In the Land of Apsaras

Cambodia for me is a country of light and darkness- both metaphorically and literally. Years back when I first read about the temples of Angkor in history books, I assumed that the history of these sites is fully known and documented. Well, it is not. There are gaps in our understanding of why these marvelous places were built and abandoned. In my imagination, the scale of these temple was also far smaller than I actually found them. World’s largest religious sites of Angkorwat temples is spectacular in its scale, design and motifs. It was enlightenment at its peak- before nature engulfed it in its roots- literally.

Earlier this month, standing in the Phnom Penh Genocide museum, I felt a chill down my spine. The audio guide in my ears was narrating one horror after the other inflicted by Khmer Rouge, and my mind was struggling to accept that the people whose ancestors in 12^th century achieved such unconceivable engineering feat at Angkorwat , can go so foolish in their attempt to turn the clock back, to carry out such inhuman atrocities on their fellow men and women. And then for two decades there was darkness. And now again, the country is raising a toast to its heritage as well as its future. A zigzag of light and darkness- very much like the Indian myths.

It is always interesting to find your childhood motifs and characters in far off lands. I was mesmerized by Bali few years back to see the sameness of culture. Now in Siem Reap, it was again the statues of Ganesh, Varun, Vishnu and Buddha that reminded me of India’s centuries old international relations. But historically, the influence came to these part not directly from India, but via Sri Lanka. But there is so many Indian tales around Angkorwat that one cannot mistake the cultural continuation. Now that the west-propagated theory of “discovery” of these temples by a lone European in the dense jungles, has been junked, one would like to believe that these monuments continued to be revered by local Khmer people always.

It is believed that the spatial dimensions of Angkor Wat Temple parallel the lengths of the four ages (Yuga) of Hindu thought. Thus the visitor to Angkor Wat who walks the causeway to the main entrance, is metaphorically travelling back to the first age of the creation of the universe. The central tower is Mount Meru, with its surrounding smaller peaks, bounded in turn by continents (the lower courtyards) and the oceans (the moat- Big Barray). The seven-headed naga (mythical serpent) becomes a symbolic rainbow bridge for humankind to reach the abode of the gods. To top it on 4 sides of the city there are bridges adorned with the statues of Devas (Gods) and Asuras (Demons) in the famous “Amrita Manthan” – Churning of sea to get the pot of nectar.

But what many people never realize till they reach Angkor is that Angkor Wat is just one of the many temples in the Angkor. Each temple is unique in its own way. I still dream of the unbelievable roots strangling the ruins of Ta Prohm and the 216 smiling, serene faces were carved onto gigantic towers at Bayon Buddhist temple. I fell in love with the smaller but uniquely built temple of Neak Pean , the entwined serpent . The entry to this temple was through A fascinating fact about all these temples is that unlike in India, existence of Buddhist statues with statues of Vishnu marks no contradiction or inconsistency in their beliefs. After all, Buddha was among the ten avataras of Vishnu.

Yes, all this was very impressive and spectacular. But even beyond temples, Siem Reap was a delightful place. Though we never managed to see the famed sunrise, the beautiful waterlilies and lotus in every pond on both sides of the road was a sight to behold. Equally charming was the Apsara (nymph) motif which was present everywhere. 

The roots of strangler fig tree were so dramatic and were adding to the romance of the place. Not to miss the unique TukTuk as our mode of transport was superb. Luckily for us, mostly during our stay it was a light drizzle or overcast. While it may have affected the dramatic pictures adversely, it was great help to me in climbing those innumerable stairs of temples and other complexes.

What the Nose knows..........

Last week I landed up in Kolkata for some medical emergency in the family. If you visit a city like Kolkata, there are some smells you just can’t avoid. Smell of a drain full of rotten garbage, smell of fish cooking in mustard oil, smell of old houses and many more smells of the old city. It was on my way back to the airport,  three days later that I started thinking about the defining smells of places I have been to . I am no olfactory expert nor do I have any particular interest in odours and scents  but unconsciously each one of us catches some smells and link  it to places, people and memories. To cite another example of my theory on smell of a city  – when I first visited Mumbai I stayed in a place at Navynagar, which is close to a dry fish factory. The smell in the air got so etched in my memory that even now I associate Mumbai sea with that smell. Believe it or not, all of us have our personal list of good and bad smells . Smell of freshly baked cake when you enter a bakery, smell of expensive perfumes in luxury hotels, smell of food in your favourite eatery and most important smell of your home are just some of the familiar ones. Then there are some peculiar smells  viz smell of  typical government offices( a curious mix of old papers, sweat and stinky toilets), smell of railway platform/trains, smell of old monuments  and smell of hospitals.

Some years back, quite accidentally, I happen to watch a movie called  ‘Perfume’. Later I read the German book titled ‘Perfume: The Story of a Murderer’ (originally published in German as Das Parfum) by Patrick Süskindon which the movie was based. The novel explores the sense of smell and its relationship with the emotional meaning that scents may carry. Set in 18th century France, the book tells the story of Jean-Baptiste Grenouille (Whishaw), a perfume apprentice in 18th-century France who, born with no body scent himself, begins to stalk and murder virgins in search of the "perfect scent". Interestingly the book talks about scent of a person, smell of a place and even scent of humanity (from which at some stage in the book Grenouille wants to run away). I was very moved by the book. The main plot apart, the concept of smells as an essential characteristic of a person fascinated me. I am still not sure that there can be a “perfect smell” so powerful that it can control everything and everyone ......but I do believe that smell of a place has a long-lasting memory.

