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...