Niche Partitioning

Bhatkal's alluring charm

2011-09-26T04:52:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, I was in that most beautiful of regions, coastal Karnataka. WHAT a sight for sore eyes: mountains partially veiled by mists, vistas of various shades of green, and the almost-constant pitter-patter of life-giving rain. Shah Jahan had it wrong. If there is a heaven on earth, it is here, it is here, it is definitely here.

We were in Bhatkal, a quiet and charming little town full of beautiful old houses and handsome men and women. Yet who would have thought that five hundred years ago, this same town bustled with activity, being the mighty Vijayanagar Empire's principal port city?? Those were the good times for Bhatkal - business boomed, the economy flourished and money accumulated. Prosperity manifested itself in many ways. A number of large and grand temples and palaces were built in the town, most of them with donations from successful businessmen. The palaces are long gone but a few of the temples still survive. In fact, the very picturesque area of Mudbhatkal, a suburb about 2 km away from the main town, has a clutch of about 6 old temples, all situated in picture-postcard types of settings amidst paddy fields and coconut palms. Some like the Khetapai Narayana temple are fairly well-preserved, others like the Adikenarayana temple, are little more than partial walls and a roof. All are definitely worth a visit, especially the Adikenarayana and the Lakkar Kamti.

The only way to get to this last temple was by walking through the fields. It was quite an enchanting sight, a lone brown shrine marooned in a sea of waving paddy fields. I had assumed the temple was abandoned. Perhaps that is why I found a certain poignancy to the simple garland of white flowers draped around one of the idols. The temple might have been isolated but someone still took the trouble to adorn the idol everyday.

You can read a little more about Bhatkal and its temples in this article which appeared in Deccan Herald a few weeks ago.

Bidriware... and a result

2011-08-01T09:28:00.000-07:00

I was never a big fan of Bidriware - those highly polished black items with silver inlay that you can see at Cauvery. Sure, they looked nice. Would I buy one? Probably not. But a few weeks ago, I had the opportunity of interacting with some Bidriware artisans and that changed things somewhat.

One of the artisans I met was the genial, quick-witted and eminently likable Rasheed Qadri, a craftsperson who has won state and national awards for his work. "Awards get me recognition, not money," was one of his quotable quotes. He very patiently showed us the various steps that are involved in crafting these beautiful objets d'art. And as he wisely said, sometimes you can only appreciate something when you know it and understand it a little.

Although I do enjoy writing, sometimes I wonder if what I write serves any purpose at all. S often tells me writing is a complete waste of time and that it is only for hot-air types. I usually disagree but sometimes, I do get my doubts: does anyone ever read something I've written and maybe change their mind about some issue? Or perhaps they go out and do something that will make the world a better place, even if only for a few people, even if only in a very, very small way? Well, last week, after my article on Bidri appeared in Deccan Herald, I got an email from someone who said she had been in the handicrafts business for two decades. She said she used to sell Bidriware until her supplier suddenly stopped. "Seeing your article in the paper, I had to contact you to bring back this beautiful artwork into my showroom," she said. It's not much, I know, but at least one artisan will benefit from my writing. I'm moderately pleased.

Begur again

2011-06-02T10:34:00.000-07:00

Begur beguiles. Or perhaps it is more correct to say I find Begur beguiling. Perhaps it is the cute little mud fort that still stands bravely against all the construction cranes that are inching ever closer. Or perhaps it is how vestiges of the past are sprinkled all around the village in the form of statues, broken idols and pillars. Or perhaps it is the people who seem ever ready to share a story with you every time you visit. And then of course, there is the Bangalore inscription (which I wrote about a while ago). Luckily, it is still standing. Like I've said here, all it needs is a small open-air museum where it could be placed along with some information about its importance. Incredible how even getting such a little thing done is so difficult. In the meantime, the temple's four new gopuras are coming up at a brisk pace.

Lakshmi Sharath also has a nice write-up on Begur in the this week's Spectrum.

A 3500-year-old calendar... in stone

2011-05-23T21:41:00.000-07:00

Some weeks ago, on a searing hot morning typical of north Karnataka, we stopped at a site just about 20m off the highway from Shahpur to Bangalore. It was a plantation of tamarind trees, but an unusual one. Interspersed with the trees were about 400 boulders, arranged in a roughly 20 x 20 grid. Scholars have described the grid as being laid with almost mathematical precision, and standing next to one, I could see what they meant. Boulders neatly arranged in straight lines and diagonals stretched out in every direction, but for a few odd ones that seemed to have been slightly displaced. This was the site of Vibhutihalli, where some 3400 to 3800 years ago, ancient people painstakingly created this stone grid to serve as a sort of calendar in stone.

It was Dr NK Rao who demystified the site for me recently, describing how the site was probably

used to track events like solstices and equinoxes. Because so many events in neolithic and megalithic people's lives depended on the seasons, it made immense sense to monitor them. I tried to imagine how it might have worked, but the trees hampered the view and ruined any atmosphere the site might have had: perhaps the only spot in the state where trees should NOT have been planted is, of course, where they have been planted in plenty. I couldn't help but think of Stonehenge. The most celebrated prehistoric celestial observatory in the world draws millions of people every year (including Indians) and is a World Heritage Site. Meanwhile, Vibhutihalli and similar sites in India languish for want of understanding and care. But all is not gloom and doom. Research by Dr Rao and his colleagues is helping people understand such sites. Meanwhile, the Archaeological Survey of India has also taken an interest here. I am hopeful things will look up for this intriguing site.

Cannon and fodder at the Battle of Bangalore

2011-03-22T22:56:00.001-07:00

It's been a while since I posted here, mainly because I have been travelling a lot. But I couldn't pass up writing about the Battle of Bangalore on its 220th anniversary.

Did you know there was such a battle? Why, our very own fort was at the heart of things then. Bastions and breaches, bullocks and the British, cannon and fodder, bayonets and betrayals: the Battle of Bangalore had all the drama, blood and gore associated with battles. It was a short battle, with the siege lasting only two weeks. But the consequences were pretty far-reaching, or at least I like to think so. After all, capturing Bangalore made the assault on Srirangapatna (and hence the eventual defeat of Tipu) possible. Here's more on the Battle in my article in Deccan Herald.

The granddaddy of inscriptions

2010-12-13T19:37:00.001-08:00

Q: What do you call a man who was teacher, Principal, administrator (all before he turned 30), census officer, prolific author, historian, polyglot and archaeologist all rolled into one? A: The granddaddy of inscriptions, aka, Benjamin Lewis Rice.

There isn't a historian in Karnataka (amateur or otherwise) who has not repeatedly reached for books by Benjamin Lewis Rice, his best known being the Gazetteers and the many volumes of Epigraphia carnatica which carry translations of thousands of old inscriptions.

But the history of the man who uncovered so much of our history is also fascinating. School principal at 23, Inspector of Schools (for the whole state, mind you!) at 28, Director of Public Instruction (again, for all of Mysore) at 31.... I could feel feelings of inadequacy creeping up on me, reading about Rice! And what an adventurous life he led, full of the thrill of discovery! The man spent at least half the year on tour ferreting out historical relics and obscure inscriptions from all around Karnataka, braving cobras, disease and goodness knows what else along the way. Remember, this was the pre-automobile era so all touring was done on horseback, or ponyback to be precise, for Rice had a white pony that he took on all his tours.

He knew Kannada, of course, having been born in Bangalore, but he also studied Hindi and Sanskrit, and later picked up Tamil and Grantha when he found he needed these to study inscriptions.

You can hear Lewis Rice's love of all things related to Karnataka's history and heritage in his writings, even in the dry official reports. He writes with indignation about people destroying old sculptures and with irritation about some bumbling restoration efforts.

I visited the house where he lived last week. It's a beautiful bungalow, well-maintained, set in a sprawling garden, with giant, stately trees. But the present owner wants nothing to do with Rice or his memories. "That was all so long ago," she kept saying.

You can read more about Lewis Rice in today's Spectrum supplement in Deccan Herald which carries an article on him that I wrote recently.

On John Cameron, a Prince and a scandal

2010-11-24T08:45:00.000-08:00

Lalbagh has a special place in my heart, just as I suspect it does in the hearts of most Bangaloreans. I'm always amazed at just how many people have shaped this park. Hyder Ali and Tipu Sultan, of course, established the formal gardens. But so many people have since done their mite and left their stamp on this verdant space: Black, New, John Cameron, Gustav Krumbiegel, HC Javaraya, MH Marigowda to name to the well-known ones. But even though we know that all these men worked passionately and ceaselessly on our beloved park, we knew precious little about the men themselves, especially the earlier ones.

Take John Cameron, for instance (you can read more about him in my article that was published yesterday). He was one of those men who seems to have been able to squeeze 28 hours of work into 24. There is a popular story told of his efforts to popularise chow chow (aka seeme badanekai, Bangalore kattrikai, chayote, Sechium edule) in and around Bangalore. I could just imagine him riding about the countryside on his horse, urging farmers to try out the new crop. But I wonder what made him come to India... What did he do when he went back to England? Where did he stay when in Bangalore? And what about his family? His children and his wife?

John Cameron is the one who had the idea of a conservatory in Lalbagh. Its foundation stone was laid in 1889 by Prince Albert Victor (yes, that's why we have an Albert Victor Road in Bangalore), a grandson of Queen Vikki, and heir to the Prince of Wales, who himself was heir to the throne. This is why the conservatory was for a while known as the Albert Victor Hall or Albert Victor Conservatory. We, of course, know it as the Glass House.

Incidentally, Prince Albert Victor was embroiled in a a salacious scandal back home just before he came to India. There were rumours (now known to be all false) that he had been involved in 'acts of gross indecency' and 'buggery'. The whole India trip must have been such a welcome breather for the poor chap. He managed to live down the scandal but he never made it to the throne. He died of the flu just three years after his visit to India.

Where the streets have names

2010-11-18T04:38:00.000-08:00

iJanaagraha, the recently launched online portal of the NGO Janaagraha, last month asked for a short piece on street names. A bit of a coincidence, because a colleague and I had been wondering about some street names just a few days before that.

The article was quite fun to write, though a wee bit stressful, because of a short deadline (a perennial problem!). I would have liked to research some things a bit more so I'm not overly happy with the end result. But here it is on iJanaagraha.

Some of the street (and locality/park) names that didn't make it to the article: Coles Park and Cubbon Road and Park (after former British Residents, of course); Dobbspet - variously known as Daabspet, Dabbaspet etc. (after Major General RS Dobbs); Sajjan Rao Circle; Campbell Road (after a missionary); Hardinge Road (after a viceroy); and many, many more.

