Hampi: more than ruins

Published in HT Cafe this Saturday…

The colour of Hampi is sepia. Not the soft sepia of fading and happy memories but a sharp brown that seeps into all your senses and dulls them after a while. It is the colour of the dry earth, the imposing hills and the precarious rocks of the region. It is also the colour of the temples and monuments that Hampi is rightly famous for. Even the auto-rickshaw waiting to take us around carries this slogan – Hampi: a historical story tells by every stone. Indeed.

It is perhaps to make up for the monotone of the land, that the people of Hampi fill their surroundings with as much colour as possible. Sitting on the ghats on the banks of the Tungabhadra early one morning, I watch the tableau unfolding in front of me (keeping half an eye and ears on the interesting been-there-done-that conversation between two groups of European backpackers). A man waves his white dhoti in the air, willing it to dry, as his small children run under it and make up an impromptu childhood game. Lakshmi, the temple elephant, lumbers down the steps a few minutes later guided by her mahout. The kids shriek in delight, even as Lakshmi indifferently goes through her routine scrub and spa ritual.

Later, walking up the ghat steps leading to the rear of the Virupaksha temple, I come upon a familiar sight in Hampi. Three brightly dressed men – in their ‘holy men’ avatar of orange and green robes, orange turban and peacock feather on the head to boot – are posing for a photograph with a foreigner. A small amount of money changes hands after this photo-shoot and everybody leaves the scene happy. Not for long though. They spot me taking their photographs and begin demanding money, irate when I refuse with a smile. Ah, well. I was lucky the earlier day; the sadhu near the market was happy to pose, and with a benign “free photo for you” proclamation.

Portuguese traveller Domingo Paes (early 16th century) described the Hampi market as a broad and beautiful street where “live many merchants, and there you will find all sorts of rubies and diamonds and emeralds and pearls and clothes and every other sort of thing there is on earth and that you wish to buy”. Today, there are shops selling kitschy handicraft and multicolour tubs of kumkum, children hawking postcards, restaurants offering world cuisine and guesthouses sporting ‘Recommended by Lonely Planet’ boards. However it is true, every other sort of thing there is on earth is still here. Welcome to Hampi.

TRAVEL INFORMATION

It is easiest to get to Hampi from Bangalore; take the convenient overnight Hampi Express (departs 10.30 p.m. from Bangalore City station) that drops you at Hospet, the nearest railway station by 07.30 a.m. From Hospet, Hampi is a short (14 km) half hour autorickshaw ride away. From Mumbai, fly or take the train to Hubli, and then take a car or bus for the 160 km (three hours) journey to Hampi.

Inside Hampi, you can hire an autorickshaw to take you around. A better way is to hire a bicycle or motorbike and make your own way; in the cooler months, you can walk, since most temples are scattered around the market area.

There is enough to do in Hampi, after you have seen the temples and monuments. Walk along the Tungabhadra, spend time people-watching on the ghats or take a coracle ride. Climb up Matanga Hill (near the Achutaraya temple) for a sunrise certified by the venerable Lonely Planet as one of the best in the world, or Hemakuta Hill on the other end of the market (an easier climb, close to Virupaksha temple) to watch the sun set over the valley. If you are feeling adventurous, you can trek up Anjaneya hill near Anegundi (considered the birthplace of Hanuman), just 5 km from Hampi. This is worth the effort, if not for the small Hanuman temple at the top, then definitely for the view. For lunch, head to the Mango Tree, in the middle of a banana plantation, where you can sprawl on chatais and watch the placid Tungabhadra in front of you as you eat.

Faces of Hampi

Stories in stone

The story of Hampi is the story of stone. You disagree? You think it is sacrilege to reduce the heady might and valour of the Vijayanagara kings to the passivity of stone? Stone – inanimate, indifferent and cold?

No, it is true. In Hampi, the stones tell you more interesting stories than your guide ever can (and believe me, the guides have some juicy ones up their sleeve). All you need is a wee bit knowledge and oodles of imagination. And nowhere are the stories more absorbing than at the Vitthala temple, perhaps because the large open courtyard space inside the (broken) temple walls allow you space to exercise that imagination.

This 15th century temple has faced more than its share of destruction from invaders over the years, as is evident from the broken main gopura and several pillars inside the complex. Now a UNESCO world heritage site, this temple dedicated to Vishnu is being preserved with great care by the authorities.

A pity, in some ways, since this means that the main mahamantapa has been cordoned off, and visitors are not allowed in. I was lucky the last time I visited Hampi when I could climb up the few steps and enter the mantapa. The outer walls and pillars are carved with intricate and never-ending patterns of dancing women and horses and elephants. However, the mantapa is a delight for more than just the lush carvings; it houses the musical pillars. Each of the 56 tall pillars that support the roof the mantapa emanates a musical note when tapped. Our guide arranges for one of the security guards to give our group a demo; sa re ga ma, guitar, jaltarang, he goes on.