                The latest research also confirms that smell have a remarkable persistence in our memories. Although people are more likely to recall exposure to a visual image than an odour when re-exposed after a short period of time, once in our memories, odours are effectively in there to stay, and are more likely than visual images to be recalled after a year. Indeed it is this factor, which is contributing towards an interest in the role that smell has to play with illnesses such as dementia and Alzheimer’s in aiding access to long-stored memories. The funny part is that our mind is not objective when it links places and smells. Usually it associates emotions and circumstances with it

So however fresh smelling be a modern hospital, my mind will still associate it with disease, pain and fear of losing a loved one. Your mother’s kitchen may smell of damp walls and pungent spices, it is likely that you’d read (rather sniff ) it as memories of favourite comfort food of your childhood. To my mind freshly cut grass smell from a lawn is inevitably linked with parks and gardens, summer, picnics and childhood and I still can’t resist sniffing a new book for the lovely smell of paper and ink . In fact , Books/ papers have very distinctive smells and are strongly influenced by age. Newer books smell of fresh print and paper while older books provide a rich, vanilla and tobacco like odour that can be associated with old wooden libraries, leather chairs and well...warmth. 

It is believed that some smells are so familiar that one can dream of them.

It is not only places and things ,  smells can even remind you of specific people.  It may sound silly but whenever I think of my father, it is the fresh smell of detergent from his clothes that comes to my mind. Yet another smell I associate with him is the smell of havan – a mix of burning of wood, camphor and Havan samagri .  

Coming back to the issue of smells of the city, when I think of Shimla, I think of sweet smell of  pinewood floors and pristine hill air  and when I dream of Lucknow, I remember smells originating from my parents’ house. The scented shrubs and creepers of Juhi , bela, Malti and chameli gave the house a heady and yet heavenly fragrance of its own. Rome for me had a peculiar smell of Churches – difficult to define and describe, but it is something I could feel both times I happen to be in that eternal city.  Talk of Varanasi, our very own eternal city,  reminds me of  typical smell at the River ghats.

 

It is again difficult to describe the smell of Delhi, but for me it is predominately the smell of power. Mumbai unfortunately till now reminds me of the dead fish smell  and I sincerely hope that in days to come,  I will find some other, better smell to remember this city with .

I read a couple of weeks back in an article that in cities like London and New York, we have advocates against deodorisation of the urban smells. For a resident of a third world country, I find the idea appalling. I can’t imagine such a thing happening in our cities smelling of garbage and rot. I would in fact welcome some bit of “deodorisation” of places around me. Usually it is a pungent smell of spices and waste that dominates the air of our crowded cities and some amount of artificial deodorisation  e..g. in malls and restaurants , airports and showrooms , in fact has a smoothing effect.  

Well let me end by stating that I am not the first or the last person to link things, emotions and places with smells. Lyricists and writers have been doing it all the time . Remember the immortal lyrics of Gulzar : “ हमने देखी है उन आँखों की महकती ख़ुश्बू ” or Hasrat Jaipuri writing for Amrapalli  “ जब फूल कोई मुस्काता है प्रीतम की सुगंध आ जाती है” . I also remember reading in some novel recently that the “city smelled like sin” and that " he could smell war from his body for rest of his life" . Decide for yourself is it your nose or the mind that makes these associations and give a unique fragrance to your memories- good , bad or ugly.

Habemus Papam!

 In the age of twitter and  instant online polls , it sounds unreal that a crowd of thousands stand awe struck, braving the rain and the cold  , waiting patiently , looking at the rather ordinary chimney on an old  building to announce result of a vote by a group of about a 100 plus senior citizens  . But then that ordinary looking chimney is perhaps the most famous chimney of the world. Atop the Sistine chapel , this chimney is what will announce to the world that a new successor of Saint Peter and the Bishop of Rome , the pope , has  been elected . This morning , there were hundreds of TV cameras zooming to this chimney and people were gathered at 6 am to watch the history being made . It’s not only media , the clergy or the people of Rome who are glued to this Papal conclave with great excitement . One finds many  ordinary people from all over the world gathered to witness this big ticket entertainment  here in Rome .

But then , there is a limit to the patience of the world which enthusiastically awaits the  formal traditional  announcement of Habemus Papam (We have a Pope). History tells us that when the conclave took too long to decide, it took bit more than divine intervention to hurry them up. In 1268, a papal conclave began that lasted nearly three years — 33 months to be precise . Pope Gregory X was elected pope, but not before residents of Viterbo, north of Rome, tore the roof off the building where the cardinals were staying and restricted their meals to bread and water to make them conclude . Hoping to avoid a repeat, Gregory decreed in 1274 that cardinals would only get one meal a day if the conclave stretched beyond three days, and served bread, water and wine if it went beyond eight. While the meals served these days at the Vatican's hotel are by no means gourmet, the cardinals won't go hungry — no matter how long they take picking a pope. Statistics however suggests that it will be around 3 days  before we see the white smoke from the chimney .

