Desicritics Category: Culture: Holidays and Observances

Putrid Pilgrimages in India

Shantanu Dutta — Tue, 13 May 2008 13:23:25 EDT

A doctor who has just started some charitable work in the island of Rameshwaram among Sri Lankan refugees has an experience to share. Hailing from Chennai, she was used to the thought of abandoning the comforts of city life and get used to the exigencies of rural life. But the one thing that greeted her as she crossed over into Rameswaram and that one thing which she was not prepared for was the over whelming stench of human excreta hovering all over the island.

Apart from the infrastructural issues of there not being any adequate sewage disposal on the island, she wondered aloud as to why a pilgrim centre of religious significance should be so dirty and why whether or not the official machinery did any thing or not, the basic piety of the people should have served as some kind of an incentive to keep the place clean. Going by the press reports, the problem in Rameswaram has been noticed and action asked for at least a year ago when A. Sellamuthu, Secretary for Housing and Monitoring Officer for the district, had directed the Rameswaram Municipal authorities to take urgent steps clean the island town. He had also noted that that “Rameswaram was an important pilgrim centre, which was attracting thousands of pilgrims and tourists daily. Hence, it had to be kept neat and clean always”

The question is worth asking as to why filth and squalor are so routinely associated with places of pilgrimages –except for the cash rich ones like the temples at Tirupati and Vaishno Devi and a few others and may be the Dargah at Ajmer. As for the rest, be it the shrine of a pir or a typical teerth sthan, the gathering of crowds for journeys of piety and pilgrimages are almost synonymous with dirt, disorder and chaos instead of harmony, serenity and order.

Remember the kanwarias who crowd up the roads every couple of months. Emerging from every little town and village that India has it would seem, they run through the land like locusts ravaging a field. Small time charities spring up to feed and shelter these hockey stick wielding pilgrims. During the time the season is on, these resting places are filled with leaf plates with flies buzzing, plastic and other waste lying around every where and ear splitting music of the crassest kind copied from the latest Bollywood hits but supposedly charmed to induce piety.

Or remember the Kumbh Melas, the largest gathering of humans on earth for any purpose, but not necessarily the most tranquil or peaceful. There are these akharas filled with opium soaked sadhus and their equally fanatic followers jostling for space and dominance. And oh yes, till modern times, the end of Kumbh Mela often sprouted cholera. The rather provocatively titled blog “The Shit of the Saints is Still Reeking” talks pointedly of the 2007 mela in Allahabad and quotes the Chief Medical Officer of Allahabad alluding to the threat of diarrheal diseases, typhoid, and hepatitis as a direct result of the trash and human waste.

The Incredible India Campaign has run several direct ads on the need to keep and preserve our heritage –from vandalism as well as other acts that might desecrate them in any way. But they have largely concentrated and talked about historical monuments. But considering that so much of our heritage is tied up with religion and religious places and yatras and pilgrimages, it might do well to also talk of keeping religious places and events clean and sanitized so that the memory of having visited them might remain pleasant memories and not stories of nightmares.

Cartoon: The Generation Gap

IdeaSmith — Sat, 10 May 2008 14:32:23 EDT

On the weekend of Mother's Day, a look at my own mother's best medicine!

(Click on thumbnail to see the comic)

More idea-toons!

Happy Mother's Day, to mums the world over!

Photo Essay: Tramway Trek in Parambikulam

Tanay Behera — Thu, 1 May 2008 09:15:59 EDT

I had to cover close to 50 kms in two days, trekking thorough one of the best biodiversity hotspots in India. Can I do this or I can't, a cloud of incertitude eclipsed my mind. With this dubiety kicking in mind, I boarded the bus a late Friday night after the day’s work hoping that the weekend would end up with some exciting experiences.

The next day morning, I woke up as the bus stopped in search of the correct route when we reached Pollachi. While we were motoring along the road planked on both sides by trees, I could see big billboards of Jayalalitha and Karunanidhi which confirmed my curiosity that we were in Tamil Nadu.

But we were going for trek in the forests of Parambikulam which is in Kerala. The puzzle got resolved when I learnt that the only entrance to this wildlife sanctuary is through the Annamalai Wildlife sanctuary which is in Tamil Nadu. We paid all the necessary fees at the check post to get into the sanctuary and the sky appeared a bit cloudy that day.

Along with few others, I was going to start my trek which is commonly known by the name 'Tramway Trek'. There is a little bit of history to this which says...

The tramway was set up in 1905 under the visionary of Maharaja of Cochin Sri. Rama Varma to transport Cochin teak from Parambikulam to Chalakkudy. From there it could be exported to the rest of the world thorough the Cochin Harbour. The total stretch of this tramway is close to 49.5 miles running through the thick forest, crossing many rivers and the time taken to cover this distance was 9 hours. It was around 1953 that this tramway was stopped for a number of reasons.

All that remains today are the remnants in the form of rails, bridges, wagons, etc. A couple of years back as a befitting tribute to the centenary of the Cochin State Forest Tramway, an eco-friendly trekking plan was launched along the tumbled down tramway route. The foot trail along this rail trail will give an opportunity to see the remainders of bygone days of the transport system, besides seeing hundreds of birds and animals including tiger, elephant, sambhar, spotted deer, sloth bear, porcupine etc.

