Gokarna : sun, sea and spirituality

Published in the May issue of ‘Windows&Aisles’, the inflight magazine of Paramount Airways
***

The young man sat on the steps reading the newspaper, immersed in the news of the world, unmindful of the dust from the streets his clean yellow robes were picking up. I stopped to stare, the camera in my hand as always enough to excuse any rudeness. His robes indicated that he was a priest; a local, I thought to myself. And the way he sat still, ignoring my camera clicking away suggested a bored indifference to things worldly. And when I had finished, he rose suddenly, picking up the purple-bordered yellow dhoti, said something to me in perfect English and walked into the house behind him. That to me set the tone for Gokarna. A town of contrasts, contradictions and surprises.

Gokarna had not woken up completely at the time we drove into the town early on a Sunday morning. Shops were shut, some of them slowly coming awake as the owners raised the shutters to another day, the creaking sounds made by the metal shutters a form of protest against having to wake up so early on a Sunday. It is only as we drove past the area of the temple that we saw signs of life.

Walking aimlessly down the same street later, I learnt that the area was called ‘Car Street’, after the temple car, the juggernaut of the local god Shiva. The juggernaut sat heavy and drowsy as the rest of the village, its huge wooden wheels now stuck in the mud till the time for the annual festival when they roll slowly around the town, carrying the image of the deity within. Right opposite the main temple was a small shop, crammed with photographs and tiny images in metal and mud, of gods and goddesses. Even from that distance, I got the impression that every single god ever known (and some not that well known) was present in that shop in one form or the other! And for all that, the shopkeeper sat in the middle of the shop on a raised platform, reading the local newspaper, totally indifferent to all the divinity round him.

To begin at the beginning. We drove past the narrow car street, past the main temple and winding lanes right to the end of the road where pilgrims had already congregated for a dip in the sea before entering the temple. Parking our car there, we started walking in the direction of the temple. I kept stopping to admire the bright cheerful colors on the doors and windows of the tiny houses we passed, my camera working overtime as my husband and friends kept hurrying me along impatiently.

Till we all finally stopped short on coming across a fine unmissable photo op, a foreigner painting on a wall facing the street, the image of Radha and Krishna swinging. The Radhakrishna bookstore which was empty when we had crossed it a few minutes ago had now attracted a small crowd, adults and children staring in open-mouthed fascination as the painted forms took shape in front of our eyes. And finally the crowds lost interest and moved on; after all, how long could they stand and watch a man at work? And we found ourselves chatting with the artist.

Karl. I will call him Karl, for I do not remember his name now. He was from Germany and was in India on holiday when he reached Gokarna and found it so fascinating that he decided to stay on for a while. The bookstore, he explained, was owned by friends he was staying with, and he was painting the wall as a favor to his friends, who had also found their way to Gokarna from a distant country in the West and decided to settle down there. Although I had read about foreigners staying on for months and sometimes years in places like Gokarna, I have not been able to understand this fascination. In the North, there is Rishikesh and Puri in the East, “famous” now for visitors from the Western world who reach there and find themselves attracted to the easy calm and quiet beauty of the place. Looking around me though, I could see nothing of great charm and attraction in Gokarna at that moment. In the distance I could see the shores of the sea with its bathing pilgrims and hear their raucous laughter even at this distance. I would not understand its charm fully till later when I discovered its quiet beaches.

The temple town

Gokarna is a heady mixture of spiritualism and religion on one side, and fun and relaxation on the other. For if the devout come here for the temple of Lord Shiva and prefer to frolic in the beach inside town after worship, the other type of ‘pilgrims’, many of them Westerners are here for the sun and sand, for the inexpensive beach shacks and cold beer and hot snacks. And sunsets on the beach. And long arduous treks up the hills and views from the top worth every bead of sweat. And for walking from one beach to the other, first Kudle, then Om, Paradise and finally Half-Moon.

Leaving our footwear outside, we then entered the temple, which had become crowded by that time. Gokarna has an interesting story behind it – it is believed that lord Shiva, known here as Mahabaleshwara, emerged from a cow’s ears, therefore the name go-karna. Another legend has it that Ganesha appeared as a young boy and tricked Ravana into placing the atmalingam on the ground (which was forbidden). Ravana, with all his might and strength could not lift it off the ground but left a mark on top of the lingam giving it a shape resembling a cow’s ears! And for believers of this legend, the small, dark Ganesha temple on the corner of the road assumes more significance than the larger one of Shiva.

Although the temples themselves are out of bounds for foreigners, once we stepped out on to the main street, it is again a different world, one in which the East and West seemed to meet, if not smoothly, then effortlessly for sure. For instance, at breakfast, we found ourselves next to a young couple from Israel and their two small children tucking into idlis and upma in a manner that suggested familiarity as much as liking. And this was at one of the local tiny “hotels” on Car Street, a ramshackle building with rickety chairs and tables thrown in carelessly.

The sun and sand

The sun was out in full force as we made our way after a heavy breakfast towards the beaches that Gokarna is famed for. Though we were told about the route from behind the Ganesha temple that leads towards Kudle beach, a walk of twenty minutes in the heat did not appeal to us and we decided to drive out instead towards the beaches. We duly drove back towards the small check-post just outside town and headed up the steep hill in a picturesque route to the beaches.