Perhaps the most recognizable element of the temple complex is the stone chariot in the main courtyard, with wheels that can revolve even today, it is said. The other unmissable structure is the king’s balance, the Tulabharam on the way leading to the Tungabhadra, standing over 15 feet tall. It is here that the kings used to be weighed against grain or fruit, and on special occasions gold and gems, which would then be distributed to the poor.

A tip: Vitthala temple is right by the river; the most enjoyable way to reach the temple is by a short coracle ride from the ghats near Matunga hill or a walk by the river. The journey by road, in contrast is long and winding, and not half as interesting.

Future tense

In Shekhawati, the future looks at the past…

Update: or, the past and future look at each other, as Arun says in a comment. I have also changed the title of the post to ‘Future Tense’ as a nod to the deplorable state of many of the mansions / frescoes in Shekhawati.

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.

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.

Chola! and thanks for all the bronze

I had sent this titled – Chola! and thanks for all the bronze… it appeared on March 14th in HT Cafe as Temples of a dynasty… Here is the original version.

Long after I returned from Thanjavur, I kept telling friends, the cholas were dudes. Most predictably gave me strange looks but there were a few who understood; like me, they had travelled to Chola territory.

Take a look at the Big Temple in Thanjavur. Ask anyone in the city for the Brihadeeswara temple and chances are you will draw a blank look, as I do. The big temple, I clarify quickly, and the auto driver nods his head in immediate comprehension. I catch sight of the gopuram towering at a height of 216 feet (about 70 metres) and know why big is barely enough to describe this temple.

The kalasam (dome) on top of the temple sits heavy at over 80 tons and historians believe that it was hoisted to the top on a 6 km long ramp – an ancient Egyptian technique adopted for the building of their sacred pyramids. I personally like to imagine that someone had taken a swig of the magic potion, like Obelix from the Asterix comics, but that is neither here nor there.

Legend has it that Thanjavur is named after a demon – why that is so in a country with enough gods to name each town and have some left over, I cannot say – the rakshasa Thanjan who lived there. As with all self-respecting rakshasas, he terrorized the people, who implored the gods to save them. Lord Vishnu duly heeded their prayers and destroyed him on the banks of the Cauvery. Why he should, again the story does not explain but the Lord granted the dying demon a boon and the city Thanjavur – thanjai in Tamil for refuge – was born.

If it was a demon who gave life to the city, it was a great ruler Rajaraja Cholan (ruled 985 – 1014 AD) who gave it form and flesh and made it the Thanjavur we know today. Born Arulmozhivarman, he went on to conquer large parts of South India, to be called Rajaraja Cholan, the king of kings. One of Tamilnadu’s favorite works of literature, Ponniyin Selvan features the big temple as a dream in the young prince’s sleep.

When we enter the temple through the main gate in the early evening, there is nothing dreamlike about it.

The atmosphere is very earthy, with the smell of the ground washed by the mild rain mixing with the heady fragrance of burning camphor. The temple elephant is busy blessing passersby and pilgrims for a few rupees. The massive Nandi statue is being bathed with milk and honey and all things sweet, in a monthly cleansing ritual, with a hundred odd people seated in front of it, unmindful of the wet mud.

The big temple is not painted in bright garish colors in the manner of other popular temples in the region. It stands stark but welcoming, its walls washed clean by the unseasonal rains. The rain water has formed small puddles all over the sides of the temple, catching broken reflections of the tower, with all its intricate carving. With this temple, there is a grace and fluidity in every corner that is not normally associated with ‘big’. This paradox was described best by art historian Fergusson when he said of the Cholas that they ‘conceived like giants and finished like jewellers’.

We then sit in a corner, watching the local crowds in their best Friday evening temple attire, our senses in overdrive, as the sounds of the priests’ uniform chants reach us in a low buzz, while the temple bells ring out periodically to signify the beginning or end of a particular ritual. Three young locals are sitting next to us and exchanging not so subtle notes in Tamil about their teachers in college. An old woman prostrates herself in the direction of the main temple and when she gets up, her eyes are brimming over in a moving display of emotion called kanneer bhakti – worship with tears. As it gets dark, we head out in search of dinner; at the gate the temple elephant is still doing brisk business, taking and handing over the coins to his young owner, kids shrieking in terror and delight as he brings his mottled trunk down to their heads in a blessing.

The next morning we head out of town, in search of the ‘other big temple’, built by Rajendra Cholan. The junior Chola outdid his father Rajarajan in his conquests and marched victoriously all the way to the shores of the Ganges (West Bengal today), earning himself the tongue-twisting sobriquet of gangaikondacholan (or GKC as I took to calling him fondly, and conveniently) – the Chola who conquered the land of the Ganges.

