't have visited Lisbon and not savoured Pasteis de Belem, an egg custard-filled sweet puff pastry with a sprinkling of cinnamon and castor sugar. Not only will that amount to sacrilege, it's an epicurean loss too.

A legend in its own right, it was first prepared around the 1820s at the Jeronimos Monastery as a means of livelihood for nuns and monks. Since 1837, Antiga Confeitaria de Belem, adjoining the monastery, acquired the right to use its name. It bakes it by the hundreds every day and the recipe remains top secret.

The patisserie was typically packed when I visited. Every table had the same order, and when mine arrived, as I bit into its softly-crisp pastry and creamy filling I realised why locals said, “a dozen never reach home intact”! It is its sweet nostalgia that makes it so endearing.

Keywords: Foreign travel, local food, customs

Indian Folk Art: Kalighat Paat

2011-08-07T15:45:00.000+05:30

Published in Deccan Herald, August 2011

Puri for the backpacker

2011-07-29T10:38:00.007+05:30

The Indian backpacker circuit is pretty well defined now. Saunter its analogous boroughs and ubiquitous signage winks back at you. From Little India to Pumpernickel Bakery they’re all there to extend a reassuring welcome. Only local backdrops change as Old Manali dittos Rishikeish dittos Leh dittos Jaisalmer dittos the trendsetter of them all, Goa. The circuit adds new spots like Gokarna quite regularly. One recent discovery though that took me by surprise was Puri in Orissa being an old-timer of the trail.
Restless sea and siesta
From amongst the country’s beach-towns Puri is my top pick. I’ve been here quite often but never felt the need to surf the town; perhaps the reason I remained oblivious to its backpacker district. A holiday in this coastal town for me begins and ends with its beautifully-rough sea. I’m particularly drawn to its playful restlessness, the way its waves teasingly rise and forcefully crash, before coyly submitting themselves to the shore. It’s like a sprightly companion and I can sit for hours watching its antics.
Sea, swim and siesta, all perfect weekend ingredients, keep me quite occupied here. Throw in a daily massage and life is a beach! It’s an effort to exert and at best I stroll up to the bustling-with-tourists Golden Beach market to catch the evening buzz.
Little else matches the enjoyment in having a munch, watching the waves coming in; and a lot of choice is on offer here. My favourite amongst hawkers is the singhara-wala, whose ware includes piping-hot singharaas (potato-filled fried savoury) and an assortment of chhana mishti (milk-based sweets). The fare is typically stocked in a series of aluminium pots swinging on two ends of a bamboo staff, merrily balanced on his shoulders. It’s been this way forever; the man and his trade being part of uniquely-timeless Puri.
When a friend from overseas recently dropped by holding that venerated bible for lonely travellers of this planet, did I stumble upon Puri’s backpacker information. I was curious. Seizing the first opportunity and armed with details I arrived in town to experience its not-so-new ‘new face’.
Then and Now
Puri is now directly connected with a number of trains, which usually run packed. As soon as I stepped out from my coach, I was swallowed by a sea of humanity on the platform. Whoever says Indians don’t travel needed to be there that day! Since my previous visit, the number of three-wheeler autos has shot-up and I was surrounded by a frenzied bunch of drivers offering to ferry me at “best price”. When I mentioned the hotel I was booked into, one of them said, “Oh! Angrezi taraf jana hai...You want to go to the foreigner-end,” and disappeared. I finally settled for one bargain and was happy to be out of the chaotic station. En route the driver re-confirmed if I had a hotel booking or was a walk-in customer. Apparently they got “no commission” at the backpacker-end and found it profitable taking passengers to the popular Swargadwar Road or Puri Hotel-end.
Nothing is too far in Puri and I reached my destination in a matter of a few minutes. It was a bumpy ride through mucky roads and I can’t resist my rant: when will we as a people learn to dress our towns? We’ve become conscious in (television) dressing ourselves but keeping it clean is also fashionable! It was a let-down seeing Puri dirtier but a few hours later I was glad at a redeeming factor: its beach was clean, very clean, the administration prudently having involved local fishermen to keep it such.
One of the first signage to greet me as I turned into Chakratirtha Road or CT Road, was, well, Little India! Not overtly backpacker when compared to other towns, this side of Puri is diametrically opposite to the popular end and blissfully quieter. On my friend’s recommendation I headed to a hotel whose old-world air had pleased her. It turned out to be a stately bungalow and in essence was a non-hotel hotel, but disappointing. Yes, it did let the spirit of communion develop among travellers through its non-intrusive ways but lacked modern amenities and a certain style. As in oft-seen cases, I felt, it was running on the sheer might of an entry into the sort of venerated bible my friend had been toting. Or maybe I’ve been spoilt by what heritage hotels in India now offer the budget spender. No, Z Hotel, yes that's the name, was not value for my money.
CT Road
CT Road has developed over the past few years, but it essentially remains an area where you can find your space and share notes with an interesting mix of easygoing travellers on sidewalks, cafes and of-course the beach. An Italian couple I met had been touring the region on scooter as it reminded them of home. A New York resident was here to study 7th century temple architecture while an Indian based in the UK was doing a project with stone sculptors near Konark. A 60-year-young Swiss was researching dolphin breeding patterns. Not everyone was here with an agenda, though. A trio of girls from Australia on sabbatical had been in Puri for a week with no plans yet of going anywhere further. I couldn’t resist asking them what kept them glued to the Puri beach when Australia had some of the best the world offered. They liked the “slow pace of life here, the untamed sea and warmth of the locals. A little hygiene would make it perfect”, they chorused. I agreed. During an interaction I was let in on a tip (from a travel bible) of getting the best views of Lord Jagannath Temple from Raghunandan Library opposite it, but to beware getting conned into paying a small sum for the views.
Expectedly the shops lining CT Road are tuned in catering to the requirements of an international clientele and fairly well equipped. The Enfield is on hire here and yoga/mediation classes are on offer. There are a number of internet cafes, a few lovely bookshops where you can sit quietly and browse, curio and antique shops that are not overly overpriced, apparel stores and quite a few open-air restaurants offering an assortment on its menu. As most businesses shut down during off-season (February to June) I had to settle for traveller reviews on places like Xanadu restaurant serving “fantastic sea-food”. One cafe which gets my top marks is the inviting Honey Bee Bakery and Pizzeria. If there’s any reason for me to return to Puri apart from the sea it’s this! Run by Debabrata ‘Debu’ Tripathy and his Japanese wife, it has a tranquil
ambience and offers scrumptious breakfast, delicious cakes, good bread and a largely Italian spread. The ice-cream with chocolate sauce served in an off-beat blue glass cup-saucer was a divine treat. It’s its artistic presentation and passion that goes into freshly preparing every order taken which elevates the experience.
At this end, the beach shacks of Pink House Restaurant are very popular. They adjoin the fisherman cove and you can choose fish from the daily catch and get it cooked to order. There are some stand-alone shacks too that offer chairs on the beach for Rs 10, massage for Rs 50-100, and “meals” which essentially means, well, Maggi noodles and omelettes accompanied with masala chai or tender coconut water. The more things change the more ubiquitous they get in the backpacker world. No one’s complaining, though.
Quick Facts
Air: Closest airport is in Bhubaneshwar 57 km; Railways: Direct connections from Delhi and Kolkata; Stay: Plenty of budget accommodation in the range of Rs 500 – Rs 1,500. In the off-
season hotel rates are down by 50 per cent
Published in JetWings, July 2011

Indian Folk Art: Badhia, Raghurajpur

2011-07-10T17:48:00.006+05:30

Badhia painting, Raghurajpur, District Chandanpur, Orissa. Artist: Swain

He claimed the paintings had been made decades ago by his award-winning father, thus the "antique" look. Hmmmn... The one on the wall is also by dear dad. Now, that looked genuine. But the house surely was limewashed? Yes, every year. But the painting area was never touched. Hmmmn... (Above): painted wall in the village and artist at work on a scroll

Published in Deccan Herald, July 2011

Cascais: Do it like Bond!

2011-07-04T19:23:00.003+05:30

I enjoy good cinema, the kind that produces magic, whether it portrays reality, fantasy or comedy, but am not a movie-buff rushing to catch the Friday opener. Certainly there’s no testing my patience in front of predictable, uninspiring scripts. Nonetheless there’s one genre, okay one character, whose movies I can view anytime, despite them being awfully predictable and childishly fantastical. The James Bond flicks! It’s the silken ease and finesse with which 007 performs his craft that makes them engaging. Suspense aside, the locales of these films are mouth-watering, having been chosen from amongst the best the globe offers. One of these happened to be Cascais, Portugal, where I was heading with a group of fellow travellers. The Bond-connection made it the pick of the itinerary for me.
A little-heard place outside of Europe, some parts of Bond’s ‘On Her Majesty’s Secret Service’ were shot here. And it didn’t take long to know why. Picturesque and brilliant as an ocean-side can be, Cascais appeared made-to-order as an escape that let’s you truly unwind. Its sun, sand, surf, song and salubrious air has been reason enough to draw them all: royalty, nobility, celebrity and the Joneses.
Those attributes aside what I found most attractive was it being a lovely train-ride away, all of 30 minutes, from the capital sights of Lisbon (Lisboa to the Portuguese). What's more, for the major part of the journey the rail track runs along the Atlantic Ocean. It couldn’t get better than that, could it! Though I stay away from comparing places, I can’t resist asking you to visualise Goa being a few km beyond Delhi. If the mere thought is relaxing you’ll know why Lisboans cannot be found at home on the weekend.
Our Portuguese host Ana, a loyal Lisboan who’s now relocated to Holland, shared her childhood memories of cycling and walking along the ocean, from the outskirts of Lisbon, to Cascais (25 km). “Oh! I do miss the trail. Those were wonderful times,” she reminisced. “It would seem the whole city was moving out. Surf-boards, beach-umbrellas, cycles, boats etc stacked atop cars or as baggage in trains was a common sight.”
It appeared quite similar to us as we boarded the commuter train at Cais do Sodre train station in Lisbon. The seater coaches were delightfully packed with feisty passengers in beach-wear, with a lot of them carrying gear Ana had mentioned. Apart from handful tourists like us, the majority were locals, clearly reflecting the ‘sussegado’ temperament of the Portuguese, the carefree legacy of theirs that’s happily stereotyped the Goans too. When travelling by train to Cascais, there’s a grab for seats on the left of the aisle, quite simply as the ocean borders that end. We were a little late in boarding the train and had to be content peeping over shoulders to view the aqua spread. Very sportingly those seated by the windows would shift around to let us catch a glimpse, with some graciously offering to swap places. The Portuguese are disarmingly friendly and it’s their warm, welcoming spirit that leaves a lasting impression.
Ana wanted us to experience the joys of walking on her favourite path, flanking the ocean, and made us hop out at Estoril station, two stops before the destination. Estoril is the twin city of Cascais and a 4-km waterfront pathway connects the two. Walking towards Cascais turned out to be very leisurely, with views of the ocean being constantly impressive and beaches filled with sunbathers and sun-shades providing immense colour. Of what I recalled from the Bond flick, Estoril was shown to be a spot famous for its casinos. Ana confirmed casinos remained the biggest draw of the town and pointed out the location where scenes of the film were shot; at the five-star Hotel Palacio, almost adjoining the famous Estoril Casino, amongst the largest in Europe.
The Estoril coast was pretty but Cascais certainly exuded more appeal, coyly flaunting itself as one of those postcard-perfect beach towns, all cosy, compact and cosmopolitan. It was our ‘day-off’, so to speak, after a hectic tour of Portugal and the agenda for the day was to relax by the ocean. It would have been worthwhile to spot some city sights (see fact file) but on the flipside there was a definite charm in being a local on foreign shores and not go tick-marking. And we did that quite spectacularly by settling ourselves in a buzzing open-air café by a cliff, where we lazily—oh! sussegado is so, so contagious—tucked into succulent Portuguese marine food. We ordered quite a variety and our tables were soon bursting with vibrant platters of gambas al ajillo (garlic prawns), ameijoas a bulhao pato (fried clams), robalinho grelhado (grilled bass), pescada c molho camarao (hake with prawn sauce), and yes, febras de praco na brasa (grilled pork scallops). Sangria was sipped as an accompaniment even as the eyes dreamily drank in glorious views of the vast, sapphire Atlantic. Near us a fado singer strummed his guitar and belted out quick numbers to add distinct flavour to the afternoon.
Post-lunch the historic city centre beckoned. It was typically old-world with elegant pedestrian pathways typically cobbled with beige-black stone blocks recreating wave patterns. Inviting souvenir and apparel shops, snug bistros, lively restaurants, colourful houses with quaint balconies and trailing bougainvilleas lined the paved paths making the montage picturesque. The royals of Europe had found Cascais an ideal getaway and many had villas here. At present it’s the address for the rich and famous, and their luxurious properties dot town. Many can be spotted browsing around and sometimes are roped in by fans for a photograph, just as a popular Portuguese television anchor was when we were wandering the markets. A lot of Bangladeshi nationals have set up shops here and one of them gave me a generous discount on my purchases on account of being “neighbours back home”. Most cotton-attire stalls were retailing the ‘Made in India’ label and it was heart-warming to see bit of your country and its neighbourhood around.
Back on the train we had a new lot of passengers. This time around there were tanned bodies and composed faces. The thought of going back to work the next day after a splendid seaside holiday universally makes everyone exhausted. If wishes were horses... the return journey would have had nobody on board. Cascais is one of those sort of places you would never want to leave. Else, Bond would not have been here!

