in search of "forty two"

Varkala Vignettes

2007-03-24T14:39:00.000+05:30

In café Italiano, a cafe like many others, is on the cliff and faces the sea

I, the only Indian, chose to sit under the thick green foliage of a badam tree, to enjoy the cool breeze and a hot ginger-lemon tea, living on borrowed time, as I ignore the call to finish a paper that I should have finished 10 days earlier.

The scenes around the tables…

Mom and her teenage son finishes their breakfast leave with a 10 Rs tip. Unlike many in his generation, the kid seems to be properly dressed and well behaved.

An optimistic romantic pop number (to love, to love…) is now on.

Chap with white cap and black sleeveless t-shirt staring out into the blue sea. The waiter waves an acknowledgement, to which our man gives a tiny nod.

The young bearded chap sitting alone watching the sea while a bearded tramp wants him to purchase a ticket. The chap politely refuses.

A 30s couple, with the guy making his intentions clear about what he wants - by pecking his girlfriend’s ear and wet tresses - while she is more concerned about balancing the coffee cup.

The music changes to Spanish guitar

A girl in her late 20s in pink tanktop showing a part of a tattoo on her back is waiting for her order to come in. she has a pierced lower lip and matted hair. She eats quietly, leaves the money under the chilli sauce bottle, picks her bag and leaves.

A german couple beyond have shared one breakfast bowl of yogurt and fruit. The girl, while paying tells the waiter that it was the best dish they have had till date. They walk out with their shades on, giving a good demo of a parting kiss before heading in opposite directions.

It is now Jesudas singing with music that is partly classical and partly ‘tamil-ish’. Some waiter has increased the volume as well.

A chap with shohaib aktar hairstyle, selling drums walks by belting out some tuneless beat. I wonder who purchases them and when, for I have never seen any transaction take place. Last year, they were in the same business. I know that since we ate at the same thali place in a shack in a coconut grove. This year, while the shack is still there, the grove has cottages that can be rented out. Perhaps the drum-selling is just a façade and they may be involved in selling something more ‘high flying’ stuff as the dusk falls.

A couple sits in front of me. The chap with thick absolutely white hair and the lady with dark brown. They speak in Italian and order espresso and indiano cafe along with sandwiches. They, amongst all seem to be laughing and speaking in fast clipped Italian. Well I assume it is Italian more because of their clothes. I assume Spanish or Portuguese would not be so fashion conscious.

A chap with a bandanna comes and a thin yet tapering pigtail, waves away the menu card and order one lemon tea. Unshaven and certainly belonging to the flower power times. The waiter messes up his order, brings him something else but our man refuses to pay extra. Flings a 10 rupee note on the table and leaves in a huff.

A new group of two men and a woman come in and one of the men wants real strong coffee! With a warning that he will turn it back if it is not strong enough. More updates when the coffee arrives.

Its now vintage Jesudas with a strong ‘ayyappa’ lilt to it.

One contented soul amongst all of us is a dog that is happily dozing resting his head on the crossed-support of a cane chair. Well almost, the fleas seem to get jealous once in a while.

A middle aged couple sit in the next table. Probably from Switzerland or has recently been to Switerland as the man wears a red cap with swiss flag on it. He has his shirt inside out and has an ‘osho’ colour jhola slung across. They get their omelette with large unevenly cut slices of fresh bread. Looks very appealing!

Our german coffee friends get their coffee (no problem with it) and bruschetta, which they eat with strong chomps and talk with clipped animated gestures. They seem to be oozing confidence that comes with being more successful then the rest or perhaps because each Euro they have in their pockets is about 60 times the local currency.

Yesudas with alapana, veena and mridangam in the background.

That’s life in Varkala. Or atleast in one part of it. There are two more parts to this town. Perhaps four if you count the normal life of the locals. The other parts are to do with the spiritual side. Pundits performing puja on Papanasam beach for the departed souls to cleanse away their papams (sins) is one. The other is the abode of Sri Narayanaguru, a social reformer. He has mainstreamed the toddy taper community Ezhavas and his birthday or the day he attained samadhi, lakhs of people descend on this town.

Perhaps in reverence to Sri Narayana guru or to the Papanasam beach, for many years alcohol was not served openly but in tea pots! In an era where we wear our attitudes and flash our brands and where qualities like respect, humility, etc. may soon be considering ‘endearing old fashioned qualities’, the bottles have come out into the open but the permits have not. Well it is boom time for the cops and the local leaders!

And so goes on Varkala, the beach resort in the God’s own Country.

vizag - varkala 07

Closer to Kedar...

2006-12-28T14:57:00.000+05:30

The previous posts First one / Second one

The day did not start well: first we were woken at 4 in the morning by a rather enthusiastic waiter, who, the previous night took his tea order right but not the room to which the order had to be delivered. Instead of realising that it was improper to wake people up so early, he was insisting that this was the room to which it had to be delivered. Half believing me, he yelled to his friend who must have been at the end of the corridor to double check the room. His friend yelled back that he got the room wrong. “Sorry sir-ji”, our ‘polite’ youth said and went to loudly knock the room few doors further.

This woke me up completely and I realised I had a frog in my throat. Not a good sign since that means a cold is around the corner. I have a strange warning mechanism for a cold: first I wake up with a sore throat that too on ONE side (I am not joking), then as the pain disappears the nostril on the erstwhile sore part starts to go on an overdrive and then the next nostril suddenly remember it needs to act in tandem with its sibling . Strange isn’t it? Well each of us are as strange as our own ailments.

After tossing around for a while on the bed and when it was light enough, I went to inform the manager that he can arrange to send hot water to my room, he was not in his seat and the kitchen folks casually mentioned, while warming themselves at the cook-stove, that the boiler broke down and we have to make do with cold water, if we intend having a bath at all. The water was freezing to say the least. I then remembered my bathing scheme in Pune/Hyderabad in winters (we did not have a geyser): pour water on feet first… then on knees… shiver… then stare hard at the water in the bucket expecting to warm it a la superman and in a swift movement douse the entire body supported by appropriate squirms and screams. I must add that after the first few mug-fulls the batch actually starts to be enjoyable. I tried to emulate the same routine here but it was more pride than cleanliness that prompted me to perform the drill.

Having accomplished this feat, I went over to adjoining room where my friends were still lolling in bed, told them that there is no hot water and that I went through my ablutions with cold water, as befitting anyone wanting to scale the might Himalayas. One of them was not amused. He had a fight with manager who promptly got hot water organised for him and others. Wife gave me icicle laden stares for she succumbed to my motivating talk a little earlier. Anyway, casually casting those stares aside, and with a head stuck out like a proud rooster, I went to the restaurant and polished few hot alu-parathas not-withstanding the sore food passage. With mango-pickle burps and a satisfied stomach, I limbered up a bit by walking around the campus taking a snap here and there as I waited for the rest to take a short ride to Gaurikund where the path to Kedar starts.

The ride to Gaurikund with some spectacular views of the sun-kissed mountains, in ideal conditions should have taken ten minutes. In reality it took close to an hour. The first seven minutes were close to the ideal state but the next three minutes weren’t as we ran into a long line of vehicles, all at a standstill, waiting to get to Gaurikund. Two of us jumped out to do some restless and pointless activities. Before we could get a porter to haul our luggage to the main gateway, the vehicles started to inch ahead. The brown kucha road was little wider than two vehicles and there were whole bunch of people (porters, drivers, cleaners, bhel-wala, etc.) creatively taking up all kinds of spaces – tree stumps, jutting rocks, rubbish mounds. A slow and careful ride (not to knock other vehicles into the steep valley or spread smiling Nepalese nicely along the mountain wall) took us to a little square half the size a foot ball field. To say it was chaotic was to say the least. There were about a 100 vehicles, half of them discharging their load of giggling enthusiastic families all eager to jog up the 14 km path to Kedar; other half picking up weary families wondering why on earth were they so enthusiastic and eager to get some brownie points, that too for a supposedly next life. In between these vehicles were families waiting impatiently for their vehicles to turn up so that they can put behind as much distance as possible from this place. In total it was chaos of a new order. The fact that all this happens without much ado is a miracle in itself. Actually there were also some folks with that ‘been there and done it” kind of look but they were the fat folks who did the trek on other beings.

We gave the customary dip in the Kund before the trek to Kedar a miss, and went on to pass through the welcoming arch and throbbing crowds onto a stone paved path with varying commercial activities on its sides. Lugging our loads to the GMVN (the state run guest house), where our driver said that the staff will help us get a good porter. They were trying to palm some of their cronies who were asking more than normal rates, which obviously included some generous kickbacks here and there. I enthusiastically volunteered to keep an eye on the luggage so that the others can span out to find a porter willing to transport our luggage at a price that was comfortable for us. I love my friends when they fall for such displays of unbridled enthusiasm.

Each of us kept a small backpack with a bottle of water. I volunteered to carry two extra bottles of water. Folks, you may smile at my brag about these bottles, but let me tell you hoisting two extra kg all along the path that winds 14 km in length and two km up into the sky is no mean feat. This is the kind of trek, half way through lazy bums like me would have realised their folly of not cutting those finger-nails and thereby shedding few grams.

Anyway, the first km was the hardest part thanks to the crowds. In addition to the normal demography found at the Gaurikund square, the path also houses ponies, dholies (palanquins) with their fat inhabitants and lean carriers and porters carrying very young or very old in baskets tied to their foreheads and waist. And doing their wee bit to give a quaint farm smell were the pony droppings. Amidst all these, sights and sounds of gushing, milky Mandakini on our left was the only positive

Chettinad trip (made a year ago)

2006-12-27T21:23:00.000+05:30

There are two ways to experience Chettinad heritage. For the sake of comparison let me say one is easy and the other is difficult. Naturally, the experience each one offers is slightly different from the other since the efforts involved are different. The easy way is to experience it in Chennai and the difficult way is to experience it in Chettinad itself. There are places in Chennai where one can eat Chettinad food, visit a traditional Chettinad house and then purchase Chettinad crafts. Perhaps, as it was for me, starting out in Chennai may be an easy choice for many.

There are many places to eat authentic Chettinad food (I am a sucker for food, so I believe what the blurbs on name boards and menu cards say). Some of the more prominent ones are Anjapaar, Ponuswamy and Kaaraikudi. These hotels have a number of branches and hence are well spread out in the city. So if you want to eat a Chettinad meal, It is quite likely that the area in which you are will have a branch of these restaurants nearby. Then to visit a Chettinad house, you could visit DakshinaChitra, an open air museum of South Indian Culture started by an American lady Dr. Deborah Thiagarajan. This centre is now the home many authentic houses from Kerala, TN, AP and Karnataka. They have been dismantled, numbered carefully and reconstructed to the original form. Along with these architectural experiences, one can browse around in the craft shop that showcases handicrafts from these states. On weekends and during festival seasons, one can see how some of these crafts are produced. To pick up exclusive crafts from Chettinad, one can head towards M.Rm.Rm Foundation set up and run by Mrs. Visalakshi Ramaswamy. She has revived many crafts forms and has received International recognition. One can purchase Kottans (lovely woven baskets for which UNESCO has given their seal of recognition for this crafts), Attangudi Tiles (floor tiles made in vivid colours and designs that don the traditional houses) and handwoven sarees both in cotton and in silk with typical Chettinad designs. One can set aside a day to experience at a leisurely pace or can run through these sights and tastes in half a day.

There are many ways in which one can experience Chettinad heritage in Chettinad region and my Chettinad experiences have been in bits and pieces over the years. The source can be traced to Chennai years ago. I was in this city for a cousin’s wedding and I a missed opportunity to eat at a ‘Chettinad’ restaurant. Considering that I like food very much it was quite natural that I felt disappointed and wanted to make amendments the next time I was in the city. I had to wait for about 12 years for that. Due to some chance happening I moved to live in Chennai and after we settled I wanted to fulfil that desire of eating Chettinad food. Naturally as a newbie to the city, I asked acquaintances about which restaurant to go to. In addition to some names of restaurants, I was told that this cuisine is more renowned for its non veg preparations and that I, a vegetarian, will have limited choice. Nonetheless, when an opportunity presented itself, I took a Dutch friend of mine, who appreciates many good things about India including the spicy food, to Kaaraikudi, a restaurant chain that specialises in Chettinad cuisine. During the days that preceded this dinner, when my friend and I ate out, kozhambu (tamarind based chutney) was something both of us liked very much. So we were quite happy to order poondu kozhambu (with large pieces of garlic in it) and kathirikai kozhambu, (with eggplant) along with Chettinad Biryani and Malabar Parata. The waiter recommended crispy valiapoo vadai (banana flower vada) as starters. Frankly, there was not much of a choice for a veggie but then when the food did arrive, we did not speak a single word during the entire meal; it was just appreciative nods all the way. Although I ate this meal over a year ago the fact that I can still recall the menu seem to indicate that I have an elephantine memory but it is not so. Considering that I have gone back to this restaurant few times and considering that there is little to choose for a vegetarian, it is not difficult to jog the memory (and the taste buds too)

Taking into account that we were to take a group of Dutch tourists on a food tour of south India, after the first meal itself, we decided to explore possibilities of including Chettinad in the tour. My friend left for his home that night and it was my responsibility to investigate. After couple of months of casual research, I had some information and few cancelled train tickets. With time not entirely on our side, my friend, who arrived just before the trip started, managed to organise a day long trip for himself from Madurai. Strangely, I was in The Netherlands then. His feedback was that the roads were bad but it would be extremely interesting for the group to spend a day visiting some of the temples and then to have a meal at Bangla, a restored mansion in Karaikudi that now operated as a heritage hotel. The plan was to leave early in the morning from Madurai, go to Pilliarpatti, where the morning aarti is carried out at 9 AM. Then go to Kundrakudi a Murugan temple on a large rock. Subsequently we planned to go to Kannadukattan, the main Nathukottu Chetiar’s village and finally to Bangla for lunch.

Although we started early, we could not get to Pilliarpatti by 9AM, we were little late. We jumped off the bus and rushed straight into the temple, the aarti was just getting over. We saw the last part of the aarti and even that was quite impressive. The plate with burning camphor circling around an impressive 6 ft Karpaga Vinayaka idol, accompanied with live music and temple bells was quite celestial. Since the group could not enter temples in Kerala or the Meenakshi temple in Madurai, this was the first entry into a Temple for some of them, they I am sure would have been more impressed then I was.

Pillayarpatti temple

Although, the priests told us we could take snaps as long as the deity is not in the picture frame but the guards and the security personnel did not allow us to do so. Since I could not speak Tamil, it was not possible to explain that the priests gave their consent. The next best thing to do was to look for the priests but they were nowhere to be seen. We wandered out and then walked around the temple for a little while. I took some surreptitious snaps as I walked out but none of came out right. Meanwhile, the group got even more disbursed - some members were busy buying trinkets from the shops, couple of others were busy taking snaps of the cows, few were walking around the temple zone and some headed back to the bus. It took a little while to gather them and be on the way to Kundrakudi.

Kundrakudi is famous for a Murgan temple situated on a large rock. At the base of the rock is a small temple with lovely paintings all around, including on the roof. To get to the main temple one has to climb a flight of steps carved into the rock. Even though it was the middle of the day, the climb was not difficult, with gentle breeze and sylvan sights to assist you.

Temple steps

On the right side of the rock was the village with its ‘country tile’ roofs and the left side was natural landscape that extended for quite a distance. Amidst the village one could see the large temple chariot towering over the roofs. It was festooned with mango leaves from a recent temple festival. Once in the temple, I sat in a corner to watch the people. The group wandered around smiling and saying hello to the people. Little kids encouraged by the family came up shyly to shake hands with them. Some of the lesser shy ones asked the group for their names, as the rest of their family stayed in the background, beaming with pride. I can tell that it takes a lot of guts to go up to a stranger and ask for their names, that too strangers from distant lands. I don’t think I can still do that, so I thought the families have all the reason to beam and be proud of their kids.