Gangaikondacholapuram is a dusty non-descript village; it is impossible to imagine that this served as the Chola capital for over two centuries. It lies forgotten, even by locals many of whom stare at us in surprise before pointing in the general direction. We take a tentative turn off the main highway leading towards Chidambaram and Chennai, and follow the path that seems to lead nowhere. And suddenly, the driver veers sharp into a narrow lane to the left, and the temple appears in our view, quiet and forgotten, a lesser loved step-child.

In structure and size, this temple is similar to its more famous counterpart in Thanjavur. Almost. For, GKC apart from being a victorious ruler, was a respectful son. The main tower is made of fewer tiers – eight – as compared to thirteen, making the structure shorter at 185 feet (although the Shiva Linga inside is larger, both in height and circumference). This temple too is dedicated to Brihadeeswara, though in general considered more ‘feminine’ than the other temple, thanks to the curves on the tower in place of sheer straight lines alone.

The atmosphere too is more relaxed here; a few families are picnicking on the neat lawns inside the temple complex, their kids teasing monkeys with scraps of food. Near the entrance, a bunch of boys have found a rusting wheelbarrow to play with and pose for my camera even as the care-taker runs towards them waving a stick in a threatening manner.

And then on to Darasuram.

If the temples at Thanjavur and GKCpuram are grand and elegant, it is the one at Darasuram near Kumbakonam that can be called pretty, a term rarely used to describe places of worship. Built in the mid 12th century by Rajaraja Cholan II (not the original dude but a later-day successor), this temple was neglected for a long time. It has been renovated by the ASI recently and sits wearing a new coat of life that is charming. It is late in the evening as I walk into the temple premises, and the sun is setting low in the sky, casting eerie shadows on the row of nandis sitting on the wall all around the temple complex. There are a few worshippers here too though most visitors including locals seem to be there for what I can only describe as the experience.

The presiding deity here is Shiva as Airavateshwara, because he was worshipped at this temple by Airavata, the white elephant of the King of the Gods, Indra. The front mandapam (hall) of this temple built to look like a chariot, resembles the one at Konark several thousand miles away, in shape and type of architecture. As I walk around the main temple, the carvings on the wall call out; apart from the usual suspects of gods and goddesses, there are interesting ones of dancers with limbs twisted in impossible positions, and combinations of animals, including the yaazhi (a mythical animal combining the features of a lion and an elephant) at several places, yet another similarity with Konark. In the fading light, it is difficult to sort out which limbs begin from where and belong to what, and I soon give up.

General Information

Take a flight or train in to Trichy (Tiruchirapalli), the nearest large city – Thanjavur is 55 km away on a good highway. GKCpuram is 61 km from Thanjavur and Darasuram 34 km in the other direction, though if you hire a car, it is possible to visit all three temples in one day. In Thanjavur, Hotel Sangam is overpriced but the only large hotel for tourists and close to the Big Temple; a better option is Ideal River View Resort, just outside the city.

A pocketful of history

Published in the February edition of FlyLite, the inflight magazine of JetLite. (not all these photographs were published in the article)

A few years ago, Anantashram, the only restaurant inside Khotachiwadi went temporarily out of business. While most loyal patrons were dismayed at the news, I knew a few who felt that it was only a question of time before this happened. A friend of mine who eats there frequently said – I think the Anantashram waiters are trained to ignore you. He went on in this vein, complaining of what he thought was their indifferent attitude towards patrons. They just live in a different world, he ended, shaking his head in amazement.

That actually describes Khotachiwadi itself.

Khotachiwadi must be one of modern Mumbai’s best-kept secrets. One minute I am in the midst of the din and chaos that is South Bombay and the next, as I turn off the main road into the narrow alley, I am in a different world. A more colorful but quieter world. Without really intending to, I find myself speaking in softer tones, the only other sounds there being that of a group of children playing with their kites.

Playing

As soon as I enter, I come face to face with a shrine to Jesus, and I remember a sign that used to hang in front that read, don’t park here, for god’s sake. The tone of this board seems to be in tune with the wry humour with which the inhabitants have taken to looking at their own world, and the larger world outside. The house next to the church has a colorful mosaic of tiles on its walls and floor that calls out to the passerby. As I stand hesitantly at the gate, the man sitting inside on the stone stool invites me to come in and have a look. He points out the birds and the fish, proudly showing off the newest entrant, the parrot all the way from Nepal. The house belongs to his nephew, and the family had moved to Mumbai from Goa many many years ago. By the time we leave, a small crowd has collected around us, the local residents wondering what the fuss is all about.

