India through my eyes � A family at Kanatal

We met this family in Kanatal near the temple. A small little town near Uttarakhand, Kanatal has a Club Mahindra resort and I was invited as a blogger for CONCLAY last year.

Meet Mysore artist Venkatesh

It is a busy day and the crowds are milling towards the palace in the royal city of Mysore. I take a detour and enter a quiet part of the city which is wrapped in an afternoon siesta. A light breeze awakens the spirit as I wander around looking for people with a royal connect. A chance conversation with a friend , Vinay from Royal Mysore Walks takes me to the doorstep of an artist , Venkatesh whose nostalgic memories lead us through a fascinating journey as he shares snippets and stories from the lives of his ancestors.
The leafy environments greet me the moment I step into the lane where Venkatesh lives. Tall trees create a canopy as the detour ends into a dead-end. Plump and ripe, the �chakotas� are dangling from the branches of the tree, waiting to be plucked. Venkatesh smiles and ushers us in , while his sister is waiting for us with a cup of tea.

I look around and see in the dim afternoon light . The walls are filled with paintings and sculptures taking you into a different era. A Raja Ravi Varma painting hangs on the wall, but as you look inside, you see a Mysore painting of Krishna dancing on the snake Kalinga . A painting of the deity, Lakshmi Narasimha graces the walls , while the Goddess Saraswati sits gracefully on the other side.
Amidst the medley of Gods and Goddesses are several weapons , that dates back to the Vijaynagar empire . Venkatesh explains that his ancestors who came from those regions were employed in different positions in the royal palace � some of them served as surveyors, while others were personal body guards of the kings.
He tells us that they were referred to as � Girle Meesai Sepoy� and they looked ferocious with thick curled moustaches that used to spread to their ears. As personal body guards of Maharaja Krishnaraja Wodeyar 111, they could walk around barefoot anywhere in the palace and were given the task of protecting the queen. �They wore their turbans or petas �round� , � explains Venkatesh , adding that they were of a �betelnut colour� and were tied using a fabric that was like an eight metre saree .

Venkatesh�s fascination with the turbans started at a very young age and he learnt the art of tying them from his father . � Every community or nobility, in fact anyone who had to go to the aramane (palace) had to wear a turban and each of them had its own style . The width of the zari in the peta was based on the grade of the nobility and the person employed in the palace,� adds Venkatesh . Although his family did not look at this as a profession, most people who visited the palace stopped by at their house to get their turbans styled. � We used to tie them for people during weddings and functions and I styled the bommais (dolls) for Dussehra, especially the �pathadu bommais,� � he adds, referring to the wooden dolls, also called as Marapachi bommai.
Venkatesh �s pride however are the miniatures that he has created � the throne of the Wodeyars, the Ambaari (howdah) that is carried during the procession and a model of the present Wodeyar himself . Wrapped in golden paper after being carved in clay and cardboard, he uses other materials like golden foil and even wires to hold these miniatures together.
The man is a storehouse of stories. He can talk in ease about every style of turban � be it the kings of the Vijaynagar era to the Marathas to the Mysore Maharajas. He then drapes a turban around his head and mentions that it is slightly tilted to a side, as it is believed to be dressed on the lines of Krishna, who is followed by his community , Gollars. He then suddenly breaks into hymns and talks about how the kings of those eras protected their subjects and even their thrones symbolised the same. He narrates an incident when his great grandfather�s grandfather , who was a surveyor at the palace, requested the king to change a line in his prayer. � My father told me this story . The king used to pray, �let my enemies be vanquished,� But my ancestor asked him to pray � Let my enemies become friends .�

We sip more tea and listen to more stories and the conversation moves on towards his current life. Venkatesh who learnt Mysore style of painting at a young age from the erstwhile curator of the palace ekes his livelihood through painting and by teaching the art to several students . He takes us through his technique as he tells us that he has painted on every surface � from wood, to glass, to fabric, to aluminium and even on walls . The colours are prepared naturally at home and he uses natural and vegetable dyes to create them . � The panchabhootham colours are the main and then I create more colours such as ivory black which is charred cotton mixed with gum. � he adds. The style is also very distinct with delicate lines and brushstrokes that differentiate it from the parent Vijaynagar style of painting. And then he elaborates on the gesso work, which refers to the gold relief work on the embossed painting.
We see a variety of paintings that he has created- from miniatures to paintings decorating the wall. He recalls with fondness the painting of Govardhana giri that he gave to present Wodeyar king during the Dasamana utsav. His house is a veritable art gallery, but Venkatesh is lost, living in his own world of colours and stones .
This story was published in Spectrum, Deccan Herald last week.

2011 Flashback - Weavers of Narayanpet

 In a little town called Narayanpet lives a group of weavers who have been weaving magic with their fingers for centuries.