This is one of the best managed wildlife sanctuaries in India.

The bus took all the trekkers near the gate of the Parambikulam Dam, which was the starting point of our trek. From the bus, what we saw were a pleasure to eyes, peacocks dancing in the woods and spotted deer milling around.

The route offered some fresh sites that made me indulge in fantasy as if someone was using the river water bed as a mirror to teach the basics of reflection.

The trek started at around 10AM and by now the sun was shining bright and smart. The entire trek course was along the river and it was amazingly beautiful.

Since, the initial trek path is flat and regular, I was looking for some excitement and it was just the right time that our guide showed us a herd of elephants near the river bank. After drinking water and cleaning themselves, the elephants moved towards the trek route and this was an ultimate moment of excitement. These colossal creatures were just 60 meters away from the group. We were all lying on the forest’s leaves carpeted floor like soldiers in a war field and I positioned my camera lying down to get a perfect composition. People wearing white shirts and caps immediately put on something non-white because elephants react aggressively to white color. We were resting on the forest floor with pin drop silence, except for the sound of the birds chirping in the woods and the crackling sound that one gets when walking over a bed of dry leaves till the gang of elephants and calves (total number was around 15) passed by.

It was 11:30 AM by then. Our guide told us that, we could catch some more wild actions since this was the time when a bunch of tigers would plunge into the river for some coolness. Hope ran high, but we couldn’t trace them. But we spotted few crews of deer and sambhar, but these species being a sensitive lot, vanished when they encountered a foreign element in their territory.

The gang reached a small tribal colony in the midst of the forest at around 1:30 in the noon for a small break after having trekked for around 10kms. The entranceway to the tribal colony was a bridge across the Kuriakutty River. The bridge though not in operation, still stands intact and the rail line snakes through some thrilling landscape.

Lunch was served to us by the tribal people, which comprised of simple rice, sambar and cabbage fry dished out in dry leaf plates. The food provided the much needed energy and the journey started again. The dry forest was slowly given way to dense evergreen forests.

En route, we traced many birds such as grey hornbills, the great pied hornbills, etc. Also I found some snake's outer skin, hanging from the branch of a tree.

As I was trekking through this abode of greenery, a lot of emotions swam through my mind. And one needs to be in such a secluded place to feel vulnerable to the wild, exhilarated, beatified, commoved, expectant, anticipative, disappointed and happy at the same time. There was exquisite greenery all around with no presence of human beings and I was walking alone with music on my ears courtesy my iPod. It just appeared that the road ahead was never ending.

It was around 5 PM in that we reached the endpoint of day one trekking. The night stay was in an anti poaching camp at Muthuvarachal right next to the flowing river at an elevated altitude. Just imagine the excitement, when someone is there in the dense forest, with the only source of light as either the moon-light or the candle light. Insects creaking and mosquitos' bombinating to attack were the only sounds that one could hear. Even though this camp was at a raised tract, surrounded by trenches, there were still chances of tracing some wild animals in the pitch dark.

We had dinner, which was boiled rice and legumes again courtesy, our tribal friends. We woke early in the morning the next day at around 6 AM and set out for a walk. The jungle was fresh with the earthy smells of the morning. Strolling through the luxuriant vegetation, we saw some pugmarks of a leopard and marks left when the prey was dragged over the dampish soul.

We returned from our morning jaunt and had our breakfast at around 9AM. Then we started for our return journey which lacked verve and we planned to trek till lunch time. As I trekked I could see lots of 'manchans' (tree-top houses) but the most interesting finding was a bird studying center in the heart of the forest. This unit is built in the honor of late Dr. Salim Ali, a renowned ornithologist who had found more than 100 species of birds, traveling on the tram way route.

I saw a wide variety of insects, frogs and other creatures during my return journey. It was around 2PM that, we all had lunch in the same tribal colony, where we had food the previous day. Since we were drained out of energy, our guide asked us to take the Tempo traveler else it wouldn't have been possible for us to leave the forest by 6PM.

As the vehicle was traversing through the bends and the curves of Western Ghats, the scene of the Parambikulam dam was breathtaking from a higher altitude. The next break point was to see the largest and the oldest (as it is close to 450 years now) teak tree in the world, Kannimara Teak. Parambikulam was once home to some of South India’s finest stands of teak but most of these are now replaced by teak plantations, which cover around 9000 hectares of forest land.

We saw a couple of monkeys, lion-tailed macaques, Indian Gaurs too from the Tempo traveler. By now it was 6PM and the return journey to Bangalore started. We made a couple of stops on the way back for dinner and for having tea from road side stalls and before we could realize, we were back in the concrete jungle by 4:30 AM.

Since I was tired, I took some rest before the grumbling and groaning Monday work started, unwilling to let go of the endearing and striking Sunday. Monday, I had a business meeting in the Taj Hotel at Bangalore, and then when I was having lunch there in the neatly manicured gardens, it just reminded me, how life changes suddenly. Just 24 hours ago, I was in the woods having food in a tribal colony and now I am in a restaurant, with a great assortment of cuisines.

Well that's how life is. Take it as it comes.

The remaining pictures of the trek are here in this album.

