“A hand reached out for me from over my head as I stood and fumbled on the final few narrow rickety steps leading to the third floor of the 150 year old mansion.” It was grandma narrating her wedding night to me, her grand daughter. Her real life episodes were a perfect timeout during the month long study leave before the final school year exam.
“One hand grabbed the glass of milk from my shaking hands," she continued, "and with a sweep of the other, landed me on the mud floor. The wooden rafters creaked and I felt my entire being sway as I tumbled into your grandpas’ arms,” giggled grandma, turning all coy at the very memory of her first night.
Priya shuddhered and had goose pimples all over. Grandmas’ rewinds were always fantastic but this one was the best! In an instant Priya’s algebra jogged mind was abuzz with a scene from a period film. The star cast – her grandparents. The location – her ancestral home; an imposing three floored structure. Her memories of the shining black floor of the long rectangular verandha reflected a piece of history from her ancestry, her roots. The nostalgia of weaving circles around the 12 large wooden pillars lining the verandha, on hot lazy afternoons came spinning back. The joy of carefree frolicking through the maze of a `hundred’ rooms, among the flurry of relatives and cousins still dazed her.
“And then….” asked Priya with expectations of a Mills and Boons scene recount.
“….and then what?” repeated grandma, “the two of us slept like good children” she answered with the same twinkle in her eyes, which long ago must have set her grandpas’ heart on fire. Priya wanted to coo `aww’ `so sweet’ `how romantic’ but knew very well that her grandma wouldn’t approve of it….because according to her it was very unbecoming of young women to be so vocal of their feelings.
For the rest of the break time, till Priya resumed her exam studies, her mind traveled to another state, another town, to the junction at the market place where her ancestral home stood. It was along the national highway, an important trade route from centuries ago. The wood and mud structure with stone foundation, was built by her fathers forefathers. The third floor was the designated `wedding chamber’ for the latest newly weds in the family. It was their bedroom till a fresh wedding in the house took place.................
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
The Still Wheel : Where have all the potters gone?
There was a time when every ritual from marriage to death required a kumbhar's (potter's) pots and blessings. He was the prajapati, a direct descendant of Brahma. Now, the glitter of steel and cheap aluminium has thrown the whole ancient tradition out of business, and reduced the potter to casual labour in farms and factories
Kaachi maatti ma rammya, Paakki maatti nu khadu
Dhando gayo tthap, have shoo karvoo!
(Played with raw clay, Ate out of the baked clay
Business is bust, now what do we do!)
-A not-so-old saying prevalent among the old and middle-aged potters of Bhavnagar district, Gujarat
"Ae jamano to gayo!" (Those days are gone!), laments 80-year-old Chagandada. Smiling through the multitude of wrinkles on his face, Chaganbhai Bijalbhai Rathod tells us of a time when a daughter's wedding trousseau was considered incomplete without a lagdu (a large rope basket) full of a variety of earthen pots to decorate and add to her newly-acquired kitchen. This ace potter, also considered a bhava (priestly person) by the villagers, fondly remembers the days, some 40-50 years ago, when people from faraway villages around Tarasara (Taluka Talaja, Bhavnagar district, Gujarat), would come to him for the beautiful clay pipes he could create on the wheel.
Bikhabhai of village Kuntasi (taluka Maliya, Rajkot district) has put away his potter's wheel and sold his donkeys. Now he sits idly in retirement, even though he can still throw a million pots for domestic use, if only there were buyers.
Times are bad for the potters of Gujarat, and indeed all of India. With the decreasing use of clay pots in domestic kitchens, especially in the villages of India, the art of pottery-making and the community of potters are slowly becoming extinct. Aluminium and steel have conquered clay. Simple earthenware today is considered non-durable and `old-fashioned'. Only elaborate ceramic pots have made it to hallowed `designer' status, and adorn the softly-illuminated corners of elite flats and bungalows. In creating these designer pots, the potter no longer remains an artisan in his own right. He is merely a paid worker who throws a pot at his designer's specification.
Beginning with the Indus Valley Civilization (3000-1800 BC), the entire northwestern frontier of our country witnessed a remarkable range of pottery. This was mostly red pottery with designs in black. It consisted not only of vessels for everyday use, which were beautifully painted with floral and geometric motifs, but also tableware such as the dish-on-stand and tall jars and goblets. Later periods saw an ever-increasing variety of pots, but nothing to match the superior quality and beauty of the Indus Valley Civilization. During the early historic period, polished ware and coloured pottery became popular and during the historical period, glazed ware and porcelain were a novelty. Different techniques of decorating clay pots were employed. Thus, we had not just painted pots, but pots with incised designs, stamped designs, moulded pottery and a multitude of others. Copper vessels were present as far back as 1800 BC, followed by brass and enamel-coated iron vessels, but these were not for the common man. Then came steel.
Along with every new metal or technique in vessel form, however, earthenware continued to be the predominant vessel form in the common man's kitchen. The Hindu concept of purity and pollution ensured the survival of pottery in India for thousands of years. Earthenware vessels were easy to replace by new ones whenever `polluted' or broken. They were available in plenty, were comparatively cheap, and were function-specific. Until a few decades ago nobody would dream of storing cool water or keeping the buttermilk from turning sour in a metal pot.
And then shining steel, cheap aluminum and dangerous yet user-friendly plastic killed the earthen pot. Along with vessels of wood and stone.
The dark but neat kitchens in the villages of Gujarat proudly gleam with rows of steel vessels. So easy to use and maintain. So handy in all their shapes and designs.
And the kumbhar community, once such an essential part of every village and household, became fodder for anthropologists' and sociologists' studies in changing times and its social impact.
Like any other aspect of Indian culture, there is a lot in common amongst the potters of India, especially between the south and east, and between the north and west. Pottery manufacture is the monopolistic occupation of a group or caste, and the production is confined to a limited number of people. In Gujarat, the jati or caste of the potters, locally called the kumbhars, is divided into four sub-jatis -- namely the Gujjar, Vatalia, Varia and Musala. Of these, the Gujjar and Vatalia communities are Hindus, while the Musala and Varia are Muslims. The other lesser-known jatis are Khanbati, Lad, Sorathia and Kadiya. Although considered an artisan class from among the lower ranks of the Vaisya community, some claim to be Kshatriyas. For instance, the family of potters in Tarasara are Rathods and worshippers of Shakti and thus Rajput Kshatriyas by lineage. They belong to the Gujjar jati and are believed to have migrated from Rajasthan.
The entire kumbhar community, although considered merely an artisan class by people both in villages and cities, takes pride in being the direct descendants of Lord Brahma. In fact Kumbha, from whom they derive their name, was one of the four sons of Brahma, the others being Harsha, Givsha and Mansa. Kumbha was the divine potter who possessed a wheel which could rotate on its own. There is an interesting myth that goes around among the potters of Saurashtra. Once at a feast meant for the gods and their families, young Kumbha finished his meal and got up to wash his hands even before the senior gods had done so. This was taken as an act of disrespect, an insult. Lord Brahma in a fit of rage excommunicated his son. Lord Vishnu put a curse on the spinning potter's wheel and Shiva froze the lump of clay. Kumbha pleaded with the holy trinity and they finally relented. But Kumbha would now have to live on earth with other humans. The three gods gave him certain gifts, so that young Kumbha could survive on earth. These were a staff (danda) and a water pot (kamandalu) from Brahma, a wheel (chakra) from Vishnu and a piece of cloth (langot) and a length of string (janeyu) from Shiva. These apparently are the most essential things for a potter. A wheel to throw the lump of clay onto, the staff or stick to rotate the wheel, a small pot with water kept nearby to wet the palms while shaping the pot, a small piece of cloth to smoothen the surface while shaping the pot and, finally, a piece of string to cut and detach the pot from the wheel.
Interestingly, this belief is quite common among the Muslim potter community also. For a potter, the art of shaping pots is as revered as Lord Brahma's creation of the universe itself, and for the same reason they share the respected title of prajapati.
From that exalted status it's been all downhill since the day they lost the battle to the Kansgar or the brass-smith as in the folktale from the potters of Kaira district. No longer does any father send a cartload of earthenware as part of his daughter's dowry, as was the case until 70 or 80 years ago in the villages of Gujarat; no young girl cherishes those large handas to carry water or the all-accommodating kothis made pretty with hundreds of tiny mirror bits, to keep her wedding trousseau in.
In rural Gujarat the earthenware most commonly seen is the matlo and the surahi, and sometimes the hando and tavdi. Replaced by the metal tava, the tavdi is used even today by the very poor in the villages and by the Bhil tribals on the hills of eastern Gujarat to bake bhakri. You have to visit the potter's house-cum-workshop to see a generation of earthenware that even the potter's children may be unaware of.
The potter himself is a revered man. Chakda Poojan, a pooja done by young girls a day before their wedding, involves worshipping the potter's wheel and taking his blessings. He 'sets in motion' the girl's wedded life. The pivot and socket which steadies the wheel while the potter throws a pot are symbols of male and female, the union of which generates creation. And it is prajapati (the creator) himself who presides over this union.
There was a time when every ritual -- be it wedding or funeral -- required clay pots. For instance, in a marriage ceremony the mandap itself required 32 pots. For the uttar kriya conducted on the 12th day after death, 12 rows of four pots placed one above the other were to be erected near the house of the deceased.
Other than the hando and/or matlo used to store water, the vessels you can still find in the villages is the kurdi or thopli to store buttermilk. Lesser-known vessel types are the gola, goli, bhalyo (all to store water), dohni, dohno (for buttermilk), patiya (for cooking), kathrot (for kneading dough), dabro (for keeping salt), dhakni (the lid) and the tavdi (for baking bhakri) which is still used by quite a few.
But other earthen forms have become more or less extinct. The coconut-shaped and sized pot called the gujadiyo in Gujarati, which tops the four columns of pots placed at the four corners of a Hindu wedding mandap, is now replaced by steel vessels of similar shape. And the peculiar chakli, literally meaning a bird (the common swallow), which is placed on the gujadiyo is no longer used. "Udi re udi re mari chakli," sings the father of the daughter as she flies away from his home and courtyard to nest elsewhere.
The garbo, a globular pot with perforations, is still used during the navratri festival in the villages. With a lighted lamp placed in the pot, symbolizing the female energy, it is worshipped by women who dance around it for nine nights. But as young Ramesh, Narainbha's son puts it, "what with disco dandiyas and large illuminated cutouts of Ambamata, who cares about the garbo?" Kodiyu or the diyas used during Diwali are still popular both in the villages and cities. But with new models of diyas, lanterns and candles, the simple and plain kodiyu is being ousted. Along with it the tradition of potters personally coming and gifting kodiyu and blessing each individual house with prosperity is also gone.
Every house in the village possessed a kunda, which was hung from a tree or from the edge of the roof. In it was placed some grain and water for the birds. This is very rarely seen today. The vessel which continues to be considered very important and indispensable in the villages and perhaps in the cities is the lotko; a small container used to carry the ashes of the dead from the funeral pyre and later set them afloat in the river.
The potters work practically everyday and throughout the year except for the three months of the monsoons (June to August). Although the potter does not require a large capital investment for his trade, the net result of his patience and hard work is less than sufficient in the modern circumstances. Even today when Narainbhai and Narbadaben of Tarasara go from village to village selling pots, they prefer to receive payment in terms of grain; for instance a matlo would be priced for four paylis (equivalent to 2 kg) of bajra or at Rs 8. With ever-decreasing demand for even the common water pots, these potters are forced to seek some other source of income. In Tarasara, out of the nine families of potters consisting of 40 males and 20 females, only five men are actually engaged in the trade at present. Two of them, still in their 50s, continue to throw pots just for some added income, while their sons are employed as labourers at the ship-breaking yard of Alang, just six kilometres from the village. For 80-year-old Chagandada it is a means of survival. Childless and a widower, he must fend for himself. Although he lives in a mud structure in the courtyard of his nephew's house, he is full of pride for his skill and dignity as a `holy man'.
Their lack of education ensures that they can go nowhere other than to the fields and factories as labour. In Gujarat, kumbhars, being a professional class, rarely farm or accumulate land and so their position is no better than the landless labourer. Sons are fairly educated and they no longer prefer messing around in mud for a profession. Most of them seek refuge as diamond-cutters in the many small-scale diamond-cutting factories housed in the villages of Saurashtra. Here again it is the glitter that has the earthen pot beaten.
Of the two houses of potters in Kuntasi, one is presided over by a brick-maker. He employs labour and after paying off their daily wages, he hardly makes any profit. Most of the kumbhars living around the town of Morvi, famous for its tiles and ceramics, work as labourers in some factory. This is the case with most of the potters who reside in the villages surrounding a small or big town. If not sweating it out in some dirty backyard of a factory, they are hired by shopkeepers to make pots according to the market demand. Here again, what eventually comes into their palms is very little, too little for the loss of their freedom and dignity as artisans.
Besides the technological backwardness of their tools and techniques of manufacture, these simple people find it difficult to adjust to the new requirements of the urban market. For them, making ornate designer items or mould-made flower pots means too many complications. It's big business for them, and much beyond their simple understanding. There's something they don't like about being in the backyard of some suburban house, painstakingly compromising with their traditional ideas while the sahib makes big money. Potters like the elderly Chagandada and middle-aged Narainbhai of Tarasara village prefer staying at home and catering to the few demands of the village to venturing out with pretentious and ornamental ideas. They are happy making diyas for Diwali and lotkos to carry the ashes of the dead.
Along with these changes, the lives of women have changed as well. A potter's house is one in which you see an absolute division of labour. Although there is a general taboo all over the country on women working at the potter's wheel, a potter's wife and daughters are close participants in the various stages of pottery production. The wife accompanies the husband when he goes collecting clay for the pots and firewood for the baking. She does the delicate mixing of ash and donkey dung with the clay and, later, the tough and difficult kneading of the clay into the right consistency. She also helps carry the pots for sale from village to village on donkey-back. Besides this she also manages the house. The artistic paintings on some of the pots or even the application of the glossy red or black slip is also a woman's job. She is free to create innovative motifs, besides the usual peacocks, flowers and curving lines and dots. It is her job to make the wares look pretty. Interestingly, the daughters of the house are also expected to actively participate in this exercise, besides learning embroidery and kitchen work. When married they work out new designs at the husband's house.
But now, with no pottery work in progress, these women too have lost their worth as true partners in the profit and creativity of the family. Their artistic talents are now contained within the four walls of a kitchen. A community in which a hard-working and talented girl was considered an asset, who could fetch a very good bride price from her groom, since she will be a helping hand in the in-laws' household, is now an added liability to her father. He now has to make arrangements for her dowry in cash.
Today, in some of the villages, a potter's child learns about his land and people at school, and at home he wonders about the purpose of the worn-out wheel in a corner of the house
Bina Thomas is a Pune-based archaeologist
Kaachi maatti ma rammya, Paakki maatti nu khadu
Dhando gayo tthap, have shoo karvoo!
(Played with raw clay, Ate out of the baked clay
Business is bust, now what do we do!)
-A not-so-old saying prevalent among the old and middle-aged potters of Bhavnagar district, Gujarat
"Ae jamano to gayo!" (Those days are gone!), laments 80-year-old Chagandada. Smiling through the multitude of wrinkles on his face, Chaganbhai Bijalbhai Rathod tells us of a time when a daughter's wedding trousseau was considered incomplete without a lagdu (a large rope basket) full of a variety of earthen pots to decorate and add to her newly-acquired kitchen. This ace potter, also considered a bhava (priestly person) by the villagers, fondly remembers the days, some 40-50 years ago, when people from faraway villages around Tarasara (Taluka Talaja, Bhavnagar district, Gujarat), would come to him for the beautiful clay pipes he could create on the wheel.
Bikhabhai of village Kuntasi (taluka Maliya, Rajkot district) has put away his potter's wheel and sold his donkeys. Now he sits idly in retirement, even though he can still throw a million pots for domestic use, if only there were buyers.
Times are bad for the potters of Gujarat, and indeed all of India. With the decreasing use of clay pots in domestic kitchens, especially in the villages of India, the art of pottery-making and the community of potters are slowly becoming extinct. Aluminium and steel have conquered clay. Simple earthenware today is considered non-durable and `old-fashioned'. Only elaborate ceramic pots have made it to hallowed `designer' status, and adorn the softly-illuminated corners of elite flats and bungalows. In creating these designer pots, the potter no longer remains an artisan in his own right. He is merely a paid worker who throws a pot at his designer's specification.
Beginning with the Indus Valley Civilization (3000-1800 BC), the entire northwestern frontier of our country witnessed a remarkable range of pottery. This was mostly red pottery with designs in black. It consisted not only of vessels for everyday use, which were beautifully painted with floral and geometric motifs, but also tableware such as the dish-on-stand and tall jars and goblets. Later periods saw an ever-increasing variety of pots, but nothing to match the superior quality and beauty of the Indus Valley Civilization. During the early historic period, polished ware and coloured pottery became popular and during the historical period, glazed ware and porcelain were a novelty. Different techniques of decorating clay pots were employed. Thus, we had not just painted pots, but pots with incised designs, stamped designs, moulded pottery and a multitude of others. Copper vessels were present as far back as 1800 BC, followed by brass and enamel-coated iron vessels, but these were not for the common man. Then came steel.
Along with every new metal or technique in vessel form, however, earthenware continued to be the predominant vessel form in the common man's kitchen. The Hindu concept of purity and pollution ensured the survival of pottery in India for thousands of years. Earthenware vessels were easy to replace by new ones whenever `polluted' or broken. They were available in plenty, were comparatively cheap, and were function-specific. Until a few decades ago nobody would dream of storing cool water or keeping the buttermilk from turning sour in a metal pot.