Ever since the last Pope Benedict XVI announced his resignation, the media started flocking the city of Rome and since yesterday , it’s like a football match about to begin. Everything related to Vatican stir up a lot of interest from world media. The pope’s red Prada shoes or the secrets of Vatican archives , problems of the Vatican banks and of course the views of the Vatican on every subject possible  . Dozens of movies , novels and documentaries have explored all kinds of happenings and conspiracy theories related to the Vatican . The Vatican and the church do not seem to mind the talk . I have a feeling that they even relish the bad publicity and the angry debates about their way of functioning. But then that is also perhaps a Papal tradition. The long line of popes over the centuries has perhaps the most number of juicy stories and scandals.  Even the official tour guides of Vatican will not fumble while mentioning the atrocities of some medieval popes or the flamboyant and ostentatious  life styles of some others. They will gleefully point out the portraits of  Pope’s mistresses and illegitimate children decorating their historical buildings. There are no secrets about burning people at stake for their views or the washing of worldly sins in lieu of gold by some of the earthly representatives of God many centuries back . It is , however, very curious  that though there is so much information about the ways of Vatican in public domain , the Vatican  still remains a mystery .  In fact even in Rome, not many know about the happenings behind those medieval walls of the world’s smallest sovereign nation.  I find it fascinating how easily they accepted that perhaps mystery is also their connect to the generation who reads Dan Brown and JK Rowlings .  There is no violent protest, no fatwa for  boycott  and of course they started a new guided tour after the Dan Brown book (Angels and Demons) . That is very very papal way of handling the bad publicity .

But ancient or modern, political or religious - elections are finally elections ! No wonder that the city is buzzing with the names of runners and the riders. The regions, languages spoken and even the colour of skin may play a role. There will be canvassing and discussions, prayers and meetings all around. The qualities that get a person elected are not always the best virtues in him but the vices of the others. In all probability with the 2/3^rd vote needed it will be compromise candidate.  In fact I read in a blog that it will actually have all the ingredients of the popular reality TV show Big brother. A bunch of oddballs locked in a big room incommunicado with the world and the rest of us watching obsessively.   So the best man may not always win the race  but at the end of the day,  it will be as they say ,  the Winner takes it all !

            St. Peters Square is a great place to hang around anytime of the day, even on a normal day .  It’s a place of a fantastic mix of art and faith, legends and history .  Who lives inside the apostolic palace, does not matter much to an ordinary person like me.  Neither does it interest me much what are the views of this old man or his advisors. And yet, call it by any name – obsession, excitement or mere lack of work …..it is very interesting to be around the majestic Basilica of St Peters these days and watching the papal conclave creating yet another smoky chapter of Church history .

Walking in the Water Painting

“ Mum, It’s like walking in a huge life size water painting”, I overheard the teenager speaking over phone. For a moment I just wowed the thought. It was like giving words to my own feelings  . Yes , that is exactly what Rome is .  A huge painting where you are the child in the window on the left hand corner looking out at perhaps nowhere . You do not count for the overall beauty of the painting but just the thought that you are also there in it- is exciting .

This time , it is even more fun. May be the excitement of discovery is not there as it was the first time but then there is this soothing familiarity with the place which makes it even more special . Every morning I marvel at the colour of the river water, the magic flowing at the piazzas and the amazing energy in the messy city scene. It’s like a child watching ripples in the  water for the first time . Interestingly, it is also like a householder looking at his old house with fondness and affection. I try counting the shades of life and fail everyday .

 The other day walking back from Vatican , I thought about the art and the faith . How one inspires  the other and how they complement and contradict each other simultaneously . It was like finding  an ancient church celebrating the Galileo and his views about Sun and earth . It’s also like finding a statue of a Dominican monk burned at stake for his theory of mathematics.  The best part perhaps is away from the flickering digicams and the souvenir shops. It’s the beauty hidden in the small lanes and cobbled pathways . You turn a corner and may be you find the most amazing church , you peep through a keyhole and may be it gives you the most perfect view of St Peters .

 So I hunt for such turns and keyholes, sideways and the tiny little door on the other side . They keep on appearing and finding me. So ,the mysterical water painting keep on changing its colours and like an amazed child I watch in awe and admiration .

Its such a unique blend of modern and ancient that you cannot admire one without mentioning the other. Sometimes it looks ironical, even funny.  Imagine the modern real time media , chasing the ancient tradition of choosing the successor of St Peters- the pope . It is a place where modern SUVs zoom through the ancient roads and where the  flamboyant politicians and their girlfriends share headlines with the 85 year old pope resigning from his post. But then one realizes that this is exactly the texture of this fascinating city .  You keep digging in and you keep finding treasures – layer after layer. 

What if the Mayans were right?

