Life is a beach

Day two of my mystery tour and I went birding in a sanctuary that is named after a famous religious saint or deity ,  then stopped at a cashew processing unit and finally went to a beach and went parasailing ..go ahead and make your guesses..I am on the road again and will connect with you in a short while

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A morning at Marina

It was an impromptu decision to go to marina beach this morning and I spent about half an hour there enjoying the silence of the morning. Here is a view of the beach, bathed in the warmth of the rising sun. I have uploaded a few more photographs on my facebook page - you can click here 

Tranquebar beach - Skywatch Friday

Tranquebar or Tarangambadi as its called today was once a Danish colony , nestled in the Coromandel coast of India. Walking around the old fort, I could see the view of the beautiful beach from the windows. The fishermen had just finished their early morning catch and their boats bordered the shore..

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Driving down the Coromandel Coast - Part 3

We are back at the coastline as I bring you the last leg of my journey down the Coromandel Coast . A quick recap here for those who have just joined me on the trail.We left Chennai and drove down to Sadras in Part 1 and then we continued towards Pondicherry where we crossed Alamparai and the salt fields at Marrakkanam in Part 2. I now bring you guys back to the coastline where we will visit more erstwhile colonies of the colonial era.


The traffic shakes us out of our reverie as we continue towards Cuddalore, an ancient port which wears the mask of an industrial town. We leave the bustling town and delve into the past. The old town presents itself, boasting of a Roman connection. But in Cuddalore, was the very foundation of the East India Company .The seas have witnessed battles fought between the arch rivals here .We skim through layers of history and learn that Fort St David, an erstwhile fort on the banks of the river Gadilam was the headquarters of the British before Fort St George in Chennai took over. A passer by tells us that this fort was under the control of the Marathas and it was later on bought over by the British . The story goes that the purchase was decided based on a shot from a gun. The area which came under the range of the canon included the entire town and Cuddalore became a British settlement.


We move on as canons echo in our ears as we take another detour to enter a crowded town.� This is where the Parangis stayed , so its called Parangipettai,� says a school teacher with whom we have a cup of tea at a local stall.� In Tamil, Europeans are called Parangis, but this small port is a trade centre for the Arabs and the Yemenis. Parangipettai or Porto Novo as it was called by the Portuguese was also colonized by the Dutch and English . I couldn�t find any ruins here, but I heard that the Nawab of Arcot minted the Porto Novo Pagoda, the gold coins from here. I leave another noisy town and move on towards Tranquebar or Tharangambadi.


The breeze lifts our spirits. We know we are getting there. The roads get narrower as we finally get to hear the music from the sea shore. Tharangambadi means just that � the town of the singing waves. And as we walk towards the waters, the lilting tune haunts us. The waves gently stroke the rocks which seem to be a remnant of an old wall. The beach is littered with colourful boats .The nets are scattered as the kids run around. A big Indian family jump on to a boat and take pictures , while a few enjoy a swim. Couples stroll around as I watch the skies come alive with the evening colours .


Tharangambadi or Tranquebar (Trankebar) as this Danish settlement was called found its way in the history map in the 17th century when the Danish East India company built the Fort Dansborg . Today the fort , with a Scandinavian feel about it opens out into the sea and is now a museum that tells a story of a busy port which has now become a wind blown village.


We take a heritage walk with Asai, an architect from INTACH who are doing their bit to preserve the unique architecture here which is a blend of European and Indian styles. When we enter the portals through the � �Landporten� or the town gate, we walk into a past that has a washed out charm. The gateway sports the Danish Royal seal and leads us through a row of colonial bungalows and ancient churches.


Asai takes us on a historic trail. He says that in 1620, a Danish fleet landed here and the captain identified it as a strategic trading centre. The village was then ruled by the Nayaks from Thanjavur . A deal was struck between the king, Vijaya raghunatha and the Danish admiral Ove Gjedde. A small strip of an insignificant fishing hamlet was leased from the king for an annual rent of Rs 3111 and Trankebar was created with the Dansborg Fort built right in the centre of it. While the Danes traded in spices and silks it was finally sold to the British for Rs 12.5 lakhs in 1845 .