But there are hundreds more stories that I don't yet know, waiting to be found behind hundreds more streets...

Heat, dust and Gulbarga

2010-11-01T23:47:00.000-07:00

I'm always amazed at how, no matter in which direction you go, our country has all these little historic gems just waiting to be discovered. Take Gulbarga for instance. The name always brought to mind heat, aridity, dust and little else. Luckily, we live and we learn, for I now know that Gulbarga is actually home to an astonishing number of historic treasures. And the best part is that many of the buildings in the town are truly one of a kind.

Take the Jami Masjid, for instance, a building that historians and architects have waxed eloquent over for decades. It has a unique plan, a kind that you don't see anywhere else in the country. Or the Bala Hissar. Again, the building is the only one of its kind in India.

And yet, when my colleague and I asked our taxi driver to take us to the Gulbarga fort, his response was: "Why do you want to go there? It's a big, dirty, old ruin with nothing in it. Why don't you go see the new Buddha Vihar instead?" Well, we did actually make it to the fort, despite our taxi driver's best efforts. You can read a little more about the fort and a few of the other heritage buildings in Gulbarga in my article in today's Deccan Herald.

I was in Gulbarga for only a short while, certainly not enough to explore all, or even most of it. I hope to go back soon to see and experience more of the town. But I'm glad we did make it to the dargah of the sufi saint Khwaja Bande Nawaz. We went there just before closing time. All the courtyards, the mosque and even the paths between them were all full of people (of all faiths). And yet, the atmosphere was one of sanctity and serenity.

Oh and just for the record, at least when I went, Gulbarga was neither hot nor dusty!

Megaliths and more...

2010-09-25T09:48:00.001-07:00

I was at Hirebenkal in north Karnataka three weeks ago. This is a little village that is a mere 35km from Hospet but miles away in terms of crowds, facilities, and even accessibility. In the middle of the hills near the village is a fascinating cluster of hundreds of megalithic monuments - different types of dolmens, cists (burial chambers) and cairns (stone circles), all set amidst the dramatic boulder-strewn landscape that is so characteristic of northern Karnataka. Earlier this week, I wrote a story for Deccan Herald on this place.

Overall, the site is still relatively undisturbed, perhaps because of a taboo among people in Hirebenkal against going there. But clearly, the taboo is not widespread, for we met people from neighbouring villages who regularly bring their goats and cows here for grazing. It made for an interesting sight, seeing cows grazing amongst 2000-year-old megaliths... Only in India!

Of course, the feeling that the site had been untouched all those years was only an illusion. The picture on the right is of a cist, recently dug up by people who thought they would find treasure buried in it.

Hirebenkal is also chock-full of rock art - paintings done by the ancients on rocks in the area, showing deer, people, geometric designs, etc. More on that in a later post.

Bus Day

2010-08-23T06:06:00.000-07:00

Earlier this month, Bangalore Midday asked for a piece on lesser-known heritage spots in Bangalore that can be reached by Volvo buses. They published this on 4th August, Bus Day. A nice way of promoting the use of buses, I thought.

Here are some of the areas I wrote about for them.

Koramangala

If you know that Kempegowda founded the city of Bangalore, you’ve probably heard of the tragic tale of sacrifice associated with its establishment. The story goes that in 1537, when construction of Kempegowda’s fort was nearly complete, the king ran into a problem: each time the southern gate was constructed, it would collapse at night. Astrologers advised Kempegowda that a human sacrifice, especially of a pregnant woman, would solve the issue. But Kempegowda found this idea repugnant. Knowing her father-in-law’s predicament, Lakshmamma, Kempegowda’s pregnant daughter-in-law, decided to take matters into her hand and sacrificed herself to appease the gods. A distraught Kempegowda raised a temple dedicated to the courageous woman.

You can see this temple and a memorial associated with young lady in Koramangala 6th Block, near the Parikrama School. The temple has undergone extensive renovations and little remains to indicate its past history. The temple opens only on Friday mornings. The memorial lies in the pocket-sized Lakshmamma Park, half a kilometre from the temple. The BBMP-maintained park is also used as a burial ground.

Bus number: 411K

Lalbagh

“Lalbagh? Been there, done that,” you scoff. But this wonderful botanical garden has more than spectacular natural heritage to boast of. The best-known monuments in Lalbagh are probably the iconic Kempegowda tower atop the 3000 million-year-old Rock, and the Glass House, built in 1889-90. Lesser known heritage structures in the garden include the 150-year-old building that once served as the cottage of the superintendent and now houses the Lalbagh Library. Also dating from the same period are bandstand and the old now-ruined Lecture Hall, which still bears the double-headed eagle known as ganda bherunda, the crest of the Mysore Wodeyars. The guard room at the entrance of West Gate also has an interesting history. It originally stood in front of the house of Dewan Krishnamurthy. It was to be destroyed in the 1940s but was dismantled and shifted here in the 1940s by Sir Mirza Ismail and HC Javaraya, the then superintendent of Lalbagh.

Bus numbers: 2, 356 Q

The SECA Kids

2010-07-25T20:43:00.000-07:00

A colleague and I led an interesting heritage walk yesterday. We took 35 children from an economically disadvantaged background to Bangalore Fort and Tipu's Palace. The children, aged 6-16, are all part of an English class run by Swagath Education and Community Action, who, of course, do a whole lot more than just teach the children English.

We had taken the same children to Devanahalli last year - 48 of them last time! This time round, the numbers had reduced but their enthusiasm certainly hadn't! At Devanahalli, I had had a constant stream of questions - on guns, cannons, moats, the fort, Tipu, his sons....I was thrilled to see that they remembered so much of all that this time. They drew comparisons between the two forts, they had more questions, and they were bursting with answers and comments too!

At the end of the day, they gave us a card that they had made. The drawing shows Devanahalli Fort. Check out the three cannons on the fort walls, the two guards at the arched gateway, the little lines of soldiers in the foreground....I love it!

The one and only Ashoka

2010-07-19T23:14:00.001-07:00

I happened to go to Koppal (in north Karnataka) a couple of months ago to see some Ashokan inscriptions maintained by ASI. As one who hated, nay abhorred, history in school, precious little of what I had 'by-hearted' about Ashoka remained in my memory - fought a war in Kalinga, was filled with remorse, converted to Buddhism, planted trees on roads.

There are two inscriptions at Koppal, one at Palkigundu and the other at Gavimath. You can barely make out the writing from the rock. And it doesn't help that at Palkigundu, some idiot has scribbled his name right on the inscription. But despite all that, the two 2300-year-old messages incised into the rocks stirred something in me. Not the usual All-hail-to-the-all-conquering-king. Nothing about the enemy submitting at the lotus feet of the ruler. Instead, a humble admission that he, Ashoka, had been a worshipper for a couple of years but had only applied himself for about a year, with dramatic results. And then an exhortation to all, whether exalted or not, to do the same so that "gods and men might mingle." In inscriptions elsewhere in the country, Ashoka talks of how he had given up military conquests and wanted only dhamma conquests! And all this because of a war.

Think about it. Have you heard of any other ruler in world history humane enough to recognise the costs of war and repent after one? I know of none. Not one. Even today, you still hear more of the "you're either with us or against us" kind of talk from world leaders, and only lip service, if at all, about the devastation brought about by war...

And talk about being progressive - Ashoka even had ministers for women's welfare!

So yes, as you can see, I came back from Koppal with an addition to my list of favourite people in Indian history!

Palkigundu is beautiful, by the way: hills, goats, goatherds, one dog, birds, quiet all along the way; and history waiting at the end of a lovely trek. What more could one ask for?

Today's Deccan Herald has my article on the Ashokan edicts at Koppal and Maski.

Lalbagh again

2010-06-08T06:03:00.000-07:00

What a coincidence, and an unpleasant one, too. Soon after I wrote that article on Tipu's gardens for Deccan Herald a few weeks ago, the Horticulture Dept announced a slew of proposals for one of his gardens - Lalbagh. And what ill-thought out proposals they are!! A musical fountain, and a laser show to name a few. Apparently, they were impressed by what they saw in Singapore's Sentosa Island and want to recreate that look here. As someone on Intach's Facebook page commented, we don't want the Sentosa look, we want the Lalbagh look! And quite apart from questions of water shortage and maintenance of extravagances like musical fountains, have they thought about the effect laser shows will have on Lalbagh's birdlife?

And of course, there is the question of history! For more than 250 years, people have tended to the garden, adding to its wealth of trees. In 1891, when Lalbagh's area was just about 100 acres, it had 3,222 species of plants. Today, its area has more that doubled to 240 acres, but the number of species has decreased to 1,854. Isn't it obvious then where all or at least a part of that Rs. 84 crores should go? Into planting more trees, methinks.

More on Lalbagh in this article I wrote for Deccan Herald.

Tipu and his gardens

2010-05-03T21:30:00.000-07:00

There was an item in the news recently about the State Forest Dept. seeking an amendment to the Karnataka Preservation of Trees Act (1976). (A big Thank You to Sheshadri of Hasiru Usiru for this information). The gist of the proposed amendment is that permission should not be required to cut trees of 42 species. Among the 42 species that the Forest Dept. wants people to be able to freely fell are beautiful and useful species such as neem, jackfruit, peepal, banyan, mango, tamarind and sheesham.

I couldn't help but contrast the cavalier attitude our administrators have towards trees with that of a ruler who died on this day 221 years ago: Tipu Sultan. Among his many proclamations was one that directed his amildars to try and plant 200 trees in every village. Another said people found guilty of minor offences could plant trees instead of paying a fine -- 2 mango and 2 jamun, to be looked after till they were of a certain height! There is also a story of how Tipu was thrilled to find a nutmeg tree during his capture of the fort of Cochin: here was one of the species he had been seeking to introduce, for it was not found in his kingdom. Tipu had the tree carefully uprooted, wrapped in rice straw and transported to one of his gardens in Srirangapatna. The tree died unfortunately. But some of the nutmeg and clove seedlings that he asked his ambassadors to bring back from Mauritius and elsewhere survived. Some of those were probably planted in Lalbagh too.

The next time you enjoy the peace and quiet of a morning walk in Lalbagh, spare a thought for one of the men who made it possible.

For more on Tipu and his gardens, read this published in today's Deccan Herald.