Social Lynching

heartcrossings — Tue, 25 Mar 2008 05:44:05 EDT

Each time I return from a desi do where I've had to feel like an outcast because I don't come packaged like a "normal" family, I have wondered how many more times I have do this for J's benefit.

At what point would the cultural assimilation be complete so I did not have to put up with desis being their desi-est worst on their own turf? I have gone into these things knowing fully well what to expect but they presented the only opportunities for J to learn about Indian festivals and social customs, meet a bunch of people who looked like her and spoke Indian languages.

It felt wrong to deprive her of the opportunity and risk her growing up with a distorted view of her cultural roots. But my patience is running thin and each time it is a little bit harder to bite the bullet and show up with my child when every pore of me wants to run away. Most often the hosts and a few other close to them already know that there is no husband in my domesticity.

Apparently, word passes around quickly. I have the more cultivated among the guests refrain from any inquiries about my spouse or the lack of one. Invariably, the wife will engage me in conversation alone in the corner of the living room farthest from where the action of the party is and the husband will not be introduced - I guess the standards of decency that apply to normal people do not translate to pariahs of desi society.

The rest make it a point to hear about the missing spouse from the horses mouth. Nothing less will satisfy them. All roads lead to Rome as they say. We could be talking about the recipe for the tasty dhokla someone's brought to the party but a detour will emerge from that conversation leading on to questions such as "Where does your husband work?"

The moral of the story is when you are divorced and desi, all conversations are minefields and there will be no respite until the all important question of the absent spouse is laid to rest in unequivocal terms. Thereafter, you become the leper of desi society left to lick your wounds by the fringes.

It's no different in the workplace either. I have spent close to a year with a group of American co-workers of various ethnicities and colors and never had anyone ask me one question about my marital status. Along comes a desi new hire and it takes her all of two days to ask me about my husband.

Even after all these years, the incorrigible desi does not cease to amaze me. Home or abroad they just don't know how to mind their own business, maintain a friendly but professional relationship with another desi in the workplace. I have been lucky in that everywhere I have worked, I have been able to get my job done with minimal desi interactions. It helps that in the American workplace it is acceptable to be polite but refuse to engage with a co-worker at a personal level.

What irks me most is that I left India to live and work in the States in large part due to such oppressive social mores. I did not want to be treated like an outcast for the rest of my life. It is almost masochistic going into these desi gatherings in America only to receive the kind of treatment I have worked very hard to avoid. I believe there is a point of diminishing return - the gains in the form of J's cultural acclimatization weighed against me volunteering to be made to feel like a pile of trash. Something has got to give.

An older desi gentleman had some words of wisdom for me on this very subject - namely my struggles to give J a sense of her desi identity without getting socially mauled and lynched in the process. In his opinion, desis were being desis when they behaved the way they did. J's understanding of the culture would be quite incomplete - even incorrect without observing that the average desi treated her divorced mother like she was a contagious disease.

Participating in community Diwali and Holi celebrations did not quite cut the mustard when it came to understanding desis and how their minds worked. Was I not interested in giving J an opportunity to see the real desi deal ? To that end, he thought that my situation was a unique gift in as far as the perspectives if offered my child into the world of desis. I should be grateful for that.

What's more, if I remarried the same people who treat me like an untouchable now would roll out the welcome mat for my "family." Unless I was a self-hating desi I should welcome this change of heart as a natural transition that is expected to happen in my culture. J would have known both sides of the story and come to a true understanding of the desi.

According to the older gentleman, I was foolish in complaining about what was really a lifetime learning opportunity for my child. Trying to cherry-pick the desi experience is actually counterproductive. I should just go with the flow, muck and all, knowing it's best for J's greater edification.

I was not able to take this lemon to lemonade harangue too seriously but increasingly I think he was on to something there. Other advice I have received has ranged from "Mothers have to sacrifice a lot for their children. This is only about swallowing your pride for J's sake and only for a few hours. Don't think too much about it" to "Chuck the desis. Cultural assimilation is way overrated anyway. J will turn out to be a good kid. Why get so hung up on making a desi out of her and deal with all that crap?"

My biggest fear is as J grows older and understands all the negativity I have to put up with from people of my own color and culture, she will develop a lasting distaste for all things desi.

That was definitely not what I was setting out to achieve and it would be a sad thing if it did happen. But the only way I know to prevent the worst is to insulate and isolate her from desidom and that I know is not the right answer either. It might turn her into one of those kids who hate being identified with India and Indianness.

I want her to know that I am proud of my cultural heritage and have desi friends who are not anything like what she sees at the average Holi celebration. That there is a subculture worth identifying with and one that defines home and who I am. As my friend T would say "If you can't even identify with a certain brand of desi culture, what's the point of introducing J to it ?" I still hope there is a happy medium that I just haven't found yet.

Religious Convergence on March 21st

Amrita Rajan — Fri, 21 Mar 2008 04:54:50 EDT

It's Friday, the 21st of March - a day that marks the Parsi New Year, the birthday (and death anniversary) of Prophet Mohammad, the commemoration of a significant event in the life of Gautama Buddha, the crucifixion of Jesus Christ, a Hindu spring festival, and the deliverance of the Jewish people from annihilation. It's a once in a lifetime occurrence when "half the world's population is going to be celebrating something":

Ed Reingold and Nachum Dershowitz, co-authors of the books Calendrical Calculations and Calendrical Tabulations, determined how often in the period between 1600 and 2400 A.D. Good Friday, Purim, Narouz and the Eid would occur in the same week. The answer is nine times in 800 years. Then they tackled the odds that they would converge on a two-day period. And the total is ... only once: tomorrow. And that's not even counting Magha Puja and Small Holi.

