Exploring the Orissa Village of Raghurajpur and Visiting the Sun Temple in Konarak

Tuesday, December 18, 2018

Raghurajpur and Konarak

Exploring Orissa’s Rural Village Life at Raghurajpur and Visiting the Famous Sun Temple at Konarak

     Namaste from Puri, Orissa!

      What a fabulous (but oh so exhausting) day we had today as my travels in the state of Orissa continue with my friends Nafisa and her husband Hosefa.

     So, up at 6.00 in this hotel with its ultra-comfy bed, I awoke and began blogging and checking out what is happening in the world through Twitter.  I also have the luxury of cable TV in my room—and so I watched a CNN Talk Show. I ate the Chicken Burger I picked up from the hotel’s bakery and while substantial, it was quite tasteless indeed. Then off for a shower and a departure at 9.00 from our room. We piled into a cab—private and hired—and left for a day out.  We would return quite exhausted.

A Visit to Raghurajpur:

     A Visit to the village of Raghurajpur gave us an opportunity in experiential learning. We were students again—I felt as if I were taking one of NYU’s Global Cultures class—as we drove through the rural heartland to get to our destination. Fields—miles of them—wound their way through tiny villages that Time forgot. We passed by small ponds and pools everywhere—possible fresh water sources—and arrived in a small rural hamlet that is a popular tourist site. This is because a group of traditional artisans have clustered together in a long, narrow street that basically forms a village to eke out a living practicing their traditional art forms. Tourists and visitors are invited to visit them in these vital living quarters to get an idea of the kind of work they do. Most of them have plied these trades (involving art) for generations and live in like manner—two or three generations in one home learning from one another as the mantle is passed on.

     Our driver, as is usually the case, stopped our car right at the beginning of a narrow lane and right outside a big shop—the biggest and most brightly lit of the cluster of shops that made up that narrow street. It irritated me right away because it was clear to me that he had a tie-up with the owner of that particular store: he would get a cut or commission from anything we bought in that store. But I had come to support and patronize the work of the artisans—I had not come to swell the coffers of a wealthy salesman who already looked far more prosperous than any of the other salesmen in their little shops who were hawking the same wares.  Besides, if I was there to support the artists, I would prefer to learn about their art forms from them and then to buy from their own homes. I did not wish to learn from someone who clearly had no artistic skills himself tell me how the work was done: I preferred to see the actual artist doing the job himself. I was so annoyed by this greedy way of profiting from tourists while ignoring the very reason this sort of enterprise has been set up—to support starving artists.

     Nafisa was not convinced and she had no qualms about listening to the middle man. I told her that I was going out for a walk and would meet her and Hosefa in half an hour as I simply could not bring myself to listen to the spiel if I was not buying from that store—for that was what it was: a store. Not a home, not an artist’s workshop, nothing. Just a shop.

     Fortunately, for me, when I went away to explore the beautiful little village on my own, one of the people told me that the actual village of Raghurajpur was about 300 meters ahead and that we ought to tell our driver to take us there. So I returned and told my travel companions the same thing and summoning our driver, we got back into our vehicle and drove to the right place.

     There is a huge plaque at the entrance of the village announcing the objectives behind setting up such a place. As I said, the intention is to keep these art forms alive, to bring tourists to the actual site where these art and craft forms are practiced so that they can see the kind of skill and craftsmanship it takes to produce these wares, and to ensure a living for the large numbers of artisans who live hand to mouth in order to keep these genres of the arts going, etc. 

     The village consists of one long and very narrow road with a central diving island that is filled with small temples and shrines. The homes of the artists line the narrow street. Each little habitation consists of a small,  narrow portico that leads into a long and narrow home that looks like a tunnel—rather like what they called railcar apartments in New York City—there are small rooms that run alongside the corridor. The portico or stoops of each home are painted in bright colors—there is a lot of color in Orissa —in the clothes the women wear and in the paint on their buildings, homes, etc. The names of the people living in the home are proclaimed by a saying: Narain Weds Sushma or Bishan Weds Gauri. This was a must unusual cultural trait that I saw in many parts of Orissa that I have combed so far.