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India through my eyes - A performer at a temple festival

Many years ago, I had started this series called India through my eyes and had posted a few images ..The posts became a bit irregular and slowly died..When I started my 365 project a few months ago, I decided to revive it again and so - here I am with the first post

India is filled with Gods, temples , festivals and legends . Here is a temple festival which happens on my street every year in Bangalore , when a performer dons the role of Veerabhadra, an angry form (avtaar) of Lord Shiva . Was quite amazed to find some locals,  falling at his feet and seeking his blessings .

Hampi - Photo essay on a nomadic life

We met a few nomads in Hampi and the women folk shyly spoke to us. They are mainly from  Belgaum, but they hardly have a destination called home. They move from villages to villages, often working as shepherds or rear cattle and live in temporary settlements. Their belongings are usually their horses and a few vessels which they carry along with their bundle of clothes.

They work in and around the villages in Hampi until the monsoons are over and then they begin their journey towards their home again. However, when you ask them whether they are headed home , they just smile and say no..When pressed for an answer as to where they are headed, they simply say - " To the next village."

Faces of Ladakh

 

 

 

We were returning from Nubra Valley when I saw this lady standing outside what looked like a house in Ladakh with two other women who had shovels with them. I took their permission to take their pictures when this lady started smiling and shyly refused to pose, but the others cajoled her .None of them knew Hindi and so I could not converse with them or ask their names.

 

 

Observations from Platform No 1

There was no sign of the train. It wasn't surprising, considering it's been little more than just fifteen minutes since we were waiting at the station. The lights dimmed for a moment and then we were suddenly plunged into darkness, waiting literally for the light from the end of the tunnel. In that few seconds, one could sense the uneasy panic as the whispers reached a crescendo.

" Barate, barate, power barate" said the voice cutting through the murmurs as the lights came on suddenly . I looked around to see if someone was addressing me and also wondered around the same time if it was the efficiency of the electricity department or the infrastructure in that little station that brought the lights back ."Genset idhe," he said as if he was reading my thoughts.

The dim light revealed a aging bald man with diamond studs in his ears. Sitting on the bench and speaking to no one in particular, he had that smug look about him . I looked around and realized that his little audience was indeed paying attention to him.

There was the great Indian family, replete with grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins and even a toddler . The mother looked agitated, rocking her little one, while the latter looked curiously out of her little bundle of clothes that wrapped her. There was a litter of baggages, strewn around, the tacky prints on the innumerous bags giving them a distinct Indianness - a flavour the urban folks will not relate to.And as soon as the power came back, they were all talking to each other at the same time. The mother paced around the platform desperately trying to rock her baby to sleep, who was wide eyed and wide awake, taking in the chaos .

I was in Hospet waiting for the train from Hubli to arrive, to take me back to Bangalore. There were just two platforms here and I was standing in the first platform observing life unfurl around me . I looked at the tracks and wondered how life changed every minute. If the visit to Hampi was to relive a forgotten city and its memories, Daroji took me to the wilderness in the midst of the man made ruins . The tracks would eventually take me back to a concrete jungle when the mechanics of life would continue. But, it was the present that caught my attention. The small vignettes of life here in this little station presented themselves to me . The vendors ,beggars, local passengers, wayfarers, tourists, foreigners and the railway personnel all merged into a colorful amalgam of people waiting for that one train to take them to their respective destinations. They meet for a brief while and then walk down their own paths. The destinations may be the same, but the paths different.

There is something about the people in a small town. The awkwardness with which they carry themselves is juxtaposed with the loud brashness , the curiosity with the boldness,or maybe openness. Probably that is the reason that the urbanites, prejudiced with snobbishness, shy away from them. I often wonder if it is a tinge of fear that makes the city bred avoid them, as if the masks will fall off in public view . I cringe subconsciously at the thought, even as we guise this fear with a snooty air.

"This is real India..youve been to Hampi ?" Our man was holding forth to a small group of foreigners who looked completely lost in this circus.They were loud too in their appearance with their massive backpacks, wide rimmed hats, camera equipments and travel gear. The locals gathered around them, but maintained a polite distance . The tourists looked tired and the girl wondered loudly if there would be a further delay.They were probably being tired of being stared at , as though they were curios, as the locals watched every movement of theirs and hung on to every word they said. Our man slowly walked away to his group , translating his brief interlude with the foreigners.