At a time when religion increasingly makes the news for all the wrong reasons, here's a happy coincidence (or not, if you believe that the universe does everything for a reason) for everyone to celebrate. Here's what's going on in your neighbor's house today:

Navroze - Celebrated by Zoroastrians, Baha'is, Iranians and Central Asians, Navroze or Norouze is the Persian New Year that marks the Spring Equinox. Although it dates back to pre-Islamic times, it has great significance for Sufis and present day Iran. Interestingly, the origin of the festival has an etymological connection with Hinduism. And if you're like me and the world revolves around your stomach, then this is a good time to check out Parsi cuisine.

Eid Milad an-Nabi - Strictly speaking, this fell on March 20th of this year (Christianity's Maundy Thursday). Although certain sections of Islam consider its practice forbidden, its roots go back to eighth century Mecca. Today it is a major event in North Africa and South Asia among other places. Traditionally, it is a day of charity and meditation on the life and meaning of the Prophet.

Magha Puja - A public holiday in Thailand, this day marks the spontaneous gathering, on the night of a full moon in the month of Magha, of 1250 monks personally ordained by the Buddha. The Buddha also delivered a sermon on peace and what it means to be a monk.

Good Friday - Observed the world over, the day marks the crucifixion of Jesus Christ on charges of blasphemy. For many Christians, this is a day of fasting; the severity of the fast differs between sects and ages. Believers typically attend an assortment of services through the day.

Holi - Although Holi proper falls on Saturday, its eve is also a cause for celebration. According to Hindu mythology, this is a day connected to Vishnu's Narasimha avatar: his devotee, the boy Prahlad, was saved from being burnt alive. Celebrated in different parts of India as a spring festival, the night before Holi is marked by bonfires lit to signify the death of Prahlad;s aunt, the rakshasi Holika. Its celebration in North India is accompanied by the unique practice of serving celebrants bhang.

Purim - Based on events recorded in the Book of Esther, Purim is a day that marks a lucky escape of the Jewish people from a sinister plot hatched at the court of Xerxes, Emperor of Persia. Like Holi, this is a day of joyous celebration and it's a state of everything goes: food, drink and merriment.

Even if you don't belong to one of these religions, it's a good way to participate in other people's culture.

From a Train Window

Shantanu Dutta — Sun, 2 Mar 2008 08:13:22 EST

The first time I boarded a train was in 1965 to travel from Delhi to Howrah. The train in question was the Toofan Mail as it was then called and unlike today, where the train still remains a shadow of its former self, in those days it was still in spurts able to run like the Toofan it was named after. It was actually quite a prestigious train those days and the only one exceeding it in status was the Air-Conditioned Express, popularly called the Vestibule Express. It was the first or at least one of the earliest trains in which the vestibule facility was available. The train was still pulled like most others by steam engines and I remember the coal getting into my eyes as I poked my head out of the window to look at the passing country side.

Once I reached Howrah, for a day or so it still felt that I was in the train for at least a day with the train’s rocking motion still drifting in as soon as you closed your eyes. Even with the eyes open, the doors and windows appeared to be moving away like the trees and the electric poles from a moving train. On that occasion, the journey itself was more enjoyable than the final destination and since then it has always been that way for me. Innumerable train travels later, once I have settled into my seat and if no one is pushing and jostling, the trip is still far more enjoyable than its end

Unlike many, I just love train, pantry car and platform food. I have had them all : the Puri Subzi in leaking leaf plates, the bread omelets on numerous station platforms, the “veg” and “non veg” offered by the pantry car attendant armed with a scrap of paper and a stub of pencil and every thing in between including the “continental” on the Rajdhani Express. Of course there is more variety on the platforms- from the well known ones like the pedhas of Mathura and the pethas of Agra to the lesser known ones. Such as the Biryanis of Bhusaval and Manmad, the mihidana and sitabhog of Burdwan or Jalebis and Kachoris at Mawli near Udaipur.

The condition of the train and the mannerisms of your fellow travelers will tell you about the diversity of the country we live in. South bound trains are typically orderly. One can travel in reasonable comfort even in sleeper class as the flow of invading passengers who ask you to “adjust” is much fewer. Itarsi is the station near about which the Rishi Vashishta the legendary figure who crossed over beyond the Vindhyas into Dravidian India might have taken a sojourn as once trains have crossed the station, the evidence of North India beginning to blur in many ways beginning with the food. The Daal for example begins to get replaced by Sambar (they taste the same though in the train!) and Idli and Vada begin to make an appearance in the breakfast menu and the snacks by the train vendors.

Your travel experience is going to be largely determined by the temperament that you possess and those lucky or unlucky enough to be your travel companions. If you have North Indians, they are likely to be boisterous and noisy. Bengalis are equally noisy and proud of their language and make sure that every one in vicinity gets to hear their divine language, shouting for Bablu or Khuku right across one end of the coach to the other. You could be invited for a game of cards if they are short of a partner but you are otherwise ignored as Bengalis have intellectual pretensions even in their gossip which they call Adda. They don’t expect others to have the necessary grey matter and so will leave you alone. The South Indians also mutter in their own language but are much quieter.