A Performance By the Gotipua Dancers:

      My cousin Blossom who had visited this village many years ago with her late husband Placid had told me to inquire about the Gotipua  dancers when we arrived at the village.  She told me that they were boys dressed as girls who were trained from a young age to take on this rural art form. Accordingly, we made inquiries and were led to the end of the village (which was great as it gave us a chance to really observe its many idiosyncrasies) to a small dance school—it seems that there are a few of this kind in this village. There, we found a cluster of village women, involved in micro-financing, having one of their periodic meetings in what looked like a community hall.  It was, in fact, the main performance area of this school.  Upon our request, the manager of the school, summoned the students to get ready to do a short performance for us.

     It began in about ten minutes and we were thrilled. About six little boys and girls —the oldest looked about 14 and was clearly gay—performed for us. They were not in costume or make up (as it would take ages for them to get dressed and made-up), but in a nod to getting ready for the performance, they each wore a thick dupatta around their waists. The musicians set up with tabla, harmonium and tiny cymbals and the performance began.  From what I could see, it seemed to combine some movements of Odissi which is the classical dance form of the state with gymnastics—there were many formations in the dance that involved the creation of pyramids.  It is clear why this dance form is restricted to children—it involves a lot of bending and curving of the body and a whole load of somersaults.  The kids’ bodies were as supple as rubber and incredibly flexible. The dance was not some make-shift performance thrown together: it was beautifully coordinated and choreographed and the kids did a grand job. It went on for about 12 minutes and was superb. I was much impressed.

     We had asked if we were supposed to pay for the performance and were told by the manager that the kids are taken in at the age of five, housed, fed and clothed by the school. Any money we paid would be a donation that would fund their keep. Seemed fair enough to me. We paid them Rs. 200 and they seemed quite thrilled by it. They were a really sweet bunch and I was glad that we were able to support their talents and enterprise in our own small way.

Seeing the Artists at Work and Buying their Wares:

     Next door, the tout who had led us to this school had his own home and workshop and he invited us inside. We found that they had no electricity (it seemed to have gone off but it is possible that they do not have any electricity in this village). We also noted that they do not have running water. There was a communal hand pump in the village and we actually saw a woman draw water from it probably through a well. Slow, very slow, progress is being made—that was for sure.  At least they were not still drawing water from a well!

     The man pulled out chairs for us and then set to work on a ramshackle stool. He showed us how etching is done on palm leaf strips. The etchings are them filled in with soot produced by burning coal—similar to the production of kajal or kohl for the eyes. He drew a tiny image of Krishna and filled it with soot mixed with water. Then he showed us a bunch of scroll-like creations that are made when these strips are joined together. They make good wall-hangings. They are incredibly artistic and I was quite taken by his talent. However, I did not find anything I really wanted to buy though we did inquire about the prices of his painted coconut shells and painted betel nuts that I thought would make good Christmas ornaments.

     We next entered another home and there we were treated to a demonstration of the production of patachitra which is the making of paintings on a particular type of cloth, the layers of which are glued together with tamarind glue—the area and the village are famous for this item.  Hosefa wanted to look at a panel with a scenery as he was not interested in the depiction of Hindu gods and goddesses which is what they usually depict on these panels. He could find none. However, what we did find was that the coconuts and betel nuts were half the price of the ones that the tout was selling us.  Again, I was annoyed and I went ahead and purchased a few while also buying a bunch of book marks that were made using dried palm-fronds. You could not have something more rural or more indicative of the kind of village crafts that are still being produced today. 

     We were then told that another performance of Gotipua dancers would occur shortly and we were led to a much bugger school in a settlement that was beautifully landscaped around a gorgeous lake with swaying coconut palms throwing their dreamy reflections in the clear waters. It was absolutely idyllic and I could not stop taking pictures.  Sadly, we had missed the performance, but we did catch a glimpse of the dancers beautifully costumed and made-up as they scuttled off to their green room—hard to believe these were boys! They had performed for a large group of students (mainly female) who were visiting from a neighboring state and were getting a lesson, first-hand, in Cultural Studies.  The guru was instructing them and giving a short lecture. I loved the fact that their clothing was so colorful as they sat taking notes in sarees and warm woolen shawls. It was incredible. 

     It was time for us to move and we spent a while then looking for our driver who seemed to be glued to his phone and was not reachable. As we waited for him, we were invited by every salesman to come and visit their home. But we’d had enough and we politely refused each of them. 

