Inside the Blue Mosque

It is still early evening when I head to the blue mosque, at the heart of the Sultanahmet area in Istanbul. Despite the quickly fading sunlight, Sultanahmet is bustling and crowded as always, with tourists and touts, crafty shop-owners and wary shoppers. I ignore all the calls and offers of the locals and join the other tourists ambling towards the gates of the mosque, stopping to take photographs ever so often.

Called the Sultanahmet mosque after its patron, the mosque was completed in 1616 and features six towering minarets instead of the customary four (more history here). The mosque gets its more common name from the blue tiles adorning the walls, though from ground level, where I end up sitting, every inch of the walls and ceiling seems filled with a variety of brilliant colours and it is difficult to spot the blues.

I remove my shoes near the entrance, though I am allowed to carry them inside the mosque in plastic covers. I am a little intimidated, both by its size and grandeur and by the fact that this is the first time I am stepping into a mosque and I do not know what to expect. However, I soon feel at ease. Despite its imposing appearance, the interiors of the blue mosque are warm and welcoming. I sit on the carpet in one corner and watch those who are in prayer and meditation.

Mild winter sunlight filters in through the high windows, reflecting the hues of the stained glass. The chandeliers hang low, emitting a mellow light that adds to the feeling of warmth and intimacy inside the closed space.

There is a sense of stillness and peace around the place; for a while, I keep my camera aside and just observe. Suddenly, I feel a tug at my sleeve and turn around startled. The little girl smiles at me brightly and tries to climb on to my lap. Her mother walks out of the women’s enclosure where she has been sitting in silent prayer to take the tot back with her.

And that is how I spot the enclosure. Groups of women are reading their prayers quietly, their children playing or sleeping on the low narrow window sills. One of a trio of older women beckons to me and points to my camera. Her friends are appalled and interested in turns; as I click, they dissolve into subdued laughter. It is getting dark outside – it is early winter – and I walk away, their farewell smiles following me all the way to the exit.

And half an hour later, I stand looking out of the window of the Aya Sofya just across the street – and the domes and minarets of the Blue Mosque peep out at me, the silhouetted exteriors as interesting and inviting as the people inside.

United colours of Hampi

Back from Hampi – tired, tanned and happy! I will work on a more detailed post soon, but for now, soak in the colour and character of Hampi market.

And the doors and windows!

Have a nice week! Come back soon for the faces of Hampi.

Off to Hampi!

I am off to Hampi for a photography workshop conducted by the getoffurass guys. I’ve been to Hampi before and knew I wanted to go back. And not just because of this ‘from the heart’ message!

For now: More photographs from Hampi – and ‘My heart is in Hampi‘ from long ago.

No frills, only food

I do not often do food pieces, but there are some places which just have to be written about. Crystal is one such – unassuming facade, with excellent food. Here is a short feature on Crystal that appeared in The India Tube: No frills food.

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Atmosphere – that is the word that describes Crystal. The tiny place is thick with that elusive quality called atmosphere, not to be confused with that other word often used to describe restaurants – ambiance.

If Crystal had a cool ad agency to create a positioning statement for them, it would surely be “No frills, only food”. And you would be surprised how many people in Mumbai buy into that statement.

It is not about cheap food – although that mattered a lot in the days when I first got introduced to Crystal. It is about good food. Make that very good food. And the ecosystem around it is just as interesting and inviting – the coconut vendor on one side of the entrance with his cooling, healthy non-alcoholic aperitif and the paanwala on the other (is there anything to beat the joy of a postprandial paan?)

Crystal is one of the few places I have known in Mumbai where it is possible to get light and fluffy phulkas in place of the chewy maida dripping-with-oil-passed-off-as-butter naan. And it is the only place where I have known a waiter to snatch a roti midway between your greedy hand and hungry mouth – you look up with a glare and he says – yeh thanda ho gaya hai – yeh le lo, garam hai (that has gone cold – take this hot one instead).

Crystal is also where old friends of the owner drop in just to chat with him as he sits behind the old-fashioned counter near the steps, and waiters know their regular customers by food preference and perhaps even name.

The exteriors and interiors of the restaurant do nothing to inspire confidence in the newbie. But I have been eating there since the time I first moved to Mumbai over twelve years ago. And I love everything about the place, even the things that would make me recoil in horror elsewhere – the white plastic chairs, the crumbling walls, high ceiling fans, corner sink; they are all part of that ‘atmosphere’.

And adding to it is the background score – old Hindi film music, K.L. Saigal and Hemant Kumar always keeping you soulful company as you make your way through the food.