And then shining steel, cheap aluminum and dangerous yet user-friendly plastic killed the earthen pot. Along with vessels of wood and stone.
The dark but neat kitchens in the villages of Gujarat proudly gleam with rows of steel vessels. So easy to use and maintain. So handy in all their shapes and designs.
And the kumbhar community, once such an essential part of every village and household, became fodder for anthropologists' and sociologists' studies in changing times and its social impact.
Like any other aspect of Indian culture, there is a lot in common amongst the potters of India, especially between the south and east, and between the north and west. Pottery manufacture is the monopolistic occupation of a group or caste, and the production is confined to a limited number of people. In Gujarat, the jati or caste of the potters, locally called the kumbhars, is divided into four sub-jatis -- namely the Gujjar, Vatalia, Varia and Musala. Of these, the Gujjar and Vatalia communities are Hindus, while the Musala and Varia are Muslims. The other lesser-known jatis are Khanbati, Lad, Sorathia and Kadiya. Although considered an artisan class from among the lower ranks of the Vaisya community, some claim to be Kshatriyas. For instance, the family of potters in Tarasara are Rathods and worshippers of Shakti and thus Rajput Kshatriyas by lineage. They belong to the Gujjar jati and are believed to have migrated from Rajasthan.
The entire kumbhar community, although considered merely an artisan class by people both in villages and cities, takes pride in being the direct descendants of Lord Brahma. In fact Kumbha, from whom they derive their name, was one of the four sons of Brahma, the others being Harsha, Givsha and Mansa. Kumbha was the divine potter who possessed a wheel which could rotate on its own. There is an interesting myth that goes around among the potters of Saurashtra. Once at a feast meant for the gods and their families, young Kumbha finished his meal and got up to wash his hands even before the senior gods had done so. This was taken as an act of disrespect, an insult. Lord Brahma in a fit of rage excommunicated his son. Lord Vishnu put a curse on the spinning potter's wheel and Shiva froze the lump of clay. Kumbha pleaded with the holy trinity and they finally relented. But Kumbha would now have to live on earth with other humans. The three gods gave him certain gifts, so that young Kumbha could survive on earth. These were a staff (danda) and a water pot (kamandalu) from Brahma, a wheel (chakra) from Vishnu and a piece of cloth (langot) and a length of string (janeyu) from Shiva. These apparently are the most essential things for a potter. A wheel to throw the lump of clay onto, the staff or stick to rotate the wheel, a small pot with water kept nearby to wet the palms while shaping the pot, a small piece of cloth to smoothen the surface while shaping the pot and, finally, a piece of string to cut and detach the pot from the wheel.
Interestingly, this belief is quite common among the Muslim potter community also. For a potter, the art of shaping pots is as revered as Lord Brahma's creation of the universe itself, and for the same reason they share the respected title of prajapati.
From that exalted status it's been all downhill since the day they lost the battle to the Kansgar or the brass-smith as in the folktale from the potters of Kaira district. No longer does any father send a cartload of earthenware as part of his daughter's dowry, as was the case until 70 or 80 years ago in the villages of Gujarat; no young girl cherishes those large handas to carry water or the all-accommodating kothis made pretty with hundreds of tiny mirror bits, to keep her wedding trousseau in.
In rural Gujarat the earthenware most commonly seen is the matlo and the surahi, and sometimes the hando and tavdi. Replaced by the metal tava, the tavdi is used even today by the very poor in the villages and by the Bhil tribals on the hills of eastern Gujarat to bake bhakri. You have to visit the potter's house-cum-workshop to see a generation of earthenware that even the potter's children may be unaware of.
The potter himself is a revered man. Chakda Poojan, a pooja done by young girls a day before their wedding, involves worshipping the potter's wheel and taking his blessings. He 'sets in motion' the girl's wedded life. The pivot and socket which steadies the wheel while the potter throws a pot are symbols of male and female, the union of which generates creation. And it is prajapati (the creator) himself who presides over this union.
There was a time when every ritual -- be it wedding or funeral -- required clay pots. For instance, in a marriage ceremony the mandap itself required 32 pots. For the uttar kriya conducted on the 12th day after death, 12 rows of four pots placed one above the other were to be erected near the house of the deceased.
Other than the hando and/or matlo used to store water, the vessels you can still find in the villages is the kurdi or thopli to store buttermilk. Lesser-known vessel types are the gola, goli, bhalyo (all to store water), dohni, dohno (for buttermilk), patiya (for cooking), kathrot (for kneading dough), dabro (for keeping salt), dhakni (the lid) and the tavdi (for baking bhakri) which is still used by quite a few.
But other earthen forms have become more or less extinct. The coconut-shaped and sized pot called the gujadiyo in Gujarati, which tops the four columns of pots placed at the four corners of a Hindu wedding mandap, is now replaced by steel vessels of similar shape. And the peculiar chakli, literally meaning a bird (the common swallow), which is placed on the gujadiyo is no longer used. "Udi re udi re mari chakli," sings the father of the daughter as she flies away from his home and courtyard to nest elsewhere.
The garbo, a globular pot with perforations, is still used during the navratri festival in the villages. With a lighted lamp placed in the pot, symbolizing the female energy, it is worshipped by women who dance around it for nine nights. But as young Ramesh, Narainbha's son puts it, "what with disco dandiyas and large illuminated cutouts of Ambamata, who cares about the garbo?" Kodiyu or the diyas used during Diwali are still popular both in the villages and cities. But with new models of diyas, lanterns and candles, the simple and plain kodiyu is being ousted. Along with it the tradition of potters personally coming and gifting kodiyu and blessing each individual house with prosperity is also gone.
Every house in the village possessed a kunda, which was hung from a tree or from the edge of the roof. In it was placed some grain and water for the birds. This is very rarely seen today. The vessel which continues to be considered very important and indispensable in the villages and perhaps in the cities is the lotko; a small container used to carry the ashes of the dead from the funeral pyre and later set them afloat in the river.
The potters work practically everyday and throughout the year except for the three months of the monsoons (June to August). Although the potter does not require a large capital investment for his trade, the net result of his patience and hard work is less than sufficient in the modern circumstances. Even today when Narainbhai and Narbadaben of Tarasara go from village to village selling pots, they prefer to receive payment in terms of grain; for instance a matlo would be priced for four paylis (equivalent to 2 kg) of bajra or at Rs 8. With ever-decreasing demand for even the common water pots, these potters are forced to seek some other source of income. In Tarasara, out of the nine families of potters consisting of 40 males and 20 females, only five men are actually engaged in the trade at present. Two of them, still in their 50s, continue to throw pots just for some added income, while their sons are employed as labourers at the ship-breaking yard of Alang, just six kilometres from the village. For 80-year-old Chagandada it is a means of survival. Childless and a widower, he must fend for himself. Although he lives in a mud structure in the courtyard of his nephew's house, he is full of pride for his skill and dignity as a `holy man'.
Their lack of education ensures that they can go nowhere other than to the fields and factories as labour. In Gujarat, kumbhars, being a professional class, rarely farm or accumulate land and so their position is no better than the landless labourer. Sons are fairly educated and they no longer prefer messing around in mud for a profession. Most of them seek refuge as diamond-cutters in the many small-scale diamond-cutting factories housed in the villages of Saurashtra. Here again it is the glitter that has the earthen pot beaten.
Of the two houses of potters in Kuntasi, one is presided over by a brick-maker. He employs labour and after paying off their daily wages, he hardly makes any profit. Most of the kumbhars living around the town of Morvi, famous for its tiles and ceramics, work as labourers in some factory. This is the case with most of the potters who reside in the villages surrounding a small or big town. If not sweating it out in some dirty backyard of a factory, they are hired by shopkeepers to make pots according to the market demand. Here again, what eventually comes into their palms is very little, too little for the loss of their freedom and dignity as artisans.
Besides the technological backwardness of their tools and techniques of manufacture, these simple people find it difficult to adjust to the new requirements of the urban market. For them, making ornate designer items or mould-made flower pots means too many complications. It's big business for them, and much beyond their simple understanding. There's something they don't like about being in the backyard of some suburban house, painstakingly compromising with their traditional ideas while the sahib makes big money. Potters like the elderly Chagandada and middle-aged Narainbhai of Tarasara village prefer staying at home and catering to the few demands of the village to venturing out with pretentious and ornamental ideas. They are happy making diyas for Diwali and lotkos to carry the ashes of the dead.
Along with these changes, the lives of women have changed as well. A potter's house is one in which you see an absolute division of labour. Although there is a general taboo all over the country on women working at the potter's wheel, a potter's wife and daughters are close participants in the various stages of pottery production. The wife accompanies the husband when he goes collecting clay for the pots and firewood for the baking. She does the delicate mixing of ash and donkey dung with the clay and, later, the tough and difficult kneading of the clay into the right consistency. She also helps carry the pots for sale from village to village on donkey-back. Besides this she also manages the house. The artistic paintings on some of the pots or even the application of the glossy red or black slip is also a woman's job. She is free to create innovative motifs, besides the usual peacocks, flowers and curving lines and dots. It is her job to make the wares look pretty. Interestingly, the daughters of the house are also expected to actively participate in this exercise, besides learning embroidery and kitchen work. When married they work out new designs at the husband's house.
But now, with no pottery work in progress, these women too have lost their worth as true partners in the profit and creativity of the family. Their artistic talents are now contained within the four walls of a kitchen. A community in which a hard-working and talented girl was considered an asset, who could fetch a very good bride price from her groom, since she will be a helping hand in the in-laws' household, is now an added liability to her father. He now has to make arrangements for her dowry in cash.
Today, in some of the villages, a potter's child learns about his land and people at school, and at home he wonders about the purpose of the worn-out wheel in a corner of the house
Bina Thomas is a Pune-based archaeologist
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Surviving Gems.... The Wadas of Pune II
Surviving Gems.....of Pune
I thoroughly enjoyed my ride on Kaka’s scooter, through the narrow gullies of old Pune city, locating the Wadas in my list of `surviving gems’. I had plotted them on a city map of Pune. Although Kaka didn’t need the help of a map, studying the details in the map was a novel learning experience for me.
A walk through the old city division or peths of Pune, shows how the Wada legacy of Peshwai Pune, still dominates the city core. Many Wadas are being rented out in bits and pieces, the owners preferring to stay in smaller flats or bungalows, which require less maintenance. Many have crumbled down, or pulled down for new structures. But, there are some like the Vishrambaug Wada, which still stand strong and resplendent of its old glory. Built during1803 - 1809, this 3 storied Wada was the home of the last Peshwa, Bajirao II. Later on it housed the Poona Sanskrit College, the first British sponsored Educational Institution. Located in Sadashiv peth, it has beautiful columns and balconies. It now houses a museum and some government offices.
Another gem is the Nana Wada in Budhwar Peth. Built by Nana Phadnavis, it’s an architectural delight with wooden ceilings, railings, and chhatris or canopies. Nana was the chief administrator of the Peshwas. One of his most significant contributions has been the setting up of a drainage system for Pune, way back in the 1780’s!! Today a section of this building is being used as school and government offices. The Kesari Wada in Narayan Peth was built by the Gaikwads during the Peshwa rule. Stalwart freedom fighter Lokmanya Tilak started the Kesari and Mahratta Newspaper from here, and since then the Wada has been historically famous. Even today it houses the offices of Kesari, mementos of Tilak and the first National Flag unfurled by Madam Cama!!
Other than the few politically significant Wadas, there are many Wadas of local elites. Like the elaborate Mazumdar Wada, located near Shaniwarwada. It is 234 yrs old and the kitchen well’s water is still as clear and unpolluted!! Raste Wada at Rasta peth has a façade that resembles a Rajastahani Haveli. Purander Wada in Kasba Peth and Natu Wada at Shaniwar peth are equally fascinating. Wadas continued to be built till the end of the 19th century.
The growing British influence and control gave rise to social reforms and subsequently nationalist movements in the country. Eminent Indian reformers and leaders of the city made use of the versatile structure of the Wada, its courtyards and halls to hold meetings, gatherings, and debates. Wadas were used to house schools for girls, and for lower caste children, orphanages, widow homes, and offices. Even today, these institutions continue.
The foreground of Shaniwarwada was and still is an ideal space for public gatherings and programmes. That reminds me, Lokmanya Tilak held his first public Ganapati festival in the Vinchurkar Wada in 1894……..
I thoroughly enjoyed my ride on Kaka’s scooter, through the narrow gullies of old Pune city, locating the Wadas in my list of `surviving gems’. I had plotted them on a city map of Pune. Although Kaka didn’t need the help of a map, studying the details in the map was a novel learning experience for me.
A walk through the old city division or peths of Pune, shows how the Wada legacy of Peshwai Pune, still dominates the city core. Many Wadas are being rented out in bits and pieces, the owners preferring to stay in smaller flats or bungalows, which require less maintenance. Many have crumbled down, or pulled down for new structures. But, there are some like the Vishrambaug Wada, which still stand strong and resplendent of its old glory. Built during1803 - 1809, this 3 storied Wada was the home of the last Peshwa, Bajirao II. Later on it housed the Poona Sanskrit College, the first British sponsored Educational Institution. Located in Sadashiv peth, it has beautiful columns and balconies. It now houses a museum and some government offices.
Another gem is the Nana Wada in Budhwar Peth. Built by Nana Phadnavis, it’s an architectural delight with wooden ceilings, railings, and chhatris or canopies. Nana was the chief administrator of the Peshwas. One of his most significant contributions has been the setting up of a drainage system for Pune, way back in the 1780’s!! Today a section of this building is being used as school and government offices. The Kesari Wada in Narayan Peth was built by the Gaikwads during the Peshwa rule. Stalwart freedom fighter Lokmanya Tilak started the Kesari and Mahratta Newspaper from here, and since then the Wada has been historically famous. Even today it houses the offices of Kesari, mementos of Tilak and the first National Flag unfurled by Madam Cama!!
Other than the few politically significant Wadas, there are many Wadas of local elites. Like the elaborate Mazumdar Wada, located near Shaniwarwada. It is 234 yrs old and the kitchen well’s water is still as clear and unpolluted!! Raste Wada at Rasta peth has a façade that resembles a Rajastahani Haveli. Purander Wada in Kasba Peth and Natu Wada at Shaniwar peth are equally fascinating. Wadas continued to be built till the end of the 19th century.
The growing British influence and control gave rise to social reforms and subsequently nationalist movements in the country. Eminent Indian reformers and leaders of the city made use of the versatile structure of the Wada, its courtyards and halls to hold meetings, gatherings, and debates. Wadas were used to house schools for girls, and for lower caste children, orphanages, widow homes, and offices. Even today, these institutions continue.
The foreground of Shaniwarwada was and still is an ideal space for public gatherings and programmes. That reminds me, Lokmanya Tilak held his first public Ganapati festival in the Vinchurkar Wada in 1894……..
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
The Wadas of Pune
Wadas of Pune
After visiting Shaniwarwada, the fortified citadel of the Peshwas since 18th century, I decided to explore the city further. At a bustling market place, I got off the rickshaw. And, what do I see! Another magnificent heritage building in dark wood, with beautiful carvings! It was the Vishrambaug Wada and I was struck by its quaint beauty.
“The second Wada for the day,” I said aloud to myself. “Why stop at two, madam? There are many more Wadas in amchi Pune,” said the fruit seller, watching me looking at the Wada, unmindful of the chaotic traffic around me. “I too stay in an old Wada. Would you like to visit it? Of course, it’s not stately as the Vishrambaug Wada,” he invited. This was getting interesting. That was it. I had to learn more about the Wadas of Pune before visiting a few of them.
The next couple of days, I gathered as much information as I could on the Wadas of Pune. Just as every region has a distinctive form of architecture, which is largely determined by the climate and building material available locally; as cities prospered, traditional styles for residential complexes to accommodate larger households, came into being. Like the havelis in Rajasthan, or the nallu kettus of Kerala, in Pune, it was the Wada style architecture.
Wadas are dwellings made of, brick and lime plaster with a timber frame. Raised on a high stone plinth, they are generally structured around two courtyards with beautiful facades, balconies and windows. The inner rooms and courtyard, was appropriated by the women folk of the household. It consisted of a large kitchen, store room, prayer room, a birthing room, granary, and cowshed. It also houses the well. The outer courtyard, verandah or osari, rooms, and halls were reserved for guests, meetings with business associates, and working space for accountants and clerks. Most Wadas have a typical heavy wooden door of wooden or metal frame with a smaller opening or dindi for every day use. The doorway has a carved strip with auspicious symbols, known as ganesh pati. They have raised devdis or guard rooms on both sides inside the entrance.
Although the Wada form of construction began in the Maratha period itself, it was during the Peshwa times, and particularly during the later half of the 18th century, that it gained maximum popularity as a residential structure or house form. Traditionally, these are not grand avenues, but basic and functional. But as the city and its affluent community grew, the Wadas flowered into beautiful and luxurious mansions with large durbar halls, intricately carved wooden columns and ceilings, with ivory, copper and gold inlays. Large mirrors, glass paintings, and chandeliers adorned the rooms in the front. Fountains and tulsi shrines in the first and second courtyards respectively, became a common feature. The number of floor levels increased from two to sometimes even seven!
