This gallery contains 24 photos.
When you are visiting the Provence villages, try to combine your visits with the local market day to get the most out of your experience. Provençals take their markets (marché) very seriously. These are not just places to buy the … Continue reading
The scene at Pushkar is everything I expect from a mela. Not surprising, considering that like many of my generation, urban born and bred, my idea of a mela has been shaped by innumerable Hindi films where young hapless children are forever being separated from their mothers and siblings. Sure enough, the loudspeakers blare out names of such children, requesting their parents to rush to the main office to reclaim them.
The loudspeakers announce other things too. “Sabse Saandar So!”—the most splendid show, claims the man advertising the circus. There is Bhojpuri and Rajasthani music, the women in the videos gyrating in an impossible manner. Someone else is calling out to people to see—and shell out money for—the Amazing Computer that tells your fortune; the digital version of nadijosiyam (astrology) which has come all the way from Thanjavur in south India. Above all this din, children manage to make themselves heard as they clamour for rides on the Ferris Wheel.
My favourite, though, is the one that promises, in a not particularly devout manner, “Barah mahine me barah tarike se tujhse bhakti jataunga re” (In 12 months I’ll find 12 ways to show you my devotion).
Even God goes Dhink Chaka Dhink Chaka in Pushkar at this time.
For most of the year, it is a sleepy town that backpackers have just begun to discover. Then in November, the mela arrives, turning it into a party zone and, for an all-vegetarian temple town, Pushkar parties hard. All the action is centred on the large open ground where camel herders from all over the state gather to trade (over 12,000 camels this year, says one of them).
The fair, which usually takes place in late October—early November, ends on the day of Kartik Poornima, when it is believed that all the millions of gods and goddesses descend to bathe in the sacred lake in the centre of the town. What began as a religious festival grew into a camel trading fair and is now one of the largest attractions Rajasthan has to offer eager visitors, locals and foreigners alike.
Now, apart from the trading of camels, there are plenty of events on the periphery: a hot air balloon show twice a day, competitions like turban-tying (for foreigners) and longest moustache (for locals) and of course, the noisy mela itself just outside the trading ground.
In 1940, I read somewhere, the most expensive camel went for `77. In 2011, the price went all the way up to `5 lakh for a good camel. And far, far more expensive are the horses; there are whispers of amounts like `2 crore around a gorgeous all-white one standing tall and proud, just like his owner. As the sun begins to set, the hot air balloons floating above the grounds begin their slow descent and cooking fires spring up in front of the tents where the traders stay for the duration of the fair. The women pull the ghunghat of their saris closer against the evening chill as they flatten out rough chapatis on the braziers, while the men in bright yellow and orange turbans begin to light up their chillum, discussing the day’s trade.
Normally — other than these eight days — life in Pushkar revolves around the lake (known as the sarovar), surrounded by 52 ghats. The hour prior to sunrise sees a flurry of activity as pilgrims take a dip in the sarovar, before heading to the 14th century Brahma temple, one of the few that are dedicated to the god of creation in India. In the lanes by the temple and the ghats, well-worn clichés come to life: the old meeting the new, and the sacred the profane.
For instance, amid the stalls selling piping hot kachoris and malpua that melts in the mouth are small cafes with names like Out of the Blue and Honey Dew, the latter serving coffee procured all the way from Colombia. And it is in the lanes that the real Pushkar shows its face; a place where pilgrims and backpackers flock to, each in search of his own personal nirvana.
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Mu photostory on Pushkar published in the December issue of Fountain Ink.
