Coffee Nirvana

Sipping chai in a Kettuvallam (houseboat) as it glides on the calm and serene waters; numerous mangroves and coconut trees that dot the landscape, time standing still – the setting is picture perfect. This tranquil image is more than enough to attract a city dweller who suffers from a chronic too-much-of-traffic-need-a-holiday migraine in our chaotic metros.

Kerala Tourism has done its job really well. After having visited the hills and tea estates in the northern part of Kerala, ‘God’s Own Country’ still beckoned me to visit the beautiful backwaters of the south. When the time came for us to take a family holiday, a lakeside resort in Kumarakom was what we chose. My Malayali friend had remarked that such resorts represent the rich tourist’s ‘gated Kerala’ and the ‘real’ Kerala was always shielded from the visitors. I was about to find out soon enough.

Kumarakom is easily accessible from Bangalore. The state transport corporations and private operators run comfortable A/C buses for the overnight journey from Bangalore to Kottayam, the nearest city from where one can take a taxi or another bus to Kumarakom. If you book in advance, the Kanyakumari Express from Bangalore to Kottayam is perhaps the most convenient way to travel. The quickest option is to take a flight to Kochi (Cochin) and hire a taxi from there to Kumarakom. We chose the third option as we wanted to maximise time spent in Kumarakom.

As I sat in the taxi from Kochi to Kumarakom, I had some conflicting emotions – happy that we were on a well-deserved holiday but apprehensive of a touristy and sanitized resort.  The ride to Kumarakom was a blur of coconut trees, paddy cultivations and near misses. It reminded me of the Formula 1 races we watch on Sundays. Do all the coastal drivers learn from the same school where Schumacher and Hamilton learnt to drive?

The resort

(courtesy: www.makemytrip.com)

Kumarakom is one of the tiny villages that dot Vembanad Lake. The chief occupations in the area are paddy cultivation, fishing and coconut plantations. The place would have stayed as such if Kerala’s tourism industry had not made it famous. The fascinating beauty of the lakes and lagoons was intelligently positioned for the drove of tourists who love the relaxing ambience of the backwaters. Even though there are innumerable resorts right along the lake’s coast, weekends and long holidays are especially busy times and we were lucky to get a booking in one of them, the Backwater Ripples.

At the end of a longish journey we ended up at the resort two hours late, and I couldn’t wait to hit the shower. Not before a lady in a traditional white-and-gold saree applied ‘chandanam’ on our foreheads and did an aarti. Visions of the welcome received by visiting cricket teams and foreign delegates flashed across my mind. This simple Indian welcome has become so touristy and synonymous with foreigners that I had forgotten one could greet our own people this way.

Backwater Ripples is a lovely resort. Facing the lake, it’s a more economical option compared to the spectacular Radisson and the famous Taj next door. A swimming pool on the very edge of the resort, almost touching the lake bed gives a feel of swimming in the vast lake. Predictably, the resort also offered the famous Kerala ayurvedic therapies.

Curiosity drove me to the massage parlour and some simple marketing by them made me try some treatments. To their credit, they were quite good and professional. The medicated oil that they sold also provided some relief to my parents’ rheumatic problems back home in Bangalore.

The day we arrived at the resort, we took a complimentary boat ride on the lake. Vembanad Lake is the longest and largest lake in Kerala. The lake is fed by many rivers that rise in Western Ghats and flow westwards to join the Arabian Sea. Cities like Alappuzha, Ernakulam and Kottayam are set on the periphery of this scenic lake. Watching the lake’s coast, in Kumarakom, with its many beautiful resorts, the monotonous drone of the motor, the slight breeze in the twilight can be very hypnotic. I retreated gently into a mood of idyllic tranquillity.

Kumarakom Village

A walk through the village is one of the activities suggested in the resort’s guidebook. “Oh! That’s for the foreigners ma’am. They are interested in such things. Of course we (Indians) know all about it.”, the dainty receptionist explained smilingly when I asked for details. Well, being a city-bred person, I did not know ‘all’ about rural life, and therefore forced my husband to leave his book and hammock aside and walk through the winding lanes of the village. I was determined to explore the Kerala, beyond the resort.

Life in Kumarakom revolves around the lake water. The lake provides them Karimeen (fish) and is the main source of water for the paddy cultivation and the coconut trees. The water is everywhere. It lazily meanders around homes, in front of the doors and into the fields. Most houses have a basic bridge that consists of a rope to hold for support and a coconut tree trunk as the base! Can’t be easy to get back drunk late at night if one isn’t used to tight-rope walking.

