August 2001

Travelogue -1
Shonar Joshi

Resurgent India

Let me start by stating an understatement - India has a rich past. A past elaborated and expounded in countless literary works. Endless research has shown all the beauty and splendour that there was. Extraordinary data is in hand for empirical subjects be it science, metallurgy or metaphysics. Polity and Education have inscriptions galore to validate the heights they reached. In short, we have the facts. And so, it was strange that when I was asked to review and present the last few months, my mind, was extremely doubtful, skeptical and suspicious of what it would spew forth in response. Why so?

Reasons are many but one in particular - what if the going hadn't been good all through? Would that come across? Should it come across? And if it did sneak past into the open , would it read as depressing reality? Or would it seem as cynicism dressed in its Sunday best? Defeating the purpose of this venture, deriding its own objectives, pushing the 'better, brighter' moments into obscurity. All is not so splendid in reality. For what exists on paper, may not be necessarily alive in practice. And what by a stroke of good fortune may still be alive in practice, is curtailed to a privileged few, who may not be easy to trace, and worse, once traced may prefer silence to revelation.

Lets understand first what it is that we are trying to do. It is our endeavor to explore India and recognize what She has stood for in the past. To understand Her contribution to the world. To acknowledge the wisdom that ruled. To decipher the forces behind the intellect, behind the art, behind the skill - to seek out the inspiration that inspired.

We are traveling back into a time where She stood, holding her head high above the clouds and etching boundary-less contours over a Planet still unsure of its full significance. Doubtless, many would raise the cry of Her being cloaked under layers of superstition and hypocrisy. Or wait, are the words, barbarism and fanaticism? Or then again, perhaps I am confused, for were not the accusations, intolerance and arrogance?

Of course - and more. Yet, let it not be forgotten that this, presented only half of what She was. If we had to lose the wisdom that was, it was to be for a reason as many would say. What were those reasons? And does it matter at all? Perhaps not. Forget the reasons for centuries of downfall and ignorance; lets just be polite and call it a case of temporary amnesia. It is now our aim to rake up the past, ever so slightly, and bring to the foreground , all that, that glowed in the light of excellence. It is our effort to sieve the grains and sift the good from the not- so- good. To show not just what She has done, but what She is capable of doing .

Konark Temple

In the last months, I have touched a few corners of her land. I have enjoyed the flavours of the air, the tastes, the smells, the dialects. I have simmered under the afternoon blaze in temple courtyards and coughed up dust in racing roadways buses; prayed to the sun rising from behind fields of paddy and oceans of blue. I have hunted high and low for things seen and unseen, heard and unheard, thought and lost, into pages of ancient tongues lying choked by centuries of dust in forgotten libraries. For every proud Konark and exuberant Khajuraho, I have the vacant hollows of the Bagh caves, crying out into the silence , with nothing to show, stripped of its make up, of its labour, of its offering, leaving behind only an old caretaker, who knows no more than the guidebook, a 1975 edition.

Travelling along narrow roads overlooking treacherous 'khuds' at breakneck speed on a two wheeler isn't what I had envisioned myself doing . Nor had I any idea that at the end of the journey, I would stumble across one of the prettiest idols of a Devi, whose only company these days are the village boys playing cricket in the courtyard She rules.

Hunting down fire altars to illustrate our point of the origin of geometry seemed in theory one of the simplest tasks in hand , especially in a country that abounds in temples. And yet, not one of those that I visited, had any likeness to what once may have existed, going as far as having been reduced to the temple rubbish bin! And yet, I am certain that they do still exist - only, where?

At least the handicraft industry is easily accessible. Everywhere I go, there is a famed craft of the region, who's practitioners are only to happy and proud to demonstrate the age old techniques…some lack even the basic pride and carry on in the most matter of fact way like the local dentist of Chamba who fashions award winning metal sculptures using the ancient Lost Wax method.

Kuchupudi Dance

Indian classical Dance and Music are eternal in a country like this and no matter how much Indi Pop and techno invades the folk cultures, there will still be tiny dots on the Indian map like the village Kuchipudi, in Andhra Pradesh where dedicated teachers and students alike, devote their time to learning a dance form etched in the sculptures of ancient temples by a Sage living "once upon a time" in their little turf.