Kudle was the first beach on this route, nestled between two hillocks, a pretty sight from up the hill where we stood. Although Kudle looked inviting, stretching out like a blue carpet between the lush green trees growing along the slopes of the hills, we moved on towards Om beach. Walking from Gokarna town, you need to take a short hike up some stairs and a hillock to reach this beach. And from Kudle, there is a further hike up a steep hill towards an open space on the top from where the panorama of Om beach opens out in front of the hiker who is short of breath from that thirty minute climb (but this was not a problem for us since we had cheated and driven up instead of walking!). The name Om is the product of an imaginative mind – the rocky beach curves at two points on the shore, and an inverted image of this scene resembles an ‘Om’ (letter in Sanskrit). We stood drinking in the views, the sea now a deep blue and then suddenly a shimmery silver, as the harsh sunlight played its tricks on the waters.

Descending down towards the beach, we were in dire need of refreshment and found a tiny café on the beach, waiting with chilled drinks and that mid-morning snack which a life-saver for the traveler out in the sun. The beach was filled with families with small children frolicking noisily in the water, being protected by whatever deity takes care of children out in the sun and in treacherous waters. Further away, young couples and singles sat with books or just a cold drink in their hands in whatever shade was available. We sat back watching the crabs scurry across the soft sand, as if in a great hurry to reach their destinations, leaving interesting patterns on the sand.

Further ahead of Om, again a short but tiring trek away is Half Moon beach, and then Paradise beach, both quieter and lonelier than Kudle or Om, we were told. We decided to give those a miss and reluctantly dragged ourselves out of the peaceful beauty of Om beach towards neighboring Murudeshwar where the tall imposing statue of lord Shiva as Murudeshwara greets the visitor on entry into the road that leads to the beach. As we walked away, I turned for one last glimpse of Om, in my mind imagining the shores lit by the soft light of the moon. And I promised myself that I would go back for that sight. Soon.

General information

Paramount Airways flies to Bangalore, the nearest large airport to Gokarna. From Bangalore, you can drive or take an overnight KSRTC bus to Gokarna or any of the neighboring beach towns and take autorickshaws within town.

If you wish to stay inside the town, try to find accommodation with one of the local families that run guesthouses or rent out rooms, for a feel of local food and hospitality. Hotel Gokarna International is the largest and most well-known of the town hotels.

Else head out to the beaches (if driving, reached by a long winding road that begins near the check-post just outside the town) and stay in one of the shacks along the beach – they offer comfortable if basic accommodation. The beaches also have two fairly new hotels, Swaswara resort and spa and Om beach resort.

Massage and marriage in Bangkok

…neither of them mine. hah! gotcha.

If you have heard great things about those Thai massages and are dreaming of pretty young things softly caressing your skin with fragrant oils, here is something to make you pause and reflect. Sure you can choose to walk into a dimly lit massage parlour and live out that fantasy but chances are you will end up with some such rough-kick-boxing-meets-sadistic-massage routine and then where are you?

I tried a “relaxing” shoulder and neck massage (right, that is how optimistic I was, given the sorry state that my neck and upper back have been for years now) - I sat for maybe one and a half minutes before the ouch! OUCH! OUCH! OUCH! finally got through to the masseuse (I think I had fainted in pain by then) and she stopped, giving me just enough time to make a run for it. And this was after several minutes of detailed instructions and requests for a “soft massage” - absolutely no pressure please, see the surgery scar here? and so on.

After all this, I still went ahead and took a foot massage when mall-hopping got too tiring. And I am happy to report total bliss, everything I had hoped for (pretty young things excluded, of course). An hour of feet pampering and I was ready to hit the shopping scene again.

And on the road, this. I have no idea what this means though. And all within twenty minutes!

Match made in the heavens?

The temple that time forgot

Published in the April issue of ‘Windows & Aisles’, the inflight magazine of Paramount Airways…

Take a closer look at Lepakshi and discover a legend hidden behind every pillar
and every wall in the temple…

Lepakshi is a town that is fighting a hard and brave battle against obscurity. Despite being a contemporary of its more famous cousin of the Vijayanagara dynasty, Hampi, Lepakshi lies lonely and forgotten at the border between Andhra Pradesh and Karnataka. A reference is made in the Skandapurana to Lepakshi as one of the hundred and eight important Shaiva Kshetras (pilgrimage centres for worshippers of Shiva) though it is hard to believe today that that this remote town was once a bustling centre for trade and pilgrimage.

Lepakshi today is like any other small dusty town (or large village) in South India. There is one main road that passes all the way through the town, with shops and small businesses located on either side of the road. Apart from small children in bright blue and white uniforms and polished back shoes walking about briskly on their way to school, there is little activity to be seen on the roads. The town as such does not have any other attractions for tourists, but the temple, with its rich heritage makes it more than worth the trouble of visiting.

You turn off the main road into a dusty lane leading to the temple. Just near the car park are shops, similar to those found outside temples everywhere, selling everything from puja items like flowers and coconuts and incense sticks to polyester saris and plastic buckets! Tourist guides authorized by the Andhra Pradesh government are also available just outside the temple. It is best to hire a guide (some of them speak English, apart from Telugu and Kannada) so as to not miss on any of the finer details inside the temple.