After few more km of bad roads, we finally arrived at Kannadukattu. A winding path from the edge of the village lead up to the main attraction: the raja’s palace. As we drove into the village the sights the villages had to offer were quite surreal: considering that the village was middle of no-where it had some of the most massive mansions I have ever seen. The group must be even more dazed to see them. The palace where the wealthiest of the Chettiars lived was newly painted. I guess, it was more because of the wealth and the land this family controlled, the head of it was called the Raja and his residence has come to be known as ‘the palace’. Later on I came to know that this place gets painted every January. Since we visited in mid-February, the paints were still bright. While the group went in, I walked around the village to take a few photos. Two more bus loads of overseas tourists came in.

The raja's palace

The passage from the entrance to the 'palace'

Athangudi tiled passage

Verandah in Bangla

Waiting area in the Bangla

One of the heritage hotels

I guess Chettinad is finally getting onto the tourist map of the country but unfortunately it is the overseas visitors that seem to throng to this place. The only other people who throng this place are antique hunters who carry the dismembered parts of a Chettiyar house to where ever they can sell at exorbitant prices. Next time I am in the Chettinad region, I will make some time to pick up some good deals so that a part of Chettinad is always close by.

up the hills...

2006-07-10T10:37:00.000+05:30

The next morning we were woken by early by the GMVN staff to let us know that our Sumo has arrived. We quickly got into the act of leaving by making arrangements for breakfast (food has to be ordered at least half an hour earlier) and then packing. While K and I munched on the alu parathas, the rest decided to have a 'fruit breakfast'. So our first stop on the trip was the fruit market.

At the fruit market, three of us headed in different directions to pick up banana, litchis and other exotic fruit (which were quite expensive). Here I noticed that most of the mangoes were banginalpalli and speaking as a Vizag-ite, these were from my own backyard: Vizianagaram (Could see it on the boxes). Mango wars have been going on for years between my wife and me. This time she had a lot of support from my friends who are from Bombay also. Like a true blue Andhra-ite, I think Banginalpalli is a great variety. I would never term Alphanso the king of all mangoes. So, this was a great way to start the trip. I pulped my opponents into submission that while the western Indians think Alphanso is great, the rest of the country swears by the likes of Banginalpalli (I threw in some fake statistics for good measure). Well with this tirade, I kissed goodbye to the few A mangoes my friend lugged all the way.

Getting back to the story, we soon went past the two famous suspension bridges: ram and lakshman jhula and headed into the mountains. The day was cloudy and the chances of rain up in the mountains were high said the driver. We stopped to wrap our luggage in tarpaulin. He wrapped and we looked around. My friends went to Gangotri few years ago, and the start was similar: cloudy and wet but once the sun came out the next day, they said, it stayed dry throughout.

cloudy skies...

Soon we started the assent into the mountains with the river Ganga next to us, growing smaller as we climbed higher. As we moved, we could see how it wound around mountains, flowed over stony beds, frothed in exuberance and playfully meandered as it ran down into the plains. Along some of the banks was tented accommodation for the more adventurous folks and for those who wanted to raft. As we went higher, clouds shielded the rest of the ranges so all we saw was a mountain or two, which were close to us. This was not one continuous assent, we went up a hill, and then went down only to climb up another. At no point of time, we were away from the river or its tributaries.

Meandering Mandakini

In the excitement of the sights around and more due to the dizzily changing landscape, I felt motion sickness for the first time. Since lemon is said to have some curative properties to this ailment, I sucked on one with my eyes shut. It helped a bit but the queasiness in the stomach stayed. It stayed until we reached the surroundings of Rudrayprayag where we had our lunch. Strangely, I did not feel it afterwards.

Tried to get the patterned landscape but failed.

The only stop we made before lunch was Deoprayag where, Alaknanda (from Badrinath) meets Baghirati (from Gangotri) meet to become Ganga. My friend wanted to go down to the sangam; we thought it would be a good break. To get there, we had to walk on one of the many suspension bridges that span these rivers to get onto the other side. Then walk along the narrow sloping road that leads to the ghats. However before doing so we had to get past the pandas. They insisted that we perform some puja or other. The only thing that worked was to ignore them completely. I wonder why they cannot not be polite, ask once and let go. It is not that everyone who comes here performs puja. On our way back I purchased some more lemons as a precautionary measure. Last thing I wanted was to seem like a sissy by throwing up.

Alaknanda meeting Bhagirathi to become Ganga @ Deoprayad

We were to stop for the night at Rampur, a few km from Gaurikund. The trek to Kedar starts from Gaurikund. We reached this place amidst drizzles while clouds covered all the ranges and the wonderful sights these mountains could have been providing us. Normally, we could have noticed one or two snow peaks by now said the driver to add to our misery.

The GMVN was located on an edge of a small hillock. A small rivulet flowed past the foot of this hillock and the gushing sounds of it filled the entire guest house. One of the two rooms we had, had a balcony that looked down upon this scene. On the other side of the rivulet, rose a fairly large hill covered with thick greenery.

View from the balcony

After a quick cup of tea, we walked along the road until the next village, logically named Sitapur. While we were walking, we were given a sneak preview of the ranges hidden by the clouds. A near range comes out first. Having seen this, we started to look for formations behind the clouds to spot ranges. Our conversation was like this, "hey, see that! that looks like a range, wow"... "what wow? look a little above that point, doesn't that looks like a range that is even higher?".. "yeah, I think so". By the time we walked back, we could distinctly identify some of the ranges we 'wowed'.

The next morning when I woke up the temp was crisp and invigorating. The whole place was filled with the sounds of many song birds while the gushing sound of the rivulet provided the background. I get up to look out of the window and I see the sun striking one of the ranges. It was a lovely feeling. On the flip side, I had a bad sore throat.

Early morning sun

Close-up...

It was going to be a big day: we will be climbing 1800 mt over a 14 km trek. In all excitement, we pack and headed off to Gaurikund. And that will be the next part. This was the sight that greeted us as we went out...

Himalayas @ 1800 mts

Himalayan (mis)adventure

2006-06-21T10:06:00.000+05:30

When my friend called early January to ask us if we would like to join them for a holiday in the himalayas, both of us said yes at once. I was sure I would be able to make it but we were not sure if K (my wife) could join us for the entire trip. Although it was at the back of our mind, we did not think about it until we have a mail from our friend giving us the dates and the possible itinerary that the trip started becoming real. Booking the trains and the places was a flurry of activities, where I had a very small role to play. Even though the trip was months away, some of the train tickets were waitlisted. Talk about the country on the move during the holiday season.

Something that I should have done first was to ask my friend what kind of route we would be taking. Later on when I did eventually ask her, we were to be going through the pilgrims route of Kedar, Badri and Hemkund. This certainly did deflate me. I am not too religious and the last thing I would like to do on a holiday is to jostle around for elbow space with faith-filled-pilgrims. I have nothing against them, just that I, a faithless fellow, would like to avoid taking up space that can be filled by a devoutee. I have stopped going to the Tirupati temple for that very reason. Once in a while, I go visit my friend who lives very close to Tirupati, visit some nearby temples (usually Kalahasti) and then head back. I like to go to temples where I can see the architecture, look at the sculptures, soak in the ambience, watch devotees mill around. Basically not too popular temples. So I told my friend that this route was not too exciting to me. She explained that although there will be many tourists, the sights and sounds are out of the world and that I should experience them atleast once. Yeah?, I said sarcastically, but why on my first trip to the Himalayas. She said, "come on, dont be such a spoil sport". Although that conversation ended my sulking trip, I nevertheless was not over excited about the 'sights and sounds'

The day finally arrived when we had to get to the station and be on the move. The trip to Delhi was OK. Would have loved to take the Rajadhani but thought TN Express would be more comfortable due to the timings. Well I dont know how Rajadhani would have been but TN was certainly not the best of the trips. The train doesnt stop anywhere, the food inside the train was lousy and we were not carrying food like the most of the other passengers. The only two high points of food during the trip were, a lovely mango juice at Nagpur and a great puri-subji at Itarsi. Ater reaching Delhi and after managing to get a dorm for four at the Rail Yatri Niwas, we waited for my friends from Mumbai to reach. After they arrived, after we chatted, after we checked out what munchies we got for the trip, after we finished our baths, we headed out to check out the Delhi metro and get some food at CP.

The metro was great. It was swanky, neat and quite well worked out. We were very impressed. But then because we could not read the signs properly and because the local could not direct us to the right exit, we had to walk a bit before we got to where we wanted to go on CP: a food joint. It was too expensive. The next one was too dirty and also served meat. Since one of us was an animal rights activist, we did not want to hurt his feelings too much by hogging at these veg/non veg joints, although all of us were veggies. Finally ate a meal at the Nirula bar. We had a veg buffet and ran back to the station to get our train.

The AC in the train to Haridwar was too cold and the fan was right above my head. When I wanted to switch off the fan, the lady beind me complained that she was not getting enough air. Ended up having a heavy head. I wondered later, why did I not ask her to swap seats. It was while on train, I realised that we had our room in Rishikesh and that the train does not stop there. So, soon after we got off at 8.00 PM, we hired a strange looking autorick, which that northern part of the country is full off, to drop us at our hotel in Rishikesh. While A and R were bargaining, K went off to buy some litchis. I sat in the front with the driver while the rest squeezed at the back. We went past the Har-ki-pauri, past some temples and some forest before reaching the hotel of GMVN (garhwal mandal vikas nigam), the tourist wing of uttaranchal govt.

While getting here, my first sight of Ganga, was when we went onto a bridge. So, here was a majestic river, in full flow with ghats on my left and a lone lamp floated by, twirling in an eddy. Dont think I will forget that sight for long time. Then later I thought, there was Ganga, which for many people who come here, is a body of holy water that orginates from the lock of the god himself, that in the past has liberated the souls of many of Rama's ancestor, and who will wash away all their sins and help them relieve the burden of karma. But for me, a faith-less fool, what did I want to remember it by? A visual of a lamp floating by. Well I slept that night thinking there are many that make this world and I am one of them.

Anyway, early in the morning we were woken up by one of the GMVN staff , saying that our sumo has arrived. After a breakfast of tea and alu-parathas (which, incidentally we got sick of by the time the trip ended) and a small altercation with the driver, we were off to the hills.

So why was this a mis-adventure? keep watching this space for more... Here is a picture of the hills.

Looking down into the vales

Along the backwaters...

2006-05-03T09:37:00.000+05:30

If a tour operator delivers what he promises, tours will be a success. Doesn't matter if the tour belongs to the champagne-after-a-tiresome-balooning category or peel-your-own-potato category, tell them what they'd expect in the tour and give them that, the participants will be happy. How much they have been charged for it is incidental. People take on tours for experiences. Delivering what is promised, in India that too in Kerala where time is stretched beyond limits, is not an easy task. Calls have to be made weeks before, the concerned people have to be met the previous day, more calls have to be made in the evening before. Then finally when the day comes up, more calls have to be made as the person hasn't turned up.

After being cooped up in a resort across the backwater for couple of days, the group was to go to Kottayam, by a boat along the canals, with breakfast on the way. We were to leave at 7 in the morning, the boatman was instructed to take us along the various canals until 9 and then get us somewhere for breakfast after which he was to drop us in Kottayam. It was all simple and straight with little cause for any confustion or misinterpretation.

For the group to be ready by 7, they had to pack the previous night and wake up early. Last thing the group on a holiday would like to do is to wake up early. So not wanting to make a mess out of this, I made number of calls to the boat owner in Kottayam to drive in the idea that the boat has to, has to, be on time. When the morning came over it was not the case. The boat kind of sluggishly made its way to the pier at 8. Meanwhile, I made few more calls to the owner and he was becoming increasingly reluctant to take my calls. Kept saying "he will come in 5 mins saar". Naturally, when the boat finally arrived, we were mad at the boatman. He countered us by saying "breakfast" and quickly realised what he said and changed it to "fishing nets in motor".

After taking us around some canals, it was time for breakfast. We left some good restaurants on the way since the chap said we could have it in R-block. This is a stretch of land that is below the canal level, which must have been reclaimed. The first one he took us to was serving ' kappa ' and fish masala . Kappa is a mashed tapioca with lots of turmeric in it and did not at all looked appealing. Later on I came to know that these two are favourites at the local toddy shops. The next one had Kappa and mussels. The next had only fish masala. It was way past breakfast time and one of the members was diabetic. RJ and I were getting angry and concerned. We made few more angry calls to the owner, who then directed the boatman to take us somewhere. How long was it to take to get there? 15 mins. We should have been wiser and told the group 30 mins. It took 45 mins and was about 5 min from where we started! Thankfully the place served lovely omlette and chapati for the group. I had veg curry and chapati. I guess, the group wasnt sure when they would have lunch so they had another round of omlettes and then topped it with extra strong coffee. Now they were a happy bunch of people again. Not that they were miffed earlier but they were certainly unhappy a bit. I guess next time I will suggest that they should carry lot of dry food for occasions like these.

The canals got completely covered with water hyacinth as we got closer to Kottayam. The boat had to stop often and the motor reversed to unshackle the roots to go entwined in it. The group was quite happy with the sights and sounds they experienced along the canals: women washing clothes and utensils, kids swimming and screaming 'give me pen', kids in dresses going to their schools screming 'give me pen'...men and women canoeing past... houses, temples, churches, small kirana stores with little packets of goodies hanging from the awning that doubles up as the shop-window shutter.

View of the main waterway to Vembanad Lake

View of the by-canals...

A government busboat that plys between various places

Fisherman along the canal

Fisherman in Vembanad Lake whose nets supposedly stalled our boat's motor

Houseboats anchored for the night...

green fields and blue sky

green fields, blue sky and white birds...

By the time we reached Kottayam it was mid afternoon with the sun blazing. While I was helping to unload the luggage RJ went to boatowner with the intention of giving him a piece of his mind. Instead he could only meet the assistant who promised that he will make the owner call and apologise. We were in Kottayam for two days but that did not happen. We hired seven autos to deliver us to the hotel - a simple but clean hotel bang on the main road in Kottayam. We'd check out this town in the next blog.

Alleppey

2006-03-28T19:40:00.000+05:30

As I am off to Vizag after a long time, this blog will mostly contain pictures. Also, nothing much happened at this place other than the fact that the group had their first fill of fish. The only trouble was that the portions were too tiny. Each person could only get a small piece. Unlike other resorts, this one touts itself as an ayurvedic one, and hence stipulates food orders atleast 4 hours in advance. So RJ had to apologise and promised that the next meal will have more fish!

The place that we stayed was bang opposite the backwaters. Those of you who watch Nehru Cup, the snake race starts exactly at this point.

View from resort

I had lots of pending work to do so excused myself from most of the city outings. Actually, I was not too eager to join them after RJ told me that there is nothing much to do. This was surprising considering that Laurie Baker, the famous architect had written an entire booklet comparing Alleppey to Venice. I wished I had it then. Since I was not in the city and since I slept early, I woke up early to watch the sun come up.

Dawn

The first rays of the sun

The sunrise

The sun-kissed verandah

Sun-kissed Tharavad

Sun @ small aperture

The lawns in front of the backwaters

Some time in the afternoon I went for a walk around the resort and then met RJ for lunch at India Coffee House.

At the pond

Close-up

Other than the fact that this is now a cooperative venture owned by the people working in it, there is nothing spectular. As I walked back to the resort, some of the group members were sitting out in the lawns watching the water world go by.

Public transport

House-boat @ the jetty

While it is nice and quieter during the day, it is unbelievable during the early and late parts of the day. The backwaters is filled with house-boats going into the Vebanad lake and back. The continous sound of the motors can take the fun out of a holiday. For some of the group members who had their rooms close to the water, it did.

The way to relax (its not me)

Relax (Take 2)

This is life!!

