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The husband and I hope to participate in this challenging travel contest. Please give our cause a leg up by going to the website and voting for our application. And spend a little more time and write out a srong testimonial too. Please.

Go vote now. Thank you!

Bombay baarish…

…sounds so much better than Mumbai monsoon, no?

Anyway, the free ride is on and it is a lovely rainy evening and so what better time to head to Marine Drive? The sea link bridge has heavy slow-moving traffic, despite Amul’s latest ad that says ‘no jam, only butter’. I kept my eyes peeled for a signboard that says ‘no bullock carts‘ (I agree with Dilip, I wouldn’t live anywhere else) but cannot spot it. I want to go back when it is bright and dry, though the drive over the bridge is wonderful in the rain, with the blurred glimmer of the lights.

The sea is calm and grey, none of the high tide that sends the water right back to to the roads.

And at Marine Drive… (all these shots hand-held, mostly through the windshield in the pouring rain…)

Mein na rahungi, tum na rahoge, phir bhi rahengi nishaniyaan

And the ghoda gadis waiting for a ride…

I love the bits of color that pop up here and there, in all the rainy grey…

At Marine Drive and Worli Sea Face, people are out walking, some holding on to umbrellas that want to fly away into the cool breeze, some covered partially in raincoats, and many without any cover – couples sharing an umbrella aadhe aadhe bheeg rahe thae, children running around enjoying the rain (I love such parents), groups of friends chatting loudly – it is business at usual everywhere…

I cannot think of any other city in India where people go out just to get wet in the rain. And I cannot but think again about how much I love Bombay…

Raindrops keep falling on my lens…

…and on the windshield…

I love the rains in Bombay, the clogged roads, the wet clothes, the potholes, the frogs and warts and all.

Also on Bombay baarish: Rain in the metro

The world is full of colour

…Or Not.

Betty bought some bhutta?

Up? Or away?

Heat? Or rain?

Many moods of the monks: playful

In monasteries, as everywhere else in India, cricket rules. Here, one chilly winter morning at Bylakuppe near Coorg in Karnataka, young monks are at serious play…

Monks need some time off too. A couple of them here chewing thoughtfully on timepass moongphali, at Rumtek monastery in Sikkim…

Monks and mobile phones is a recurring theme in my monk-watching observations – at Namgyal monastery in Mcleodganj, this young monk was using his break time to – as I like to imagine – text his friends, or send in his vote for Indian Idol…

And finally, this photographer at Kala Ghoda, trying to take pictures of the vintage car rally – I stood watching him from a distance and was curious to see what he was clicking – but he suddenly turned and caught sight of me taking his photographs and walked away, with a slightly sheepish smile…

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Also see: Many moods of the monks: serious

No camera, no see!

Mommeeeeeee, they are making fun of me…

{What the duck}

While on traveling with a camera, read what Neha Dara of HT says about us click-a-lots.

Me, I cannot even think of a holiday without a camera. However, while I am trigger-happy with the camera, it is seldom for the sake of saving that moment for posterity. It is just that I view my world through my camera’s view-finder and really enjoy that perspective that is unique to me at that moment. At that moment, I am not seeing the place as a traveler but as a photographer. I rarely take notes, preferring to let my photographs construct the story for me later when I want to put it down.

My problem with seeing through a camera is slightly different. Sometimes I return to find that while I have several pleasing shots of details (the little things only my camera saw), I do not have any “big pictures” – like the time I wrote something on the Lepakshi temple and found that I had *no* wide shot of the temple structure (and an inordinately large number of photographs of the intricately carved pillars) or the natya mantapa I wrote about (whereas I had clear images of the peeling frescoes on the wall and ceiling!).

All that said, I have never felt (although my husband has, and has expressed it vociferously repeatedly) that the camera has ever taken away from enjoying the moment, but added a fresh way of seeing and experiencing it.

What do you feel about travel with and without a camera?