The locals seem indifferent to the marvel from the past that lies in their midst, giving directions reluctantly and with a sense of surprise and even irritation as if to say, what’s all the fuss about? But prod a little deeper and the spirit emerges - the watchman at the temple told me, his eyes lighting up with pride, last month there was a film shooting here – people came all the way from Bombay to shoot here… Very famous temple! he ended, slightly wistfully. For famous, the Lepakshi temple is not, though Andhra Pradesh handicrafts has usurped the name for its showrooms across the state.

That isolation also perhaps explains why all the gods in the temple wear angry expressions on their faces. Although the guidebooks tell you a different story. The presiding deity here is Veerabhadra Swamy, an irate form taken by Lord Shiva. According to our guide’s version, when Parvati died during Dakshayagna, Shiva struck with grief and rage threw a clump of his hair on to the earth and the spot where it fell now houses the temple and the statue of the lord. And the statue of Parvati too wears a correspondingly sad and angry look. Indeed the entire temple abounds with legends about Shiva and Parvati and their royal wedding and separation later.

What is in a name?

There are also ample stories floating in the air inside the temple walls about the other divine couple Rama and Sita, and in fact, one of them relates to the suggested origin of the name Lepakshi. It is believed that when Ravana kidnapped Sita, the brave bird Jatayu fought against the evil king and died in the battle on this spot. As it lay wounded, its wings cut off by Ravana, Lord Rama said with compassion, “le pakshi” (rise, o bird!) – and so, Lepakshi. Look out for the imprint of the giant footprint just outside the kalyanamantapa, believed to have been left by Sita herself!

The other, and equally gory story about the name points to the brothers Veeranna and Virupanna, under King Achutaraya of the Vijayanagara dynasty who succeeded the famous Krishna Deva Raya. The latter who was treasurer of Penukonda province (where the town was located earlier as opposed to Anantpur district in modern times) spared no expense to have the temple built the way he wished, leading to suspicions from the king about embezzlement of money. In grief and in anticipation of royal punishment, Virupanna plucked out his own eyes and threw them against the wall, where the muted blood stains from centuries ago are believed to be visible even today. And thus, lepa-akshi (blinded eyes)

For all the blood that seems to have been spilled within these walls, the temple today bears no signs of a turbulent past as it sits in obscurity, an earthy brown edifice amidst the brown and dry landscape of rural Andhra Pradesh. The only sign that all perhaps did not go well is that the temple is incomplete in many places, especially the kalyanamantapa that was being built when Virupanna died.

The Vijayanagara architecture style

The temple at Lepakshi has several characteristics that are unique to the Vijayanagara style of architecture – the most striking being giant monoliths; in Lepakshi the nagalinga and the Nandi are both the largest such statues (other monoliths from the period being the Ganesha temples at Hampi and the Gomateshwara statue at Karkala).

You enter the temple at the mukhamantapa (main hall) directly into the natyamantapa (dancing hall) that is at the centre of the building and leads into the garbagruha or the sanctum. This hall has pillars depicting divine musicians, Parvati dancing, Brahma on the cymbals and Surya on the nadaswaram and finally, Nataraja himself, leg raised in the classical nartana position. Walking along the side of the temple on the outer prahara, you then come to the giant statue of the seven-headed cobra Nagalinga and further down, Ganesha (also in an angry pose but that is another long story) etched into the wall.

This walk leads to the other important structure within the building, also an essential element of Vijayanagara architecture, the open-air kalyanamantapa (wedding hall). This kalyanamantapa has been depicted as the site of the celestial wedding between Shiva and Parvati, and each of the pillars is a celebration of this - drummers and musicians adding to the atmosphere and lesser gods and goddesses blessing the couple. Close by stands the Latamantapa, with its 42 pillars, each carved with intricate motifs of birds and flowers, used to this day as designs on sari borders, and the reason why AP handicrafts chose this name.

After you have finished looking around you, stop at the natyamantapa and look up to find the most fascinating feature of the temple, the murals that adorn the ceiling. Although a lot of it has now been eroded by the harshness of time and neglect, the vibrant colors of natural vegetable and flower dyes still catch the eye of the visitor. Each of them depicts a story from mythology; here is Ravana handing over the Shivalinga to Ganesha dressed as a Brahmin (the lingam now found at Gokarna in coastal Karnataka), there you see the divine wedding, the couple seated on a swing and the guests sitting or standing close-by. And some interesting history lessons too, a peek into the society and culture of the times when the temple was built, the hairstyles and clothes and accessories of the women, the postures of saints and hermits deep in penance. And on the ceiling of the inner sanctum is what is considered to be the largest mural in Asia, a panel about 7 by 4 meters depicting Lord Virabhadra with his retinue and devotees. Although much of this has been dimmed like the rest of the murals, it is impressive in sheer size and detail.

The monolith Nandi

Half a kilometer from the temple, just by the main road stands the statue of Nandi carved from red granite. At 4.5 meters height, this is the largest monolith Nandi in the world. Yet for all its imposing size, the carving is intricate in places, especially around the neck where a chain hangs bearing the royal insignia of the Vijayanagara dynasty. This Nandi, like the Nagalinga inside the temple (which this faces directly) is believed to have been carved by a craftsman in his leisure time!