Once in a while you get to see scenes that you might forever. One of them that I do is the memory of an elderly Muslim gentleman settling down to say his evening Namaz in the train. It was not easy to figure out which was West in a moving train, nor to perform the necessary ablutions but he managed some how, spread out his mat on the upper berth and unmindful to all his surroundings and even a few staring passengers as well as many granting him grudging respect, he went through his prayers. Today when it is often the fashion to wear your religion on your sleeves and with aggression, the old man’s humble but clear assertion of his beliefs oblivious of any thing else for those few minutes reminded me of what true spirituality is all about.

Today when there is all this talk of competition between low cost airlines and trains and what each has to offer, the talk mostly is all about time savers, costs, short haul, long haul and such commercial vocabulary, I am reminded that journeys are not just about times and distances - it is also about the experiences- the ones you contribute and also the ones you collect over the years and that then shape and enrich you– perhaps the length of the journey does not matter as much as its depth does when you have reached your destination and are settled in your arm chair reminiscing. Some times a non stop journey is not as invigorating as one with interminable stops - just some times.

Fiction: A Muslim Wife's Birthday

Ms. Anona — Thu, 28 Feb 2008 05:16:29 EST

It was his wife's birthday, but no one would have known if not for Jane.

Rabia. her name was Rabia.

It was only acknowledged after Rabia asked Jane's husband, Johan when was the birth date of Annabelle, their daughter. Johan hesitated and looked to Jane for help. Jane didn't know what they were discussing, but after it had been revealed in English, she rolled her eyes and spit out the date along with "And, when is my birthday?!?"

Forgotten birthdays was a topic Jane liked to bring up among his friends where she could become playfully upset. This was one of many traits men of all cultures seemed to share and she had no inhibitions in saying so.

Jane heard a soft, light voice say something brief from the kitchen where Rabia was preparing dinner. She had said placidly and without contempt in their language that it was indeed her birthday. Here it was her birthday and no fanfare or complaint. Yet this white woman had the audacity to complain all year!

Within a few minutes of the revelation, the men were out the door to retrieve a cake. This of course caused much consternation between the children. The two oldest were chosen to accompany them while Anabelle and the youngest stayed behind.

All of a sudden, Jane and Rabia were left alone with the two young ones biting at their ankles. They talked tentatively about their families. Jane had previously learned that Pakistani women rarely would open up to her and oftentimes wondered if they even had anything burning inside of them to open. They seemed genuinely content.

Jane wondered if Rabia ever got upset or angry with her husband, her kids, life in general. She seemed so much like Jane's own mother- always giving, never receiving. Jane wished she could just curb her temper and attitude that so often furled up into something resembling anger or depression in any given moment. Johan wanted Jane to be like Rabia, except keep all the good things that came with being an educated, young, white woman. He wanted a beautiful subservient maid- A Paris Hilton maid. She wanted to please him, but her body and mind just would not contort to this kind of distress. They fought constantly about this. His vision of a woman should not be forced. She should just naturally be this way from loving him, he thought.

The men were still not back. Jane took the children downstairs. They played quietly. The house was silent. She knew if she had three young boys at home, all she would want for her birthday would be a few minutes alone.

She heard clanging of plates in the kitchen. The kitchen was her life, Jane thought. She sought comfort there whereas Jane felt entrapment. There is a saying in both Eastern and Western cultures that goes "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach." Jane thought of a more appropriate saying for Eastern women and came up with "The way to a woman's soul, is through a man's stomach."

The men returned. At sometime around 10:30, dinner was served. There was one chair missing at the table and Rabia lagged behind. Jane called to her to come join them. Her husband explained that she did not eat late at night. Johan made a fat joke aimed at Jane and said he wished that his wife did not eat at night. It flared her temper, but she remained calm, like most times. She was not fat and he knew that she hated eating so late at night, well after most children's bedtime.

After the dinner that her husband would complain about the first thing they rolled out the driveway, the cake was presented on the table. Rabia was calmly serving her own birthday cake!

"Oh, no... there is something really wrong here! Where are the candles?" Jane said. "At least we have to sing 'Happy Birthday'!" The children were rallied together and sang a half-hearted 'Happy Birthday to you....'

The cake was cut and served by Rabia. Everyone ate it except her. Rabia then joined them at the table and ate the leftover dinner of rice and chicken.

On the drive home Jane thought about life and if it would really be easier on her if she acted this way. Easier, maybe, but still Rabia rarely smiled and did not seem to share in any joy.

Rabia's home was one where items seemed to just pick themselves off the floor and put themselves in their right position. No one would have even known she was there.

Shravanabelagola: Lord Bahubali's Abode

Suruchi — Tue, 26 Feb 2008 00:35:22 EST

“I don’t want to spend the first day of the year at home.” Shilpa a friend of mine wanted to go out on the New Year and who best to tag along but a person with “itchy feet” like me. After much brainstorming Shravanabelagola was decided as the destination to be, a unusual choice for the New Year’s day I must say, considering the fact that people prefer partying on the 1st. So, the New Year’s Eve was spent in booking bus tickets, and the first time in the history of my conscious existence I slept even as the clock struck twelve, only to get up early in the morning to start for Shravabelagola. To our surprise the KSRTC bus started before its scheduled time, and this was enough to impress me and as if to bolster my notion the bus covered the 160 Kms stretch from Bangalore to Shravabelagola in a quick three hours.