Actually before the tour started, I was sure Alleppey would be the best and the group will talk a lot about it. But it was not so, while it was the most expensive place we stayed in, it was certainly not the best. There were niggling details that made the stay a tad uncomfortable, atleast for RJ and me as we had to drop names just so that the staf behaves properly. Really, it is not the place that makes a great holiday, it is the people who run it who can make an ocean of difference.

The Welcome Dinner

2006-03-24T17:21:00.000+05:30

Organising the first meal was turning out to be a difficult thing. The shacks opposite the sea served all kinds of exotic meals from the world plus dishes from north like paneer-butter masala and its likes. We tried to find out a place that serves vegetarian Kerala meals but then apparently they are none. We persisted; “there is one”, said an auto driver but it is tiny and may not be the best place to eat. When we followed the directions given by him, we came to a thatched place with side walls, also in thatch, that ran half way up. This enabled the customers as well as the rest the world to view each other as they went about doing their jobs. The tables were made from normal wood with white plastic chairs to go with them. The wash area was under a coconut tree, the water had to be drawn from a bucket with a steel tumbler. While the basic fare that was served here was veg meals, one could in addition order omelette or a plate of fish to go with it. We declined both but surprised the ‘management’ by eating enormous amounts of tomato chutney (with sliced onions in it. At home we make tomato chutney with blended onions). The food was not bad at all but we felt it was not good enough for a welcome dinner. Moreover, RJ wanted the group to have beer along with the meal.

When we finally told the hotel manager S about our difficulty in finding a place that serves Kerala meal, he said that it could be arrange at the hotel itself as the staff get their meals free in the afternoon and it is usually local food. We wanted a dinner that too of a ‘sadhya-type’. Sadhya, is the feast that is served on Onam day, which either has four or eight curries. With knowledge acquired from “The Essential Kerala Cookbook’ and an Onam meal eaten at Coconut Lagoon in Chennai, I started to narrate the dishes we would like to have (Istoo, Olan, Pachadi, Kichidi, Avial, Erisseri, Kootukari and Kalan and one sweet dish: Ada Pradhamam). S wanted to serve lunch… “Sadhya is always lunch”, he went on. We tried to reason with him, told him lets not call it Sadhaya but let us have Sadhya dishes for the dinner. He reluctantly agreed. The RJ then said, “Could we have fish?” I have to take a detour and explain why the RJ said this. Well it was all due to a cousin of mine that the Veg Tour did not start out to be a veg tour. My cousin said, “You mean you will be in Kottayam and not eat their beef curry. I can still taste the curry I had last year. You cannot have the group not eat it” His wife (a Syrian Christian) said “forget beef, you cannot miss Karimeen, yaar”… This added to the past where RJ was hinting now and then about how strict we should be with the food, should we prohibit them from eating meat at all? Or should we say that we will not pay for the meat and that if they want to, they could pay on their own. As a result of all this, I finally agreed that we could perhaps let the group have some meat/fish in Kerala and then wean them away from it. So there went the “Veg” part of the tour.

Getting back to the dinner, “Fish?” said S. We don’t serve fish for Sadhya. “Come on RJ, we can’t have fish the first day itself, said I. So the fish issue was not settled as a bigger problem came up on the horizon. “You cannot have beer on 1st of ever month in Kerala. It is a dry day”. “What?” said both of us. “You mean no where?” RJ asked… “Not even if we pay more for it?” asked I. S went on to say that they can serve beer but prefer not to. Well I was happy that it will be RJ who will break this news to the group.

The group slowly started to gather under the thatched extension of the main building, that served as the resorts restaurant. The group contained three couples (including father, mother, daughter and her boyfriend), two sisters, and two single ladies (one aged 78 and other aged 68). With an exception of the daughter and her boyfriend who were in their late 20s/early 30s, the rest were above 55. Of these three were coming to India for the first time and the other have made multiple trips. Four of them were part of RJ’s pervious trips. I tried hard to get their names but they refuse to stick in my head. Well it was just the first day.

At the dinner table, I was next to V and H. They lived in Bennekom in central Netherlands, they said. “I lived there for six month”, I said. They had a look that seems to say, “Why would you possibly be there?” I was at Hans place. Now H was surprised. She worked in a dept at the univ and they tried hard to put some of their students/visiting faculty at this place but they could never get a place. Hans and Rinske ran a pension house not very far from the Wageningen Univ, one of the well know agricultural univs in the world. They took extreme good care of their tenants. The clothes are washed and ironed; the beds made and new towels given every day. Weekends, Rinske baked cakes for everyone. It was bit more expensive than the hostels but many dept. liked to send their visiting faculty here. I told V and H of the good time I had there. They invited me to their house, next time I visit Bennekom.

V said that they travel often to Iran and he is learning Persian and hence can get a word of two if he travels in North India. I showed him our currency notes and asked him to read Urdu since it uses Arabic script. He couldn’t see it, so he took pictures of the currency notes on his 8 mega pixel digital camera and used the zoom facilities to read the letter. He was not bad.

The food came, the new group members who were in India for the first time gasped when banana leaves were placed in front of them. The entire group was fascinated the way the food was served, first istoo, then olan and then pachadi… RJ and I insisted that we be served the traditional red rice and not the white one. The food was a great success. The biggest hits were ada pradhamam (payasam made from rice strips and jaggery) and pineapple pachadi.

When the bill came, I looked into it. I normally don’t but this time I did. To my surprise, there was ‘Fish curry, 2 Nos.’ It was my turn to gasp. “Which…which of the curries was the fish?” I asked. My shock surprised me as well. Normally, I don’t get agitated if someone says “stop that has meat in it” but this time, I was. The waiter took the bill back to check with the kitchen. He comes back and says, the fish was not served as we finished the meal too quickly. It is still in the kitchen. The group was in splits, “we ate too quickly” was a joke for few days after that. I wanted to talk to the manager not wanting to pay for it but then RJ said it is only 100 Rs. and he can pay for that. Thus ended the first meal. The group had to be ready at 7 AM the next day for a walk through the beach to a place that served Kerala breakfast.

Link to Kerala Recipes

First stop: Varkala

2006-03-08T14:22:00.000+05:30

As a place, Varkala does not offer tourists any more than what many other places in India can offer. However, it is to Varkala that the tourists throng and not to other. To understand why, could be an entire research project in itself, like why certain regions attract industries and not others.

View of the morning sea with lone tourist performing yoga

In addition to being touristy, Varkala is also popular religious place for many locals and perhaps for many Keralites as well. Two centres that attract pilgrims are Janardhana Swamy temple and Sivagiri Mutt. Janardhana Swamy temple is on the way to the Papanasam beach, a pleasant sandy beach sandwiched between two cliffs. If one turns right just before the temple, the road winds past the Taj hotel to the north cliff. The road to the left leads to the South Cliff. Although there are some places to stay on the south cliff, it is the north cliff that attracts all attention.

Tank2

North cliff from the beach

A long winding path along the edge of the north cliff has all the ingredients that make a tourist haven: knick-knack shops selling ware from lands as far as Rajasthan, Kashmir and Tibet; restaurants with displays of fresh fish on ice that dole out non-fish dishes as well and an occasional shack that serves only veg food; places to stay with varying degrees of comfort.

on a fish hunt...

Cliff frontage at night

The main tourist zone is sandwiched between the path along the cliff and the road that leads to the north cliff from the Janardhana Swamy temple. While most tourist eat in the shacks on the cliffs watching the sea below, many stay in hotels, resorts and homes behind the cliff frontage.

It heart-warming to see small houses (some of the inhabitants still cooking on wood-stoves in the backyard) have managed to transform a room or two into a space that can be rented out to tourists. Tourism industry has given them an opportunity to earn some money. The little lanes that dot this cliff are all clean without any rubbish. Tourists can be seen enjoying the sunshine filtered through palm fronds while sitting on little tables with checked table cloth in many back yards (with the days wash still on the lines). Kerala seem to be encouraging such home-stays, which is good both for the tourist as well as the host. I would any day suggest tourists to stay at such places than at sterile resorts that the rich prefer or rodent infested cheap hotels that the back packers prefer.

Our task, the few days that we spend in Varkala before the group arrived, was to find out places to visit and restaurants to eat in. It was when the group was here I realise why hotel folk kow-tow to tour operators: the group follows what the leader says to the last dot! While Janardhana Swamy temple was a definite place to visit, we though Sivagiri mutt, though a very nice place, would not have interested these tourists. So we went on an auto ride to Anjengo, an old English Fort about 20 km away to see if it would be of interest.

Anjengo (or five coconut trees) was for a while the second most important trading port for the English after Bombay in the late 17th century. This fort is said to have been built in 1695. Actually before I found this information on the net, RJ told me that this was a Dutch port. Somewhere else it was also written that Portuguese were also here. So instead of trying to waste time arguing who owned it first and how it changed hands, we decided to visit it. We also found out that a place called the ‘Golden Island’ just off the road to Anjengo that may be of interest as well.

The route to the fort was extremely picturesque with the sea on the right and coconut trees everywhere. The way the swaying coconut trees framed the sea and the waves, it was almost a different picture frame ever few meter. Another interesting feature along the route was the number of mosques. This 20 km strip had over 10 mosques with few very large as well. I am not sure if the local population can fill even one of these large mosques completely. Doesn’t say much about the camaraderie these fishermen villages share with one and another.

Fishermen pusing the boat into the sea

Anjengo, perhaps due to the European influence has some missionary school and few churches. The village by itself was nothing spectacular. We realised that the main gate of the fort was locked with worker repairing the wall inside. The guard has just gone out for a cup of tea, we were told. A light-house that was close-by could have kept our occupied until the guard’s return but the visitors were welcomed only in the early evening. As we turned to walk back to the fort, we saw someone waving frantically: it was the guard.

The fort in itself was just the walls. The main structure has collapsed many years ago. The ASI is now trying to repair the walls (with nice cement plaster as well) so that this skeleton remains. The walls are so thick that one can easily walk over them and perhaps it was meant so as there were steps everywhere that lead to the top of the walls. Neither the fort in itself nor the views of the sea/village from the fort walls was interesting enough for the group to be here. So we went to see the Golden Island.

This island was not easily accessible. One would have to take some narrow paths that finally lead to the backwaters. The island was just a hop away on a dug-out canoe. The place was straight out of a picture post card from the tropics: it was filled with coconut trees that brought resplendent emerald green hue to the entire landscape. Right on the banks was a coir unit with women beating out the coir from the shells that have been soaked for 3 months.

Years ago, I worked with a group of women in a small village near Visakhapatnam to set up a small coir yarn making unit. Although they received good training thanks to a motivated trainer from the government, we could compete neither in quality nor in price against the golden yellow 2-ply coir yarn that came from Kerala. After seeing unit here making coir and another unit making yarn a little later, I have realised how could we have even thought of setting up a coir unit in Vizag of all places? While I was pacifying myself that history was full of such faux pas, RJ was taking snaps of people coming back from the Island after visiting the two temples there. There is nothing else on the island other than these two temples, which we forgot to mention to the group. They learnt the hard way (some of them wanted to have lunch there) that glorious sounding names mean nothing.

Some more pictures

Food Tour: The beginning...

2006-03-03T12:08:00.000+05:30

What started as a thought over a thali under a tamarind tree has culminated in a nice tour, which incidentally ended three days ago. The thought was that, considering the diversity of food in India, would few Europeans be interested in travelling around parts of South India sampling vegetarian food? The only way we could do that was to come up with a probable tour and spread the word around in Netherlands. The probable tour programme included some eating and some cooking of S.Indian food plus sightseeing. All these were wound around the core travel concept of Daari (a fair travel organisation of my friend): visiting some rural and non-touristy parts of the country. The tour was to start in Trivandrum and end in Chennai would wind around Kerala, TN and AP for 28 days.

For few months there were no takers. Just as we were about to pull the concept from the website, two showed interest and then one more and soon in a matter of few weeks we had about 13 people. I then had to make multiple field trips to finalise the schedule and most importantly hotels. While we had to book at least 6 months in advance by paying the entire amount in Kerala, hotels in TN and AP on the other hand were zapped when we wanted to book so early. One in AP even said call after Sankranti.

After few hitches, which included a cancelled booking in Kerala, we were all set to usher in the group in Trivandrum and take them directly to Varkala.

Varkala

Dusk over the cliff

Then disaster struck in form of my friend being ‘hit’ by a huge wave, while he was riding them. I cannot forget the image of him coming back from the sea with a bloodied face saying “I cannot feel anything”. I froze thinking, this cannot be real and my mind was going on an overdrive conjuring extremely bleak pictures of near future that only my mind is capable of. I said something like “Can you lift your hand over your head?” or some such silly thing. He slowly started to feel tingling sensation in his hand that in the next few days turned into such a nightmarish pain for him. The doctor confirmed a minor ‘whiplash’ and was prescribed some muscle relaxants and rest for few days. A short 5 min swim before breakfast has resulted in he having a horrid time for close to a week. This meant that I had to pick up the group at 3 AM and to aid me in this endeavour was a stupid placard saying “DAARI” (since I do not know anyone in the group). I guess being at an airport with a placard is the most ego-neutralising activities I did in a long, long time. Anyway, it was the easiest task to do once I managed to make myself put the placard up.

It is strange how defensive one can get about one’s own country. Although in my case it was more in thought than in speak. While bringing the group from the airport I was bit annoyed that the driver took a short cut to Varkala from the Airport instead of taking the new smooth highway. This road was through the industrial area and as is wont with any industrial estates in this country, it was filled with pot holes. I was more annoyed when the group members were ‘understandingly’ looking at each other each time we hit a pothole; and as they raised their eybrows to each other while inspecting the gaudy steel and velvet interiors of the mini bus.

I guess this experience was good because it made me think on how I was to present my country. Instead of taking a defensive approach, I decided to talk/show about as many sides of the country as possible and let the group think whatever they want to but then such things depend on the group members. Had some of the members been from an uppity lot, then I would have had a very difficult tour. Thankfully it was’nt! Anyway, after little over an hours ride we reached the hotel, where bruised RJ welcomed the group. After a short while, the group was told to meet in the evening for a welcome Onam-type Sadhya.

In Haarlem, last year...

2005-11-15T22:30:00.000+05:30

Here are some pictures from my last trip to Europe. The first set are from Haarlem, which incidentally was the first station to be constructed after Amsterdam Central. This railway connection enabled the rich to set up their homes in Harleem. Considering the high property taxes, many of these stately houses are now converted into office space with any alterations.

I hope that many of you may know that New York had its origins as New Amsterdam and the Dutch language lost by a single vote to be the official language of the new world.

Haarlem is about 15 minutes away in a non-stop train. It is a nice quaint place with nice streets and a lovely old church. It was around this church a friend (an aeronautical engg) tells me that the first plane ride ever took place in the Netherlands. It also housed the aeronautical engineering college until the Fokker company went bankrupt.

Since he lived there for five years and since I have never been there, both of us decided to visit it for a day. Considering the proximity to Amsterdam, we were there even before we could take off our coats, backpacks and get comfortable.

The station was nice. The only place where I have seen a Third class waiting room! The station master's room is all wood and there is a small plank for him to stand on and wave his flag.

Although there were no canals and no trade, some of the houses still looked like in the ones in Amsterdam: narrow and gabled.

Like in Amsterdam, there were many houses being repaired. Most of the houses close to the coast in the Netherlands are built on piles. The older ones have wooden piles and many of these need replacement. So lot of construction activity going on in and around the Church, which was the centre of the town. The view of the street was from my lunch table. A lunch consisting of a Bagel and a coffee in a old cobbled stoned street.

Wanted to write about Flensburg, a nice quaint city off Baltic Sea. Would keep that for the next blog installment.