St Thomas's Town

2010-04-26T05:28:00.001-07:00

Did you know that we have a tomb of one of Jesus Christ's disciples right here in India? St. Thomas is said to have lived and died in Chennai around 72 AD. The apostle is also called Doubting Thomas for it is said he refused to believe Jesus had been resurrected until he could put his finger through the risen Christ's crucifixion wounds. I visited some of the places associated with the apostle in Chennai recently. One thing that struck me was how in death, as in life, St. Thomas' name is associated with doubts...

A severely edited version of an article I wrote on Thomas in Chennai appeared in Deccan Chronicle. Not only did they edit the piece badly (IMO), they also forgot to give credit to the photographer Arul Jegadish. All in all, a bit of a mess :(

Here's more on the apostle’s Chennai connection:

Our exploration began where St Thomas died, at St. Thomas Mount. The peripatetic Italian, Marco Polo, who visited Chennai in the 1290s, says that Church brethren told him how the saint had been killed when a hunter aiming at some peacocks accidentally hit the apostle. Another Italian traveller, Bishop John de Marignolli, who came by about a hundred years after Polo, corroborates this and adds that St. Thomas continued “throughout the night to preach, whilst his blessed blood was welling from his side; and in the morning he gave up his soul to God.”

Incidentally, the story more commonly given today is that St. Thomas was killed by a Brahmin, because the Brahmins were agitated by how popular the apostle was becoming...

At the summit is the Church of the Expectation of the Blessed Virgin, a simple church that is devoid of ostentation but rich in myth and legend. It was first built by Armenians and rebuilt by the Portuguese in 1521 and again in 1547. The Armenian influence is evident in the 14 beautiful paintings (dating to the 1700s) of Jesus and the apostles that line the walls. You can also see many Armenian inscriptions in and around the church.

The altar here is believed to mark the spot where St Thomas fell. The cross embedded in the wall behind the altar has an interesting story. It was unearthed by the Portuguese during excavations here. The large granite slab bears a cross and an inscription on top, and once had red stains on it. This is the famous bleeding cross which has been reported to sweat blood several times between 1556 and 1704. Tradition has it that it was fashioned by St Thomas himself and that he died holding it.

But controversy and doubts seem essential ingredients of all stories associated Doubting Thomas. The strange lettering incised on the cross definitely added to its aura of mystery. Although it was first assumed to relate to St Thomas, in the late 1800s, historians realised the inscription was actually in Pahlavi and, somewhat anti-climactically, had nothing to do with St Thomas, but recorded only the name of the person who fashioned the cross. Paleographically, the inscription and hence the cross were dated to about 650 AD, making it the oldest among only about half a dozen such Nestorian crosses in India.

Next to the bleeding cross is a beautiful oil painting on wood of the Madonna with baby Jesus, which according to legend was brought to India by the apostle himself and was painted by Luke the evangelist. Most historians scoff at this claim but I was thrilled to see a painting which could well be over 1,950 years old… sometimes, myths left unexamined through the rationalist’s lens are so much more satisfying!

Our next stop was to the stately Santhome Cathedral Basilica, near Marina beach, built over the spot where St. Thomas was buried. Thomas is believed to have built a chapel near the seashore where he prayed and preached, and on his death, was buried there. The church’s fortunes seem to have waxed and waned through the centuries for although a magnificent church stood here in the 1200s, by the 1500s, it was languishing. The Portuguese rebuilt it in the 1600s. In 1893, this building was demolished and the church in its present form came up and was consecrated in 1896.

Today’s cathedral is a grand Gothic edifice, complete with nave and transept, soaring towers and spires. Light streams in through exquisite stained glass windows in the clerestory. One set of three large stained glass windows depicting the episode where Jesus appears to Doubting Thomas, was made in Germany in the 1870s. Recent renovation work removed the paint covering the vaulted ceiling to reveal the beautiful, warm, brown tones of the original teak ceiling.

Signs of antiquity are everywhere. Lining the walls on either side of the walls is a row of ornate hand-carved chairs. In the transept on the right is a statue of Mary, brought here from Portugal in 1543. Called Our Lady of Mylapore, this 3-foot statue is said to be the one St. Francis Xavier used to pray to when he visited Mylapore in the 1500s.

At the very heart of the church, in the basement, is the apostle’s crypt and a tomb chapel. I learned that the soil around the grave has always been renowned for its miraculous powers. Bishop Marignolli, Marco Polo and other European travellers speak of several miracles wrought by the sacred soil. The church even sells small parcels of sand from the grave embedded in a small card which devotees can conveniently carry.

But the crypt itself is empty. According to some texts, the saint’s relics were transferred to Edessa in Syria sometime in the 4^th century and from there to Ortona in Italy in the 1200s. But here again, doubts persist: Were his remains completely removed to Edessa? Or were some relics left behind?

If they were removed, why, in the late 800s, did the English king Alfred the Great send alms “to India to St. Thomas”? Several other European travellers over the next few centuries, including the redoubtable Marco Polo, describe “the place containing the body of the apostle St. Thomas”.

In the early 1500s, after strenuous efforts, the Portuguese claimed to have located the tomb and relics of St. Thomas in Chennai. They had planned to transfer the relics they found to Goa but eventually stored them in Cochin before sending them back to Santhome. Yet, when the tomb was opened in 1887, all it contained were a piece of a lance that killed the apostle and a fragment of his bone.

But the church does have some relics of St. Thomas. In 1952, the then Pope gifted a portion of Thomas’s finger from the relics at Ortona to commemorate 1900 years since the arrival of St. Thomas in India. You can see portions of this relic in the tomb chapel and in the church museum. I felt a shiver run through me as I gazed at the fragment of bone from the very hand that is believed to have touched the risen Christ. And I recalled how Doubting Thomas’ had said, “Unless I put my finger in the nail marks in his hands and place my hand in his side, I will not believe." And Jesus had let Thomas do so and had said, “Blessed are they that have not seen and have believed.”

World Heritage Day

2010-04-19T00:44:00.000-07:00

What a week! One heritage walk to organise and another to prepare for, an INTACH panel discussion to help organise, an article to edit for a friend and two to write. Aargh. Anyway, it all happened, goodness knows how. The INTACH-NGMA heritage walk at the Bangalore Fort was the most fun, the Deccan Herald article (which I had to put together with just about a day's notice) the least. Anyway, here is a link to the article.

Lakkundi

2010-03-11T09:09:00.000-08:00

I was in Lakkundi (12 km from Gadag, about 60 km from Hubli) a few weeks ago - hot, dusty, typically bucolic, incredibly charming.

This picture was taken at the Manikeshvara temple, my favourite spot in Lakkundi (it is actually just outside it). The temple is in a small clearing in the midst of trees, and is utterly empty of people. Well, almost. The solitude, peace and quiet, and the large sheltering trees make this an ideal spot to contemplate on the higher things in life, as this man seems to be doing.

The railings that you see the man leaning against are along the Musukinabavi, one of the most beautiful kalyanis I have seen in Karnataka. It has a rather unusual design, complete with an underpass - no, not the ugly variety that you see on Bangalore' s roads, but a rather elegant design. A 'bridge' leads from the temple to where the man is standing. Under this is another 'bridge' - a set of beams that connects chambers (changing rooms?) on two sides of the tank. Underneath both these bridges is a long flight of steps leading to the water. There are small decorative shrines all around the kalyani's steps.

There are other interesting temples in Lakkundi - some with only walls, some with nothing more than a linga left, the rest having long been absorbed into adjacent dwellings. The small square houses, with their white plastered walls contrasting with the deep blue of the sky, reminded me of photos of Majorca. Of course, to my (admittedly biased) eyes, I found Lakkundi much more appealing, what with its cows lounging in the shade, its brightly painted wooden carts, the old men sitting on their haunches watching me...

Lakkundi has a shepherding community who make blankets and durries. I was on a tight schedule on this visit (on a project for the Archaeological Survey of India) and so didn't get to chat with too many people this time. That will have to wait for the next time...

UPDATE:
Today's Deccan Herald has an article I wrote on Lakkundi.

Ah Chitradurga!

2010-02-28T21:01:00.000-08:00

I had the pleasure of working on a project for the Archaeological Survey of India at Chitradurga recently: some colleagues and I installed some heritage interpretation panels there. What a vast and impressive fort this is!

On one of our visits, hubby and I managed to get to the fort at the unearthly hour of 6:00 am! And incredibly, we were not the only ones hanging about there, waiting for the gates to open. There was actually a rather interesting motley crowd, made up of two sleepy tourists (that's us), a lot of barefoot sari-clad women and dhoti-clad men - these were devotees who come to pray at the temple's many forts - and then there was a group of men in sneakers and shorts. It was only when we reached the Hidimbeshvara temple at the top of the fort that we realised what this last bunch was there for...Let me put it this way: who would want to work out in a stuffy old gym, when you could instead exercise in the brisk, invigorating air, in front of a 1000-year-old temple in a medieval fort atop a hill with a glorious view of a pink sunrise?

Apart from the many visits to the fort (which, of course, were the best parts of the project!), I really enjoyed researching this fascinating fort - its history, its design, its water-harvesting systems, its battles, the redoubtable Onake Obavva...

Of course, only a fraction of all this made it into our interpretation panels. Here are some photos of our panels. We wanted the panels to have a strong visual element so that people could have something to look at as well as read. The panels are all at waist height so that they are easy to read for adults, but can be read by children too. We've also kept the language simple so that anyone who has studied up to the 6th or 7th Std can read and understand the panels.

If you have been to Chitradurga recently and have seen our panels, I would love to know what you thought of them. And if you haven't been to Chitradurga, well, what are you waiting for?

Bidar

2010-01-05T03:42:00.000-08:00

I always thought of Bidar as a hot and dusty, centre-of-remoteness kind of place ...I shudder at my ignorance now. For Bidar is really a must-visit kind of place for any heritage enthusiast, teeming with diverse architectural and cultural remnants that mirror its chequered history.

And there is no better place to start than in its sprawling, huge, grand fort that is full of palaces, halls, wells, underground chambers and other nooks and crannies just asking to be explored.

Check out the massive fort walls and the one-of-a-kind triple moat.

The picture below was taken behind the Gagan Mahal, where you can find exciting underground rooms and passages that seem straight out of Famous Five.

Today's Deccan Herald has an article on Bidar that I wrote recently. A rather nice way to start the new year, I must say - having one of your articles published in the first week of January!

The Bangalore Inscription

2009-12-07T20:14:00.000-08:00

Today's Deccan Herald carries my article on Begur and the 9th century inscription that mentions Bengaluru. I like their title for the article: Here lies the Bengaluru inscription.