Have you heard about the World ending on December 21, 2012 as per the Mayan Prophecy? Chances are that you have. For the last few months and specially after the movie 2012, there have been a lot of discussions on the 2012 phenomenon which the Mayan calendar (or its modern interpretation ) holds.

The 2012 phenomenon comprises a range of viewpoints according to which disastrous or transformative events will occur on December 21, 2012. To some, this date is regarded as the end-date of a 5,125-year-long cycle in the Meso-american Long Count calendar. Various astronomical alignments and numerological formulae related to this date have been proposed. Another interpretation of this transition is that this date marks the start of time in which Earth and its inhabitants may undergo a positive physical or spiritual transformation, and that 2012 may mark the beginning of a new era. Others suggest that the 2012 date marks the end of the world or a similar catastrophe. Scenarios suggested for the end of the world include the arrival of the next solar maximum, or Earth's collision with a passing asteroid or a planet called "Nibiru". It will definitely remain a subject of curiosity and debate what Mayans meant by the “end” of the calendar. Whatever little I know of that civilisation, it seems unlikely that such optimistic and scientific civilisation was actually thinking of an end as –THE END. But one would not know till the date arrives (and hopefully passes on).

But reading about this, and generally joking on this phenomenon, made me think. We all have heard the famous saying -

“Dance as if no one were watching, Sing as if no one were listening, and live every day as if it were your last”

But few of us are able to live lives like that.

There have been many imaginary takes on the last part of the saying “ ....live every day as if it were your last.” I know at least half a dozen movies, plays and books where one central character (mistakenly) gets the impression that he is going to die in a day/ month / few months and that has a comical and dramatic change in the way he lives. People also attempt to list out things they would like to do before they die....but what would you do if you know the end is fixed and you know about it. Just as an experiment, let us imagine that your life is going to end tomorrow night. You have 24 hours to live. How would you live? Would you wait for the hour to approach with fear and panic or you would be calm and cool about it. May be you’d like to have your last party with friends. May be you’d like to spend all the money lying in your bank account? Depending on your personality type- this can be a funny, curious or sickening thought.

I for sure know I would not care about the “important” and “urgent” things on my work table. I would also ignore the decorum and conduct becoming of an officer. I would rather go out and enjoy the pale sunshine of winter. Observe people passing by. Eat what I love to eat (read fattening and more fattening dishes) and go and meet the people for whom I care (but usually forget to call/meet). Come to think of it, I may also give a piece of my mind to few and give unsolicited advice to few others. Write mails to all my crushes and write a will for my huge collection of comic books. Laze around at home and may be sitting pretty updating my Facebook status (through my newly acquired android phone), when the time comes.

Then I extended the experiment and started imagining how others would react to such a situation. Hubby dear (being rational and proud of it!) would definitely discard such nonsensical prophecy, but somehow, if brought to believe, would rush to make his essential phone calls (LOL!). Mom may even worry about the remaining food in the fridge and a particular colleague would pay last visits to the big bosses in HQ. A friend in media will give 6 new ideas how to cover the event of the Doomsday and my walking partner would be depressed to know that after so much efforts to lose the Kilos she won’t live to fit in that new dress. My dear brother-in law will jump to catch his last nap and another girl I know would be “really sorry” that the world is ending and she can’t stop it. The list can go on. The experiment cheered me up endlessly on this winter morning.

But on a serious note, I know at the end of the day my thoughts would be somewhat echoing the sentiments expressed in John Denver’s famous song “Poems, Prayers and Promises”.

“And I have to say it now, It’s been a good life all in all

It's really fine to have a chance to hang around

And lie there by the fire and watch the evening tire

..........And talk of poems and prayers and promises

And things that we believe in .

How sweet it is to love someone, how right it is to care!

How long it's been since yesterday, and what about tomorrow?

And what about our dreams and all the memories we share

The days they pass so quickly now...Nights are seldom long

And time around me whispers when it's cold

The changes somehow frighten me still I have to smile

It turns me on to think of growing old, for though my life's been good to me

There's still so much to do"

(listen to the full song here .)

NB: Whether or not the Mayans calculated it right – we definitely have another New Year to welcome tomorrow. Wish all of you the very best of 2012 ....with or without the doomsday. 

Was it just a dream ?

“So long ago

Was it in a dream, was it just a dream?

I know, yes I know

Seemed so very real, it seemed so real to me
Took a walk down the street
Thru the heat whispered trees

I thought I could hear (hear, hear, hear)

Somebody call out my name as it started to rain”

- John Lennon (Dream)

Have you ever wondered about dreams? Those intricate stories our minds spin while we sleep, and the vivid visions of the future that keep us wide awake, hearts racing with adrenaline. Dreams are also the quiet hopes that sustain us when reality lets us down. To me, dreams are magnificent journeys—free to take, yet priceless in how they inspire us, fuel our growth, and push us to reach higher. In our dreams—especially the ones we see with open eyes—we are strong, powerful, beautiful, creative, and forever young. We become everything we long to be, sometimes down to the tiniest detail. Dreams can make us feel like superheroes, a captivating vamp, or a love-struck teenager with an impossible crush. But they can also leave us trembling like a frightened child, hollow like a ruin, or aching like the sick. It’s a pity that daydreaming is often dismissed or ridiculed—because to me, it is a vital, creative phase of any meaningful pursuit.To me it sounds like a very important and creative phase for any important achievement in life

I am an addicted, incorrigible dreamer. I dream with my eyes open—and, of course, closed. I dream of places, people, and moments so vividly and so often that sometimes I struggle to believe they aren’t real. The memories of these dreams are etched so clearly in my mind that I wonder if, in old age, I might begin to confuse them with reality.

