Off The Beaten Path

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.

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.

Oh God, Help Me Sell!!

 This is a shopkeeper, who evidently does not have the best time of his life, when it comes to selling his goods.

Which is why the poor bloke seems to be sitting down at the entrance to his shop, wondering what the hell he is to do with his time.

Ennui, boredom.

I also don't suppose he does too much by way of calculating his working capital costs. Like most shopkeepers, he will look at his profit and loss, and not so much as how many times he rolls over his money.

I've had this debate with myself many times, about whether or not I should stay a good career person all my life, or whether or not I should start something of my own!

Being in a job used to give a person a lot of security. The regular monthly paycheck, with the promise of a steady, if unexciting, life. It also gave the promise of a life of boredom after retirement. And, a down grading of lifestyle, ego etc.

One day you are important. The next day, not.

And, as we all know, times have changed. Corporate life does not offer security anymore. More money, perks. More pressure. Less security and peace of mind.

Pretty much the same as business. Except, business does give you the promise of non-retirement, if you are successful.

The question is, can God help you sell? I doubt it.

Pissing...

 

This is a public urinal in Delhi. Pissing in India can be an art, depending on where you are.

In my younger days, when I was very young and not so innocent, I had too much to drink, one evening.Way to much beer in the system. And, as does happen in these  things, something had to give. My bladder. So, I stood on the road side and pissed away to "hell and glory", yelling to everyone that they were welcome to come and see the special public fountain show!

Another time, I had to do a little more than pee. Well, I popped into the public loo, crapped. And, surprise, surprise, there was nothing with which I could clean my bum. So, I took out all the money I had ( almost all, anyway), and cleaned up. The toilet was stinking.

Generally, when you have to go to a public loo in India, one of the first things you have to do, is to hold your nose, to avoid being blown away by the stench. Then, you have to perform the delicate task of balancing/standing in the one or two relatively clean spots on the ground. And then, you have to perform.

If the job requires more than pissing, the delicate art of balancing becomes more intricate. You have to squat, hold your trousers up, hold the shirt tails up with one hand. With the other hand, you have to hold the door, to prevent it from swinging open. And then, you have to perform.

Now all of this is, is what a man has to do in order to relieve himself in a public toilet in India.

Women have it easier, in a sense!! The toilets are generally too dirty for them to use, else they will end up with gynecological problems, and only make pharmaceutical companies and doctors rich. So, they simply have to control themselves, and pray they their bladders don't burst on the way home. But, no delicate balancing acts are to be performed, mind you!

The question then arises, is why on earth we cannot build a culture of public hygiene in the country. We do have a lot of problems, and this is definitely one of them. Apart from being an eyesore, and creating an unpleasant experience, these places are also the hot beds of disease and filth.

Our country is developing inmany spheres. This is not one of them. However, with the economic development of the country, there will bean increasing number of foreigners coming into the country. These places do nothing for our image as a country.

As our country develops, hopefully we Indians will become more aware of the perils of these unsightly public toilets, which are a health hazard, as well as being a blight aesthetically.

Till then, the art of pissing in public will continue. An art that deserves to die a quick death. 

Waiting For The King!

I don't recall how many small kingdoms India had in 1947, the year that we became an independent nation. However, I believe that the figure was much over 250.

I think that the first real consolidation started with the Mughals, and continued with the British reign. However, I do not believe that either really did much to consolidate us into one country.

This happened after 1947, when we had the services of the great Sardar Vallabh Bhai Patel. Without the great task of abolishing the princely states, and consolidating us into one nation (even though we were a "nation" before then), we would have probably broken or splintered back into many warring factions.

Yet, old loyalties and habits die hard. The Royal families, some of them, have  gone on to become political leaders, with their suave charm. Some have stayed out of politics, but have stayed on as the adored rulers in their old principalities. Some have simply faded away. Small eras ended.

So, what does this picture have to do with royalty? Well, this is a shot I took in Mysore many years ago. Mysore, incidentally, is the home of Pattabhi Jois, the most famous teacher of Ashtanga Yoga. It was also the hometown of two great kinds of yore - Hyder Ali and Tipu Sultan.

On this day, around Dussehra, people had gathered on their rooftops, on the streets, to catch a glimpse of the President of India (or, the Prime Minister), who was passing by that day. On Dussehra day, the old Palace of Tipu Sultan used to be lit up to celebrate the festival. Not on that day, though. I remember that the Raja was protesting the Income Tax enquires that had been placed against his door!

Yet, the president was passing by. The new Royalty. Without much of the pomp and finery of the old Rajas, but with a much larger power base. And, if you consider our tendency towards political dynasties, like the Gandhi family, it makes me wonder if people need kings. Else, why would a country of over 1 billion people stay obsessed with one family when we have the option, theoretically, to choose more able leaders.

The people waited on the rooftop, on the streets, to catch a glimpse of the new King, and to be blessed by his aura. Like they have always done through the ages gone by.

Desecration

In India, they say, public property is everyone's property, and that we don't have any respect for public property. I tend to believe this to be true, as the statue in this entry reveals.

We absolutely love sticking posters, labels, writing crap on any sort of public property, and making a general mess of what we have. A few years ago, there was a bit of public outrage because Coke and Pepsi were alleged to have commissioned wall paintings in the Gangotri area of the Himalayan range, thereby upsetting the delicate eco-balance of the region, and possibly killing many micro organisms. Like any public outrage, this died down quickly, and soon life was back to normal. There were no lessons to be drawn, no strictures put up on how to behave in public places, and it would appear as if the incident had never happened.