With the onset of Colonial rule in Pune in early 19th Century, the wealthy Puneites had to curb there extravagant lifestyles. Income from friends and relatives in power during Peshwai times, and other dubious sources reduced. Maintenance of large residential Wadas became difficult. With the breaking down of the joint family system, most Wadas ran into further neglect. Many of them were and still are rented out in bits and pieces.
Many Wadas have crumbled down, or pulled down to make way for newer construction. But there are some which still stand strong and resplendent of its old glory. Some of the wells in these old Wadas are still in use, its water just as clear, and unpolluted. I will write about them later. Also, how these Wadas were used for public welfare by the Reformists of the 19th century, and later by freedom fighters.
A walk through the old lanes or peths of Pune will give adequate proof of how the Wada legacy of Peshwai Pune, still dominates the city core. And how they were an integral part of the cities urban growth. Today, when I see how newer constructions dwarf these architectural gems, I feel very sad. Change is inevitable, but it should also make space to conserve our heritage…….
After visiting Shaniwarwada, the fortified citadel of the Peshwas since 18th century, I decided to explore the city further. At a bustling market place, I got off the rickshaw. And, what do I see! Another magnificent heritage building in dark wood, with beautiful carvings! It was the Vishrambaug Wada and I was struck by its quaint beauty.
“The second Wada for the day,” I said aloud to myself. “Why stop at two, madam? There are many more Wadas in amchi Pune,” said the fruit seller, watching me looking at the Wada, unmindful of the chaotic traffic around me. “I too stay in an old Wada. Would you like to visit it? Of course, it’s not stately as the Vishrambaug Wada,” he invited. This was getting interesting. That was it. I had to learn more about the Wadas of Pune before visiting a few of them.
The next couple of days, I gathered as much information as I could on the Wadas of Pune. Just as every region has a distinctive form of architecture, which is largely determined by the climate and building material available locally; as cities prospered, traditional styles for residential complexes to accommodate larger households, came into being. Like the havelis in Rajasthan, or the nallu kettus of Kerala, in Pune, it was the Wada style architecture.
Wadas are dwellings made of, brick and lime plaster with a timber frame. Raised on a high stone plinth, they are generally structured around two courtyards with beautiful facades, balconies and windows. The inner rooms and courtyard, was appropriated by the women folk of the household. It consisted of a large kitchen, store room, prayer room, a birthing room, granary, and cowshed. It also houses the well. The outer courtyard, verandah or osari, rooms, and halls were reserved for guests, meetings with business associates, and working space for accountants and clerks. Most Wadas have a typical heavy wooden door of wooden or metal frame with a smaller opening or dindi for every day use. The doorway has a carved strip with auspicious symbols, known as ganesh pati. They have raised devdis or guard rooms on both sides inside the entrance.
Although the Wada form of construction began in the Maratha period itself, it was during the Peshwa times, and particularly during the later half of the 18th century, that it gained maximum popularity as a residential structure or house form. Traditionally, these are not grand avenues, but basic and functional. But as the city and its affluent community grew, the Wadas flowered into beautiful and luxurious mansions with large durbar halls, intricately carved wooden columns and ceilings, with ivory, copper and gold inlays. Large mirrors, glass paintings, and chandeliers adorned the rooms in the front. Fountains and tulsi shrines in the first and second courtyards respectively, became a common feature. The number of floor levels increased from two to sometimes even seven!
With the onset of Colonial rule in Pune in early 19th Century, the wealthy Puneites had to curb there extravagant lifestyles. Income from friends and relatives in power during Peshwai times, and other dubious sources reduced. Maintenance of large residential Wadas became difficult. With the breaking down of the joint family system, most Wadas ran into further neglect. Many of them were and still are rented out in bits and pieces.
Many Wadas have crumbled down, or pulled down to make way for newer construction. But there are some which still stand strong and resplendent of its old glory. Some of the wells in these old Wadas are still in use, its water just as clear, and unpolluted. I will write about them later. Also, how these Wadas were used for public welfare by the Reformists of the 19th century, and later by freedom fighters.
A walk through the old lanes or peths of Pune will give adequate proof of how the Wada legacy of Peshwai Pune, still dominates the city core. And how they were an integral part of the cities urban growth. Today, when I see how newer constructions dwarf these architectural gems, I feel very sad. Change is inevitable, but it should also make space to conserve our heritage…….
Sunday, September 19, 2010
A leap into Lanka
Monsoon raced me to Lanka. When I boarded the flight at a blazing Trivandrum airport, little did I foresee a turbulent ride through a sky heavy with dark rain clouds. As I joined the rushing passengers, relieved to have landed safely after the rattling experience on board, I wondered what all the haste was for. And the reason dawned on me, only as I got out of the small yet smart airport at Colombo. It was the impending rains. Colombo was pitching dark under great black clouds hovering above, threatening to unleash a storm. Indeed, I had won the race.
My friends warm hug, with a `u got the seasons first rains with you’ greeting made me feel special. It’s a lovely feeling when you are held responsible for the good things in people’s lives. I felt deeply welcome into this tiny country nestled close to mine. The several weeks I took to ponder on my decision to travel to a militant riddled tense country like Sri Lanka had paid off. I had dared only because my visit coincided with one of those intermittent peace spells in the discord between the state and the separatist group demanding an independent Tamil Elam in the North and East of the island.
As we left the airport and sped through the slushy puddles of red lateritic gravel, I grew even closer to the land. The similarity is binding. The landscape, the people, their attire, the weather all reminded me of the very familiar western coast of India. Colombo could have been anywhere in Goa or Kerala!
Many call it the `tear drop’ shaped island. Perhaps true; considering the harrowing years of civil war the country, officially known as the Democratic Socialist Republic of Sri Lanka, has been through since 1983. But for me this small island nation, less than a stones throw from the Indian coastline, separated by the Gulf of Mannar and the Palk Strait, is like that orange coral pendent that has come loose from the Indian peninsular garland. The trailing chain of 30 km long natural limestone shoal formation so clearly visible under the very shallow sea between the countries can well be remains of that ancient bond. Colonial British reports document it as natural bridge connecting the island to the Indian landmass, which subsequently was destroyed by a storm in the 15th century. Now known to the modern world as Adams Bridge, there are even earlier references to this bridge by 9th century Persian geographer Ibn Khordadebh and mathematician and astronomer Alberuni in 11th century. The northern point of this bridge starts at Danushkodi, in Tamil Nadu’s Rameshwaram Island and ends at the northern end of Mannar Island on the northwestern coast of Srilanka.
For the believer however, it is the remains of the bridge that Lord Rama constructed to cross over to Lanka, to rescue his beloved wife held captive by Ravana, the Asura king of Lanka. It is interesting how myths get woven into natural geological formations. An hours drive to the north of Trivandrum town along the state highway is Jatayupara, a cluster of huge rock boulders. Local tradition has it that Jatayu, the vulture friend of Lord Rama, fell wounded on this rock, while trying to prevent Ravana from kidnapping Sita to Lanka. It is also added that, this is the rock from where Hanuman took his final leap into Lanka.
Whatever the connection, the bonding between the two nations, is very intimate. It is reflected in every aspect of its culture and tradition, including language, script, and cuisine which is akin to states in peninsular India. How much ever a Malayalee or a Tamilian tries to pick on state-wise cultural affinities in Sri Lankan food, to me it seemed a unique blend of gastronomical delights from all over peninsular India. Western flavours in food habits and modernity in traditional costumes however are the remnants of the more recent colonial influences left by the Portuguese, the Dutch and the British since the 16th century. This even includes the name Ceylon, the official name for the island till 1972, given by the Portuguese.
By virtue of its location in the middle of the busy Indian Ocean trade route, the island was frequented by traders from the western and eastern world since ancient times. In fact, the demand for Srilankan cinnamon among the Egyptians is believed to date as far back as 1500 BC. Early Historic Roman trade in Peninsular India extended into Sri Lanka also. The seven UNESCO World heritage Sites are a testimony to the civilizational scale the kingdoms on the island had achieved more than 2000 years ago. These are all located in and around the Cultural Triangle which links ancient Anuradhapura, Medieval Polonnaruwa and the Kandy of recent history. So also are the ancient records in the Pali chronicles especially the Mahavamsa and the Dipavamsa, epigraphical records, and stone inscriptions which give plenty of details of the early historic period in Srilanka.
As effects of coastal trade spread deeper into the island, the indigenous population, known as the Veddas, is said to have moved into the hilly interiors and formed their own kingdom with Kandy as its capital. When the British East India Company colonized the island in 1802, Kandy was a separate Kingdom. Soon the Kingdom fell and Colombo became the administrative centre of colonial rule. Besides the interests in the islands timber, gemstones and other mineral resources, British colonial rule established a series of plantations in rubber, tea, coffee, sugar, cinnamon and indigo on the once densely forested hills and plains. The workforces at these plantations were brought largely from Tamil Nadu. Today Tamils form more than 15% of ethnic minority in Sri Lanka. While Kandy and its surrounding regions form the traditional core of Sinhala population, the regions around Jaffna in the north is the Tamil nerve centre.
I would have loved to travel into the hinterland of these core areas. But back home, I had pledged I wouldn’t wander around unaccompanied in this country. So I left it to my friends to take me to my one and only grand agenda in Sri Lanka – a few days at the Cultural triangle.
My friends warm hug, with a `u got the seasons first rains with you’ greeting made me feel special. It’s a lovely feeling when you are held responsible for the good things in people’s lives. I felt deeply welcome into this tiny country nestled close to mine. The several weeks I took to ponder on my decision to travel to a militant riddled tense country like Sri Lanka had paid off. I had dared only because my visit coincided with one of those intermittent peace spells in the discord between the state and the separatist group demanding an independent Tamil Elam in the North and East of the island.
As we left the airport and sped through the slushy puddles of red lateritic gravel, I grew even closer to the land. The similarity is binding. The landscape, the people, their attire, the weather all reminded me of the very familiar western coast of India. Colombo could have been anywhere in Goa or Kerala!
Many call it the `tear drop’ shaped island. Perhaps true; considering the harrowing years of civil war the country, officially known as the Democratic Socialist Republic of Sri Lanka, has been through since 1983. But for me this small island nation, less than a stones throw from the Indian coastline, separated by the Gulf of Mannar and the Palk Strait, is like that orange coral pendent that has come loose from the Indian peninsular garland. The trailing chain of 30 km long natural limestone shoal formation so clearly visible under the very shallow sea between the countries can well be remains of that ancient bond. Colonial British reports document it as natural bridge connecting the island to the Indian landmass, which subsequently was destroyed by a storm in the 15th century. Now known to the modern world as Adams Bridge, there are even earlier references to this bridge by 9th century Persian geographer Ibn Khordadebh and mathematician and astronomer Alberuni in 11th century. The northern point of this bridge starts at Danushkodi, in Tamil Nadu’s Rameshwaram Island and ends at the northern end of Mannar Island on the northwestern coast of Srilanka.
For the believer however, it is the remains of the bridge that Lord Rama constructed to cross over to Lanka, to rescue his beloved wife held captive by Ravana, the Asura king of Lanka. It is interesting how myths get woven into natural geological formations. An hours drive to the north of Trivandrum town along the state highway is Jatayupara, a cluster of huge rock boulders. Local tradition has it that Jatayu, the vulture friend of Lord Rama, fell wounded on this rock, while trying to prevent Ravana from kidnapping Sita to Lanka. It is also added that, this is the rock from where Hanuman took his final leap into Lanka.
Whatever the connection, the bonding between the two nations, is very intimate. It is reflected in every aspect of its culture and tradition, including language, script, and cuisine which is akin to states in peninsular India. How much ever a Malayalee or a Tamilian tries to pick on state-wise cultural affinities in Sri Lankan food, to me it seemed a unique blend of gastronomical delights from all over peninsular India. Western flavours in food habits and modernity in traditional costumes however are the remnants of the more recent colonial influences left by the Portuguese, the Dutch and the British since the 16th century. This even includes the name Ceylon, the official name for the island till 1972, given by the Portuguese.
By virtue of its location in the middle of the busy Indian Ocean trade route, the island was frequented by traders from the western and eastern world since ancient times. In fact, the demand for Srilankan cinnamon among the Egyptians is believed to date as far back as 1500 BC. Early Historic Roman trade in Peninsular India extended into Sri Lanka also. The seven UNESCO World heritage Sites are a testimony to the civilizational scale the kingdoms on the island had achieved more than 2000 years ago. These are all located in and around the Cultural Triangle which links ancient Anuradhapura, Medieval Polonnaruwa and the Kandy of recent history. So also are the ancient records in the Pali chronicles especially the Mahavamsa and the Dipavamsa, epigraphical records, and stone inscriptions which give plenty of details of the early historic period in Srilanka.
As effects of coastal trade spread deeper into the island, the indigenous population, known as the Veddas, is said to have moved into the hilly interiors and formed their own kingdom with Kandy as its capital. When the British East India Company colonized the island in 1802, Kandy was a separate Kingdom. Soon the Kingdom fell and Colombo became the administrative centre of colonial rule. Besides the interests in the islands timber, gemstones and other mineral resources, British colonial rule established a series of plantations in rubber, tea, coffee, sugar, cinnamon and indigo on the once densely forested hills and plains. The workforces at these plantations were brought largely from Tamil Nadu. Today Tamils form more than 15% of ethnic minority in Sri Lanka. While Kandy and its surrounding regions form the traditional core of Sinhala population, the regions around Jaffna in the north is the Tamil nerve centre.
I would have loved to travel into the hinterland of these core areas. But back home, I had pledged I wouldn’t wander around unaccompanied in this country. So I left it to my friends to take me to my one and only grand agenda in Sri Lanka – a few days at the Cultural triangle.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Trivandrum Heritage....
http://www.thehindu.com/todays-paper/tp-features/tp-metroplus/article519399.ece
U nder the guise of ‘development,' among the many things disappearing from the city are heritage buildings. It's sad to see some of these gems being chomped up gluttonously by JCBs, paving way to new swanky showrooms, apartments and mansions.
As compared to its neighbouring states, Kerala doesn't have too many grand structures in stone. Instead it has its own unique style of architecture. Modest and elegant in appearance, they are a class apart in grandeur. These are predominantly made of laterite and wood. Unfortunately both of these building materials cannot withstand the vagaries of time, without proper care in a tropical region like Kerala. For the same reasons, the State has only a few surviving monuments that can be dated to ancient and early historic period, and they are mostly made in stone or are those where the ancient core of the structure has been rebuilt several times.
But what the State has in abundance are buildings that were built in the last 300 years. These include various small and big palaces, official buildings, many temples, churches, mosques and some forts. Most of them were renovated and maintained over time by the ruling kings of the Cochin and Travancore royal families and the Madras Presidency in Malabar.
And the capital city of Thiruvananthapuram is strewn with fine examples of structures built in the last few centuries. After the formation of the princely state of Travancore by Marthanda Varma (1729-58 AD), the capital of the State was shifted to Thiruvananthapuram in 1790 AD, from the earlier headquarters at Padmanabhapuram, now in Kanyakumari district of Tamil Nadu. Fort walls were erected to guard the seat of power.
Thus came into being the East Fort with the imposing Padmanabhaswamy temple at its centre. The temple is the finest example of Dravidian temple architecture within Kerala, and in all probability has a much ancient core. The precincts of the East Fort, has a wealth of architectural features criss-crossing the maze of old lanes and by lanes. This includes the amazing Kuthiramalika palace, the royal residence consisting of a series of ornately carved nalukettu buildings.
The fortified city also has the temple pond, many smaller Hindu shrines, religious institutions and shalai supported by the royal house, several minor palaces, mansions, agraharams (street or complex of Brahmin households), houses, and bazars, which are all a fine example of town planning and architecture of the period.
The other focal point around which the city grew 200 years ago was Palayam or the Cantonment area. It formed the hub for public offices, educational centres, museum and even a zoo. Forking out from this nodal point many areas grew into prominence, one such being the road leading to the Kowdiar Palace, the present main residence of the royal family of erstwhile Travancore.
Besides these, the city and its outskirt are dotted with fine examples of heritage architecture. But except for the religious structures, and a couple of prime palaces, most of the structures are neglected, including the fort walls. It's desperately in need of proper survey and documentation. Monitoring of new construction activities within the fort area can save it from the growing chaos. With restoration work that doesn't tinker with the age old charm, and also strengthens these heritage structures, there are various innovative ways these buildings can be put to use. But before that citizens, especially the younger generation, need to know of this wealth of heritage or `paitrukam' around them.
Bina Thomas
(The author is a consultant archaeologist)
U nder the guise of ‘development,' among the many things disappearing from the city are heritage buildings. It's sad to see some of these gems being chomped up gluttonously by JCBs, paving way to new swanky showrooms, apartments and mansions.
As compared to its neighbouring states, Kerala doesn't have too many grand structures in stone. Instead it has its own unique style of architecture. Modest and elegant in appearance, they are a class apart in grandeur. These are predominantly made of laterite and wood. Unfortunately both of these building materials cannot withstand the vagaries of time, without proper care in a tropical region like Kerala. For the same reasons, the State has only a few surviving monuments that can be dated to ancient and early historic period, and they are mostly made in stone or are those where the ancient core of the structure has been rebuilt several times.
But what the State has in abundance are buildings that were built in the last 300 years. These include various small and big palaces, official buildings, many temples, churches, mosques and some forts. Most of them were renovated and maintained over time by the ruling kings of the Cochin and Travancore royal families and the Madras Presidency in Malabar.