The quaint streetscapes lend an old world charm. We walk down the small bylanes called King street, Queen Street, Goldsmith Street where buildings have been restored. �To begin with the bungalows of the British Collector and the Danish Governor ,� says Asai pointing to the Bungalow on the Beach which is now a sprawling mansion overlooking the beach. �The latter is next on our agenda,� he adds.
The tsunami he says swallowed close to four streets in this lost forgotten town and he takes us to see the ravaged Masilamani Nathar temple, the oldest monument that has survived in Tranquebar, An inscription says that this partially eroded temple was built on a land granted by King Maravarman Kulasekara Pandian in 1306. The village was then referred to as Kulashekarapattinam or Thayangambadi.

We walk with Asai to the 18th century Zion Church, the oldest protestant church of India . The New Jerusalem Church, he says was built a bit later by german missionaries Bartholom�us Ziegenbalg and Heinrich Pluetschau who translated the Bible into tamil . The trail ends near the beach as we see many tattered monuments waiting to be restored.


It is dusk and the melody from the waves reach a crescendo. We sit on the rocks and watch the sun set sipping a hot ginger tea when I hear a haunting tune from the past. The little snippets of history from these forgotten ports play in my mind. The passage of time may have eroded their identity and they may have slowly faded away from the political maps , but the glory of these long lost towns would probably never fade away . Its hidden , waiting to be discovered�

Thanks for joining me in this journey. It would be wonderful of you travelled with us as well.Travelwise, managed by Arun and I will soon be doing a trail in Tamil Nadu. Windows and Aisles, the inflight magazine of Paramount Airlines published this story in their December issue.

Driving down the Coromandel Coast - 2

We had paused in our journey from Chennai to Tranquebar at Sadras in Part 1. Part 2 continues as we drive towards Pondicherry . This article was published in Windows and Aisles, the inflight magazine of Paramount Airlines in November 2009. Travelwise is launching this trail in January 2010. Join us as we resume the journey again and take you down to the coast.


As the past merges with the present, we are driving into another time zone. Bordered by coconut trees, the backwaters looks inviting. A few boats lie scattered. We take a detour from the village of Kadapakkam and enter the portals of another port lost amidst the ruins, located right next to the seashore. There is no one in sight. Coconut and palm grooves shelter the broken bricks as the rubbles resonate with the glory of the past .


We are at the 17th century Alamparai fort also called Alampara. Built during the Mughal era it was ruled by the Nawab of Carnatic and was later on gifted to the French for their support. The British eventually destroyed the fort and the dockyard which was more than 100 metres long.

A rusty ASI board gives us more information. Alamparai, it says was the ancient land of Idaikazhunadu, mentioned in the literary work, Siruppanatruppadai. The sea port was used for trade by the Arcot Nawabs and zari , salt and ghee were exported from here. Coins were minted from here as well and later on the mint was shifted to neighbouring Pondicherry. The mint built on a highway near Alamparai here even housed a Shiva temple, a �choultry � and a pond and was built for the benefit of the travelers coming down this route towards Rameshwaram.


We are unable to find the highway, but the breeze takes us on a different route. A local fisherman offers us a ride in his catamaran. The sky and the sea merge into a vast expanse of blue . We watch him deftly stroke the waves as he entertains us with stories of film crew who have shot many a scene here.


The sun gets kinder as we drive towards what is left of French India in Pondicherry. The smell of the salts however makes us pause at Marrakkanam . The entire stretch is filled with heaps as a group of workers extract the salt. We chat a bit about their day as a couple shyly walks up to us and asks us to photograph them. � They are getting married,� laughs another woman, while a grumpy man wants money to talk about salt extraction. We take him with a pinch of salt, show the couple the photographs and move on towards the quaint streetscapes of Pondicherry .

The French connection with Pondicherry is often waxed eloquent by the tourists . But not many speak of the Portuguese , Danish and Dutch who have all laid claim to this port which was another centre of trade . Eventually the French, though defeated by Dutch bought it from them for 16000 pagodas. Pondicherry or Poudoucheri as it was called became the capital of French India. There was a time when Madras was controlled by the French from Pondicherry, says the local policeman with his tall unique hat.We stop at Auroville , grab a quick bite and slip back in time again as we continue our journey.