Did you know Chor Bazaar was originally called Shor Bazaar? Till it became the place where stolen and smuggled goods found their way in South Bombay. Today, there is no shor; on that Sunday afternoon in the month of Ramzan, Chor Bazaar is quiet and sleepy. The five of us walk the streets, feeling out of place and awkward. The shopkeepers are reserved, nobody calls out or seems willing to chat their time away. But once you enter a shop and begin talking, they thaw and begin to charm their way to a sale.What a nice walk! Through quirky and interesting antiques, wooden furniture, brass and bronze, stone and plastic. Those tiny shops stocking thousands and thousands of Bollywood posters and memorabilia. And stores with interesting names and lines – like Portbello: We recycle the past. You need to have a lot of patience, though, since at first sight, it all seems like a lot of junk, but tucked in between are the treasures – a statue of Ganesha here, a beautiful old clock there.
Here, Chor Bazaar in pictures…
It’s that time of the year already – past that time really, but never mind. Yeah, so time to look back on the year that was, tell you again about my travels, announce plans for this year and sigh deeply… Or maybe this year, no announcing travel plans dreams in advance. Watch this space…
So here, the best of 2010 on Itchy Feet -
The market visits – April – June
City market – going nuts!
Gandhi Bazaar – a pretty smile
Chilling in Ladakh – May
Chang La – on top of the world. almost.
Pangong Tso – A light load
Alleppy snake boat race – August
Alleppy – Pushing on
Malaysia with friends – September
Kuala Lumpur – Not on thin ice
Weekend at Ooty – October
Ooty – picture postcard window
Aihole, Pattadakkal, Badami and Bijapur – December
Badami – midday gossip
Badami – the golden corridor
Kalamadhyam fair at Chitra Kala Parishat – December
Crossing off one more item from my ‘must do sometime’ list: taking the toy train from Ooty. Ideally, I would have loved to travel in the heritage train from Ooty all the way down to Mettupalayam but there was just not enough time. And so, the short one-hour ride to Coonoor, just for the experience.
A day before I left for Ooty, I came across Sankara’s post on the train. and so I landed up at the station well in advance of the counter opening and managed to be well ahead in the queue.
It was the day of Saraswati Puja (or Ayudha Puja) and the entire station wore a festive look – banana leaves, marigold, camphor, sweets… The counter opened at 11.30 a.m. for the 12.15 p.m. train. And we managed to get first class tickets. Now, these tickets to Coonoor cost Rs.76 each while general tickets are Rs.3 and I hear everyone say that the price difference is not worth it; in first class, you get allotted seats and do not have to rush to get into the train and fight for seats!
And so, the train left Ooty on the dot and made its way slowly down to Coonoor, stopping on the way briefly at Lovedale and Ketti before a longer halt at Aravankadu to give way to the incoming train – it is a single track all the way through.
And so, we hopped off the train at Aravankadu for pictures and piping hot vadas. The train stopped here for over ten minutes before it resumed chugging again slowly towards Wellington.
The route is picturesque all through, with the deep valley on one side and bright, colourful flowering bushes running along the tracks on the other. The run from Ketti to Aravankadu is particularly scenic, especially since it was a bright day with cheerful sunshine.
At Coonoor, the train emptied and many passengers found, to their dismay, that the train back to Ooty was over three hours later (4.30 p.m). We made our way out into Coonoor without a plan in mind – the area around the railway station is crowded and depressing and so after a quick lunch at the first available eatery, we took a cab back to Ooty.
We had anyway taken the train only for joy of the ride…
My thoughts are with the warm and friendly people of Ladakh and the devastation caused by the recent cloudburst over Leh. I take a break from my enforced rest for a bad back to quickly post this piece I had written on Ladakh for The Women’s International Perspective recently – Buddhism in Ladakh: Everyday, Everywhere.
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High in the north Indian state of Kashmir sits Ladakh, held by many as the last bastion of Himalayan Buddhism. Since Tibet is out of bounds for most tourists, Ladakh now attracts travelers and spiritual seekers who come for glimpses of a traditional Buddhist way of life; even seasoned travelers go so far as to describe it as the last Shangri La.
It is true that Kashmir is a war-torn region, however, the turmoil does not touch Ladakh, a good 280 miles from the capital city of Srinagar. Nor are there any foreign invaders intent upon destroying Buddhism to establish their own faith.