Haarlem

The original one

The stationmaster's room

The Harlem church

One of the shopping streets

Entrance to an old age home

George Town Heritage walk (Madras day 2)

2005-09-19T11:36:00.000+05:30

The George Town heritage walk started opposite the High Court on NSC Bose Road. It took a while for K to find out where the road is on the Eicher Chennai Map book. It was her first major exercise in navigation. Since we were late entries who where let in because we promised to take our own car around, when I finally spotted the two mini buses I had mixed feelings. The crowd was small, which meant that we could sneak into the bus without taking our car but then was disapointed to see that only a handful of people are interested in Heritage: the same small crowd that can be seen at various heritage related functions. Maybe in future there will be a larger crowd and maybe in future I will enroll on time.

The High court turrents lit by morning sun

The walk started at prompt 6.30 AM by which time, about 24 people turned up. Considering that it was V.Sriram who was leading the walk, he mentioned up-front that there will be few stops that have Carnatic heritage in them.

A newly restored heritage building

The first stop was just around the corner on Armenian Street, the Armenian Church. This was built somewhere in the early part of the 18th Century when there were many rich Armenian merchants in Chennai. The current population of Armenians is a grand total of 1. We could not enter the church as it opens only at 9.30 AM

The Armenian Church complex

The Church entrance

We walked past the St.Mary co-cathedral as it is called now, past the large white-washed Binny's building to get to Gokale's Hall in Young Men Indian Association. This hall was an outcome of the friendship between Annie Besant and Sir C.P.Ramaswamy Iyer. Actually, Sir CP and AB were bitter adversaries for many years and were on the opposite sides on a legal case involving J.Krishnamurty. After the case was won by Sir CP, both of them became very good friends since both of them felt that the youth of the country was becoming decadent. In order to stem the decadence, both of them started YMIA to teach oratory skills and body building. Here is a link to some history of Gokhale Hall

The blue dome inside Gokhale Hall

After visiting the YMIA, we walked back to the main road to get onto the mini bus and go to a street called Bunder street just past the YMCA building. This was a extra narrow lane filled with many small enterprises. Not too far into the street was the house of one of the 'dubash' (people who mediated between the locals and the Europeans) Kovvuru Sundara Mudaliar. One of the important visitors to this house was Saint-Composer Tyagaraja. He was here for few days in a room overlooking the street before he left for Kovvur and Tirupati. At Kovvur he composed the Kovvur Pancharatna kirtana in praise of Lord Sunderesa. This room was later purchased by historian of Carnatic music, Prof. Sambamoorthy.

Room where Saint ComposerTyagaraja stayed (with blue windows)

An interesting building along the road

After visiting the Flower market area, we then entered the Sowcarpet area and into Govindappan Naicken street. Both the stops in this area were related to carnatic music. First was the place where Manali mansion once stood. This was built by the dubash Muthukrishna Mudaliar who after listening to Ramaswamy Diskshitar request him and his three sons to come and live with him in Manali and Madras. One of the three sons was Muthuswamy Dikshitar. The son of Muthukrishna Mudaliar, Venkatakrishna had several opportunities to listen the western music played the English Band at the Fort. He then made arrangement for the three boys to learn these new instruments. These boys were also given permission to write Sanskrit texts to the English Tunes. I don't remember which songs but Sriram sang the Carnatic songs that were composed to the music of God save the Queen. An important outcome of this interaction was that of the brothers learnt the Violin and soon afterwards, it was introduced into the Carnatic music stream. It is sad that nothing remains of the Manali Mansion. The last part of it, that was surviving until few months ago was knocked down and is currently a parking lot.

Streetscape 1

Streetscape 2

The house where Veena Dhanammal lived on Tambu Chetty Street was the second last stop on the walk. This lady, one of the greatest veena player lived here for her last phase of life. Her style, which was later on popularised by Brinda-Mukta has come to be known as Dhanammal Bani, could be said to be the only Gharana kind of school in Carnatic music. She gave a concert (attendance by-invitation only) at her home every friday for which people like G.Kasturi of Hindu, T.T.Krishnamachari, etc. frequently attended. Like every other heritage structure, this house has been purchased by one Mr.Jain for Rs. 27 Lakhs. He intends to knock it over and construct a new house. Sriram was surprised that the house was still intact as it was scheduled to be knocked over few days earlier. Since it may be his chance to be at the house, he decided to sit on the steps of the building while he narrated many stories related to Danammal and the house.

Tambu Chetty street

The house

The last stop on the walk was the Wall Tax road. British planned to construct a wall around the city of Madras so that octroi could be easily collected. However the project had to be stopped half way since the city was expanding too fast, it would have been futile to have a wall in the middle of the city. It was on this road that many theatres set up their shop. We tried to find if there were any remnants of these old theatres but we had no such luck.

We were taken back to the high court where we had a picture taken. I purchased a Namma Chennai T-shirt and headed back home. Both of us liked the walk very much and are looking forward to the Mylapore Festival in January where few more such walks will be conducted.

References:
Madras Rediscovered by S.Muthiah
Great Masters of Carnatic Music, by Indira Menon
Website of V.Sriram and Sanjay Subramanyan: Sangeetham

Madras Day celebrations (Part 1)

2005-08-30T08:02:00.000+05:30

While it may be inaccurate to commemorate the start of a city to a piece of paper that exchanged hands since there may have been some small settlement around this area but then one needs to start somewhere. It was on 22 August, 1639, East India Company purchased a small piece of land from the local Nayaks and started to build a fortified area which later became Fort St. George. To support the activities of the company, which were primarily textile and spice related exports, a bunch of handloom related workers from what is now coastal Andhra were asked to set up residence in what was later known as the "Black town" (as against the White town inside the fort). So the place grew and grew to be what it is now: a hot-humid-water-depleted city called Chennai.

The first (and only) talk that I could attend during this 'Madras day' week was on the 'Sabha culture of Chennai'. It was given by V.Sriram, the same person who wrote the book 'The Carnatic Summer'. The book elaborated on the lives of 20 great carnatic musicians of the past. The venue of the talk was Anokhi on Chamiers road. For some reason, I was under the impression that the talk was to be held at Amethyst and it was only in the last minute when a social call I made to someone did I realise that the talk was elsewhere.

For those who do not know, Anokhi is a chain of small boutique stores across the country as well as in few other coutries. Those who find themselves in Jaipur could visit their Hand printing museum . In Chennai, they have renovated an old house and the garden doubles up as a small restaurant. Just as we entered, we were told that the talk would be on the first floor. It was a small hall with about 30 chairs, all of them were taken already. The speaker was all set to start. However since few more people poured in, arrangements had to be made in the form of more chairs and a small dhurrie was placed in the front. Devika and Ranvir Shah of Prakriti Foundation promptly got up and sat on the dhurrie making two extra seats available to the latecomers.

The talk started with an introduction to the Madras Day by Vincent D'Souza who runs Mylapore Times, Adyar Times and Pondicherry Times. He is also involved with Namma Mylapore an organisation working towards heritage in Mylapore.

V.Sriram started his talk after Devika gave a brief introduction. The sabha culture in Chennai can be traced back to the second half of the 19th Century, thanks to the collapse of the Tanjavur court. Since most of the city's music lovers were in North Chennai, the concerts took place in small halls around that area. It was for the first time in 1890s that a fee was sought for the concert and it was promptly met with lot of opposition.

Considering the fact that most of the music lovers were lawyers and who predominantly lived in Mylapore regions, some of the sabhas started moving southwards and the most important outcome of this audience was that when few organisers wanted to have a festival, it had to be during the court holidays. The first few festivals were during the Easter. Later on, it was shifted to the Christmas holidays as it was longer. Hence, the December music season had nothing got to do with Dhanurmasam or Andal Thiruppavai.

The talk also touched on the political issues that shaped the sabha culture like the Telugu people spinning off from Music Academy to start their own festival, the Tamil Isai movement where Telugu and Sanskrit songs were prohibited from being sung, which lead to the start of another organisation (Tamil Isai Sangam) with a different festival. It was not the birth of these organisation that troubled people but the fact that all these organisations had festivals during the same time. Emminent eople like Kalki Krishnamurti (who supported the Tamil Isai movement) appealed to the various organisations that they should have festivals at different times since he felt that there will not be enough audience for every sabha but it had no effect. Organisation continued to spring up and all of them had their festival at the same time. Currently there exists over 70 organisation and all of them have their festival (over 2000 concerts) during the December/January months. There are any number of people who stream into Chennai from all over the world to take part in these festivals.

On the whole the talk was extremely interesting with Sriram interspersing his talk with intertesting anecdotes. The question answer session at the end was also very lively with the audience asking some in depth questions for which Sriram had to give few more anecdotes.

After the talk was over, the first thing I did was to run out to see if the car had any wheel locks as I parked on the side of the main road itself. Thankfully there werent any. To end this lovely evening, we had a nice dinner (but alas with small helpings) at a well-designed Mediterranean restaurant called 'Cedars' in Kotturpuram.

In the second part, I will talk about the Georgetown Heritage Walk that took place on Sunday morning.

Swahili tale contd...

2005-08-25T16:33:00.000+05:30

Here are Part 1 , Part 2 and Part 3 of the Travelogue
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Lamu is a kind of place where one just relaxed and did nothing but then surprisingly, even with such minimal activity, one does get hungry. Eager to start my day with yet another traditional breakfast, I was keen to wake up early in the morning and get to the eating joints just after the morning prayers. Although the muezzin’s call did wake me up, better senses prevailed and I just turned around continued sleeping.

I don’t exactly remember when we got up but then soon after hitting the streets, I had my first fill of passion fruit, even though it tasted funny thanks to the toothpaste flavour that was still in my mouth. Our first task of the day was to get hold of Kieron’s sister. We were sure they would still be sleeping by the time we got there, even after a slow breakfast.

It took a long time for the inhabitants of the Swahili house to come up to the door and open it for us. As expected, Kieron’s sister and her gang were still sleeping. Now that we touched base with them and since they would take a long while before they can come out into the streets, we wanted to go for a walk on the northern part of the island. On the sea facing side, there was a bank (lone bank in this place and it also dealt in foreign exchange) and on the street behind was a large mosque. This part of the town had more open area than the southern part; also there are fewer tourists staying here since the houses are mostly thatched.

By the time we got to the Hapa Hapa joint for lunch after a long languid walk, Kieron’s sister gang was already there. While I had ordered for the only veg 'item' on the menu: vegetables with coconut rice; Kieran wanted to eat a lobster. Since I never had anyone eating a lobster before me I had all kinds of thought running through me until that it was served. To eat this creature, I thought one has to break its shell with a small hammer and the insides sucked. At least it wasn’t so bad when it was served; the insides were scooped and made into a kind of curry and stuffed back into the lobster. So technically it was a stuffed lobster!! Kieron was disappointed with how it was served (since it costs a bomb) but I was happy that I did not have to go through someone break open a lobster and suck its meat right in front of me.

Later in the evening we hired a dhow once again to visit Shela, a small village about 8 Km away. Slighter upper end tourists hang out in this village. This place had few restaurants on the beach and had many beach boys playing football in the sand, showing all the skill they have and hoping some middle aged European tourist would call them for their services. The more successful ones were walking around in the sand (or sitting in a dhow) with a woman in their arms.. Kieron said that these women, mostly in their middle ages, are probably divorced and are happy with the kind of attention they get here.

Since there was nothing much to do in this place, after a beer we headed back to Lamu where Kieron bumps into a old friend of his from Mombassa. He was with a young Arab chap; who had a very clear reason for being in Lamu: to get a Muslim prostitute. His father was in the foreign services department and this chap had diplomatic immunity to do whatever pleases him. Later in the night, just after our dinner, a man came up to strike a deal with him. It seems a young Muslim widow was available but he cautioned the price she wanted was high. I guess nothing was too expensive for our lover-boy. He went into the darkness with this chap. I never met him again to listen to his story (I was hoping that this widow was a hoax that that he, after being taken into the darkness gets mugged), since at around 10 in the night we had someone at the door that a dhow would be going out for three days early next morning and that if we are interested we could be a part of this ‘dhow safari’.

The next morning we wake up early and get to the wharf. The dhow was to be manned by two young boys, one of whom introduced himself as the captain. In the dhow were three people: two young women and a young chap. All tourists. We shook hands, told them that we did not have time to prepare for this trip due to the short notice and hence we did not have any water. They had plenty and promised to share it with us. When Kieron asked where they were from, the chap instead wanted Kieron to guess. He guessed right about the chap but couldn’t place the girls. The chap was from Aawstraalia. The girls said they were from Canada. They met each other during their overland trip from Johannesburg to Nairobi. Meanwhile a little local chap came up to one of these girls, stretched out his hand and said “give me colour”. Little kids usually got some coloured pencils and crayons as gifts from tourists and this little fellow wanted his share. When he did not get ‘colour’ from his girl, he went away in anger saying “mzungu bitch!” (mzungu: foreigner). We couldn’t control our laughter. Soon after making a mock attempt to get the little fellow, who ran away to his mother; we sailed out of Lamu.

It was a lovely day to be out in the sea, the sun was not very hot. With the wind coming in from behind us, it did not take us long to get to the open sea. I think when one is on a dhow, with a gentle wind coming from behind; it is magical how one moves. The boat with a slight bobbing motion is propelled forward with just the sounds of water lapping around. They were many fishermen coming back in small boats with eyes painted on the front of the boat and they did not liked to be photographed (so said Kieron). Our captain stops one of the boats and takes a few fish in.

After a few hours, we hit a sand bank and everyone had to jump of the boat and had to push it into the sea once again. Although I barely knew how to swim, I was so happy to jump out and do my bit. It was such a lovely day with blue sky and blue sea and the last thing on my mind was fear. The water felt cool and we splashed around a bit before jumping back on the boat.

In the afternoon we stop at an island called Manda and have our lunch. The captain and his mate are now our cooks. While I had plain rice and a mango, the rest had fried fish to go with their rice. Later in the evening we go for a long walk in search of some civilisation and some tea. Surprisingly we got both, that too a ‘masala chai’. Although there are few inhabitants on this island, it seems some hundreds of years ago, three flourishing town existed on this island. Excavations have shown that extensive trade existed between this island and Iran. By the time we walked back to the group, it was quite dark and I was getting jumpy with every little noise in the bush. To add to my fears, the landscape was queer with silhouettes of 'upside down looking' boabab trees against the darkening sky. Before long we made it to the camp and after a yet another dinner of plain rice for me (with fish for rest), we hit the sack... thereby ending the first day of our dhow trip.

Yesterday: A long ramble

2005-08-07T15:46:00.000+05:30

*** Posting a blog written elsewhere long time ago***

Yesterday was quite fruitful. So fruitful that I went to sleep humming a tune. Not that something great happened; it was just akin to a day in one's childhood after winning a small prize at the school fete. Nothing much in the physical sense but a lot in the meta physical realms.

It started like any normal day. Or on second thoughts, it was different from the start. The maid turned up at 7 AM. First of all she actually turned up and then it was at a time we always wanted her to come. Now that am the lone guardian of the house as wife is spending some quiet moments at Ramana Ashram, had to quiz the maid regarding her irregular appearances. As I couldn’t catch a word of the rapid-fire Tamil response of hers, I scooted into the balcony to read the morning papers.

In the evening decided that I could combine a trip to the post office (a task that my wife has been sms-ing lest I forget) and a walk. I had to inform them about our change of address. Somewhere between St. John's church and R.A.Puram Post office I decided to take a long walk to Kapaleswara Temple. Started walking past the Mandavelli bus depot along R.K.Mutt road and at Mandavelli post office, which incidentally is celebrating its 100 year of service, turned right. The lane was nicer and had lesser traffic. Walked as far as a temple that sat at a bifurcation on the road. Took the left ford and turned left into Adam street. Promptly I was transported into another century. Atleast on and off. The houses were from another era when Chennapatnam was a fledgling town. People may have been surprised to see someone gawking over these ancient structures while swank (or atleast in comparison) ones were right next. There a lovely building that now housed a matriculation school, a small house with a large enamel board saying "XYZ Export quality agarbatti"... Few lawyers here and there.