The majestic statue of Lord Bahubali, Vindhyagiri, Shravanabelagola.

A sleepy town, seeped in history
Shravanabelagola, a major Jain pilgrim centre, is a sleepy town settled around the two hills Chandragiri and Vindhyagiri with the tank Kalyani nestled between them. The 57’ tall statue of Bhagwan (Lord) Bahubali Gomateshwara, the largest monolith in the world (or is it), at the top of the Vindhyagri, is the city’s claim to fame. As we started our ascent an elderly couple from Bangalore joined us, and we were together for the whole day, to any bystander we would’ve appeared as a family out on a trip, Shilpa and me being of the same stature could be easily thought of as sisters. This is what amazes me the most about traveling; strangers don’t remain strangers for long.

Tyaaga khamba, commemorating Chavundaraya who commissioned the statue of Lord Bahubali, on the way to Lord Bahubali’s statue, Vindhyagiri, Shravanabelagola.

There was a quite crowd climbing the hill; school children, families, foreigners alike on their quest for Lord Bahubali on that particularly sunny day, but the sun couldn’t beat down their enthusiasm. There were carriers available for the elderly, and one lady looked particularly smug sitting on one but the gutsy ones preferred the tougher option, the steps. The climb was not very steep and was made comfortable by the gradual steps and the soothing view of the Kalyani.

The Basadis and the well-preserved inscriptions on the Vindhyagiri date back to a period starting from 600 to 1830 CE, with the inscriptions providing insights into the life of ascetics of that era, the Bahubali statue itself dates back to 10th Century. Whenever I visit a place seeped in history these days, I always wonder what would be the ruins of our civilization, would they all be digital?

A priest at Lord Bahubali’s feet, Vindhyagiri, Shravanabelagola.

His Majesty, Lord Bahubali
As we reached the top after climbing the 500 odd steps we caught a glimpse of Lord Bahubali from the entrance of the enclosure where it is situated. My first reaction was one of awe, a priest was meditating close to the feet of Bahubali and he didn’t even amount to as much as one foot of the statue.

The statue is minimalistic advocating the philosophy of Jainism. I marveled at the colossal effort that would have gone into sculpting a statue of such immense proportions, it is imposing and beautiful at the same time. The face of Lord Bahubali with curled locks exudes nothing but tranquility; creepers entwine his whole body to depict the time he must’ve spent meditating in the erect posture before attaining bliss. People were meditating all around the statue, and we too sat down soaking in the vibrations of the place.

After spending some time on the top we started our descent, the sun was beating down on us with full force now. We headed for lunch at a Jain Aahar (an eating place) where we were served some simple but delicious food. On the way back from the Jain Aahar we stopped at a temple, which had some beautiful stone carvings and an idol of Bahubali carved out of marble. As is typical of pilgrim centres in India, Shravanabelagola too teems with shops selling knick-knacks and mementoes, and girls that we are, we indulged in some impromptu shopping buying bangles and stuff. Time was running out so we couldn’t explore the 2nd hill, Chandragiri and headed for the bus stop.

Sculptures at a temple in Shravanabelagola.

Mahamastakabhisheka, when all roads lead to Shravanabelagola
The town appears dull now, but during the Mahamastakabhisheka it undergoes a complete transformation, people from all around the world flock to watch and perform the ceremony. I remember seeing the ceremony live on television as a kid, the event is a riot of colors with Lord Bahubali being bathed with holy water, vermillion, turmeric, and sandalwood… God-willing I would be there for it sometime in person, and capture the whole event through my camera.

The promise being made, we start back for Bangalore, Chandragiri has been left unexplored until the next time. A new year has begun and I’ve spent the first day doing what I like doing the best, traveling, exploring, introspecting and photographing. If the first day were any indicator, hopefully the year 2008 would also be spent in a similar fashion.

The Demise of the Joker - India's Vanishing Circus

Shantanu Dutta — Wed, 20 Feb 2008 02:00:22 EST

India's first ever amusement park, 'Appu Ghar', set up shortly after the 1982 Asian Games operated for the last day on February 17, the last day of its operation. Set up almost on the lines of Disney Land and a brain child of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi, 'Appu Ghar' closed down in compliance with the orders of the Supreme Court after more than 23 years of its existence to make way for the Delhi Metro and the Supreme Court Library.

There is of course a time for every thing- a time to flourish and a time to fade away and that is what has happened to Appu Ghar. It served the purpose of entertaining a generation and now has gone. But Appu Ghar is not the only institution that is on its way into history. Another institution that is on a life line and appears jaded when seen at all is the institution of the circus – The 130-year-old Indian circus industry, once the favorite form of entertainment with family and friends, is struggling to survive. In 2002, the Indian Circus Federation had 22 members; today, it has only 14.