And the capital city of Thiruvananthapuram is strewn with fine examples of structures built in the last few centuries. After the formation of the princely state of Travancore by Marthanda Varma (1729-58 AD), the capital of the State was shifted to Thiruvananthapuram in 1790 AD, from the earlier headquarters at Padmanabhapuram, now in Kanyakumari district of Tamil Nadu. Fort walls were erected to guard the seat of power.
Thus came into being the East Fort with the imposing Padmanabhaswamy temple at its centre. The temple is the finest example of Dravidian temple architecture within Kerala, and in all probability has a much ancient core. The precincts of the East Fort, has a wealth of architectural features criss-crossing the maze of old lanes and by lanes. This includes the amazing Kuthiramalika palace, the royal residence consisting of a series of ornately carved nalukettu buildings.
The fortified city also has the temple pond, many smaller Hindu shrines, religious institutions and shalai supported by the royal house, several minor palaces, mansions, agraharams (street or complex of Brahmin households), houses, and bazars, which are all a fine example of town planning and architecture of the period.
The other focal point around which the city grew 200 years ago was Palayam or the Cantonment area. It formed the hub for public offices, educational centres, museum and even a zoo. Forking out from this nodal point many areas grew into prominence, one such being the road leading to the Kowdiar Palace, the present main residence of the royal family of erstwhile Travancore.
Besides these, the city and its outskirt are dotted with fine examples of heritage architecture. But except for the religious structures, and a couple of prime palaces, most of the structures are neglected, including the fort walls. It's desperately in need of proper survey and documentation. Monitoring of new construction activities within the fort area can save it from the growing chaos. With restoration work that doesn't tinker with the age old charm, and also strengthens these heritage structures, there are various innovative ways these buildings can be put to use. But before that citizens, especially the younger generation, need to know of this wealth of heritage or `paitrukam' around them.
Bina Thomas
(The author is a consultant archaeologist)
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
The thing with memories….
K Kumar loved digging up the past. After all he was an Archeologist. And an accomplished one at that. But this particular digging up, he was not good at. I mean..... the digging up of memories. Its lanes and gullies. These lanes would surge in front of KK like endless alleyways with thousands of tiny by-lanes into either side. By-lanes opening into a million houses. Houses with innumerable rooms. And rooms with zillions of people. And KK would stand burdened and exasperated at the entrance of the alleyways, without even daring to turn into one of them. Even the thought of peeking into the rooms was too unnerving.
He would heave and appear faint at the very thought of rummaging through the pile of memories. His adams apple would do a fervent hop skip and jump under the fine skin of his skinny throat. There were just too many of those memories. Or perhaps they had all piled up because he had ceased to disband them long ago. You know, things get easier if you refresh or revive memories from time to time. Because, you cannot actually shut them up. But KK always preferred to bottle them up into pickles he never wanted to taste. Hoping that it would dissolve in its own acidic juices and finally go rancid and perhaps evaporate and disappear with age.
Well, it wasn’t to be so. Because, here she was. Right in front of him. Ejecting him out of his smooth train journey of life and landing painfully on a platform he’d said farewell to 20 years ago. Everything came tumbling out of his memory closet within an instance. His head throbbed, his stomach churned….. but the memory engine continued revving.
He was still reeling from the effect when she suddenly enveloped him into a warm friendly hug, and said `Hi KK. It’s been so very long’
Was it the sudden embrace of a woman, and a beautiful one at that; or whatever, KK had a pleasant feeling slid all over him……
He would heave and appear faint at the very thought of rummaging through the pile of memories. His adams apple would do a fervent hop skip and jump under the fine skin of his skinny throat. There were just too many of those memories. Or perhaps they had all piled up because he had ceased to disband them long ago. You know, things get easier if you refresh or revive memories from time to time. Because, you cannot actually shut them up. But KK always preferred to bottle them up into pickles he never wanted to taste. Hoping that it would dissolve in its own acidic juices and finally go rancid and perhaps evaporate and disappear with age.
Well, it wasn’t to be so. Because, here she was. Right in front of him. Ejecting him out of his smooth train journey of life and landing painfully on a platform he’d said farewell to 20 years ago. Everything came tumbling out of his memory closet within an instance. His head throbbed, his stomach churned….. but the memory engine continued revving.
He was still reeling from the effect when she suddenly enveloped him into a warm friendly hug, and said `Hi KK. It’s been so very long’
Was it the sudden embrace of a woman, and a beautiful one at that; or whatever, KK had a pleasant feeling slid all over him……
Friday, May 28, 2010
Biju's Mad Plan
Biju cringed with anxiety. But he had to act, as per the plan that had taken shape in his little head since the past few weeks. Sitting at his classroom desk, he watched the row of classes along the length of the school building. The rooms reminded him of the graphic details, of grandfathers splendid narration of the Central jail where Biju’s great grandparents were male and female jail-wardens respectively. The iron barred windows, the uniformed students; the stern looking teachers in every room, all seemed to make the classrooms more like a prison. It was not a pleasant place to be.
Definitely not a place that Biju fancied waking up in the wee hours of the morning for, or get washed in the cold well water, or get dabbed with fragrant talcum powder, or get dressed in fresh clothes. The worst part was saying `ta-ta’ to mother. As father pulled him along, muttering about the school jeep leaving without him and the troubles of then having to drop him by some different means of transportation and not reaching in time for the school assembly…. It all seemed like being taken to the slaughter house. Biju certainly didn’t look forward to going to school every morning. He wished and secretly prayed for many more city and state hartals and holidays. But well, things hardly changed. Each morning was the same. Getting up early and rushing to school.
Biju didn’t mind it now. He’d got used to it. When he came back home towards the end of a hot and tiring day at school, he’d wonder of all the fantastic fun and games he could have engaged in the mornings and afternoons if he’d been at home. Living in the outhouse of a big bungalow in the interiors of a small town of a lush green state like his was just great. Besides the paddy fields and the rubber plantations skirting the hills and valleys around his village, his immediate surroundings had huge teak, coconut, mango, cashew, and jackfruit trees. Since the grand old lady of the house lived alone, with frequent phone calls and occasional visits from her two children living abroad, the house or the huge yard surrounding it was hardly maintained. But Biju loved the wilderness. The serpentine pepper creepers on the mango trees, the low branches of the cashew tree, the peculiar curves of the coconut trees, and the abundance of the jackfruit trees, all enchanted him. Smaller plants like the many stray shrubs of different shaped and coloured chilies, tomatoes and ladies finger, the fragrant leaves of turmeric, stand alone trees like papaya, and coffee, and the plentitude of wild flowers and berries, made his Sunday afternoon romps very interesting. It was more an exploration. He dreamt of a day when he would go up the notches on the coconut trees like Unni tandaan, pull a swing on the topmost branches of the mango tree and learn to shoot down fruits like an ace archer.
But now, that would all have to wait. Going to school day after day barely gave him any time for such planning or practice.
According to Biju, the best time for exploration was after the initial few rains of the season. He liked the smell of the earth, and the sogginess of fallen leaves. Biju never thought of them as `dead leaves’. Instead they were protective dry covers for his favorite creepy crawlies. He would chat up with the ladybirds and the grasshoppers. He would stare in amazement at the coiling piles of tiny millipedes and the marching armies of angry red ants. The best part was monitoring the growth of sprouting new seeds of jackfruits and mangoes. He enjoyed carrying these newly germinated seeds to show the grand old lady, and if she was impressed, ask for permission to plant it in some corner of his choice. Amachi, as Biju called her, would mostly say that the plant will take ages to bear fruit, unlike the `super fast’ fruit trees bought from the plant nursery. But Biju was prepared to wait. He had all the time in the world. But this school was eating up a huge chunk of time from his days.
Once back from school, it would soon grow dark and all mothers would herd their children into their respective homes and that would be the end of another beautiful day. Kids could hardly protest. Sapped of all the energy at school itself, these little bodies would anyway be running in reserve during the couples of hours of evening play. Biju’s father and mother worked as driver and maid for the old lady. As the old lady’s caretaker they had to attend to several errands, and tasks throughout the day. Actually Biju knew his parents were only too glad to send him to school. Not only because they thought he would one day become an officer and a gentleman, but also because they wanted him out of the house and their care. Not because Biju was a naughty boy, but he was quite a wanderer and often went `missing’ in the neighborhood. Although Biju believed he could manage himself very well, his parent thought otherwise and ended up screaming out his name every two three hours. So, sending Biju to a secure and safely guarded place like school every morning, they thought, helped them to concentrate on their other duties.
But little did they know of Biju’s mad plan. He’d been planning it for a very long time. It was now time to execute it. And why not? He was big, and strong. And above all, he was brave. And he was one, two, three, four, five, and a half ……
Definitely not a place that Biju fancied waking up in the wee hours of the morning for, or get washed in the cold well water, or get dabbed with fragrant talcum powder, or get dressed in fresh clothes. The worst part was saying `ta-ta’ to mother. As father pulled him along, muttering about the school jeep leaving without him and the troubles of then having to drop him by some different means of transportation and not reaching in time for the school assembly…. It all seemed like being taken to the slaughter house. Biju certainly didn’t look forward to going to school every morning. He wished and secretly prayed for many more city and state hartals and holidays. But well, things hardly changed. Each morning was the same. Getting up early and rushing to school.
Biju didn’t mind it now. He’d got used to it. When he came back home towards the end of a hot and tiring day at school, he’d wonder of all the fantastic fun and games he could have engaged in the mornings and afternoons if he’d been at home. Living in the outhouse of a big bungalow in the interiors of a small town of a lush green state like his was just great. Besides the paddy fields and the rubber plantations skirting the hills and valleys around his village, his immediate surroundings had huge teak, coconut, mango, cashew, and jackfruit trees. Since the grand old lady of the house lived alone, with frequent phone calls and occasional visits from her two children living abroad, the house or the huge yard surrounding it was hardly maintained. But Biju loved the wilderness. The serpentine pepper creepers on the mango trees, the low branches of the cashew tree, the peculiar curves of the coconut trees, and the abundance of the jackfruit trees, all enchanted him. Smaller plants like the many stray shrubs of different shaped and coloured chilies, tomatoes and ladies finger, the fragrant leaves of turmeric, stand alone trees like papaya, and coffee, and the plentitude of wild flowers and berries, made his Sunday afternoon romps very interesting. It was more an exploration. He dreamt of a day when he would go up the notches on the coconut trees like Unni tandaan, pull a swing on the topmost branches of the mango tree and learn to shoot down fruits like an ace archer.
But now, that would all have to wait. Going to school day after day barely gave him any time for such planning or practice.
According to Biju, the best time for exploration was after the initial few rains of the season. He liked the smell of the earth, and the sogginess of fallen leaves. Biju never thought of them as `dead leaves’. Instead they were protective dry covers for his favorite creepy crawlies. He would chat up with the ladybirds and the grasshoppers. He would stare in amazement at the coiling piles of tiny millipedes and the marching armies of angry red ants. The best part was monitoring the growth of sprouting new seeds of jackfruits and mangoes. He enjoyed carrying these newly germinated seeds to show the grand old lady, and if she was impressed, ask for permission to plant it in some corner of his choice. Amachi, as Biju called her, would mostly say that the plant will take ages to bear fruit, unlike the `super fast’ fruit trees bought from the plant nursery. But Biju was prepared to wait. He had all the time in the world. But this school was eating up a huge chunk of time from his days.
Once back from school, it would soon grow dark and all mothers would herd their children into their respective homes and that would be the end of another beautiful day. Kids could hardly protest. Sapped of all the energy at school itself, these little bodies would anyway be running in reserve during the couples of hours of evening play. Biju’s father and mother worked as driver and maid for the old lady. As the old lady’s caretaker they had to attend to several errands, and tasks throughout the day. Actually Biju knew his parents were only too glad to send him to school. Not only because they thought he would one day become an officer and a gentleman, but also because they wanted him out of the house and their care. Not because Biju was a naughty boy, but he was quite a wanderer and often went `missing’ in the neighborhood. Although Biju believed he could manage himself very well, his parent thought otherwise and ended up screaming out his name every two three hours. So, sending Biju to a secure and safely guarded place like school every morning, they thought, helped them to concentrate on their other duties.
But little did they know of Biju’s mad plan. He’d been planning it for a very long time. It was now time to execute it. And why not? He was big, and strong. And above all, he was brave. And he was one, two, three, four, five, and a half ……
Thursday, May 20, 2010
biography so far....
About Me
my mother thinks i must have been a cat in my past life. because, i don't spare a single fish bone in my plate! i love cats. and i have a fetish for cleanliness, like the cat. and i hate closed rooms. i crave for windows and doors and rays of sunshine. i don't belong to any one geographical place. home is where the heart is.... and my heart was in baroda when i was little, then in pune where it snuggled up close to someone, then in bangkok where it refused to settled down, and now its terribly lost and divided between oslo and trivandrum. but there is no sense of belonging like being in india. writing (prose and poetry) happens amidst all these. heritage studies is my primary passion. working with children and young adults and writing for their age group my favorite engagement. solitary travels into quaint `upcountry' locations in india and around the globe is an addiction, managed to do a lot of it in India as a `full time' archaeologist and `part-time' environment/women/child rights activist. my writings are more of an exercise in reliving my own memories and nostalgia.... i have two kidz and one partner; actually we are college buddies who sprouted two kidz along the way. my kidz are my primary orbit. its a choice i made. i like it that way.........much much more to add.....but much much later.............
my mother thinks i must have been a cat in my past life. because, i don't spare a single fish bone in my plate! i love cats. and i have a fetish for cleanliness, like the cat. and i hate closed rooms. i crave for windows and doors and rays of sunshine. i don't belong to any one geographical place. home is where the heart is.... and my heart was in baroda when i was little, then in pune where it snuggled up close to someone, then in bangkok where it refused to settled down, and now its terribly lost and divided between oslo and trivandrum. but there is no sense of belonging like being in india. writing (prose and poetry) happens amidst all these. heritage studies is my primary passion. working with children and young adults and writing for their age group my favorite engagement. solitary travels into quaint `upcountry' locations in india and around the globe is an addiction, managed to do a lot of it in India as a `full time' archaeologist and `part-time' environment/women/child rights activist. my writings are more of an exercise in reliving my own memories and nostalgia.... i have two kidz and one partner; actually we are college buddies who sprouted two kidz along the way. my kidz are my primary orbit. its a choice i made. i like it that way.........much much more to add.....but much much later.............
Friday, May 14, 2010
Pune Diaries.....for the young ones
Chapter 1, Summer Holidays
Dear Diary,
Summer holidays weren’t that boring after all! Initially I was sad, thinking that I would be stuck in the house and in Pune city for two months, while all my friends went on vacation to various interesting places. Well, stuck in the city I was, but not in the house!!
You must be wondering what that means. Let me explain. Since we could not leave on a vacation during the summer holidays, Mom and I chalked out an itinerary for our travels and activities within the city. We were new to the city and decided to explore and discover it over a vacation. Our schedule included not just visiting places of historical importance but also of contemporary significance. In the beginning I was a little apprehensive;
“Exploring the city through this chaotic traffic and pollution,” I had asked.
“Think of it as discovering gems. Historic gems and modern day landmark establishments,” Mom has encouraged.
Even before we moved to Pune, we had heard a lot about the city. That it’s called as the `Queen of the Deccan’ was very impressive. Although, I never really tried finding out why it was called so? This second largest city of Maharashtra state is also known as the `Oxford of the East’ because of the premier educational institutions located here, some of which were the first in the country.
The `Cultural capital of Maharashtra’ - Pune most certainly is. A few months stay in Pune is enough to teach you that! Particularly during Ganesh utsav. Festivals here are livened up by a number of cultural programmes including classical as well as folk and contemporary dance, drama and music. This tradition bound city continues to host and support events which have been coming down from generations; like the recently held Palki of Sant Jyaneshwar and Tukaram. I shall tell you more about it when I narrate my visit to Alandi!
Pune was also called a `Pensioners Paradise’. This was because many senior citizens from neighboring cities, mainly from Bombay, preferred the peace and quite of Pune to settle down post retirement. Nestled in the Sahayadri Mountains, 560 m above sea level, along the confluence of the rivers Mula and Mutta, this picturesque city is inviting even today. But this sobriquet, `pensioners paradise’ for this bustling city is certainly a misnomer today.
Pune is thriving with young people from all over the country. They are either studying in one of the many colleges or working at the innumerable number of Indian as well as Multinational companies. There is also a large contingent of international student population. Added to this is the vast migrant population of artisans and skilled labour, who in search of work have made Pune their home. Today Pune has a population of over 45 lakh.
Pune definitely holds a great future. As a 12 yr old, even I can sense the promise the city holds for youngsters like me, in terms of education and opportunities. But its glorious past I was yet to discover. I will share with you my experiences. It has been a long journey. Not just discovering a city, but also its soul. In the process, not just was I learning more about the city but I was also beginning to feel more at home here!
Chapter 2, Shaniwarwada
Dear Diary,
I must have gone past the Shaniwarwada at least a few times in the past one year of being in the city, but was never interested in visiting the historical monument. So, when Mom suggested that Shaniwarwada was the first destination on our `Pune Darshan’ itinerary, I wasn’t very excited. “Why, Shaniwarwada?” I had said.
“Let’s begin at the very core,” she said, “Shaniwarwada was not just the political and cultural hub of the Peshwas, but also was and still is, the very heart of the city. Geographically too, it is located in Central Pune.”