However, although my time was filled with a pot pourri of happy discoveries and disappointing let downs, nothing was as disheartening as when I would come across fragments of the past, remembered enough for the presence of a blue board with rules and regulations penned in white ink, but forgotten for what it stood there. Ask any man in Dhar , a small town in Madhya Pradesh , the significance of the Iron Pillar that lies in three pieces out in the open, and none know the reply and yet all know that to dismantle them is prohibited. Sadly, not many even wonder from natural curiosity , why these three pieces in over a millennia have not rusted, even as they are subjected to ceaseless whims of nature, when on the other hand , the iron in their homes and factories, is busy corroding the moment the skies turn grey and heavy with the smell of rain.

Although, this serves as my prime example of the discovery that one makes in this country, literally in every nook and corner, this also proves another vital aspect that explains, justifies and urges the very basis behind this venture - the unquestionable necessity of a Resurgent India.

Every few months some of what has been experienced will be shared here. All of it may not make inspired reading or disclose extraordinary discoveries. However, we will try and bring out that element of Uniqueness that we are all aware of , if not overtly , at least somewhere in our consciousness. Its not patriotism or die-hard enthusiasm to blow trumpets - it is simply an urge to stretch and flex the memory, to dive into deeper waters and fish out living moments, transforming above the surface the vestiges of the 'once-was' into the 'can-be's".

For this, one diver or two are not enough. For the waters that make India's surface are bottomless. Every hand counts, every thought adds. Help us with insight, help us with your knowledge, share with us your experiences.

Help in the coming of a Resurgent India.

 

Travelogue - 2
Shonar Joshi

Resurgent India

The research work on the Resurgent India project has been progressing well. We had earlier given a report from Shonar Joshi about her experiences as she travelled through Madhya Pradesh and Himachal. This time we give the second instalment of the report in her journey through Uttaranchal and West Bengal.

"Welcome to another edition of 'In search of a Resurgent India'. For truly it is that. There is a need as we have been saying. But for the moment we are still searching for it. Searching for bits and pieces that can be patched together and put forward as a whole. Because people like wholes and are disinterested in anything less. All right then, let it become our mission to make the whole so long as you contribute the bits.

The last month has been busy. Spent in jumping across heights, lengths and widths. From the icy glaciers of the Garhwal Himalayas to the paddy fields of Aamar Shonar Bangla. A radical switch between cultures and cuisine, crafts and carvings. I started with the Dhams in the Northern Himalayas. While tracing the source of the Ganges in Gangotri and Gaumukh I ended up going further to Tapovan, where the Saptrishis are said to have done tapasya at 16,000 feet. Although 'they' cant be seen, doesn't mean the baba culture has ended. An obvious change between the bygone era and today is the identity crisis. In earlier times, they grouped themselves into one and simply called themselves the Saptrishis. Today, there is a Bengali baba, Nepali baba, a Shimla baba and lastly, a Silent baba; the last is currently very involved in building himself a new cave. Foreigners and occasional Indians like myself, cold and shivering, wonder how the handful of babas sit in the evenings bare chested, under the watchful gaze of the tall white Shivaling and Baghirath. Call it dedication, devotion or devious deception - be it for the money or for the moksha, it is what it is and it's not what I can do. Yet, India is full of such instances, where our familiar saffron clad men and women, lead peripatetic lives and perform penance, in search of a life only they have envisioned for themselves.

Badrinath Temple

Badrinath, one of the 'char dhams' in India established by Shankracharya. Crowded and colourful. Hordes of pilgrims bathing in hot water springs regardless of their castes for once. Those like me shed our inhibitions with our clothes and plunge in, into the purging steam. The head Priest is from Kerela. Why is he there, half way across the country, when he could just as easily be on his own turf? Because of a plan the great Shankracharya had. A vision of Unity in a country as large and complex as this. Those from the South come to the North, the East change places with the West. What is there, is here. What is here, is there.