Favorites from the menu are aloo jeera, baingan bharta, paneer bhurji, yellow dal, phulkas. And then there is the kheer, an absolute must for those with a sweet tooth (and even for those without), served in quaint steel cups; the perfect way to end the meal. You’ll probably end up paying a grand sum in the region of a hundred and fifty rupees for all that.

So, the next time you are in need of comfort food with the feel of home, head to Crystal. It is right next to Wilson College on Girgaum Chowpatty.

A story in dance

I recently watched a Kathakali recital at the Chembur Fine Arts Society in Mumbai. The performance that evening was based on the story of the wicked king Jarasandha who is supposed to have lived in the time of the Mahabharata. Over a two hour period, the performers enacted a piece called Jarasandha Vadam (the conquest of Jarasandha) which traced the life and ultimate death of the evil king at the hands of the Pandava Bhima, aided by his cunning friend, Krishna.

Kathakali means a story (katha) told in the form of a play (kali). A mix of classical and folk dance forms, Kathakali is originally from the Malabar region of Kerala and goes back to the seventeenth century. Everything in Kathakali is exaggerated and larger-than-life – the music, the make up and the gestures – and the desired effect is sheer drama.

Kathakali as it was originally performed had no formal stage; it was performed typically in temple courtyards, under the open sky. In contemporary performances, though there is usually a well-defined stage (except in case of traditional settings in villages), performers are still allowed only limited means of expression – as defined by the norms of the art. Therefore the music, mostly percussion, is loud and lively, adding to the dramatic feel. The orchestra includes the chenda and maddalam (variants of drums) along with two male singers and a person with the cymbals.

The songs are based on a heavy dose of Sanskrit, combined with local Malayalam. In Kathakali, there is almost no speech except for occasional sounds (vaachika) – laughter, grunts and roars – by the key characters. Therefore, the abhinaya (emotion) through the eyes and mudra (gestures) with hands and feet are as vital to the story-telling as the costume, and as embellished.

And even before all this, is the make-up, which starts three to four hours prior to the recital. Make-up in Kathakali is elaborate and indicative of the tone of the performance. Paints and oils, canvas and cloth, silk and cotton… it is a process that is as intensive and time-consuming to go through as it is fascinating to watch. Colour plays a significant symbolic role in indicating personality types and characters. Green and white signify the purer and softer emotions (Saatvik) of goodness and spirituality respectively. Red is a strong colour as everywhere else and denotes aggression (Rajasik) while black stands for evil (Tamasik). The other prominent colour in Kathakali is yellow, which combines good and bad, the qualities of Saatvik and Rajasik. For instance, in the performance I watched, Jarasandha, the villain of the story had a red beard, clearly signifying an evil, demonic personality.

The traditional Kathakali repertoire is said to contain 101 stories from mythology. Performances typically begin late in the night and tend to go on for many hours, with the involvement of the audience kept up through the long night with dramatic story-telling devices. Part of the training involves special massages to impart flexibility to the body. Additionally, Kathakali exponents undergo several years of rigorous instruction in Kalaripayattu, a local martial arts form, to gain the grace and stamina that this dance requires. Perhaps for these reasons, all characters including female parts are always played by men.

Nowadays, the demand is for shorter performances which end in a couple of hours. Fortunately, unlike a lot of other traditional performing arts, Kathakali is alive and flourishing, thanks to the efforts of organizations like Kalamandalam and individual crusaders. I guess a story well told always attracts an interested audience.

A Quick Tip: Kerala Kalamandalam, the academy of performing arts founded in 1930, is based in Thrissur, just 110 km away from Cochin and is an excellent place to watch performances and the preceding elaborate make-up ritual.

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This piece on Kathakali was published recently in The India Tube. Check it out here.

…and popcorn at 17000 feet

Continued from: Breakfast at 14000 feet…

And so duly momoed, Maggied and acclimatized, we begin the second part of the drive towards Gurudongmar lake. Just in case we imagine that the rest of this drive is going to be as easy as it has been so far, our driver warns us to brace ourselves for what is ahead.

Buckled up and bundled up, we are off. The roads vanish rapidly, we are mostly hurtling along on a graveled and pebbled path and in an hour’s time reach the world’s highest cafe at 15000 feet. Managed by the army (and they are extremely proud of this), the cafe has tea and coffee and serves as another break point on this journey.