This lane led me to the part of Kapileswara Tank in front of Vasanta Bhavan. As I reached the end, the smell of coffee (Leo and few others) and lovely sambar made me hungry. Instead of succumbing to my desires immediately, decided to walk around the temple, so I walked past Rasi where large shelters were being constructed for some puja in the coming days, and into Ambika Appalam Depot. At Ambika, purchased Vatalkozhambu mix, garlic powder and Hot Madras Onion pickle (777 Brand). Then purchased 8 delicious jackfruit fruitlets for Rs. 10. Delicious since I sampled the ware before the purchase. Walked onto the road that comes from Luz corner.

In the beginning of this street, few weeks ago I saw a tiny board that just said 'Cook and See' and in the next line Meenakshi ammal. I was excited since many years ago someone told me about this book that it is a veritable storehouse of south indian recipes. Bit of googling tells me that three volumes (originally called Samaithu par) written by this lady in the early sixties contain over thousand recipes. Since the place is always locked, I have to imagine that this amazing lady lived here.

Little ahead on this road is my coffee place: sarvana sweets. It is right behind the bus stop where scores of people stop by and savour the elixir. It was an accidental discovery. The coffee costs rs.3 and is worth every paisa of it and much more. The process of the exchange is a bit bureaucratic though. One has to purchase a computer printed coupon inside and then hand it over to a cool dude who has his radio plugged through earphones. I normally ask for extra strong and so I did. This time I even ventured to purchase a tiny buttered paper packet of savouries to go with my coffee. The pack, also costing Rs.3, had five tiny samosas. Each had a filling of less than a teaspoon. Imagine, a tiny tiffin break for rs. six!! no wonder the place is teeming with people. The coffee was great and so were the samosas.

While walking back, I stopped over at a puffed rice shop. They were roasting peanuts and the aroma was wafting all around. For some strange reason, even after sampling the warm peanuts, I decided to purchase poha. Poha made from red rice for breakfast. With a content look, I then walk back home. This got me thinking that I really need to take a heritage walk of Mylapore that has been recently started. As soon as I reach home, Wife called and had a long chat with her.

The good feeling was not coming to an end yet. Later in the night, Bilbo put up her amazing pictures of Japan, one of my dream destinations. Later on, Topkapi wrote an equally amazing blog about Istanbul!!! my other dream destination. So by the time I got to the bed, the good feeling totally got to my head and as a result, I was humming as I hit the pillow. Had someone else written about Greece or Morocco, I could have died peacefully in my sleep with a real content expression!!!

Cities in the mind

2005-08-06T18:05:00.000+05:30

When ever I enter a city for the first time, I tend to take in up as much as possible during the first few days when everything seems new and unfamiliar. In case I get to stay in that particular city for longer some of these images will start becoming more familiar. Thereby giving me an opportunity, when I have no better things to do, to juxtapose the image of what has now become a familiar site to that of my early images. By doing so I tend to get the same kind of avuncular feeling that is not too different from the feelings I have when I see a young relative whom I last remember was a tiny little fellow.

Few of the early such stored-images I have are that of Pune. I did not travel much before that. I was there for a short stopover in 1987 and was kind of enamoured by the range of stuff that was available – food and otherwise – on the station road. Coming from Vizag, which has nothing in front of the station, this road was far more exciting and we did not do much in the few hours that we had in that city other than hang near the station. Year later when I got to spend three and half years there, even though the station road was the worst road that there is in that city, I did stop to eat or to purchase something on that station road but that was only to revoke those first few memories I had of that place; especially, eating at Sri Krishna restaurant, one of the many below average joints that are found close to many stations.

Similarly when I went back to Flensburg, a small city on the Baltic Sea in Germany last year after many years I was kind of sad looking at the bus stop, which has in the mean time has become swankier. In 1995, when I first went to that city, which incidentally was my first trip abroad, the toughest part of the whole journey from my home in Visakhapatnam was getting to the university from this bus stop.

What had happened was that in the excitement of finally going abroad, I forgot the instruction leaflet that explained how to get to the university from Hamburg airport. (Actually I even forgot my original fellowship letter but that I came to know much after this incident.) It was only after I reached Hamburg that I realized I did not have the instruction sheet but years of such faux pas made me prepare for such situations. I went to the airport help desk and asked them directions to go to Flensburg. I had to hop skip and jump few buses and a train to finally get to Flensburg station. Getting to the bus stand from here was also easy since only one bus comes here. Then the trouble started.

On the station platform I met two other men who were also headed for the same course that I was attending. They were from Liberia and they did not have the instruction sheet as well. Atleast they were justified in leaving it behind: someone was to be at the airport to pick them up but they missed this person. Since they had the phone numbers, I tried to call the univ but the operator did not speak any English. The dept phone was not being picked up. At the bus-stop no one seems to know where the university was; neither the passengers nor the drivers. We where stranded there for two hours until one of the two Liberians opened his suitcase and took out the invitation letter from somewhere inside. I took this to one of the drivers who looked at it said “ah Pe Ha” then guided us to the correct bus, told that driver where we are supposed to go. It took another few hours of phone calls before someone from the department come over with the keys to our room. Unfortunately for the Liberians they had to go back to the place we started as they had rooms in another hostel. Years ago, it seems that this univ was a Teacher training school and the people in the city still call by its old name ‘Pedagogishe Hochshule’

Last year, we were booked in a hotel that has come up over an old newspaper office but was bang in front of this bus stop. I woke up early to find the rest of the crowd still sleeping, so I opened my window and spent time looking at the buses come by and go as those old images came flashing by. Wondering if Micheal and Marakka remember our first day in Germany as well?

I am waiting to go back to Kenya to look at the area that I frequented: Westlands, Ngara, Kilimani, River road … would certainly try to visit Lamu, Mombasa and Kisumu (on the banks of lake Victoria). I am not sure if that is possible but I can certainly go to Pune to see what has become of Main street, East street, Rastapeth, Kalyani nagar, Deccan area, Bund garden …to drink sugarcane juice in front of Blue Nile, eat at Poona Coffee House, Marz-o-Rin and Madhuban (near Bund Garden)… (I know Dorabjees (the departmental) store has been knocked over. Maybe the restaurant is still around)… pick up Shrewsbury not from Kayanis but from Royal Bakery at the end of MG Road and have a chat with the eccentric Parsi owner… and mostly to eat lovely Maharastrian food.

The trip route

2005-04-01T11:02:00.000+05:30

In this map the route is marked in pink. Not all places are on this map but atleast it would indicate the rough coordinates of the places visited.

nearing end of the travel (or atleast so it seems...)

2005-03-13T21:36:00.000+05:30

Need to finish this travel story real quickly. There are too many things that are close to completion but then the end seems no where in sight...

In the last leg of the tour, I would take you'll through, Pedanna, Machilipatnam, Kuchipudi, Ghantasala and Vijayawada. I would be very proud of myself if I can say all that I want to say about these places in one eloquent blog but then eloquence is bit beyond me right now. So would have to be bore and tell you'll everything.

After making a quick get away from Kaikalur, we were in no mood to stop and look. What was there to look in West Godavari (WG) anyway? While on the way, RJ was in pain due to his cramps and we did not engage in any small talk. I was looking forward to reaching Machilipatnam and so was he. The driver after few trial and errors found the right route to get there. We went past through Narsapur, Palakol, Amalapuram (perhaps) and onto Pedanna. Though we were supposed to visit this village the next day, since it pleasantly appeared on our radar we decided to stop and finish our work here.

Pedana is a town famous for Kalamkari. Actually block type Kalamkari. The other version is free hand Kalamkari, an art that is still thriving in Kalahasti. Unlike the block printing of Rajasthan, artisan here use natural colours. This was my first trip here. Unlike many craft villages, P is large and could almost be a town. However, it was not difficult for us to find out where the block maker we wanted to visit lived. He apparently is the only block maker in the village which made our job easy. Most of the large merchants in Pedana in the past had their blocks made in Gujarat. Our man is from Telangana and so is careful not to step on local merchants’ feet by starting his own block printing unit even though he was tempted. He mostly makes blocks and trains people in block making. As he was given the 'master craftsmen' award from the centre, the handicraft department supports training about 20 local youth in block making.

Youth being trained in block making

Block printing in progress

In the last 5-6 years there has been a great setback to the Kalamkari industry due to markets drying up but this year export orders have started picking up and the demand for blocks is going up. With this rather positive news, he shows us how blocks are made and also shows us the block that clinched him the award. It was an exquisitely carved piece that would print a paisley design. However, what caught my eye was a print on his wall that resembled an Escher mosaic. The work was not as intricate as an Escher but then the patterns were the same: various pictures that gel into one and another. The blocks for that print were sent to some client long ago but before he sent them, he printed them on a sheet of paper, framed it and put it up on his wall.

Anyway, in short he is doing well and would like to have more local youth joining him as he has large number of orders. To finish them he hired help from Rajasthan but then he says they pack up and leave the minute they feel homesick and hence the look out for the local youth.

One of the block maker from Rajasthan at work

Contended that something went well that afternoon, we set out to Machilipatnam. I have always wanted to go to this town as it is brimming with history. British, French and Dutch had their establishments here and for years, this town was one of the main ports on the East coast. I was expecting a lot of heritage buildings, narrow streets full of character, old restaurants but then I was disappointed on all fronts. This place was just like any small town. However, unlike the rest of small towns, the roads were very wide. Also, Machilipatnam is where Andhra Bank was founded but then founder branch was no great shakes. It seemed like any other branch only exception is that it has a statue of Pattabi Seetaramayya, the man who started it and a set of steps in iron grill right next to it.

There were hardly any decent hotels in this town to add to it we could not find any good restaurants close by. Instead of hunting for one, we decided to eat early at a tiffin joint not far away. While we were eating, one of the local chaps in the next table came up to RJ and said ‘I know some lines in your language’. RJ looked up and said, tell me... and this person rattled some lines that did seem like any European language. RJ asked him to repeat them. Still no idea what it was. So I asked him about what the lines meant. He said, these lines were in some Telugu novel he read many year ago which the protagonist says to a European woman meaning 'I want to kiss you' (or something in similar lines). He memorised the words and waited for a day when he could put them to use or at least surprise some European woman. Although I told him that I appreciated the effort he took to keep these lines in his memory for years, his friends however had a good laugh at his expense.

After dinner, we went for a walk along the main road to hunt for a cyber cafe. We were directed to one close to a cinema hall. It was place where one had to enter after removing one's footwear. There were many such places during the early days of cyber cafes but then the establishment of this venture likes to uphold traditional values. On our way back, we had a long chat with few local at a Tea centre to find out if there were any forts in the neighbourhood. We were told that there aren’t any in this town but there is one in a village not far away. We immediately decided to stop there the first thing in the morning.

Riverbanks and aqua ponds....

2005-02-22T14:23:00.000+05:30

After I managed to get hold of RJ and after he finished his photo session, we had breakfast in a small local ‘parlour’. While we ate, we tried to chart out a route on a not too precise tourist map. The map showed a line across Godavari next to Kotipalli Reevu. I have heard that it is a beautiful spot so wanted to head there.

After going past more green fields, we get to this small village Kotipalli with flashes of Godavari between houses. At the end of the village, a small road leads to a small ghat with steps leading to the river. On the left part of the Ghat was a large Banyan tree with a raised platform all around it that seated some men, animals and gods. The idols were smeared with turmeric and kunkum. A tiny path circling the banyan tree leads to a small jetty. From this jetty, a ferry transported people and vehicles on to the other bank. There was no bridge. So yet another mistake on the map. All around the Ghat were small shops selling assorted ware: from Telugu song books to batteries to 'cool drinks' to bakery products.

While we were looking around, the driver found out that the ferry could transport the car even. However, we were keen on finding a bridge across the river. The locals said that the only bridge close by is Yanam Bridge. We looked at the map and it showed no signs of this bridge. The bridge has apparently been renamed after the erstwhile Lok Sabha speaker Balayogi. (Yanam is a small town close to Kakinada, which is a part of the Union territory of Pondicherry).

Instead of taking the main route, we decided to take the road that ran alongside the river. The road was all along a raised bund that separated the land from the high flood levels of the river. Though the road very narrow and absolutely lousy, the scenes it provided us were fantastic: green paddy fields on our left and a lovely river on our right that was shimmering in almost mid day light, that was brought down to a manageable level by the tinted windows of the car. After a while when opportunity presented us a larger and smoother road that would take us to the bridge quicker, we took it. But not without stopping by and clicking few photos.

In no time, we crossed the river, went past some nice quaint places like Razole and normal dusty towns like Bhimavaram, Narsapur, etc. only to reach one of the most horrible places - Kaikalur - for lunch.

We entered West Godavari somewhere after Razole.There is marked differences between the two Godavari districts. While East Godavari is full of lush green paddy fields, West Godavari (or atleast the part that we were travelling through) is full of aqua ponds with nets hanging over them to protect the cash rich aqua products from being eaten by birds. It was depressing to see these rich fertile lands being converted into irreversible aqua ponds. These ponds are filled with brackish water to grow shrimp, prawns etc. In Vizag district, most of the aqua crop had a virus attack due to excessive farming. This outbreak not only ruined that particular crop but also the reputation of the whole industry. This lead to many companies going bankrupt or loosing lakhs of rupees. The farmers who leased out their lands to aqua companies cannot till the land anymore so, in certain parts of Vizag has large tracts of lands that are lying wasted.

Getting back to the West Godavari aqua farming, Kaikalur seemed to be the centre all the activity. It seems that Kolleru lake, the largest freshwater lake in AP has been encroached all around by aqua ponds, Kaikalur being the largest town in the vicinity seems to have taken this development in its stride. Just about every business is related to this aqua culture. So much so for the chapter in our school telugu book “Kolleti Kongalu” (literally it would mean cranes of Kolleru but it was basically on pelicans, which are in large number in this lake). We actually took this route in hope of finding a restaurant or a place overlooking the lake. Perhaps there is but we were in no mood to search.

To add to the woes (RJ had stomach cramps), I did not feel like eating at all the Veg-Non Veg joints but wanted to look for a pure Veg place. Don’t know why but just did not feel like being a part of the system around. Normally, I tend not to be too emotional about things but then in Kaikalur, the discomfort of travel and my thought may played up on my mind and I refused to eat at any other place. We had to travel up and down the main road at least two times, before we did manage to find a small thatch roofed joint serving Veg Andhra meals. RJ decided to skip a meal.

After the meal both RJ and I were happily to get out of this depressing town and be as far away from Kaikalur as possible.

Some pics here

of a temple (the road trip contd...)

2005-02-16T18:11:00.000+05:30

Considering that we were to travel from Kakinada to Machilipatnam in one day with an intention of covering as many interesting places in between as possible, we wanted to start early and have breakfast somewhere along the road. The fact that I've never travelled beyond Kakinada into the Konaseema (Godavari delta) region and the realisation that I would finally be seeing the towns that have always seemed to roll nicely off my tongue: Amalapuram, Ravvulapalem, Bhimavaram, etc. has certainly excited me.

East Godavari is a magical place with lush green paddy fields, more or less blue watered canals and to top it all the people have a lovely sing song way of speaking Telugu. I could just stay there and keep listening to people talk in EG. The wonderful feeling of mine was further enhanced with the mist still hanging over the fields. It was nice cool way to start this tour of magical mystery.

Even before I could finish sighing, which is more of an indicator of my long sigh than short distance, we reached Draksharamam, a Shiva temple. The temple had a small entrance that leads to a very large square complex. All around the main temple was a wide raised path that was Cuddapah stone topped. Instead of going into the temple, we decided to walk around the complex first.