Kedarnath, has its own story to tell. Aloof, the temple stands at the bottom of a mammoth mountain shrouded in snow. The deity is Shiva in a triangular form - a rock that glitters in the dark interiors. But to be able to love and adore and shower ones deepest secrets on this great God, one must also have that moment of peace. That peace which is unjustly robbed by the Pundits of this country who have made their profession a dirty, ruthless, game of avarice. Who attack the vulnerability of those who come, who abuse the devotion of those who come, who destroy the faiths of those who come- with their commercialization of prayers and ceremonies, sent to a God who I'm sure must cringe at the piousness that is cloaked in greed. One such pundit ridiculed me for not taking on the services of a professional priest. He told me I was a fool if I thought I could pray to Divinity without a middle man, without his helping hand to guide my desperate or devoted prayers to the right channels, the Big Boss. I told him that it was due to those like him, that this country is soon going to lack faith in their gods, in their soil, in their own faiths.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I wasn't. I didn't have time to ponder but carried on across the vast mountains and into the flat plains. From the whites etched into the skies to the greens floating across the horizon.

Terracotta Temple at Bishnupur

West Bengal was a short and interesting experience. I arrive at Bishnupur at 9.00 in the evening. It is darker than usual as there is no electricity. The stationmaster escorts me to the rickshaw driver and sends me off to my lodge some kilometers away. It was an awfully strange feeling to be gliding through a dark, unfamiliar town with nothing to visualize, at the mercy of a cycle rikshaw driver - to do that without an ounce of fear. By Their Grace, such things are possible.

Next morning, armed with my camera and stand, last nights rikshaw driver who looked even more frightening in daylight, and a guide who I could not understand irrespective of whether he spoke in Hindi or English, I spent four hours flitting between the famous terracotta temples. The small village of Bishnupur has 20 terracotta temples made by a dynasty in the 15th and 16th century. So what is the big deal, you may ask?

The architecture for one thing. The fusion of Islamic, Bengali and Oriya skill and style. The burning reds of the bricks. The telling tales of the Epics adorned on the walls. What I found most interesting was the fact that the Royalty actually decided to be practical for once- there being no stone in the area, they utilized what was abundant - soil. They broke the convention of " bricks for the common" and instead made lovely homes to safeguard their deities. I also met a craftsman who is doing the same - with sea shells becoming too expensive, he has switched to carving on coconuts, all in the hope of not letting his hard learned trade die out. There are thousands like him breaking tradition in order to keep alive the same tradition.

I met another who paints the "dasavataar " playing cards, just as was done 2000 years ago. Except, if you want to see the game being played, you have to pay for it, for knowledgeable players are hard to come by. He laments that the only buyers he has are foreigners - that Indians have no eye, no respect, no interest for such things. That is a lament of every craftsman in this country.

I also visited Shantiniketan and the Vishwa Bharati University - the path breaking, revolutionary venture of Rabindranath Tagore. He believed in Nature and the role She plays in our development. He believed that civilizations emerged from forests and not small towns and cities. For that is where knowledge was meant to be imparted. That is where the Wise emerged from, from behind the thick branches, from behind the green covers, walking with the soles of their feet still touching the earth, still connected, still in tune… And so Vishwa Bharati came into being with its famous outdoor classes, now a tourist attraction. Their festivals have one objective - to universalize all elements and so deities were done away with. During a festival that celebrates art and culture along with handicrafts, they break the norm of praying to Vishwakarma, a decidedly Hindu deity. For, according to them, the festival of craft is not a Hindu concept alone but extends to all mankind.Likewise, Holi has become simply a festival of colour and fun. The Vice Chancellor ceremonially ploughs the land at the turn of the season to the chants of Vedic hymns…is this Universalization as well? Are the Vedic chants not Hindu?

No say some - Sanskrit is a world language, a language of the soul. It has no caste, no creed, no colour, no race, no nationality attached to it. It is a mantra that invokes by being uttered. The VC invokes with the power of the mantra the soil that is to be ploughed. He invokes the Gods who will be generous to the labour of the devout. He invokes Nature to thank Her for Her Grace. It is an ancient custom. Farmers for four millennia or more have been doing the same. Is it a ritual? Is it a sham? Is it a spoke in a wheel stuck in time? May be. But for a country which survives on its soil, let it use all the rituals it wants to keep itself happy and pure. Let it fool itself if that be the case, into believing that hard labour pays off with the benediction of the Gods. Let the spoke stay where it is, repeating its clickety clack , much like a mantra being chanted. Or would you prefer the alternative …? Hard mechanical labour, machines tearing the land, without permission, without asking just once from that earth if it was ready to be torn? No…we wouldn't like that. Because we aren't like that. Indians believe in a life force which hangs all around, above, below, seen, unseen. And the chants invoke those life forces. Its necessary. That's all.