Driving down the Coromandel Coast - Part 1

It has always been my dream to traverse down the coastline and lose myself in dusty fishing hamlets. The smell of the sea lures me . The waves tell a story of their own. Dripping with foam, they gather around my feet as my toes snuggle into the sand refusing to let go. I stand on the edge of the shore and watch a pair of juvenile brahminy kites dive into the sea. They miss their catch, but they continue to scoop down into the waters until they succeed.

Elsewhere the echo of laughter drowns the rhythm of the waves. The silent shore suddenly transforms into a bustling market. The fisherfolk arrive brightly clad with a variety of catch . The women carry their baskets while the men drag their trawlers ashore and fold their nets. The boats bob on the surface as the women display their fares. The creatures of the sea lie serenely on the colourful rags as they attract customers. Their silver scales glitter as the day�s bargaining begins. It is business as usual.



I catch snippets of gossip. Their loud voices pierced with laughter cuts through the silence. The women try to sell me the crabs and prawns, but I walk away towards the backwaters close by where the nets are still cast by the fishermen. A pied kingfisher looks down from the branch scanning the surface for fish. I lose myself in the crowds and carry on with my journey .

It�s a long drive cruising down the coastline from Chennai to Tranquebar. Along the way, several hamlets interrupt my journey as I pause by to take in the local culture. Some of these nonchalant villages once wore a cloak of a different identity. They were erstwhile thriving ports of powerful kingdoms or bustling settlements of Europeans but are today lost in a maze of huts and fields overlooking the shores. While some became popular tourist spots, a lot remain hidden behind the garb of a simple village. My tryst with the Coromandel coast begins with the quest for these lost pieces of history.


The highway runs parallel to the Bay of Bengal as I drive from Chennai towards Mahabalipuram . The East Coast Road rushes past stretches of blue and green as the casuarina groves interrupt the ocean view. Tsunami camps bring back memories of a furious nature as I look at the contrast of a tame sea gently lashing the shore. We buzz past the ancient Pallava port of Mahabalipuram and drive down towards Kalpakkam , the centre of atomic research near Chennai. My first destination was an erstwhile battlefield .

They say the power of imagination can recreate anything. However , it took me a while to imagine that a quiet fishing village with a handful of shops could be anything close to a battlefield. I go back several centuries when the entire landscape was dotted with fortresses which were seats of power. The seas were choppy and filled with fleets which fought each other. The maps altered and the boundaries changed. The tamil speaking locals had morphed into European nationalities. The Dutch, the Danes, the Portuguese, the French and the British were all here fighting for control over present day Tamil Nadu and Pondicherry.


I am in Sadras or Sadarangapatinam, looking at a restored 17th century Dutch fortress and a cemetery that tell the story of the Battle of Sadras fought between the fleets of the British with the French and the Dutch. An inconclusive battle, the wars were an aftermath of the 18th century European politics set against the American War of Independence. The canons , a watch tower , the warehouses and the tombs at the cemetery are the possible reminders that this was once a centre of power. Although the British fleet suffered a setback in the first war, eventually the British East India Company took over the settlement in the early 19th century.


Sadras , often assumed as a twin city of Madras (today�s Chennai) has a history that even dates earlier to the Chola feudatories and later on was ruled by the Vijaynagar empire. A weaving centre, it is known for muslin which was exported to Europe. The colonial hangover suddenly disappears as a self styled colourful tourist guide accosts us . He looks straight out of a Kollywood film studio and offer to take us around. It is amusing to listen to his stories as he tries to extract money from us and even wants to take us for a ride around Sadras in our car.

There is glitter all over him, he wears blue rimmed plastic sunglasses, an orange whistle around his neck and has pink nail polish. He looks straight out of a Kollywood set, speaks only in English and calls himself �a furniture doctor� who does part time guiding around the fort. A sensible decision would have been to walk away while he is on the phone, but we decide to take his picture. Pleased as punch, he introduces himself as Anand and says that he has just returned from his daughter�s birthday party. We know he is a trickster and as we leave , a local policeman walks past us saying, �He is mental, madam.� We leave them yelling at each other, wondering about the colourful people we meet while travelling and move on towards Pondicherry.

This story was published in Windows and Aisles, the inflight magazine of Paramount Airlines recently. I will be posting them in parts as its rather long..Travelwise will be launching this trail in January.