When we reached the other side of the temple, as some puja to an open air deity was completed and the priests were giving everyone theertham and bananas to all those who attended it. As there were few more bananas left, we were called out. After being blessed on accepting the prasadam, we walked back to the front.

I then noticed that some restoration work was being done with the help of Archeological Society of India (as the large board said). I further noticed that most of the workers were Muslims perhaps from UP who were happily chatting in chaste Hindi/Urdu as they chipped the edges of the stone slabs, which would later be placed just around the plinth of the main temple. Perhaps to stop seepage of rain water along the temple foundation. RJ and I had to stop our romantic chat about this inter-religious interaction as we came to a large banyan tree with a circular platform around it. All around the platform there were idols that had entwined snakes carved on them. People were walking around the platform, hands folded and in silent reverence.

From this platform, a path on the right leads to the main temple in the centre. When we entered, what we thought was the main temple was infact another square complex. The temple was in the middle of this smaller complex. The complex had a pillared hall that ran all around the temple, where few puja were being done and few more were in the process of being initiated.

One part of the hall had another floor to it with an iron ramp that leads to another level of the main temple. I realised main temple has two levels and the ramp connects the first floor of the hall to the first floor of the temple.

The main deity was a tall lingam, which could have been a part of a Buddhist monastery. I have a feeling that many Buddhist stupas in this area could have been converted into Hindu temples. Amaravati and Annavaram are two temples that I visited which had Buddhist activity around and have tall structures that are said to be Shiva lingams, with a lovely story as to why this Lingam is taller than the usual ones. So, Draksharamam could also be one such entity. Before I get flamed, I would have to say that this is my theory or rather my hunch and has no academic support to it.

Of food, looms and boats.

2005-01-26T22:02:00.000+05:30

I am always interested in finding out nice small places to eat, where ever I am. I usually ask the local people while drinking tea at a tiny roadside joint or when I am travelling in an auto or even when I make a call from the local STD booth. Even if I don't eat at this place, this piece of info could be of use at some other point to time. More often than not, I am never disappointed with the recos. Few years ago, I stumbled upon Raja Rajeswari Palghat Mess opposite the Pithapuram railway station. The local auto driver recommended this place, said it is run by Palghat Iyers who came to P few decades ago and that it is a nice place to eat. So both of us decided to have our lunch there, as I hired the auto for the whole day.

This was a place in a typical 'shopping complex' that are becoming popular in many small towns. They are a series of shops mostly running parallel to the main street of that place and the main gutter. At times, the shopping complex could also be perpendicular to the main street in which case the shops are on either side of a long corridor with the entrance being on the main street. Usually, there are two wheelers both motorised and non-motorised parked haphazardly in front of these complexes. Of the two I like those running parallel to the main street, it has more light coming in; although there would be more dust. The other kind of shopping complex are dingy and damp. Well, dust can build up immune system.

Coming back to our RRPM, it is a two floored venture in a 'parallel' kind of shopping complex. On the ground floor was the 'tiffin' section. The first floor was the 'meals' section. The kitchen was on the ground floor just after the steps. Around the payment counter was a large display that contained various ' hot and sweet specialities'. Both the driver and I went straight to the first floor. The meal was served on a plantain leaf and was ok. It has the usual dal, one fried curry, one masala curry, ..... but then the lime pickle was great. So, while paying the bill, I asked if they sold pickle. They did and I purchased 5 quarter kilo packs that I wanted to distribute among my cousins. That did not happen as my mother who rarely eats pickle wanted all of them and I gave them to her. Though I have tried to get back to this place over the next few months of my data collection, there was never an opportunity to do so.

Considering this past, I was looking forward to be at RRPM once again. This time, the plantain leaf was no long there but a green plastised paper cut into a leaf form was put in front of us. I did not like it but RJ liked this very much; he said it would make nice dinner plates back home if he had to serve Indian food. So the first thing on my menu was the pickle. I asked the waiter to bring sample of as many pickles as he can. Considering that they were being sold at Rs. 50 per kg, for 120 Rs. I had a wide variety of quarter kilos by the time we left.

We went to three hotels in Kakinada before deciding on Jaya International. The place was small and functional and was extremely well run. RJ decided to look for cyber cafe to send a mail to his wife and I wanted to catch up on some sleep that has eluded me through the Sankranti period. At 4 we start towards Uppada.

Uppada, as I mentioned earlier is a weaving village that is right next to the sea and so has a sizeable fishermen population. The handloom cluster of Uppada consists of only four or five villages. For years, these sarees were known in north Andhra as cheap but good ones. However, few years ago, the Weavers Service Centre in Vijayawada decided to teach these weavers how to weave Jamdani. This is a special weave due to which both the side of the saree look the same. There is no right side. The processes requiring three people is painstakingly slow and for some reasons this cluster quickly adopted this new weaving technique and some local weavers have started producing saree that are well into the Rs. 15,000 to 25,000 ranges with pure gold zari. However, one can find good Jamdani sarees for around 3000. Due to this new technique the whole cluster is prospering.

The road to Uppada from Kakinada is all along the sea and is very picturesque. As we approach Uppada, we have to travel past the many boats that are anchored close to the shore and few that are on the beach.

Here in Uppada, we had a long chat with the local entrepreneur who is into handloom business. He showed some of his new Jamdani products which he gets made in Venkatagiri near Tirupati as the labour is cheaper there. The weavers in Uppada have formed a union due to which they can negotiate increases in wages when necessary and this has prompted some people like KVR to start some contract weaving operation in Venkatagiri.

The production process in the cluster has been stopped due to the festival and would commence after 26th, said KVR. Otherwise, one would have to walk past meters of warp being sized in the street and the whole area would be filled with the thuds of wooden shuttle hitting the sides of the wooden loom as the sarees are being made.

Here are some more pics

The road trip contd....

2005-01-22T01:08:00.000+05:30

As we travelled to 'Koppaka, as the locals call Etikoppaka, some the chicken that were to make the day's delicacies were being plucked and roasted on fires made from hay in the fields along the road. This road would take us to Narsipatnam but to go to Koppaka, we had to turn right to go to Daarapudi village. As I was not sure where exactly to turn right, we stopped some where along the road to ask direction. Though I have travelled many times to Koppaka but normally we take another route. As we had to eat at Adda Road, we had to give that route amiss.

This village being the location of a cooperative sugar factory, soon we started encountering bullock carts loaded with sugar cane. On large roads these are fine but when one is on a narrow road with a long line of carts, it could be a test of ones patience. Luckily for us even in the tiny village lanes we did not encounter any carts. Koppaka is on the other side of the river Sarada (I think). As we were heading towards the low bridge that connects the two high banks, RJ asked why these two villages have always remained extremely dusty. For some reason these two villages have remained dusty through the years. Thick layer of extremely fine dust is always on and by the side of the road. Initially I thought the villagers must be cursing us for travelling in a car. Years ago it may be true that the inhabitants may have said nasty things at the occasional vehicles that raised the dust but with the amount of traffic growing, I am sure they must have stopped thinking about it and must have resigned themselves to this feature of nature.

When we reached CVRaju house we were told that he is with his in-laws in Vijayanagaram. However, the centre (as the craft shop is referred by the family) would be open. By few trials and errors we reach the centre. It was not yet open. A young woman who made lovely breakfast for RJ and me last year was waiting for the gumasta (clerk) to come and open the door. The day’s newspapers were by the side of the door on the steps. I sat down to read the paper, as RJ decided to go for a short walk. The woman went to bring the clerk.

The clerk came but RJ did not. I went in to see the stock of new toys and to enquire if the telephone was not working. I tried to reach them before we left Vizag but the automated voice said the phone was out of order. The phone was working just that I was trying an old number. As I was talking to the gumasta about their recent exhibitions and about how a part of the centre collapsed, RJ came in. Soon he was making the gumasta run around with new toys and was making notes in his books so that he could decide on how many products he could order. I sat on the floor next to the toys and continued to read the newspaper.

I guess a word must have been sent to Raju's partner as he turned up saying nice hellos to both of us. Normally I would enquire about his political activities as he was he local Telugu Desam party office bearer. But since they received a drubbing in the last election, I decided to enquire about the collapsed roof. This centre was made many years ago with the help of potters from Nalgonda. The roof was made using Guna tiles. These are hollow tapering cylinders of burnt terracotta. These are then stacked one on top of another until they form a complete semicircle. Once the semi circle is formed the support underneath is taken off, and the next layer is made next to this one. By placing one layer next to another, the whole roof could be covered. To fill in the gaps between these layers, cement mortar is used until the top surface is even all over. This is one of the many alternative building technologies that are available. In the case of the part of the roof that collapsed, the analysis was that it was due to non existence of a concrete beam underneath the guna tiled structure to stabilise the forces that are acting to push the wall away. Few months ago, thankfully during the night, the wall could not take the load from the roof and gave way. No one was hurt.

Just as RJ was almost through with his ordering, I remembered that I should rather buy these products here than in Chennai, where they would be two to three times the price. Also, perhaps, I could send a basket full of toy to my two little nieces in Vizag with the driver of the taxi since he seems very nice and his office was in the lane next to my parent’s house. But then I asked him after I purchased the products, thankfully he said yes without much fuss. Also, while purchasing, I remembered that I have not taken any photos. So asked one of the helpers to go and purchase batteries for the ones I had were exhausted during the rampant photo sessions at the Bhogi festival two days earlier.

After I finished the purchases and photographing the products we set off to Kakinada. Actually we wanted to go to Uppada, a small weaving cluster that made Jamdani and butta (or butti) sarees, and then to Kakinda but considering the fact that we would reach around 1 PM, we decided to eat lunch at Pithapuram and then go to Kakinda, check into a hotel and later in the afternoon around 4 set out to Uppada.

few pics at the other blog site

The road trip (Part 1)

2005-01-20T15:05:00.000+05:30

Last week I went on a three day trip from Visakhapatnam to Vijayawada. The deal was to visit some interesting places between these two cities so that they could be a part of tour that a friend of mine - RJ was planning to organise in Jan 2007. He made a short trip last year along this area but this time he wanted to do a bit more research about the hotels to stay and eat along the way. Tentatively the plan was to stay one night in Kakinada and another in Machilipatnam and use the days to visit nearby town and villages. We decided to start at 6 in the morning on 16th and eat breakfast somewhere after Ellamanchili.

The day started off well, we managed to leave by 6.30, even though I slept for few hours the previous night (my extended family was in sankranti revelry mode that mainly constituted of playing three cards and visiting a 24 hour coffee shop of a local hotel into the wee hours of the morning). The new highway was smooth and empty, in no time we reached the steel plant zone where we took the "Anakapalle and Ellamanchilli" by-pass. Over the years, a detour through the steel plant has been the favourite route for many non commercial travellers considering the fact that heavy duty lorries avoided this route as it involved paying toll twice.

The area beyond the steel plant was completely god forsaken until NTPC decided to set up a thermal power unit. Even as recent as 1997, the land rates here were about Rs.30, 000 an acre. NTPC gave a compensation of 1.2 lakhs an acre without the guarantee of a job in the unit (while acquiring land for steel plant the govt gave local rates but also gave a job per family) ever since then, fuelled by the previous government's mode of sanctioning large tracts of land for various industrial zones, the land rates are touching the roof (Rs. 25 lakhs an acre for a road side plot and the price tapers down proportional to the distance from the road) and are showing no signs of abating. Imagine how financially brilliant I am, when in 1997, I purchased a motor bike for Rs. 45,000 (my savings in Germany) even as some people were trying to sell me a piece of land in this zone for 25K an acre.

Anyway, getting back to the road trip, the first intended stop was Etikopakka, the wooden toy village. In this village for over hundred years, craftsmen have been producing lacquered finished wooden products that were sold mostly at fairs and temple in the local region. Some of you may have heard the term lakka pidatalu, little wooden kitchen set that is still very popular in spite of the plastic variations available in the market. However, due to difficulties in production due to the hindrance of the forest department as the wood was a forest produce and due to difficulties in making the products, the whole industry was on the verge of disappearing. It was due to some NGOs in the vicinity that the industry was revived. Once certain critical mass of trained craftsmen were available, few of the local persons got involved in the trade and have started making some wonderful products using natural colours. (pics posted in this blog)

I thought there should be some decent places to eat on the highway after Ellamanchili but then the day was being celebrated as mu-kanumu (which incidentally was the previous day but since it was a Saturday, a day when most of the north andhrites restrain from eating meat) and most of the local markets like Paravada, Achutapuram, which normally are vegetable markets, were filled with chicken and mutton sellers. None of the shops or eating places were open. However, I was sure that some places near Adda Road (an intersection on NH 5 that connected the tribal areas on Eastern Ghats behind Narsipatnam and the coastal areas beyond S.Rayavaram) but that was not the case, most of the shops were closed and the meat sellers were having a field day. Adda Road is a settlement that developed only along the junction, so by going left... u-turn... left... u-turn... left... u-turn and left one would complete the trip of the settlement and reach the starting point. We found a small place with a typical aluminum idli vessel on a smoke-less chula (a coal fired stove with a smoke chimney) but the idlis weren’t done as yet. While the driver and I went to relive ourselves 'around the corner' (which in real terms did not exist in this place), RJ plonked himself on the wooden bench inside the 'hotel'. By the time I came back, RJ had a plate of three steaming idli's in front of him. In no time, the place was filled with people either eating or taking a 'parcel'. With our hunger satiated, we headed to Etikopakka.

actually wanted to end the first part after Etikoppaka but considering that it would be part of the next blog, I decided to put up two pictures as a bait to read my next part :)

wooden products

wooden products 2

swahili experiences...

2005-01-07T04:55:00.000+05:30

Now that we were on land again, that too without getting wet, we decided to celebrate by getting something to eat at the best shack in front of the sea. It was while the food was being prepared, which took a long time as no one was in a hurry, I said we should plan a bit on what we should be doing; more importantly on where we should be staying. However, the first thing Kieron wanted to do was to find his sister.

His sister and her friend were with their two African boyfriends. Who, in true Hindi filmi style became their b.f. after they 'saved' these girls from certain pestering creatures in the lanes of Old Mombassa. However, normally it would have been easy to stalk out two white girls with their local boyfriends as everyone would have been talking about them, but then Lamu is another place.

Somehow, the hippies of the seventies (or was it the sixties?) 'found' Lamu. I say somehow as it beats me how on earth did they get to this piece of island in Indian Ocean, close to Somalia border, of all the places in the world. So since the time Lamu and the islands around it have been 'found', the locals have seen many 'romances' that end up nowhere. Well in these case its the means that matter not the ends. I am not saying that person A should fall in love with someone of his or her own ilk but then one can easily see that these romances, considering the discrepancies between the two parties, have rather short lives. Which in many cases is mutually beneficial. Few days later I met an artist who lovingly showed me a picture of his daughter living in Sweden. His ex, he said, sends the daughter once in a while to Lamu. He went to Sweden once, the lady paid.

Anyway getting back to the story, our meal took a long time to come and longer time to finish. If this meal was the sign of things to come, I could see that it is going to be one unhurried holiday. After we stepped out, Kieron caught hold of couple of 'beach boys' who can give assistance for many 'tourist activities' that are offered here. He soon found out where his sister was staying and that they went out on a dhow to someplace to swim. Instead of waiting for them to find out if they had a room for us, we decided to look for one ourselves.

Lamu, has one long sea facing road, which is the only road where a vehicle could move. The rest of the town is lost in a flurry of small lanes. After the first row of sea facing buildings which include a bank and a museum, is the next widest lane. On this lane one could find many interesting buildings including few mosques and a small fort.

Right after the small square in front of the fort was a small movie hall which to my surprise was playing an Amitabh movie. Even more surprising was that it was a all woman show. Until then I never realised the potential of Bollywood to transcend the barriers of language and culture. After all it is just not us who like our hero to float with his lady love like a butterfly and sting a few baddies like a bee. Would have like to see a movie in this theater but considering the fact that a Sanjay Dutt movie was to be shown next, I decided against it.