Bengal is also where the ancient tradition of "home, water and trees" is found in its most balanced form. Agricultural land stretches from end to end. Dotting the fields are clusters of mud houses with thatched roofs, still sane and still cool. I say sane and cool because they are unlike the houses in the Northern rural sectors which have become cemented structures, having succumbed to misinterpreted ideas of westernization … ugly , loud advertisements painted on the walls, brandishing products the owners will probably never get to see. Coming back to the Bengali countryside - next to each cluster is a pond or in any event some form of a water body. Surrounding the water are trees. The ancients had a plan when they handpicked each tree around their waterhole for each contributed something to the soil and water. Today, the concept still exists here, although the farmers are not quite sure why they are planting some trees versus others. These are the farmers who emerged from the forests wearing wooden clogs, losing touch with the earth…

While each journey lasted, it felt like a lifetime. The moment it got over, it felt like a thing of the distant past. Then imagine, how the actual past of four thousand or more years must feel. Are there words to define the long lapse in time? Are there words to describe the emotions of stepping into a world which must have existed with or without us? The search to discover that world is on. Remnants lie scattered beneath the surface, hoping someone will spy them and remove the years of dust. Just think - a world, not ours. And yet, we inherited it by birthright. Does the old world fit into our lives like a hand in a glove or is it after all mis-matched - the wrong hand in the wrong glove…trying to keep itself within and yet slipping out with each movement - in this case a movement into the future?

That's what India is fast becoming to those like us. Some of us grasp tighter and are able to hold on longer. Some let go and it all slips away.

Which are you doing? "

- Shonar Joshi

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January 2002

Travelogue - 3
Shonar Joshi

Resurgent India

Its time once again to share the experiences with friends everywhere. Of course by now you must have realized that what is written here isn't quite matter for a serious subject like Resurgent India. It is much more on the lines of a travelogue and one which, doesn't exactly act as a travel guide but as a brief moment in time where the window opens to allow the mist to come in - the mist here is in the form of images or memories which waft through even as I write this.

I finally finished my tryst with the North, West and Eastern part of the country. A mammoth task and I shall be the first to say it. However, by the Grace of the 33,333 gods ( as I was told on a train by a Pundit) in our country, it all ended beautifully with a final taste of vadapaos and caves, daal bhaati and frescoes, dhoklas and hill top temples.

In other words, my last leg before turning to the south was concentrated in Maharashtra, Rajasthan and Gujarat.

Lets begin with Shivaji's terrain first as it was truly exciting. One has always heard of his military genius but to actually visit forts made by him like Pratapgarh and Raigarh, was another experience altogether. To see these man built rock forts perched high on top of craggy mountains and to actually come up close and find a variety of mazes and other gimmickry to trick the enemy evoked two reactions from me - one, that our defence tactics were indeed astounding and two, I hope I was never the enemy for to get lost in the dark dungeons, or labyrinths which end up plunging into 100 foot deep holes or get trapped in a cave with only one opening that is used for pouring hot oil…I am much happier being part of modern India where hills and mountains are used for trekking purposes!

Elora cave

The Ajanta and Elora Caves need no words for I am sure everyone at some point has been exposed to those wonderful paintings and sculptures. And if not, I would advise a journey to these sights at the earliest. In brief however, the paintings in Ajanta still look beautiful in spite of the centuries that have gone by, that it makes one wonder how absolutely stunning they must have been when freshly painted - what remains now are fragments of what originally existed - entire caves adorned with paintings depicting the life in Buddha's India. The sculptures sit or stand silently and watch the millions who glide by day in and day out and for one such as I, who believes that stones too have a life force, the visit to an upper floor of a three tiered monastery and the subsequent discovery of rows and rows of buddhas sitting quietly, was as close to having a conversation with them, sans tourist invasion. The Elora temple on the other hand spoke volumes into the air and one could actually feel its need to tell stories to the world. Looking for silence here as well, I decided to find a vantage point from where I could see the monolithic temple in one piece and on reaching the top of a hill behind the structure, I found four beautifully carved lions that circled each other back to face, snarling and conveying anything but silence. The sight however was splendid and I feel sorry for all those who miss it as it is not on the tourist hotlist.