     Soon our driver was found and we began our onward journey out from a place that evoked in me a mixture of admiration and sadness—-it is heart-breaking to see the poverty in which these artisans live. Were it not for our generosity and willingness to support their crafts directly (without greedy middle men selling their wares), we would not see the survival of such arts and crafts forms in rural India.

     We then drove for about an hour to our next destination—Konark—where we were headed to see one of the most famous of ancient Indian temple-monuments to Surya  or the Sun God.     

Visiting the Sun Temple at Konark:

      The best part about travel and tourism for me is how much I learn from every place I visit. This was certainly the case here.  All I knew was that Konark or Konarak was famous for a temple called The Sun Temple. I knew nothing else. By the time I was done with my travels through Orissa, I would get to know that the Holy Trinity (as it were) of Orissa’s Hindu temples are the Jaganath Temple at Puri (which we saw yesterday), the Sun Temple at Konark (which we were seeing today) and the Lingaraj Temple in Bhubaneswar (which I intend to see tomorrow).  

     Getting to the venue, about a half hour later, we found out that the Indian Oil Company has taken over the maintenance of this site. It has built a wonderful paved approach to the temple with trees lining it. There is also a lovely visitors center with toilets (a rarity in India) for which one paid Rs. 5. We bought tickets for Rs. 40 each, used the facilities and made our way down the paved path to the temple—we could catch a glimpse of it between the trees. 

     However, before we got to the Temple itself, we passed by a small Museum which offered a great introduction to the monument. This, by the way, is a monument protected by the Archeological Survey of India.  It is not a living temple—there are no worshippers here. People only come here as tourists.  That is why it is open to non-Hindus unlike the Jaganath and Lingaraj Temples. 

     The Museum told us a great deal about Sun Worship and its occurrence in varied cultures—Persian, Greek, Mexican and Chinese. Wonderful exhibits told us about similar temples built in different parts of the world through the centuries. In Konark, the God worshiped is Surya, the Sun God. As we walked through the exhibit, in which replicas of the varied sculpted figures and forms that are found on the sides of the temples are to be found, we leaned about the legend that supports the creation of this temple.

     Built by King Narasimhadeva I, the legend goes that he contracted leprosy and was instructed by his mother to pray to the Sun God for a cure. He did so and was told to take a holy dip in the Daya river—which he did. When he emerged, his disease had cleared. In gratitude, his mother suggested he should built a temple similar to the one that had been built by his father in Puri—the Jaganath Temple. And so construction on the temple began in 1244 and continued until 1256. This legend was explained to us through a lovely animation film in the Screening Room that was the last stop in the Visitors Center.  I was most impressed by the manner in which Indian Oil has made the history and mythology of the temple accessible to foreigners and non-Hindus.However, historical versions state that it was built to celebrate his victory over the Muslims. Indeed the temple was in use until the early 17th century when it fell into disuse following its desecration by one of Jehangir’s envoys.     

Visiting the Temple Precincts:

     As we emerged from the Visitors Center, we were accosted by a number of men offering their services as guides. Lonely Planet had suggested that we get one because there are many details that we would miss if they were not actually pointed out to us.  Hence, we did hire a man for Rs. 250–he said he would give us an hour long tour with commentary in English. As it turned out, he doubled up as a photographer also and concocted all sorts of novel poses and venues for us to immortalize our visit.

     By the end of our visit, I realized that the most famous part of the iconography of the temple is the Wheel—it is featured on India’s currency notes. I also learned that the Number 12 has great significance at Konark—it was built in 12 years and has connections with the 12 months of the year, the 12 hours of the day, the 12 hours of  the night, etc.  It took 12,000 workers to complete the project. In addition, there are connections with astronomy because on certain days of the year (probably the Summer Solstice and Winter Solstice), the rays of the rising sun are said to fall in a single straight line on the face of the main deity, the Sun God or Surya, as he sat on the main altar.  That main statue was spirited away by the British and is now, apparently, in the British Museum in London! There are three other chlorite statues of Surya in other poses have been restored and replaced in niches on the other three sides of the temple to catch the rays of the sun at dawn, noon and sunset.