With no difficulty, we found a room in one of the houses close to the fort. This was a large room on the first floor of a Swahili house with two separate four post beds on which mosquito nets were hanging. Two small windows overlook the street and into the house on the opposite side. After having a wash in a open roof bathroom with a tin door, we set out again.

While walking on the sea front, Kieron stopped once in a while to greet and catch up with old friends. We also wanted to 'charter' a dhow the next day for a swim at one of the nice beach of an island close by. Lamu does not have a beach, the island ends and the sea begins, with lot of concrete blocks to stop the soil erosion.

Next day, it was my first trip on a dhow. Dhow is a traditional sail boat with two or more sails. It is wonderful to be on one of these with wind coming from behind and the boat effortless sailing over the water, without the sound of a motor. Just the swoosh of the water being cut by the stern of the boat. It is worth the experience. However, life on dhows is not always poetic. If the wind is too strong, it may tilt the boat dangerously. I have never seen it but Kieron tells me that to counter balance the force from the wind, a helper is literally made to 'walk the plank' and sit at the edge. However the boat I was in did tilt about 10- 20 degrees but not too dangerously. By the time we headed back, it was late in the evening and the dusk was falling and it was good to be sailing smoothly into the Lamu, with the lights turning on as we approached.

It was on this trip that we were told that some chaps organise a three day island hopping trip on a dhow with food included for the price. After Kieron translated that, I told him I was on. However, instead of we having the whole dhow to ourselves, we wanted to share it with some others.

After reaching Lamu, we went in search of a place to eat. When I was told that I could eat coconut rice with vegetable curry, little did I realise that this was all that I could get to eat on this island. The rest was sea food. Each time I asked is there anything veg, I would be replied "can I give some coconut rice with vegetable curry?" in a tone that kind of got to me after few days.

Thus our fist day at Lamu came to an end. Though we did nothing, we were unbelievably tired.
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Chaps I thought it would be three part series. It is already the third part and still someway to go. So, I have a request. Folks could you tell me which of the parts could have been culled to make it an interesting read?

Chronicles of a spanish village as 'voices of the old sea'

2005-01-01T15:42:00.000+05:30

In one of my earlier rambles, long time ago, I made some empty promises to review this book. Nonetheless, like a true person of modern times, I broke the promise and went on to start writing another series of blog. Which, incidentally, is yet to reach its final stop. Anyway, in a attempt to straighten up the matters, here is my first try to start the review process. I say review process since, before I start, I would like to take you'll on a slight detour as to how I got hold of this book. It is quite likely that this detour itself would fill up a blog by itself.
*(coming back from future, i can say: it did)*

This book was recommended to me by Robert, when I told him what kind of travel books I was looking for. R had a book stall at the weekly second hand book market at Spui (said Spow) in Amsterdam. Spui is a tiny square just off the main shopping street (Kalvestraat) of Amsterdam. Incidentally, this street few centuries ago was one of the first commodity market of the world, in addition to doubling up as the red light area once darkness fell. Years later, the authorities moved it around 'nieumarkt' area, where it still located. The red light area I mean. I have no idea where the current stock market is but then who wants to know that piece of information.

I was told by everyone, before I visited Spuii, that the second hand market has only Dutch books and old maps. To justify my trip to spui on a friday afternoon, I told everyone in the dept that I wanted to get myself an old Dutch map of S.India. Well, that was infact true since I wanted to get hold of an old map where Bhimipatnam and Mausilipatnam are in larger and in bolder letters than their neighbouring cities Visakhapatnam and Vijayawada.

However a tiny hitch was that I did not know the exact way to Spui, though I did know it is somewhere close to the famous Indonesian restaurant "Kantijl and de Tijger" and Amsterdam Historical museum. I was also sure I will reach there by few trials and errors. One doesnt get lost in Amsterdam, if you know roughly which direction your destination is from your starting point. I would have loved to talk of the cycle route from my room to spui, on which I traversed many a time after this trip, but I will leave that for another blog. So getting back, I did make it to Spuii and to the book market.

I started with the first stall on my left and then zig-zagged my way through the market. To say that all books in the market are dutch is not true. Each stall had a small row of books in various foreign languages, mostly European. Some put them in the front, others put them at the back and some other put them on one side. So, after few stalls, I started looking for a row of books that were away from the rest and nothing else. By this time, I also stopped looking for maps as the first few shops mostly had European cities and towns; the ones of S.Asia were British and by then 'Vizagapatnam' and 'Bezawada' were already prominant. Also, it was too painfull to flip through the large pile of maps, packed inside plastic covers.

In the second last stall on the right hand side, I noticed all books were in English. This made me look out for the owner: he was sitting on a long stool in front of the shop with a book in his hand as people were milling around him, looking up once in a while to take stock of the people in his shop, with a hand-rolled cigarette in his mouth.

To say that I spent a long time in his shop would be misleading. I spent so much time looking at the books that when I went to pay for some books I picked up,
he said "so, you have seen them all?".
"Yes, I replied but I could not get my hands onto any travel books", I said.
"oh, what kind of travel books? guides?"
"no, i am interesting in travelogues but I couldnt find any here", i replied
"travelogues?, i have many at my regular shop" and went on to dig a business card from his pocket.
that was when he said "I am Robert and this is my shop", while giving me his card.
I looked into it, it said "Timbuctoo Antiquarian Books: Travel, History, Literature"
and as I was reading it he said, "now that you have told me, I will bring some next week"
"that would be nice", i replied.

I could not go to Spui for about 15 days. Next time when I went, I went straight to R's stall. He had some travel books. though not as many as he brought the previous weeks he told me. As I was looking the collection, he comes over and started asking me about the travel books I read and authors I know. Then he started picking up some books and said, "I would recommend these". As I started to look at the books, he explained about each of them. I kept some and put some back. Among the ones I kept is this book: 'Voices of the Old Sea'.

The author, Norman Lewis lived for some time in a Spanish village on the coast right after the war. He indulges in the same activities as the men in that area did- all related to fishing- in ways that have not changed for centuries. He then goes back for two successive summers to participate in the 'sardine catches'.

Next time he visits it, 25 years later, he experience a drastically changed topography. There is only tourism industry and the place was certainly not the Spain he knew. The moneyed from northern Europe seem to have completely destroyed the old life style and now, things are all "tourist centered".

He then sits down to write a chronicle of the three summers he spent in that village. The name of the book comes from a coversation he had with an old fisherman. He asked the fisherman on how the 'recent' changes were likely to affect his future. for which the fisherman replied: "how can anyone say? One thing is certain. here we have always been, and here, whatever happens, we shall remain, listening to the voices of the old sea"

In what seemingly seems to be my behaviour on DSS - write blog in parts that are spaced out from one an another - I will put up the actual review in the next part.

Meanwhile, here are two pictures of Spui

spui

Lamu (part 2)

2004-12-07T20:16:00.000+05:30

Here's The first part

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We reached Makowe, the final stop on main land, late in the afternoon. From here a ferry would take us to the Lamu island. The island is not very far- at the most about 3 kms into the sea - but the town of Lamu is on one side of the island and it is a 6 km ferry ride. Since the buses came in a convoy, the ferry had to make multiple trips to transfer the crowd to Lamu. So that fewer trips could be made, more passengers than what was safe, were taken inside the boat.

Kieron and I thought it is best to be at the edge of the ferry since one can jump out easily lest the ferry sinks. So we pushed ouselves closer to the edge, where a wooden bench ran all along the ferry. I could get a place to sit but Kieron couldnt. He, however, found a pole to lean on. In a short while the whole ferry was filled with people. Most of the women were wearing brightly coloured kangas and kikois . K and K are batik printed fabric that women wear. These are usually sold in pairs: one for wearing and the other to carry a baby on the back. Kangas have a swahili proverb printed on it and is usually made up of a thinner fabric. As Lamu is predominanty Islamic, few women were also wearing Bui Bui (Burkha). Some of the people in the ferry were of african/arab descent, indicative of the rich trading past these areas had with Arabia.

Once the ferry was deemed full, loud shouts were exchanged between various 'crew' on board and on the land. Ropes were thrown into the ferry and slowly the it edged into the water with the engine groaning to break the inertia. My eyes then fell on a wooden box in the middle of the ferry; I presumed this to be a cover for a part of the motor, so that either the hot or the moving parts would not get into contact with the commuters. However, hone by thousands of years of survival instincts, my brain quickly replaced these thoughts by thoughts of my swimming capability. Alarmingly, I realised that after the boat travels for about 15 meters, the shore is certainly out of my swimming reach and so quickly tried to recall the back float lesson, that would enable me to float till help arrives.

With my mind completely filled with harrowing thoughts of drowning, I did not notice the scenery around until i could see the 'skyline' of the town of Lamu. As the image of the town started getting larger, Kieron and I gave a sigh of relief and understanding glances that kind of indicated, we made it! Just as our understanding glances were giving way to understanding smiles, the wooden box that was to protect the commuters from getting burnt, started to emanate smoke. I guess, it must have taken a long time for it to get to this stage but no one noticed until thick smoke started to come from it. With some quick shouts, the engine was quickly shut off and the box was taken out and the fire was douced. However, the then engine refused to start again. Just refused. All this happened when the ferry was within 200 meters to the jetty. The island is a bit rectangular in shape and the town is along one of the smaller sides of it. So for the last 100 meters or so, we were moving parallel to the edge of the town and island. All along the edge were cement cubes that was used to protect the edge from getting eroded into the sea. Just after the cement cubes was the main lane of the town.

The main lane was now filling up with people. I saw a small bunch of chaps pointing out to people in the boat, saying something and giving each other friendly slaps. I thought they must be wagering bets as to who would make it to the shore and who wouldnt after the ferry sinks. After a short while attempts to start the engine were given up and with some loud shouts, help was sought to tug us to the jetty. These shouts yielded help in form of a small motorised boat that brought us to the land.

The jetty was filled with beach boys 'hunting' for the tourists. Since Kieron spoke swahili and since most people in Kenya assumed I was a resident, we werent troubled too much.

The beach front of the town had some shacks which I assumed to be hanging spots for the tourists and many quaint swahili houses with large carved wooden doors. The number of donkeys on the streets is too large to be normal. Later on I came to know that Lamu has only three motorised vehicles. So the alternate means of transport to walking are either cycles or donkeys (as our old school books say: beasts of burden). Itseems that Lamu even has a home for the aged donkeys.

The first spot we went to was Hotel Hapa Hapa: an open fronted shack that had plastic chairs and tables. We went in, plonked ourselves in the chairs on the same side of the table to see the sea as we sipped our juices....

[more about the charming town of Lamu in the next part]

In the land of "hakuna matata"

2004-11-04T21:32:00.000+05:30

With the talk of the sea few days ago, I was reminded of my lone trip on the sea. I made a three day dhow trip visiting few islands around Lamu. Lamu is a small island off the Kenyan coast close to Somali border. Before I start with the blog, some admin issues: I would do this writing in part. The first part will be about getting to Lamu, the second one will be about Lamu itself and the third one will be about the sea trip. (so long way off before you could get to my sea story). Atleast that's the plan as things stand now. (Anyway, before you start reading let me warn you, this first part is long, real long. Now that it has turned out like this, I will shorten the other two)

I was in Nairobi researching for my Masters thesis and for a while, I was not distracted by the touristy attraction all around. I had too many things to do. Doing research on a shoe string budget in a foreign county with the institute that was to play the host going bankrupt was not easy. This non touristy nature was also due to other reasons. First, I did not have the money to go on a safari (the cheapest was US$ 80 a night and this was “peel your own potatoes and make your own bed” kind of deal and the most expensive was US 250/hour of safari-ing on a hot air balloon; included within this price was a glass of champagne after the ‘tiring’ ride over animals). I also felt guilty going ga-ga over wild life there when I did not visit a single national park in India. Alternatively, I could have had a good time visiting nice urban watering holes but I too scared to move around in the night on the streets of Nairobi. However, this non tourist status existed until I met Kieron.

I was at one of the seminars being conducted by ILO on the 'informal sector'. Informal sector, is a single term that represents all the tiny manufacturing and servicing activities that one mostly get to see in the slum in urban areas all over lesser developed countries. I did not know of this ‘informal sector’ studies until I went to Kenya. Anyway, Kieron is from the Royal College of Design in London and is Irish (so did not tower over me). Since the attendance to the seminar was less than what ILO expected which in turn meant that the budget was in excess of the expenses. The bloke who was in charge of this meet, an Englishman, was a sport and allowed the booze to flow. This gave opportunity for many of us to interact with one and another. Since I was on a 'passion fruit juice' trip then, I was ordering fresh juice. I could buy booze anywhere but sipping fresh fruit juice in a star hotel is something I cannot afford. Another reason why I did not drinking was that I did not want to display my poor alcohol holding capacity especially on a near empty stomach. In hindsight this was a good decision for those professional could really drink.

It was in this seminar that I met Kieron, he was experimenting on cheap communication systems to disseminate innovative designs to metal workers. We got talking and then he was shocked that I was in Nairobi for over 5 weeks and have never been anyplace except to the Indian restaurant close to River Road, YMCA close to Uhuru park, and to the Iskon temple in Ngara (where free desi food was given every sunday including ghee filled sweet dish).

So few days later he was at my workplace in Westlands. Ngara and Westlands are filled with Indians. Westland with the ultra-rich and Ngara with middle-class (I was staying as a paying guest in Ngara). He had a small piki-piki (motor cycle) this meant that I could visit many interesting places around the city. (It was in one interesting place that a woman friend of Kieron had asked me out. Actually he only time in my entire existence until now, a woman asked me if we could meet. Heck I was married. So for a moment I was sad for myself. Actually for a long moment)

Since Christmas was not far away, Kieron asked me if I wanted to go out of Nairobi. I sure was. He said we could go to Lamu. Lamu is a small island close to Somalia. It was between Lamu, Mombasa and Zanzibar that the Swahili culture was born. Since I could not afford the airticket, Kieron said that we could take the night bus to Mombasa, spend a few hours, take another bus to Malindi and stop for that night. Next day we could take another bus that will take us to the point from where the ferry would take us to Lamu. However, there have been some cases of Somali gun men stopping the buses to Lamu and looting them but these days, the buses move in a convoy and each one would carry a gunman. As it sounded exciting, I was all game for it.

I did not remember much of the night bus to Mombasa except that we stopped somewhere to eat and drink some tea. We arrived in Mombasa at dawn and many men were returning from the mosque. Kieron was all excited since at this time of the day, around the local cafes, one can find old women selling spicy chick peas with coconut and can be eaten with a ‘cripy puri like bread’. This, he said, is very special and is only available at this time of the day. It was something not too different from our chat but then it was different and very nice. Perhaps it is the time and place that made the significant difference to the taste. So we had this kenyan variation of puri-channa for breakfast. and soon headed for Malindi. Mombasa has fort Jesus built by Portuguese, a nice old harbour and some lovely bazaars but we decided to do a bit of sight seeing on our way back.

Malindi, Kieron told me was the hide-out for the mafia. So in middle of know where, one can find huge hotels, bars and other such interesting places where the mafia would like to cool their heels. (Folks, Mombasa also featured in the movie 'Company'. Maybe Malindi-Mombasa is the area where goons from all over the world sip booze in coconuts and put up their feet for a while). Malinidi is also the place from where Vasco da gama was given a guide, who then helped him navigate to India. First thing we did after reaching Malindi was to shower and crash. We were too tired. Woke up hungry in the afternoon to the calls of the meuzzin. We then went out into the town to eat. I remember Malindi to be a hot and dusty place. We found a nice cool place near the market next to the bus stop. ‘Found’ because I was looking for a place that served passion fruit juice.