And just like with Hampi, each stone, each pillar and wall has a story to tell, if only you have the time and patience to listen carefully. The temple here is built on a tortoise shaped hillock – kurmasaila; between all the straight lines and sharp angles of the walls and pillars, there is a smooth rounded rock (the back of the tortoise) in the outer prahara. As I leave the temple, I say a small prayer for this slow tortoise to finally win the race. For, what will make the authorities sit up and take notice of the decay facing this glorious temple town?

Getting there and away

It is best to do this as a day trip from Bangalore, take the NH 7 towards Hyderabad and turn left near the check-post between the two states. Lepakshi is 15 km down this road. From Hyderabad, the journey into Lepakshi is long and tiring; cross Anantpur and turn right either near Hindupur or further down the highway near the check-post.

Stay and food

Lepakshi has nothing much to offer by way of food or accommodation; the government-run Punnami guesthouse is close to the temple but is badly maintained. If you wish to stay over, Hindupur 20 km away has a Tourism Complex with clean rooms and a restaurant as well as a few budget hotels.

Other attractions

If you are driving from Bangalore, you could stop at Nandi Hills on the way, just outside the city for fresh air and great views of the valley and city far below, The curving roads up the hill are a pleasure to drive on and for those with sight-seeing needs, the Yoganandishwara at the top (attributed to the Chola rulers) and Bhoganadishwara temples at the foot of the hills are worth visiting.

Cambodia calling…

Cambodia seems to the flavor of the month - I may add, the hottest destination (considering it is the beginning of peak summer there and all that). In March alone, two of the most popular travel magazines, India Today Travel Plus and Outlook Traveler carried pieces on Cambodia. Specifically, the area around Siem Reap, home to the Angkor Wat group of temples. The former had a photo essay and the latter a cover story on IndoChina. And the travel story in this Sunday’s HT Brunch was surprise, surprise, Cambodia. I cannot ignore these calls… and so I am off to Siem Reap tomorrow for eight days, stopping by at Bangkok for more Wat-trips and shopping.

See you here mid April with photographs and memories…

He went to MP…

Remember the Hindustan ka dil ad I had written about a while ago?

*It starts off with Til dekho, Taad dekho, Aankhen phad phad dekho, Sher ki dahad dekho, Marble ka pahad dekho, Chanderi ki saadi dekho…. goes on for a whole minute - yeh dekho woh dekho… and finally hindustan ka dil dekho - marrying geography and history and culture and all the rest of it with one line. The heart of Incredible India*

There I was, writing about Madhya Pradesh, and dreaming of visiting the state (in the cooler months!)…

and here is Prashant, who runs the coolest chai ki dukaan in the world, writing about his trip to MP. And I did this and I did that… he says. And with stunning photographs that make me want to pack my nags and head to the heart of India. Now.

Go look.

The fort of dreams

Published in the March issue of ‘Windows and Aisles’, the in-flight magazine of Paramount Airways

***

At a time when the world had long ago discovered the greens and blues of Kerala, the alluring backwaters of Alleppy and the warm beaches of Kovalam (and perhaps getting tired of the same images), director Maniratnam put a small spot in North Kerala on the map. Thanks to his evocative shots of lovers torn apart by a hostile world (in his movie ‘Bombay’), suddenly the rain-drenched ramparts of Bekal became one of the most romantic destinations within Kerala. It seemed the perfect rendezvous, hidden in the heart of Kerala and far from prying eyes. And the canny Kerala government seized this opportunity with both hands and suddenly, God’s own tiny country was officially larger on the tourist circuit.

We feel a rush of anticipation as we drive towards the fort, a visit that has been planned for many years about to materialize. At first glance, the Bekal fort is unassuming, especially after the excitement created by the plethora of signboards that guide you towards it, all the way from Mangalore to the North or Trivandrum deep down South. It sits lonely and tired at the edge of the waters. But as you make your way slowly to the top of the fort and then walk around the edges, seeing the Arabian Sea stretch out in front of you, the magic of the location sinks in.

There are groups of young girls in their bright salwar kameezes and school children in their staid uniforms inside the fort at the time we visit, adding noise and color to the otherwise peaceful scene. Still high in the sky, the sun is far from ready to call it a day and the sea is still rough though tiny boats are making their way bravely into the choppy waters. At Bekal beach nearby, crowds have already begun to troop in to watch the famous sunset on the Arabian Sea, and on top of the fort, young couples and families with small children have found themselves little corners from which to enjoy the evening breeze.

The fort seems to rise majestically from the sea itself, the waves washing over its walls the way they have done for centuries now. Bekal fort is made of the stuff that signifies unfulfilled romance, secret yearnings and patient waiting. Looking at the way it stands tolerantly weathering the torrid rains of August and the white heat of May, it makes me wonder how many such lovers the fort by the sea has seen.