I dream myself alive. I dream of breathtaking places and impossible experiences I know I’ll never have. Sometimes, I’m an eagle perched on a tree branch, surveying a vast valley. Other times, I’m plunging from mountaintops, savoring the thrill of the fall. And yes, I dream strangely too—of death and destruction, of being trapped in eerie, inescapable spaces. These moments feel so real that I imagine the actual experience couldn’t be much different. I once considered recording my dreams, but they always lost their magic when I tried to write them down. My words couldn’t capture their wild energy, their vividness.

Dreams fascinate me. I don’t always know what sparks them, but I have the ability to close my eyes and string together entire stories—so detailed I can almost feel, smell, and taste them. Sometimes, when one of these dreams materializes in real life, I’m left stunned, as though I had summoned it into being.

Surely, I’m not alone. There must always have been others like me—people who take dreaming seriously. There are mornings when I wake up laughing from some bizarre vision, and nights when I jolt awake, breathless, desperate to escape a nightmare. No wonder every ancient culture has its own lore about dreams. Some even had seers to interpret them. Certain dreams—like Queen Mahamaya’s vision before the birth of Siddhartha, or Abraham Lincoln’s premonition of his assassination—were believed to hold deep significance.

Poets, writers, mathematicians, and scientists have long claimed that dreams gifted them inspiration. I once read that Srinivasa Ramanujan saw mathematical formulas in his dreams, delivered by the goddess Namagiri, and verified them upon waking. Paul McCartney heard the melody of “Yesterday” in his sleep. Mary Shelley conceived Frankenstein in a dream. Throughout history, kings, statesmen, and artists have looked to their dreams for guidance—and I completely believe them. I’ve felt that kind of clarity myself. After all, many of our myths and legends begin with a dream. So do countless songs, books, and films.

It is generally believed that the mind, in its mysterious ways, plays with our dominant thoughts, fears, and desires—stitching them together into a tapestry of scenes, sounds, and emotions we call dreams. They are often seen as a psychological sorting process, a quiet theatre where the subconscious enacts the dramas of our waking concerns. But then, how do we explain those dreams that seem to emerge from nowhere? The ones that take us to places we’ve never seen, show us faces we’ve never met, or unfold in languages and landscapes we didn’t even know existed?

It’s in this space—between the known and the unexplainable—that dreams begin to feel like something more. Perhaps this very mystery is what gave rise to the idea that dreams are moments when the divine tries to whisper to us. That in the silence of sleep, angels—or call them messengers, guides, ancestors—attempt to converse with our deeper selves. In a way, dreaming feels like opening a secret doorway to a world that is both ours and beyond us. A place where the rational gives way to the symbolic, where meanings arrive not in words, but in sensations, visions, and inexplicable truths.

Perhaps the ancient sages were right when they said that both the waking world and the dream world are illusions—fleeting projections on the screen of consciousness. Just as a dream can feel completely real until the moment we wake, so too can life feel absolute until we pause and question its fabric. In both states, we experience joy, fear, love, and longing with equal intensity. The dream dissolves when we open our eyes. But what if waking is simply the next dream—just longer, louder, and bound by more rules?

In Advaita Vedanta, it is taught that the dreamer, the dream, and the act of dreaming are all expressions of the same Self—the undivided awareness behind all experience. And perhaps that is where the true magic of dreams lies. They remind us that we are more than our routines, roles, and rationalities. They allow us to touch the edges of mystery, to converse with parts of ourselves we never meet in daylight, and to remember that there’s more to existence than what meets the eye.

So, if you’re someone who dreams a little too much, don’t be in a hurry to dismiss it. Maybe your dreams are not distractions from reality, but gentle nudges toward a deeper truth. Maybe, just maybe, in dreaming, we come closest to remembering who we really are.

In the Land of Extremes

The very first day, my two companions declared that they see no beauty in the barren mud mountains. I told them to be patient. By the end of the seventh day , I had one definitive and one hesitant convert. Being there once, I know it takes time for our sensibilities to appreciate beauty in “nothing”. Yes, at that height- it is nothing that prevails. Miles after miles without any vegetation, bird or flower. The freezing streams too match the colour of mountains with mud in them. The glazing sun burning your skin hardly helps the matter. But with all this – Ladakh is beautiful. It is hauntingly bare and stunningly enthralling. It lures different people for different reasons. The peace seeking troubled souls for its Gompas and the adventure tourists for its imposing passes, geologists to study its ecosystem and the historian to get the pulse of its rich history.  The place has so many shades and colours that at times one fails to appreciate all of them at one go.

