Off The Beaten Path

On The Boat At Varanasi

Varanasi.

Or Benares, if you prefer the old name, is old. It is really old. It looks it's age. It stinks. Yet, despite the age, the dirt, the crowds, the heat and the dust, the city is magical.

I have been to Varanasi many times, and have always loved the city. It is an old city. As per Hindu legend, it was founded by the  God, Shiva, about 5,000 years ago. It is believed that he even lived there for a while in one of his incarnations, and this the foundation of the famous Kashi Vishwanath temple. The city is revered by the Buddhists as well as the Jains. The Buddha gave his first sermon at Sarnath, near the city. The city was ravaged by Muslim invaders like Mahmud of Ghazni, Mohammed Ghori and Aurangzeb, leading to the destruction of many temples. The things we do in the name of God are amazing.

The city was recaptured by the Marathas, who restored the pride of the city, and who built the Ghats, or steps, on the banks of the Ganges

Varanasi is old. It is believed to be about 3,000 years old, and is one of the oldest inhabited cities in the world.

Varanasi is the centre of religion, of art, culture, learning, literature and handicrafts.

Varanasi has a magic all of it's own. To get a feel of the magic of the city, get on a boat at sunrise, and float along the Ganga. It is a beautiful time of the day, and if you are lucky you get to see  the sun rising above the river, rising in a great ball of orange.



The river side teems with life, as you will see from these photos. I took them from the boat, early one morning, in Benares. There are merchants selling their stuff to people who want to come to the river side to pray. The umbrellas add colour and life to the early morning activities.








People come  here to bathe in the river, to wash away their sins. They stand and pray in the river, completely oblivious of the tourists milling around them. The only thing that counts is the prayer at sunrise. Facing the sun, they pray and drink the river water. I am pretty sure that the water is polluted. when I was on the boat, I did see dead bodies floating in the water. Dogs picking on the skulls of dead people. Yet, the river water is considered to be holy. Rivers are the givers of life. They are holy. Sadly, in today's world, we don't know how to look after our environment, but that is another story.



          
                            
People come here to die and be cremated. To die and be cremated here is said to release a person from the eternal cycle of death and rebirth. Life, followed by death, followed by yet another death comes to an end here. The cycle comes to an end here, and our soul is released and becomes one, with the infinite.

What you see in this picture , is a picture of cremations taking place on the ghats, while the boatman rows his boat.

Life and death come together here in Varanasi, on the banks of the Ganga.



Varanasi is old. And yet, magical. Eternal.

Simla

Simla is a beautiful hill station in North India. You can approach Simla by road from Delhi. It's a 6 to 7 hour drive from Delhi, in Himachal Pradesh. Alternatively, you can take the 2 hour drive from Chandigarh, which itself is a 4 hour drive from Delhi.

Simla used to be the summer capital of the British rulers of India. The Brits were all too happy to escape to Simla during the hot summer months in the plains. In those days, Simla, like Nainital (another hill station where I wa, in school) used to be cool in summer and cold in winter.

Because of the British influence, the town has some nice buildings, and a great Mall ( or, market street), which is still the centre point of activity. At one end of the Mall, you can stand and watch the sun go down. And, at another end, you could climb up to an old temple populated by monkeys.

There is the wonderful Oberoi Cecil hotel right in the centre. This is where Mr Oberoi, of the Oberoi hotel chain started his career.

One one of the streets going down, there is a nice bookshop. And, even further down, there used to be an antique book shop. I remember going there to look for original prints by Madam Blavatsky.

We used to live below the Mall, at yet another end. The photo above was taken in the middle of the afternoon, one February. It had rained, and the temperature had dropped to below zero Centigrade. The atmosphere was all nice and gloomy, and mysterious. Somewhat like an old crime story.

The picture below, is of the gate leading to our home. Chislehurst is what it was called. Nice, British name. Lovely house. I absolutely loved it. We had a nice terrace looking out onto the valley below. Beautiful.

We spent some nice summers and winters in this place. For a person like me, who has moved all his life, these memories are fantastic.

Simla, apart from it's beauty, does have a special place for me. It was the town where my father had his last posting as an Army man, prior to his retirement. Life changes after retirement. And so it did for my father. But, that is another story. For an evening in front of a fire!

Orange

The colours of Nature are pristine and beautiful. There is a glory in an orange sunset, which never becomes dull. Even though you can see a sunset everyday, it is different every day. The combinations and permutations seem to be infinite. The colours, different shades of orange and red, vary everyday. The clouds move and change shape every day.

To me, this is an expression of God. If there be God, this is it, this is it, this is it.

Blue

I think I mentioned once before that I love the Indian skies. They are beautiful. And, they were certainly more beautiful in days gone by than they are now. The skies now are a lot more polluted now than they used to be, and that is a tragedy. I can say this both, from the perspective of a person who has to breathe the noxious fumes that swirl around nowadays, and from the point of view of the person who take sthe odd photograph from time to time.