A short history of the fort

The fort in Bekal is considered the largest in Kerala, spread over 40 acres, and certainly the best preserved. It was built by Sivappa Naik sometime in the 1650s and is known for its defence architecture, which includes cunningly placed holes in the walls of the fort that aim at different points and distances; the holes at top meant for aiming far into the sea while the ones below to catch the enemy as they approach closer.

The fort was later captured by Hyder Ali of Mysore in the late 18th century and then Tipu Sultan, under whom it served most as a defence citadel, especially during his march down South to capture the Malabar province. Recent excavations at the fort have brought to light different kinds of religious structures within the fort from the time of Tipu Sultan’s reign, including a darbar hall and temples, revealing the secular nature of his regime. Once Tipu Sultan fell, the fort passed into the hands of the British, when Bekal became the headquarters of the newly created Bekal taluk in the South Canara district. The decline of the fort began when South Canara district came under Madras province, and Kasarod taluk was established as the regional headquarters in place of Bekal.

Today, the Archeological Survey of India maintains it, along with the Kerala Government which is doing a lot to promote the fort, and the region itself as a major tourist attraction. To this end, the Bekal Resorts Development Corporation (BRDC) has been set up by the government and the entity takes care of developing the surrounding areas including Bekal Aqua Park and Pallikare beach.

Apart from Bekal fort which is today the most popular spot in the region, there are several other attractions in Kasargod which make it one of the more interesting regions in Kerala for tourists today. Kasargod is the northern-most district of Kerala, just South of Mangalore and culturally, has the feel of both Karnataka and Kerala. Similarly, there is also a lot of remaining influence from the Muslim rule, which flourishes peacefully with the rest of the Hindu and Christian communities who are part of the region. The entire area has a charming laid-back atmosphere which is not yet exposed to the overwhelming crowds of the rest of the state.

Water, water, everywhere…

If Bekal is Kasargod’s most famous landmark, I would say Nileshwaram is its best kept secret. There is nothing spectacular about the town itself; it lies 30 km to the South of Bekal by the banks of the Nileshwaram river. The town seems to have sprouted organically along the National Highway 17, with houses and small shops lining both sides of the road. We stayed at Nalanda Resorts in Nileshwaram, with rooms facing the placid river. It was early in the morning, on a boat ride on the river that we discovered the magic of life on and by the river.

Cruising slowly down the shallow river, only the steady hum of the motor boat to break the silence of dawn, we watched the town come to life, lazily stretching its arms towards a new day. A man walks, lonely and thoughtful on the bridge, the sun just climbing high in the sky just behind him. Fishermen are at work, busy in their own worlds, while other men in similar boats scout the river for silt. Our boatman explains that the sand from the shallow river is used in construction all over the region. Tiny birds are sitting on electric wires stretched across the river, flying away noisily at the sound of our approaching boat.

In a sense, Nileshwaram feeds all the clichés that Kerala is known for and at the same time, the peace and quiet of the unpolluted surroundings offers a layer of freshness to the scene that makes it a magical experience. Apart from the pristine scenic beauty of the area itself, Nileshwaram is also the ideal base to explore both the areas to the North and South of it, located somewhere at the centre of the tiny region of Kasargod.

Talking of secrets, I anticipate that some would insist that Valiyaparamba with its stunning backwaters qualify as the region’s foremost surprise package. Valiyaparamba is about 30 km South of Bekal, and is being promoted actively by the Kerala government as the most scenic backwater stretch in Kerala. That backwaters stretch is fed by four rivers and has several little islands that make a cruise in the waters an unforgettable experience. And if small rivers and scenic backwaters are not enough to excite you, Kasargod has several neat beaches stretching out in a line; Kappil, Bekal, Pallikra, each of them secluded and clean with calm waters and views stretching into the distance on either side.

Other attractions in Kasargod

Although we were there for only a day and did not have the time to explore the rest of the Kasargod region, here are some of the local attractions that were recommended to us. In the north of the district is Ranipuram, a verdant hill station situated 750 m above sea level. Ranipuram is also being developed as an adventure tourism destination, ideal for both nature lovers and amateur trekkers. The forests of Ranipuram run contiguous with those of neighboring Karnataka, with wild elephants and other animals roaming freely in their depths.

And to the South is the ancient Ananthapura Temple, in a secluded corner of Kasargod. This is the only lake temple in Kerala and is believed to be over a thousand years old and the moolasthala (original seat) of the deity Padmanabhaswamy. And to compete with Bekal is the Chandragiri Fort, also to the South of Kasargod town, situated by the Chandragiri river. This fort is supposed to be one of a chain of forts built by Sivappa Naik in the region and offers a great view of the Chandragiri river and the Arabian Sea.

Thankfully, even today, Bekal fort or even the region of Kasargod is not as crowded with tourists as the South of the state is. Add to this good infrastructure and facilities, a combination that spells holiday heaven. For those tired of the well-publicized image of swinging palms and kettuvallams of South Kerala, here is the ideal getaway solution. This is the perfect place for anyone with a secret in his / her heart. And that is you and me and everyone else.

General Information:

Paramount Airways flies to Cochin and Bangalore, both roughly 350 km away from Kasargod. From Cochin, Kasargod which is about 15 km from Bekal and 45 km from Valiyaparamba is well-connected by trains on the Kozhikode-Mangalore-Mumbai route. And from Bangalore, Kasargod is a six hour drive on the Mangalore highway.