Quick Facts:
Air: Lisboa International Airport, 25 km from Cascais, has daily flights to and from hubs of Europe that connect with India.
Train (www.eurail.com): Cascais is reached by a breezy journey from Cais do Sodre train station in Lisbon. (This station is the final stop on the Green Metro Line).
Road: Connected with the A5 highway and the scenic EN 6, the national marginal road along the ocean.
City sights: Museu do Mar (Museum of the Sea); Museu do Castro Guimaraes (housed in a mansion of the Counts of Castro Guimaraes); Forte de St Jorge; Boca do Inferno, a stunning cliff ; Church do Nossa Senhora da Assuncao (decorated with 17th-century paintings of artist Josefa de Obidos); Guincho beach, featured in the Bond flick and a haven for surfers
Published in JetWings International, July 2011

Porto: Call of the wine country

2011-07-03T09:24:00.025+05:30

THEY were a picture of contrasts. Our Portuguese host Ana, a top-ranking official from Lisbon or Lisboa to locals, and Jorge, a Porto resident and our city guide. The senhora was a freewheeling spirit, with cascading laughter, twinkling eyes and not shy of faltering. The Porto senhor was solemn, duty-conscious and I can’t recall him smiling. The two provided a visual display to a common maxim in Portugal: ‘Porto works, Braga prays, Lisbon plays’! The adage is used to describe the country’s north-south divide (a la Delhi-Chennai but in reverse equation) between the apparently more traditional and hardworking Northerners, and the flamboyant Southerners, flaunting and flirting with power. Industrial Porto is an economy booster, but seemingly doesn’t get due credit. That it wears a chip on its shoulder came through as our tour progressed, with Jorge often making it a point to stress certain attributes of his city being “more/better than Lisbon” much to Ana’s amusement.
It appeared the two geographically-diverse cities — Lisbon (with its sun-baked plazas) and Porto (where cool mountain air wafts in making it semi-Mediterranean) — agreed to disagree on almost everything. Except, when it came to Port wine! The pride of Portugal, the wine is aged and marketed from Porto. Jorge knew he had no competition here and proudly said: “Portugal and its famous wine get their name from my city.” Maybe, just maybe, a faint smile lit up his face then.
Porto, or O Porto (The Port) as Portuguese refer to it, is the country’s second largest city and amongst the oldest provincial settlements of Europe. Dating back to AD 3, it features on the Unesco world heritage list. It’s on the estuary of the lovely Rio Douro (River of Gold) that meanders through the Iberian Peninsula before embracing the Atlantic Ocean.
Around 90 km north of Porto, its waters form the Douro Valley, where the wine is exclusively produced in over six-lakh acres of quintas (vineyards). In times gone by, wine casks were sent down the Douro in rabelos or flat-bottom sailing vessels, to be stored in adegas (cellars) at Porto and its sister city Vila Nova de Gaia, just across the river. It was bottled and exported from here, acquiring the name ‘Port wine’ or ‘Vinho do Porto’.
Vila Nova De Gaia — linked to Porto by the famous arched Dom Luis I Bridge (featured in many a Hollywood movie) engineered by an associate of Eiffel — is where we headed for a tour of the ‘wine caves’ (as cellars are called) at the circa 1859 firm, Calem, one of the leaders among the over dozen lining the Douro.
Our dishy Greek guide briefly introduced the fortified wine, consumed as an aperitif or dessert, before leading us to a casket-shaped room to view a short film on wine production. “You are sitting in a casket, if sweet enough you’ll turn into wine,” he joked. None of us did! Next up was a walk through the caves packed with oak casks and getting acquainted with different ports—Blanco or White, which was gaining in acceptance; time-honoured Ruby and Tawany that could be stored after opening; and the delicately-fashionable Vintages. The quick tour gave a wine novice like me a feel of the deal and concluded with a tasting of red and white port in a sparkling hall, with a live band adding to the mood. Expectedly, each of us picked up a bottle of port as souvenir.
Porto’s history shows a series of conquerors, from the Romans to the Moors, stepping on to its shores and dominating for centuries. Their assorted influences are visible in the compelling architecture found within its labyrinth of cobbled alleys, edifice façades with distinctive blue ceramic tiles, Gothic churches (the pick of the city sites for me being Igreja de São Francisco or Church of Saint Francis with Baroque-style gilt edged wood interiors) and the classic town square, all coming together to lend a quaint yet atypical medieval look.
The river-front or Ribeira is the most atmospheric part of the historic city, packed with open-air cafes, restaurants and pubs. It’s nice to sit by the river here and soak in the spirit. Adding to bygone charms are the sailing rabelos. Though no longer in use, these are a tourist attraction for cruises. On St John’s Day, June 24, crowds gather by the Douro to watch rabelos take part in the annual regatta.
And of course, celebrations mean the vinho do porto flows unrestricted and diligent Porto lets its hair down.

PORT WINE BRANDS TO PICK FROM: Fonseca,Taylor’s, Calem, Romariz, Sandeman

HOW TO REACH: Air: Several low-cost and regular international carriers fly into Porto.

Train (www.eurailtravel.com): From Lisbon stations (Gare do Oriente or Santa Apolónia), take the train for Campanha (3 hours), from where there’s the choice of changing to a train heading to Sao Bento, the city centre (5 minutes, no extra ticket required), or taking taxis.

WHERE TO STAY: Tiara Park Atlantic Porto (www.tiara-hotels.com), Porto Palácio Hotel (www.hotelportopalacio.com)

Published in The New Indian Express, July 2011

Indian Folk Art: Saura painting, Orissa

2011-06-19T11:54:00.003+05:30

Art

Saura invocations

BRINDA SURI

Apart from depicting primitive everyday life, Saura paintings are meant to appease the presiding deity, Edital.

Symbolic: Reflecting their cults and myths.

Saura paintings almost always become a victim of mistaken identity. The reason being that the-less-promoted Saura with origins in Orissa and the-very-popular Warli from Maharashtra seem separated at birth.

The common factor between the two begins and ends with them both being tribal pictographs and thus having similar elements expressed in a similar idiom, which in this case is stick figures. That apart, there are subtle differences that distinguish a Warli from a Saura; and once pointed out by masters of the art, there's a lean chance of not being able to make a distinction between the two.

Decreasing in number

The Sauras are considered amongst the oldest tribes in India. They have features resembling the pre-Dravidian tribes, and largely inhabit the currently-strife-torn tribal zone of Orissa, particularly Koraput, Gajapati, Nabrangpur and Rayagada districts. In addition, sizeable numbers are also settled in Chattisgarh, Andhra Pradesh, Jharkhand and Assam.

Tribes across the country have a thread of commonality running through their customs, and the differences that exist have been observed to be largely region-specific. All tribes have a close affinity with nature and besides worshipping its bounties in all forms, their daily existence, including household chores, livelihood and entertainment, also revolves around it. It's no different in the case of the Sauras, who live in a terrain that is hilly and has dense forests. Their huts are characteristically built with bamboo and mud on a raised platform and are very basic in design— rectangular with a small main door. The tribe is known for contoured farming and their sustenance depends on shifting agriculture, hunting and fishing.

On the face of it, it's this primitive everyday life that is depicted in the Saura paintings. There is, though, a deeper meaning to each work that the artists produce. Most significantly Saura paintings are done to appease their presiding deity, Edital, who is invoked during all rituals and celebrations. This invocation in the Saura paintings is shown through assorted symbols drawn from their day to day living, cults and myths with each holding a meaning for their worship.

“The most important tradition among the Sauras is praying for the well-being of their ancestors. This is followed by other celebrations as child-birth, harvest, marriage etc. During each occasion the painting called ekon, or nowadays eponymously referred to as edital, is worshipped,” says artist Kesudas of Baleswari Kala Kendra, Balasore. “The ekon is made on the walls—it's mandatorily done when a new house is constructed—and traditionally the Sauras choose a dark corner inside their home for it. Every occasion does not demand a new ekon and the existing one is regularly used; until and unless it is a significant family/societal event or time to give the house a new coat of paint, which is when specific set of prayers are done before an ekon is created,” he adds. These days artists draw ekons but customarily it was only the Kudangs, or the community of priests among the Sauras, who were qualified to do ekons. These men had the expertise to explain their meaning to village gatherings and the ekon thus was looked at as a valuable feature of a vocal tradition through which the Sauras connected with their customs.

Natural motifs

According to convention, the only colours used by the Sauras for the paintings are geru (from red earth) and white (from rice paste). Saura art, as mentioned, uses the stick figure iconography and their motifs consist of people, trees, sun, moon, animals, village activities etc. Among some distinguishing characteristics of their paintings when compared to its fraternal twin Warli, is each painting being constructed within a specific geometrical framework. “In a Saura painting the border is drawn first after which the interiors are filled, which is called the fish-net approach. This is not the case with Warli wall art. These days market-driven customs and more awareness about other forms, have seen both Saura and Warli picking up each other's nuances,” says the artist.

Saura paintings have travelled from walls to handmade paper and tussar silk in keeping with demands of contemporary times, which is also seeing the widespread use of black ink in these drawings; leading to the misconception that traditionally Warli is done in white and Saura in black! The subject has also moved away from being solely religious to that showing various social acts. Modern icons like buses, cars, television have also been incorporated in the paintings. Saura paintings are treasures of folklore and a fantastic pictorial tradition that convey a community's literature and beliefs.

Published in The Hindu, June 2011

Perfectly 'Made in Japan'

2011-06-10T07:38:00.008+05:30

BRINDA SURI
The Land of the Rising Sun greets you with dignity, composure and grace all the way.

Even as Japan recovers from the devastation wreaked by nature's fury, its people retain their dignity and composure. They remain ever-willing to assist, although communication barriers can sometimes lead to funny situations. An account of some lighter moments from a recent visit to the country

The Chinese have[n't] made it
Japan, and all the wonders it was working with technology, were a part of my growing-up years. Back then, in many homes National was the telly of choice, Fuji was the film roll, Canon the camera, Yamaha the motorbike the neighbour's son rode, Citizen the watch, and so on. Except for the juta not being Japani everything else seemed to be. Buying or gifting Japanese proficiency meant you had invested in the best.
That was in the 1980s. By the time I visit Japan in 2011, I find I have to hunt for the ‘Made in Japan' label at consumer stores. It's not as tedious a task as it is in the malls of the West, but it's a job nonetheless. For each Japanese label present there are seven Chinese labels vying for attention. The 100 Yen stores have items that are Japanese in preference but, as with their cousins — the Dollar stores, are Chinese in production. I browse through a lot and finally pick up a set of miso soup bowls. The salesgirl assisting me beams and says, “ Hai (Yes)! No China. This Japan!” I buy it.
A-wash with pleasure
What bliss to visit a country of fellow bottom-washers! Characteristic to Japan, they have made technical art out of a routine, light years away from the modestlota. And thankfully, it's not as tricky as the futuristic faucet systems in hotel loos. All you need to do is press a few buttons on the panel beside the toilet seat and experience an automaton mop-up. Japan's revolutionary toilets began making news ever since Toto arrived on the scene with its Washlet, which has since attained generic status. Statistics speak of Japanese homes having more washlets than laptops. The tissue-roll — considered one of the barometers of a consumerist society — is nowhere near the top-10 household items. The washlet, described as a bidet toilet, has features such as the delightful seat warming, anus washing, bidet washing, dryers and so on, with the latest ones being able to check blood sugar, blood pressure and BMI. Need a fart-disguising sound? Install the Otohime, also known as Sound Princess, a faux-flush tone that saves embarrassment. The washlet's prime endeavour is to provide comfort and hygiene alongside being a water-saver. At some places there's a spigot atop the tank, allowing users to conserve by washing hands with water intended for the next flush. Even squeaky-clean public toilets boast similar features. As across Asia, Japan has squat toilets and has revolutionised these too. Unlike in India, the Japanese have used technology to make a conventional need more convenient. As a start, will star hotels in India please ape East rather than West and include an elementary water-wash feature (yes, the process has slowly begun) rather than just the eco-foe tissue-roll.
A kind gesture, when words fail
Communication remains a challenge, even in bustling Tokyo: signboards and brochures are either in Kanji or Katakana script and the population speaks Nihongo. Written English is by far more understood than spoken. Sometimes the verbal can lead to the hilarious: on my saying I'll ‘manage' I was asked if I wanted ‘marriage'. But the Japanese are a beautiful people and make a genuine effort to help. At my wit's end once, trying to locate a particular street in Roppongi, the entertainment district, I saw a ray of hope when a shop assistant ran and got a pamphlet that announced ‘Map' in English. Happily I bowed and said my “ arigato-gozaimasu (thank you very much)” and marched out of the shop. I spread out the map and it was all crystal clear… It was in Japanese.
Take a bow, beautiful people
During interfaces, I was often reminded of the dialogue in the film Hum Hain Rahi Pyar Ke where a crisis-ridden Rahul Malhotra (Aamir Khan) chides his assistant: “Mishraji (Mushtaq Khan), aap jhukte rahenge, kuch karenge bhi?” when he finds the Japan-returned Misharji bowing non-stop prior to seeking help from a group of Japanese tourists. While the film spoofs this emblematic Japanese etiquette, I saw in it a disarming custom of bestowing honour on the other person during any interaction. According to tradition, quite like in India, physical touch is avoided. So the Japanese humbly bow to all, with such dignity and grace, it almost seems poetry in action. They bow even after you've said goodbye and turned to leave, and continue doing so while you or the vehicle is still in sight. What particularly left an impression was the lined-up airfield ground staff in Sapporo bowing as soon as our aircraft landed. They were extending a welcome, without us knowing.
Auto giants in name only!
Japanese auto brands are household names in India, so meeting persons with surnames such as Honda, Mazda or Suzuki would bring on a smile. Some would realise that and quip, “Oh, oh! Not from the car family.” I would routinely bump into a familiar last name. The only time I didn't, I was a co-passenger to a sales executive on a local bus in Hakone; and he belonged to the city of Kawasaki.