     The guide also made it clear that the temple was constructed entirely of black Orissan stone with the doorways to each altar made of green Chennai granite. He also explained that the temple was supposed to be a ‘rath’ or chariot and was drawn originally by 7 horses—only two of them still stand—the rest have been destroyed by the ravages of time. In fact, much of the temple’s layers or tiers have fallen and they lie scattered about the precincts.  Attempts are being made to shore up the structure and bolster it by the use of metals scaffolding. In fact, there is apparently so much iron in the structure that ships were said to be drawn as if by magnets to the spot.   Lots of the carved panels have also been destroyed and they have been replaced by straight, plain stone panels.  

     The guide also told us that the temple was visualized as appealing to three human states: childhood (represented by carved animals), youth (represented by erotic sculptures that depict scenes and poses from The Kamasutra) and old age (represented by images of the gods and goddesses). He pointed out many little vignettes that represented women at their toilette (applying sindhoor into the parting of their hair) or looking into mirrors held by their assistants, men and women entertaining each other, lesbian women in one panel, men at battle, etc.etc. He also showed us the four entrances or gates that were depicted with animal forms: horses, elephants, eagles (garuda). The stone was entwined with iron bars and there was an iron magnet at the very top in the larger structure called the Jagamohan. In fact, I learned the all Oriyan temples consist of two structures: the smaller one called the jagamohan which served as a place of entertainment: devdasis or courtesans danced for the entertainment pleasure of the wealthy; and the deul, the larger structure—usually conical—in which the deity was enshrined. This was used for worship and this was certainly the case here. Much of the deul in this temple has collapsed and is being bolstered by iron scaffolding. 

     There is a great deal to see and appreciate about Konark.  Not just the conception of it (which is unique) but the execution. When you consider that this was done in the mid-13th century, it is a feat of engineering that boggles the mind. The wonderful links between the gods and goddesses frolicking in Brindavan—the Hindu equivalent of the Garden of Paradise or Eden by pleasuring themselves in the manner of Kamasutra experimentation is fascinating indeed to non-Hindus. And when you consider how sexually repressed Indians have become since the time when such erotic images were freely sprinkled on temples (the two Indian temples with such depictions are Konark and Khajuraho in Madhya Pradesh), you are indeed awed.

     We spent a lot of time in Konark and were fully satisfied with our visit. There were loads of other visitors in the space—mainly Indian visitors; we did not see many foreign tourists at all. By the time we were done, it was 3.00 pm and we were ready for a very late lunch.  Luckily, Kamat’s, a South Indian fast food chain, has an outlet there and we ended up eating masala dosas and sipping lassis for our very economically priced meal. 

     Back in our car, at about 4.00 pm, we were ready to head back to our hotel to relax after what had been a very fulfilling and instructive day. We rested for two hours, took swift naps and then got dressed and ready for dinner.

Dinner at Chanakya Hotel:

     We thought initially that we would go to one of the Mayfair restaurants for dinner—this is a famous hotel chain in Puri and there are two of them: Mayfair Waves and Mayfair Heritage. We looked at Waves and found that all they had was a buffet for Rs.1050 per head.  We did not wish to eat too much and preferred to take a look at the Mayfair Heritage.  But the prices there were shockingly high and we decided that we were much better off going back to the Chanakya Hotel where in the gracious, old-fashioned manner of the colonial Railway restaurants, we had enjoyed such a good meal last night.

     And so that was what we did.  We strolled at leisure to the place and sat ourselves down. We were also more judicious with our order—fresh lime sodas and Thums Up for drinks with no appetizers.  We went straight to the meal and chose Mattar Paneer and Murgh Shahi Korma with garlic naans and tandoor rotis.  Everything was very good indeed and with dessert of chocolate ice-cream with chocolate sauce, it was a very economical and satisfying meal indeed.

    The best part was that our hotel was just a few minutes jaunt away and in no time at all, we were in our rooms getting ready for a well-deserved rest after a very interesting day. Before I fell asleep, however, I waited up to find out if Chriselle had landed in Bombay and if she had made contact at the airport with my Dad and my cousin Blossom who had gone to pick her up with my friend Anil’s car and driver. All was well, she had landed, made contact and was on her way to Dad’s place.  Quite relieved, I then went off to bed.

     Until tomorrow...         

     

Exploring Lake Chilka in Orissa, the Jaganath Temple and Dinner in a Colonail Railway Restaurant

Monday, December 17, 2018

Bombay

Exploring Lake Chilka and Viewing the Jaganath Temple and Dinner in a Colonial Railway Restaurant

     Namaste from Puri in Orissa!