The days when I took this photo are long gone. We had taken a weekend road trip to Kashid Beach. Kashid is just outside Bombay, and is a pretty tranquil kind of place. The hotels those days were not too good, but who gave a shit anyway? Sitting under the starlit skies and, gossiping with friends was well worth  it all.

I don't exactly remember where I was when I took this photo, but if I remember well, I took this when we were at the Jalandhara Fort just off the shore of the beach. It would have been close to noon time, and I was immediately struck by the expanse of sky and sea. Infinity stretched out in front of me, and our smallness next to the glory of nature was enhanced by the miniscule size of the boat, when compared with the glorious expanse of blue. My wife, I remember, was not too fond of this photo at the time (maybe, she has changed her view now), but I loved it.

The glory of blue. The colour of nature. Infinity. I could almost stretch out my hands and be one with Nature.

That is what I wanted to achieve in this photo. The feeling of being able to melt into the glorious blue.

Golconda Fort. Hyderabad. India

                                     

I've said this before, and I will say this again, that one of the things that I love about my blogging is that I go back and look up stuff about a place on the intern. In doing so, the photo, in my opinion, acquires a meaning all of it's own. This does not mean that you cannot do great photography. It just means that the photo, the event, becomes richer. And, in doing so, I find that I become a bit richer as an individual.
Thank God for Wikipedia!!

I was reading some stuff about travel writing recently, and it appears that the great travel writers like Colin Thubron know so much of the history of the places that they travel, that when they write about the place, the writing is rich. And not just a travelogue of events.

It was 1997, when I visited Golconda Fort, which is on the outskirts of Hyderabad in India. All these years I was under the impression that this fort was built by the Muslim ruler Hyder Ali. I was ashamed of my ignorance when I learned that Golconda was actually first built bu the Kakatiya Kings in the 13th century. This was then further expanded upon by the Qutab Shahi kings, and completed in 1525.

1525 AD is possibly a significant year, as the Mughal Emperor, Babur entered India in 1526, and set up the Mughal Empire. Golconda finally fell to the last great Mughal Emperor, Aurangzeb.

I climbed up Golconda Fort on a on afternoon day with my sisters. It was bleeding hot, and apart from the heat, my focus was squarely on taking pictures. That was it! I did not know, or pay attention to the superb acoustic history of the fort. It would appear that a handclap at the main entrance could be heard at the highest point of the fort (Bala Hissar), which was over a kilometer away. Neither did I know that the fort was known for its superb airconditioning system or, its waterways.

So much history. We stand on the shoulders of those who came before us, and we look further. Thus spake Isaac Newton. If it is true in the world of physics, it is true of all other activities.

 

Halebidu

 

I must start with a confession. While I love the temples at Halebidu in the South Indian state of Karnataka, I really have very little clue about the carvings. 

I remember the trip pretty well though. It was one of those trips that we used to take on  the weekends when I was doing my MBA, oh so many, many years ago. When the world was a younger and more innocent place. Or so we'd all like to believe. 

Actually, I don't think that the world ever was an innocent place. And, most certainly not since we started to record history.  The Myth of the Golden Age is just that - a myth. Nostalgia. Selective memory. 

What I do remember from this trip is, that we got to the temple in the lateafternoon. And, I fell in love with it. The carvings are fantastic. Brilliant. Shooting the temple and the carvings in black & white is like a dream come true . I said it then, and I will say it again, I could spend a week in Halebidu shooting the temple in various lighting conditions.

 

For those who are interested in a little bit of history, here's a little bit of stuff that I gleaned from the Internet, that wonderful source of information. Halebidu was the capital of the Hoysala Empire, after Belur. The temple itself is considered to be a masterpiece of Hoysala architecture. It has twin Shiva temples, on a "raised platform", each of which contain a Shive Lingam. Behind is a statue of Surya, or the sun.

And that is the beauty of this temple. The carvings, with their history and mythology are fascinating in themselves.  For me, photographically, this place is a gem. The photographic possibilities are endless. And this, in itself, is sufficient reason for me to want to go there again. This is the stuff that dreams and memories  are made of. Places visited, desires (unfulfilled), to return. And yet, I would love to go there again. I really, really would.

On Grooming

I suppose that it is human nature to want to look good. Or, would I say that it is animal nature? We are, after all, a part of the animal kingdom.

The manner in which we groom  ourselves depends, in part, to our station in life. It also depends on the look that we wish to adopt.

Typically, I have found that the expression "well groomed" refers to a person who dresses well, in expensive branded clothes, with hair neatly combed and looking nice and slick.

For others, this would be a bit over the top. So, you have a nice, messy look. People who adopt this look 'groom' themselves to look this way.

It's a little bit like the definition of "Quality". I read somewhere that a product that has good quality is one where the product does what it is supposed to, and delivers the promise that it makes.