Published in The Hindu Business Line, June 10, 2011

Indian folk art: Of Bankura & Bishnupur

2011-06-05T11:58:00.006+05:30

Published in Deccan Herald, June 2011

Paella Valencia

2011-06-01T00:00:00.008+05:30

"It's pronounced pah-e-yah," he said. I repeated after him but it didn’t match up to his standard. "You got to say it with a lilt ('song' was the word he used to explain). Bring a little romance into it," he smiled. "Pah-e-yah," I said. "Almost there," he exclaimed triumphantly. I was at the century-old La Marcelina, a renowned classic in Valencia, the home of paella, and it was the gracefully-grey chief steward who was playing tutor. When it’s the paella being discussed with a true-blue Spaniard, getting every nuance correct relating to this star of the gastronomy galaxy is essential. And lesson one is its intonation. The recipes and ingredients may patiently await their turn.

Paella has interesting history, its origins lying in the food preferences of the Moors who repeatedly conquered Spain between AD 711 and 1492. Their typical dish was a combination of rice, meats, vegetables and spices cooked in broth (which in turn was supposedly an Arabic/Persian influence and closer home the biryani and pulao are said to have come across those shores). The rice-based hot-pot was usually prepared at family feasts or religious celebrations and shared by the community, a feature that’s still common in the Islamic world. The paella was born out of these influences. Around the 18th century it began being savoured as a stand-alone celebratory fare in the Valencia region, at places replacing the barbeque as an outdoorsy treat, and evolved to its present-day form by the mid-19th century. Steadily its aromas spread across Spain acquiring a tag for itself on the way as the national dish, tad inaccurately though, as it primarily remains proudly Valencian, prepared and served with flourish at its bistros and restaurants. Paella is their top souvenir too, its image being visible on fridge magnets, aprons, diaries, broaches and much more.

Quite stereotypically it’s said the Spanish love siesta and fiesta and everything else fits in between. If this is another way of saying they enjoy the good life, that’s true, as my Spain tour showed. Weekdays were workdays, just as the weekends were strictly not that! I was in Valencia on a Sunday, when city commerce tightly downs its shutters and the crowds are out sunning on the popular Playa (beach) de Las Arenas, cruising down the Mediterranean, happily filling open-air cafes, or among other sites exploring the superb Bioparc—Europe’s only new generation animal habitat, certainly not to be skipped during a visit.

It’s also a custom-made day to enjoy Spain’s famously-long lunches (a several course affair between 2 pm - 4 pm). And nothing could have been more apt than an extended session at the beach-front La Marcelina, digging into the traditional ‘Paella Valenciana’, consisting of bomba rice (incidentally, rice as an everyday grain was introduced by the Moors to the Iberian Peninsula), rabbit, chicken, snails, vegetables—white lima beans and green beans or bachoqueta are a constant—tomatoes and saffron. Today there are as many versions of paella as there are cooks and its ingredients can include seafood, pork, meat, duck etc but these are given a thumbs-down by the connoisseur. I settled for a veggie adaptation which was deliciously robust even as it was delicately flavoursome. My group of fellow travellers definitely enjoyed their genuine-as-it-gets fare making correct noises about succulent rabbit meat, spice-infused chicken and crisp-tender snails.

Just as every home in India worth its garam masala has a secret recipe, every Spanish home will lay claim to preparing the most authentic paella. It requires painstaking labour, being cooked fresh and on an open fire. So as elsewhere in the world, Spaniards have increasingly begun going out for a paella meal and classic restaurants make sure they serve it suave.

As I realised, savouring the paella is merely a part of the experience. The joy lies in the element of passion accompanying every step. In fact the entire process, from preparation to presentation, is akin to a faultless theatre production. There are the backstage boys — the master chef and his team, them being more like the king and his trusted aides; the supporting cast — steward, maitre d', front-end manager; the various acts — the multiple courses which include sangria/red wine and rounds of appetizers; and of course the protagonist of the plot — paella.

At conventional places as La Marcelina, the paella is brought to the table in the paellera (wok-like, albeit flat with shallow sloping sides and large, the dimension going up to 3 ft) itself and displayed almost vertically — a mark of perfection — to guests garnering much applause and appreciation. Individual portions are subsequently placed on platters and served with a wedge of the all-important lemon. At homes there’s a scramble for the toasted rice (the khurchan as we know it) lining the bottom of the pan, and considered an essential of good paella. The restaurants make sure they distribute the khurchan unbiased! Spanish restaurants are buzzing places to be in and a paella meal makes the occasion more celebratory; a must-experience when visiting the country, especially Valencia.

A question I was frequently posed on my return was if the paella could measure up to a biryani. My plea is don’t even venture into the apples to oranges debate. Besides, it’s sacrilege to compare anything prepared with a certain long-grain, divinely-fragrant rice called basmati.

Best paella restaurants in Valencia (as recommended by locals)

La Marcelina

Neptune Avenue 8,
Playa de Las Arenas (beachfront)

www.lamarcelina.com
La Pepica

Neptune Avenue 6, Playa de Las Arenas

www.lapepica.com

Palace Fesol

Calle (or street) Hernan Cortes 7, (City Centre)

www.palacefesol.com

El Rall

Calle Tundidores 2, (City Centre)

www.elrall.es

Restaurant Nou Raco

Carretera (or road) Palmar 21,

Inside Albufera Park

www.nouraco.com
Restaurant Mateu

Calle Baldoví 17,

El Palmar, Albufera

Quick Facts

Best time: June to September

City sights:Plaza de la Reina, part of the historic City Centre, that has El Micalet, the landmark octagonal bell-tower, and the Valencia Cathedral purportedly housing the Holy Grail; Plaza de Toros; Central Market, amongst Europe's biggest enclosed food trade space; La Lonja, a Unesco world heritage site; Bioparc Valencia; and City of Arts and Sciences

Getting there:

Air: International carriers fly into

Valencia

. From India flights have stopovers at European hubs of Milan, Zurich etc

Train: Valencia has direct connections with Barcelona and Madrid. The train from/to Madrid takes about 1.30 hrs and the journey is on the new, high-speed AVE train network. Purchasing a Eurail (www.eurailtravel.com) country/inter-country pass is a practical option.

Accommodation: Hotel Sercotel Sorolla Palace, Avenida de las Cortes Valencianas 58,

www.hotelsorollapalace.com

Hotel Westin, Amadeo de Saboya 16,

www.westinvalencia.com

Published in JetWings International, June 2011

La Liga: Uno numero

2011-05-30T10:51:00.002+05:30

Messi magic enthralled the world at the Wembley on May 28 as the mercurial striker once again lead Barcelona to victory, this time around in the prestigious UEFA Champions League final, confirming the status of (Spanish) La Liga as premier among European leagues. Football
is truly a different ball game as compared to other sport and little else compares to watching the best in action LIVE! Here's sharing my recent experience of witnessing action of
Spanish league 'futbol' and its growing popularity in India

V-a-l-e-n-c-i-a, V-a-l-e-n-c-i-a! The chant would reach a crescendo and then dip to a hush. Its cadence had the harmony of conducted orchestra. In a way, it was being orchestrated, by two sets of eleven men on a green field chasing a white ball. Every move of theirs was akin to the conductor’s baton, and every move produced a piece of music, both on field, where each action had the grace of a band of instrumentalists, and off-field in the spectator stands, where cheers and chants synchronised in perfect chorus.

I was at the Mestella Stadium in coastal Valencia, absorbed in watching a Premier Division match of the Spanish professional football league, usually referred to as La Liga, one of the most exciting sport leagues globally. With its dauntingly-steep terraced seating arrangement accommodating a capacity crowd of 55,000, the Mestella—home turf of Valencia Club de Futbol—is acknowledged for whipping up an electrifying
atmosphere unmatchable in all Europe. I was a witness to that stimulating ambience on the Sunday when home team Valencia took on Villareal. It was a crucial tie, where a win for Valencia would strengthen its hold on the all-important third place in the Spanish league, giving the team a direct entry into the qualifying round of next season’s UEFA Champions League, Europe’s uno numero tournament played by its top soccer clubs.

The European spectator, I’d heard, takes his soccer seriously and is a keen observer of field play. And so it was. Around me was a capacity crowd completely clued into the action and watching every move with an intensity associated with a chess tourney! Their reactions were perfectly timed: whether it was the resounding cheering when a team made brilliant moves to reach the goal post and mange to score; the chanting to
encourage their players; or jeering when they felt the referee had goofed. That night it was advantage home-team, and Valencia trounced Villareal 5-0. Watching the goal feast live spelled delight for my group of fellow travellers and I, who had turned Valencia loyalists almost immediately upon taking seats inside the stadium. Our local guide Miguel, a proud Valencian, didn’t need to prod us to support his side; the fervour of the
followers of the game having converted us into fans, and over the next few days in Spain we were scouting around for Valencia souvenirs! It goes without saying, a soccer match experience when touring the country is highly recommended.

I was pleasantly surprised at the level of crowd concentration, which came as quite a contrast to all my previous experiences of being part of live sporting action, usually cricket, in India, where typically the majority is a carefree, star (read cricketer)-stuck spectator. Of what I’ve seen, the Calcutta fan comes closest to his European counterpart for the gravitas he attaches to any game he watches. I felt it is the power-packed performance in all of 90 minutes that instills such passion into the crowd. It’s not for nothing that football is called ‘the beautiful game’ When players are on song, the moves are lyrical and a high quality show will always elicit a response of similar caliber.

In India we lack such performances, the reason only big ticket events draw the crowds. Even the country’s most popular sport had to repackage itself as a slam-bang T-20 format to get the crowd coming in, even as the once-celebrated league-format Ranji Trophy event languishes. In contrast European league soccer is intense-paced and over the past few years gained immense viewership across India. The yet largely-urbane trend started in the metros with uber sport bars and cafes installing plasma screens to telecast sporting action, and it spread to other cities as café culture grew. Stars of European leagues in Spain, Italy, Germany etc have developed a relatively sizeable fan-following and it’s all set to grow with sport channels constantly beaming live action.

And it’s not restricted to gender. A Delhi-based colleague on the Spain trip eagerly picked up Real Madrid memorabilia for her 14-year-old daughter when we visited its home ground, the Santiago Bernabeu Stadium, considered a ‘pilgrimage place’ in Madrid. Incidentally, the spectacular achievement of the club makes a visit here truly special for a sport buff; and I felt had the security at the stadium not been tough, the ground would have been bereft of turf, with ardent fans wanting to take a bit of the grass along! Another highlight of the stadium is its chic eatery, the Realcafe Bernabeu that allows a ringside view of the stadium, albeit only on non-match days. It serves fusion and Mediterranean cuisine at surprisingly affordable prices and also an assortment of quality wines. Food apart, the scrumptious highlight remains the unrestricted sight of the stadium and visualizing the euphoria when packed. The Real Museum is another glittering gallery of achievements to walk through.

The contest among Spanish clubs is fierce and so is fan allegiance. But on May 28, when Manchester United took on Barcelona in the 2011 edition of the Champions League final at the Wembley, all Spanish inter-club rivalry was put on hold to support only one name…Barcelona! And miles away, in many cities of India, cheering fans donned T-shirts of the teams and watched two sets of eleven men chase the white ball to net goal after goal (3-1) to lift the prestigious trophy.

Indian folk art: Gond

2011-05-15T11:54:00.001+05:30

Published in Deccan Herald, May 2011

Mohali bonhomie

2011-04-10T23:48:00.021+05:30

Pix: AP
If a sport like cricket can bind and ease tensions between the two countries, why can't we channelise this energy into a more constructive form, asks Brinda Suri after watching the high-energy clash in Mohali.

THE Indian cricket lexicon just got a few worthy additions: Dhoni's Devils, Wankhede, April 2, 2011. It was 28 years ago when the first few entries had appeared, on a magical June 25, 1983. The ICC World Cup win has unveiled a new set of champions but there's no stealing the thunder from the Original XI, a certain rough-diamond Kapil Dev and his Daredevils, those magnificent men in white whose acts of bravado have found immortal space in the tote bag of sporting legends. Who dared to go where no Indian had been before, to forever change the fortune of cricket in the country.

A political tool?

Since that incredible triumph at Lord's cricket in India has seen a metamorphosis to divine status, has a few gods to boast about and is a potent tool in many a money-spinning formulae. That it can play a role in political diplomacy as well was seen during the India-Pakistan semifinal, an encounter which in many ways was the juiciest in this edition.

Even as the country revels in the Mumbai win, the high-voltage Mohali clash remains of special significance. It should be of interest to rewind and take a look at some of the subtle moments connected with it that contributed to its now-famous bonhomie, the emotion of which managed to draw a tad-romanticised statement from India Foreign Secretary Nirupama Rao who said, “It would be appropriate to say that this time a ‘Mohali spirit' pervaded the Indo-Pak relationship.” On-field the ‘Mohali spirit' showed itself in heartwarming gestures…when Pakistan skipper Shahid Afridi had a buddy handshake with his Indian counterpart before the toss or when he grinned and patted Sachin Tendulkar on the shoulder just after failing to take his wicket owing to a dropped catch. It was instances like these that made the much-touted ‘war' just another game between two professional sides. Off-field there was much more.