     Awaking in Puri in a vast three-star hotel which overlooks the waterfront—a vast beach on the mighty Bay of Bengal—was a novel experience. After spending some time blogging and reading my Twitterfeed, I rose for a shower and got dressed.  I made myself a cup of coffee with the decaf sachets of coffee that I always carry with me when I travel. I also had the good sense to eat a granola bar (which I also always carry with me—I bought a few just before leaving from Bombay) It was the only breakfast I would eat! 

     The weather here in Puri is chilly—certainly by Bombay standards but even in comparison with the US—I am afraid I have not carried the right clothes. In fact, I am so glad that I threw in the light down jacket from Uniqlo that comes in its own little carrying pouch which I had bought for the spring and fall in the US. It is doing yeoman service here. 

     Our taxi was on its way to pick us up when Nafisa, Hosefa and I were seated in the lobby of the hotel at 9.00 am—its scheduled time of arrival.  It came at 9.10 and it was about 9.15 when we left for our day-long excursion to Lake Chilka—which is the largest brackish water lake in Asia.

Driving to Lake Chilka:

     The drive to Lake Chilka took exactly 90 minutes. We went into the heart of rural India and rural Orissa. We passed fields—many water-logged, probably rice paddies—and villages along the way  and all sorts of animals including dead dogs in the middle of the road (not a pretty sight for sure). Women with bundles of long sticks on their heads was a common sight—these are used for firewood. In many ways, I felt as if time had stood still in this part of India. Truly, there are still two Indias: The India of the glitzy metropolis and the India of the rustic village. If there is crushing poverty in these villages, it is not overt. Sadly, there were no restaurants anyway and I kept hoping we would stop for breakfast but it turns out that Hosefa had bought himself two croissants from the bakery at the hotel yesterday and ate those and Nafisa can well do without breakfast.  I need a good solid breakfast to get my day started (I can well do without dinner!), hence, I was feeling the pinch of a very light meal and hoped for something better. I would be disappointed for the entire day.

   

Arrival at Lake Chilka:

     We saw Lake Chilka from out of our windows long before we stopped at the tourist point. It is a vast body of water—so huge that you can be fooled into thinking that you are looking out on to the ocean—and indeed you would not be wrong because Lake Chilka is on the East Coast of India and there is only a narrow sand bar that separates the thundering Bay of Bengal from the sweet waters of the Lake.  So close are the two bodies of water that they seep into each other. Saline water from the ocean seeps into the Lake and gives it a salt taste and the lake’s water empties into the ocean. The lake is punctuated with many islands, most of which are uninhabited. It is an active spot for the congregation of migratory birds that come south from Siberia and Russia in the winter—so it is popular with ornithologists. 

Spending a Day Messin About on Boats:

     Upon arrival at the embarkation point, we discovered that we needed to buy a ticket for a boat that would be ours for the next four hours. There are three packages to choose from and we bought the one that took us dolphin watching, viewing of red crabs, to Classic Beach and for lunch at a lake-side shack. It cost us Rs. 4,600 for the entire boat with boatman who would stay with us for the day. The boats were moored about a three minute walk away and as we strolled towards it, we picked up packets of chips and biscuits. It was this sort of rubbish that would basically see us thought the day, food-wise.

     So what did we see on our excursion? We saw the extremely murky waters of the lake that had zero clarity. The water was so opaque that we could not see anything below the surface.  It was also a ghastly yellow color. Our boat was motorized—so we kept up a good pace. We had been instructed to buy some crackers to throw at birds to ensure that we would see a whole lot of them; but all we saw were those types related to Jonathan Livingston! I.e. seagulls. Each time we threw a handful of the snacks, they followed our boat and congregated around it to give us some good photo ops. But apart from seagulls and crows, we saw no other birds at all.  Apparently, you need to get to a bird sanctuary (which they told us was closed) to see them.

     Dolphin-watching was very satisfying indeed as we saw so many bottle-nosed dolphins—some really close to our boat. This was the most exciting part of our boating excursion.  They are black and about the size of a dog and they occasionally break the surface in the sort of graceful loop that whales do. We saw so many of them that we were able to see their split tails, their dorsal fins as well as their bottle noses. A really good time was had as we scoured the horizon trying to find them.  There were several other boats on the water, filled, in similar fashion, with tourists (most of whom are from neighboring West Bengal). I sat with a life jacket on throughout and it gave me a great sense of comfort.