Very soon we were navigating our way through the most crowed part of the city in a rickshaw. Our driver tried hard to dodge past the cyclist and, pedestrians, who seemed to jump in front our rickshaw, like pop up screens on my computer! Mom’s decision to not take our car through this chaotic traffic made complete sense.
“Not bad at all!” I thought as I stood in front of the impressive Delhi Gate or the main gate made of metal and wood with large spikes, so that even the enemies elephants will not succeed in forcing open the doors. For a structure that began as a residential mansion or `Wada’ to house the royal families of the Peshwas, Shaniwarwada was colossal. “That’s because, successive Peshwas added this stone fortification walls, bastions and gates” explained Mom. She had read about the monument before coming. “It took two years to build, from 10th January 1730 to 22nd January 1732. The entire complex spreads over an area of 150mx 200m (6.25 acres) and housed at least a 1000 people.”
“In all there are 5 gates,” the monument caretaker had chipped in, seeing me admiring the main gate. “The Dilli Darwaja was used by the Peshwas to set out for all their military campaigns. The others are Mastani or Alibahadur Darwaja, Khidki Darwaja, Ganesh Darwaja, and Narayan Darwaja,” he concluded. When I smiled, he wanted to engage me further with the many interesting and mysterious `stories’ about the Wada. I said “some other time” and continued with my exploration. Actually, I had heard of a few `stories’ from my classmates. But facts, like the name Shaniwarwada, for the largest Wada in Pune, was because construction began on a Shaniwar or Saturday, were really unique!!
For a monument which was destroyed by many calamities, like the fire in 1828, there is a lot to see within Shaniwarwada. The surviving foundations of minor mansions, regal halls, stables, kitchens and toilets are all so interesting. From our readings we knew that the layout of the entire Wada was spread out around two central courtyards. The much talked about Hazare Karanje or the `thousand’ spouted fountain, in the shape of a 196 petal lotus not just spoke of the decorative style of the times, but also of the intricate water works of those days. I didn’t know, until the caretaker informed me, that the water source for the fountain was an underground conduit that came from a lake in Katraj, 18kms away!
It was good fun climbing up the steps and walking along the fort walls. The view of the bustling city from the Nagarkahana, the special music gallery, set above the main gate transported me to the Peshwa era! For a moment I was Peshwa Bajirao I, addressing his people from his citadel!! Whatever the case, I was getting more and more intrigued by this city of Wadas’…..
Dear Diary,
Summer holidays weren’t that boring after all! Initially I was sad, thinking that I would be stuck in the house and in Pune city for two months, while all my friends went on vacation to various interesting places. Well, stuck in the city I was, but not in the house!!
You must be wondering what that means. Let me explain. Since we could not leave on a vacation during the summer holidays, Mom and I chalked out an itinerary for our travels and activities within the city. We were new to the city and decided to explore and discover it over a vacation. Our schedule included not just visiting places of historical importance but also of contemporary significance. In the beginning I was a little apprehensive;
“Exploring the city through this chaotic traffic and pollution,” I had asked.
“Think of it as discovering gems. Historic gems and modern day landmark establishments,” Mom has encouraged.
Even before we moved to Pune, we had heard a lot about the city. That it’s called as the `Queen of the Deccan’ was very impressive. Although, I never really tried finding out why it was called so? This second largest city of Maharashtra state is also known as the `Oxford of the East’ because of the premier educational institutions located here, some of which were the first in the country.
The `Cultural capital of Maharashtra’ - Pune most certainly is. A few months stay in Pune is enough to teach you that! Particularly during Ganesh utsav. Festivals here are livened up by a number of cultural programmes including classical as well as folk and contemporary dance, drama and music. This tradition bound city continues to host and support events which have been coming down from generations; like the recently held Palki of Sant Jyaneshwar and Tukaram. I shall tell you more about it when I narrate my visit to Alandi!
Pune was also called a `Pensioners Paradise’. This was because many senior citizens from neighboring cities, mainly from Bombay, preferred the peace and quite of Pune to settle down post retirement. Nestled in the Sahayadri Mountains, 560 m above sea level, along the confluence of the rivers Mula and Mutta, this picturesque city is inviting even today. But this sobriquet, `pensioners paradise’ for this bustling city is certainly a misnomer today.
Pune is thriving with young people from all over the country. They are either studying in one of the many colleges or working at the innumerable number of Indian as well as Multinational companies. There is also a large contingent of international student population. Added to this is the vast migrant population of artisans and skilled labour, who in search of work have made Pune their home. Today Pune has a population of over 45 lakh.
Pune definitely holds a great future. As a 12 yr old, even I can sense the promise the city holds for youngsters like me, in terms of education and opportunities. But its glorious past I was yet to discover. I will share with you my experiences. It has been a long journey. Not just discovering a city, but also its soul. In the process, not just was I learning more about the city but I was also beginning to feel more at home here!
Chapter 2, Shaniwarwada
Dear Diary,
I must have gone past the Shaniwarwada at least a few times in the past one year of being in the city, but was never interested in visiting the historical monument. So, when Mom suggested that Shaniwarwada was the first destination on our `Pune Darshan’ itinerary, I wasn’t very excited. “Why, Shaniwarwada?” I had said.
“Let’s begin at the very core,” she said, “Shaniwarwada was not just the political and cultural hub of the Peshwas, but also was and still is, the very heart of the city. Geographically too, it is located in Central Pune.”
Very soon we were navigating our way through the most crowed part of the city in a rickshaw. Our driver tried hard to dodge past the cyclist and, pedestrians, who seemed to jump in front our rickshaw, like pop up screens on my computer! Mom’s decision to not take our car through this chaotic traffic made complete sense.
“Not bad at all!” I thought as I stood in front of the impressive Delhi Gate or the main gate made of metal and wood with large spikes, so that even the enemies elephants will not succeed in forcing open the doors. For a structure that began as a residential mansion or `Wada’ to house the royal families of the Peshwas, Shaniwarwada was colossal. “That’s because, successive Peshwas added this stone fortification walls, bastions and gates” explained Mom. She had read about the monument before coming. “It took two years to build, from 10th January 1730 to 22nd January 1732. The entire complex spreads over an area of 150mx 200m (6.25 acres) and housed at least a 1000 people.”
“In all there are 5 gates,” the monument caretaker had chipped in, seeing me admiring the main gate. “The Dilli Darwaja was used by the Peshwas to set out for all their military campaigns. The others are Mastani or Alibahadur Darwaja, Khidki Darwaja, Ganesh Darwaja, and Narayan Darwaja,” he concluded. When I smiled, he wanted to engage me further with the many interesting and mysterious `stories’ about the Wada. I said “some other time” and continued with my exploration. Actually, I had heard of a few `stories’ from my classmates. But facts, like the name Shaniwarwada, for the largest Wada in Pune, was because construction began on a Shaniwar or Saturday, were really unique!!
For a monument which was destroyed by many calamities, like the fire in 1828, there is a lot to see within Shaniwarwada. The surviving foundations of minor mansions, regal halls, stables, kitchens and toilets are all so interesting. From our readings we knew that the layout of the entire Wada was spread out around two central courtyards. The much talked about Hazare Karanje or the `thousand’ spouted fountain, in the shape of a 196 petal lotus not just spoke of the decorative style of the times, but also of the intricate water works of those days. I didn’t know, until the caretaker informed me, that the water source for the fountain was an underground conduit that came from a lake in Katraj, 18kms away!
It was good fun climbing up the steps and walking along the fort walls. The view of the bustling city from the Nagarkahana, the special music gallery, set above the main gate transported me to the Peshwa era! For a moment I was Peshwa Bajirao I, addressing his people from his citadel!! Whatever the case, I was getting more and more intrigued by this city of Wadas’…..
Monday, May 10, 2010
The Road to Ayutthaya
It’s not as if I have an aversion to all things contemporary. I’m in fact a keep observer of contemporary life and living wherever. But the worm of archaeology wriggles in me restlessly, and prods me to dig deeper into the roots of just about everything. And that’s what I wanted to do after my sojourns into the palaces and alleyways of 200 year old Bangkok. I was itching to travel and explore areas of Thai ancient history.
With an intriguing name like Ayutthaya, the old capital of Thai Kingdom was top on my list. Actually, unlike the lesser known Sukhothai, the first-ever city-sate of Siam nestled in the central plains of Thailand, Ayutthaya is so much `in-your-face’ in Bangkok. It’s basically because of the proximity to the city. It is in fact an easy day trip to the ancient capital. Sukhothai on the other hand is a good 6 hours road trip. Paintings of the Ayutthaya ruins amidst overgrown roots of ficus trees, on fabric and on paper are common souvenirs in Bangkok. But when compared to the millions that throng the amazingly beautiful beaches and islands of Thailand, these UNESCO World Heritage historical parks don’t attract many visitors. I was happy I visited these sites. But honestly the well maintained ruins at Ayutthaya with its manicured lawns and gardens come no where close to the rustic charm of Angkor Wat. But as they say, historical events and monuments should never be compared; both are unique in its respective time and space.
Both these historical parks are well equipped with museums, information centres, guides, rest rooms, and everything that is needed to update and refresh ones body, mind and soul. For that matter, traveling anywhere in Thailand is a tourists delight. It’s actually difficult to `rough-it-out’ in Thailand. You really have to be in the deep interiors of the northern highlands to experience true wilderness. It would seem that the smooth 6 lane highways with refreshment centres at every few kilometers, complete with restaurants, wash rooms and kids play area, runs into all corners of Thailand. Unlike in India, where a cross country National Highway road trip actually weaves through the cultural fabric and the associated hassles of the nation, in Thailand its just smooth roads and convenience kiosks at regular intervals. It is indeed a little disappointing for people looking out for some serious exploration into ethnic life and living in Thailand, without wandering into the deeper darker zones.
Besides, trips and treks would seem to be tailor made for individual tourists in this prime holiday country. One can choose to tramp it out or live royally at the classiest of hotels. As always, I chose the `middle path’; although adequately adventurous, I rarely take risks. I opted to cruise it to Ayutthaya, and it was well worth it. From the jetty at Bangkok, the cruise snakes up the Chao Phraya to the ruins. The cruise starts early morning, complete with welcome drink, delicious breakfast, Thai traditional music and dance performances and a sumptuous lunch spread ready to be devoured on the return journey in the afternoon.
Although Sukhothai is considered as the first city-sate of Thailand, it was the Kingdom at Ayutthaya in the 14th century that unified the farming and trading communities that existed along the Upper Chao Phraya Valley. Prior to this unification, Sukhothai was an emerging city-state under the control of Khmer Empire, consisting mainly of people from the Mon ethnic group. A little needs to be said about the history prior to the Sukhothai period in Thailand. And this refers to the Dwaravati period, which included a conglomeration of small and big settlements along both banks of the Upper Chao Phraya valley during the 6th – 13th Century. Like all legendary beginnings the first king of Dwaravati, is said to have established the first city, in the 5th century AD. But what is certain is that by the 10th Century most of these settlements came under the dominance of the Khmer Empire and was controlled from the ancient city of Lavo, identified with modern Lopburi town on the eastern bank of the Chao Phraya. The landmark temple of this period, Prang Sam Yot in Lopburi, has striking resemblance to the temples of Angkor Wat in Cambodia. The three Prangs or Gopuras are dedicated to the Hindu trinity of Brahma, Vishu, and Shiva.
The Khmer dominance of the Chao Phraya valley was however challenged in the 1239 by the Tai governor of Sukhothai, and declared independence. Very soon Sukhothai grew under the able leadership of King Ramkhamhaeng, details of who are noted from the stone stele inscriptions now housed in the National Museum at Bangkok. There is much debate on the historical details of the origins of Sukhothai among historians. But Thai’s like to frame Sukhothai as their first city-sate of their nation and King Ramkhamhaeng as the nation builder of Thailand. It was during the 13th century that a gradual migration of the Tai people into the Upper Chao Phraya flood plains took place. However Sukhothai soon lost to the growing power and influence of Ayutthaya Kingdom in the South.
Ayutthaya flourished as a world renowned trading centre during the succeeding few centuries. But by the 18th Century, the kingdom began to disintegrate and provincial states began asserting their independence. Petty rivalries weakened the kingdom further. And to make matters worse, Ayutthaya got involved in the war between the Mon rulers and the Burmese along the southern border. The Kingdom supported the Mons, but lost the battle. The victorious Burmese army didn’t stop with the Mons. They charged ahead and invaded Ayutthaya and destroyed the city in 1767 AD. The Thai capital moved further south near Bangkok where it sustained and flourished with wise diplomatic ties with neighboring nations and beyond.
Well, I was not stuck with history alone. Like all tourists, I too did my round of islands and beaches. In fact, Thailand has a way of making you feel at home. Inspite of the obvious racial differences, its the common link in the Oriental threads of traditions, languages, food habits, leisure, and the arts , especially among the South-East Asians that comes to the forefront and envelops you. Maybe that’s why I survived my years in this foreign land.
With an intriguing name like Ayutthaya, the old capital of Thai Kingdom was top on my list. Actually, unlike the lesser known Sukhothai, the first-ever city-sate of Siam nestled in the central plains of Thailand, Ayutthaya is so much `in-your-face’ in Bangkok. It’s basically because of the proximity to the city. It is in fact an easy day trip to the ancient capital. Sukhothai on the other hand is a good 6 hours road trip. Paintings of the Ayutthaya ruins amidst overgrown roots of ficus trees, on fabric and on paper are common souvenirs in Bangkok. But when compared to the millions that throng the amazingly beautiful beaches and islands of Thailand, these UNESCO World Heritage historical parks don’t attract many visitors. I was happy I visited these sites. But honestly the well maintained ruins at Ayutthaya with its manicured lawns and gardens come no where close to the rustic charm of Angkor Wat. But as they say, historical events and monuments should never be compared; both are unique in its respective time and space.
Both these historical parks are well equipped with museums, information centres, guides, rest rooms, and everything that is needed to update and refresh ones body, mind and soul. For that matter, traveling anywhere in Thailand is a tourists delight. It’s actually difficult to `rough-it-out’ in Thailand. You really have to be in the deep interiors of the northern highlands to experience true wilderness. It would seem that the smooth 6 lane highways with refreshment centres at every few kilometers, complete with restaurants, wash rooms and kids play area, runs into all corners of Thailand. Unlike in India, where a cross country National Highway road trip actually weaves through the cultural fabric and the associated hassles of the nation, in Thailand its just smooth roads and convenience kiosks at regular intervals. It is indeed a little disappointing for people looking out for some serious exploration into ethnic life and living in Thailand, without wandering into the deeper darker zones.
Besides, trips and treks would seem to be tailor made for individual tourists in this prime holiday country. One can choose to tramp it out or live royally at the classiest of hotels. As always, I chose the `middle path’; although adequately adventurous, I rarely take risks. I opted to cruise it to Ayutthaya, and it was well worth it. From the jetty at Bangkok, the cruise snakes up the Chao Phraya to the ruins. The cruise starts early morning, complete with welcome drink, delicious breakfast, Thai traditional music and dance performances and a sumptuous lunch spread ready to be devoured on the return journey in the afternoon.
Although Sukhothai is considered as the first city-sate of Thailand, it was the Kingdom at Ayutthaya in the 14th century that unified the farming and trading communities that existed along the Upper Chao Phraya Valley. Prior to this unification, Sukhothai was an emerging city-state under the control of Khmer Empire, consisting mainly of people from the Mon ethnic group. A little needs to be said about the history prior to the Sukhothai period in Thailand. And this refers to the Dwaravati period, which included a conglomeration of small and big settlements along both banks of the Upper Chao Phraya valley during the 6th – 13th Century. Like all legendary beginnings the first king of Dwaravati, is said to have established the first city, in the 5th century AD. But what is certain is that by the 10th Century most of these settlements came under the dominance of the Khmer Empire and was controlled from the ancient city of Lavo, identified with modern Lopburi town on the eastern bank of the Chao Phraya. The landmark temple of this period, Prang Sam Yot in Lopburi, has striking resemblance to the temples of Angkor Wat in Cambodia. The three Prangs or Gopuras are dedicated to the Hindu trinity of Brahma, Vishu, and Shiva.
The Khmer dominance of the Chao Phraya valley was however challenged in the 1239 by the Tai governor of Sukhothai, and declared independence. Very soon Sukhothai grew under the able leadership of King Ramkhamhaeng, details of who are noted from the stone stele inscriptions now housed in the National Museum at Bangkok. There is much debate on the historical details of the origins of Sukhothai among historians. But Thai’s like to frame Sukhothai as their first city-sate of their nation and King Ramkhamhaeng as the nation builder of Thailand. It was during the 13th century that a gradual migration of the Tai people into the Upper Chao Phraya flood plains took place. However Sukhothai soon lost to the growing power and influence of Ayutthaya Kingdom in the South.
Ayutthaya flourished as a world renowned trading centre during the succeeding few centuries. But by the 18th Century, the kingdom began to disintegrate and provincial states began asserting their independence. Petty rivalries weakened the kingdom further. And to make matters worse, Ayutthaya got involved in the war between the Mon rulers and the Burmese along the southern border. The Kingdom supported the Mons, but lost the battle. The victorious Burmese army didn’t stop with the Mons. They charged ahead and invaded Ayutthaya and destroyed the city in 1767 AD. The Thai capital moved further south near Bangkok where it sustained and flourished with wise diplomatic ties with neighboring nations and beyond.