Circuses in India are hemmed in from every side. They have earned the wrath of animal rights activists. The former Union Minister of Social Justice and Empowerment, Maneka Gandhi, banned the use of bears, monkeys, tigers, lions and panthers in circuses in October 1998 effectively putting circuses in coma. Most of small town India looked forward to circuses as their only means of having some glimpse of wild life as only the bigger cities and towns have zoos. It of course open to debate as to how cruelly the animals were or are treated in circuses, keeping in perspective that In India, circus performers themselves remain stigmatized, a far cry from several western countries where it is often an acceptable, respectable choice for a youngster to make, and where schools for wannabe circus artistes, scholarship programmes, and even websites with 'jobs available' and 'the latest in juggling' posted on them flourish.

Indian circuses have been accused of using children in their acts and using child labor and this is a catch 22 situation. Poor revenues often mean that good wages cannot be paid even if one wants to and besides when there is a steady stream of children waiting in the wings to learn and earn perform in hazardous acrobatic tricks, there is little incentive to do so. “Children, especially girls form the bulk of the performing artists in the circuses, as they are the main crowd attractions. A majority of artists in Indian Circuses are Nepalese girls who have been trafficked from the interior areas of Nepal under the guile of a great life at a very young age”

Then there are environmental hazards, particularly fire. Over crowded circus tents with cramped seating and few exits can only mean one thing – that a catastrophe is just round the corner way back in the Nineties , a fire swept the main tent of the Venus Circus in Bangalore sending it crashing down in flames onto a crowd of about 4,000 people and killing more than 60 people. Although no major tragedy has been reported since, condition in circus tents haven’t got much better as any one who has visited one in recent times can testify.

So embedded is the circus in the Indian memory, that when a circus came to town in Bangalore after a long interval , the staid and stiff upper lip newspaper “Hindu” announced its entry with undisguised pleasure. “After six years, Jumbo Circus is back in Bangalore to entertain people during the year end. The show is on at the Palace Grounds, opposite TV Tower, since December 15.” As the circus as a form of entertainment hurls towards what looks like certain extinction, it could be the last time, one will come across such an announcement.

Caesar Augustus - An August Personality

Dr Bhaskar Dasgupta — Sun, 3 Feb 2008 01:55:52 EST

Julius Caesar is very well known in the world, his history, his deeds and wars. The month July was named after him, but how many people know about the Caesar Augustus who had the following month named after him? In many ways, Augustus left a deeper imprint on the world than Julius did. And despite being a total out and out imperialist, he understood the concept of institutions and drove it forward. The man, who can arguably be said to be the father of Western Civilisation, is not well known at all. Let us explore this fascinating man who still influences you and me.

As usual, this essay came forth via several strands. The first was the BBC TV Series ROME which is a brilliant overview of Julius Caesar’s life. The second was a masterful best seller biography (in a series) by Colleen McCullough which I have devoured over the past few years religiously. The last thread was when we were driving around in Northern Italy this summer. We drove on a bridge across a small stream and I mentioned off-hand to my son that this is the famous Rubicon River, which lead to a short history, civics, anthropology, sociology and economics lesson. While I was expounding, he had dropped off to sleep which rather put paid to my lecture (a frequent occurrence, I must admit!) Finally, I received a great book by Anthony Everitt entitled, The First Emperor, Caesar Augustus and the Triumph of Rome, on my birthday which I also devoured hungrily (incidentally, quite a lot of factual information in this essay is from this highly recommended book).

But that led me to think a bit more about the impact he has had on our world. By and large, he was a larger than life character. He exploded on the Roman scene and over his lifetime, starting from the time he was Pontiflex Maximus to the Dictator for Life, he did not really leave behind much besides death and destruction. He built for himself not for posterity. But the strangeness that is humankind, we remember him rather than the rather quiet Caesar Augustus who followed him and who actually influenced posterity in many more ways than Julius Caesar ever did. Julius Caesar invaded Long Haired Gaul and besides killing off more than a million Gauls, also mucked about with other countries ranging from Spain, Britain, to Greece and Egypt.

Just as an aside, but related to the Roman Empire, I am continuously struck by how the Mediterranean Culture is much stronger than say the Arab Culture even now. Whether we are talking about Turkey, Lebanon, Syria, Israel, Egypt, Libya, Algeria, on a longer term basis, they are more European than Arab/Muslim as of now. I wonder if that is why there is always that schism between the Gulf Arabs and the non-Gulf Arabs and whether the cultural, religious, linguistic and economic difference is due to the impact of the ancient Roman Empire (and perhaps the influence of Greek Thought).

But it was Caesar Augustus who first centralized power across all the Roman Regions and Buffer Kingdoms (whether we are talking about Britain or Egypt or Armenia). He was the first person who got legislative approval to actually be able to review and control the Pro-Consular regional representatives appointed by the Senate. He is the ruler who drove a political system that survived for more than five hundred years. This consolidation of power and establishment of political institutions can be rightfully said to be the basis for Western Political Thought and civilisation.

How about his masterful wielding of power, discreetly behind the scenes? Now love him or hate him, but you have to admire his propensity to single handedly wield power over one of the largest and most complex empires known to man. And he did not even call himself as a Dictator or an Emperor. He was simply the First Citizen. He was also honoured with the title of “Father of the Roman Nation” and perhaps that was his biggest achievement. Bear in mind that he would go to the Senate and People to get his power renewed. Now you might quibble over it, but he still did show that the people were supreme, even over a man like him.