Some bigger homes have better concrete-looking bridges. As is typical with India, the water of the lake is used for bathing, washing utensils and sadly, also as the only sewage outlet. With all the money from tourism, why can’t the Government invest in good sanitation? The roads were also a let down. Being a preferred holiday destination for politicians and film stars, I had expected better roads atleast.

A few churches dot the village scene, an indication of local religion of the land. Along the main road connecting Kumarakom to Kottayam, new spacious houses were under construction and I could spot television sets in many homes. Clearly the local people are earning extra income through the thriving tourism and are well-connected to the outside world. One of them showed us how to temper a bamboo stalk to make it straight and use as an oar for the small boats. These boats are used to navigate through narrow moats and carry clay that are used in pottery.

I couldn’t help feeling that Kerala has succeeded in convincing its rural citizens that by parting with their lands for building resorts, and attracting tourists, their lot could also improve. Further up north on the Arabian coast, the same effect hasn’t yet been achieved in Karnataka, which perhaps has exactly the same set of attractions to offer to tourists – the backwaters and coconut tree-filled landscape. To their credit, Kerala has also not gone overboard as Goa perhaps has. The tourism industry realises that its charm lies in retaining some of its old world character.

“If anyone tries to lure you for a boat-ride up the lake, you should bargain heavily”, advised our rickshaw driver while swerving to avoid a moon-crater like pothole on the road. We were clinging for dear life on the way back from Kumarakom’s bird sanctuary. The sanctuary is huge and one of its main visitors is the Siberian crane. Atleast that’s what the board says. Visiting this place at 10 am, there was not much chance of spotting any.

The rickshaw driver acted as our self appointed guide, so I ventured to ask him a good place to taste the local cuisine. The Kerala restaurants in Bangalore list mouth watering menu of appams, idiyappams, stews and sea food.

But here in the small towns and villages, we learnt from him, it is mainly chor (boiled rice) or parotta (not to be confused with the Punjabi paranthas) with Karimeen (fish) curry.  Having tasted parotta in a highway hotel, I did not want to try it again. However if you are a non-vegetarian and love sea food, you might like the Karimeen they offer.

So we decided to pamper ourselves with the exotic cuisine back at the resort. Anticipating a lunch of appams & stew, we were easily shocked that the lunch buffet was entirely North Indian – rotis, sabjis and pulao. The largely North Indian tourists, we were told, love Kumarakom but prefer North Indian dishes. Disappointed but determined we requested the chef for an entire coastal spread for dinner.

(courtesy: Wikipedia)

The request was serviced and later that night, having a sumptuous dinner of appams, stew, chor and rasam, it still wasn’t the same. From the banquet hall, one could hear loud Bollywood music for a party of techies from one of the many IT firms from Bangalore. A family from Delhi next to us were feasting on rotis and alu curry.

Though we witnessed a Mohiniattam by a graceful petite Malayali danseuse after the dinner, my friend’s remark about a ‘sanitized’ Kerala rang in my ears. However Kumarakom, just like any other town or village in Kerala, exists beyond the beyond the resort’s beautiful setting. Venture out and observe through a traveller’s critical eye. Enter in and get pampered like a Bollywood star. Best of both worlds.

The old Hyderabad area, the shopping centre around Charminar is a photographer’s paradise(apart from being a shoppers’ dream). The busy market area, the colour, the vibrancy will make a photographer go into a clicking frenzy, especially with a weather more pleasant than Bangalore(this was post monsoon time in 2009).

But with a cranky 3 year old, I could just take a few shots from a flying auto(still have to get used to hyderabad’s rickshaws) that raced through the area.

I have uploaded some photos of the area. In case you call them bad, try clicking snaps crouched in the back of an auto with a eager infant wanting to click some on his own.

The colourful Market Square.

I like the bright orange dress.

Charminar, a first glimpse.

I wonder how the area looked like when this structure first came up. Did the market sprout around the structure or the other way round?

A Bollywood message or a simple design on the auto?

The venue for IITM (India International Travel Mart) event could not have been more apt. Set in the spacious grounds of Bangalore Palace, the summer home of the erstwhile ruler of Mysore, it exuded both royal comfort and verdant gardens that many urban dwellers desire. The huge garden in front of the palace was picturesque and so were the brochures that enticed the visitors and revealed how enchanting our country really is.