Incidentally, INTACH had a Parichay to Begur last Sunday. We had a very enthusiastic of people, with a good sprinkling of architects this time, for some reason. Dr Jegannathan gave an interesting and intriguing talk on energy zones and everyone was most interested in the Lecher antenna and how he uses it. Dr SK Aruni of the Indian Council of Historical Research was there as a participant, but was quite happy to speak to the group about Begur. As always, he impressed everyone with his phenomenal knowledge - on the temple, hero-stones, Bangalore...The most exciting part of his talk for me was when he pronounced the potsherds that I had collected on a previous trip as being quite old - 2000 years old or thereabouts!

The good news is that the temple trustees, who also came to listen to the talks, were quite keen on preserving the inscriptions, especially the one that talks about Bengaluru now that they know what it means and what it stands for.

Parichay to Begur

2009-11-15T02:57:00.001-08:00

INTACH Bangalore invites you to a Parichay to Begur.

Begur has a special place in Bangalore's history - the name Bangalore first appears in a 1100-year-old inscription found at the Panchalingeshwara temple here.

This ancient temple is a fitting venue to learn about the concept of energy zones in traditional Indian architecture from Dr R Jegannathan, who will demonstrate how to measure energy fields and speak about them in his talk, "Ancient Wisdom - A Pathway to Modern & Sustainable Living". We will also explore the history of the temple and the settlement around it.

When: 8:30 am on Sunday, 29 Nov 2009
Where: Panchalingeshwara temple, Begur

Directions: Head south on Hosur Road towards Bommanahalli. At Bommanahalli junction, turn right onto Begur road. The Panchalingeswara temple is on Begur Road, 3.6 km off Hosur Road.

There is a fee of Rs 100 for this event. Seats are limited, so please call ahead to register. For registration and more information, call: 9986023014.

Mystery of the sands

2009-11-10T03:49:00.000-08:00

For a really unique mix of history, mystery, archaeology and a lovely dose of nature, you can do no better than head to Talakad (variously spelt as Talakkad, Talkad and Talakadu).

Talakad is an ancient town, dating back to at least 2000 years ago, judging by megalithic remains found here. In the early 1600s, Alamelamma, wife of the defeated Vijayanagar viceroy jumped into the river Cauvery here, but not before famously cursing the Mysore Wodeyar dynasty and the town of Talakad itself. You can see a documentary made by Sashi Sivramkrishna about the curse here. Of course, what is really intriguing about the story of the curse is how it seems to have come true. Many Wodeyar kings have indeed not borne male heirs and have had to adopt to continue their line; and the town of Talakad has indeed been deluged by sand.

So what does the scientific community have to say about this remarkable coincidence? Check out my article in today's Deccan Herald about this. I had a good time researching this article, including an enjoyable talk with MB Rajani, a postdoc at NIAS.

Today, most people know of Talakad either as a place of pilgrimage, for the Panchalinga darshana that is held here (to be held next week), or as a picnic spot, to frolic in the sun and sands along the Cauvery. But the next time you visit there, take time to go off the beaten track to see signs of the city (or cities?) that lies buried beneath the sand under your feet. Trust me, you can see them...

Heritage walk

2009-10-26T09:06:00.000-07:00

Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,

The chorus of Rudyard Kipling’s famous The Ballad of East and West can aptly be applied to Bangalore – a city of layers – a twin city with the European Cantonment to the East and the Indian Pettah to the West and Cubbon Park in between, serving as a barrier between the two!

Join us to find out if the two ever met and, along the way, experience a bit of Cantonment life along with some surprises thrown in.

Date: 31^st October 2009

Venue: St Mark’s Cathedral (entrance near Koshy’s)

Time: 8:00 am

We will wrap up in about 3 hours. As always, we will provide a light snack. Please carry some water with you. Parking is available along the road in front of St Mark’s, in Cubbon Park near Victoria Statue, or behind the Government Museum half a kilometre away.

Seats are limited for this event. Please register in advance by calling 99860 23014.

This walk is organised by INTACH Bangalore, Bangalore City Project (BCP), Max Mueller Bhavan, UDHBAVA Forum and MPSR Foundation.

The Nallur tamarind grove

2009-10-19T22:42:00.000-07:00

Deccan Herald carried an article I wrote on the Nallur tamarind grove last week. There is something quite alluring about the grove of gigantic ent-like tamarind trees and the little Gopalaswamy temple that lies in their midst. As someone has commented on the article online, the carving of Krishna eating butter is enchanting. And though Dr Anuradha from Maharani College prefers the carvings on the Devanahalli Gopalaswamy temple, to my uneducated eye, the carvings at Nallur were truly remarkable. All in all, it makes for a quiet picnic spot...but watch out for the innumerable monkeys!

Hoysala heritage

2009-09-08T03:09:00.000-07:00

We visited Halebid and Belur a few weeks ago. Halebid has hardly changed in the decade or so since I last visited. The temple is still as breathtaking and the government-run hotel right opposite still as flea-bitten as I remembered it from all those years ago! My only quarrel is with the new lighting in the Hoysalesvara temple, which from a distance, looks like a whole bunch of pigeons roosting on the roof. My favourite place in Halebid still remains the Kedaresvara temple, where nary a soul goes. We spent a magical and very rainy two hours there. I ooh-ed and aah-ed at the sculpture, while the kids had a whale of a time in the little pools that formed as a result of the downpour.

Bennigudda Hill was a new discovery this time around - highly recommended too, for the views, for its serenity and for its rustic feel.

Today's Deccan Herald carries an article I wrote on the lesser-known monuments of Halebid.

Resorption efficiency

2009-08-12T08:20:00.001-07:00

Something a little out of the ordinary...although a couple of years ago, this was what I used to live, breathe and think about, day in and day out!

Here's a journal article that began life as a paper I wrote for an ecology course some years ago. I'm quite pleased to see it has been well received and cited a fair bit too...

The dustiest place in the world!

2009-08-12T05:30:00.000-07:00

I remember reading about dust inputs into the Amazon during my stint in Costa Rica. Then, as now, I couldn't help but be amazed at how inter-connected things in the natural world are. A couple of recent papers on the subject of dust in the journal Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences prompted this article in Deccan Herald this week on how climate change might affect the dustiest place in the world...No, it's not in India, it's in Chad.

World's dust bowl
We already know that climate change might drastically alter landscapes around the world. Interestingly, one of the prime agents of changing ecology might be dust from deserts, and often where you least expect it.
Several studies have shown that the Sahara desert is the world’s largest source of desert dust. A mind boggling 240 ± 80 million tons of dust is transported from the Sahara desert to the Atlantic Ocean and beyond every year.

You can read the rest of the article in Deccan Herald.

Personal change

2009-07-17T23:56:00.000-07:00

Here's a very interesting read on why change at a personal level (e.g., switching off the lights when you leave a room) alone is not going to help us change our world for the better. Read the comments too.

Minister of State for External Affairs

2009-07-16T21:11:00.001-07:00

Today's Deccan Herald carries a story on the Nilekanis and the MoS for External Affairs, Shashi Tharoor, releasing a book called Study in America: The Definitive Guide for Aspiring Students.

Doesn't this strike anyone else as odd? Shouldn't our esteemed MoS release books titled Studying in India: The Definitive Guide etc etc instead? Perhaps someone should tell Mr Tharoor that External Affairs does not mean working for other countries...

More than just an airport

2009-07-07T08:29:00.000-07:00

Today's Deccan Herald carries a piece I wrote on Devanahalli fort, one of my favourite places in Bangalore.

"Mention Devanahalli and everyone thinks ‘International Airport’. But Devanahalli is also where one of Indian history’s most colourful personalities, Tipu Sultan, was born. Indeed, the town is quite a heritage hotspot, with a history stretching back several hundred years even before Tipu.

A fine fort famous for its association with Tipu Sultan and Hyder Ali lies just off the national highway, about 10 km beyond the airport exit."

You can read the rest of the article here.

Incidentally, we (by which I mean Intach, not the royal we!) conducted a heritage walk at Devanahalli just two days before this article appeared. Sunday saw me and two colleagues from Intach talk to 48 (yes, 48!) children about Devanahalli. Of course, it wasn't just us; volunteers from SECA were there, too, to keep an eye on their flock and make sure all 48 came back!

We had a blast and I'd like to think at least some of the kids did too. A few of them came up to me at the end of the walk to tell me this wasn't like any history lesson they had ever attended. I'm certainly glad they thought so.

Bribing the gods

2009-06-17T04:50:00.000-07:00

Janardhan Reddy recently gave a diamond studded crown worth about Rs 45 crores to the god in Tirupati. Reddy is Karnataka's minister for tourism and also owns Brahmani steel plant and Obulapuram mines in Andhra Pradesh. I assume this gift is in return for the Lord having showered his blessings upon him, and to ensure more such showers in the future…In India, even the gods are open to bribes.

Earth Hour and all that

2009-04-08T09:57:00.000-07:00

Another Earth Hour has gone past. According to the official website, “For the first time in history, people of all ages, nationalities, race and background have the opportunity to use their light switch as their vote - Switching off your lights is a vote for Earth, or leaving them on is a vote for global warming.”

As one who chose to study ecology years before it became fashionable, I am, just possibly, ‘greener’ than you. But I did not switch off all my lights at the appointed hour on Saturday.

Apart from the fact that I found the concept of voluntarily switching off lights ridiculous in a country where the government does it for us anyway – for several hours every day – I do feel the whole idea of Earth Hour trivialises the issue of climate change.

Sample this poppycock from a national newspaper: “Have you always wanted to contribute in your own way to preserve the environment? It’s simple now. Even your children can do it, and it’s akin to giving the ailing Earth a thousand hugs. Just switch off all your lights.” If only dealing with climate change were as simple as that.

Events like Earth Hour allow people to feel good by doing something that is essentially useless, even counterproductive. A lot of people will switch off their lights this Saturday evening and most will probably feel very righteous about doing their bit to save the planet. But once the hour is up and the lights, TV, refrigerator, music system, air-conditioning, and all the rest of it come back on, it’s back to business as usual. Apart from the warm and happy glow of ‘having done the right thing’, nothing would have changed.

For most people, participating in Earth Hour is not going to lead to any tough decisions being taken on lifestyle. They can hop back into their SUVs to get to the neighbourhood store to buy bottled water without feeling guilty. After all, they already cast their vote against global warming, didn’t they?
And then there are the candles. There are going to be the now-customary candlelight marches. Hotels and newspapers are promoting candlelight dinners. One major city mall will dim its lights and has urged citizens to illuminate the place with candles instead.