By now I had seen many a cave but little did I know that what I would visit next was to be one of my most treasured sightings - Elephanta Caves. I got off the ferry, trudged up the steps hewed out of the mountain…all expecting nothing save the bare essentials to any cave structure. Although I had seen the trimurti figure of Shiva countless number of times in photographs, before actually getting there, at no point did I envisage it to be this spectacular. On entering the cave one is immediately drawn towards the sculptural panels on the left and right hand side of the entrance. After studying those, I casually walked into the hollowed out structure and that's when the magic happened. Coming from outside, the eyes need some time before being able to focus on the darkness within. The ASI thankfully hasn't lit up the cave either so as my eyes coursed through the large hall, only during the second round did they rest on an outline which seemed to be taking concrete shape right in front of me, much as the act of filling air in a balloon …as I walked towards it, the vision became clearer and larger, first the profile, the nose, the mouth, the eyes… until I was finally face to face with the trimurti and its mammoth proportions, with grace and power flowing from its smooth polished surface and literally filling up the whole cave and moving on outside to saturate the atmosphere …how was it I did not feel it even as I sailed across on the choppy waters…?

Frescoes - Rajasthan

Rajasthan was also painting intensive although they were barely 200 years old and off a different style altogether - the famous frescoes of the Shekhawati area. The haveli culture had its contribution to make to the Indian art and architectural scenario and although a lot of it has now been reduced to rubble and waste due to the high expense involved in maintenance, other specimens still live on courtesy the tourism department which has turned them into ethnic heritage properties. Ironically, the general clientele of these hotels is foreign as they seem to be the only ones appreciating the frescoes. The other havelis which haven't been scooped up by the department and still function as homes are now a source of income to the residents for there are enough eager beavers who wish to photograph their ancestral walls. If one is to think of the paintings in Ajanta and feel somewhat reassured by the ASI presence and attention, the same cannot be said of Shekhawati's villages for neither are they available or exposed to the general populace nor are they maintained with any foresight…what we tend to forget is that one day these too will be the exotic age of 2000 years and by then will there be anything left ?
Mount Abu with its Dilwara temples was also on the agenda. Again, less said the better about these stunningly crafted Jain temples where the marble has been carved to produce everything from life size images of elephants to paper thin stamens inside a sunflower. Each pillar and its adjoining sculpture is different, numbering in hundreds. This seemed to be a common feature with a lot of the other Jain temples in the country although the Dilwara group is undoubtedly the best example in the country and in the words of another, sheer poetry.

Finally, my trip wound up with Gujarat and its mélange of landscapes and colours. I wonder now whether I can write anything about it for it was such a mix of experiences, not all of which are related to this project. How for instance, can I include skies streaked pink not by sunsets but by flamingoes as an interesting fact of Resurgent India? Obviously I cannot. But in that case, this one time, allow me to make an exception. Lets for a moment assume that for a resurgence in India one must love India. To love India, one must know her and see her and experience her. To do all that, one must take in the grace of the pink lines moving in the sky, for its sheer beauty makes one simply speechless. It is that flash of pink that makes the moment pause in time to be remembered eternally. It is that moment which makes one fall in love with the soil beneath ones feet. It could happen anywhere. This time it happened in Gujarat.