Replete with ingredients of a thriller, the March 30 tie was a sell-out. Besides the high-profile guests — a cheerful veneered Pakistan PM Yosuf Raza Gilani, an expectedly unanimated Indian PM Manmohan Singh and a surprisingly animated Sonia Gandhi; there was a bevy of familiar faces from the Bombay film fraternity, sundry ministers and corporate honchos. Private jets were supposed be ferrying the A-list, for the aam aadmi the Indian Railways ran a special train from Delhi to Chandigarh, and hotels were booked to capacity. It was Mohali's day in the sun. I was not scheduled to be at this mother of all matches, its tickets having sold out almost as soon as they were announced. As news of an India-Pakistan tie got confirmed the little piece of paper was the hottest property, with reports of it being crookedly traded for five figure amounts. Luck came my way when a cousin couldn't make it and grudgingly handed me the coveted terrace-block ticket.

Setting the mood

The air was fragrant with that lovely balminess of Punjab's pre-spring, the turf was a verdant carpet and in the packed PCA Stadium stands there was palpable energy, all crackling and electric. Making it more of a party were bhangra-pop songs booming on the microphone and dhol players drumming up the beat at regular intervals. The feisty crowd was here to watch a high-quality game and have a good time. Amongst them were 100-odd, men, women and children, who had walked across the Wagah border to cheer their Men in Green. And confidently raising its head time and again amidst the sea of Tricolour was the fluttering Green-White crescent-star. Every time it went up a hurrah erupted from some corner of the 26,000-plus crowd. The Pakistani was not an enemy here. He was a fair contender and the sporting Mohali crowd applauded a fine shot whichever side it came from.

The opponent and its supporters were the cynosure of all eyes. Afridi received the biggest round of applause when his playing XI was announced, Wahab Riaz got an ovation for his succulent five-wicket haul and sitting-in-the-pavilion Shoaib Akhtar's autograph was most sought- after. In the stands their beautiful women, bespoke for the fashion ramp, stood out for their stylish attire — near-ankle length kurta, trouser and flowing dupatta — which made them worthy of a pictorial spread in the next day's newspapers. Hogging the limelight separately and obliging enthusiastic Indians with a photo a minute was Cricket Chacha or white- bearded Abdul Jalil, Pakistan's 61-year-old lucky mascot from Sialkot dressed in his trademark green, for whom this was “the biggest match” he was witnessing.

Punjabi by nature

This was Punjab and the multitude had its brand of zest in tact. Mukesh Ambani may be amongst India's richest but when he appeared at earshot distance from the crowd he was greeted the bum-chum way: "Oye Ambani! Wadhiya…all is well?" His wife Nita, though, was respectfully called “Bhabhiji”! Comic irreverence is part of the Punjabi fabric, but there was no room for the offensive here. A group of college boys occupying seats alongside mine were typically vivacious and happy-go-lucky. They had been wildly cheering but hadn't attracted the television cameras yet. “And that's a big shame,” they felt. The situation was being gravely pondered over till one of them said “We need to make the right noises. Let's flay them." No sooner than had he mouthed it that a volley of voices berated him: “Khabardaar, mehmaan ne saade… Don't you dare, they are our guests.”

No one had drilled the Ps and Qs into those young, cheeky heads, it was a natural response. Similarly, no one told the people of Punjab to open their homes to those from across the border as hotels were booked. No one told Raju, the little boy who was painting flags on cheeks of spectators, not to charge the Pakistanis. No one told restaurateurs in Chandigarh to request the guests not to ask for a bill. No one told the grand old Punjabi lady to approach a group of Lahore women, whom she spotted in the market a day after the match, with, “Aao, ghar charan pao… Come, grace my home.” It's a hospitable temperament not uncommon at a people-to-people level, which can ease relationships and let the two countries channelise their energies into more constructive issues. If only there's a political will… Cricket diplomacy has once again set the ball rolling. Will it get converted into valuable partnerships or as usual be stumped?

Published in The Hindu, April 2011

http://www.thehindu.com/arts/magazine/article1608082.ece

Srinagar & Leh: Of domes and minarets

2011-04-07T22:03:00.001+05:30

Srinagar: Juma Masjid

Held in the embrace of snow-capped massifs in the folds of the Karakoram and Himalayan ranges, two distinct civilizations emerged within a few hundred km of each other in the Indian subcontinent to give the world an absorbing culturescape to explore. Though grouped under one province, the cold desert-plateau of Ladakh and the valley of Kashmir are chalk and cheese and a journey across their dividing mountains is a picture of stunning contrasts. Diverse geography shaped the lives of the two people and defined their architecture. Remarkably, religion too was deeply linked with societal changes and the region’s shrines present an evocative expression of that.

Buddhism and Islam are the two dominating religions and cross-cultural influences, particularly Central Asian, are evident in structures of both faiths. To a visitor, whereas monasteries and pagodas will come across as familiar in appearance it’s mosques and ziarats that make for an intriguing study, standing apart from the customary domed images.

Kashmir: Aesthetic Central

It’s often said, preachers and invaders have shaped the history of Kashmir. Besides a lot else, their legacy is seen in the incredible architecture dotting Srinagar, especially the older parts of town that exude a medieval air. Central Asian influence replaced Hinduism-Buddhism with Islam and also redefined its structural design. Brickwork was borrowed, timber detailing stepped in for stone, buildings became cubical and slender, and roofs emerged as the most distinguishing feature: conical or pyramidal finials atop the main structure. In some cases a few conical caps overlap, and are considered a classical European influence.

The pick amongst Srinagar’s shrines is the Khanqah-e-Moulla, a dedication to Iranian sufi Shah Hamadan who’s credited with sowing the seed of Islam in the Valley. Originally built in AD 1395 and rebuilt the third time in AD 1731, it embodies elements of Kashmir’s artistic competence. A quaint square structure in wood, its elegance is visible in the papier-mâché ceiling and distinctive latticed windows.

The Juma Masjid in Nowhatta is another significant pyramidal-roofed edifice. Fine brickwork marks it four identical gateways and the highlight of its large interiors is 370 pillars, each being a single deodar tree trunk. Almost all areas in old Srinagar have a dedication of sort. Khanyar is known for the ziarats of Dastgeer Sahib and Naqashband Sahib, two saints who did not visit the Valley but whose word spread here through their followers who brought their relics and built the memorials. These shrines are defined by a set of green conical roofs, glass windows and khatamband (square wood pieces) ceiling. Two noticeable features around most shrines in Srinagar is the space for feeding pigeons and the series of halwai shops.

Further away, at the base of Hari Parbat, the Makhdoom Sahib ziarat is another immensely revered spot. On the banks of the Dal Lake and looking distinctly different from this line-up is the domed Hazratbal.

There’s a tranquil magnetism about these shrines and in many way it’s their structures that exude a peaceful aura.

Leh: Jama Masjid

Ladakh: Nature's Canvas

In contrast to the fertile landscape of Kashmir, harsh and inaccessible topography determined the architecture of Ladakh. Buildings are terraced and box like with flat roofs and small windows, a design that counters severe temperatures. The material used is mud, stone, timber, all locally available and suitable for an area with scanty rainfall.

Similar to

Tibet

in terrain and tradition, Ladakh was most influenced by it. Central Asian influences began creeping in with Leh developing as a major trading centre on the Silk Route. As acknowledgment for their role in boosting economy, around AD 1640 land began being offered to traders, usually from Kashmir, to settle in Leh. Permission was also given to build a mosque; and Masjid Sharif in Chutayrangtak area is reportedly Leh’s oldest. Mosque façades seamlessly blended with their surroundings with subtle elements distinguishing them, as less ornate windows when compared to Buddhist structures.

Talking about the slant towards symbolisation of Islam and its affect on local architecture, Leh-based eminent historian and author, Abdul Ghani Sheikh says, “Today the influence of Turko-Iranian elements—dome and minaret—are conspicuous in the two main mosques in Leh, the Jama Masjid in Main Bazaar and the Shi'a Imamia Masjid a little ahead. These changes surfaced in the 20th century. Prior to this there was no difference between a Muslim and Buddhist building, with both following conventional architecture. The mosques at best had a small, slender wooden crown, not as prominent as the Turko-onion domes."

Sheikh's collection of essays, 'Reflections on Ladakh, Tibet and Central Asia' (2010), is an insightful work on trans-region influences. In the chapter 'Islamic architecture in Leh' he has narrated legends of the Namgyal dynasty that ruled Ladakh and their role in the peaceful co-existence of Islam and Buddhism. "Intermarriages between Muslims from Baltistan and Buddhists of Ladakh were not considered out of place, with there being a tradition of each partner following his/her own faith. In fact this was the case till quite recently in Ladakh,” Sheikh enlightens, adding, “The most illustrious alliance dates back to the 17th century when King Jamyang Namgyal of Ladakh tied the knot with princess Gyal Khatun, daughter of the Shi'a king of Khaplu, Baltistan. Khatun remained a Muslim, but her son Senge Namgyal, became the most distinguished Buddhist ruler of Ladakh.”

Peace and preservation

There was, and still continues to be, a high level of tolerance between communities in Leh and this has a lot to do with no historical baggage of animosity despite concessions made between rulers of different faiths. “In AD 1681 when the Mongols invaded Ladakh, Mughal assistance was sought to deal with the enemy. Aurangzeb’s Mughal forces under Nawab Fidai Khan crushed the raid; and as a price Ladakhi king Deldan Namgyal granted land for a mosque to Sunni Muslims at the foot of the Leh Palace. This is where the Jami’a or Jama Masjid stands today,” explains Sheikh.

The wave of religious zeal has played a role in changing the four walls of worship. On the other hand, it’s a passion for preservation that has seen the restoration of the oldest mosque in Leh to near-original shape. Once in a dilapidated condition, the Masjid Sharif, known as Tsas Soma or New Garden Mosque, has been painstakingly restored by the Tibetan Heritage Fund International. It’s replete with Ladakhi elements as pillars, paper lamps, roof waterproofing with mar-kalag mud or butter-mud, wood floors etc.

As a connect between the two cultures stands the now-restored Shey mosque, said to be the first in Ladakh and built by Shah Hamadan. Following his decade-long stay in Kashmir, he departed for Central Asia, en route stopping in Ladakh. The mosque has both Kashmiri and Ladakhi features and gets its share of worshippers and travellers alike.

Quick facts:

Road: The Manali-Leh route is open from June to September and the Leh–Srinagar road between May to October.

For more info: www.jktourism.org

Published in JetWings, April 2011

Dignity in the face of tragedy

2011-03-27T00:05:00.021+05:30

Photo: AP
The quake-tsunami double blow in north-eastern Japan has wrecked a country and scarred innumerable lives. Yet, even in the midst of unprecedented disaster, the people have reacted calmly, picking up the pieces, with a quiet resolve to rebuild their lives again, says BRINDA SURI

It's been labelled the country's worst tragedy since World War II. The 8.9-magnitude earthquake — one of the largest in recorded history — that hit north-eastern Japan and the 23-feet tsunami it triggered has left a trail of devastation in its wake. Weeks after Ferocious Friday some numbers continue to haunt: 7,653 dead; 11,746 missing; 4,50,000 rendered homeless.

The Japanese are familiar with natural disasters and are trained periodically in handling an onslaught and ways of evacuation. Statistics speak of a tremor occurring somewhere in the country about every five minutes with annually there being up to 2,000 quakes. No amount of comprehensive preparation, though, proved enough for the recent calamity of colossal proportion.
Nature's fury swept aside every safeguard in place to counter such eventualities and it was horrific what the Japanese went through. Many perished in split seconds and those who escaped the wrath pleaded for aid in every possible way. Within minutes of the earthquake, Shiori Lynn Yamamoto, resident of Sendai, the coastal city closest to the epicentre, reached out through Facebook. According to her acquaintance Ang (name changed), “She actually posted (on the wall) during the earthquake for someone to please help her. She didn't want to die. She said it was a nightmare. I was horrified but she finally posted again several hours later saying she survived and was ok.” The catastrophe has lead to an outpouring of grief from around the world. “I am sorry for the losses in Japan. I grew up in an earthquake zone and have been in some big ones, but nothing like this. I and everyone one known to me is shocked” — Comment left on a news website. “Koji Sato, a carpenter who usually builds homes, is making coffins” — Tweet quoting an agency report from the flattened hamlet of Shizugawa, Miyagi prefecture, one of the worst affected regions.
Strong willpower
The quake-tsunami double blow wrecked parts of a beautiful country and scarred lives. It couldn't, however, crack the inherent willpower or destroy the strength of character of its beautiful people. A people who have stayed admirably calm under chaos and begun regrouping forces to rebuild what they have lost. Most eyewitness accounts from the affected zones spoke about residents experiencing power outages, shortage of drinking water and food but there being no panic, arson or emotional breakdown, as reported from other countries where similar disasters have struck. An RIA-Novosti news despatch from Miyagi movingly said: “One small shop can serve as a good example of what is going on in the city. The shop has all its windows and its glass door broken. There is an ATM and shelves with food products inside and no one is guarding it. However, nothing has been looted.” It's a temperament reflecting a society that cares for its neighbour.
This is precisely what I observed during my trip to Japan a month back. It was not the country's technical competence which endeared, it was its people. They displayed dignity, discipline and a genuine desire to assist.
Strength of character
I see the same characteristics now in moments of tremendous misery and loss coupled with having to adjust in dealing with hitherto unheard of struggles like power breakdown, disrupted train schedules and the fear of nuclear radiation. Shedding light on this trait, Ms. Nobuko Horibe, Director, United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA), Asia-Pacific zone, says, “We Japanese live on about 20 per cent land; the rest being mountainous. This living environment necessitates us to be considerate to others and keep good harmony in a community. From kindergarten to elementary school and onward, your performance is measured by how your group performs; and if you are better than other members you are expected to help others, so that no one in the group is left out.” Explaining further, she says, “Japanese are not expressive people, they show restraint and are polite. Thinking of others and selflessness first is considered a virtue. In trouble, they look after each other. They also tend to internalise anger and sorrow. Yes, closely-knit social norms and systems may be stifling at times, but it works well in emergencies.”
I found the Japanese are trusting as well and largely have faith in the government, that it's doing its best. Moreover they have belief in themselves. “We will bounce back. We always do,” Shizo Suzuki, a 22-year-old steward with an international airline, smilingly put it all in perspective.