This would all be funny if it weren’t so serious. Clearly more people need to understand the link between carbon dioxide and the climate. Candles = wax = hydrocarbon = fossil fuel = carbon dioxide. Depending on its size, burning a candle for an hour releases anywhere from 15 to 60 g of carbon dioxide. A standard 100 W bulb in India would release between 40 and 60 g of carbon dioxide in an hour.
This is not to say we don’t need awareness about climate change. But time, resources and people’s attention spans are all limited. Couldn’t we direct our efforts into promoting awareness in a useful, meaningful way that would have long-term effect on carbon dioxide emissions, rather than waste them on an energy-sucking event that will lead to an insignificant blip on energy use?

Surely India’s innovative minds can come up with an awareness-raising exercise less useless and more appropriate to the country? How about a car-free hour? One Bangalore-based IT company already has no-car days every few months when employees are encouraged to take public transport, walk or cycle to work. Another has planned a bike camp for its employees to promote biking to work.

But these are too few and far between. We need more such intelligent initiatives. We need to learn that every hour every day is earth hour.

Harini Nagendra

2009-04-01T10:00:00.000-07:00

I recently met a very inspiring and dynamic young person who I thought I had a lot in common with (!!). She works in the field of urban ecology and is currently researching street trees in Bangalore. You can read more about her and her work in this article I wrote about her for Citizen Matters.

Keladi

2008-11-20T21:09:00.000-08:00

Another post on Malnad, a continuation of the previous post, if you like. A version of it appeared in Deccan Herald a while ago.
Most people know of Sagar in Shimoga district as the nearest town to the world-famous Jog Falls. But did you know that a mere 6 km from Sagar is a village that was the capital of one of Karnataka’s great empires, a village, moreover, with relics of a 1000 year old history?

In the early 1500s, a certain Chaudappa Gauda of the village of Keladi discovered some hidden treasure. In a dream, he was told that the treasure was his to take provided he offered a human sacrifice. Luckily for him, two of his servants volunteered for the task. Chaudappa used the treasure to build a fort at Keladi and put together an army. Thus began the dynasty that was initially a tributary of the Vijayanagar empire but was independent by the 1600s. At its zenith, the Keladi empire covered most of south-western Karnataka and parts of northern Kerala, commanding the ports of Honnavara, Bhatkal, Bekal and Mangalore, and also included portions of the Ghats and extended to within 60 km of Mysore. The Nayakas were finally defeated by Hyder Ali in 1763, who often cited this win as having established his fortune.

A good place to start exploring the area’s history is the Keladi Museum and Historical Research Centre, established in 1978 by the scholar Keladi Gunda Jois. This museum houses artifacts from the region, including ancient coins (some as old as 2nd Century BC), manuscripts and copper plate inscriptions. The curator is historian Venkatesh Jois. Earnest, committed and supremely knowledgeable (he holds 3 masters degrees and a doctoral degree!), Jois showed us some of the palm leaf manuscripts and the museum’s huge collection of kadatas or ‘black books’ – cloth manuscripts made by seasoning with tamarind paste and charcoal.

Jois spoke passionately about the Keladi empire and its valiant Queen Chennamma, who ruled for 25 long years from 1671 to 1696, no mean feat in those ancient times. Chennamma ruled wisely and ably and earned the love of her subjects. It was during her reign that a special bond was formed between the Marathas and the Keladi kingdom. In those tumultuous times, Rajaram, son of Chhatrapati Shivaji, was fleeing for his life. Mughal emperor Aurangzeb had already killed his brother Shambhaji when Rajaram came to Keladi asking for protection. Unwilling to spurn an asylum-seeker, Chennamma granted him refuge, knowing this would invite Aurangzeb’s ire. As expected, the mighty Mughal army soon bore down on the Nayaka kingdom. But amazingly, the local army vanquished the Mughals, who floundered in its hilly terrain.

Keladi served as the Nayaka capital for the empire for fourteen years after which the capital was shifted to nearby Ikkeri. Today, with its 400-year-old houses, all with sloping tiled roofs and moss-covered compound walls, Keladi is a village that exudes the charm so typical of beautiful Malnad. Everyone walks, everyone smiles and everything looks and smells green.

Life here revolves around the earliest monument built by the Keladi Nayakas, the Ramesvara temple complex. Situated opposite the museum, it is a large, long building with pale yellow walls that looks most like a government high school. Inside is a spacious courtyard with two wells and only a handful of people and our first impression was that we had stepped into someone’s house, albeit a very beautiful hou se. The temple complex houses three shrines – the Ramesvara, the Veerabhadresvara and the Parvati shrines, of which the Ramesvara is the oldest and the Parvati the newest. There is a common mantapa for the Ramesvara and Veerbhadra garbha-grihas. The temple is built in a mixture of styles. Whereas the use of granite pillars and the gargoyles are characteristically Vijayanagar, the ceilings, for example, seem to incorporate Islamic influences with their delicate floral and geometric patterns. The Veerabhadesvara temple ceiling has a prominent Gandabherunda, the two-headed eagle that Jois informed us was the symbol of the Vijayanagar kings, the Keladi empire and the Wodeyars, with minor variations. Another notable figure in the temple is a rare representation of Vastupuruva, beside which is an upright, marked rule: the measures of length on this rule were used in land assessment, as also in the geometry of the temple itself.

The adjacent Parvati s hrine is an unusual combination of wood and stone. Severely plain from the outside, it has some uncommon, remarkable wooden sculptures and pillars inside. Venaktesh Jois informs us that the wood used here is the prized red sandalwood (rakta-chandana, Pterocarpus santalinus). The intricately carved wooden ceiling, still retaining a glossy sheen, and the dark red wooden sculptures lining the wall near the ceiling are stunning.

In the temple courtyard is a dwajastambha (victory pillar). At its base is a panel that Queen Chennamma had installed, showing herself, wearing a widow’s garb, flanked on one side by Shivaji’s son Rajaram and his attendant, and on the other by two hand maidens. There is also a figure depicting Shivaji on a horse in the Veerabhadraswamy temple.

There is an other ancient monument at Keladi, a 900 year old Jain temple. Tucked away in a small buildi ng hidden inside a large garden, it is an unprepossessing structure, little more than a single room housing some idols.

Yet its antiquity is palpable. Here, busy preparing for the temple’s renovation by the Dharmothana Trust of Dharmasthala, were the temple priest and GV Kallapur, head of Research and Publications at the Keladi Museum. Kallapur told us about the bronze images of Parsvanath Tirthankara that were found here earlier this year. Inscriptions on one of the images recorded the installment of the image in the Basadi in 1172 AD, well before the Vijayanagar periods. But even that is not the oldest relic here: Kallapur enthusiastically showed us a well behind the Basadi, made of bricks characteristic of the Ganga period, indicating that Keladi has probably been inhabited for at least 1500 years, if not more.

Beautiful Ikkeri

2008-11-13T03:05:00.000-08:00

I can never get enough of the Malnad area - hills, winding roads, and everything drenched and saturated green. Here's a piece I wrote for Deccan Herald on Ikkeri, the erstwhile capital of the Keladi/Ikkeri/Nagara Nayakas.

In the 1600s, an adventurous Italian traveller named Pietro della Valle set off from Venice to travel the world. After spending some time in Turkey, Egypt and Arabia, the peripatetic della Valle came to India and in 1623, visited Ikkeri, the capital city of the Ikkeri Nayakas. The beautiful Malnad vistas seem to have soothed his eyes greatly for he writes rapturously of its “delightful verdure”. Of the Nayaka capital, he says its numerous lakes, fields and “goodly Trees” all blended pleasantly, so that it seemed “to consist of a City, Lakes, Fields and Woods mingled together, and makes a very delightful sight”. Visiting Ikkeri nearly four centuries later, I could see why della Valle had been bewitched by the place. Shorn of its status as a capital city and reduced to a mere village, Ikkeri still gently seduces the senses.
In della Valle’s days, the city was enclosed within three lines of fortifications, the first two of impenetrable bamboo and the third a mud wall. No sign of the first two exists now, of course, but historian Venkatesh Jois, curator at the Keladi Museum and Historical Research Centre in nearby Keladi, informed us that traces of the Nayakas’ fort and its moat still exist and that archaeological excavations are underway at the site.
Ikkeri was neither the first capital of the Nayakas nor their last. The dynasty was founded in 1499 at Keladi, near Ikkeri, because of which they are also called the Keladi Nayakas. After some fourteen years at Keladi, the capital moved to Ikkeri, which is 3 km south of Sagar. Incidentally, the legend behind the location of Ikkeri should sound familiar to Bangaloreans – Sadashivappa Nayaka chose the site for his capital when he saw a hare begin to chase his hounds, which is exactly what made Kempe Gowda choose the site for his new fort in Bangalore in 1537. Ikkeri remained the Nayaka capital for 125 years, after which the centre of power shifted to Nagara and then to Kavaledurga.
Inside the fort at Ikkeri, della Valle describes in minute detail the impressive citadel and the palaces of the Ikkeri Nayakas, all made of mud and timber. But he was distinctly unmoved by the houses which, he said, “stand thinly and are ill-built”. We couldn’t have disagreed more. Many of the houses we saw were built of laterite bricks, all had sloping, red-tiled roofs, many had a faint hint of green that bespoke years of standing in the rainy Malnad weather. Without exception, all were exceedingly handsome, adding charm to a landscape that was already intoxicating in its beauty. Venkatesh Jois, whose beautiful abode we visited in Keladi, told us his house was close to 400 years old. Quite possibly then, at least some of the houses we saw at Ikkeri were the same ones that della Valle dismissed so inexplicably.
Ikkeri is best known for its splendid temple, dedicated to Aghoreshvara, the non-fearful Shiva. It is believed to have been built in the early 1500s, probably at the time the capital was moved here. It is built on a slight mound in the midst of a large courtyard and a lawn dotted with colourful wildflowers that seemed to have escaped a careful gardener’s notice. The temple itself stood on a high platform, giving an effect of grandeur to the whole building. It is a remarkable structure for the way it gracefully combines various architectural elements. The temple’s indented platform, for example, brought to mind the Hoysala temples at Belur and Halebid, while its gopura with its small doorways echoed Chola influences. The cavernous pillared hall in the main temple and the pillars in the adjacent small Parvati temple are all typical of the Vijayanagar style of architecture. The resulting blend is a unique style that historians refer to as the Ikkeri school of architecture. Another example of this style is the open Nandi pavilion just outside the main temple. With arches on four sides, a parapet running along the roof, and a large Nandi seated inside the pavilion, this unusual structure is unique to Ikkeri.
During his two-week stay at Ikkeri, della Valle had the good fortune of being present during the celebration of a festival here, possibly Deepavali, for he writes that “an infinite number of torches and candles were lighted” inside the temple, on its outer walls and in the courtyard. The then king, Venkatappa Nayaka, accompanied by two grandsons, arrived at the head of a procession heralded by much singing and dancing, says della Valle. The royals spent an hour inside the temple hall and after more music, dance and presumably prayer, left. Things were far more subdued when we visited the Aghoreshvara temple. No lights adorned its walls and no girls danced around a king, yet the temple was quietly impressive. We admired the temple’s grand doorways, the sculptures chiselled into the hard stone, and marvelled at the size of its hall. Dusk fell as we left the Aghoreshvara temple that evening, and though there were no lights, we could see in our mind’s eye, a king and his retinue leaving the magnificent temple after an evening of celebration and prayer.