This stop is brief and our driver is eager to get on. Gurudongmar lake is open for visitors only till around noon, since after that the winds make it impossible to stay on. Stones fly, say locals, and I am not eager to witness that. And so we set off again, the roads getting progressively worse. There are no signboards, no indicators to show where we are headed; our driver plows ahead on what seems like pure instinct. The landscape is stark and stunning, the snow-capped mountains – the Kangchengyao range – seem within touching distance. range. Most of this part of the drive is in monochrome, a dry brown with a few spots of snow visible in the distance. The driver is impatient at the various photo stops I make; wait till you see the lake, he says, you will forget all this.

17000 feet is seriously disorienting. Before we step out the jeep, our driver gives us detailed instructions; breathe easy, take small slow steps, sit down and relax as much as you can. We head first to the small temple managed by the army where the jawans serve us cups of hot tea. And then we walk, er, totter unsteadily, towards the lake. “I am walking somewhere, but my feet are going somewhere else”, I hear a young woman say loudly in Tamil. Indeed. My feet seem to have a life of their own, whereas my brain seems to have switched off temporarily. I even giggle suddenly, at periodic intervals but my husband is too preoccupied – with his own disorientation – to comment on it.

The lake itself is reached by walking down a steep 50 odd steps and one look at it, we turn even paler than we are. So, we decide to take it easy and sit down by the steps, watching the lake and the few tourists who brave the biting winds and buzzing ears to make the descent to the lake.

Like the other Sikkim lakes, Gurudongmar (named after Guru Padmasambhava) is held sacred by locals; indeed, it is the most revered of them all. The lake remains frozen for most of the year but at this time of the year, the waters are a clear, sparkling blue. Prayer flags flutter in the wind, like everywhere else in Sikkim. The wind starts to get bitter, cutting through the layers of protective clothing we are ensconced in. Despite the discomfort, we are loathe to leave so early but it is getting to time for the stones to start flying and we reluctantly head back towards Lachen, and then on back to Gangtok.

And oh, the popcorn motif? We have been advised to carry it with us, as a cure for altitude sickness; keep chewing on popcorn and nothing will happen, we have been told. And for good measure, our travel agent has thrown in a bunch of branded, packaged, sealed popcorn. Well, a few kilometers before Gurudongmar, a loud noise – thankfully not my ears but the bags of popcorn that start bursting under the high pressure – and pop go the popcorn, one after another masala’d pack. And the contents of the one remaining pack that we dutifully chew on, I regret to say, only add to the feeling of acute nausea and discomfort on our way back; so much for home-grown remedies.

Breakfast at 14000 feet

4.30 a.m. and it is bright outside our tiny hotel room in Lachen. At just less than 9000 feet, Lachen feels pleasant; my teeth are already chattering but I choose to ignore that and focus instead on the dozens of families already up and about, children shouting to get on to their jeeps first. You see, I am mentally preparing myself for the long drive ahead to Gurudongmar Lake where I fully expect to freeze.

Anyway, heavily layered and clutching bags of popcorn (to combat altitude sickness, according to locals), we set off, bright and early. Gurudongmar Lake is just over 60 km from Lachen, a journey that is expected to take over four hours on mostly non-existent roads.

Warm clothes and inners? check. Popcorn bags? check. ipod and camera? check. Mental fortitude? er, um, check.

The first half of this drive is easy; we stop at Thangu Village around 7 a.m. for a rest and breakfast. Thangu, at 14000 feet is a new dot on the Sikkim map, having appeared suddenly after tourism towards Gurudongmar Lake opened up in the last few years. Thangu is a small hamlet with a few homes that serve as food stops and basic night halts for the more adventurous type of traveler. A halt at Thangu, midway to the lake is essential to allow acclimatization before carrying on.

So at Thangu at 7 in the morning, we get out of our jeeps, stretch our achy limbs and step into this tiny room. The householders have been at work for a while already; fresh steaming momos appear in front of us, Maggi is work in progress while cup after cup of tea is served.

And we sit there in that room in the middle of nowhere, sunlight steaming in through the single window straight on to our faces, adding to the warmth of the hot tea cups in our hands. And we tuck in to momos and Maggi, feeling complacently sorry for those in the package tours who have only warm bread and jam included in their breakfast. I don’t know if it is the cold outside or our own hunger, but this is easily one of the of the best breakfasts I have ever had.

Momos and Maggi at 7 a.m. at 14000 feet.

The building we have stopped at has a small shop facing the street, selling perhaps everything a traveler in that part of the world may need, while the top floor has bathrooms and a couple of rooms to let out. There is a small hillock of empty beer bottles just outside this room, left there by tourists and the army folk, say locals.