We went back and slept until the evening. Then went around looked some trinket shops and went to the beach where a memorial for Vasco da Gama was built. For dinner we went to this huge Indian restaurant where we two were the only customers. Maybe the actual ‘customers’ arrive latter in the night. The owners were out in the front porch and did not even say hello to me. They sure must be in cahoots with the Mafioso.

Next morning took our bus that took us to Lamu as we ate brightly coloured (with carcinogenic colour for sure) boabad seeds and gaped at the alien landscape with Baobab tree that looked as if they are growing upside down and twin headed palm tree and fields of sharp sisal hemp.

End of part I

A Random rant on myself, my travels and some travelogues

2004-10-27T13:41:00.000+05:30

I have always been interested in travel. Travel not to get into (or get some) kodak moments but to look around, meet people, understand how the life on the other side of the mountain organises itself and expand my horizons of wonder. I did not own a camera or click a single snap in the first four countries I visited. One of these four includes Switzerland. I have three photos in Zurich and two photos in St.Gallen, for they were group photos. Then I thought that was macho but now I realise that was stupid. So, these days, I do indulge in Kodak moments and enjoy taking pictures. Digital life is so easy. However I have only two pictures of myself here in Amsterdam! Not macho but too shy to ask people to take my picture. What will I do with pictures of myself, a not-so-tall (how can I call myself short?), grey-haired, double-chinned man with a tiny potbelly!

Though not bestowed with a head turning charima or jaw droping intelligence, I have, however been fortunate with my travels thus far. Fortunate because I have been to 14 countries with a minimum stay of a day and a maximum stay of 27 months, not counting the day spent at a illegal immigrant's detention centre in Rome Airport for entering the country without a transit visa. Fortunate because I did not pay for most of this travel. Fortunate because I neighter had a high flying job or a software job that makes it more or less mandatory to travel overseas these days. Fortunate because I did most of this travel while still pursuing my academics. Now you would understand why I am still on the student side of the univ, while I am about to complete 36 years of existence!!! Now you know why my bank balance is still not even a lakh of rupees even after having 9 years of work experience!! Heck I am more or less happy and thats what counts though I have to confess I am trifle sad with my bank balance.

My urge to travel, of late, has been increasing and so is my craving to fill myself up with the experiences of other travellers. Since I dont have much time to travel, I am indulging on the latter. In the last six months I have purchased 33 travelogues. I have read four thus far. Havent been able to complete four others (two Paul Theroux's, one Somerset Maugham and one Eric Newby). The rest is for the near future.

I have not been able to finish Paul Theroux coz I find him to be too obnoxious, condesending and gloomy (SSM, you may disagree but I will tell you why in one of my subsequents blogs). Eric newby since it is at the bottom of the pile (also because it is about his trip through USSR on a trans siberian train and he got permission to get out only at few stops en route. So how exciting can the trip be? Although he has done a good job). Maugham coz I want to savour every sentence he writes. Until I get my hands onto another account of his trips, I will continue to read a few lines of his book describing his travels (mostly over rivers) from Rangoon to Haipong through Bangkok, Phnom Phen and Saigon. Maugham, like R.K.Narayan constructs simple sentences, does not use very difficult words but manage to convey deep meanings. Boy, I will never ever tire of these two authors. As Narayan writes, there are two kinds of authors: those whome you can read and those whom you cannot. Authors I cannot read are Arundati Roy (her language was too flowery), Robert Prisig (sorry Asuph, he is too heavy for me)

Coming back to the four travelogues that I read, these are John Steinbeck's Travel with Charlie (actually re-read), Shiva Naipaul's North of South, Norman Lewis's Voices of the Old Sea and Redmond O'Hanlon's In Touble Again.

Steinbeck's book is a classic. Look at the start! I am going to keying in every single word of it since I just love the start. Many of you may have read this book but I will still key in the start. It is worth reading it again. :)
When I was very young and the urge to be someplace else was on me. I was assured by mature people that maturity would cure this itch. When years described me as mature, the remedy prescribed was middle age. In middle age I was assured that greater age would calm my fever and now that I am fifty-eight perhaps senility will do the job. Nothing has worked. Four hoarse blasts of a ship's whistle still raise the hair on my neck and set my feet to tapping. The sound of a jet, an engine warming up, even the clopping of shod hooves on pavement brings on the ancient shudder, the dry mouth and vacant eye, the hot palms and the churn of stomach high up under the rib cage. In other words, I don't improve; in further words, once a bum always a bum. I fear the disease is incurable. I set this matter down not to instruct others but to inform myself
With this kind of a start the book can only get better and it does. He was already famous by the time he made this trip across America on a custom made truck that carried a cabin like small house. Though many people adviced against the trip that he would be recognised, he says that over 10,000 miles through 34 states he was not recognised even once. Since his "old french gentleman poodle" named Charlie was his sole companion through the journey, hence the name of the book. The book is never boring, never funny and never thrilling. It is a contemplative narration of an extremly thoughtful man in extremely simple language. Those tiny few of you who have not read this book, I would certainly recommend it.

I have already reviewed Shiva Naipaul's North of South

The rest of the two books am going to review in my next blog. A proper review not a random rant.

Public squares in Amsterdam

2004-10-26T14:27:00.000+05:30

it is exciting to be in a land so far from home. however, running through the heart as a tiny stream is the loneliness of being away from home. sometime this tiny stream can become a bit too much to handle. however, such times are few and far between.
i like being around people. where ever i am. i do like to visit parks and other beautiful places but then it is quite rare. i would like to sit in a square with people walking all around me. i seek solace in the fact that there is humanity around and it never lets me down.

for instance the best place to sit and watch humanity go by is the dam square in amsterdam. it is one of the most important landmarks in the city centre. with nice buildings around it. there are tourists milling around all the time.

amsterdam centre is for the tourists. americans in great number. followed by japanese and then there are some from rest of the world. american, perhaps, come more to smoke legal joints. and in between the joints go out to see the museums. including the privately run sex museum.

coming back to the dam square, there are always some event taking place. sometimes there is music being played. another time a juggler was having a great show. yet another time there was a stage with some jazz music being played and on the stage were three young girls shaking their legs while singing the chorus. i quite like the youngest, barely in her teens, trying to swing. few weeks ago there was a huge religious book sale. representative of religious organisations of all kinds were selling thier books. the time when i pass by, the largest stall was the one selling satya sai baba's teaching. iskon also had a stall but nothing compared to one representing prashati nilayam. iskon, may have realised that religion, like fashion, moves in fads. perhaps iskon, feels that like fashion which is cyclic, their time may come again.

the only place to sit at the square is around the war memorial or on the steps of the palace. both are not the best places to be. there are always some wild and boisterous american youth group around the memorial. the steps of the palace is littered with food and drink packs. usually, some shaky hands spill large quantities of sticky drink that renders large part of the step unsuitable to sit. i should perhaps take my own chair and watch the people mill by.

last weekend, i woke up early and went to sit in another square called 'spui' (said spow). this is nice small place that has various kinds of markets. on friday it is second hand books, on sunday it is art. though there are lot of cafes around spui, it is quite noisy with trams going up and down. however, on the singel that runs perpendicular to spui and parallel to the canal, there are many nice cafes. i have been one called just '404', indicating the house number. it is a nice cafe that sells fruityogurt drinks. one can also find some german beers like warsteiner here. it is a nice small place and is quite frequented by the students of university of amsterdam.

two other popular squares are rembrantsplein and leidseplein. these two are completely filled with tourists right up to the brim. naturally, cafes here are all expensive. i never sat at any of the cafes here. though i do purchase icecream from 'australian' and watch some artist paint psychedelic painting that are snapped up by eager americans. perhaps to kind of help them remember the state their were mostly in, when they are back home.

around nieuw markt, where the red light area is, there are many cheap cafes. as one comes out of the metro one enters the Waag area. this is a small tower from where people were hanged, years ago. it was a place where freight from ships were weighed. some of the cafe here nice and also sells draught belguim beer: lefe, duvel, palm, etc. because of the prices and the area, it is frequented by students.

i still havent been to the jordaan area as yet. but then my stay in amsterdam hasnt come to an end yet.

Review of the book "North of South"

2004-10-25T16:40:00.000+05:30

I started to write a review of Shiva Naipaul's book this morning. First I have never written about a book that I have read. Second, the realisation that I should be writing my thesis chapters instead of blogs, was blocking my line of thoughts. So a unhealthy mix of these two reason made me decide that I should list out some books by few author and write a short reviews about them. Here goes my first one...

Shiva Naipaul was the younger brother of V.S.Naipaul. He was 16 year younger but died when he was 40.

The book North of South, is about his travel in Kenya, Tanzania and Zambia. Like any travel writer, he wrote of his experiences. However, unlike a normal travelogue , he filtered his experiences into two different sociological themes. One theme is the relationship between the Africans, Europeans and Asians. The other is about the experiences of common people.

At the time when SN was travelling, it was few years of independence for each of these countries. Each of them was in turn being subjected to the pet ideas of their leaders. Kenya was being subjected to Harambee (self help) concept of Jomo Kenyatta and Tanzania was being subjected to paternal socialism concept of Julius Nyerere. So, SN wanted to find out what the commers thought and felt about these ideas.

He also wanted to find out why the Africans hated Asians? Especially, when they did not harm Africans like Europeans did. They just ran shops and businesses. Whereas Europeans exploited the Africans in every possible manner but no African hates them (then). SN wanted to know why it was so.

While analysing these two themes, he does not use sociological/anthropological jargon. He does not analyse like an academician at all. Instead, he goes about like a normal person who wanted to find out why certain things are the way they are but unlike a normal person he uses simple words to explain the situation as well his answers very well.

In short this is a book that will interest readers interested in Africa/how commeners experience the pet concepts of their leaders/Indian diaspora.

I quite liked this book. In addition to the content, I also liked it for other reasons: it brought me back memories of my experiences in Kenya; it answered some of the questions that I had while I was experiences the country.

Some of his other books are Fireflies and Chipchip Gatherers. Where he wove stories among the Indian diaspora in Trinidad.

Historical fiction

2004-10-25T16:38:00.000+05:30

These are some of the books that I have read. Instead of reviewing the books myself, I give links to reviews or to the publisher's sites.

Kiran Nagarkar wrote a book called Cuckold. The book is set in 16th century Mewar, Rajasthan. Meera Bai's unrelenting vow to remain celibate in her marriage as she considered only Lord Krishna as her lover/husband, is the core part of the book. The 'Cuckold' refers to the actual husband of Meera Bai. However, the book is also about the power struggle within the Mewar family and with the muslim rulers of Delhi. Here is a link to a Review of it

A book originally in Gujarati but translated into English called Master of Gujarat by K.K.Munshi. I quite liked this book. I purchased it without knowing that it is a classic in Gujarati. My friend later told me of this fact. The original one is called 'Gujarat no nath' (or something like that). Publisher's Link

Sunil Gangopadhaya wrote two books that are set in 19th century Calcutta. The first book starts after the first war of independence and is woven around people like Ishwar Chandra Vidyasagar, Micheal Madhusudan Dutt, etc. The second one has people from Rabindra Nath Tagore's family, Ramakrishna Paramhansa, Vivekananda, etc. The first one is called Those Days and second one is called First Light. I read the book First Light and quite liked it. These two books capture the golden age of Calcutta. Publisher's Link

Chikkaveera Rajendra is a book written by Masti Venkatesha Iyengar. This book is set in early 19th century Kodagu (Coorg). Rajendra was the last king whose power was taken over by the British in 1834. Review

Girl with a pearl earring etc.

2004-10-25T16:03:00.000+05:30

It was after reading Girl with a Pearl Earring, that my interest in Vermeer was rekindled. Many years ago, at Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam, I purchased a poster of the 'Little Street'. Somehow, the picture was so real that it almost seemed like a photograph. I was also attracted to LS due to that common architecture of Europe it depicts.

In LS, Vermeer depicts two houses, each shown partially. Running between these two houses and onto the street and perhaps into the canal, is a tiny drain. The two building, one of which is larger than the other, has a small passage between them. In the passage there is a woman bending over a broom. At the entrance of the next building sits a woman doing needle work. On the street in front of these two house and between these two houses sits a woman/child playing with another one, who is underneath a platform. In the painting, the facades of few buildings behind these houses can be seen. All the buildings are made out of exposed brick and hence are red in colour. However, the lower parts of the first two buildings are painted white, until the height a man could reach. The top edges of the white wash are irregular perhaps because one had to be on the toe to reach out to this height. Between these buildings is the typical dutch sky - patches of blue between white clouds. One gets to see these kinds of buildings at many common places in Europe, especially in the low income areas. The gables of the houses, tapering in steps instead of a straight line. This poster of LS has been languishing as a roll in some corner of our home. In the light of my new Vermeer interest, I should perhaps do something about it. Here is a picture of LS

Girl with a pearl earring , as a book was quite fascinating. The author Tracy Chevaliers took perhaps the most simple of Vermeers painting and wove, between facts of Vermeers life, a lovely story around it. Perhaps it is the most intriguing of all his painting that survived. Which incidentally are only 35 plus a recent find. When I saw the painting it was not at all that impressive. There were hardly any details on it. Actually, I peered hard to see that lock of hair which the author have given quite some significance to. In the book, the girl due to difficulties at home, is working as a maid in Vermeers house. Unlike his wife, she is extremely fascinated by his 'ways of seeing' and has a feel for the way Vermeer depicts his subjects. There is an attraction and respect between these two souls. V gives the task of mixing colour to her. A task that he has never entrusted anyone with. Soon, he wants to paint her with a large pearl earring of his wife. Without the wife's knowledge. All along the girl has her hair covered in white cloth but for this painting, he gives her some coloured cloth. As she was trying these head covers, he bursts into her corner of living to see her hair. The book says that, he then paints a tiny lock sticking out from the the blue and yellow headgear. So I peered hard at the painting to look for that lock of hair. Couldnt find it. I went very close to the painting only to have the security around me!

The other significant aspect of this painting is the pout. The book says that the girl has been asked to look over her left shoulder and part her lips. Kind of indicating her latent feeling of giving a 'wanting look' at the artist.
However, the electronic museum guide that was given free of charge tells me, that this 'girl' is a fictional character. No such person existed. It was quite frequent for artisits in those days to paints objects of interests from the mind without having any living models in the front of them. I even knew the french term for it, only for a second though. The book I think captures lot more from the painting than the actual painting itself.

What facinated me more was Vermeer's depiction of Delfts, called 'The View of Delfts' . In the museum, this paintin hangs right in the front of GwPE. Vermeer lived in Delfts. In days before Vermeer, Rotterdam was actually called Delft's Haven - harbour of Delfts. For many years, Delfts was the capital city of this area. The actual painting is much more interesting that what one sees in pictures. This painting depticts the view of the city as he sits from the other side of the river. In the foreground are few people and a boat. Because of the distance from the city, the sky forms a large part of the painting. The city is shown with the Rotterdam gate on the right side of the painting. One can also see the canals going into the city from the river. What is facsinating is that right over the front part of the depicted city is a cloud that block the sunlight. However, the city shown behind is still lit by the sun. So when on stands in front of the painting though the front part is well depicted with details, it is the well lit hinterground, devoid of any details that strikes the eye.

It is at times like this, in front of interesting paintings, that I wish I studied art history. I did not know such a faculty existed until I came to Europe in my mid twenties. Art history, in a way, also deals with sociology, architecture, psychology, and other aspects of human lifes that sensitive eys froze for us to feel and relive what they saw in their minds-eye. Sure, the reality is moulded into a figment of imagination by the artist. That, I think is the interesting part. Weaving a story around the forces that made the artist depict the reality in a way he see it. For me, no one seem to have done it as well as Tracy Chevaliars in her book. She took a tiny painting, which in fact was not even a reality and wove a good story around it. It certainly is a nice way of getting introduced to art. Those who have not read it and those who are interested in the seventeeth century life or art, should read it. I wonder how the movie was?