There are several good stay options in the region; we stayed at the moderately priced Nalanda Resorts at Nileshawaram, situated just on the banks of the river. Bekal also has hotels and resorts to suit al price ranges, including the option of tents on the beach from Bekal Beach Camp resort.

Lost on the way from Lhasa

My piece on Mcleodganj appeared in Mint Lounge last weekend. You can read it on the mint website (if that makes any difference)… The Tibetan book of living, in pdf form here…

And for those too weary to click, read on here…

***
On any quiet morning, the reverberations of “Om mani padme hum” seem to rise from the belly of the Himalayas, a chant as eternal as the mountains and as unchanging. They seep into the low-key bustle of locals setting up shop, roadside vendors releasing the steam from the day’s first batch of momos, groups of young monks marching in their deep yellow and maroon robes.

A sudden gust of icy wind lifts a robe, revealing a bright football jersey. His companion balances a prayer wheel in one hand with a cellphone in the other. In the distance, temple bells are ringing; closer by, the Internet parlour blares out hip-hop beats.

Maybe it is the thin mountain air, but reality always seems slightly out of sync in McLeodganj. If India lives in many centuries, this hill station crams in cultures, chronologies and characters with the insouciance of the mighty Dhauladhars themselves. They have seen them all: The British, who established a garrison town in the 1850s (the name comes from David McLeod, then lieutenant governor of Punjab), the Indians, who kept floating in and out but never made it home, emphasizing the separateness by calling it “Upper” Dharamsala and, then, the Tibetans, unerringly zeroing in on a centre of calm to heal their uprooted lives.

Little Lhasa is likely to make its presence felt at the most unexpected moments. Sitting on a bench on the first floor of the temple in the Thekchen Choling complex, I watch Kangra valley take its cue from the setting sun and begin to wind down for the day. Loud shouts from the temple grounds below disrupt the peace with complete disregard for the Zen-seeking tourist: “Answer me quickly!” followed by a quick clap, an impatient snap of the fingers. For young monks immersed in their evening studies, learning and sharing knowledge through the ancient art of rhetoric, it is only a sudden shower that sends them scurrying indoors— but there’s no respite from their lessons till nightfall.

Rigour informs life here in ways that make disciplined urban lifestyles look like soft options. As I watch, a frail old woman prostrates herself on the ground in the direction of the sanctum sanctorum, arms stretched in supplication, and rises to complete one circle of prayer. And she does this again and again and again, and she does this every day, evidence of a level of fitness that city slickers such as me can only dream of.

The exterior of the temple complex is unassuming, plain concrete and basic colours, in apparent disregard of the fact that it houses the Dalai Lama’s residence and the Namgyal Monastery. On the first floor, though, the grandeur of Tibetan woodwork and love for bright colours assume larger than life proportions in the imposing statues of Padmasambhava (the Buddha) and Avalokiteswara (“the compassionate one”, of whom the present Dalai Lama is believed to be an incarnation). Whether you are a believer or not, the charged atmosphere is curiously moving, encouraging stillness and contemplation.

The 14th Dalai Lama has been in McLeodganj for more than four decades now, but nostalgia for the homeland—remembered or imagined—is something every Tibetan carries within himself. Forget the preference for jeans over traditional tunics, Tibetan culture is carefully preserved for future generations in the Norbulingka Institute, set up and managed by a trust created by the Dalai Lama himself.

Located in the valley, a few kilometres from Dharamsala, the Institute’s campus is full of tiny bridges, cool streams and ornate arches. Norbulingka is the summer palace of the Dalai Lama back in Tibet, and the community has worked very hard to recreate the “back home” feel in this patch of land thousands of miles away.

“We don’t want to lose our indigenous crafts. That is why we train our young people here,” says the young monk who abandons his post at the front office to show us around. His tone suggests the concern is as much for the arts and crafts as it is for the young people.

We step into a spacious, sun-lit room where a group of young Tibetans are working on an intricate thangka (scroll painting). “It will take a year to complete,” he announces. But then, where is the hurry?

Not in the mountains, certainly. Appropriately enough, it is religion that takes precedence in Dharamsala; in the presence of the Dalai Lama, of course, but also in the prayer wheels in the temple, in the middle of the crowded market and in the fluttering prayer flags everywhere. At the Church of St John in the Wilderness—its stained glass windows hidden between trees and swirling mist—the pastor from Kerala directs us to the graveyard when we ask for stories. I discover the grave of Lord Elgin, British viceroy of India from 1861 to 1863: He sought to be buried here because it reminded him of his own country, Scotland.

Religion is also in Bhagsunath, on the other side of town, where the Nag temple attracts pilgrims from all over the region. I join the “other” devotees, backpackers in search of the unnameable, who make their way straight up the narrow trail all the way to the top. There, the Bhagsu falls into a freezing cold but placid stream. Who knew nirvana comes accompanied by the sounds of a raspy Bob Dylan or Lonely Planet guides to Sud Indien?