Today, the (perceived) threat to Ladakhi Buddhism is from a different kind of invasion – globalization – brought by travelers and their notions of modernity that invariably spread along with them. And with this comes concerns about the erosion of a faith and way of life that is centuries old.
Ladakh derives its meaning from La-Dags or “land of high passes”. As early as 1 A.D. Ladkah was an important trading post on the ancient silk route, hosting traders from both the West and East. Buddhism is said to have come into Western Ladakh via Kashmir in the 2nd century A.D. during the reign of the Kushan dynasty and spread later in the 8th century A.D. from Tibet. Soon, there was a well-established Buddhist kingdom in Leh, Ladakh, extending all the way to Lhasa, Tibet, some 850 miles away.
The first monastery in Ladakh was set up by Indian pilgrim Mahasiddha Naropa in the 10th century at Lamayuru, where it still sits unperturbed in the desolate moonscape scenery surrounding it.
Today, over 50% of Ladakh is Buddhist; only the small, self-contained Brokpa tribe in Ladakh practice Bonism (a faith pre-dating Buddhism in Ladakh) while Islam is followed by most in Western Ladakh.
Different sects flourished under the Buddhist kings until the Gelugkpa (Yellow Hat) order, introduced by the Tibetan philosopher Tsongkhapa in the 14th century, became the dominant path. Towards the 16th century, Ladakh fell to the Muslim invaders from the West but Buddhism nonetheless managed to survive and eventually thrive through these battles. It further flourished under the Namgyal dynasty established by Singge Namgyal in the late 16th century. And although the Drukpa (Red Hat) order gained prominence under the Namgyal kings, Ladhaki Buddhists still venerate the Dalai Lama of Tibet (of the Gelugkpa order) as their spiritual leader.
However, in my travels in Ladakh, I see no signs that validate concerns of a disappearing way of life; traditional Buddhist customs are very much an integral part of daily life. Though the trappings of modernity are visible everywhere, especially in Leh – mobile phones, internet cafes and young men in jeans – all across Ladakh, in the markets, villages and remote areas, people walk about in traditional costumes with prayer wheels in hand and smiles on their faces.
Up here, the high altitude lakes blow biting cold winds throughout the year. Monasteries and stupas serve as living museums of the faith, with their rich collection of frescoes and murals, prayer artifacts, texts and idols.
Up here, Ladkahi Buddhism is alive and thriving.
Welcome to KR market, locally known also as city market… Named after the king Krishnarajendra Wodeyar, this is one of Bangalore’s oldest markets.
The highlight of the city market (for me, definitely) are the flower vendors – lording over the pinks and oranges and yellows, jasmine, marigold and kanakambaram, coils and coils of pure white. Activity in this part of the market starts well before dawn, and the area bustles with shoppers, both wholesale and retail. And by the time the sun rises and the day gets hot, these vendors are ready to wind up their day’s work.
In the flower market, this lady is a rock star… everyone I know who visits city market with a camera comes away with her picture. Except that I am told I got lucky – she actually favoured me with a smile!
Just along the flower sellers are the vegetable vendors, usually with creative small piles of their specialty vegetables…
Walk inside the market to see another side of trading – more nut and dried fruit vendors, sellers of fresh peas and broad beans, vendors of lemons by the dozens – and a row of shops with wholesale pooja items – intricate flower umbrellas, framed pictures and mountains of kumkum in brilliant colours…
And just down the road, on the other side are the flower sellers from whom the city florists buy their stuff – the daisies and roses and all the other pretty flowers that sell at five times they cost here…
Then there are the other professionals – like the parrot-card-fortune reader (kili josiyam in Tamil) and the knife sharpener. Not to mention the odd music band.
Head there early in the morning – read before 6 a.m to get the best experience of City Market.