At the entrance, facing the beautiful lawns, were different types of horse drawn carriages, the automobiles of an early era. The exhibition stalls were set behind the Palace. Tickets were modestly priced Rs 20/- per head.

The stalls were huge and with many props that showcased the states’ attraction. While Andhra predictably put up a prop of the Charminar, Gujarat had a 4-winged frame in which each frame acted as a collage of attractions of a particular city. Kerala enticed both the elite and the backpackers. A set of stalls marketed affordable homestays while there were others which sold us dreams of luxury on a houseboat.

Karnataka’s section was designed after the Patadakkal temple. The Karnataka brochure encapsulated the state’s map & its attractions – beaches, waterfalls, culture, heritage, wildlife and adventure tourism – along with lists of travel agents and tour operators for the state.

Karnataka

The staff at the Puducherry (Pondicherry) stall handed me a brochure that showed that the place was more than just Aurobindo Ashram and Auroville. I knew that the city was mentioned in Sherlock Holmes stories but did not know that Man Booker prize winner -‘Life of PI’ – revolved around this city. A handy map of the city centre is also given in the brochure.

I also loved the stall Wandervogel who specialise in customised tours and adventure tourism in the North East and Ladakh.

There were also magazines like Travel Media, Safari Plus and World Travel to name a few. The international stalls in the exhibition were interesting – Jordan, Greece, Dubai and Thailand.

It was a head spinning time browsing at the various stalls. Busy Travel agents and tour operators flipped in and out of stalls. Small business operators, families and individuals like me were also a part of crowd. Looking at the number of people who thronged the exhibition, I wonder if  the recession’s over.

The diverse places, exotic holidays, adventures and leisure all contained in the handful of brochures, I walked out happily.

About the event

Bangalore: 18th – 20th July 2009

Venue: Bangalore Palace Grounds (from the entrance opp. Mount Carmel College)

Tickets: Rs 20/- per head.

Website: http://www.iitmindia.com/

“In this water, I invoke the presence of divine waters from the rivers Ganga, Yamuna, Godavari, Saraswati, Narmada, Sindhu and Kaveri”

As a kid, I have heard my father recite this shloka (hymn) everyday before he took a bath. However, I had hardly realised the importance of this Vedic hymn at that time.

Rivers are an important source for the development of any community. Around the world, almost every famous city in the past or present are by the banks of a river. In India, we consider all our rivers as divine and worship them. Even the word ‘India’ is derived from  the  word ‘Indus’ or ‘Sindhu’.

As I grew older, from the school’s social studies curriculum I learnt that the Indus Valley civilizations – Harappa and Mohenjodaro – lie in Pakistan. My knowledge of the region was also very vague. I knew that their big cities like Karachi, Lahore and Islamabad were similar to our cities and the rest , I assumed, consisted of feudal gun-toting tribesmen. That was before I read this book.

I bought Alice’s book since I had been told that it was a ‘best seller’ in the travel category. The book chronicles her Indus river journey and describes in detail the history, culture and important events that took place on the banks of this ancient river. As a historian and traveller, Alice leads one through different periods of history and its significance to the sacred Sindhu River – the bedrock of our very ancient civilization.

In the initial chapters one learns the importance of Pakistan’s low caste Hindus (Shudras) who keep the sewers clean in the fabric of Pakistan’s society. The chapter then describes the period of vivisection of India and Pakistan and reveals the stories of the refugees. At this stage, it did not speak much about the river itself. However, as one reads further, it becomes quite clear on what Alice is trying to achieve. She provides the socio-political events as a context to explain its impact on the Indus. Going through the travails of Sindh, the follies of the British and the power struggle in present Pakistan government, the tale is so absorbing that one feels that he is a silent spectator during the Pakistan’s  evolution.

Her journey is in reality as a set of travelogues interspersed with history. The volume of her travels is so huge that each chapter can become a story by itself. Whether it’s the rise of Sikhism or Buddhism or Islam on the banks of the river or the conquests of Alexander or Ghazni, the river becomes an important backbone to every tale.

Until she explained the similarities between Islam and Buddhism – intense religious learning, non-idolatry worship– one could have never believed that such a concept can exist. Swat, a place that has become a victim to Taliban was once known as Uddiyana, an ancient thoroughfare of trans-Asian Silk Road. This and many other similar facts unfolds the roots to early Vedic and Buddhist history of India. In fact, if  the Taliban had read this book they would never have destroyed the huge carving of Maitreya Buddha in Swat.