TRIP PLANNER

How to get there:

Drive or take an overnight bus from New Delhi. The nearest broad gauge railway station is at Pathankot, while the new airport at Gaggal in Kangra valley has daily flights to New Delhi on Indian Airlines and Air Deccan (return economy fares from around Rs9,000). Hire a taxi from either place to reach McLeodganj, 9km away and some 460m higher than Dharamsala. The last stretch of road may be tough on queasy stomachs.

Where to stay:

We stayed at Chonor House (’www.norbulingka.org’, website under construction; Tel: 01892-221006/09418031468), very close to the main temple, and managed by the Namgyal Trust. I had read that Richard Gere stays here during his visits, but that didn’t influence me in any way (though I did ask to see the room he usually occupies). Tariffs range from Rs1,800 to Rs4,000. WelcomHeritage Grace Hotel (‘www.welcomheritagegracehotel.com’) is a 200-year-old manor house that belonged to India’s first chief justice. Though located in Dharamsala proper, and not McLeodganj, it comes with the trademark combination of personal hospitality and professional service. Double deluxe rooms from Rs3,300.

What to do:

Dharamsala and Dharamkot, 8km uphill, are both ideal bases for trekking and assorted mountaineering activities. From Dharamkot, you can do an easy trek to Triund—at 3,350m, it is the closest point to the Dhauladhars. Or take a taxi to Naddi village, where you can stand on a deserted mountain road and take a look at the Dhauladhars in the distance and the bustle of life in the valley down below. On the way, stop at Dal lake—considered sacred by the Tibetans—and feed the fish. Or catch a performance at Tipa (Tibetan Institute of Performing Arts) on the way up to Dharamkot.

In McLeodganj, lazy breakfasts, long walks, quick trips to shops selling Kashmiri and Tibetan curios and old-world bookshops, and evening visits to the monastery are must-dos. Do sample the momos. And feast all your senses during mealtimes at Nick’s Kitchen, with stunning views of distant mountains and valleys.

More photographs from Mcleodganj here…

Lesser known Dubai

The lesser known Dubai, in today’s HT Cafe… (as always, link valid only for a week, so read now, else see photo and sigh deeply in regret for having missed the article)

More photographs from the colors and chaos of Dubai here…

***
Here is the article as I had originally written it…

Souk shopping in Dubai

In all the noise of the bargaining in the souks, I hear as in a dream the muted voice of the walking tour guide yelling at me (politely, for I have paid for the tour) for stopping yet again to photograph or just to stare. And suddenly that too no longer; the group has gone ahead, leaving me alone in the maze of narrow lanes, all smelling of cinnamon and pepper and the occasional red chilli too. Oh, but he did warn me. Several times. I am part of a walking tour, having just got off the hop-on hop-off open top bus that I took to escape the mad shoppers.

Blame it on the surprise element; I am not expecting to see so much commotion and color in Dubai, only steel and chrome. A city obsessed with being the biggest and the boldest, Dubai hides its tiny secrets well. The chaos and the colors, the smells and the sounds are tucked away in the narrow by-lanes of the old souks lined up along the creek. One minute I am standing at the entrance of the Dubai museum, and the next, as I turn a sharp corner trailing behind the group, I step into another world, another time. I walk under deep red arches and wooden lanterns that I imagine bring the lanes alive after the world outside has grown dark.

For one crazy moment, I am disoriented; I see tiny shops on either side selling incense sticks and pictures of goddess Lakshmi. And cheerful yellow marigold flowers that belong right in any shop outside any large temple in South India. Printed ads on the walls seeking Tamil bachelors as room-mates. Silks and cotton, spices and nuts, silver and gold, carpets and fragrances, all in huge careless heaps under the roof of the covered souk.

And then a short ride across the creek on an open abra, the cold wind on my face, to the assault of smells. The spice souk. The shopkeepers recognize me for what I am, an Indian, ergo not a prospective buyer. And so they turn to the Westerners in my group - just smell this, madam… Someone brandishes a tiny plastic box in the air, top quality saffron in the world… And further down, the gold souk, with over three hundred shops selling gold jewelry, the window displays twinkling, glittering, beckoning.
The souks of Dubai, for those mall-weary hordes, bored of the bargain labels and the air-conditioned conformity of shopping. Dubai, full of surprises, if you only scratch the surface.

And for those there for the shopping, Dubai Shopping Festival, the annual extravaganza, which attracts over two million visitors every year, is on from January 24th till February 24th.

Getting there and around

Emirates Airlines flies Mumbai – Dubai with special fares (starting from Rs.12000) and discounted hotel rates during the shopping festival. Other airlines including Indian have reasonable fares though only Emirates arranges for a visa along with the ticket. Inside Dubai, you can take metered taxis, many of them run by Indians and Pakistanis.

The open-air hop on hop off bus run by the Big Bus Company covers two routes inside the city and stops at popular shopping malls. Tickets are priced at AED 175 (AED 100 for children from 5-15 years) and are valid for twenty four hours. It is advisable to begin the tour after noon, so that you get the rest of the day and till noon the next day on the tour. The price of the ticket includes a walking tour, Arabian Treasures (only between October and April) which covers the souks and other local attractions, entry to the Dubai museum and an hour long Arabian dhow cruise on the creek. Tickets can be bought online at or at ticket counters at one of the larger shopping malls.