View more photographs from City Market here…
Earlier in the market series: Gandhi Bazaar
Bangalore does not fascinate me the way Bombay does – in my first few months here, I rarely took my camera out. I am fast remedying that by visiting the local markets – Gandhi Bazaar and City Market (watch this space) ticked off so far. And last week, I headed to Lalbagh one evening lured by the promise of a windy evening in the park. Plus I wanted to take my new Canon 50 mm lens (ahem!) out for a walk. Lalbagh bore the unmistakable signs of summer – brown leaves, dry grounds and raw mango sellers.
It is times like these – blue skies, cool breeze, blooming gulmohar trees – that makes living in Bangalore worth it.
I love it about parks that people find them great places for that undisturbed afternoon siesta. I am told I caused a lot of merriment by clicking away at this sleeping figure – I do not like to think of the possibility that this man could have suddenly woken up and asked what I thought I was doing…
I saw these boards everywhere that irked me no end – what do you mean no playing in the park? Reminded me of this definition of puritanism by Henry Mencken – the haunting fear that someone, somewhere may be happy. I was happy to see kids flouting this senseless rule and having a great time just running around making a lot of noise in the open – football or no football.
And finally this – from another time, another season in the park…
There is no way to describe the colours and chaos of this market (yes, I know, how can anyone describe any Indian market?)
Here is the first part of (what I hope will be) a series on the markets of Bangalore on this blog – a walk through Gandhi Bazaar. In the heart of Basavangudi, Gandhi Bazaar stretches for a short kilometer or so, bordered on both sides by shops selling everything from saris and clothes to plastics and kitchen utensils, fronted by vegetable and fruit stalls.
First things first – and when in Gandhi Bazaar, that means breakfast at Vidyarthi Bhavan – khara bhath, crispy, dripping with oil (or is that ghee? oh, never mind) masala dosa followed by filter coffee and you will be tempted to agree that aal izz well with the world. I know many who call this the best dosa in Bangalore – I don’t know about that, but I can say that it is worth the wait and the agony of sharing the table with strangers (who are usually locals and look at you with disdain).
Friendly folk, ever ready to pose and smile (and what can a camera not do?), I had fun chatting with the vegetable and fruit vendors in Tamil.
The flower sellers are grouped together at one end of the market – doing brisk business of both loose flowers and garlands…
Then there is the occasional mobile pickle-seller… (door delivery of pickles – the thought of it makes my hyper-acidity act up!)
And finally, to keep the evil eye away…
Also read: this lovely post by Iyer Matter on Basavangudi and the charm of old Bangalore – another Bangalorophile pointed it out to me, thanks G!
Photographyonthemove has an exhibition on at Toscano at the Forum Value Mall in Whitefield and one of my photographs from Hampi is on display there. I made the long trek down yesterday to see my photograph the exhibition and proceeded to annoy the lives out of my lunch companions.
You’d think atleast one of them – the husband – would be used to it by now (he is, to an extent – he handed out the lens and held the camera bag with a patient look – just that he had a sympathetic audience for once and overdid the ‘suffering indulgence’ theme).
(the man standing outside? that’s him…)
Anyway. Here then are some images from the exhibition – very glad to see a few old favourites there… and a few from my favourite photographers from those I know from the Hampi trip (Sanjit, Kay, that means you!).
(Hover on the pics to see photographer’s name or more details)
Toscano is a cheerful place, all sunlight and warmth – however, that meant that I had a terrible time taking photographs, white sunlight spilling in from everywhere and distracting reflections on the glass. I tried pretty much everything, just stopping at asking people to get up from their seats and lunch so I could see if I could get a better pic from that location.
A couple of frames from above and most of the ones below are from the Goa carnival and the Alleppy boat race. Goa, next Feb; Alleppy, this August!
And oh, the food is excellent, the service is friendly and the place is warm and inviting – so even if you live far far away, do head to Whitefield now.
I liked the overall display – quiet and informal – a great job, you goya guys! Sups and gang, take a bow.
