The Bandstand in Cubbon Park

The bandstand in Cubbon Park is undergoing 'restoration', PWD style. Right now, the roof has been stripped off and only the iron pillars remain standing. It's a little upsetting, especially because INTACH spoke, nay begged, the Horticulture Department to restore the bandstand more than a year ago. They were very interested in it, and asked us to submit a proposal for its restoration, which we did. Some phone calls, some phone-tagging, some emails, some re-sending, more phone calls, and the next thing we know, it's been given to the PWD for restoration. Not that that is a bad thing necessarily, but the PWD's record in restoration does not exactly inspire confidence.

The bandstand is - was - a pretty interesting structure. There has been a bandstand in Cubbon Park since at least the 1870s, but not where it currently stands. In fact, the earlier bandstand was probably where the petrol bunk near Koshy's is today. It was demolished and a new one built at the current location sometime in the early 1900s. The one in Lalbagh was built in 1863. This is just two years after the world's first ever bandstand was built in Kensington in England. Like others built elsewhere in England's then colonies, Bangalore's two bandstands also probably use steel imported from Scotland's foundries.

Of course, the bandstands were built for bands to play music in, and indeed, the Cubbon Park bandstand has been the venue of hundreds of concerts. In the early days, it was military bands that played here. By the 1960s, people came here in their hundreds to listen to musicians and bands playing Kannada hit songs. But in the late 1970s, the crowds thinned and gradually, the music wound down. Some years ago, an NGO called Prakruthi managed to revive the musical tradition. For four years, the grounds around the bandstand once again echoed with music and laughter. But funds weren't forthcoming and the show couldn't go on. But they haven't given up hope. MS Prasad from Prakruthi told me, "We are waiting for the Bandstand's resurrection and will always strive to showcase talent and make it a heritage site." I hope his wish comes true.

You can read more about Cubbon Park's bandstand here.

A star fort

I had been to Puttur in Dakshina Kannada a few weeks ago. A lovely place, with farms, groves, forests and lovely traditional houses, all set amidst undulating hills. The drive down to Puttur took us via Sakleshpur and just about 10km from Sakleshpur was a little gem of a fort in a place called Manjarabad.
Here's what the fort looks like in Google Maps:

To my knowledge, this is one of the most complete star-shaped fort you can see in India today, and certainly the most accessible. Back in the 1600s, star-shaped forts were all the rage in Europe, especially France and Italy. In that period, the French were universally acknowledged as being authorities on military architecture. The General Commissioner for Fortifications (yes, there was such a post!) under Louis XIV, Sebastien Vauban, had written treatises on the subject and was considered the foremost expert on the subject. His designs were used by military engineers everywhere. Fort McHenry in Baltimore, in the US, built around 1799, is a great example. The British built star-shaped fort in a town called Ninety-six in South Carolina dates from the mid-1700s. There are plenty of other examples from Europe, too.

Photo credit: miuina / Foter.com / CC BY-NC-SA

In India, both Tipu Sultan and his father Hyder Ali before him had alliances with the French. Both had regiments of French soldiers in their armies and both used their services in the renovation and building of their forts. Most of the forts in their kingdom, such as the forts in Bangalore and Nandi hills, for example, were those that had been built earlier and which they renovated during their reign. Manjarabad was one of the few forts that was built from scratch in 1792. And it appears that when not constrained by a previously existing structure, Tipu and/or his French engineers decided to follow a European pattern much more closely.  Everything from the plan to the design of some of the elements within the fort, such as the turrets at the corner of each bastion, seems to betray a French influence. Compare the turrets or sentry-boxes at Manjarabad (left) with those in a Vauban-designed fort in France (above).


In India, Fort William in Calcutta, built in the 1700s, was also star-shaped. Here's a picture of it taken from Wikipedia. A lot of the original walls still stand, but as it is the headquarters of the Eastern Command of the Indian Army, most of us cannot get to it. There is also a star-shaped fort in Jhansi, again inaccessible to non-military folks, and another in Potagada in Orissa, which as far as I can tell, is mostly in ruins. In other words, Manjarabad's star-shaped fort is one of the best-preserved and perhaps the only example of 17-18th century French military architecture that you can see in India.

An unusual motif

Dambal is one of those places India abounds in, a generic village, so to speak: hot, dusty, with a row of tiny tea shops where men in turbans sit around a table drinking chai. It also happens to have a 1000-year-old temple, a 900-year-old temple, a beautiful kalyani, remains of temples and basadis, and a ruined fort. Like I said, a typical Indian village!

Most people who find their way to Dambal, about 15 km southeast of Lakkundi, come for the Doddabasappa temple - a magnificent temple, truly one-of-its-kind, built about 1124 AD. Constructed when the Chalukyas were reigning, some people think it is a precursor of sorts to the flamboyance of the Hoysalas who started building their dazzling temples in Belur and Halebid at about the same time, but completed them much later. Like the Hoysala temples, the Doddabasappa temple is also constructed with grey-green chloritic schist. This is a slightly softer stone than granite which  most other Chalukyan temples use. Historians wax eloquent about its unique stellate plan. And yet, when you see the temple, it looks circular, not star-shaped. That is because the architects dreamed up the temple plan by taking a  square and rotating it eight times to get a 32-pointed star, which at first glance, looks circular. Ingenious!