Published in The Hindu, Sunday Magazine, March 27, 2010
http://www.hindu.com/mag/2011/03/27/stories/2011032750040100.htm
http://www.thehindu.com/arts/magazine/article1573873.ece
http://www.thehindu.com/arts/magazine/article1573880.ece

Sunday Magazine Mail Bag (April 3, 2010)

http://www.thehindu.com/arts/magazine/article1594107.ece?mstac=0
Lessons from Japan

“Dignity in the face of tragedy” by Brinda Suri (March 27) conveyed well the intensity of the disaster and the capacity of human race and the Japanese in particular to leave behind tragedies and move ahead. The Japanese people have in the last 70 years accepted more than their share of natural calamities and man-made devastations and proved that they have an in-built ability to survive crises and move forward and they will come out of the present crisis also. But the world conscience which has been showing only pedestrian apathy to man-made tragedies should at this point of time introspect as to how much of the devastation and future risks arising out of nuclear radiation are avoidable. Such an introspection can be made meaningful by a World Conference at the United Nations to consider, among others, a review of the present stock of nuclear arsenal with various countries vis-à-vis their likely use and possibility of reducing it to an acceptable (read manageable) level and safety measures to prevent potential threats including radioactive leaks from the present stock of nuclear arsenal. The present crisis has shown how helpless modern science is, before the angry nature. The after-effects are more tragic and long-lasting because of our greed and haste in making the rich and the powerful enjoy more comforts.

M.G. Warrier
Thiruvananthapuram
This refers to the various articles, painting the devastation besieging Japan in recent times and how well the Japanese are recuperating to rebound from the ashes. Among the many lessons that can be learned from the behaviour of the Japanese during their hour of distress, one appealed to me the most. The eyewitness account by Capt. Ashis Dutta shows how well the Japanese have redefined the meaning of hospitality and expanded its horizons. In sharing the concerns of an employee who is a foreign national and sanctioning timely leave travel assistance, his Japanese bosses have added a tinge of humanity to hospitality, which has become a far too commercialised term in modern times. The November 2006 suicide of Mr. Lee Ben, project manager in Kuala Lumpur-based PATI company , executing a multi-crore World Bank road project in Kerala, due to delayed payment of dues by the Kerala government and the consequent mental turmoil, should serve as an eye-opener as to how well our corrupt policies affect foreign professionals working in India. Our behaviour during an emergency towards foreigners, let alone our own country men, when law and order situations break could be disastrous.
Thomas Boban Mattathil
New Delhi
The article reveals the determination of the Japanese to bounce back and come back with more dignity. Present day Japan was built out of determined hard work and discipline from vacuum created out of the Second World War mishaps. The admirable thing is that there is no loot, arson or any other breakdown amidst the distressing situation, as happens in many countries including India. The Japanese, prone to quakes and eventual tragedies, never lose heart and perhaps this is the most prominent factor of their success.
C.P. Velayudhan Nair
North Edapally, Kerala
It was amazing to see the calmness and will-power that Japanese exhibited during the time of recent earthquake and tsunami. Natural calamities are almost routine for the Japanese and they seem to have the survival instincts ingrained in them. The personal accounts of Captain Ashish Dutta and Anuj Jodhani gave insight into the fact that the Japanese follow rules and regulations even at an hour of crisis, thus helping to reduce the human tragedy. Don't we all have a lesson or two to learn from these Japanese people?
Deepa Nagaraj
Bengaluru
When placed in a most critical situation, man displays his essential inherent characteristics. The selflessness or the concern for others one witnessed in the deluge that devoured the Japanese city would have been the manifestation of this altruism. But one thing is certain. The nation shall soon emerge like a rising sun from the debris.
N. Sadasivan Pillai
Guntakal
Nature's fury swept away every safeguard in place to counter such eventualities and it was horrific. And the unprecedented havoc happened with entire properties washed way, thousands dead and many thousands rendered homeless. But when we see “Dignity in the face of tragedy” we salute this wonderful people for their character, will and wisdom. There is no loot, no blame. With discipline, dignity, decorum, calm, collected and care for the neighbour they move forward looking at the future. Japan will bounce back. As we lathi-charge our people who come to purchase tickets to see the cricket match, can we learn from and copy an iota of their character?
Jacob Sahayam
Thiruvananthapuram

Beyond Srinagar: Portraits of a Valley

2011-03-16T17:43:00.001+05:30

Silently-busy morning on the water highways of Kashmir

Somewhere in between the glamorous and the exaggerated lies the real cinema, a mirror to the world. Many stories of our times have been effectively projected by it and one of these is the script of an altering Kashmir. For the Indian film industry of the Sixties, Kashmir was the backdrop for almost all boy-meet-girl flicks, and one that famously captured the romance of the era was ‘Kashmir ki Kali’ and its classic song Yeh chand sa roshan chehra filmed on the beautiful Dal Lake with a dandy Shammi Kapoor wooing a coy Sharmila Tagore. Cut to present day cinema on Kashmir, and we have an inventory of militancy-centric films, be it the acclaimed Roja, Mission Kashmir, Sikandar or the now-awaited Harud. From portrayal of paradisiacal moments to screenplays of unrest, the canvas of Kashmir has unfortunately changed. What has, nonetheless, remained unchanged is its spellbinding natural beauty that unfailingly draws the traveller who usually returns thoroughly enchanted with a desire to revisit.

So enduring is this picturesque mosaic of Kashmir that nothing has managed to diminish its appeal, not even the trail of travails the land has been a witness to for over a decade now. In many ways, the popular snapshots owe their longevity to standard government websites and brochures; to the aforementioned era of Indian films that lavishly projected them on screen; and most of all to poetry the landscape evokes, enthralling commoner and royalty alike, leading a certain Jahangir to famously exclaim “If there’s paradise on earth, it’s here…” a quote that continues to sketch an alluring picture of the Valley.

Popular postcards

Tulip Garden: In bloom between mid-March & end-April

Think Kashmir and the first image to waltz into the mind is Srinagar’s Dal Lake with its elfin shikaras, followed by a sequence of frames which include, skiing in neighbouring Gulmarg, the lovely Lidder river frolicking through Pahalgam, the squinting-blue lakes and rainbow-coloured grasslands of Sonamarg etc. This is the well-known, oft-visited Kashmir. Lying quietly beyond are its relatively unknown pockets waiting to be explored.

Despite rampant urbanisation Srinagar remains a pretty spot with lots to charm a visitor. There’s its bouquet of Mughal Gardens (a worthy addition to this is the Tulip Garden off Dal Lake that’s in bloom from mid-March to end-April), traditional embodiments found at Downtown, inviting houseboats, the quintessential floating market, chinar-fringed golf-courses, and much more. It’s a fine base for several rewarding excursions too and the month ahead is ripe to set-out to make your own little discoveries.

Natural canvas

The Valley has distinctive biodiversity and one of the places to get familiar with it is at the seemingly-boundless Wular Lake (45 km appx), lying between the towns of Sopore and Bandipore. Considered among the continent’s largest fresh-water lake, the River Jhelum fills its basin before moving on. Wular’s ecosphere makes it home for a remarkable variety of avifauna and the fag-end-winter temperature of March is still a good time for birding enthusiasts to get acquainted with the Central Asian migratory population that nestles in its waters. For birders, another notable habitat is the Hokersar wetland (12 km), where encroachments and gun-shots had affected arrivals, but recent reports suggest increased avian landings. While on the fauna trail, the Dachigam National Park (23 km) is an unspoiled landscape to visit. If fortune is on your side there will be a chance of spotting its most prized resident, the endangered hangul (Kashmiri stag), the only species of red deer found in the country.

The tapestry of Kashmir is filled with aqua hues of its myriad lakes, rivers and springs. These have influenced the region’s culture and been a muse for poets and artists. If driving into Kashmir, a few km after the NH 1A zips out of the Banihal Pass in the lap of the Pir Panjal Range, a few detours lead to a string of places with the ‘nag’ suffix, denoting ‘spots with spring- water’. These have been developed for tourism and among the line-up are Anantnag (known for the ancient Martand temple considered an architectural masterpiece), Kokernag (which as its name suggests has a spring whose waters spread like the claws of the cock) and Verinag (the source of River Jhelum). Standing a league apart and about 45 km off Anantnag towards Shopian, is the flamboyant Aharbal waterfall, said to be the Valley’s best. Its water originates at Kousernag and on reaching the rock crevice here lets out a roar as it cascades down 24 mt amidst a surrounding of sky-kissing deodars.

Lake trek: It's to be experienced

Water trek and other trails

The landscape of the Valley with rolling hills and a network of waterways is ideal for the adventurer. Hiking and trekking paths appear almost magically and frequently as you drive into the countryside. Over the years some trails close to tourist spots have attracted their share of mountaineers, as Khilanmarg, Tangmarg, Drang, Alpather lake (all around Gulmarg) and Thajiwas Glacier, Gangabal Lake (both around Sonamarg). Amongst the newer spots, gaining in popularity is picturesque Yusmarg (47 km via Charar-e-Sharief) where the roaring River Doodh Ganga flows through its scenic meadow ringed by fir and snow-capped hills. Besides offering a lovely riverside locale perfect for old-world picnics and camping, this is the take-off spot for a number of treks, the favourite ones leading to Nilang Lake (4 km) and Sang-e-Safed peak (10 km).

The challenges of a surface trek notwithstanding, if time and budget permit one of the most splendid ways to get a real feel of Kashmir is to opt for a water trek by the shikara. It’s a sensory feast and a feasible two-night/three-day circuit is the Dal Lake-Manasbal Lake-Wular Lake-Nageen Lake round trip. This includes pitching tents by the lakeside at night, waking up under crystal blue skies to cups of kehwa and nun chai served with typical accompaniments as kulcha, tchzot, bakerkhaani (assorted breads), tucking into scrumptious local cuisine, and in essence getting to taste a slice of the slow life away from the world of i-pads and i-pods. If this tour were to be given a grade it would definitely figure in the top-twenty checklist of lifetime experiences.

Road and rail

Coming a close second in the listings of special experiences is a journey by train through the Valley. The railways arrival in 2008 generated widespread thrill and the tracks were made operational in parts over the next two years. With the entire 119-km rail-route now functional, it has given a new dimension to travel in the Valley. As the train chugs through the chinars from Baramulla to Qazigund, connecting north Kashmir with its southern tip in about 3.5 hours, it provides an incredible peek into a never-seen-before lifestyle.

There’s new flavour elsewhere too. Until recently the only road link between Kashmir and Jammu was via the NH 1A. That has changed with the opening of the much-awaited Mughal Road for light vehicular traffic. This centuries old route—traversing mountains over 11,000 ft and apparently preferred by Shah Jahan to reach Kashmir—connects Bafliaz-Poonch in the Jammu region with Shopian in the Valley. It’s a fair weather road and remains inoperative in winters but summers see a rush descend here to experience a drive on a path of history. The inaugural Mughal Road Rally has already set the pace and more voyages should follow.

It’s time for you too to pick your passion and enjoy a season when the Valley adorns colour after months of snow-white. You’ve seen it on reel. The real picture awaits an audience.

Quick facts:

Air: Daily from Delhi & Jammu; Railways: Jammu is the rail head for the region; Road: NH-1A connecting Jammu-Srinagar is an all-weather road. Taxis take around 8-10 hours for the distance. For more info: JKTDC Booking Office (0194-2457930, 2472644)

Published in JetWings, March 2011
http://www.jetairways.com/Uploads/e-Mag/Category/JetWings%20Domestic/March%202011/jetflash_content.html (Page 59)

And in Srinagar: Frames from the Valley

2011-03-16T17:09:00.000+05:30

Kashmiri? Drokpa? Brokpa? Whoever...She's pretty

The faithful at Khanqah-e-Moula

Tete a tete over tea at Dal Lake

On a school picnic at Shalimar Garden

Looking out for some conversation

Vegetable vendor prepares for the day

Basket-weaver near Hazratbal shrine

Puff puff

A puff here too, and a smile for the lens

Quintessential Srinagar

Montreal, the double-decker city

2011-02-14T09:53:00.007+05:30

Le Palais des congrès de Montreal (Click on images to zoom)

Believe it or not: it is possible to live in a city, go to work, shop for daily provisions, visit the best entertainment spots and restaurants, commute by public transport…all this and more without ever having to set foot on the road. You don’t need to be chauffer driven door to door to be able to do that. In the double-decker city of Montreal that’s what more than half the population does, especially in the harsh months of winter when snow adds to the woes.