Musings by the sea shore

The mountains beckon some, the forests lure you, there is a charm in an old heritage monument and a certain peace in a remote town . I often get lost in new worlds, some that let me escape the mundane realities of life.

But when my mind is restless, I often seek the waves. The ebb and flow of the waters reassure me, the fury of the waves calm me down, the foam bathes my mind and the endless space of sand, water and sky give me an immense faith in life. I realize I am a microcosm in this entire universe and nothing can change the dynamics of life. The rhythm must go on..some waves are rough, some gentle , some gather around your feet,letting your toes feel the illusion of being embedded in the sand, but they let go eventually.


However the colours change as I watch the entire skyscape enact a drama in front of me . Colours of life , I call them - rose, crimson,gold, blue, grey fill the sky as it becomes an open palette.The fluffy white clouds flit in and out ,wrapping the sky in its fold, moving from one end to another. They change their shapes , gather around together to form a big white mass where little streaks of sunlight stream out. Sometimes there is a bit of a conflict in this paradise..where dark clouds throw a veil over the brighter ones, leaving the sky in a grey tone. Life I realize is a rainbow of colours, except we do not get to choose the palette.

I watch as the shore clings on to the waves, but it ebbs leaving the foam behind ..even that evaporates only to be washed away by another wave that drags a bit of the sand with it..I wonder if relationships are like that. The waves erase the memories, the shore tries to cling, the essence is absorbed by the shore and the sea as they carry a bit of each other when they embrace..only to eventually let go. The rocks at a far end are mute spectators to this spectacle. They remain silent as the waves unleash their emotions on them. Sometimes they lash at them, sometimes they embrace, but the rocks do not respond. Sometimes I wonder if this is what they refer to as being rock solid.

I see humans living by the sea, of the sea and I wonder if their understanding of life is much better than us urbanites who worry about mundane issues . As i grapple to understand my destiny and the forces that work within them, I look around and see the entire cycle play out in front of me.


I leave my footprints on the sands of time and wonder if my dreams will come true and if they would be etched for ever, when a wave flows up to me and let the foam curl around my ankles and erase those footprints away.Destiny I realize is not always written by us. We just get to think we play a role here. A little breeze blows past my face and the voice of the waves echo in my ears..Let Go...They say, you give back to the sea something that is important to you..I did just that.I left a part of me , my mind and my thoughts so that I could feel the spacelessness and nothingness inside me, and the voice still tugs in my ears..Let Go...

Back to the colonial era - Tranquebar

The waves tell a story of their own. Im just back from a weekend trip with a school mate of mine from Tarangambadi or Tranquebar, which was a Danish settlement, during the colonial era. The trip was wonderful for many reasons - I was meeting my friend after several years, the location was completely off the tourist track and it was in many ways, a journey that brought me back on track as well..I am back to blogging with a bang and will be visiting all of you soon..and there will be more posts,of course..have a great week

Journeys in the mind

Ive been travelling a lot..both in the real world and in the mind..The physical journeys have not really been that exhausting, while the latter has really drained me.
I havent been in the blogging world for a while, but will soon get back to catch up on all Ive missed..Until then :)

A speck in the horizon..

I was in Sindhudurg on the Konkan coastline last week when the dramatic skies above the Arabian Sea changed from a bright blue to gold to rosy pink to grey and black. We spent every day at a different beach, but this picture of the Tarkarli Beach stands out in my mind. It may not enter a picture post card contest, but it gave me a perspective of life..how insignificant and small we human beings are when compared to nature. It reminds of the last two lines of Keats'(my all time fav poet) sonnet, " When I have fears that I may cease to be " ..

...then on the Shore
Of the wide world I stand alone and think
Till Love and Fame to Nothingness do sink.."

What does it remind you of ?

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Kollam beach

 

I went to Kollam (Quilon near Trivandrum, Kerala )beach in the afternoon-obviously not the right time to be there. However the endless stretch of sands caught my attention with the striking contrast of colours..difficult to pick my fav pic as I took quite a few with two different cameras. But I liked this for the sheer depth .

On a different note, its been 25 days since I left home and I finally came back to Bangalore to spend a week at least. I will be heading back to Madras soon and hopefully everything will be sorted by March..Funny how life takes you through a journey on its own ..