The land like its neighbouring Tibet is a land of dhamma. It is the land of Gompas and prayer wheels, prayer flags and Buddhist paintings – even on the high mountains these signs of Buddhism very defiantly declare the presence of this peace loving ideology. I always find it very intriguing, how this particular philosophy conquered some of the toughest terrains of the world and managed to rule the hearts of these people for centuries. Sometimes I feel that Buddhism in this region is very much like the Gompas which stand high above every habitation almost hanging from the peaks. These monasteries are fascinating.

 Some like Alchi and Lamayuru are definitely ancient places of worship. They bear such solemn and “knowing” look of their ancientness that even most unobservant visitor would note it  Others like Thiksey, Likir etc are very alive, very happy places to be. But the Monastery which stole my heart in first look was not one of these. Deep inside the Nubra Valley, while your eyes are still adjusting to the change of scenery from the snow peaked mountains to the white sand dunes, you find a huge Maitreya statue welcoming you to Diskit.  In Diskit, next to a huge waterfall stands the beautiful Diskit monastery- the oldest and the biggest in the entire valley.

The 32 metre tall Maitreya statue facing down the Shyok River towards Siachin is of course a recent addition to the place. The monastery however stands guard there from 14^th century onwards. The architecture is very interesting and reminds you more of a fortress than a Gompa.  Perhaps there was good reason for such a built. Being located on the Silk Route – this monastery has a series of attacks from robbers lured by its legendary wealth donated by the traders over the centuriesand also the reigning Kings of the Nubra Valley. Somehow, this colourful history makes the place much more fascinating in my eyes than the Alchi Monastery located amidst beautiful orchards of apricots and apples with the river Indus flowing below.....or even the Monastery at Lamayuru giving a fantastic view of the moonland.

 But Ladakh has much more to offer than these Gompas. As a trekker I fell in love with the idea of a cold desert while trekking in Spiti. The place is magical. It shows you the power and the serenity of nature in the same canvas. A fragile eco system- where winds can recite poems in your ears and can also change the look of the mountains. Where streams provide a much needed rest to the monotonous scenery and also play a role in flooding the habitations ...where mountains make you philosophical about life and also fill you with ambition to conquer them.

The place filled me up with so many contrasting emotions. While rafting in the river Indus ,I got a distinct sense of achievement , of riding the waves , of power of human race over the wild river . On another occasion, staring at the crystal clear blue water of Panong Lake , I could not help feeling spiritual  . What a beautiful reminder God left in the midst of high mountains of the sea which was there long time ago. A salty lake of 110 Km hidden from the eyes of civilisation ...where only the deserving can reach through a strenuous path . The place also made me realise the folly of human nature – who in the race of “owning “ this beauty end up ruining the peace of the region . Yes this is part of the troubled state of Jammu and Kashmir and China is just few miles away . The Kargil region and the Siachin is unfortunately remembered more for the fights than for the beauty. The place if full of memorial stones for army officers and common villagers who died in these fights  . What a sad fate for a region so enchanting ! That  in fact was one sentiment I carried with me throughout the trip.

But I would be blind if I fail to see the bravery of the people here. Despite harsh weather and fragile topography , I do not remember one impolite or dishonest person. People were friendly , smiling and looked happy. Even while mentioning the cloud burst of last year which swept away hundreds of people, my car driver Dorjee smiled and added that “ We have re-built it now .It is over .” I am sure it is this never-say-die spirit that kept this place alive for centuries.   

I came back from Ladakh promising myself that I will go back there. Alone. For a travel with myself – sans all baggage , all programs, all maps  and all thoughts of daily life .

Hospitality Government Style

Few years back on this blog , I wrote a post about the Dak Bungalows. The post till date remains one of my most popular posts and received tremendous response. Many wrote to me through emails and many commented on it online. Best of all, Dr. Alan Shaw, from whose war memoir “Marching on to Laffan's Plain” I had quoted in the post , contacted me and we became friends ever since. About a month back, my dear Friend Dr. Shaw (94) died peacefully in Norfolk UK, after a long life lived to the full. In last four years through his gracious e-mails and letters , Dr. Shaw enlightened me about many things about India, the wars, and of the world 50 years before. Today when I sit to write another post of the same subject, I think of Dr. Shaw and his times and most humbly dedicate this post to my friend who reached out to me across the seas and overwhelmed me by his generosity.

Once again I got a taste of hospitality in the Government style . In my recent trip to Gujarat , I stayed in some of the well maintained circuit houses and felt terribly nostalgic about my childhood memories of Dak Bunglows. However since then, many things have changed. Government servants can now afford to stay at hotels and are also permitted to do so as per rules. Most find it very convenient and prefer them over Government maintained guest houses . Many departments have “outsourced” the guest houses by arrangements with private guest houses/hotels. The new guest houses in general lack the stately air of the old Dak bunglows. They are many times much more modern and facilities equipped and are preferred over the old austere guest houses and circuit houses. Unfortunately in many states now these old guest houses are not being maintained well. In Gujarat however, things have not changed much .