Shopping in Dubai

At last count, Dubai had twenty four shopping malls, and all of them participate in the shopping festival. The most popular ones are the Mall of the Emirates, Deira City Centre, Burjuman Centre, Wafi Mall and the Ibn Battuta Mall housing six different themed malls - China, India, Persia, Egypt, Tunisia and Andalusia. More details of the Shopping Festival are available at the official website.

For those who miss this season of shopping Dubai also hosts the Summer Surprise shopping binge every August to encourage visitors to the city during off-peak times. For more exotic shopping, visit the old souks, most of them situated by the creek in Deira.

Flying away!

I am going through mild depression after having to cancel a holiday in Spain at the very last minute. Make that severe depression since one of the reasons is a bad back that seems to stay bad. And strangely, instead of dreaming about Spain and what might have been, I find myself dreaming of airports. Mostly the nice ones I have been in. And for the nicest, it is a toss-up between the one at Ko Samui in Thailand and Kangra in Himachal Pradesh.

The Ko Samui airport is a blink-and-you-miss-it building, all smiling friendly staff and bamboo huts and palm tree pillars (and if you have been to Hawaii and seen this and better, now, kind friend, is not the time to say it). At take-off you get to see emerald green waters and a brighter green of tree cover.

However, the one at Kangra has a stronger pull - perhaps it is more recent, perhaps it is the memory of a wonderful week at Mcleodganj. Or perhaps it was just the earnestness of the airport staff. For a tiny airport that sees one flight landing and one taking off (the same one!) each day, Kangra overflows with staff, perhaps the healthiest passenger to staff ratio in the world. Nowhere else has been baggage been so lovingly checked - they made me open my camera and take a random picture - to prove it contained no explosive? (They saw my neighbor, an American documentary film-maker with her seven cameras and wavered for just a tiny moment but diligence won and she stood clicking long after we had started walking towards the flight). And nowhere else has my person so thoroughly examined for possible banned items.

The walk towards the aircraft - a tiny scary thing - this is to fly us over mountains? is like walking towards the thick clouds that sit on the landing strip and on the low walls around the airport. And to fly over mountains and green fields, heart thudding in anticipation of a crash landing at any minute…

And the drive to the airport itself, through narrow mountain roads, and lush tea estates. All that, and then to land in Delhi less than to hours later, after a short halt at Pathankot - to walk out into, well, Delhi. Blah. Worse, to find myself at home in Bombay, dreaming of this and more. Blah.

Iftaar feasting and haveli hopping

I had written a piece on Mohammad Ali Road - that appeared in this edition of Taste & Travel magazine along with another article on Shekhawati. Here is the iftaar piece…

Don’t worry, you will smell it much before you see it, said my cabbie when I asked him to drop me close to the Minara Masjid at Mohammad Ali Road. It was the night before Eid and we were headed to where much of Mumbai heads during the month of Ramzan. For when the sun has set for the day and the muezzin’s call for the evening prayer has been answered and it is officially time to break the fast, the feast begins at Mohammad Ali Road.

At Mohammad Ali Road, the colors of the food and the clothes worn by the women clash with the dazzle of the spotless white kurtas worn by most of the men. The fragrance of ittar on a few thousand wrists competes with the smell of the meat roasting and all the sugar and malai floating around. The noise is overwhelming, but just in front of the Minara Masjid, under its twinkling green lights, where the old men sporting white beards and solemn looks sit on benches collecting money from the devout, it is strangely quiet. Even peaceful.

There are make-shift shops selling prayer caps with intricate embroidery from Maharashtra, chikan-work kurtas from Lucknow, perfumes and ittar from Hyderabad. If the men are there to socialize and eat, the women are there for the shopping - the heena, the glass bangles, even sewaiyan for the kheer and dates for the prayers – all the way from Saudi Arabia. Traders from all over India set up shop here for the month, vanishing with the last rays of the sun on Eid.

But during Ramzan, Mohammad Ali Road is primarily about food. It is possible for the foodie to have a full course meal here on this road, amidst the noise and the crowd. Starting with bread and soup and ending with sinful desert, all the way through meat and more bread. You enter the road at Suleiman Usman’s sweet shop, and if you are anything like me, begin your meal with a phirni. As I scrape the last bits of phirni from the cup, watching the crowds wolf down cup after delicious cup of their favorite Indian sweets, it is easy to see why Suleiman’s said to be popular with even the glitterati of Bombay. Down the road are golawalas (ice-candy with all sorts of fruity flavors from raw mango to strawberry and black grape) and halwais every few hundred meters, quick pit-stops for those cursed with a sweet tooth. And the meat – roasting on grills, the shawarma, baida parathas, fresh naan, bheja, kaleja, biryani, and how did I forget the kababs… even plain roti and dal for those curious vegetarians there just for the experience. And to end, those sinful malpuas at Suleiman’s – topped with malai just for added impact.

I remember reading that Suleiman’s had introduced low calorie sweets during Ramzan for diabetics – but personally, I think low-cal sweets rank somewhere at the bottom, just near Bisleri pani-puri. So I say - forget those calories, just follow you nose and you will not be disappointed.

***
Cross-posted on A Time To Reflect