Montreal has the world’s largest underground city (also weather-proof/indoor city) that’s essentially a pedestrian network spread over 12 sq km and growing. La Ville Souterraine, as it’s known in French, in itself comes across as a never-ending maze of chic stores, even as it performs its key role of allowing access to about 1,700 establishments on the surface level, including offices, banks, boutiques, shopping malls, leading hotels, cinema, university, metro and train stations, as well as residential complexes in and around Downtown.

Statistically it sounded overpowering, and I looked forward to getting a feel of it. I was staying at Fairmont—The Queen Elizabeth, an elegant heritage property in the heart of Downtown and while flipping through its brochure what arrested my attention was: ‘Located above the train station (Via Rail & Amtrak) and connected to the extensive underground city…’ A train station beneath a luxury hotel, wow! The Fairmont chain was specifically built in the 19^th -20^th century as accommodation for train passengers, hence the hotels were always located next to a station. Leafing through more city literature gave me a decent grip on the underground network but the element of hassle-free connectivity continued to intrigue me.

My first experience of Montreal’s urban under world happened quite accidentally, which had me anxious and enthralled concurrently. As I stepped into the hotel lift to get to my room I noticed the lift did not have the regular floor numbers (3-21). Instead it had S1 and S2. I was still trying to figure out what that was when another guest entered, smiled and pressed S2. I presumed this was one of those lifts that are up to a certain floor following which one has to shift to another. However, instead of the lift racing up, the arrow showed it going south. Perplexed, I tried asking the guest where we were headed. “No English. French,” he replied. In a matter of seconds we reached S2 and stepped out. He hurried-off and I pondered, trying to make sense of where I was. There was a food court in front of me and a general rush of people. I walked a little ahead and, lo and behold, it was the railway station! Systematic and smart, the bold signage indicated trains from Ottawa and Quebec were due and passengers had queued up for these. I had mistakenly taken the lift meant to connect with the underground city and at the moment I was two levels under on S2 or Sous-Soul (basement) Two. Pressing the S1 button would have taken me to the shopping level, Place Ville-Marie. If this wasn’t convenience, what was! With the Fairmont hotel being centrally located, and having an unrestrictive, direct access (by both escalator and lift) with S1 and S2, it could have resulted in tempting passer-bys to use its routes turning it into a thoroughfare. Nonetheless, an inherent public discipline, ensures only hotel guests utilize it.

The double-decker town plan has given Montreal the ‘two-in-one city’ moniker. I had experienced the under deck on the day of arrival and the next day set-off with my group on a surface tour of the city. We drove past a lot of sights, stopping to absorb the air at some outstanding ones. The quiet and quirky, hip-hop and happening, fashionable and conservative, contemporary and old world all came together within a few hours.

For starters, the Olympic Tower (built to commemorate the 1976 Olympics) had eccentric tales about. The need was felt to give the city of Montreal a symbol and thus the highest inclined tower in the world was built. It’s another matter that the tower and its observatory were not completed for years till after the Olympics and the city till recently was paying for its construction by way of taxes. This scenario sounded familiar to our Indian group which felt it was revisiting the horrors of the 2010 Commonwealth Games.

From among the city’s many high-profile neighbourhoods the one considered the address is Plateau Mont-Royal. Packing a population high on creativity, it’s preferred by professionals and has the country’s largest concentration of artists. Defined by typical multi-coloured houses, outdoor staircases and small streets shaded by deciduous trees, it has funky boutiques, creative art galleries, stylish cafes; and it’s at the Plateau where the hip crowd likes to be seen.

A few streets away from the Fairmont we witnessed two worlds. At one end was Old Montreal, with its cobblestone streets, gracious 18^th-19th-century buildings, Notre-Dame Basilica, the old port, and horse-carriage rides that evoked a lingering romance of times as far back as 350 years. A few blocks, at its opposite end, was the buzzing Rue St Catherine, where style defined every bit of this renowned commercial street. Running 15 km east-west across the city it had up-to-the minute trends on display and haute couture ruled. With immense to makes the eyes wander and the wallets lighter it’s a street tailor-made for holiday browsing and buying.

We had been in Canada merely for a few days, but were yearning for home flavours. As it turned out, Devi Restaurant on Rue Crescent, which has sparkling row of fine-dining restaurants and bars, was just the answer we were looking for. It was a couple of blocks away from Rue Catherine and we reached there famished after having countered the wind and the lure to empty pockets on the trendiest boots, bags belts et al. Devi treated our taste-buds splendidly and we couldn’t believe our luck as we dug deep into platters of papri-chat and samosas, besides a scrumptious spread of desi cuisine. The Indian dinner was a happy contrast to a true-blue Montreal lunch of coffee and oven-baked bagels that we had at the bistro-style tables of the popular 1957 Saint-Viateur Bagel. It’s a tradition any visitor dare not miss.

Montreal describes itself as the rebel child. “We do things our way, not the Canadian way,” is the general refrain at the country’s second biggest metropolitan and the world’s third largest French-speaking city. One of the things they love doing is cycling. Every home had a cycle parked outside and there’s a distinctive system of hiring, the reason bike stands can be spotted around the city. “Give it a try,” a youngster unlocking a bike tells me. I leave that option for another time.

Quick facts:

Accommodation: Fairmont, The Queen Elizabeth: www.fairmont.com/queenelizabeth. Its popular fine-dining restaurant, Beaver Club, is said to be one of the best tables in

Canada

At the hotel, the John Lennon and Yoko Ono Suite #1742 is where in 1969 the legendary singer recorded the famous song ‘Give Peace a Chance’.

For more info: www.tourisme-montreal.org

Published in JetWings International, Feb 2011

Patiala peg, princely whims and more

2011-01-30T16:29:00.039+05:30

Qila Mubarak

Over a century ago, an ordinarily attired turbaned young man walks into a shop retailing exquisite Belgium crystal object d’arts on Park Street, Calcutta. The display enthralls him and he begins inquiring the price of the exhibits. The European proprietor takes him for a passerby marking time and ignores most queries, soon enough snapping at him for stepping into an establishment not worthy his modest status. Provoked by that outburst, the young man demands the cost of the entire collection. The haughty proprietor dismissively quotes an amount, on hearing which, the young man hails his aide and cavalierly instructs him to pay cash on the spot. The European proprietor is flabbergasted. He has just sold his priceless collectibles for a trivial sum. “Pray, tell me who the noble self is,” he stutters. To this the aide replies, “He is His Highness, Farzand-i-Khas-i-Daulat-i-Inglishia, Mansur-i-Zaman, Maharaj-i-Rajgan, Sardar Narendra Singh, the Maharaja of Patiala.”

There are many delicious versions of this anecdote that’s survived the years and acquired the status of a credible legend. The sparkling crystal collection of the Patiala royal family with a Calcutta dateline, some of which is now on public display at Qila Mubarak museum, stands testimony to it.
Patiala entertains with trivia of this sort and Basant or Spring is the perfect season to visit it. These are days when a hint of winter is still around and the cheer of pre-summer adds a mellow glow.

The royal province of Patiala, which had one of the longest dynastic rule in north

India

(AD 1714-1948), was established by Baba Ala Singh. His successors continued expanding the frontiers and with time, along with the spirit for conquests, they inherited the gene for lavish lifestyle turning warriors into patrons of all things beautiful. During their reign — particularly between AD 1845-1938 which saw the rule of maharajas Narendra Singh, Mohindra Singh, Rajendra Singh and Bhupinder Singh — classicism shone in Patiala as art prospered, music echoed and couture evolved. That legacy can be seen in the remarkable edifice dotting the cityscape; in the collectibles filling shelves in museums; in the Sikh school of painting that covers crumbling walls; in the birth of a Hindustani classical music genre called the Patiala gharana; in fashion parameters that still include the patialashahi salwar, pagri, paranda, jutti and zari naara, all adding to the élan that lets a proud Patialvi stand out in a crowd.

Then of course there’s the ever-in-limelight Patiala peg. A legacy of the royals, it's a double measure of scotch taken on the rocks, and continues to get larger. According to the current ‘trend’ it remains three fingers, alright, but vertical! Legend says it was 'created' on the eve of a friendly invitation polo match between the Patiala Royals and the visiting Viceroy's Pride. In a a bid to tilt the scales of victory in Patiala's favour, the Maharaja (Bhupinder Singh) organised a cocktail where the visitors were deviously served a larger than usual peg of scotch. Expectedly, the team was under a hangover when they took the field next morning and lost the match. The Viceroy's Pride complained of the scotch having played spoilsport. To which the Maharaja is believed to have famously replied: "In Patiala, we like it large".

As I plodded through the city, I was entertained with more trivia by old-timers. The incident at Calcutta, as it turned out, was not one-off when an entire store was purchased. According to another tale, when the flamboyant Maharaja Bhupinder Singh (AD 1876-1938)—a globally-respected Indian monarch of his time infamously also known for scores of concubines—was setting-off for Austria, Max Geiger, the Viennese conductor of the Patiala orchestra, handed over a list of music he required. The Maharaja misplaced the list, and what did he do? Quite simply, he asked the music shop owner in Vienna to pack the entire content on the shelves and ship it home.

Today’s Patiala is a far cry from the times it used to waltz to Beethoven, Bach and Mozart symphonies. Still, the city is undeniably the culture capital of feisty and agrarian Punjab. Though it’s been reticent in boasting about its brilliant heritage, myriad frames of royal splendour continue to sparkle amidst its heat and dust.

Sheesh Mahal

Patiala comes across as a laid-back city with no one seeming in a rush to reach anywhere. That scenario changes around Qila Mubarak, the second largest fort in Punjab and the fulcrum around which the erstwhile Walled City developed. Shops have always lined its periphery and today it’s said the best deals are here, the reason they are always spilling over with buyers. Trousseau shopping has become synonymous with Patiala and no Great Punjabi Wedding is complete without a visit to this labyrinth of lanes. The Qila Bazaar, dressed with dupattas, lehengas, kurtas, phulkari and a whole lot of other bling and tinkle, is where this action unfolds. The best eating spots are also around (Jaggi Sweets is a legend which can give an Amritsari food joint a run for its money) and so are the best jutti stores (Data--pronounced 'daataa', meaning god--is a name to reckon with).

If shopping is not on the agenda it’s best to thread your way through this typical old city environ—read: commotion of rickety rickshaws, potholed streets, nonchalant cattle and friendly pedestrians—to the Qila that lends the bazaar its name. In contrast to the flurry outside its precincts, Qila Mubarak remains deserted but certainly not stripped of an aura of regality despite its weathered façade. The edifice exemplifies its citadel character—immense, impregnable and indomitable. Built largely in Mughal and Rajput styles, a little British influence is visible in its later construction.

Architectural beauty bearing a royal seal fills urban spaces and at a slight distance from the Qila is the impressive Old Moti Bagh Palace. Spectacularly set in a sprawling garden with terraces, fountains and water channels, it’s the erstwhile royal residence, and it took three kings and 60 years to give it its current look. At present, it’s the National Institute of Sports (NIS) that pumps in all efforts to produce sporting champions. Also a part of the Old Moti Bagh complex, but a separate unit, is the onion pink Sheesh Mahal, a leisure palace. It overlooks a water channel—now a green maidan—with a suspension bridge patterned on Rishikeish’s famous Laxman Jhula. The Mahal has been converted into a museum, which among other exhibits has a notable medal gallery, said to showcase the biggest compilation in the country. The majority of these medallions, about 3,200, and other figurines belong to Maharaja Bhupinder Singh as well as to his son, the handsome gentleman-maharaja, Yadavindra Singh, the last monarch.

The local administration woke up to the potential the city held and recently added a feather in its cap when the historic Rajindra Kothi, a rich blend of Mughal and Colonial architecture adjoining the former royal greens called Baradari Gardens, was converted into the state’s first heritage hotel by the Neemrana Group and rechristened ‘The Baradari Palace’.

A trip to Patiala, especially during springtime, remains incomplete without paying obeisance at Gurdwara Dukh Nivaran Sahib, a place of historical worth associated with ninth Sikh Guru Teg Bahadur. He’s believed to have visited the spot on Basant Panchmi day and cured sufferers. Customarily, there’s a massive rush here on the festival with believers from across faiths taking a dip in the blessed waters of the sarovar (holy tank) that are supposed to rid all illness.

Naara (drawstrings)

Quick facts:
STAY: The Baradari Palace (www.neemranahotels.com)
Rajinder Kothi, Baradari Gardens,
Tele: 0175-2304433, 2304533
Once the guest house of Maharaja Bhupinder Singh, the building has lovingly been resurrected by the Neemrana group, masters in the art of conservation. Its 19th century
legacy and the recreated ambience of the days of yore is its biggest USP.
Hotel Grand Park (www.hotelgrandpark.com)
Bhupindra Road,
Opp. Kaintal Pertol Pump, Patiala
Tele: 0175-2210725, 5051725

Jutti mardana

A centrally-located budget hotel in the old city. All shopping is
walking/rickshaw distance from it. It has a Cafe Coffee Day outlet on its premises

EAT: Jaggi Sweets & Malhotra Sweets, Adalat Bazar; Sadhu Ram (kachoriwala), Arna-Barna Chowk; Arjun Gajakwala, Qila Chowk

SHOP: Suhaag (wedding trousseau), Adalat Bazaar; Main Bazaar (phulkari), Tripri; Data (juttis),Qila Bazaar

Published. Edited version appears in ITTP, Jan 2011

Autumn Chinar

2011-01-20T10:56:00.015+05:30

There isn't a better season than autumn to cruise down the scenic Jhelum when the Valley is dressed in shades of gold and auburn

In a season as painterly as autumn is in the Valley, nothing escapes its surreal magic. There's a special luminosity in the environs, giddy fragrance fills the air and every nook wears fresh colour. The accolades for nature’s makeover are all directed towards the elegant chinar, which dresses its leaves in the most blazing colours to lend a radiant twist to the vistas and add a new hue to life and its routines. That a simple leaf can herald hope and joy appears quite incredible but that is what’s always been on view. As autumn enters its final stages, the chinar is at work again, preparing for the grand finale of its fall collection that carpets its grounds to add a degree of romance to reality.