Hospital Waste

2008-11-09T20:48:00.000-08:00

Here's an instance of callousness that really shook me: a waste dump on the roadside near Avalahalli which contained not just kitchen waste but also body parts, blood samples, needles and sundry other hospital waste - all untreated, of course. Environment Support Group is following it up. Here's an article I wrote about it for Citizen matters.

It was late afternoon on 3rd November when five men worked by the side of a lonely stretch of road in the as yet un-named land between Anjanapura and Kanakapura Road. The men silently hoed and shovelled the last dregs of a waste heap, shoving the plastic and other indistinct matter into a truck parked nearby, where one of the men stood next to the waste. At first glance, it appeared to be one of the many dumps of domestic waste one often sees on empty plots, full of plastic bags. In fact, it was something much more dangerous – it was untreated hospital waste.

Leo Saldanha of Environment Support Group and Sangeeta Gowra, 35, a teacher at a school nearby, were among the first to see the dump and had initially thought it was restaurant waste – among the items that had spilled out of the plastic bags or were lying loose among the waste were coconut shells and coffee shop waste. But then they noticed the blood samples, needles, lab reports, visitor passes, cotton, surgical masks and other items among the waste and realised what it was. Recognising the health hazard the dump posed, Saldanha immediately dialled 108, the newly launched round-the-clock emergency response service for medical, police or fire-related emergencies.

To make matters worse, Saldanha picked up a sheaf of papers from the site which turned out to be requests for biochemical tests and lab reports of particular patients. Each report gives several details including the name of the patient, his or her Universal Hospital Identification Device (UHID) number and a barcode. Such patient details are usually held to be confidential. These reports, as well as 80 investigation slips and some discarded visitor passes that were at the site were all from Apollo Hospitals, Bangalore.

You can see the complete article here.

Filmy litter

2008-09-17T09:04:00.000-07:00

Do you remember the movie Dil Chahta Hai and that scene where Akshay Khanna meets Dimple Kapadia? There she is trying to heave her luggage into her new flat when the handle snaps on one of her suitcases. Akshay steps in to help the damsel in distress. But what does said damsel do with the broken suitcase handle? Well, she tosses it aside, of course.
Cut to the Kannada movie, Pallaki. Here we had handsome hero Prem crazily in love with heroine Rumanitu Choudhary. You remember the movie’s great hit song, Kannalli neeneyne, of course. A sequence in the song shows Rumanitu walking down the road with a friend when the heel on one of her sandals suddenly snaps. So the disgusted heroine takes off her broken sandal, tosses it aside, and walks on.
I loved how little things were shown in such a realistic fashion in Dil Chahta Hai – how, for example, when they finally get her luggage in, Dimple collapses onto the divan, and then realizes she has landed on her bag and pulls it out from under her. Or how Aamir Khan gives his mike to a technician before he goes out to dance and sing Koi kahey, kahta rahey. Sadly, the scene with the suitcase handle also mirrors reality: most people would have done as Dimple (and Rumanitu) did. She threw her trash aside amongst some plants near a wall. Not in a dustbin. The saddest part is that the heroes in both the movies did not find their lady loves’ littering ways odd or inappropriate. Nor for that matter, did anyone in the audience. Is it any wonder our cities are full of trash? Raise your hands all of you who keep your bus tickets, chocolate wrappers or juice boxes with you till you can find a place to dispose of them. Raise you hands all those who talk to others to stop them littering.
What if the directors had done things just a little differently? Dimple’s character could very easily have been shown throwing the broken handle into a dustbin, just as Rumanitu’s character in Pallaki could very easily have carried her broken shoes home to throw them in a dustbin there, rather than toss them into some bushes along the footpath. Would these minor changes have influenced anyone’s behaviour? Perhaps not with just one scene in one movie. But if all our movies showed our heroes and heroines treating trash responsibly, a standard of acceptable and desirable behaviour could perhaps get set: it’s un-cool to litter.
We can rant all we want about how the administration/ municipality/ politicians/the neighbours/poor people/ auto drivers/tourists/ somebody (other than us, that it) is to blame for the piles of trash that we find everywhere in Bangalore. But the truth is, it is us. We are the ones who dirty our cities.

Ah! Chocolate!

2008-09-02T09:03:00.000-07:00

You don’t ordinarily see a complicated graph and accompanying instructions on how to eat it when you unwrap a chocolate bar. But then, a 99% cocoa bar is no ordinary chocolate bar.

The first thing you see when you unwrap part of a Lindt’s 99% cocoa bar is a cautionary notice. “Important,” it screams, “The chocolate you are about to have is a chocolate that has a very high cocoa content! To fully appreciate this exceptional chocolate, we invite you to follow our suggestions on tasting.” If the intent is to intimidate, Lindt succeeds admirably. In most cases anyway. But a confirmed dark-chocaholic only drools in anticipation on reading this and feverishly tears off the outer cardboard package. Inside is a golden wrapper with more instructions. And more warnings. “This chocolate brings out all the force and richness of cocoa beans,” it intones, before going on to suggest that you prime yourself, or rather your palate, by first adjusting to 70%, and then 85% cocoa. Been there done that, I think. Next? Lindt suggests you first take a small bite and let it melt on the tongue to savour the flavours. Now we’re talking. Except there is a scary graph that follows which lists the various flavours you can expect and their intensities – bitter, acidic, astringent, fruity. Whew!
Chocolate these days is serious business, I realised, comparable to wine with all its attitude. So to help you appreciate it better, here’s a quick crash course on what goes into making a chocolate bar. Like wine, good chocolate has terroir, which means geography matters. So the true chocolate connoisseur will detect the hints of vanilla in cocoa beans from Madagascar, smoky or earthy undertones from West African beans and fruity or even flowery flavours in those from Central and South America. To savour these differences, single-origin chocolates are all the rage right now in many parts of the world though they are difficult to come by in India. But many a fine chocolate is made of a blend of premium beans. Lindt uses beans mainly from West Africa with a small proportion form South America – the exact blend is a closely guarded secret!

The type of cocoa beans used can also affect the ultimate taste experience. The three varieties of cocoa beans are Criollo, Forastero and a hybrid of the two called Trinitario, named after Trinidad where it originated. Criollos are considered the best beans for making fine chocolates, on account of their fruity flavours, but they account for only 10% of the world’s cocoa crop. Most of the world’s chocolates are made from Forastero beans.

And then there’s how the beans are processed. Cocoa pods are harvested twice a year. The pods have to be split open to get the beans which are inside. The beans are then fermented either by spreading them out and keeping them covered with banana leaves for four to seven days, or by keeping them in leaf-lined covered baskets. Too less fermenting and the beans can become bitter and astringent; too much and you can get other undesirable flavours. Then they are dried and shipped off to chocolate manufacturers who will roast the pods to get the nibs – the meat of the cocoa bean – out. The nibs are ground until the friction and heat of the milling reduces them to a thick chocolate coloured liquid, known as 'mass' or chocolate liquor, which contains 53-58% cocoa butter. This is the basis of all chocolate and cocoa products.
Not all chocolate is created equal. Milk chocolate can have anywhere from 25 to almost 50% cocoa (although some American chocolates can have far less) and as the name suggests, it also generally has milk, milk powder or condensed milk, along with sugar and emulsifiers. Dark chocolate, sometimes called bittersweet chocolate, contains a lot more cocoa, upwards of 60% and much less sugar. If you’re wondering how it is different from simply eating cocoa powder, the answer lies in the fat. Cocoa, or to be more precise, cocoa solids, include cocoa butter and cocoa cake. Cocoa powder is made from cocoa cake alone, while chocolate also contains cocoa butter.

While the sweetness of milk chocolate has almost universal appeal, dark chocolate is not your everyday comfort food. Like wine, it can be an acquired taste and needs a refined palate to truly appreciate its nuances. Which is why Lindt’s suggestion that you educate your palate in stages actually makes sense.

So to get back to the 99% percent cocoa bar. The not-so-fine-print and the daunting graph and instructions past me, I finally take a bite and wait to be transported to chocolate heaven.

Heaven is bitter. And somewhat dusty, initially. But patience has its rewards and a few short moments later, as the chocolate melts, I can feel the myriad flavours of the cocoa beans coming through. There are the hints of acidity, lots of fruity notes, a whisper of sweetness, and finally, a creaminess that, once the experience is over, begs for an encore.

A slightly modified version of this article appeared in Deccan Herald some months ago.

The plastic bags problem

2008-08-16T00:32:00.000-07:00

Does the rampant use of plastic bags bother you? It certainly bothers me, which is what prompted me to write this piece, which was published in a modified form in Deccan Herald a couple of months ago. It was really nice talking to Mr Khan of KK Plastics. I'm glad to see his plastic roads are really taking off in Bangalore now.