The famous Alexander and Puru’s battle on the banks of Indus has been often told with glorification of either of the great Kings. A much distorted (read Americanised) Hollywood movie, where Alexander speaks with a North American accent, was released a few years back. To understand the actual facts on how Alexander met his match at the Indus river and used his military tactics to defeat Puru’s huge army is a captivating tale in this book.

The migration of early Vedic civilizations from the Indus to the banks of Ganga, a more fertile region, the tempting but unsubstantiated claim of the Aryan-Dravidian theory and the distorted theory that the Aryans were early migrants from Europe depict the extent of research that has been done for the book.

As she travels further north into the vast spaces of Tibet and Ladakh in her quest to seek the source of Indus, civilizations and cultures are left behind and the river and the landscape takes over. The Indus is Senge Tsampo (Lion’s mouth) here, her guides are Drokpas, the terrain are mountains and valleys.  The last few pages narrate the end of her journey, to the source of a river that was known as ‘Saaransh’ (flowing for ever) in the ancient Vedas, and ends with a warning that the river might be ‘dammed out of existence’ due to man’s costly mistakes.

You can’t read this book in a day. Nor can you finish reading it just one time. Close the book now. I can guarantee that you’ll reopen it; maybe to read about a tribe or history of a conqueror or life of a Wajiristan’s tribal or about the ‘older than vedic age’ and yet surviving Kalash culture or about the Indus river herself. Awards or no awards, its a very spellbinding tale of a river that gave a name – India – to our country.

(Image Courtesy: Wikimedia.org)

My blog posts had somewhat temporarily stalled. The reason was simple. There was a marriage – my brother-in-law’s – around the corner. I was gently advised not to take up any ‘new work coming my way’, until THE events were over.

In the last few months not a day has passed without a talk about the impending event.  My brother-in-law liked this girl and they had finally announced it to the elders. You’d think its simple, but that’s when the ‘Project Wedding’ starts. I have tried to unfold the event’s highlights.

‘First Meeting’: There was the first ‘meeting’ of the ‘other’ family.  An event in itself where families assess each other, praise their respective children and the talk invariably turns to setting the  date, booking a choultry (marriage hall) etc.

Shopping: Sarees, jewellery, invitations, suits or dresses for everyone in the family and the cousins, relations etc were painstakingly chosen over the next few weeks. It takes quite a bit of financial juggling  to go on such sprees – especially if you have made wise investments and do not want to break a fixed deposit even if the ‘Gold rate’ is low. Any new item that is not necessarily required for the marriage – e.g. an Ipod – is postponed until the ‘wedding is over’.

Visitors: There were visitors to the house every week. Aunties who wanted to ’see’ the sarees – silk for the girl, and her mother, cotton silk for elderly matrons – and jewellery – the diamond ring, thali, necklace etc. They were also updated on the ‘latest news’ from the ‘girl’s’ family – E.g. ‘her mother had called to finalise on the lunch menu’, ‘her grandmother slipped & fell’ etc. Uncles were more interested about the girl than the shopping. The story of how their boy met the girl was narrated umpteen times. Sometimes the males do appreciate the shopping and it can lead to some peculiar situations. Looking back, I don’t know how I kept a straight face when a male cousin held a ‘lehenga’ (skirt) to his waist while appreciating the design and assessing its weight.

As the D-day arrived, meticulous planning was done to the last minute detail. All ‘what-if’ situations had backup plans charted out.

Marriage: The ‘baraat’ (I use the more commonly known North Indian term here) was welcomed the previous evening at the choultry by the girl’s side. The marriage was early next day.  A ‘reception’, that generally follows the marriage, had been thankfully cancelled as both the families decided against it.

As the boy’s ‘relations’ we were garlanded and invited in. What followed was general conversation among the relations while the boy and the girl were herded off by the family ‘priests’ (there was one from either side).  The same scene was re-enacted on the day of marriage – with more guests. Here’s a bird’s eye view of what happens generally in a South Indian marriage. The couple mumbles whatever the priest dictates, while the guests make polite conversations. Usually the ladies catch up on the latest news in the family and the gentlemen talk about politics or cricket.

Of course, as the immediate family, we had a lot of work. One was always stationed near the priest to provide whatever he asks for. One played the role of a host urging everyone to have a good time and handing over ‘tambula’ (coconut) while I was asked to go around offering ‘kumkum’ and ‘blouse piece’ to all female guests in the hall.