Another local hero emerged. Younger and conversant in English, he seemed to be wanting to bridge the gap between the foreigners and the locals. He was the typical "Our boy who made it big," surrounded by his circle of friends who probably aspired to be like him . Chatting up with the foreigners, he had learnt about their nationalities, their travel plans and their next destination as well. " Ah Kochi would be another 12 hours from Bangalore by train..and where are you staying in Bangalore ? " He was playing the local guide to the hilt to the tourists and was the hero to his circle who was by now hanging on to every word he said. The waiting had thawed the ice and conversations flowed freely. The chai wala arrived and cups were floated around. The magazine vendor landed on the scene as well trying to make a quick buck .The vendors probably rejoiced in the delay as they teased the passengers' patience and converted them into buyers.

Elsewhere lights of a different kind beckoned the bored passengers. An entire lot of women arrived from nowhere with a group of children with cool drinks and lays . And they made their way to the weighing machine which was glittering with lights. For a moment, it was a wave of nostalgia that swept me. As children, we cousins used to persuade our parents to take us to the weighing machine. The lure was simple. It wasnt so much the statistics on the weighing scale that bothered us, but that little piece of fortune that showed on a simple card. I heard the peals of laughter from the group and was tempted to step outside my city bred avtaar and try my luck again. As nostalgia faded, I realized that not much has changed. Neither the obsession with weight, nor the craving for a prediction. We all live on hope and a prayer -only technologies and contraptions change.

A sudden rush of feet and the station master was accosted by the wait listed, berthless and ticketless passengers. The party broke up as everyone thronged around him. "Was the train in sight ?" A distant light on the track gathered momentum. Suddenly the energies and the emotions on Platform No 1 underwent a change. The jostling began, a bit of a push and a rush , a sense of urgency as feet moved towards the tracks and necks craned to get a better view. The great Indian family was busy with their luggages , the tourists strapped their backpacks. The patience had given way to impatience as the hum grew louder and the engine came into view , but it chugged past as passengers realized there were no bogies behind it.

Post the anticlimax the scene rewound itself as the waiting game started all over again. A couple of dogs entered the fray, wagging their tails . The toddler suddenly wailed in her mother's arms. The murmurs grew. The chai wala persuaded me to buy another cup of sweetened tea. A train whizzed past in the second platform . I sipped another cup and waited

The Ladakh Festival - behind the scenes

We were lucky. The Ladakh festival started off with great fanfare on Sep 1 in Leh and we were just taking a break from our hectic travelling. There is always a huge procession of various tribes and communities belonging to Ladakh on day one and we were lucky simply because the procession started right in front of our guesthouse at Chubi in Leh.All I saw was a riot of colours as everybody was busy getting ready but were willing to pose for a picture. I tried an amateur attempt at creating a video/slideshow of the pictures.Turn on the volume and enjoy .

India through my eyes- No Please !

Very often when we travel we tend to take pictures of local people. Usually I ask then for permission , but sometimes I like to take a candid moment.

I was in Thiksey in Ladakh when I saw these boys chatting. I asked them and they gave me an exasperated expression..Not another of those tourists , pls ...said their look. I couldnt help laughing when they hid their faces with a lid as a mock show of protest . And thats when I took the picture..I showed it to them later and we had a laugh and they later allowed me to take a couple of more pictures.

The Himalayan Beauty

We were enroute to Chail when I spotted this shy girl, on her way to school. She refused to even look up at us when we spoke to her and I finally took a few pictures of her as she was seated in her car.

In Kumbalgarh still

Meet Dimple..

She's from Udaipur and has come to Kumbalgarh for a dance performance with her friends .


Dimple has just appeared for her Class X exams and says she has learnt the dances from her mother


She says she has been dancing she was eight years old.

And she is very clear when she says -" yeh math samjho ki mein eh paise ke liye kar rahi hoon . Mein heroine banna chahathi hoon. Mera favourite hero hai John Abraham."
("Dont think Im doing this all for money..I am doing all this because I want to become a heroine. My favourite hero is John Abraham."

I couldnt take a video of her solo performance, but here is a short clip .I love the haunting music.Thanks for watching.I think its people like Dimple who make your travels worthwhile..At 15 she is so sure about what she wants and where she wants to go..With stars in her eyes and great talent, hopefully she will go places.

Images of India - On a hot summer day

 

Of late Ive been driving into rural India more often than once. Almost every trip has taken me into this rustic world where villages and small towns seem to beckon me. This has probably been so over the last six months and probably barring Chennai and Hyderabad, I havent been to a city . I just returned from a weekend trip only to become a casualty to Bangalore's pollution, heat and dust. Maybe thats why Im advocating a holiday to a pollution free world

In a way, I seem to be more inclined towards villages than small towns. I believe rural tourism has great potential - not just portraying the stereotypes or "real India" as the guide books say, but a connect back to the simpler,more basic way of life . What do you think ?

Faces of Chennai

images from the photowalk - You meet many faces when you walk down the road and some stay with you..