“Can I have another plastic bag, please?” And with that, you may have just sounded the death knell for a fish, seabird, whale, cow, lion or sea turtle. Not only do discarded plastic bags decimate animals in the wild, they accumulate in the environment, pollute, cause floods, are aesthetical eyesores, and are filling up overflowing landfills. This week, Britain joined a growing list of countries that have started weaning themselves off plastic bags. It is time we in India did the same.
Plastics are synthetic polymers made from hydrocarbons. They are durable, cheap, strong and lightweight so that an extraordinary range of items is made of this versatile and valuable product. Though they have been around for over a century, it is only in the last few decades that their consumption has skyrocketed. Worldwide plastic production was a mere 1.5 million tons in 1950, but 245 million tons in 2006. Per capita use ranges from approximately 100 kg each year in Europe and North America to 20 kg in most of Asia.
Of all the plastic in the world, none is more ubiquitous than the lowly plastic bag. So widespread is its use that in parts of Africa, it has earned the sarcastic sobriquet ‘national flower,’ while in China it is called white pollution. Worldwide, the number of plastic bags used is a staggering 4 to 5 trillion every year, and growing. The tragedy is that most are discarded after a single use. A report in the British newspaper Daily Mail recently estimated that in Britain, the average bag was used for 20 minutes before being thrown. Apart from the waste of fossil fuel – approximately 480 to 600 million barrels of oil are used to produce those bags – a more serious problem derives from plastic’s durability. Experts estimate it takes from 200 to 1000 years to degrade. Which means that all the plastic bags ever manufactured are potentially still around. And therein lies the problem.
Improperly discarded plastic bags are just about everywhere – dumped by the road, adorning trees and telephone wires, floating down rivers. And they wreak havoc. Mumbai’s disastrous floods of 2005 and Bangladesh’s floods of 2002 were partially linked to discarded bags blocking drains. They provide a breeding ground for mosquitoes. They can be fatal to animal life. In India, we have grown inured to the sight of domestic animals chewing plastic bags, but several animals in the wild, including African lions, succumb to this menace.
Perhaps the most vulnerable are marine animals. Sea turtles mistake floating bags for jellyfish and end up swallowing them, as do several species of fish and whales. Researchers have recovered trash can liners, bread wrappers, chips bags, plastic sheeting, plastic cups, plastic thread and assorted trash from the stomachs of dead whales and fish around the world. Ingested plastic interferes with fat deposition, blocks gastric enzyme secretion, leads to reproductive failure, reduces food uptake, or blocks intestines, resulting inevitably in death. Seabirds and mammals also get entangled and trapped in plastic bags and then either drown or starve to death. Researchers estimate that at least 267 marine species are affected by plastic bag debris.
A safe solution to disposing bags has yet to be found. Incineration is suspected to release toxins into the air, while their sheer volumes simply choke landfills.
Recognising the environmental threat, several countries have adopted measures to curb plastic bag use. In 2002, Ireland introduced the popular PlasTax, a 15 cent tax on shopping bags, previously available free at most shops. The effect was dramatic – a 90% reduction in the use of plastic bags and a concomitant reduction in littering. South Africa introduced similar measures in 2003. Bangladesh, Rwanda and China have banned the bag. Italy and France propose to ban them by 2010. Britain joined the ban bandwagon last week when it announced legislation would be introduced by 2009 imposing a charge on shopping bags if retailers do not take action voluntarily. Meanwhile, communities in several towns around the world have successfully campaigned for bags being phased out.
Such eco-consciousness has caught on in Bangalore in very small ways. Lalbagh is to become plastic-free from 24 March, but meanwhile, most people seem content dumping their waste in empty plots. Almitra Patel, an expert on solid waste management whose PIL resulted in the Government formulating the Municipal Solid Waste (Management & Handling) Rules 2000, says “Plastic carrybags are too useful for bans to work. But charging for them will have a wonderful impact, as will dropoff bins where clean bags can be returned for reuse”.
Meanwhile, two enterprising Bangaloreans with a social conscience may have a solution. Says Ahmed Khan, who along with brother Rasool, founded KK Plastic Waste Management, “We felt a social obligation to end this menace.” The brothers have devised a patented process for plastic roads. Waste plastic is cleaned, shredded and added to the bitumen used to lay roads. The resulting roads are said to be smoother and more crack-resistant than ordinary roads. After getting their method evaluated and endorsed by the Central Road Research Institute, Delhi, and the Department of Civil Engineering, Bangalore University, the brothers have now tied up with the BBMP. They now collect and use 2-3 tons of the 35 tons of plastic waste that Bangalore generates everyday, paying Rs. 6 per kilogram of waste. According to Ahmed Khan, Bangalore has 1600 km of roads, of which 5-600 km are re-laid every year. The plastic-road method uses 2-2.5 tons of plastic for every kilometre of single-lane road, which means, says Khan, “ultimately, we can use all the plastic waste that Bangalore generates.”
Meanwhile, there are things we can all do to reduce plastic bag abuse. First and foremost, avoid using them in the first place. Cloth bags are trendy, sturdy, washable and environment-friendly. Carry them with you whenever you go shopping. If you must use a plastic bag, re-use it, for lining the dustbin, for example. Several stores use bags made of newspapers, often made by destitute women. Talk to your favourite store’s owners and see if you can convince them to make the switch. Ask for a dropoff bin where clean bags can be returned for reuse. Try and organise your community to segregate wastes – organic material can eventually be composted while the plastics can be reused in roads. Together, we can keep our environment and our city safe and beautiful.

Cave records of the monsoon

2008-07-29T06:03:00.000-07:00

At the laggardly rate I am going, it is going to take me forever and then some to eventually post all, or at least a decent number, of my articles here. Anyway, here’s a story that appeared in Deccan Herald earlier this year. I found the whole idea of using stalactites and stalagmites – those things we usually ooh and aah over in caves – to study monsoon history just fascinating. Read on…

The Indian monsoon is notoriously unpredictable, foiling most intelligent attempts at modeling it. Now, a stalagmite in a Chhattisgarh cave has provided researchers with a record of rainfall from 600 to 1500 AD which shows that the monsoon may be even more variable than we thought. The data showed severe monsoon failures of a magnitude not known during the 150 years that rainfall has been measured, deficits which tallied with historical accounts of famines and droughts.
India’s economy and the lives of millions in the subcontinent are closely tied to the vagaries of the monsoon. Recognizing the need to understand the phenomenon which sustained the region, the British began recording rainfall in 1813, when the first recording station was set up in Chennai. By 1871, 306 stations around the country recorded monthly rainfall, providing today’s meteorologists with ~150 years of instrumental records to study the monsoon and its variations. This instrumental record shows fairly strong variations from year to year and place to place. But though the record has been useful in helping us understand the phenomenon better, the summer monsoon still remains difficult to simulate and predict.
Enter the speleologists. Cave formations like stalactites and stalagmites (together called speleothems) that have us lay people marveling at their fantastical shapes, have been a boon to scientists studying past climate conditions. Speleothems are essentially calcium carbonate deposits and their formation depends on rainfall. In brief, rainfall, which contains some carbon dioxide dissolved in it, dissolves small amounts of limestone (essentially calcium carbonate) as it percolates through soil. When it enters a cave, the dissolved carbon dioxide is outgassed, leading the calcium carbonate to precipitate out. Over years, this leads to the formation of a speleothem. Because their rate of formation depends on the amount of water available, speleothems are petrified records of the climate of their period.
But the reason speleothems have become a focus of paleoclimate research is because they can be dated accurately. The water percolating into the cave contains trace amounts of radioactive uranium, which gradually decays into thorium. Since thorium itself is insoluble in water, any thorium in the speleothem can only have arisen from radioactive decay of uranium. Because we know their half lives (i.e., their rates of decay), we can use the uranium-thorium ratio in the speleothem to accurately date the structure back to several thousand years.
This is essentially how Dr Ashish Sinha of California State University, Dominguez Hills, Carson, USA and colleagues from the USA and India dated and measured rainfall using a speleothem in Dandak Cave in Kanger Valley National Park, Chhatisgarh. Co-author Prof R Ramesh, Physical Research Laboratory, Ahmedabad, who has been working on cave-related research since 1995, says they were directed to the Dandak cave by chance, which proved useful because the cave has not been used by modern man and is closed to tourists. The cave has two chambers with a small connecting passage between the two, which researchers had to crawl through to get to a 27-cm long stalagmite from the second cave, some 220 m away from the cave entrance.
Their paper, published recently in the journal Geophysical Research Letters, has some astounding, if disturbing, results. Analysis of the stalagmite revealed that substantially poor monsoons occurred during the 14th and 15th centuries with rainfall deficits in the range of 30%. Though shortfalls of this magnitude also occur in the modern instrumental record, the difference is that the failures lasted several decades. Strikingly, several famines or droughts in India for which we have historical reports correspond with a decreased rainfall record in the Dandak stalagmite. One of the earliest recorded famines in India occurred in 650 AD, at which period the Dandak stalagmite shows the monsoon had failed for about three decades. In the late 1330s and early 1340s, Ibn Batuta records how towns and districts were depopulated by famines and people were reduced to eating animal hides and human flesh – the Dandak record shows that the rains had failed since about the late 1320s. The infamous Durga Devi famine (1396 to 1407 AD) which devastated the country and led to vast tracts of land being left uncultivated for several years coincides with the most severe monsoon deficit in the 900-year record, spanning several decades.
The authors sound a note of caution based on their findings, pointing out that in a region where the population has grown exponentially since the 1500s, multi-decadal monsoon failure of the sort reflected in Dandak would have disastrous consequences, particularly since we have no preparedness for such events. Prof Ramesh, who is an IPCC member and authored a chapter on paleoclimate in the recent IPCC report, feels “an integrated societal response” is required to deal with severe monsoon deficits. He outlines some simple measures that may help sustain us through rainless periods. “Agriculture will be the first thing to be affected so we have to strengthen our storage of food grains,” he says, adding wryly that stories of rats eating stored grain will have to go. “Small changes in food habits could help; we could switch to crops that are less water demanding instead of depending on rice which is water intensive,” he says. Though Prof Ramesh adds the caveat that “there are always uncertainties regarding climate predictions,” common sense declares it would be wiser to be well prepared for the whims of our capricious monsoon.

Quotable quotes

2008-07-23T02:31:00.001-07:00

Two one-liners that I like:

India is not a superpower.It’s just super-poor.
- Arundhati Roy

We are not high-tech, we are high-talk.
- my hubby!

The Sultanpet cemetery

2008-07-17T09:12:00.000-07:00

A version of this piece appeared in Deccan Herald some months ago.