Many moods of the monks: serious

The silent, introspective poses…

At Rumtek near Gangtok considered the largest and most important monastery in Sikkim…

A few days later, at Pemayangtse monastery near Pelling in West Sikkim, a young monk fills lamps with oil in readiness for the next day’s prayers…

From Mcleodganj, one of my all-time favorites, a monk in prayer…

Another interesting time for monk-watching is during their time of study, an integral part of their day. It is usually a silent and serious activity; this was at Enchey monastery, in Gangtok…

The most fascinating to watch is the Tibetan rhetoric – I saw this in Mcleodganj – where groups of young monks study together in a form of debate. This is the questioner, asking his questions, with a clap, a slight jump, slight flourish. And the other student, the answerer so to say, sitting before him trying to respond. There is usually a lot of noise and energy around this – I caught them here in a quieter moment…

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Also see: Many moods of the monks: playful

Vengurla: footprints on the sand

Early morning at Vengurla jetty…

And then a beach to ourselves at Sagareshwar. Only crows and a few fishermen for company.

Information: this was last December, over the Christmas break – we were based at Nandan Farms in Sawantwadi, just over an hour’s drive away.

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Cross-posted on the Culture Aangan blog…

Welcome to Somnathpur

The Keshava temple at Somnathpur, built in 1268 A.D. by the Hoysalas is the quieter cousin of the more famous temples from the same era at Belur and Halebidu. This Sunday morning, I have the temple to myself for almost an hour; no tourists, no noise, only the quiet stillness of history.

One river, two continents

The simit vendor shakes his fist at me. He is tired of tourists taking photographs of him and his pretty sesame-flecked looped bread without buying anything. On the other side, my friend is trying hard to not shake her fists at me; instead she points to her watch impatiently. We barely have time to grab cups of coffee before we board the ferry. We are there for the ‘scenic Bosphorus tour’ as recommended by a local friend.

Istanbul wakes up early, even for a chilly autumn morning. The chestnut vendors have all already set up shop as the cab drops us at the entrance of Besiktas Quay down the road from our hotel. The first fifteen minutes of the cruise are the most exciting for most of us on the boat as we cruise past the extremely picturesque Ortakoy mosque and under the older Bosphorus bridge. We have spent all of Saturday walking along the crowded stretch of Sultanahmet and so floating lazily on the Bosphorus is the perfect thing to do on Sunday morning.

And so we float, past obscure fishing villages, wooden houses painted in bright colors, sea gulls out for a morning dive, tiny river-side restaurants, an odd castle or two. Soon after we cross the Ortakoy mosque, on the Asian side along Bebek are the picturesque 19th century wooden villas (called yalis). I remember my friend talking about the exorbitant rates of real estate along this stretch and I can immediately understand why this part of the city is such a desirable place to live in. Imagine sea gulls as breakfast companions and the horn of tugboats in place of blaring cars and buses; you would want one too.

It is of this experience that Orhan Pamuk has written, “To travel along the Bosphorus — be it in a ferry, a motor launch or a rowing boat — is to see the city house by house, neighborhood by neighborhood, and also from afar, as a silhouette, an ever-mutating mirage”. The Bosphorus is a strait between the Black Sea and the Marmera and runs through the heart of the city, dividing it into two – Rumelia and Anatolia. For a moment out there, you are straddling two continents. The Bosphorus is everywhere in Istanbul; in many ways it defines the dualism of this city: European and Asian, traditional and modern.

The cruise goes all the way to Anadolu Kavagi, a fishing village close to the Black Sea, but our recommended itinerary is getting off at an earlier stop and taking a cab back to Ortakoy. And so we duly get off at Sariyer and take a taxi and a journey along the Bosphorus that goes on for the better part of an hour. As we step out of the Sariyer quay, it is tempting to settle down at one of the river-side cafes with views of the fishing boats and ferries and sea gulls, with a cup of coffee. But Ortakoy has been advised and so ho! to Ortakoy.

In the cab, we pass fishermen all along the way (arguing about whose fish was bigger, I guess), friends reading newspapers, even playing cards early in the morning. And then the old Turks, dressed in Western suits, complete with mufflers and felt hats, playing a version of Scrabble that I am tempted to watch and learn. Sipping what I imagine (since I love it so much and think it the perfect drink for a cold Sunday morning) is apple tea, from traditional tulip glasses.