Like the Hoysala temples, this one too is decorated on its outer walls, but not quite as profusely. And whereas the Belur & Halebid temples abound in images of sinuous gods and goddesses, here the recurring motifs are architectural elements from the temples in miniature! One very common motif is a single pillar topped with a little gopura-like structure. Very cute, methinks!

There is another temple across the street, also a Chalukyan-period construction. It is quite plain, especially when compared to the Doddabasappa temple, but still worth a look. There is also quite a pretty kalyani (stepped well) not far from the two temples. When we went, it was still being renovated. We walked through some fields to get to it and came upon it quite suddenly, without much warning. Stones were falling off its sides and the water was green with algae, but the setting sun turned the stone a beautiful golden brown. I loved the isolation and the pastoral setting.

But what about the fort and the remains of numerous basadis that Dambal is supposed to have had? I shall just have to go back and look for them. 

The RBANM behind the RBANM schools and colleges

I had the honour of meeting Mr TV Annaswamy some days ago. Anyone who is interested in the history of Bangalore would probably be familiar with that name - he is the author of Bengaluru to Bangalore: Urban History of Bangalore from the pre-historic period to the end of the 18th century, a comprehensive compendium of information on Bangalore f
rom numerous, varied sources. I went to meet him not because of his role as an author but because Mr Annaswamy is the grand-nephew of Rao Bahadur Arcot Narrainsawmy Mudaliar, i.e., RBANM.

I had long wanted to know more about this man RBANM who had lent his name to so many institutions and grounds in Ulsoor. So I started from his death. I knew from Wikipedia and here that he was buried somewhere on Veerapillai Street so one morning, a friend and I set off to look for his grave.

Addresses have changed. So have people. Most people we knew had no idea who we were talking about. We were variously directed to the RBANMS grounds and an old hamam (which I have to check out sometime). Even the people at the post office had no idea where the grave might be. Finally, it was a sardarji in a tyre shop who knew exactly what we were looking for and directed us to the spot (unfortunately, I forgot to ask him his name, nor do I remember the name of the shop).

The samadhi was inside a neat little compound in a corner of a huge cricket field, opposite what appeared to be a pay-and-use bathroom and what I presume was a warehouse. It was locked and neither the puzzled person at the warehouse nor the drunk watchman at the gate to the warehouse-bathroom area (and the samadhi) knew when it would be open. From the outside, I could tell that a shrine has been built around the grave, but since I have not yet gone back to check inside, I cannot tell you what it looks like inside the shrine.

I was disappointed with the samadhi, but not entirely surprised. Not one of the people we talked to in the area knew about it or seemed to care. It was lost inside and belittled by its inappropriate surroundings. Right outside its gates, all I could see were huge construction debris and paraphernalia like huge tin sheets. But at least there was a board and the samadhi itself seemed very neatly maintained.

But the samadhi had piqued my curiosity and I wanted to know more about RBANM. Enter Mr Annaswamy. Well, actually, I entered his office and immediately noticed all the yummy antique furniture. "Everything here is antique...including me," quipped Mr Annaswamy. He was a charming, helpful and soft-spoken person, and only too happy to talk to me about his ancestor. Being passionate about history in general, he has taken it upon himself to compile as much of his family's history that he can. "My family thinks I am a little mad," he said, smiling at his obsession.

Mr Annaswamy had retired as the Joint Director of Town Planning in

the GoK and had written a book that was highly regarded, but here he

was generously giving of his time to a paltry freelance writer. He talked to me about his collage, helped me with photographs and entertained all my questions. I couldn't help but admire his humility and grace. I learnt about how RBANM could hobnob with Bowring and Sankey but never forgot his nationalist spirit, how he never forgot the help that the Maharaja gave him, how he argued for entry to temples for everyone fo all castes, how he had believed that wealth was something that was meant to be shared.

At the end of the interview, I came back impressed by one man, inspired by the other.

A slice of Paradise

I can't remember the last time I enjoyed a hike as much. We were at Bhagamandala, in Coorg, where the river Cauvery is joined by the Kanika to create a sacred confluence. We had just been to the beautiful Bhagandeshwara temple and were now off to Talacauvery to see the source of south India's most sacred river. But rather than drive up, we decided to walk up. I had done this 6km walk before, but that was several years ago, when I had come with a group of friends from the mountaineering club SPARK. I had very fond memories of that short trek. Would things have changed now? 