Well, I was not stuck with history alone. Like all tourists, I too did my round of islands and beaches. In fact, Thailand has a way of making you feel at home. Inspite of the obvious racial differences, its the common link in the Oriental threads of traditions, languages, food habits, leisure, and the arts , especially among the South-East Asians that comes to the forefront and envelops you. Maybe that’s why I survived my years in this foreign land.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
When Gods travel....
So, once again Thailand is going through political unrest. These intermittent periods of turmoil, which also resulted in a series of coups, has been a common feature in the country since the early decades of the Cold War. A period of political stability was attained in the 1980’s. And finally the first Constitution of Thailand was drafted in 1997 and the first ever general elections conducted in 2001. But very soon it was the season for coups once again. So far these periods of political unrest hardly affected the general life in this country of peace loving people. In the 2006 coup, I remember how calm the political `unrest’ was. While everyone outside Thailand worried for their near and near ones in the country as they watched TV screens repeatedly flashing the same brief shots of tanks and the military marching into Bangkok city, the Thai’s in Bangkok were busy taking snapshots standing alongside army tanks and exchanging `peace’ roses with army personnel.
And for an economy thriving on tourism, Thailand is one of the safest places I have experienced. So after my initial few excited starry eyed days at the shopping malls I did the rounds of the heritage monuments located along the two banks of the Chao Phraya River. This included a long list of temples or Wats, as they are known in Thai. But except for Wat Arun, known as Temple of Dawn by the foreign tourist, I found the uniformity among these monuments very boring. Especially, the multitudes of small and big Wats within the vast expanse of the Grand Palace, which is not only the official residence of the King of Thailand, constructed in 1782, but also the venue for all royal ceremonies including coronations and funerals. See one Wat and you have seen them all. They are no doubt very `Grand’, like the very revered Wat dedicated to the Emerald Buddha; each and every structure within the Grand palace is gilded, elaborately decorated and meticulously maintained. But the sameness and relative newness of the monuments failed to enchant the archeologist in me. Instead I enjoyed getting lost in the smells and sights on the busy China town located next to the Palace.
All along my afternoon jaunts to these monuments, what actually tugged my mind was the umbilical cord that connected the cultures of this vast landmass called South East Asia. It may sound a bit pompous but the fact remains that rulers and traders from India had a big role in colonizing these regions. And along with them came our language, culture and traditions. Sanskrit is so neatly woven into the fabric of Thai language. But the pronunciation varies drastically and I found it an interesting exercise deciphering the Sanskrit root of words and names.
Speaking of cultural exchanges, the one most important set of guests that traveled to Suvarnabhoomi were our Hindu gods and goddesses! Thailand is a Buddhist country and follows the Theravada form of Buddhism, which incorporates a lot of Hindu beliefs and traditions, including animism and ancestor worship. Hence, although Wats are predominantly Buddhists, there are also temples dedicated to Shiva, Vishnu and Brahma all over Thailand. Wat Arun, for instance, is dedicated to Aruna – the Hindu god of dawn. Like our very own temple gopuras, Wat Arun’s central 80 mt tall Prang or the Khmer style pagoda, symbolizes Mt Meru. Decorated with sea shells and bits of Chinese porcelain, it’s like a blazing tower reflecting the sun rays. Certain sculptural details are also common to all temples. Like the depiction of Nagas or serpents, on doorways, steps, candle stands, and railings surrounding the temple. Huge weapon bearing guardian Dwarapalas are also a must at the entrance to the temple. Hindu religious symbols are the same, except that they are dressed up in Thai traditional costumes and postures.
I was amazed to see the large numbers of devotees thronging the small corner temple at Erawan dedicated to Lord Brahma. Located on the main commercial street in Bangkok, this recent temple located at the site of an older temple is considered very holy. Similarly there are small roadside temples dedicated to Shiva and Ganesh. Most residential and commercial buildings have one or two miniature temples dedicated to Hindu Gods, built in wood or cement at the main entrance or in the Garden.
But even more far reaching is the influence that Indian gods, and related myths and epics have on the culture of South East Asia. Ramayana, for instance, is ingrained in most forms of performing arts, then be it dance-drama, or puppetry. In Thailand, while the main story remains identical to Valmiki’s Ramayana, the attire, including ornamental decoration, masks, and weapons, are typically local to the region. However, there are also interesting variations to the Ramleela performances in Indonesia, Malaysia, Lao, Cambodia, and Sri Lanka. Like the version in Sri Lanka, where Ravana the Asura king of Lanka, is depicted as the noble and just ruler and Rama of Ayodhya is the villain!! One could do extensive research on the diversity in narrative traditions of the Ramayana epic across South East Asia. Even more phenomenal is that most of the Ramayana performers in Indonesia and Malaysia are Muslims! I’ll come to that later. But certainly, when Gods travel across borders, they also become more tolerant and accommodating.
Similarly with festivals. Thai New Year is celebrated on Songkran day in the month of April. The word Songkran is derived from the Sanskrit sankrant, and symbolizes the same phenomenon of the Sun’s movement into the Makar or Aries zodiac; an occasion for Makarsankranti in the month of January in our country. It is believed that in ancient times this solar phenomenon was celebrated on the same day all over Southeast Asia. The next most important festival called the Loy Kratong in November coincides with the Tripurari Kartika Poornima in the month of Kartik on the Hindu calendar. Basically a celebration of the most auspicious full moon night of the twelfth lunar month or the winter solstice in the Christian calendar. Traditional festivals all over the world are rooted in seasonal changes, yet it’s amazing to note these close cultural ties between nations.
And for an economy thriving on tourism, Thailand is one of the safest places I have experienced. So after my initial few excited starry eyed days at the shopping malls I did the rounds of the heritage monuments located along the two banks of the Chao Phraya River. This included a long list of temples or Wats, as they are known in Thai. But except for Wat Arun, known as Temple of Dawn by the foreign tourist, I found the uniformity among these monuments very boring. Especially, the multitudes of small and big Wats within the vast expanse of the Grand Palace, which is not only the official residence of the King of Thailand, constructed in 1782, but also the venue for all royal ceremonies including coronations and funerals. See one Wat and you have seen them all. They are no doubt very `Grand’, like the very revered Wat dedicated to the Emerald Buddha; each and every structure within the Grand palace is gilded, elaborately decorated and meticulously maintained. But the sameness and relative newness of the monuments failed to enchant the archeologist in me. Instead I enjoyed getting lost in the smells and sights on the busy China town located next to the Palace.
All along my afternoon jaunts to these monuments, what actually tugged my mind was the umbilical cord that connected the cultures of this vast landmass called South East Asia. It may sound a bit pompous but the fact remains that rulers and traders from India had a big role in colonizing these regions. And along with them came our language, culture and traditions. Sanskrit is so neatly woven into the fabric of Thai language. But the pronunciation varies drastically and I found it an interesting exercise deciphering the Sanskrit root of words and names.
Speaking of cultural exchanges, the one most important set of guests that traveled to Suvarnabhoomi were our Hindu gods and goddesses! Thailand is a Buddhist country and follows the Theravada form of Buddhism, which incorporates a lot of Hindu beliefs and traditions, including animism and ancestor worship. Hence, although Wats are predominantly Buddhists, there are also temples dedicated to Shiva, Vishnu and Brahma all over Thailand. Wat Arun, for instance, is dedicated to Aruna – the Hindu god of dawn. Like our very own temple gopuras, Wat Arun’s central 80 mt tall Prang or the Khmer style pagoda, symbolizes Mt Meru. Decorated with sea shells and bits of Chinese porcelain, it’s like a blazing tower reflecting the sun rays. Certain sculptural details are also common to all temples. Like the depiction of Nagas or serpents, on doorways, steps, candle stands, and railings surrounding the temple. Huge weapon bearing guardian Dwarapalas are also a must at the entrance to the temple. Hindu religious symbols are the same, except that they are dressed up in Thai traditional costumes and postures.
I was amazed to see the large numbers of devotees thronging the small corner temple at Erawan dedicated to Lord Brahma. Located on the main commercial street in Bangkok, this recent temple located at the site of an older temple is considered very holy. Similarly there are small roadside temples dedicated to Shiva and Ganesh. Most residential and commercial buildings have one or two miniature temples dedicated to Hindu Gods, built in wood or cement at the main entrance or in the Garden.
But even more far reaching is the influence that Indian gods, and related myths and epics have on the culture of South East Asia. Ramayana, for instance, is ingrained in most forms of performing arts, then be it dance-drama, or puppetry. In Thailand, while the main story remains identical to Valmiki’s Ramayana, the attire, including ornamental decoration, masks, and weapons, are typically local to the region. However, there are also interesting variations to the Ramleela performances in Indonesia, Malaysia, Lao, Cambodia, and Sri Lanka. Like the version in Sri Lanka, where Ravana the Asura king of Lanka, is depicted as the noble and just ruler and Rama of Ayodhya is the villain!! One could do extensive research on the diversity in narrative traditions of the Ramayana epic across South East Asia. Even more phenomenal is that most of the Ramayana performers in Indonesia and Malaysia are Muslims! I’ll come to that later. But certainly, when Gods travel across borders, they also become more tolerant and accommodating.
Similarly with festivals. Thai New Year is celebrated on Songkran day in the month of April. The word Songkran is derived from the Sanskrit sankrant, and symbolizes the same phenomenon of the Sun’s movement into the Makar or Aries zodiac; an occasion for Makarsankranti in the month of January in our country. It is believed that in ancient times this solar phenomenon was celebrated on the same day all over Southeast Asia. The next most important festival called the Loy Kratong in November coincides with the Tripurari Kartika Poornima in the month of Kartik on the Hindu calendar. Basically a celebration of the most auspicious full moon night of the twelfth lunar month or the winter solstice in the Christian calendar. Traditional festivals all over the world are rooted in seasonal changes, yet it’s amazing to note these close cultural ties between nations.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Siam Sojourns
Siam Sojourns
For a late riser like me, seeing any place in the early morning hours is always a novel experience. So, as a lecturer at a college in Bangkok, when I had no choice but to get up in the wee hours of morning for work, the experience was truly refreshing. Not only were my taxi rides to college a breeze on the otherwise chock-a-block arterial nerve for tourists in Bangkok called Sukhumvit road. But so also were the sights and smells, till then unfamiliar to me of a world popular `shopping and fun’ holiday destination, totally enlightening. The early morning peace and calm mixed with the sweet fragrance of joss sticks is in complete contradiction to the glitter and clamour in the evenings along the same roads. And the presence of Buddhist monks in rust and maroon coloured robes, collecting alms and offering blessings to devotees at street corners lends a special grace to the morning cityscape which is diametrically opposite to the sleazy glamour at the thronging beer parlours and go-go bars along the same by lanes which double up as `cowboy streets’ in the evenings packed with enticing bar girls and preening party `arm-candies`.
Had it not been for my early morning sojourns, I would have completely missed these remnants of Thai cultural essence on the streets of Bangkok. But well, Bangkok is not Thailand. And that can be said for most of the big cities of the world. Modern cities are not representatives of the cultural core of a country or a region. They are rather a by-product of the various processes that took place in recent history. Bangkok, for instance, is not more than 200 years old. An independent Thai capital came to be formed at Sukhothai in northern Thailand in the 13th Century, because of the disintegration of the Khmer empire in Cambodia. But within a century the kingdom at Sukhothai was overthrown by an emerging new Kingdom of Ayutthaya along the banks of the Chao Phraya River, a little further north of Bangkok. Ayutthaya grew as a trading centre, with growing contacts with traders from India, China, Arabia and the European world. But unfortunately the thriving city of Ayutthaya was burnt and ransacked by the invading Burmese army in the latter half of the 18th Century. Subsequently, the capital was moved to Thonburi, now better known as a suburb of Bangkok. The present Era of Thai history began when Bangkok was established as the official capital of Thailand by King Rama I in 1782. This also marked the beginning of the line of Kings belonging to the present reigning Chakri dynasty. It is not only the world’s oldest surviving Monarchy, but the present king is also the longest reigning Monarch.
As a teacher in Thailand, I was in for more surprises. I noticed that my students never stood straight in front of me, but bend gently from one knee. Reverence and respect to ones teacher, then be it an academic or a spiritual preacher, is indeed deeply woven into Thai life. And it is strictly adhered to in schools and junior colleges. These experiences were learning for me. For a tourist in Bangkok, it is a little difficult to imagine that such values exist. Because, what we see, moving on from the polite smiles and graceful `swadhika` greetings of the Thai airhostesses, is an ultra modern airport and city. All it takes is a walk down main Sukhumvit road, with its odd and even numbered streets, or Soi as it’s called in Thai, on either side. And that is if you enjoy jostling and paving a path through crowded sidewalks!! Forget the umpteen numbers of shops lining the streets, but even the pavements are teeming with vendors, selling anything from souvenirs to t-shirts to designer duplicates of everything under the sun.
The enormity of some of the glitzy malls is sometimes staggering even for visitors from downtown Manhattan! But the glamorous Bangkok that we see of today is a very recent transformation. It includes the sky train, the metro, and the fancy malls where one could either spend time buying a Ferrari or visit the huge `ocean world’ created in the basement of one of Asia’s largest shopping complex! And of course the ever mushrooming small and big massage parlours and exotic spas which form the chief attraction at all holiday destinations within Thailand.
I have personally witnessed these rapid developments in the past 7 years. Bangkok is on a demolition spree of all things old and quaint. Every old bungalow, pretty wooden Thai style constructions are being knocked down and replaced with skyscrapers. A few of these get converted into boutique hotels and spas; others are simply broken down for the soaring real estate value of land, especially on prime locations of Bangkok. The constant buzz of construction work is a well know soundscape of the city. It’s strange to note that even during the busiest of traffic hours the roads are quiet with no honking or brakes screeching, thanks to the polite and patient ways of the Buddhist; but the din of construction work in every street cannot be missed.
But the roots of these recent developments go back a little further. Despite the strong western trade relations and cultural influences, which in fact, led to many reforms in the 19th Century, Thailand as a country was never colonised by any western power. Historians attribute it to strong and able leadership by Thai Kings and ministers. Besides, Thailand hasn’t seen a war in the past 200 years. It wasn’t part of WWII even. In fact, Bangkok did well as a peaceful buffer zone between warring nations. Many Indians and Chinese saw this as an opportunity to set up shops selling essentials like food grains, cloth, and shoes to the armies in the neighbouring army camps. These products are the chief exports of Thailand even today. Bangkok rose not just as the business and industrial centre of an agrarian Thailand, but also the `rest and relaxation’ hub of the world; of-late complete with `holiday companions` in all shapes and gender, offering all kinds of services.
I say gender, because honestly, it’s one city which has put me at complete ease with transsexuals. Being the most happening place for all sorts of cosmetic and sex-change surgeries, Bangkok has a large community of transsexuals. Fondly called as `lady boys’, they are an accepted lot with no apparent stigma attached. Employed mostly at restaurants and shopping malls, they are a big hit as night club performers. More on them and the rest of `Amazing Thailand’ later......
For a late riser like me, seeing any place in the early morning hours is always a novel experience. So, as a lecturer at a college in Bangkok, when I had no choice but to get up in the wee hours of morning for work, the experience was truly refreshing. Not only were my taxi rides to college a breeze on the otherwise chock-a-block arterial nerve for tourists in Bangkok called Sukhumvit road. But so also were the sights and smells, till then unfamiliar to me of a world popular `shopping and fun’ holiday destination, totally enlightening. The early morning peace and calm mixed with the sweet fragrance of joss sticks is in complete contradiction to the glitter and clamour in the evenings along the same roads. And the presence of Buddhist monks in rust and maroon coloured robes, collecting alms and offering blessings to devotees at street corners lends a special grace to the morning cityscape which is diametrically opposite to the sleazy glamour at the thronging beer parlours and go-go bars along the same by lanes which double up as `cowboy streets’ in the evenings packed with enticing bar girls and preening party `arm-candies`.
Had it not been for my early morning sojourns, I would have completely missed these remnants of Thai cultural essence on the streets of Bangkok. But well, Bangkok is not Thailand. And that can be said for most of the big cities of the world. Modern cities are not representatives of the cultural core of a country or a region. They are rather a by-product of the various processes that took place in recent history. Bangkok, for instance, is not more than 200 years old. An independent Thai capital came to be formed at Sukhothai in northern Thailand in the 13th Century, because of the disintegration of the Khmer empire in Cambodia. But within a century the kingdom at Sukhothai was overthrown by an emerging new Kingdom of Ayutthaya along the banks of the Chao Phraya River, a little further north of Bangkok. Ayutthaya grew as a trading centre, with growing contacts with traders from India, China, Arabia and the European world. But unfortunately the thriving city of Ayutthaya was burnt and ransacked by the invading Burmese army in the latter half of the 18th Century. Subsequently, the capital was moved to Thonburi, now better known as a suburb of Bangkok. The present Era of Thai history began when Bangkok was established as the official capital of Thailand by King Rama I in 1782. This also marked the beginning of the line of Kings belonging to the present reigning Chakri dynasty. It is not only the world’s oldest surviving Monarchy, but the present king is also the longest reigning Monarch.
As a teacher in Thailand, I was in for more surprises. I noticed that my students never stood straight in front of me, but bend gently from one knee. Reverence and respect to ones teacher, then be it an academic or a spiritual preacher, is indeed deeply woven into Thai life. And it is strictly adhered to in schools and junior colleges. These experiences were learning for me. For a tourist in Bangkok, it is a little difficult to imagine that such values exist. Because, what we see, moving on from the polite smiles and graceful `swadhika` greetings of the Thai airhostesses, is an ultra modern airport and city. All it takes is a walk down main Sukhumvit road, with its odd and even numbered streets, or Soi as it’s called in Thai, on either side. And that is if you enjoy jostling and paving a path through crowded sidewalks!! Forget the umpteen numbers of shops lining the streets, but even the pavements are teeming with vendors, selling anything from souvenirs to t-shirts to designer duplicates of everything under the sun.