This incident came to the public eye, because the acts were perpetrated by multi national companies, those awful, awful icons of greedy capitalism. The fact that we all seem to have conveniently forgotten, is that all of us, in our daily lives, throw garbage on the street, thereby spreading disease. Garbage on the street looks ugly as well. Yet, we are proud of our freedom to throw garbage on the street, and I have been guilty of this myself.

We Indians are really very bad with public property. My Chinese brethren are not too great either. Yet, when I travelled to Jiu Zhai Gou in China, there were public signs everywhere exhorting people not to touch the calcite deposits, or to walk in the forest. The authorities had made paths for people to walk on. Transport in the area was via electrically powered buses. All this was done, is being done, to preserve the environment of the area. I think that this is a superb initiative. What I found even more impressive (and, I travelled there during the crowded holiday season), was that all my Chinese friends respected the strictures, and not one person was found littering, walking in the forests, touching the calcite deposits, or sticking posters on the rocks. There was respect for the instructions, and for the environment.

I don't believe that this is something that is at all difficult. But, we need to start somewhere. The lead does need to come to the top.

Memorial To A God

Many years ago, God died. Well, he was God to a few million people in India anyway, and his name was MG Ramachandran. Called MGR.

Honestly, I don't remember much of him, except that he was always wearing some kind of a cap, and dark glasses. I was never too sure of whether the glasses were a medical requirement or, an affectation because of fashion.

MGR was a flim star who was popular sometime in the 70's I think, and then became a politician. He was GOD to his fans, some of whom could not bear the news of his death and immolated themselves, rather than be faced with a life without God.

I don't think that this tendency to deify filmstars and heros is unique to India, even though India has it's own unique way of expressing this.And, in India, the way of expression differs between the North and South Indians.

Yet, God dies. When do you truly die? Some believe that you die when you die in the memory of people. And so, surely but slowly this God is dying. His memorial in Madras (Chennai), seen above, silhoutteted against the early morning sun is slowly becoming irrelevant. It's a nice enough memorial, but will disappear one day.

And, till he dies, God will be remembereed differently by different people. A form of death, perhaps?

Konarak. A Small Detail. Sexuality.

This may well be a short entry. I am tired. It has been a long day, and I still have to go home, have a cup of tea, and go for power yoga. I need to do power yoga along with Ashtanga, until I have the energy to do Hatha Yoga and Ashtanga Yoga. I may even die before then!!

This entry was going to be titled "Honesty", but I decided to use the term 'sexuality' instead.

The temple was an homage to the Sun God. It depicts, amongst other things, the various activities people engage in at various times of the day. At night ( during the day as well ), people do engage in sexual activities, and the temple has depicted this quite honestly. The activities that people engage in during the day are depicted as details on the wheels of the chariot on which the Sun God rides. The temple is designed to be the chariot of the Sun God.

In ancient times, I would believe, Indians were quite frank about their sexuality. Or, should I say, 'we Indians'. Konarak is not the most famous temple when it comes to erotic sulpture. The honour of being the most famous in this aspect belongs to Khajurao.

However, the sexuality depicted on these frames does indicate that the expression of sexuality in India was honest, and that the old Indians were a pretty vibrant, sexual bunch of folks. I suppose that is how we reached the population of 1 billion.

Not only are the poses quite explicit ( some even have depictions of animal sex ), but the women are well endowed, and so are the men. The men would put a porn star to shame!!

Somewhere down the line, morality arrived. Quietly, like the mammals. And, like the mammals who competed for resources with the dinosaurs, morality competed with sexuality and won the war.

Sexiness is making a come back. Sexuality, genuine sexuality, will take some time.

Konarak

Black and white photography needs good sunlight. Flat cloudy weather kills a black and white photograph more than it kills a colour photo. Of course, people can debate this until the end of eternity.

However, the reason why I hold  to this belief is because black and white relies so much on contrast that, anything that flattens this contrast tends to kill the photo.

This perhaps, is one reason why the photo from Konarak is so flat. I went there en route between two towns in Orissa, which is an eastern state in India. I took a few  hours off, with the hope of being able to photograph the Sun Temple of Konarak. Sadly, and this is one of the problems with being an amateur photographer, it was a flat, cloudy day and I returned with dull, lifeless pictures. The sadness with being an amateur photographer has to do with the fact that our tribe does not have the luxury of time to be able to spend a few days at one site, waiting for the perfect light.

Some day, that will change, I think, but this is what it is about for now at least. Konarak is near the coastal town of Bhubaneshwar and, we were driving to Puri. Puri is one more town that I want to visit during the annual Jagannath Festival. The Jagannath Festival has been going on for  the last 1,000 years. Pretty cool. And, it is one of those festivals where you see India in all it's colourful glory, with the mad rush of humanity, praying to the deity as his statue makes its annual journey to it's aunt's temple 2 kilometres away.

Konarak is different. I will write some more about Konarak in the next blog entry. On the one hand, it is the Sun Temple, and faces East. The temple is in the form of the chariot of the Sun God. The temple, sadly, collapsed soon after the king who had it built, died.

Konarak, as a town, also declined. It seems that the port was deserted several hundred years ago after pirate attacks. This, I must say, is news to me. Well, be that as it may, Konarak today is a deserted place, inhabited mainly by people who live off the temple. Tour guides, and the like.

We cannot escape the past, but we have to learn to live with it. Konarak is a glorious temple. It is brilliant. And, in it's own way, an honest temple.