The man lived in interesting times (with due apologies to the Chinese). He was the anointed successor to Julius Caesar. He worked with and then defeated Mark Antony and managed that arch manipulator and ruthless queen Cleopatra very smoothly. He was the father (adoptive) to Tiberius, that next famous Caesar and ruthlessly hunted down and killed all the assassins of Julius Caesar including the idealistic but confused man, Brutus.

Despite being the richest man in the world of his time, he lived simply with his wife of more than fifty years in a small set of rooms in the Palatine Hills of Rome. I have not have had the pleasure of seeing his rooms from the inside but I have seen them from the outside and found them to be spectacularly insignificant. If you stand down in the Forum with your back to the Palatine Hills, tune out the incessant chattering and clicking of the tourists, and slowly revolve around in a 270 degree arc, you can very well feel absolutely amazed that this tiny place, with mouldy buildings, columned corridors, and marbled portico’s, controlled a giant empire. And Caesar Augustus established several of those buildings himself.

He was a strange man indeed. He was not like Julius Caesar with his genius and political brilliance (which killed him in the end as he was not able to compromise - a vital element in politics). He realised the difference between conquering a territory, ruling it and winning the hearts and minds of the people. His continuous issues with Germania and the tribes in the lands bounded by the Elbe, Rhine and Danube showed that he learnt his lesson. He did not over-reach himself with the Germanic tribes, but applied those lessons within the Roman Empire itself by developing the political body and nudging and forcing people to take part in political institutions.

He was a physical coward, who suffered psychosomatic fevers during military campaigns, but forced himself to be brave, facing down violent mobs and plunging into battles to prove his bravery. He was clear on the use of force, but also knew that his basic power rested on the famous Roman Legions. And Proconsul Publius Quinctilius Varus, who managed to get his three legions massacred in Germania, was cursed by Augustus for long periods of time. I found that image so evocative, Augustus banging his head on doors and plaintively crying out ”Quinctilius Varus, give me back my legions”. The September day was then called as an unlucky day, a day of mourning.

He knew the use of force, the cost of a standing army and the costs of imperialism. After the civil war, he drastically pruned his standing army to just the bare minimum number of legions required to keep peace on the boundaries. And it was that bare minimum of legions which made him react so badly to the loss of the three legions in Lower Saxony in Germany because it blew a hole in his finely crafted and balanced military – political framework.

He drove himself and other rich men to provide civic services ranging from fire services to temples to employment generation schemes. Rome, at that time, did not have a bureaucracy or a confirmed political class outside the Senate. He extended and bedded down the participation of people in the political and civic world thereby establishing the institutional framework that we see these days of political parties, civic bodies, charitable institutions, etc.

Caesar Augustus was a master in news management and while managing news by sponsoring poets and artists like Horace, Virgil and Livy, he also tolerated people who spoke against him. But before you think that I think he is a God (even thought he was deified like Julius Caesar), the chap was a randy old goat, shagging anything and everything available. He was a hypocrite to the core by proposing moral, family and behavioural laws in public, but being anything but inside the family. His treatment of the women of his family would be appalling to anybody who reads about how he treated them in the case of their marriages. But it was perfectly normal at that time for a paterfamilias to think of women as basically political counters. And that showed another inconsistency within himself. While pushing for republicanism, legalism and constitutionalism, he was a dynast out and out, by working on his successors, options for heirs and spares, over a very long period of time. In fact, he even managed to adopt his wife as his daughter thereby recognising her contribution to the great Roman Empire and his work after his death.

The long term planning was amazing for a man who lived two centuries ago; he was putting into place plans for his successors which were measured in the decades, at a time when life expectancy was measured in the maximum of thirty years years, he would lay plans which would mature ten to twenty years later. But he would be amazingly flexible, when his grandsons died; he smoothly changed his plans to incorporate his stepsons into the dynastic plans. When Tiberius, his elder stepson refused to fall into his plans, Augustus worked on Tiberius for more than ten years before his plans worked out.

He was very clear about his limitations. He knew that he was no military genius, so he pushed hard for his childhood friend, Agrippa, to lead almost all of his military campaigns, whether in the East or in the West. And he had no compunction or issues in sharing power with Agrippa. Agrippa had equal power in the East as Augustus had in the West. This negates those critics who point to his inability to share power such as in the Second Triumvirate with Mark Antony and Lepidus. And he knew that he cannot manage this vast empire on his own, so he explicitly and deliberately educated his sons and stepsons to learn about how to manage political careers, religious offices and military campaigns.

He was disciplined, very disciplined and this came out on both the good and bad sides. Given his constant health issues, he was disciplined in his diet and would take regular exercise. On the other hand, the emotional discipline that he maintained meant that he could exile his darling daughter ruthlessly for being promiscuous and immoral.

At end of the day, he was a statesman who established institutions which still exist, he encouraged moral behaviour and established identities which still resonate across the world, whether in the form of urban planning, religious ceremonies and institutions, philanthropic and charitable institutions, liberal democracy, republicanism, constitutionalism, economics, sociology, news management, and a whole host of other factors that human civilisation currently takes for granted.

All this to be taken with a grain of piquant salt!

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