The enormity of some of the glitzy malls is sometimes staggering even for visitors from downtown Manhattan! But the glamorous Bangkok that we see of today is a very recent transformation. It includes the sky train, the metro, and the fancy malls where one could either spend time buying a Ferrari or visit the huge `ocean world’ created in the basement of one of Asia’s largest shopping complex! And of course the ever mushrooming small and big massage parlours and exotic spas which form the chief attraction at all holiday destinations within Thailand.
I have personally witnessed these rapid developments in the past 7 years. Bangkok is on a demolition spree of all things old and quaint. Every old bungalow, pretty wooden Thai style constructions are being knocked down and replaced with skyscrapers. A few of these get converted into boutique hotels and spas; others are simply broken down for the soaring real estate value of land, especially on prime locations of Bangkok. The constant buzz of construction work is a well know soundscape of the city. It’s strange to note that even during the busiest of traffic hours the roads are quiet with no honking or brakes screeching, thanks to the polite and patient ways of the Buddhist; but the din of construction work in every street cannot be missed.
But the roots of these recent developments go back a little further. Despite the strong western trade relations and cultural influences, which in fact, led to many reforms in the 19th Century, Thailand as a country was never colonised by any western power. Historians attribute it to strong and able leadership by Thai Kings and ministers. Besides, Thailand hasn’t seen a war in the past 200 years. It wasn’t part of WWII even. In fact, Bangkok did well as a peaceful buffer zone between warring nations. Many Indians and Chinese saw this as an opportunity to set up shops selling essentials like food grains, cloth, and shoes to the armies in the neighbouring army camps. These products are the chief exports of Thailand even today. Bangkok rose not just as the business and industrial centre of an agrarian Thailand, but also the `rest and relaxation’ hub of the world; of-late complete with `holiday companions` in all shapes and gender, offering all kinds of services.
I say gender, because honestly, it’s one city which has put me at complete ease with transsexuals. Being the most happening place for all sorts of cosmetic and sex-change surgeries, Bangkok has a large community of transsexuals. Fondly called as `lady boys’, they are an accepted lot with no apparent stigma attached. Employed mostly at restaurants and shopping malls, they are a big hit as night club performers. More on them and the rest of `Amazing Thailand’ later......
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
The Pepper Empire
The Pepper Empire
There is a huge boulder called Velliamkallu, 10 km into the sea from Payyoli beach near Kozikode. Local lore has it that during the Portuguese rule, murderers and serious law offenders were executed here and thrown off the rock into the sea. A morbid history to an otherwise peaceful beach surrounds. But that’s what the entire stretch of the western coast of India is – a strip of land that attracted traders, travelers and rulers, resulting in not just a tumultuous and fascinating history of activities from ancient times, but also a series of colonization in the 500 years of recent history. The Portuguese led the way and spread their Pepper Empire all around the Indian coast; particularly along the Western coast.
We have, indeed, come a long way from understanding a nation’s growth purely on the basis of its geology and geography but their significance in forming the culture, politics, economics and even language of a region, is still a determining factor. The importance of the Western Coast during the ancient times cannot be ignored. And all it takes is a drive along NH 17, and a few minor detours here and there, to understand and enjoy this.
The Indus valley settlements along the Gujarat coast, and in the Great Rann of Kutch, dating as far back as the 3rd millennium BC have unearthed monumental evidence for long standing maritime contact with Mesopotamia and Egypt. This was followed by a flourish of Greeco Roman trade and settlements, around the turn of the millennium all along the Peninsular coast line . The recent excavations at Patanam, near Kodungallur in Central Kerala have shed further light on this connection. Besides excavations, there are interesting references to the culture and economy of these regions, in the works of Greco Roman geographers, explorers, and political envoys. Dioscorides, the Greek Physician who was a contemporary of Pliny, describes the medicinal virtues of spices like pepper and turmeric from the Western coast in his treatise. The Periplus of the Erythraean Sea has frequent references to Barygaza (Bharuch in Gujarat) and Muziris (identified as the regions around Kodungallur in Central Kerala). All these fascinating references to a far away land must have poked the curiosity of later travelers.
The sea trade route began at the Mediterranean coast, crossing over the Nile delta, into the Red sea, and out into the Arabian Sea at the Gulf of Aden onto the Indian shores. But in 45AD the discovery of the existing monsoon winds enabled a straight sail from Aden to Muziris; thus avoiding skirting along the Arab coast. Port towns of Bharuch, Nala sopara, and Kalyan north of Bombay, and many smaller centres further south remained active well into the historic period.
But the arrival of one man changed the cultural landscape of the entire western coast of India. Its effects linger on. Not just in nooks and crannies, but entire cities and states of Peninsular India. The man - Vasco de Gama from Portugal. Improved navigational skills and techniques facilitated direct sailing across the Arabian Sea and Indian Ocean. It eliminated the perils of close encounters with pirates and hard to pass middle men along the narrow Red sea. So saddled with an excellent knowledge of the African coastline, Vasco set sail to India from Lisbon in 1497, decidedly to explore a new sea route which would break the monopoly of the Venetian merchants over sea trade. He sailed around the Cape of Good Hope and into the Arabian Sea and reached the port town of Calicut in Kerala in May 1498. Vasco literally fulfilled the dream of Portuguese explorer Bartholomew Dias, who had explored the route upto South Africa. Although not welcomed initially in Calicut, his subsequent voyage to Kerala coast with a fleet of warships saw a warm welcome at Cochin and later again at Calicut in 1502. Thus the Portuguese became the first to colonize along the Indian shores. They established the first European trading centre at Quilon in 1502. Although items of trade included cottons, silks, indigo, incense, precious stones and various other indigenous product, Indian spices were the most coveted items of trade.
Within a few years a headquarters was set up in Goa, although trade continued to be managed from Kozhikode, Kochi, and Kollam ports in Kerala. Slowly and steadily the Pepper Empire grew. Provinces north of Goa were managed from Bassein (modern Vasai, near Bombay). From the western most outpost at the island of Diu in Gujarat, the Empire followed a steady trail along the Western coast at Daman, Vasai, Bombay, Chaul, Goa, Honavar, Basrur, Mangalore, Calicut, Cannanore, Cochin and Quilon. This trail continues along the Coromandle coast from Tuticorin, all the way upto Hoogly in modern Bengal.
Following this coastal trail by road, beginning at the amazing fort and cathedral at the island of Diu in Gujarat, upto Fort Kochi in Kerala, is like surfing through the high and low waves of Portuguese heritage in India. What is obviously visible to the eye is the well preserved monuments; particularly the Bom Jesus World Heritage monument complex in Goa or the St. Angelo’s fort at Kannur, Kerala. But for the ardent history buffs, the dilapidated remains of once glorious monuments at smaller centre like Chaul, in Maharashtra can also tell a tale.
What we often forget is the distinct cultural ethos that these trade contacts and colonization’s give to the entire region. The 400 years of Portuguese rule is still alive at these towns, in its architecture, language, food and the inimitable `indigenous’ catholic flavor to the very being of states like Goa. The road side Cupolas along the streets is a unique cultural symbol all along these settlements. The urgency with which the colonizers enforced the supremacy of the Roman Catholic Church on the locals in a series of bloody inquisition all across the coast can be sensed in the prisons and gallows at the spooky fortified abandoned `ghost’ towns at all the Portuguese strongholds.
The introduction of food preserves like vinegar, techniques of baking, or the acceptance of pork as a meat consumed by the civilized may be minor aspects of the assimilation process. But direct trade with the vast western market had far reaching impact on the coastal economy. It led to commercial cultivation of home garden spices like pepper and ginger, improved techniques for coconut plantations and it’s by product, and many such experiments. But the introduction of `outward looking’ houses with balconies to `see and be seen’ and large windows, is my favorite. Certainly in stark contrast to the prevalent closed structures of the times, with rooms opening to a central courtyard.
There is a huge boulder called Velliamkallu, 10 km into the sea from Payyoli beach near Kozikode. Local lore has it that during the Portuguese rule, murderers and serious law offenders were executed here and thrown off the rock into the sea. A morbid history to an otherwise peaceful beach surrounds. But that’s what the entire stretch of the western coast of India is – a strip of land that attracted traders, travelers and rulers, resulting in not just a tumultuous and fascinating history of activities from ancient times, but also a series of colonization in the 500 years of recent history. The Portuguese led the way and spread their Pepper Empire all around the Indian coast; particularly along the Western coast.
We have, indeed, come a long way from understanding a nation’s growth purely on the basis of its geology and geography but their significance in forming the culture, politics, economics and even language of a region, is still a determining factor. The importance of the Western Coast during the ancient times cannot be ignored. And all it takes is a drive along NH 17, and a few minor detours here and there, to understand and enjoy this.
The Indus valley settlements along the Gujarat coast, and in the Great Rann of Kutch, dating as far back as the 3rd millennium BC have unearthed monumental evidence for long standing maritime contact with Mesopotamia and Egypt. This was followed by a flourish of Greeco Roman trade and settlements, around the turn of the millennium all along the Peninsular coast line . The recent excavations at Patanam, near Kodungallur in Central Kerala have shed further light on this connection. Besides excavations, there are interesting references to the culture and economy of these regions, in the works of Greco Roman geographers, explorers, and political envoys. Dioscorides, the Greek Physician who was a contemporary of Pliny, describes the medicinal virtues of spices like pepper and turmeric from the Western coast in his treatise. The Periplus of the Erythraean Sea has frequent references to Barygaza (Bharuch in Gujarat) and Muziris (identified as the regions around Kodungallur in Central Kerala). All these fascinating references to a far away land must have poked the curiosity of later travelers.
The sea trade route began at the Mediterranean coast, crossing over the Nile delta, into the Red sea, and out into the Arabian Sea at the Gulf of Aden onto the Indian shores. But in 45AD the discovery of the existing monsoon winds enabled a straight sail from Aden to Muziris; thus avoiding skirting along the Arab coast. Port towns of Bharuch, Nala sopara, and Kalyan north of Bombay, and many smaller centres further south remained active well into the historic period.
But the arrival of one man changed the cultural landscape of the entire western coast of India. Its effects linger on. Not just in nooks and crannies, but entire cities and states of Peninsular India. The man - Vasco de Gama from Portugal. Improved navigational skills and techniques facilitated direct sailing across the Arabian Sea and Indian Ocean. It eliminated the perils of close encounters with pirates and hard to pass middle men along the narrow Red sea. So saddled with an excellent knowledge of the African coastline, Vasco set sail to India from Lisbon in 1497, decidedly to explore a new sea route which would break the monopoly of the Venetian merchants over sea trade. He sailed around the Cape of Good Hope and into the Arabian Sea and reached the port town of Calicut in Kerala in May 1498. Vasco literally fulfilled the dream of Portuguese explorer Bartholomew Dias, who had explored the route upto South Africa. Although not welcomed initially in Calicut, his subsequent voyage to Kerala coast with a fleet of warships saw a warm welcome at Cochin and later again at Calicut in 1502. Thus the Portuguese became the first to colonize along the Indian shores. They established the first European trading centre at Quilon in 1502. Although items of trade included cottons, silks, indigo, incense, precious stones and various other indigenous product, Indian spices were the most coveted items of trade.
Within a few years a headquarters was set up in Goa, although trade continued to be managed from Kozhikode, Kochi, and Kollam ports in Kerala. Slowly and steadily the Pepper Empire grew. Provinces north of Goa were managed from Bassein (modern Vasai, near Bombay). From the western most outpost at the island of Diu in Gujarat, the Empire followed a steady trail along the Western coast at Daman, Vasai, Bombay, Chaul, Goa, Honavar, Basrur, Mangalore, Calicut, Cannanore, Cochin and Quilon. This trail continues along the Coromandle coast from Tuticorin, all the way upto Hoogly in modern Bengal.
Following this coastal trail by road, beginning at the amazing fort and cathedral at the island of Diu in Gujarat, upto Fort Kochi in Kerala, is like surfing through the high and low waves of Portuguese heritage in India. What is obviously visible to the eye is the well preserved monuments; particularly the Bom Jesus World Heritage monument complex in Goa or the St. Angelo’s fort at Kannur, Kerala. But for the ardent history buffs, the dilapidated remains of once glorious monuments at smaller centre like Chaul, in Maharashtra can also tell a tale.
What we often forget is the distinct cultural ethos that these trade contacts and colonization’s give to the entire region. The 400 years of Portuguese rule is still alive at these towns, in its architecture, language, food and the inimitable `indigenous’ catholic flavor to the very being of states like Goa. The road side Cupolas along the streets is a unique cultural symbol all along these settlements. The urgency with which the colonizers enforced the supremacy of the Roman Catholic Church on the locals in a series of bloody inquisition all across the coast can be sensed in the prisons and gallows at the spooky fortified abandoned `ghost’ towns at all the Portuguese strongholds.
The introduction of food preserves like vinegar, techniques of baking, or the acceptance of pork as a meat consumed by the civilized may be minor aspects of the assimilation process. But direct trade with the vast western market had far reaching impact on the coastal economy. It led to commercial cultivation of home garden spices like pepper and ginger, improved techniques for coconut plantations and it’s by product, and many such experiments. But the introduction of `outward looking’ houses with balconies to `see and be seen’ and large windows, is my favorite. Certainly in stark contrast to the prevalent closed structures of the times, with rooms opening to a central courtyard.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Myanmar III – In a time warp
Long live the chaaya kadas of the world. Then be it a European sidewalk café, a Bombay tapri, a Kerala thattu kada or the Burmese tea shop. This is the best place to take a deep breath, sit back with a cup of steaming tea and enjoy the world go by. It’s here that I put my rule number one of my very own `travel survival lessons’ into practice. Always keep your eyes, nose and ears open to the sights, smells and sounds around you.
So, while Ameena and I rounded off my Mandalay visit over a cup of tea, my eyes trained on the psychedelic coloured cream cakes, which looked more sugar paste than cream, in the glass cabinets of one of the popular `Burma Tea Shop’, I tuned my ears to the cacophony of chatter around me. Ameena informed me that, the tea shops in Myanmar were the venue for striking business deals of all kinds. Men, mostly in colourful checkered lungis and women, in bordered or floral lungis, raised banter. While it was impossible to see young women or for that matter young men, hanging out at the tea shops in Mandalay, the older women folk looked very comfortable sharing table with men and discussing business over a cup of tea.
South and South East Asian society is pretty much conservative. But perhaps even more so in Myanmar. Having kept the rest of the world out of the country since independence, Myanmar is far behind in all things fashionable and glamorous. In fact, it was difficult to see people in a costume other than the lungi, except in Yangon. Most Burmese men I saw on the streets and tea shops were `rice beer' pot bellied. Donning their lungi like a skirt, with a protruding bunched knot on the belly, with huge cheroot like local cigar in one hand, and guzzling strong tea with the other, they do make an interesting sight.
I did wonder about the checkered lungis when I visited a cottage weaving unit at Mandalay. Especially the pattern, tiny and large intertwining or simple squares, in earthy shades of all colors, is so popular all over Southern and Eastern India. What came to my mind were the Early Historic records of the weavers of Paithan in Maharastra, and their community’s subsequent spread to the regions of Deccan, Central and Western India during Medieval periods. In more recent times, the colonization of Myanmar by Indians, and particularly by people from the Deccan, could have influenced the fabric patterns at the weaving units set up by the Britishers.
Besides colonization’s, the country was also a hotspot for rebel exile. The veteran freedom fighter Bal Gangadhar Tilak was exiled at the Mandalay Prison between 1908-1914. There are also stories about large number of Mappila rebels who were deported to Burma and the Andaman after the 1921 rebellion in Malabar region of Kerala. In fact, there are a large number of people from the Malabar region in Kerala who went to Burma those days. One eminent Malayalam writer, U A Khader, was born there to a Burmese mother and a Malabari father from Koyilandy. The stories of U A Khader are strewn with memories of his early days in Myanmar, making the writer seem more Burmese, than a Malayalee. Another famous Malayalam writer, Punathil Kunhabdulla, also has similar Burmese connection. His father, from Vatakara in Kerala, lived in British Burma for a long time before returning to Malabar. While in Burma, he married a Burmese woman and raised a family. Recently, Kunhabdulla toured Burma in search of his Burmese cousins. Like some of his stories, his recent travelogue on this trip, has several references to his Burmese past. The presence of the multitudes of Indians in Burma also brings to mind the poem `Assam Panikkaar’ meaning `workers from Assam’ by the famous poet Krishna Warrier.
In that sense Myanmar was a perfect melting pot. It is now difficult to disentangle the various threads from India, Nepal, China, and Thailand from this tapestry called Myanmar. The cultural ethos is predominantly Buddhist, and perhaps that’s why it wasn’t too difficult to accommodate the various strains from the above four nations. Except for a few savory items, the modern eating habits in Burma are more akin to Chinese and Thai cuisines. The flashes of modernity in Yangon are all a reflection of the ever growing contingent of Burmese in Thailand.