Locals are going about their work with a smile and without much warm clothing; this is summer for them. Small children are running about with just a thin sweater against (what I think is) the biting cold while adults have nothing but a careless shawl around their shoulders. The village is not yet used to visitors and the locals are friendly, if shy. An hour at Thangu and we set off to Gurudongmar; we stop once again on the way back to Lachen, this time to recover from the high altitude discomfort (all those momos and Maggi did not help, nor did those packets of popcorn).

Continued here:…and popcorn at 17000 feet

Joy and light!

This Diwali, light a lamp – for someone you love, for a cause you support, for a start to a prayer, for your own joy and peace…

Happy Diwali!

Bombay: city No. 1

CNNGo, the new city-pulse website from CNN has a great piece on Bombay – 50 reasons Mumbai is No. 1 – and it got me all choked up and nostalgic about Bombay (like I need a reason).

So here I am, with my own reasons on what makes this the city I love so much – top of the list has to be what I miss a lot in Bangalore – street food. So here goes, an ode to Bombay…

Food of the streets – the chaats and the pav bhaji, the vada pav and the special kulfi, the garam bhutta and the tingly gola, the malpua at Mohammad Ali Road and the fresh mango with ice-cream at Bachelor’s…
[Earlier: Who is a foodie? Not me]

First monsoon shower of the year – waiting impatiently all summer in anticipation of the baarish, the first smell of wet earth of the season, the first drive to Marine Drive in the pouring rain, the first Sunday at home with chai and snacks watching the rain outside the window, even the first traffic snarl (which means, the rains are definitely here!)…
[Earlier: Bombay baarish]

Sunday Lonavala drive for a long, lazy lunch – windows rolled down, the feel of the wind on your face, the smooth drive on the expressway, vada pav at Khopoli, the seasonal waterfalls all long the way, the almost-invisible valley covered by mist views, and finally beer and food sitting on the charpoy at Sunny’s dhaba…

See you again next year, Ganpati – saying welcome and goodbye to everyone’s favourite elephant, the festival season that begins in August and ends only after Christmas, the smell of mithai and hope in the air, the shopping and more shopping, the diyas and the lanterns, the disco dandiya and the zig-zag of the stock market, Khotachiwadi at Christmas and Mohammad Ali Road before Ramzan…
[Earlier: The farewell party, and Puja and pandals]

Dabbawalas and the six sigma business sense – Prince Charles or no, a keen sense of business and entrepreneurship, home delivery and platform shopping, quiet efficiency and a willingness to stretch, customer delight and all the small things that lead to it…
[Earlier: Mumbai's Dick Whittingtons]

Death by shopping – Dadar phoolgalli, Crawford market, Chor Bazaar, sandals at Linking Road, silver earrings at Colaba causeway… old books at Fountain (or what is remaining), cottons at Fashion Street…
[Earlier: Crawford market calling]

Trot of the black horse – walking up and down the Kala Ghoda district during the arts festival, camera in hand, an eye open for the quirks that make these ten days such a fun time in Bombay – ‘made in chaina’ tea glass installations, palmists and fortune tellers, buckets and mugs heaped into a hill – the stuff that plastic hell must be made of, photography exhibits and ’sketch-your-face’ artists… And during these cool months, also the Bombay festival spread all over the city, the kite festival at Shivaji Park during Sankranti…
[Earlier: Winter in Bombay, and Pongal and pattam]

Evenings at the seaface – Marine Drive, Bandra reclamation, Worli Seaface… the walkers and the vendors, the breeze, the bhutta, the furtive lovers, the screaming children on rickety merry-go-rounds (oh, the kind of things acceptable under the head ‘nostalgia’!)
[Earlier: Scenes from Worli Seaface]

Celebrity spotting and staying cool – to walk into the Marriot and try not to stare (from “hey look, Salman Khan – he is realllly short” to “hmmmm, I know that face…”), to Rakhi Sawant walking out of the gym near the Lokhandwala Mocha and coveted passes to premieres and award shows, and finally making the pilgrimage to Mannat each time a friend visits Bombay…

South Bombay at night – when the city is finally getting ready to sleep, the lights still on at Flora Fountain and the art deco buildings of South Bombay, sitting on the low wall in front of the Hilton at Marine Drive waiting for the cops to drive you away, running to Churchgate after the late show at Sterling (in the days when it was a theatre, not a multiplex – and had the best caramel popcorn in town) to catch the last train to Bandra…
[Earlier: Let me count the ways]

I miss Bombay… so what are the things you love, not love, miss about Bombay?

Spiderman in Bangkok

spiderman, spiderman, friendly neighborhood spiderman…