Jain temples at Palitana

While I had the temples of Palitana and Junagadh standing tall, high above with white clothed monks and nuns paying homage, creating its own atmosphere, back on ground level, it were the sudden groups of 300 camels grazing like prehistoric dinosaurs that made it seem so incredulous. At Somnath I found the arrow that had been installed there 2000 years ago indicating that there was no land between the temple and the South Pole, a fact confirmed today. In Kucch , the devastation of the earthquake is barely noticeable on the surface but one sees the desperation on meeting the craftsmen who continue their age old techniques of weaving and embroidery in spite of the roof having caved in. The double stitched Patola saree is only biding its time before becoming a thing of the past - the last three families struggle to keep it alive with no help from the newest generation. Not enough money , too much labour. It will soon be simply a specimen to be seen adorning the beautiful walls of the Calico Museum in Ahmedabad, which is the only place in India where one can see all kinds of textiles produced by the country, some still alive, some now extinct. In Dwarka, in an hours time, one can witness a dozen different representations of people from all across the country - all present to prostrate themselves in front of Lord Krishna. The pundits look happy, the novice, to-be pundits even happier - all stop midway in chanting the mantras as devotees push wads of notes in their direction, hoping for salvation perhaps by paying servants of God. In Patan, the step well dives into the earth and looks as pretty as any sculptural edifice that stands above. Designed by a widow in memory of her husband, it functions as a well and also a place to rest , away from the harsh desert sun. Then as well as now, one comes across political meets taking place under the ornate arches or a groups of housewives breaking away from house chores to exchange news in carved niches. A multipurpose creation indeed, and one which is now extinct courtesy tubewells !

To save the best for the last , my visit to the Harappan sites of Lothal and Dholavira. If the wild asses and endless bleached salt pans seemed a strange sight, to be standing on a mound of soil which was once home to an ancient civilization seemed absolutely unbelievable.

Furnace for ornaments - Lothal

To see strewn all around evidence of their pottery, hold bangles in my hand once worn by some woman 3000 or more years ago, to see anchors still standing where once left millennia ago, to unearth gates used for entering a city, to step into their rooms and kitchens, to squat just as they did at their furnaces producing gold trinkets, to watch the sun set fire to the sky, reflecting it on the soil on which once stood the ancient Indian, perhaps at the same spot as I did, looking out into the distance , wondering what lay beyond , what was to come…could there be an ending to a journey more befitting than this??

- Shonar Joshi

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May 2002

Travelogue - 4
Shonar Joshi

Resurgent India

Recently, I was asked when the concluding travelogue on South India would be put up on the website. Not only was it a question, but an insistence of sorts that it must come on. This question completely threw me off my guard, for, I wasn't aware that people were even vaguely interested or even knew of its existence. I have written about my experiences ostensibly for the world, but also based on the obviously incorrect presumption, that the world is not reading any of it. With the logical conclusion that there would be no point in writing the fourth and final piece, for I was not in the mood.

Mood. How terribly subjugated we are by our moods. Ready to overshoot a responsibility with the flick of a switch, for that is how a mood comes on or goes off. The responsibility is mine to complete what I started. And what I started was only the prelude to the beginning of an awareness towards the country. Not even the beginning, imagine! But I take it as a cycle of events, which means that if I don't complete my cycle, the next wont commence and so on.

So to avoid wastage of time, lets move on straight to the point - the south of India.

The South is too large and too varied to speak of in detail and so do excuse the brevity and the somewhat structure-less description here. It is not my objective to speak at length about the endless number of temples that I went to, the endless number of festivals I attended or the endless number of coffees that I had, to keep myself upright for both the temples and the festivals.

The purpose is simply to tell you that if you don't belong to the south then begin belonging now. This is as much your country as where ever it is that you live. And in ways more than one, the south has preserved in itself, on its land, in its homes and its temples, something of the past as no other part of India.

Even within the south though, there are degrees of proximity to the past. I most felt it in Kerala . In the temples for once there was a hush, like the one I had dreamt of all my life. There are two kinds of silences one comes across in a temple - one which is natural owing to the lack of people within it. The other silence is the one however, which I have found to be more powerful and that comes in a temple spilling to the brim with people. This I have witnessed only in Kerala, where the air of reverence is so thick that the silence simply gets enmeshed in it and spreads its wings between the incense smoke and the prayers. As if a reminder of the wisdom of the seers who spoke much on silence, these temples simply compel one, even for those brief moments, to not just keep quiet but stay quiet, within.