On the whole things have not changed much- as I already said in my previous post, time stops at these Dak Bunglows. But here and there, one does notice a change in courtesies of attendants, the taste (or the lack of it) in the furnishing of the rooms and the ignorance of the keepers about the historical importance of these places. Across the country, these circuit houses are located in some of the best locations and usually have an incomparable view from the rooms. But the “new” Villa circuit house of Porbandar surprised me with the lovely location is has. The rooms almost open on the beach. You come out of the rooms and you have Arabian Sea in its full glory ready to meet you on the steps. Watching a sunset from there was a treat for my senses. No wonder, these used to be the erstwhile ruler’s Guest rooms and are at a stone’s throw distance from the maharana’s palace ( now lying grossly neglected) . In fact in Saurashtra like many other parts of the country, these government Guest houses (specially circuit houses) are former properties of ex-royals. In some cases even their palaces. In Junagarh e..g. the circuit house still has its silver cutlery for special occasions and the wood carved furniture of old nawab .

View from the porbandar circuit house

This sprawling dak bunglow is a very typical compound and the sitting and dining area reminds you of the days gone by. In Dwarka by contrast, it was a plain and simple fare at circuit house. No grandeur of oil paintings or stuffed tigers in the common room. The garden was also bare . The one characteristic which marks all such places was however intact- the well informed attendant, who knew everything about the places to see, the best shop for buying things and best eatery to try. Aha, there is something in that age-old wisdom !

While staying in these places, I once again thought of other interesting guest houses I have stayed. There was a very well managed international guest house at Pantnagar University where the chef Daniel served most exotic desserts. Then there was one in Uttarakhand where I actually thought I saw a ghost. Another very bright and happy guest house at Kothi (HP) where we stayed several times on our ways to various treks . However, the weirdest place I remember staying was one in Darjeeling. I went there for some work and was forced to leave the taxi mid way. My staying arrangements were done in a guest house of Himalayan Mountaineering Institute. But before I could locate the place it started raining. By the time I reached the place it was already dark and I was totally drenched. Whatever I could make out of the place at that time,it seems small but comfortable and welcoming. In the night however, I noticed some strange sounds –growls, screeches and grunts. Anyhow, I discounted these as my imagination and managed to sleep . It was only in the morning that I realized that the guest house was inside the Zoo. To top it all the animals in Darjeeling zoo are not caged but just restricted by slightly high walls. My heart skipped few beats. I could not understand why my people chose that place for me, till the morning I was about to leave and I opened the window of my room. After few days of overcast the sky was clear for the first time and I had the most majestic look of Kachanjungha in front of me . I just wowed the sight and gaped at snow-clad mountains with awe.

Junagarh Circuit house -the sitting (Baithak)

Another very peculiar memory of these circuit houses is the names of the rooms . In many places of course rooms are known only by numbers, in some older ones you may find rooms named after rivers , famous personalities of the region or even the trees in the campus. I remember staying in a guest houses where rooms were named after eminent leaders who stayed in them once upon a time.

Modern hotels may be much more comfortable but they cannot replace the charm of these old places. I do realize that they have become just a thing of past but then, we do go for heritage hotels too. These places are living testimony of the good old days of government on tour and may be still have some rational to be maintained with care and concern. I wonder how many in the government circles would agree ?

Days of King Krishna – and Remains of those days !

Unlike the West, in Indian thought time moves in cycles. Nothing goes forever- it goes, it re-emerges, re-constructs itself and then gets re-destroyed. While for the western world- we are born, we live, we die; in India we die only to be reborn. It’s not only humans but even cities, temples, trades, beliefs are reborn after they grow old to be used safely in a particular time . At some level it’s a very comforting thought and though like every other Indian I believed in it subconsciously, it was only last week that I saw one such re-birth of a city , at Krishna’s Dwarka .India conceives of four great epochs or ‘world ages’ of varying but enormous lengths: The Krita Yuga, the Treta Yuga, the Dvarpara Yuga and the Kali Yuga. At the end of each yuga a cataclysm, known as pralaya, engulfs the globe in fire or flood. Then from the ruins of the former age, like the Phoenix emerging from the ashes, the new age begins. According to Vishnu Purana - Dwaraka was submerged by the sea right after the death of Lord Krishna.

“On the same day that Krishna departed from the earth the powerful dark-bodied Kali Age descended. The oceans rose and submerged the whole of Dwaraka."

Like many other metaphors of our scriptures, I believed this one too at only metaphoric level . But as I entered Dwarka city in Saurashtra, my beliefs got shaken. I am no longer sure that this was only a myth and not a poetic description of a historical event. Honestly, I never thought of Krishna as a historical figure. In fact even in our scriptures(e.g. Mahabharata) he is human and God at the same time – a description that makes one doubt his being real. In any case, Sri Krishna is a towering personality in Indian thought and it is difficult to separate the human aspect of his life from the divine in Krishna concept. He is a grand mystery and everyone has tried to understand him in his own way, according to his spiritual light or vision, devotion or human-ness of his life .Whether one thinks of him as an object of love or hate, one attains him. Yudhishthira attained him through friendship and Narada by devotion. Krishna is the embodiment of intellectual and spiritual glory. No other single idea has so much influenced the course of India's religion, philosophy, art and literature as the life and personality of Krishna. I have seen many people around me getting fascinated by Krishna in many different ( and contrasting) ways. But once in Dwarka I actually realized the truth in the words of Annie Besant that "He (Krishna) is so fundamentally the God, who is human in everything, who bends in human sympathy over the cradle of the babe, who sympathizes with the play of the youth, who is the friend of the lover, the blesser of the bridegroom and the bride, who smiles on the young mother when her first born lies in her arms, everywhere the God of love and human happiness; what wonder that his winsome grace has fascinated the hearts of men."