The ladies up in this picture follow rituals that are closer to monkeys, than their human brethren higher up in the food chain.

Sounds gross, I would say, but if you have looked at videos and pictures of the grooming rituals followed by our monkey and ape cousins, you would see that I am not too far off the mark.

We all like to look good.It depends on what we call "looking good", and whether we can afford it. And, on whether or not we have access to the look we want to adopt.

Simple theory.

Old Friends

A couple of posts ago, I referred to myself as "old, gray and broken", a comment which elicited some strong feedback from one of my oldest and dearest friends.

"Broken?", she said, going on to add "The Ass that I knew would never say he is broken". Well, two things are true.

First, the Ass she was referring to, was me.

Second,  I would never refer to myself as broken. Things can get tough but, they beat you and break you, only if you let them do so.

However, this is not so much about the spirit of the heart. This is more about friendship.

I am not going to go on and on about my views on friendship, because I don't think that I have too much new to add anyway.

Yet, it is true that if you can count a few true friends in your life, you are truly blessed indeed.

Over the course of my life, I have managed to make a few friends. And, I would count myself lucky.

Old friendships never fade. They mellow, they morph, they become richer with shared memories of battles fought together, of the good times and the bad. They become stronger, and make you stronger as well.

These guys I photographed in 1983 were friends then. I have never seen them since. If t hey are still friend, they may look back upon those days, with some joy. They may even remember, if I am lucky, the long haired bloke who took their picture all those many years ago.

I Think I Have No Clue About This Temple

  I really do not recall where this picture was taken. This, and the next one or two, I think, were taken at Satara.

Satara is a small town about 300 km inland of Bombay, or Mumbai as it is now called, and lies on the Deccan Plateau.  We lived there for several years, after my dad retired from the Army. This was many, many years ago, when I was young and the hair on my head was black, thick and glossy.

Times have changed since then, and now I am old, broken and grey. Times do change a person so!

Satara, as I read on Wikipedia, is an old town. The oldest town in the district of Satara is a town called Karad, which is a further 50 km inland from Satara.

Inscriptions dating back to 200 BC have been found, testifying to the age of Karad.

Satara itself has seen its fair share of historical warfare, blood and gore. Shivaji, the old famous Maratha chieftain fought some battles there and, there is an old fort on top of the hill that looks down on Satara. Satara itself is surrounded by 7 hills, as the name suggests. It is a nice place. we had a small group of like minded people, and to make up for the general lack of entertainment in the town, socialising was intense.

My parents liked to picnic and explore the areas around the town. I think, I really think that this is one of the temples around Satara, but I cannot say for sure.  These are photos from an old pile of negatives, one of a lot that was not properly labelled. And so, I have to rely on my memory. 

A picnic 20 years ago. Photography really is about freezing time. And, giving us the chance to embellish old stories with a little bit of detail here and there.  Memories of times gone by. 

A Last Look At Chandni Chowk

  I pulled this photo, and the next, from Wikipedia.  These represent old views of Chandni Chowk, from the 1860's. And, if you compare these pictures with the ones that have been put up on the last few entries of this blog, the contrast is quite amazing.

About 150 years ago, Chandni Chowk seemed to be such a peaceful place, if you can call a market place peaceful at all!

  The old walled city of Delhi, which includes Red Fort was originally set up in 1650 by the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan. Chandni Chowk was the main street of the old city, and was one of the grandest markets in India.

It seems that at one time, there was a canal or reflecting pool at one end of Chandni Chowk. This has now been replaced by a clock tower. And, it is said that the moonlight reflecting in the water gave it the name of "Chandni Chowk", or "Moonlit Avenue"

What remains now is a congested market. It used to be a great place to  go and get some great jewellery at some great prices. Over time, the old shop keepers have set up new establishments in the more modern areas, and charge higher prices. It is, honestly, a painful task to go shopping there, and to walk there.

  What remains are crowded streets, a lot of hustle and bustle, shops that sell outdated stuff to the middle class.

And, the sad remains of some old, graceful windows. Broken down, with dirty laundry hanging from the front.

Shah Jahan's daughter, it seems, had a hand in designing Shah Jahanabad. And, I would say, that she did a fantastic job of it. She helped design something that remained intact and graceful for over 250 years.

Yet, as the earth gets more and more crowded; as the times get more and more frantic, we have less and less time to preserve what was in our past.

I do believe that we cannot preserve everything. It is impossible. Else, there would be no room for change and improvement.

Yet,  if places like Chandni Chowk do exist, and if they are used in essentially the same structures that were built 350 years ago, they deserve to be preserved and maintained.

Think of the pleasure of shopping in a huge market that looks as graceful now, as it did 350 years ago. Now, that would be something that would be hard to beat.

While I am all for modern malls, there is something about the grace of history that has a magic that is all its own. Something that cannot be taken away from it. Something that can be shared even today.