Once the ‘tying the knot’, that signifies & sanctifies the marriage, was over there was a flurry of guests to the mandapam to hand over the gifts so that they can go for lunch. Here again there was one stationed to collect the gifts from the harried couple. At last, when we did have lunch, it was time to pack up and clear the hall.

I now know why Hindus ‘get married only once in a lifetime’.

The Dharmaraya temple and its Karaga festival is explained in every history book’s chapter on Bengaluru’s culture or heritage. However the city being a mix of many cultures performs many other lesser known and very old temples & festivals. My next few posts will be an attempt to unravel them.

I will start the series with this post on Tulasi Thota, behind Chikka Lalbagh in Balepet-Akkipet area.

The temple’s two main deities are Lord Krishna and Rama. During March April every year the area sees a ‘Brahma Rathothsavam’ for Lord Krishna and Ramothsavam for Lord Rama.

The main deity of this temple is Lord Krishna, in the classic picture, as a child with a cup of butter. The age of this temple is a mystery. While one source says the temple was built in 1844 by Sri Chamaraja Wodeyar, the ruler of Mysore, another source mentions its age to be much older.

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(Image courtesy: www.natureforever.org)

I’m one of the fortunate few who can sit in front of the computer but not in a tiny spaced cubicle in an artificially created weather. As I write now, I face the small patch, which I call my garden, in the backyard of my house watching many birds – robins, tits, crows, pigeons – chirping and cawing. Its meal time for them and the rains have brought them good harvest.

Surprisingly, I haven’t seen even one sparrow until now. Where have they gone? I remember in the eighties there was a huge rainfall with hailstorms. As kids we kept small buckets and pans to catch some of them. I recall spotting a sparrow in the small corner of the ventilator space, hiding, since it was too stormy for it to fly home.

There were many sparrows in the city in the eighties. One custom that every middle class brahminical house performed was feeding the birds before having lunch. My mother would hand me a ladle of freshly cooked rice and say, ‘Kakaku vechuttu vaa’ (give it to the crows). Once the crow had its fill, I’d always spot a sparrow nibbling on the grains. Our lunch was always after this ritual. No one has follows it today and the sparrows too have disappeared.

So it was a pleasant surprise to when I happened to click on this link which talks about conservation of house sparrows. I also learnt the reasons for the decline.

To quote from the website, “Today, we no longer find horse carriages (tanga) which were once the main mode of transport in urban areas; they have been replaced by cars. We also no longer find women sitting outside the house and cleaning grains because today, people get flour and grains in pre-cleaned and packed packets which they buy from malls where our winged friends are not able to go.”
If you have a small balcony, keep a feeder or atleast a plate of clean grains or freshly cooked rice and a bowl of clean water. Just avoid salted nuts or grains or oily food. You might get some winged guests flying in.

I intend to start the bird feeding ritual as in my younger days. I hope to see the sparrows return soon.

Congress Manifesto – 2009

BJP Manifesto – 2009

JDS Manifesto - 2009

I always had this curiosity about Main roads and Cross roads of Bangalore. The Mains are not exactly Main as they are often single lane roads running through residential neighbourhood. The Cross roads do intersect the Mains and are wider, two-lane roads with a conglomerations of shops, schools, garages that spill onto the side-walk, bhelpuri walla’s mobile shops, beggars and cobbler’s makeshift sheds. Whether it is Indiranagar’s 100feet road or Basavanagudi’s Bull Temple road, they all intersect Main roads. In contrast the Mains are quiet, narrow, single lane and sometimes unpaved roads with motorbikes or cars are parked on one side of the road. Growing up in this city, I assumed that Main roads are residential roads and Cross roads are bigger roads with sidewalks and are used for commercial purposes.

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I remember my paati (grandmother) bringing a small earthen jar full of tasty chunky pickles. Walking from her home to her daughter’s (my mom’s) place just before noon, she would make sure we could taste the spicy stuff for lunch. Though lime and mango are the usual ones, I would wait for the seasonal ones like makaliberu, usually mixed with ginger. It is said that the fragrance of this plant is so strong that it attracts snakes.
Another kind of seasonal variety that I loved were paati’s Nellikai Urugai – mmm.. those heavenly pickles in the typical earthen jars must have somehow inflenced my fondness for spicy food. These days we dont have time or inclination for cutting, marinating and storing the pickles. Simply pick up a bottle of Priya’s or some other brand and store them in the fridge. I sometimes imagine Priya’s manufacturing place having thousands of earthen jars full of makaliberu or nellikai or avakai ready to be shipped! Nostalgia does strange things to one’s mind.