Theiyyams at Kerala

In contrast, the theiyyam performances at village kavu's (temples) were extremely vital in nature, replete with violent trances and sacrifice, but there is a basic underlying current which I found fascinating - for that one hour, an ordinary toddy tapper, changed from man to god. He would enter the temple and exit charged with the characteristic traits of the residing deity and then for the next one hour, he would be just that. The deity. God on earth. And although our skeptical minds may ridicule such traditions, the truth is not in our reasoning, but on the contrary the truth is to be found on the looks on the faces of the villagers who stand around, a look of reverence for whom they have before them, no longer their neighbour who gets into intoxicated reveries on other nights, but this god, who has left the temple precincts, otherwise open to so few, and is now within touching distance. And that is precisely what he does -blesses any man who wishes to be blessed. When his divine sword touched the top of my head, what I felt was not steel. It was not the Gods touch either for I had in me a bit of the skeptic which blocked part of the experience. But what it was , was something that didn't belong to this world. It was a touch of magic that within its short span of life, wanted to transport me from where I was to a place that I could be.

And if that place eluded me at the theiyyams touch, then it certainly didn't at another moment which was hardly the time or place to become mystical, but that's just what happened. Try standing in between sixty men, playing five different kinds of instruments, in controlled and perfectly timed arrangements, without loud speakers but with a natural pitch so high that one can identify the event from atleast three kilometers away. Try standing for twelve hours at a stretch and see where the Panchavaadyam of Kerala will transport you- although I must give a warning that the risk of losing your hearing for a day or two is always there.

Panchavaadyam of Kerala

Then there were the other things , no less spectacular - the aranmula mirror which is probably the worlds oldest mirror and certainly the truest reflection rendered by a mirror. As a result, I now look at all other mirrors with suspicion for I know they are not doing their job as best as they should! There were also those wonderful boats called Ketuvallams which are made without a single nail in their long bodies. The Kathakalli was of course compulsory for a trip to Kerala but more than that I was honoured to meet one of the greatest and unfortunately one of the last real, proponents and masters of Kuttiyatam, the oldest form of theatre in the world…Madhav Chakkiar. 80 plus, he is no longer going to perform and with him ends this age old tradition as he feels he has not been able to teach a single student who has come up to the mark. Our discussion although long, was unfortunately dependent on a translator and so I may have lost a lot of what was being said- however, the one point which made its way across the language barrier was that if India has to rise again, she can only do it via the arts and the way one has been so complacent about Kuttiyattam ( the Kerala government has never invited Madhav Chakkiar to perform at their own dance festival even though he has lived their all his life) and its impending demise is only an indication of where we are headed towards…certainly not the skies.

My final stop was at some Ayurvedic and Kalari payattu centers - it is a wonder that I didn't give up all my responsibilities and opt to stay behind, to learn this ancient martial art. To see young boys and girls snapping and flapping their legs and arms like some elastic rubber bands, or their sheer razor sharp reflexes when being attacked, or simply that wonderful part towards the end when one is treated to a nice relaxing massage ( although I am told its not as relaxing as it looks) - too wonderful and so beautiful in the way it develops the human mind, body and the underlying spiritual drive. On the other hand, Ayurvedic institutions although popular in Kerala, are also facing their share of problems what with all the ecological denudation in the country - while all the diseases possible are mentioned in the treatises written millennia ago, it's the lack of the ingredients that stops us from coming out with the remedies even before the disease shows its face. However, the doctors vehemently argue against putting the whole Ayurvedic school of medicine on the endangered list along with their near-extinct herbs. There is hope in the voice and although hope is only part of a constructive plan to save something important to ones life, it is nonetheless an important part. It is certainly more than what a lot of us have, considering we're so unaware about most things and their present states of existence. Kudos then to the hopeful.

Kerala has taken much of the space and I would not like to tire anyone with personal anecdotes, so lets move on to the temples of Tamilnadu - only a few words - make sure you visit them and make sure you are alone. The mistake one invariably makes is to rely on company to make a visit more entertaining, fruitful, enjoyable, less lonely. One cannot appreciate art enough when distracted by other things and that's why at one point, I nearly left behind my camera for it seemed to be such an obstacle between the eye and the art, the spirit and the soul. The day long visits was far from sufficient but enough to give a glimpse of some of the sculptures, deities, paintings and of course the eccentricities of both priest and devotee. At the same time, the hard truth of India's essentially 'religious' or 'spiritual' culture really comes on strong when one is touring what is essentially a temple State. Its beautiful to see the people take out time in their lives to worship their gods, although, I'm not sure how many really recognize the significance behind certain acts within the temple. More often than not, these are carried out more as a consequence of habit, passed on by generations of grandfathers. Perhaps then, if one was to actually realize the meaning, how much more beautiful the same actions would become and the devotee would no doubt carry the essence with him from inside the temple world to the world that exists outside. Just a thought…