A lingering image of Srinagar in autumn is, well, not the Dal Lake, not the bustle of Boulevard Road, not the Mughal Gardens but something quieter and hidden from popular itineraries. It’s the sight of the impressive AD 1395 Khanqah-e-Moulla — a shrine dedicated to Persian preacher Shah-e-Hamdan in Downtown — standing as a serene backdrop to a silently flowing Jhelum. Theirs is an enduring companionship. Like the Khanqah, the river has seen the designs of destiny change continuously in the Valley. In an altering landscape it has remained unchanged, following its karma to flow through it all, whether grunge or glory, at a rhythm quite tranquil.

The autumn chinar has the astounding ability to transform and one of the experiences it turns around is a leisurely cruise down the Jhelum. A journey by shikara is an excellent way to soak in the river spectacle; and for a change, abandon the option of the tourism pros and instead befriend a genuine local boatman who can genially bring alive the river and give soul to its stories and songs.

So modestly does the river run its course through the city, that more than often it lies forgotten and almost-never has the tourist spotlight on it. Srinagar was essentially a city by the Jhelum till urbanisation distanced the thoroughfare from it. And as the naturally-beautiful waters of the Dal and Nageen lakes magnetically began drawing more attention, the river got further overshadowed. Life by its banks, however, continues to blossom, even as it remains a world away from the standard picture-perfect montages of the city. Experiencing it first hand is like chartering unfamiliar territory where expecting the unexpected becomes the norm, which initially bewilders and then infinitely charms.

The lifeline of the Kashmir valley, the Jhelum, like all subcontinent rivers, is believed to be a form of god, with legend speaking about a celestial combat having lead to its origin. Known as River Vitasta or Veth in Kashmiri, its source is a spring at Verinag, another striking spot in the foothills of the Pir Panjal. It ribbons through 76 km of the Valley before entering Srinagar and thereafter flowing into the Wular Lake, Asia’s largest freshwater lake, en route its final journey to merge with River Indus.

Srinagar was established on the north-eastern bank of the Jhelum and over time grew on the opposite flank too. The two sides are linked by a series of seven cantilevered wood bridges or kadal, and today only a few, as Zero Kadal and Zaina Kadal, exist in their original shape adding to the fable of Downtown.

As you cruise past villages and pastures, mosques and homes, a day in the life of the Jhelum gradually unfolds to the music of oars softly patting the waters. The visuals almost-appear like sepia-toned watercolour frames, albeit not minus the grime, that fallen leaves of the chinar valiantly try and mask. Despite the woes, the images are alluring…shikaras moored on the banks, a baker carrying his ware in wicker baskets, children rowing to school, a pheran-clad woman packing her boat with freshly plucked spinach, boatmen enjoying early morning cups of kehva, a fisherman casting his net even as his wife prepares the kangri or a tween getting his first lessons in handling oars. At times an impromptu invite to join in for a meal of basmati rice and gustaba adds distinct flavour to the journey.

This older part of town still exhibits classic Kashmiri architecture, which has a Central Asian influence. Most houses along the Jhelum date back close to a century-plus. What typifies them is their lean cubical wood structure with tapering pyramidal roofs, brickwork and characteristic latticed windows. In contrast, almost all new construction in the city shows no admiration for convention and completely no desire to preserve. Some like Iftikhar Jalali, though, take pride in tradition and his lovingly kept home in Zadi-bal gets its share of admirers. The landmark in this riverscape quite distinctly is the Khanqah (halting place for Sufis). It embodies the essence of Kashmiriyat or cultural harmony, and is visited by persons of all faiths. Its remarkable medieval wooden structure, further enhanced by richly engraved and painted interiors, is another exemplar of fast-disappearing characteristic architecture.

The river presents a collage of daily chores; it’s their unhurried pace that appeases. You see it once and move on with a stock of memories. The Jhelum has been a mute witness to it all since centuries and continues to be.

Published in India Today Travel Plus, Jan-Feb 2011

Khanqah

Hazratbal

Jama Masjid

Tracking Canada via VIA Rail

2011-01-16T15:16:00.008+05:30

Upgraded to Business

Montreal Station

Quebec Station

So, I missed the connecting train to Ottawa. The reason quite simply was my incoming train got in late. Not by a few minutes but an hour and more. It was something I never fathomed would happen in super-efficient Canada. It’s no unusual occurrence for us in India, where we expect a train not to be running on time. So much so, on that elementary blackboard found at all stations to hand-scribble the train status, it’s not startling to find ‘late by 3.5 hrs’ or even ‘18 hrs’, starring unflappably at you, this despite a certain Mamatadi’s claims. In fact, a minor delay like an hour is considered par for the course. Not in Canada, though, where every second is accounted for and the electronic train-info boards proudly flash an efficient ‘On Time’.
“This is a rare incidence, very rare,” the service manager of my coach gravely tells me, as I run up to him yet again, wondering what I’d do in an alien city with no Plan B chalked out. So apologetic and ashen faced was the official at having put a “passenger through immense trouble” that I felt the need to reassure him! “You can place the blame on the Indian aboard,” I joked. But he was in no mood for humour and continued to look solemn.

I was on board VIA Rail’s Train 25, travelling from Quebec City to Montreal. The train’s scheduled arrival was 4.11 pm and considering the record punctuality I had booked myself on the 4.50 pm connection to Ottawa. A transfer time of half-an-hour-plus was ample, I thought, having been told about the systematic Canadian stations with bold signage, alert staff and platforms clubbed in one section. Changing trains at Montreal Central Station, where platforms are underground, would have basically meant going up an escalator and coming down an adjoining one.

It was a wet, grey and stormy day and my train would slow down at regular intervals. By default, I held the weather responsible for the delay, till the service manager mentioned a freight locomotive up ahead on the same track being the cause. “Don’t worry madame,” he had assured in a French lilt, “there are handful other passengers who were to take connecting trains. VIA Rail will compensate.” I wondered what was in store, imagining a parallel situation back home, where I would be running from pillar to paan-chewing officer, trying to manage a refund, spend some hours in a packed waiting room or think about other means of transport to get going.

As we arrived in Montreal an announcement over the train’s public address system asked all passengers who had missed their connections to stay back on the platform. There were 17 of us and the moment we disembarked, we were received by two smart officials of VIA Rail, who besides (yet again) profusely apologising, announced we had all been accommodated on the next trains to our various destinations. Ah relief! Not just that, as compensation we had been upgraded from Economy to Business Class and additionally were being given C$ 15 coupons for buying ourselves a snack. Now, that sounded scrumptious. The list of compensatory rewards, however, didn’t conclude there. We were asked to keep the ticket stubs carefully as these entitled us 50 per cent refund on the fare paid for both legs of the journey, which would be adjusted against a future train reservation. Phew! Missing a train had never felt so good.
The way the entire situation was handled was faultless. There was clockwork precision at each step and I felt we commonplace passengers were given a treatment usually reserved for someone like a state guest. I realised that’s the beauty of discipline the welfare state of Canada/the West is well-known for. Till the train episode, I had found the regimented mindset of the country and its people a tad too binding and sorely missed the chaos of home. Post-that I began appreciating it. Though I still won’t exchange our commotion and its brand of vibrancy for that strict order, an improvement of our systems—basically bringing in commitment and transparency—involving dealings by the common man could definitely do with a complete overhaul.
Quebec to Montreal is around 270 km (train route) and the journey takes three hours between French Canada’s two largest cities. Quebec city, a Unesco world heritage spot, is French, friendly (yes) and boutiquishly charming. Montreal, in comparison, is hip and happening, and has a devil-may-care attitude, especially towards rules. “We do things differently from the rest of Canada,” is their common refrain.
The train stations too reflect the individual personalities and in that respect while Montreal has a contemporary buzz, the château-like heritage Quebec railway station, Gare du Palais, is a delightful place to be: warm and inviting, with a string of restaurants and cafés serving appetising fare. I explored the latter a bit before experiencing pre-boarding formalities that were parallel to air travel, with specific rules for luggage check-in (see factfile) and sequential boarding. Only ticket holders are permitted on platforms which, to me, appeared bereft of any emotion. No chaiwala, no crowd, no noise! What a contrast to the hustle-bustle of an Indian platform where the world converges and at times entire families come for a send-off which translates into waving good-bye till the train is out of sight.
A similar reserved air greeted me within the chair car coaches which albeit had delightfully aesthetic and spotless interiors (when will we ever get close to those standards?) relaxing ambience, attentive service and quick wi-fi internet connectivity. Its large windows conferred a sense of the country’s vastness as the train cut across acres of farmlands and conifer/deciduous forests, passing or stopping briefly at quiet stations like Sainte-Foy, Charny, Drummondville, Saint-Hyacinthe and Saint-Lambert before arriving in Montreal. I was booked in Business Class (earlier called VIA 1) and the ticket included a meal and complimentary Canadian wines. The food was presented and served with a flourish and I relished the experience, even though the vegetarian option was rather sorry, but it was more than compensated with a sinfully-delicious dessert.
Train travel is not an everyman option in Canada. The Quebec-Montreal regular Business Class fare is C$ 158 (Rs 7,900) whereas in India a similar distance and class is around Rs 950. The rates are flexi and fluctuate by the hour depending on demand. However, there are a variety of deals/discounts (economy special fare, discounted, supersaver etc) on offer. By the time I checked fares online and eventually booked, I was left poorer by a few dollars. But what a way I was compensated!

Click image to zoom

Quick facts:
Book train tickets at: www.viarail.ca
Baggage: Maximum of 2 pieces per traveller, with a maximum dimension of (26 x 18 x 9 in) and each weighing up to 23 kg
Accommodation: The luxury Fairmont hotels (www.fairmont.com) were built in the early 20th century, specifically for train passengers. So it’s in order to stay there and absorb history.
Quebec: Fairmont Château Frontenac
Montreal: Fairmont Le Reine Elizabeth

Published in The New Indian Express, January 2011

Kalpa

2011-01-12T12:56:00.014+05:30

On offer is a panoramic 180 degree view of the Kinner range, appearing to be touching distance away

When summers scorch the plains the prospect of running away to the mountains soothes. But it’s the thought of finding snow that tantalises, and how. A mission comes into focus. Bragging rights garner attention and animated conversation revolves around swirls of white, flakes of white and sheets of white. Schedules are made and aborted, till one fine day the smug white heat outside the door unbearably appears in sharp contrast to the white the mind has warmed up to. In the titanic clash of whites, one is the expected winner, and plans get firmed to finally set-out. If life’s joys lie in small things, chasing snow in summer is the god of small things.

Some mountains roads overtime have come to acquire cult status. Amidst that line-up are a few which qualify as classics on the sheer strength of name. The Hindustan-Tibet Road is one among those. Though officially stripped of that aura and austerely referred to as National Highway or NH 22, nothing has altered its charm for the traveller for whom it still promises the heady romance associated with surface voyages of yore. This highway, an accomplishment of perseverance in itself, runs through the heart of Kinnaur, one of the prettiest regions of Himachal, and apart from quenching the thirst for adventure leads to sun and snow locales, certainly a blissful thought during blisteringly hot conditions.

The 459-km route runs across the colonial-meets-chaos landscape of Shimla, rises up to the alpine-line of Narkanda, zig-zags past the apple orchards of Thanedar-Kotgarh, races through Rampur and a little ahead of Jeori (a diversion here leading to Sarahan), enters the scenic valley of Kinnaur. The shift in terrain from the twists and bends of Shimla’s green hills to the ruggedness of Kinnaur is quite stunning and the mountains appear like sculpted art. More than the destinations, the road becomes a point of discussion as it rapidly ascends and descends, at times precariously clinging to the edge and on occasions grandly zipping through dramatically-carved sheer rock. The River Sutlej is its steady escort and moody waters add another irresistible element of gaze in the already-stimulating mountain canvas. Nature has the ability to sparkle in every season and bursts of summer resplendence are brought in often by a brilliant lavender jacaranda peeping through dense conifers, wild roses cascading down a barren hillside, a flame of the forest in red profusion or the silver oak proudly presenting its mustardy-orange flowers. The colours sparkle and the contrasting mountains heighten the effect.

During the initial stages of the onward journey through Kinnaur, a driver’s skills are tested often in encountering the appalling Wangtu-Karcham section, where hydel projects are works in progress and have ruined the terrain. An unexpected spell of rain does add to woes of this segment, but these are the sort of challenges mountain addicts thrive on, the successes in such moments adding to the bag of brag to be dug into often, long after the journey is over. The intermittently good-bad tarmac clears out a little before the uphill detour for Reckong Peo, the district headquarters of Kinnaur. The NH carries on to Sumdo and enters Spiti where it winds up at Kaurik, the Indian frontier which needs to be accessed on foot. For mission snow, though, you needn’t stretch yourself the full distance. A spectacle awaits at Kalpa, a destination 14 km ahead of Reckong Peo and 220 km from Shimla.