There is something appealing about cemeteries – it is as if the past adheres to them, unwilling to let go. On the road from Sultanpet to Nandi Hills, about 55 km from Bangalore, is a 200-year-old graveyard that is particularly alluring, perhaps because it feels like the place has not had a visitor in a 100 years. With no sign to suggest its existence, nor any defining compound wall, it is easy to miss, though it lies only a few feet off the road. The cemetery is tiny, with only 12 graves. The oldest marked grave dates back to 1805, the most recent, to 1904. Together, the graves evoke nostalgia, sadness and a sense of mystery, besides providing a glimpse of British life in the area 200 years ago.
The (British) Indian army had a presence here since 1791, when Cornwallis successfully ousted Tipu from the almost impregnable fort at Nundydroog, now known as Nandi Hills. They were stationed at Sultanpet and at Nandi Hills between 1799 and 1808. With Tipu’s defeat at Srirangapattana in 1799, the British set about the business of empire building in earnest. But life for ordinary soldiers and the intrepid wives who traveled to India with them was hardly a bed of roses. If the heat and mosquitoes didn’t get them, diarrhea, cholera and host of other tropical diseases probably would.
Is that what happened to Elizabeth, wife of William Prichard, who died in 1807 and lies buried in Sultanpet? The curt epitaph provided no details and I wondered if Elizabeth had been in India for long? Did she die of dropsy, hysterical mania or some other affliction peculiar to those times? I stumbled through the weeds to the oldest marked grave, that of Lt Col Ridgeway Mealy, who died at Nundydroog on 19 Sept 1805, aged 44. The newest grave, marked by a cross, was of William Henry Price, a driver in 25 Battery, Royal Field Artillery, who drowned in Wonaikal Tank in 1904, aged 28. The epitaphs of these soldiers were brief, yet poignant. Was it because the dead were all snatched early, in the prime of their lives? Nearby, lay Major John Edward Gabriel of the Wallajabad Light Infantry, who died in 1815, aged 35, and whose grave was “erected as a tribute of affection and respect by his disconsolate widow.” As I read the simple words of the brokenhearted widow written some 200 years ago, I could almost hear the ancient echoes of her sobs, and I felt a lump rise in my throat.
A family seemed to be buried here, with a group of one adult (parent?) and three children buried next to each other, their graves sharing walls. We will probably never know what took their lives since their memorial plaques have long been gouged out by vandals hungry for the granite or metal. Although all 12 graves in the cemetery are still intact, no trace of any ornamentation remains on any of them. All but five have lost their tablets or headstones and some are in a state of disrepair. The cemetery appears to have gone to seed, quite literally. Eucalypt saplings thrive around the graves and dot the spaces between them, and weeds grow wild everywhere. According to Barry Lewis, Professor of Anthropology, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, the UK High Commission in India abandoned the cemetery in 1963. Lewis, who is currently researching the history of medieval chieftains in the Mysore region, visited the cemetery in 2003, and in the hope of making contact with descendants of those buried here, put up a webpage on the cemetery at his site. But though thousands of genealogists and family researchers from the UK explore their links with the subcontinent, none have so far contacted him about the twelve graves here. The trail of the Sultanpet soldiers and their families appears to have gone cold.
As I left the cemetery that afternoon, it was with a sense of foreboding that the little cemetery would not exist much longer. The dead would fall prey to the thirst for land. Would the graves still be there the next time I passed by or would a small piece of our history have been built over?

The peepal tree

2008-07-15T05:26:00.000-07:00

On a road near where we used to live a year ago stood a large peepal tree. The school bus stopped here in the mornings to pick up my son Rajat. The Buddha attained enlightenment while meditating under a peepal tree. While we were certainly not similarly blessed, we did spend many pleasant mornings laughing and learning under our peepal’s leafy branches as we waited for the school bus.
Legend has it that Emperor Ashoka so revered the peepal under which Gautama gained enlightenment that he lavished necklaces of gems and pearls on it. Our peepal also sported adornments, albeit of a different sort, including signs for PG hostels, one for the JMJ beauty salon for men and women and a tyre advertising a “puncher shop”.
Rajat and I usually sat on a stone platform under the tree as we waited for his bus, often watching kites alight in the upper branches before swooping down on unsuspecting victims. The morning breeze sometimes set the leaves fluttering and occasionally sent some floating down, to be eagerly picked up by Rajat. We talked about different leaf shapes and how Ruskin Bond likens the peepal leaves to the perfect male physique: from the neck-like stalk, the leaf edges run out straight like broad shoulders to either side before curving around and tapering to a waist-like tip. We talked of drip tips – the pointed leaf tip – and how they helped leaves stay dry. When we read about seed dispersal in one of his books, Rajat was tremendously excited the next morning when he spotted some bird droppings under the tree with some seeds in them. Would they grow into more peepals?
One day, Rajat was suddenly alarmed: “Amma, look, the tree is dying. Its leaves are falling off on some of the branches.” Relief flooded his face a couple of days later when tender pink leaves began peeping out, leading to another round of questions starting with why the young leaves were red.
Summer came around, school closed and with it, the peepal was forgotten. And then all too soon, it was June. School re-opened and as we reached our bus-stop, we stopped dead in shock and disbelief. Work was progressing at a frenetic pace near our bus-stop. Bull dozers roared, road rollers screeched and men in hard hats supervised the tarring and widening of the service road. Of our regal, genial and generous peepal tree, there was not a trace – no stray leaves that had escaped the carnage, no roots, no wood, not even a stump. It had disappeared almost overnight.
I still remember the date: 5th June, World Environment Day.

Aretippur

2008-07-14T03:59:00.000-07:00

Here’s an article I wrote about a little village called Aretippur, near Kokkrebellur. We went there earlier this year. This piece appeared in Deccan Herald a couple of months ago. I thought I’d start with this because I really loved Aretippur. It is beautiful - haunting, sad - but beautiful.

A lone statue stands atop a little hill, aloof from the rest of the world, wearing an expression of such serenity, such calm detachment, it almost causes envy. Nearby, on another hillock, beheaded statues, legless idols and broken pillars lay scattered among the rocks and thorns on the banks of a little lake. These are the remains of one of the most important Jain pilgrimage centres of a millennium ago, a site unique in all of Karnataka for its carvings and sculptures, but one where, for want of care, history is rapidly being lost.
Karnataka has had a strong Jain tradition ever since Chandragupta famously came to Shravanabelagola with his preceptor 2300 years ago. For several centuries after this, Jainism enjoyed the patronage of the courts. Several royals built Jain temples or basadis, which were places of worship but also living quarters for monks.
Three kilometers from the world-famous Kokrebellur Bird Sanctuary, the village of Aretippur has the remains of several such basadis, dating back to the Gangas. The hamlet of about 150 houses does not figure in any modern map but finds mention in several inscriptions including some that are 1,500 years old. In the early 10th Century, during the reign of Nitimarga II, a certain Manaleyara built a basadi at Kanakagari hill in Tippeyuru as it was then known. The basadi flourished and was patronized by the Gangas and later, the Hoysalas and the Vijayanagar empire.

The collapse of Vijayanagar spelt the doom of Aretippur. Only merest traces of the once-thriving Jaina tirtha have survived the centuries of neglect. Perched precariously on a pile of rocks atop the partly-quarried Kanakagiri hill is a beautifully proportioned Parsvanath idol that looks out onto Aretippur. It is one of the few idols here that is almost intact. Not far from the blue board proclaiming the monument’s protected status, a beheaded statue of a tirthankara lies among thorny bushes. A legless torso of a tirthankara, the torso-less legs of a seated person, the head and torso of a chauri-bearer, all lie strewn about the hill. Interestingly, none of the figures are of females, which experts believe could indicate the site belonged to an early orthodox Jain tradition that avoided female representations. A long stone inscription from Hoysala King Vishnuvardhana’s times also stands on top of the hill. Remarkably unbroken, the Kannada inscription records the grant of the village to a Jaina teacher.

Despite the easy availability of stone and the Gangas’ mastery over stone-building techniques as evidenced elsewhere, Nitamarga II chose to continue with a brick building tradition here. According to the renowned scholar of Jainism, Dr Hampa Nagarajaiah, Aretippur once had four brick basadis. These were oriented north-south, with a spacious garba-griha, open pillared mantapas and brick walls that were neatly plastered with stucco finish. There may also have been some square-roomed monasteries. But while these details could be gleaned from the site even 20 years ago, today, the extensive constructions of yore have been reduced to broken bricks scattered over the hillside.
At the bottom of Kanakagiri hill is a little pond which historians believe served the ritual needs of the Jain monks. Thimmegowda, a resident of Aretippur, corroborated this when he told us that although there were no Jains in Aretippur anymore, swimming in the pond or otherwise defiling it was still prohibited as it was used only for puja purposes. On the western rocky face of this pond are fourteen bas-relief sculptures of tirthankaras, some seated, some standing, some left unfinished. Although we did not know of it when we visited Aretippur, I later learned that there are also some shallow caves cut into the rocks, some with carvings of Adinatha and other Jain deities. According to historians, these rock-cut carvings as also the statues on the hillside are in a style of Ganga art datable to the late eighth or early ninth century, suggesting than when Nitimarga II built a basadi here, he was adding to what was already a sacred site. Significantly, this specimen of Ganga period rock-cut architecture is the only one of its kind in Karnataka.

About half a kilometre from Aretippur is a bigger hillock which also houses a historical treasure. Neither path nor steps lead to the summit. A short climb of about 30 minutes ending in a scramble up a steep rock face took us to the top. And there stood a relief sculpture of Bahubali, about 10 feet high, with an aureole etched around his head, and an arresting expression of calmness on his face. With neither a roof over his head, nor walls on his sides, the solitary statue nevertheless imparted a sense of sanctity to the place. The sculpture beautifully depicted the countenance of one so immersed in contemplation, he did not notice the creepers twining up his legs. Where Shravanabelagola’s Bahubali is grand and imposing, Aretippur’s is humble and approachable, yet beautiful. According to Dr NS Rangaraju, Professor of Ancient History at Mysore University, there could be some truth to the common belief that this relief carving was a prototype for the statue at Shravanabelagola. “Although there is no inscriptional evidence to support this, the style appears to be of an earlier period than the matured style seen at Shravanabelagola,” he explains.
Although it felt like we were the first to set eyes on Bahubali, unpleasant inscriptional evidence proved otherwise. Devraj, Muniswamy, Sommanna and a few other blighted souls had recorded their names and dates of arrival for posterity on the rock, right in front of the divine image. Bahubali also receives occasional visits from worshippers as shown by the stray packets of milk and broken coconut shells they had thoughtfully left behind. Conspicuous by its absence was a board proclaiming the monument’s protected status, by either the ASI, or the State Archaeology Department – the statue appears to be entirely unprotected. The base of the hill is currently abuzz with quarrying activity. I wondered how long it would be before the entire hill was quarried away and recalled the impassioned plea of Dr Hampa Nagarajaiah, “All ancient sites belonging to all religions need to be preserved.” Amen.

First post

2008-07-14T03:14:00.000-07:00

After months of toying with the idea, I’ve finally taken the plunge. So here’s my brand new blog. I plan to use this space to put up articles that have been published, articles that have been rejected (plenty of those too, unfortunately!) and of course, other random thoughts and observations. So here goes...