Temple at Tamil Nadu

The Kanchipuram silks which have been famous for centuries still have a certain section called Temple sari's which take ideas of patterns from the temples themselves. But when temple authorities with all best intentions and blind ignorance paint the walls of the interiors and exteriors, they essentially end our past of instructive knowledge, our craft of aesthetic and spiritual revelations, and even our designs for our equally ancient textiles and other handicrafts. To rejuvenate the entire building with a fresh coat of paint is a good thing, but to do it in a way where the result is quite the contrary, sapping the energy that radiates…such understanding lies in the realm of beauty which unfortunately we have now lost the ability to perceive or express. For the resurgence of India, there has to be first, a resurgence in the very basic qualities of a human being and that is his innate appreciation and moreover, immense need, to surround himself with beauty. Once that urge fixes itself deep within us, the rest will follow, for, beauty is not just of form, but it automatically enters every fiber of our being, shaping our thoughts, defining our actions.

The Sittanavassal Jain cave with its beautiful lotus ceiling was the Prized sighting I would say - it is off the main tourist track but on reaching, just a glimpse of that small patch on the ceiling is worth every bit of time and effort. The transcendental beauty on the faces of the monks combined with the colours of the lotus is so powerful and if this is evident from only a tiny patch, imagine the effect when it was all intact. The ASI guard was a little surprised at my obvious enthusiasm and joy as he claimed no Indians are ever happy to reach here and discover "only a few feet of hardly visible paint!" A real pity for just in those brief moments, the bliss on the faces of the monks have imprinted themselves in me for eternity - something my soul must aspire towards so that, that same bliss on a fragment of rock can become real.

Ancient building at Karnataka

Karnataka had for me the most beautiful sculptural experience in the guise of the Badami caves. Each panel was simply superb and three successive visits still didn't quench the thirst for more. The sculptures literally flow into the spaces beyond and into the spaces within. Shiva, Vishnu, Ganesh…each sculpture a masterpiece and set so beautifully by the side of the river. Had the caves not been there, by today, there would certainly have been a holiday resort…that's what we are adept at creating…and seems like that's what we will be leaving behind.

The Vijayanagar ruins were hot to say the least but set the imagination rolling with whatever one has learnt of their empire in school history books. That's when you realize how little the history books really tell us and how poorly at that. Belur and Halebid with their ornate, richly carved walls of life and Sravanabelagola with its towering rock cut figure of peace - Gomatesvara - all added the never ending sense of awe that one has in the treasures of this country and the ability to have even conceived them , let alone execute. Of course the trip ended in the usual way - short of time, I had to visit the massive Gol Gumbaz in Bijapur. As luck would have it, it entailed climbing seven flights of steps , each being a foot and a half high and a foot wide. The objective of this exercise was so that I could record the whisper that multiplies within the tomb from the whispering gallery on top. For this I literally dragged my accompanying entourage early in the morning so as to be the first ones inside; within half an hour busloads of school children descend and then you can well imagine the stereo effects. When I finally made it on top, I realized my guide was still gasping his way up, so I asked two other gentleman to whisper something from the other side while I filmed it. They were enthused to say the least but the only thing they kept yelling and not whispering was " Madame kaunsa Gaon ..aapka phone number kya hai" ( which village..what is your phone number?) !

On that delightful note, we end our journey through this country. I know there is a lot still within me that could possibly be said and perhaps another day it will. But for now, I am going to join the bandwagon of the hopefuls and pray for a resurgence in this county. More than ever, it is now that we need it. Our arts are too precious, our sciences nearly forgotten. Our language stands ignored and our religions, clash and bang, having lost their way. Our children cannot certainly inherit this India, but the bharat that was and still peeps at us, ever so occasionally.

This resurgence however, is not a magic word, which will appear miraculously, do its work, and leave. It is something that has to be consciously worked upon and brought about. There are definitely two contenders for this job…you and me. I'm in…are you?

 

If you would like to participate in some way please contact Vijay at the following e-mail address:

E-mail: vijay@sriaurobindosociety.org.in