The drive up to Kalpa (9,051 ft) is impressive to say the least, with the pretty chilgoza or pine-nut tree (this region is said to produce the country’s best) lining the winding road and the whiff of snow drugging the air. The mountains play hide-and seek and the eyes stay peeled to spot the White. The road is flawless, the drive is smooth and a few mountain twists later when the vehicle halts the spectacular stuns. On offer is a panoramic 180 degree view of the Kinner Kailash range, appearing to be at touching distance. And it’s white. Snow-white! It looks magnificent against the brilliant blue of the sky and to use a clichéd expression ‘takes your breath away’. Often the actual lacks the beauty a picture-postcard conveys. Kalpa is real and utterly beautiful. Its postcard will never be a lie. The search for sun and snow is rewarded here, and magnificently so.

Kalpa is characteristically quaint and picturesque. It has lovely walking trails and friendly people with lyrical voices, typical kath-kuhni (walls built with alternating slabs of wood and stone) homes with gently sloping slate roofs, apple orchards in blossom running down the hills and a reigning quietude that’s interrupted only by the chirping of the birds or chants from temples and monasteries. These are features quite mountain-specific but are elevated to a new high by the glorious Kinner massif. As with all ‘Kailash’ suffixed mountains, this is also considered the legendary winter abode of Lord Shiva. His homes are in choice locales and at Kalpa he lets you savour a bit of that experience. Do make sure, though, that you strike a deal with the weather gods to keep overcast grey skies at bay and let the White reign.

Published in India Today Travel Plus, Jan-Feb 2011

The HPTDC cottage has a vantage location. There are comfortable mod-cons within its aesthetic, traditional structure. You would need to demand the best, though (housekeeping being a bit jaded).

Hail Shiva! This is one of his many 'Kailash' abodes. Spotting the Kinner Kailash peak in this pix is akin to finding the proverbial needle in the haystack.

The sun does shine in Kalpa, adding a glisten to the snow and surroundings. On such days the clouds tip-toe away to reveal a shy blue sky.

Somewhere in between ether and earth

Road to nowhere: Getting back from Roghi village

There is nothing quite like an addiction called the mountains. It nudges, tugs and directs you northwards time and again, to those silent sentinels that can be as gentle as they are unforgiving. That renew and exalt the spirit, as little else can, after all what poses a greater challenge to man’s intrinsic quest to conquer. Ask those who have repeatedly failed but always returned to ultimately surmount. And realised, eventually it’s the Self they conquered, the mountain was but the means, and continues to be as it serenely awaits the next challenger

There's always a story tucked away in the folds of the mountains. Kalpa is one of them. Go find yours this season!

Toronto: Where Earth meets the Sky

2011-01-02T11:39:00.049+05:30

The first impression about Toronto is its vertical limitlessness. Everything appears to be racing up-up-upper to meet the sky. Winch your neck and all you see is a bit of blue peeping from between two tall orders of concrete and glass. At night this sensation gets exaggerated when it seems the stars have come sailing down to twinkle. It’s the sparkle of the city’s neon lights but considering the dizzying heights these glow from they could just as well be the stars, the celestial real as it is not standing a chance to shine through the urban luminosity.

Yet, Toronto can be dwarfed. And it’s Canada’s National Tower, more famously known as the CN Tower, which shrinks it in 58 seconds flat. That’s the time taken to rocket up 1,122 ft (342 m), just a few feet below its pinnacle, in a glass elevator to get a bird's eye view of the city. During daylight hours, from up above here, the metropolis layout looks like Lego-land with all blocks impeccably intact but come night and it seems the stars are beneath your feet! Located in Downtown Toronto, the CN Tower is quite predictably the city’s pride, as till recently it was considered the world’s tallest freestanding tower at 1,815 ft (553.3 m), an honour it held since it was opened to the public in 1976. Its status moved to second spot in 2010 with the inauguration of the Burj Khalifa, Dubai, which stands at a staggering 2,717 ft (828 m). The CN Tower dominates the Toronto skyline and visitors are enthusiastically shown the tapering structure. My city tour, true to form, began from this landmark.
We had reached Toronto in the evening, about 20-long-hours after taking-off from Delhi, layover included. Immigration check had taken another hour and more, with some among us being scrutinised twice over, lest we cause trouble in ‘immigrant paradise’. The disciplined drive from Pearson airport to Downtown provided a preview of a city we would explore the next day. Besides the vertical what impressed was the pretty, maple-fringed Lake Ontario that lends its name to the district.
The CN Tower is essentially a communication and surveillance tower containing multiple observation levels — including Sky Pod the highest of them all; a glass floor with a view right down till the ground which can give butterflies in the stomach to the weak-hearted; souvenir shops; and a one-of-its-kind revolving restaurant offering fine-dining experience and the world’s highest wine cellar. Appropriately called ‘360’, this is where I got my first taste of Toronto, quite literally so. The best time to be here is at dusk when the sky is a painter’s canvas and the city skyline a dramatic silhouette. The cuisine at 360 is designed by an award-wining chef and I looked forward to a piping hot platter just perfect for a cold night. Instead with there being just one vegetarian option I had to settle for ‘crispy curried eggplant with buffalo mozzarella’. I found it was arty but a little too gourmet for a ruggedness my tastebuds demanded at that time. I missed my tureen of dal!
During a Toronto visit, the CN Tower is a singular experience for the unrivalled variety it offers. Even its security check is unusual and I was taken completely by surprise when I entered the futuristic blue-and-silver portals of the puffer machine (usually seen at US airports, I'm told). This latest technology uses puffs of air to detect explosives or drugs. Air blasts hit me all over for about 14 seconds during the scrutiny. Thankfully, I was declared safe and stepped out feeling I had mercifully escaped a gale.
Canada’s most bustling city, Toronto is considered its financial and entertainment capital, and Central District is the place to catch this buzz. It has the best spread of gourmet restaurants, nightlife, hotels, visual arts, fashion and more. To mention a few, there’s the Princess of Wales and Royal Alexandra theatres; the new permanent home of the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF), the Bell Lightbox; the happening Yonge Street—the oldest street of the city and also considered the longest in all North America; prêt shopping hot-spot as King Street or ritzy boutiques of Yorkville and Bloor St West; the outdoorsy St Lawrence Market and Kensington Market known for fresh food products; the ever-popular Queen West, the city’s one-stop hip cultural street; and of course it’s got the CN Tower that lord’s over them all.
In addition to these diverse attractions, Central Toronto is also the parliamentary and academic heart of the city, these institutions being housed in a set of heritage buildings, standing in pleasant architectural contrast to contemporary glitz. Within the beautiful Queen’s Park is the AD 1893 Legislative Building, a meeting place for Ontario’s Members of Provincial Parliament and it looked serene when I saw it in the early sunlight, a world away from the nightlife frames I had witnessed a few blocks away. Around the corner is the sprawling and impressive AD 1856 Romanesque Revival St George campus at the University of Toronto. This neighbourhood is part of the ‘discovery district’ that includes the Royal Ontario Museum and the Royal Conservatory of Music.
A place where old and new coalesce in a unique blend is at the Toronto City Hall. The complex has semi-circle twin towers and between them is the inverted-saucer-shaped council chamber, the positioning seeming like two hands cradling the chamber, representative of safeguarding the interests of the state. This arrangement has also given it the moniker of ‘Eye of the Government’. It overlooks the Nathan Phillips square, which in winter turns into a popular skating rink. Adjoining the twin towers is the Old City Hall, at present the court house, which has classical architecture. The two landmarks together present a past-blends-into-present frame signifying a dynamic and growing city which is proud of its roots. It’s a thought shared by millions of immigrants who have made vertically-expanding Toronto their home and contribute in making it a vibrant multi-ethnic city.

Quick Facts:

Air: Daily flights from Delhi, Mumbai to Toronto

Railways: The VIA Rail System has a network throughout

Canada

. As compared to India, railway travel in Canada is an expensive mode and its tickets have flexi-rates.

Bus: A day pass of C$ 10 is available for TTC (Toronto Transit Commission) buses and it allows limitless travel within the city.

Tram: Toronto is the only Canadaian city where trams (streecars) run.

For city tour: www.allabouttoronto.com; Phone: 416-495-8687

Published in The Hindu, January 2011

Kanha Earth Lodge

2010-12-27T11:56:00.005+05:30

Click on text to zoom

Published in Jetwings, December 2010

Jordan: Timeless sands of Wadi Rum

2010-12-13T21:43:00.032+05:30

“V a s t, e c h o i n g, a n d g o d-l i k e”

There are deserts, and there are gargantuan rocks. Then there is Wadi Rum, a desert of silken-smooth sand studded with monolithic rocks soaring from open valleys, both elements coalescing to such stupendous effect that it almost appears to be an incredible piece of installation art. In a way it has to be, and should rank amongst the line-up of special works, it is sculpted by the Master artist, after all.
Wadi Rum lies in the Aqaba Governorate, which is the southern tip of the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan. Geographically, though, it belongs to the sweeping expanse of the Arabian Desert stretching through Iraq, Yemen, Saudi Arabia, Oman and Jordan.

From amongst the assorted landscapes in the kingdom, it’s Wadi Rum or ‘valley of the moon’ that comes across as timeless for many a traveller. In no sense does it reflect the desert definition of being a hostile and potentially-perilous environment not fit for survival. On the contrary, it’s welcoming and has a sort of tranquil magnetism, almost spiritual, that draws you towards it. During a recent tour of Jordan, I intuitively joined the clique of those utterly enthralled by it and would put it down as a site not to be given the miss during an excursion in the kingdom.

The most arresting aspect in this desert canvas are the monoliths of sandstone and granite rising to heights of around 1,750 mt and bearing the most fantastic features. These expressive rock faces are the happy outcome of constant exposure to erosion. Adding further contrast and irrefutable allure to the panoramic landscape are red-ochre dunes and endless miles of powdery sand in blended hues.

One of the most famous expressions to describe Wadi Rum has emerged from TE Lawrence, popularly known as the Lawrence of Arabia, who in his autobiography Seven Pillars of Wisdom described it as “vast, echoing, and god-like”. It is a quote splashed across all forms of information on Wadi Rum, and strangely so, despite being oft-heard it doesn’t sound hackneyed. The words penned in 1922 are just so apt even today reinforcing the eternal nature of Wadi Rum.

Explore and shop

Ways of exploring Wadi Rum include a jeep drive or better still a camel safari lead by a Zalabia Bedouin—one of the few tribes inhabiting this desert. That apart, those with an adventure bone can opt for camping, trekking, hiking or rock climbing. Hot air ballooning is a fairly recent addition that’s drawing the crowds, predictably so. The paucity of time had me scrambling into a 4x4 (most of these are run-down versions) for my tryst with the sands of time.

Before setting out on a safari, tourists are supposed to register at the elegant Wadi Rum visitor centre and avail the option of seeing a brilliant documentary on this ecosphere, highlighting its flora, fauna and geological aspects. There are a few souvenir shops too, largely retailing replicas of ancient hunting petroglyphs discovered on rocks here, dating back to a millennium-plus and providing vital anthropology leads. Brochures also don’t forget to mention movies filmed here, such as the classic Lawrence of Arabia which singly catapulted Wadi Rum to the tourism stratosphere, Red Planet and Passion in the Desert.

Jeep Safari

My two-hour jeep tour kick-started from one of the most photographed rock formations, Mount Rum, popularly called ‘Seven Pillars of Wisdom’, so titled by Lawrence. Driving around the dunes and on fields of sand was a new experience, after having driven on Jordan’s faultless highways. The monolithic rocks were definitely the jewels in the crown, some of these being so mystically alive that I felt they would speak any moment. Some shapes were unique, as the arched Jebel Burdah, which had trekkers scaling its height. One of the scheduled mid-way halts during the safari is at a Bedouin tent where black-tea flavoured with locally grown sage and cardamom is offered. It’s delicious. Sipping tea in the company of camels and friendly locals attired in thobe (gown)-keffiyeh (head gear) adds enduring charm to the desert experience.

This terrain required time but we were racing against the clock, with guide Ali making sure we didn’t miss the all-important sunset seen best from atop a monolith fringed by cascading reddish-orange sand. We had to scramble up to the summit, a tough task indeed, to get the best views. And it was worth it. The amber glow of sunset altered the desertscape, silhouetting the rocks dramatically. Shade and light created an unusual eco-system. As the sun set the land appeared to get even quieter, and as we watched night engulf the desert it seemed a city had turned off its lights. A few hours later when daylight would creep in the desert would once again transform and life would blossom.

Golden triangles

Apart from Wadi Rum, most popular sites of Jordan are found in its fertile crescent. In the southern-end, coastal Aqaba, Petra — the rock cut kingdom of the ancient Nabatean tribe that’s been declared the new wonder of the world, and Wadi Rum form a doable triangle. In the north, capital Amman, the Dead Sea, and Madaba, which is considered the centre of Byzantine mosaic art, is the other triangle. The Desert Highway and the more scenic King’s Highway link the kingdom and ensure you zip through the countryside at ease while exploring it.

Quick facts:
Air: Royal Jordanian has daily flights from Delhi and Mumbai

Distance monitor: Wadi Rum to Aqaba (50 km/1 hr); Aqaba to Amman (367 km/3.5 hrs/ daily internal flights between the two destinations)

Currency: 1 Jordanian Dinar (JD) = Rs 65 appx

Accommodation: There is ample choice in the semi-premium category, where the tariff is upwards JD 120 (Rs 7,500-plus).

Published, Jetwings December 2010

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