Incredibly, it is as if the years in between never were. As before, we didn't meet a soul along the way. The moss- and fern-covered old stone steps were just as I had remembered and it was still a delight to walk along the tree-lined path that wound its way through orange plantations. And there near the top of the hill was top was the small stone Nandi, looking into the distance where the Talacauvery temple was. From that vantage point, we could see the Talacauvery gate and temple in the distance, partly shrouded in mist. We could also hear cars whizzing past us on the road below. I couldn't help but feel they were missing out on a small slice of paradise. 

Heritage Interpretation

At Hirebenakal

Over the last year, I have been working on a clutch of heritage interpretation projects for the Archaeological Survey of India (ASI). Some of these were at some megalithic sites in north Karnataka, some at sites that have Ashokan inscriptions, and a recent set that I just finished was in Bhatkal and Mirjan in North Kanara. Here are pictures of some of the signs. Concept, research and writing by yours truly. Illustration and design by two gifted young women, Sneha Prasad and Nikita Jain.

At Hirebenakal

At the Ashokan edict site at Gavimath. That's a portrait of Ashoka there!

At Bhatkal 

Why your grandma loves you

A good deal of my interest in science (in topics other than ecology, I mean) dates back to the time I was working on my doctoral dissertation. When staring at graph after graph became too much, or when I had just managed to hammer out another paragraph full of et al-s, howevers and therefores and really needed a break, my chosen method of chilling out was to browse science journals! I read up all the latest research on pesticide residues, acrylamide in foods, chimp behaviour, cooking oils, vitamin D, and sundry other topics in science. 
That was when I first read about, and was immediately intrigued by, the Grandmother Hypothesis. Since those early days, there has been a lot more written on that subject, including some pretty nice refinements that are stunning simple but exciting in how much they explain. The hypothesis - which includes explanations for why women undergo menopause and why grandmas dote on their grandchildren - had been on my mind a lot lately. When I found myself explaining it to a friend the other day, I decided it was high time I got it out of my system. This week's S and T section in Spectrum carries an article on the hypothesis:

What do women, whales and elephants have in common? Answer: The irreversible cessation of fertility that occurs well in advance of the end of the average adult life span.Or in plain English: menopause. In all the animal kingdom, only some kinds of whales, Asian elephants and women go through menopause. Naturally, scientists have long pondered over why this might be. And funnily enough, your grandmother might have a lot to do with this mystery.

You can read the rest of the article here.

The original Lalbagh

It all started almost two years ago, when the National Gallery of Modern Art, Bengaluru asked INTACH to organise some walks in Bangalore to coincide with an exhibition they were having on artists of the 1700s and 1800s. One of the walks we did then was at Lalbagh Botanical Garden.

I've always loved going to Lalbagh (except perhaps on some weekends when you can barely see the trees for the people). Researching the history of the garden for the Parichay was fun - re-reading Tipu's letters where he asks for seeds from elsewhere, reliving Cleghorn's excitement over the Sultan's garden that was to become a botanical garden...

But we had chosen Lalbagh for the NGMA walk because in the eighteenth century, a lot of Englishmen who came to Bangalore - soldiers, draughtsmen, artists - seem to have been fascinated by the place. In the late 1700s, Europe was in the grip of the Picturesque movement, so when artistically-inclined chaps came and saw here a readymade picturesque garden, complete with mandatory ruin, it was but natural that they tried to capture its picturesqueness in their sketches. Robert Home, James Hunter, Robert Colebrooke and Claude Martin all sketched views of Lalbagh.

Spurred on by MBK, I tried to take a closer look at the paintings and at maps that we had for the same period...and was a little startled. Why, it looked like today's Lalbagh was not where the Lalbagh of the 1790s was. A couple of emails to colleagues and friends who are considerably wiser than I, some meetings, a few discussions, and several months later, we had put together a note which was later published in Current Science. Take a look. And the next time you go to Lalbagh, think about how different it once looked.

Sankey and a letter

I have always wanted to write about Richard Hieram Sankey - he of Sankey Tank fame - someone who seemed to me to be an epitome of industry. In a few short years, he built so many of our most beautiful buildings, including the lovely St. Andrews Church and the stately Mayo Hall. And of course, he was responsible for Cubbon Park. Who in Bangalore has not communed with Nature when wandering the winding paths that lead through its bamboo thickets, or listening to the trill of a magpie robin on one of its many trees. What impressed me about him was that he was not just a regular PWD engineer whose job it was to build edifices. That he did, but he was also clearly so passionate about a great many
other things. Look at his paintings and it is immediately obvious that he was a keen observer of Nature. In fact, he was one of the first to raise his voice against indiscriminate tree clearing in Coorg. While involved in work on building roads and bridges there, the ever-observant Sankey realised that tree felling led to flooding. He also collected fossils and shells. Sankey's first wife, Sophie Mary, was the daughter of the noted malachologist William Benson. Was Sankey interested in shells even before he met Sophie, I wonder...

Nothing quite compares to the high that appreciation brings. A day after my article on Sankey appeared in Deccan Herald, the main paper carried a letter from a reader who liked the article. I confess I couldn't stop smiling all day!

Bhatkal's alluring charm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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...

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

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