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.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
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.............
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