Similarly multifaceted is the city he supposedly found for his capital. One look at Dwarka- and all your doubts about its ancientness vanish in thin air. The only other city that gives me that kind of confidence is Varanasi. Called by whatever name, built by whoever, there is no doubt that this place was an ancient place of worship. It is said that after the Mahabharata, Krishna along with his yadava clan came here in search of a new Kingdom for himself. He decided to built a new city here and named the new city Dvaravati. A rather appropriate name- as the city is almost the first door of entry to the subcontinent from the Arabian Sea. The city finds mention in many classical texts. The one that comes to my mind is Sisupalavadha, by poet Magha where in sarga2; he describes the city of Dwaraka as-

"The yellow glitter of the golden fort of the city in the sea throwing yellow light all round looked as if the flames of vadavagni came out tearing asunder the sea."

In 1960s, the first archaeological excavations at Dwaraka were done by the Deccan College, Pune which revealed artefacts many centuries old. The second round of excavations in 1979 under S.R. Rao's direction found a distinct pottery which could be more than 3,000 years old. Based on the results of these excavations, the search for the sunken city in the Arabian Sea began in 1981. Scientists and archaeologists have continually worked on the site for 20 years. But the city is a manifestation of faith over science. Most people flocking the city are not in search of the archeological remain but the signs of King Krishna – which a devotees eyes cannot miss.

Dwarkadheesh temple is a landmark structure in the middle of the city. Parts of this temple belong of 12th century Ad and rest of it was built in 16th Century. Much like the dual-faceted personality of Krishna, the two main entrances of the temple are appropriately called "Moksha Dwara" (Door to Salvation) and "Swarga Dwara" (Gate to Heaven).Now the maintemple is surrounded by several other temples and shrines built subsequently by devotees .

But more than the main temple, I loved the temple of queen Rukmani which stands on the way to Bet- Dwaka. Intricately carved and grossly neglected, this old monument is has a strong presence and Character much like the queen to which it is dedicated. She claims the limelight in this region much before you enter Dwarka. In fact it is very curious that in this region, Radha , the childhood companion of SriKrishna is not present at all .Rukmani, the Patrani , takes her place instead .

On the way to dwarka in a little obscure village called Madhopur lies the place where Krishna supposedly married Rukmani. The temple standing there was pretty ordinary, till I laid my eyes on the old original temple, which was submerged in sea and re-surfaced in 1850s . The virgin beach of madhopur with a huge shiv-ling lies just below the temple. I was still mulling over the co-existence of Shiv and Krishna as reigning deities of this region when the evening prayers started in the temple. To my utter surprise , I found the recorded voice of classical maestro Pt.Jasraj doing the aarti in that small unknown village. India, as they say , contine to surprise you at every step!

Bet Dwarka- supposedly the place where King Krishna resided with his family, is a beautiful island. But the temple there is marred too much by commercialization, lines of small shops that even the lovely boatride to and fro could not make me like the place.

Even around Dwraka, there are numerous places establishing the humanness of Krishna. One such location was the Bhalka Teerth – the place where Krishna was killed by a Bheel . The place is few yards away from Somnath . On the banks of river Hiranya and marked by lines of coconut trees the place is picturesque and gives you the feel of divinity. It’s the only temple I know where Krishna is depicted in a lying position . The best part about myths and legends is the minuteness of the stories. Since Krishna left his earthly incarnation here , it was only fair to expect Sheshnaag who accompanied him on earth as Balram( his elder brother) to join him . So they also have a temple from where Balram went to pataal lok .

I did not like the Somnath temple- the big Government built, highly secured temple of India. But the location was exquisite. The remains of old temple lying behind the new one adds a sense of time to the whole complex. But the best was the pillar informing that from that point to the South Pole, the lightway is unbarred by any landmass. The pillar, which is said to exist since time immemorial left me stunned. Is this why they selected this location for the temple? Is this why despite numerous attacks, the temple was re-built again and again? Just outside the temple is another smaller temple built by Queen Ahilyabai Holkar. It is said that the ancient Shivling of somnath is in this temple.

I am not a religious person, so the temples and their myths, however fascinating did not affect me so much to ignore the fact that we are not keeping our heritage the way we should. We seem to be too engrossed in the immediate issues and gains that we ignore the historical and cultural aspects of this legacy. The encroachments and small shops fill the temple sites. The ASI, as usual has no control to preserve the ancient sites . The traces of scientific search of the old city are not to be seen anywhere and the business of the day goes on as usual.

I look back at the gushing waves of Arabian sea and console myself that well, it is just another side of the eternal cycle. After all, nothing goes forever.