This melting pot was always boiling over with social and political strife. Right from historical times, the country has been at political cross-roads. In recent history, all minor and major clashes by displaced locals and rebel ethnic groups were controlled and contained by the British forces. Myanmar’s involvement in the WWII further deteriorated the nation. It resulted in large scale migration of human population across the borders. Thousands died on `The Trek’ across the Indian border. Many rich merchants and traders moved their business to the islands of Malaysia and Singapore. A massive contingent of Indians, Chinese and Burmese labour force moved to the islands mostly as Rubber plantation workers.
Today Myanmar is the poorest nation in South East Asia. Constant political turbulence, corruption and mismanagement of nation’s resources has stagnated and isolated the nation. It has become famous for its transnational drug trade. Myanmar is the world’s 2nd largest producer of opium and a major player in the `Golden Triangle’ of drug trade across its northern border with China and Thailand. Most of the coveted Burmese red rubies and yellow sapphires, from the Mogak mines, near Mymyo, get sold in the black market. The working conditions of the miners at these quarries are just one of the many human rights violations in Myanmar.
Myanmar is awaiting a revival. Seeing the wealth of heritage and culture in the regions around its heart called Mandalay, one cannot but wish for it. The world needs to see and know more of this forgotten landmass. Experience the life around the fertile plains of the Irrawady and at the Yangon delta. And while at it, take time off to appreciate the fine silversmiths and their splendid filigree work at Saigon, the exquisitely embroidered carpets, with stuffed appliqué work and sequins at Inwa, the leather string puppets with dazzling embroidery and wooden heads at Amrapura, and to take a stroll along the line of stalls by the Irrawady, selling water-colour paintings by contemporary artists, most of them repeats of a popular scene or portrait. This fascination with water-colour art, I learned, was also a left-over British tradition, when the white sahibs and memsahibs took time off to paint the `quaint’ life along the Irrawady. Yes, its time to start afresh.
So, while Ameena and I rounded off my Mandalay visit over a cup of tea, my eyes trained on the psychedelic coloured cream cakes, which looked more sugar paste than cream, in the glass cabinets of one of the popular `Burma Tea Shop’, I tuned my ears to the cacophony of chatter around me. Ameena informed me that, the tea shops in Myanmar were the venue for striking business deals of all kinds. Men, mostly in colourful checkered lungis and women, in bordered or floral lungis, raised banter. While it was impossible to see young women or for that matter young men, hanging out at the tea shops in Mandalay, the older women folk looked very comfortable sharing table with men and discussing business over a cup of tea.
South and South East Asian society is pretty much conservative. But perhaps even more so in Myanmar. Having kept the rest of the world out of the country since independence, Myanmar is far behind in all things fashionable and glamorous. In fact, it was difficult to see people in a costume other than the lungi, except in Yangon. Most Burmese men I saw on the streets and tea shops were `rice beer' pot bellied. Donning their lungi like a skirt, with a protruding bunched knot on the belly, with huge cheroot like local cigar in one hand, and guzzling strong tea with the other, they do make an interesting sight.
I did wonder about the checkered lungis when I visited a cottage weaving unit at Mandalay. Especially the pattern, tiny and large intertwining or simple squares, in earthy shades of all colors, is so popular all over Southern and Eastern India. What came to my mind were the Early Historic records of the weavers of Paithan in Maharastra, and their community’s subsequent spread to the regions of Deccan, Central and Western India during Medieval periods. In more recent times, the colonization of Myanmar by Indians, and particularly by people from the Deccan, could have influenced the fabric patterns at the weaving units set up by the Britishers.
Besides colonization’s, the country was also a hotspot for rebel exile. The veteran freedom fighter Bal Gangadhar Tilak was exiled at the Mandalay Prison between 1908-1914. There are also stories about large number of Mappila rebels who were deported to Burma and the Andaman after the 1921 rebellion in Malabar region of Kerala. In fact, there are a large number of people from the Malabar region in Kerala who went to Burma those days. One eminent Malayalam writer, U A Khader, was born there to a Burmese mother and a Malabari father from Koyilandy. The stories of U A Khader are strewn with memories of his early days in Myanmar, making the writer seem more Burmese, than a Malayalee. Another famous Malayalam writer, Punathil Kunhabdulla, also has similar Burmese connection. His father, from Vatakara in Kerala, lived in British Burma for a long time before returning to Malabar. While in Burma, he married a Burmese woman and raised a family. Recently, Kunhabdulla toured Burma in search of his Burmese cousins. Like some of his stories, his recent travelogue on this trip, has several references to his Burmese past. The presence of the multitudes of Indians in Burma also brings to mind the poem `Assam Panikkaar’ meaning `workers from Assam’ by the famous poet Krishna Warrier.
In that sense Myanmar was a perfect melting pot. It is now difficult to disentangle the various threads from India, Nepal, China, and Thailand from this tapestry called Myanmar. The cultural ethos is predominantly Buddhist, and perhaps that’s why it wasn’t too difficult to accommodate the various strains from the above four nations. Except for a few savory items, the modern eating habits in Burma are more akin to Chinese and Thai cuisines. The flashes of modernity in Yangon are all a reflection of the ever growing contingent of Burmese in Thailand.
This melting pot was always boiling over with social and political strife. Right from historical times, the country has been at political cross-roads. In recent history, all minor and major clashes by displaced locals and rebel ethnic groups were controlled and contained by the British forces. Myanmar’s involvement in the WWII further deteriorated the nation. It resulted in large scale migration of human population across the borders. Thousands died on `The Trek’ across the Indian border. Many rich merchants and traders moved their business to the islands of Malaysia and Singapore. A massive contingent of Indians, Chinese and Burmese labour force moved to the islands mostly as Rubber plantation workers.
Today Myanmar is the poorest nation in South East Asia. Constant political turbulence, corruption and mismanagement of nation’s resources has stagnated and isolated the nation. It has become famous for its transnational drug trade. Myanmar is the world’s 2nd largest producer of opium and a major player in the `Golden Triangle’ of drug trade across its northern border with China and Thailand. Most of the coveted Burmese red rubies and yellow sapphires, from the Mogak mines, near Mymyo, get sold in the black market. The working conditions of the miners at these quarries are just one of the many human rights violations in Myanmar.
Myanmar is awaiting a revival. Seeing the wealth of heritage and culture in the regions around its heart called Mandalay, one cannot but wish for it. The world needs to see and know more of this forgotten landmass. Experience the life around the fertile plains of the Irrawady and at the Yangon delta. And while at it, take time off to appreciate the fine silversmiths and their splendid filigree work at Saigon, the exquisitely embroidered carpets, with stuffed appliqué work and sequins at Inwa, the leather string puppets with dazzling embroidery and wooden heads at Amrapura, and to take a stroll along the line of stalls by the Irrawady, selling water-colour paintings by contemporary artists, most of them repeats of a popular scene or portrait. This fascination with water-colour art, I learned, was also a left-over British tradition, when the white sahibs and memsahibs took time off to paint the `quaint’ life along the Irrawady. Yes, its time to start afresh.
Myanmar II – My Irrawady sojourn
After an overnight bus ride from Yangon, I took a days rest at Mymyo, the `only’ hill station in Myanmar, located close to Mandalay. I stayed at this very colonial British club house turned resort; a charming red mansion with a lovely driveway, garden, patio, and balcony on the outside and a warm and cozy interior, complete with a piano, fire place and banister stairways from the past. A fumbling entourage of humble employees ensured a comfortable stay. Other than a vast, beautiful botanical garden, in excellent maintenance, Mymyo is a quaint town with a smattering of lovely colonial bungalows which are mostly abandoned. As usual, the markets are still alive. The neat rows of shops, with old and new signboards of bakers, and merchants, reminded me of its cantonment past. I could imagine a lively market, bustling with young, smart railway and army officers, taking a few days break from work and the humid weather at Yangon, Mandalay or the teak jungles to enjoy English breakfast at the sunny roadside cafes of Mymyo. But today, this pretty little market, struggles to bake a decent loaf of bread.
My guide, Ameena, a third generation, half Tamil, half Burmese Muslim lady, received me the next day morning and we were on our 2 hour ride to Mandalay. She was more a companion than a guide, and talking to her made interesting learning about migrant populations in Myanmar. She said she lived in Mandalay, in a locality full of `Madrasis’. Undoubtedly, the legacy of migrants from the Madras Presidency lives on in Myanmar. There is also a huge population of people of Nepali origins settled in Myanmar; particularly in Mymyo. Known as Gorkhalese, most of them have an ancestry in Myanmar dating back to the Raj.
We drove past teak wood plantations, which looked more like forests interspersed with quaint vegetable farms, and flower beds. I watched the trucks, laden with amazingly huge cylinders of teak go by. But even more fascinating were the vans loaded with tons of neatly stacked flowers!! All on their way to the Thai border. Mymyo is well known for its horticulture efforts since the British time. But the tradition of decorating homes with fancy flowers is long since gone with the British.
Finally, I was in Mandalay, facing the prominent Mandalay hills, sprouting many old and new pagodas all uniformly painted white with golden domes. Ameena and I, headed straight for the Fort Palace, in the northern end of the city, surrounded by a wide moat, connected with a bridge on all four sides. The present wood palace is actually an exercise in reconstruction after the original 1857 palace it was thoroughly razed to the ground in the WW II bombings. The king’s private apartment, `The Glass Palace’ dazzled in the hot afternoon sun. It’s not just the most extensively gilded among the many official and residential structures within the fort complex, but it’s also the most elaborately decorated with tiny bits of colored glass. It literally `reflects’ its short-lived grandeur.
Although Mandalay city was founded as recently as 1857 by King Mindon, it is surrounded by medieval history on either side of a lifeline called River Irrawady. After the fall of the `Golden Era’ at Pagan in the 12th Century the towns of Saigon, Inwa, Amrapura, and Mingun saw successive back and forth as political nerve centres. And there is something special about each of these settlements.
At Amrapura, for instance, a visit to the 100 year old Mahagandhayon Monastry, one of the largest in the world, is a must. The monastery is home to several thousands of young and old monks. The Bagaya Monastry of Inwa, built completely of teakwood in 1834, is a phenomenal piece of architecture with some of the supporting teak pillars as large as 3m in circumference. It is definitely one of its kind heritage monument. Although, blackened with age, its intricate carvings, the lacquered pillars and gilded cool interiors are still resplendent in beauty. Saigon too has many monasteries and pagodas. Rebuilt and renovated over the centuries, some of the pagodas on the Saigon hills, date back to the 14th century. Amrapura also boasts of the longest surviving teak wood bridge in the world. Although rickety, this 150 year old and 1.2 km long bridge connects villages along the lagoons and islands on the Irrawady and is still used by pedestrians and cyclists.
Mingun is 11kms upstream of Mandalay, on the opposite bank of the Irrawady. Had it not been for the 200 year old Mingun Pagoda, this sleepy village wouldn’t stand a chance in history’s memory. The Pagoda is most certainly one of the most amazing architectural remains in Myanmar. It’s huge. Reportedly, the massive earthquake in 1838 reduced its height to half. Or else the pagoda would have been the largest in the world. The remaining half itself looks formidable, with gaping cracks cutting across its `all brick’ edifice. I thoroughly enjoyed my bullock cart rides to the pagodas, along the vast alluvial plains of this village.
But, it was sailing across the Irrawady to reach Mingun, which will remain my most memorable experience about Myanmar. I have this penchant for crossing arterial rivers like Irrawady, which cuts across one or several countries. The quiet solitary ride on the upper deck of the motorized boat, watching the Mingun Pagoda, rise like an isolated hill on the flat banks in the horizon, will always remain afresh in my memory. Every river is a lifeline. And rivers like the Irrawady, are indeed so. Starting at its two main tributaries, Rivers Mihika and the Mallika in the northern states, the Irrawady cuts across the entire length of Burma. The agrarian economy and the teakwood trade of British Burma, was completely dependent on this. The river was the most convenient mode of transportation for massive loads of teakwood from the forested upper reaches of Myanmar, to the docks at Yangon. There are references to how river Irrawady had more wood in the water than water itself!!
Unfortunately, I couldn’t make it to the 4000 and more monuments at Pagan, further north of Mandalay. That’s because I didn’t want to rush Pagan. I wanted a week long stay just in Pagan to explore the `Golden Era’ architectural remains. “Maybe sometime soon”, said Ameena, as we rounded off our trip at one of the many popular tea shop restaurants. And yes, there was still so much more to see and learn of contemporary Myanmar in Mandalay.
My guide, Ameena, a third generation, half Tamil, half Burmese Muslim lady, received me the next day morning and we were on our 2 hour ride to Mandalay. She was more a companion than a guide, and talking to her made interesting learning about migrant populations in Myanmar. She said she lived in Mandalay, in a locality full of `Madrasis’. Undoubtedly, the legacy of migrants from the Madras Presidency lives on in Myanmar. There is also a huge population of people of Nepali origins settled in Myanmar; particularly in Mymyo. Known as Gorkhalese, most of them have an ancestry in Myanmar dating back to the Raj.
We drove past teak wood plantations, which looked more like forests interspersed with quaint vegetable farms, and flower beds. I watched the trucks, laden with amazingly huge cylinders of teak go by. But even more fascinating were the vans loaded with tons of neatly stacked flowers!! All on their way to the Thai border. Mymyo is well known for its horticulture efforts since the British time. But the tradition of decorating homes with fancy flowers is long since gone with the British.
Finally, I was in Mandalay, facing the prominent Mandalay hills, sprouting many old and new pagodas all uniformly painted white with golden domes. Ameena and I, headed straight for the Fort Palace, in the northern end of the city, surrounded by a wide moat, connected with a bridge on all four sides. The present wood palace is actually an exercise in reconstruction after the original 1857 palace it was thoroughly razed to the ground in the WW II bombings. The king’s private apartment, `The Glass Palace’ dazzled in the hot afternoon sun. It’s not just the most extensively gilded among the many official and residential structures within the fort complex, but it’s also the most elaborately decorated with tiny bits of colored glass. It literally `reflects’ its short-lived grandeur.
Although Mandalay city was founded as recently as 1857 by King Mindon, it is surrounded by medieval history on either side of a lifeline called River Irrawady. After the fall of the `Golden Era’ at Pagan in the 12th Century the towns of Saigon, Inwa, Amrapura, and Mingun saw successive back and forth as political nerve centres. And there is something special about each of these settlements.
At Amrapura, for instance, a visit to the 100 year old Mahagandhayon Monastry, one of the largest in the world, is a must. The monastery is home to several thousands of young and old monks. The Bagaya Monastry of Inwa, built completely of teakwood in 1834, is a phenomenal piece of architecture with some of the supporting teak pillars as large as 3m in circumference. It is definitely one of its kind heritage monument. Although, blackened with age, its intricate carvings, the lacquered pillars and gilded cool interiors are still resplendent in beauty. Saigon too has many monasteries and pagodas. Rebuilt and renovated over the centuries, some of the pagodas on the Saigon hills, date back to the 14th century. Amrapura also boasts of the longest surviving teak wood bridge in the world. Although rickety, this 150 year old and 1.2 km long bridge connects villages along the lagoons and islands on the Irrawady and is still used by pedestrians and cyclists.
Mingun is 11kms upstream of Mandalay, on the opposite bank of the Irrawady. Had it not been for the 200 year old Mingun Pagoda, this sleepy village wouldn’t stand a chance in history’s memory. The Pagoda is most certainly one of the most amazing architectural remains in Myanmar. It’s huge. Reportedly, the massive earthquake in 1838 reduced its height to half. Or else the pagoda would have been the largest in the world. The remaining half itself looks formidable, with gaping cracks cutting across its `all brick’ edifice. I thoroughly enjoyed my bullock cart rides to the pagodas, along the vast alluvial plains of this village.
But, it was sailing across the Irrawady to reach Mingun, which will remain my most memorable experience about Myanmar. I have this penchant for crossing arterial rivers like Irrawady, which cuts across one or several countries. The quiet solitary ride on the upper deck of the motorized boat, watching the Mingun Pagoda, rise like an isolated hill on the flat banks in the horizon, will always remain afresh in my memory. Every river is a lifeline. And rivers like the Irrawady, are indeed so. Starting at its two main tributaries, Rivers Mihika and the Mallika in the northern states, the Irrawady cuts across the entire length of Burma. The agrarian economy and the teakwood trade of British Burma, was completely dependent on this. The river was the most convenient mode of transportation for massive loads of teakwood from the forested upper reaches of Myanmar, to the docks at Yangon. There are references to how river Irrawady had more wood in the water than water itself!!
Unfortunately, I couldn’t make it to the 4000 and more monuments at Pagan, further north of Mandalay. That’s because I didn’t want to rush Pagan. I wanted a week long stay just in Pagan to explore the `Golden Era’ architectural remains. “Maybe sometime soon”, said Ameena, as we rounded off our trip at one of the many popular tea shop restaurants. And yes, there was still so much more to see and learn of contemporary Myanmar in Mandalay.
Ammu's and her new school
ammu started attending school in our village on the 4th.its a short three month stint, before she moves to a `city' school. she likes it. its a local neighbourhood school. she's treated like a `special case'. no uniform, no textbooks, no homework for ammu. while the other kidz are burdened with all the above!!! yesterday, she came home worried and towards bedtime she was crying. she finally told me about the `big long stick' that all teachers in the kindergarten have and which they keep banging on the table and threaten to beat up naughty children. i had to go to school and speak to the class teacher, and principal. according to them `local' kidz are `wild' and need to be `tamed'. isnt it funny, rather unfair, our first lessons in life is to `fear'. fear teachers, fear parents, fear god.... and expect to to have `mind without fear, and the head is held high'......... no wonder `awakening' is super slow!!!......
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