Inside

Girl

The origins of Khotachiwadi

There are several wadis in Mumbai, such as Bhangwadi, Popatwadi, Dabholkarwadi and Khotachiwadi. Wadis are typically defined by the cultural flavours of the dominant ethnic groups who live there. The ethos of Khotachwadi has been shaped by two major communities: the Pathare Prabhus and the East Indian Christians. Inside the narrow lanes of the wadi, the informed eye can spot the unique architectural and cultural symbols of both communities. Other than the wood used as the primary building material, the typical architecture elements include large overhanging balconies on the first floor and winding staircases in front of the house.

Seat

Steps

The name Khotachiwadi can be traced to the original Mr. Khot (land owner) – it literally means the hamlet of the khots. The khots leased the land out to the East Indian community, whose forefathers worked with the British East India company. Members of this community who had so far lived in the Northern districts of Mumbai, such as Gorai and Manori, moved up to this part of Girgaum and built their houses. These houses with their wooden balconies and latticed windows today sit there, with the feel of museum pieces, forgotten and neglected by the larger world of skyscraper concrete. Others before me have compared it to a piece of old Goa, even a forgotten piece of Portugal. But Khotachiwadi is inherently a piece of Bombay, as a conversation with any resident will make clear.

As I walk into Khotachiwadi, I am suddenly reminded of the fact that Bombay was once nothing but a collection of villages. The leisurely pace of life inside Khotachiwadi is reminiscent of a different – to my weary eyes, better – way of life. I remember a question a journalist friend had asked in his essay about the original Bombay villages – When in its life-cycle does a place, a locality, make the transition to cliché? The same clichés he had written about flow fast in my mind before I can stop them – old world air, time stands still, and so on.

Waiting

There may be a sense of anachronism inside the space that defines the limits of Khotachiwadi, a fairy tale feeling to the bright yellow and blue houses and cheerful balconies. However, it is not true that Khotachiwadi is caught in any kind of time warp. The residents are only too aware of the pace and style of life in the Mumbai that they go out to work in everyday.

In 1995, Khotachiwadi was declared a heritage precinct and is today a ‘gated colony’ fighting to keep going in the face of modernization. It was again in the news a few years ago, when the Khotachiwadi Welfare and Heitage Trust was formed, to fight in a more organized manner against proposed “development” of the area by builders. That only means one thing – the demolition of these heritage structures and concrete monstrosities in its place. At present, only over twenty of the original bungalows survive inside the colony, and even among these only a few wear fresh coats of paint. And the battle is getting tougher; more and more residents ready to give up their land for a more convenient and economical dwelling.

Ideal

Today Anantashram is back in action and is just the same, with customers willing to ignore the grumpy waiters and strict timings (it remains closed on Sundays!) for the famous Goan – Malvani food it serves. However, who is to say what the future holds – both for Anantashram and Khotachiwadi?

General Information

To go to Khotachiwadi, take a train on the Western Line heading to Churchgate and get off at Charni Road station. Just down the road, at St. Teresa’ Church, turn towards Jagannath Shankatsheth Marg and ask for Khotachiwadi.

Bombay Heritage Walks conducts walking tours inside Khotachiwadi. For more details, visit their website [http://www.bombayheritagewalks.com] – or call them at 91-22-23690992/ 26835856.

Memories of Meenakshi

My favourite spot inside the Meenakshi temple is not the long corridors where people sit for hours, staring at the lotus pond or the imposing towers. Nor under the stunning paintings of the god and goddess, a million stories including the divine wedding, on the walls of the corridors.

It is not in the narrow lanes leading out of the temple, tiny shops on either side selling authentic kunkumam and turmeric and photographs of the temple idols. It is not even near the altars of Sundareshwarar, or Meenakshi or further in, the garba griha.

I love all of these, just as I love the temple itself for the teeming life in and around it at all times.

Each time I visit the temple, I pass through all these, and head to the Hanuman statue on the wall in one obscure corner of the temple. Like all South Indian temples, the Meenakshiamman koil sends you on sensory over-drive. And in this space, as sacred for many as the other main sanctum, it is smell that is the overwhelming sense.

A devotee stands in front of the statue, eyes closed deep in prayer, as another shows a karpura arati – the smell of burning camphor, strong by itself, mingles with the other smells in the air. The immediate bouquet is of the camphor vermilion kunkum and the coats of fresh butter that worshipers have smeared on the statue. Between this, there is the whiff of jasmine, the malligaipoo that Madurai is famous for, hanging from the braided well-oiled hair of women as well as resting on the several puja plates being carried around. From the distance, the smell of a hundred lamps just about to go out wafts through; at the shrine of the navagraha, the nine planets, believers have lit tiny lamps, cotton wicks bathing in pungent sesame oil.

I sit there and take all this in. And the light from the skies flows in, washing over the entire scene and filling up the space; it finally settles on the faces of the people who have found their peace there…