Sunday morning at Ortakoy

At Ortakoy, none of the squalor or desperation Pamuk describes as part of the character of Istanbul is visible; once the “middle village” Ortakoy under the older Bosphorus bridge today is a suburb that sings with the life and hope that this wonderful river can offer. Young couples, the women dressed in smart Western clothes are holding hands and eating ice-cream, children are playing noisily in the tiny park, and vendors are selling jacket potatoes (kumpir) and sinful waffles with delicious toppings. We debate briefly between the inviting cafés along the water and the equally inviting food from the street vendors. And finally conditioning kicks in; having grown up in India, I believe firmly that street food is always bound to taste better. And so it does.

Down the road, the Sunday flea market is just beginning to pick up steam. Locals and tourists stop there for the pleasure of bargaining over silver jewellery, sweaters and scarves, beads and semi-precious stones, and antiques looking suspiciously new and shiny. I buy some fridge magnets in ceramic with the whirling dervish motif (extremely popular in Turkey) as souvenirs and refuse to get tempted into considering some of the more attractive antiques.

And at the entry to the market is the Büyük Mecidiye Camii (Grand Imperial Mosque of Sultan Abdülmecid), known simply as the Ortakoy mosque. Built in the mid 19th century, it is a baby by Turkish mosque standards. We are feeling mosqued-out, having spent the better part of the earlier day at the exquisite Blue Mosque (built in the early 17th century) and the imposing Hagia Sophia (or Aya Sofya, originally built as a church in the 4th century), and give it a miss. Me, I am just happy sipping on that hot chocolate, listening to the music from the cafés and watching the boats on the Bosphorus.

General Information

The cruise starts from Eminonu and is a six hour round trip, though you can get on and get off anywhere in the middle. You have the option of going all the way to the last stop on the boat at Anadolu Kavagi on the Asian side, a tiny fishing village thrust into the limelight thanks to the ferry. It is a pretty village and the boat stops for two hours there, time enough to catch a fresh fish lunch and ice-cream. If you have the energy after that, you can also make that short trek up the hill for wonderful views across the Bosphorus from the 14th century Genoese Castle. By the time you cross Sariyer and get to Anadolu, the Black Sea becomes visible, and the Bosphorus is no longer the placid mid-city river it was all along.

Information on the cruise can be found on this website (http://www.ido.com.tr/en/) and tickets can be bought just before the cruise. Fly Turkish Airlines direct to Istanbul from Mumbai and Delhi or Emirates via Dubai. A Turkish tourist visa can be bought from the Embassy at New Delhi. Turkey is all ready to play European Culture Capital in 2010 and a morning at Ortakoy, or any of the smaller villages along the cruise route is enough to give you a glimpse of both cultures, European and Asian.

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This piece was published in HT Cafe on Saturday, June 20, as The River Between

Chilling in the heat in Sindhudurg

Here is a plug for what I think is a worthy cause – Culture Aangan is a Bombay-based NGO that works in the Sindhudurg region – they have homestays and several women’s self help groups. I recently spent a few days at the homestay place in Shirgaon near Devgadh… I am helping them set up the Culture Aangan blog and have cross-posted this there, as a starting point.

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A lazy relaxing time at Pitruchaya homestay, home of the shy but friendly Lokes – at Shirgaon in Sindhudurg district. Quiet unknown beaches, Padagar waterfalls, Vaishali’s home cooking – those modaks, the cashew curry and the solkadi… for the non vegetarians, the fresh fish and the stuffed chicken, starry nights and sunny days…

The home is in the middle of nowhere – or so it seems – despite the fact that it is bang on the state highway that leads to Devgadh. You cross the tiny market of Shirgaon and drive for another 2 minutes and there, in isolated splendor, Pitruchaya stands welcoming visitors.

There are two rooms on the ground floor, done up with great taste in the way of all Culture Aangan homes, using bamboo and other natural materials. The open aangan or courtyard leads to the kitchen and the garden behind the house. And the pillars painted by the same artist who has painted the trees in the Pinguli Arts Complex, a nice touch.

But the best room is the one on the terrace – well ventilated and breezy. Here, the pièce de résistance is the bathroom on the terrace – with a huge bathtub and open to the elements in a way that is utterly relaxing, yet private and secluded.

The garden is large and right now, running a bit wild – but here, we sit up in the mornings spotting birds and other fauna – we even have a regular visitor in the form of a garden lizard. And late in the night, dinner over and feeling completely sated, we sit on the terrace under the open star-lit sky. Till the breeze and the good food lulls us into sleep.