     Following the dolphins watch, we were taken a very vast instance away to what our boatman called the Sea Mouth—the point at which the lake and ocean meet. On one of the islands, we were supposed to have lunch.  Lunch consisted only of freshly caught fish—it was going to be a repeat of the sort of dinner we ate last night. When we disembarked from the boat on to the sandy shore, we were taken to a makeshift shack where a man showed us fish in various plastic basins  We chose a bunch of shrimp and a pomfret after a price had been arrived at. We then moved into another shack—this offered merciful relief from the horrible wind that had played throughout our boat ride on the lake and was especially fierce on the island.  The little shack was a cozy place to sit at a plastic table with plastic chairs to eat our lunch. It was prepared with onions, tomatoes and a variety of spices. No bread, chapatis or rice was available with the fish.  So basically, all we ate was fish—you can just imagine how tiny a meal that was! We ate four shrimp and half a pomfret (split between Hosefa and myself) and that was it. More biscuit- eating, potato chip-eating and chocolate-eating followed. It was truly bizarre.

     On this island, we were also supposed to see the so-called red crabs (for which we had paid more money). We were instructed to walk a long way across the sand bar to get to the beach where, and if we were lucky, we would spot a few.  As it turned out, it was high tide and our boatman told us that our chances of seeing them were slight.  We did not want to walk the distance to the beach—so we asked people who were picking their way back what they had seen and they said there was not a red crab in sight! We, therefore, decided not to take he trouble to walk there across the sand.

      Back in the boat we were taken to another island where we had to listen to a con man break clams and cockles and magically produce a pearl and a shiny glass-like stone from the inside, much to our amusement. He was selling the pearl for Rs. 350 and other piece of polished multi-colored glass for Rs. 2,500.  I have seen con jobs and con jobs in my time but this really took the cake! The less said the better.  Luckily, our travel shave also taught us to beware of such nonsense and we made short shrift of his efforts before we set sail again.

     By this time, we were just fed up with he monotony of the ride and instructed our boatman to take us back to the landing jetty.  Which he did.  In total, we had been out for five hours and needed to get back to civilization again because there was absolutely no toilet we could use anywhere and the day had been cold. You can just imagine the urgency levels as the evening wore on.

     We were grateful to get back into our car and drive off toward Puri again. En route, we knew that we would be passing by the famed Jaganath Temple and so we decided to stop there.  There was also a constant light drizzle playing which probably adds to the unpleasant chill in the air and does not make for walking.

Viewing the Jaganath Temple:

     The Jaganath Temple is one of the most famous in India.  Puri, in fact, is one of the four ‘dhams’ of Hinduism—the others are Dwarka, Rameswaram and Badrinath. This temple is dedicated to Lord Jaganath whose talents have led to the coinage of the English word ‘juggernaut’ which implies a tremendous force. Non-Hindus are not allowed in the temple. Conveniently, there is a library right across the road that has a terrace from which the curious can overlook the temple complex although you do not, of course, see the holiest of the holy sanctuaries that houses the idols of the gods—Jaganath, his brother Balbhadra and his sister Subhadra. 

     Luckily, reading my photocopied notes from Lonely Planet, told us about the library and a sales person at one of the shops told us where to find the stairs to go upstairs to the terrace. In the library, which is filled with ancient palm-leaf manuscripts that date back 400 to 500 years, we found a real character of a librarian who put us through a whole spiel of  how we were part of the privileged visitors who could glimpse the temple complex from his vantage point. He made us sign a visitors book and after we parted with Rs. 200 (as a donation), we were allowed to climb the stairs up a narrow and very dark passage that led us to the top.

     The Complex is huge—as are all significant temples world-wide (we saw some gigantic ones in China recently that seemed to go on forever). The main steeple is undergoing some renovation—it was clad with scaffolding on one side.  Like all Oriya temples, it is constructed in layers or tiers—rather like a pyramid.  There were several smaller structures all of which were painted recently—they glowed white in the fading evening light. There are four entrances to the temple and we were closest to the Elephant Gate. It is truly a grand sight and very photo-worthy. We took many pictures. As we overlooked the temple complex, we could see monkeys draped along the sides of the many little buildings that make up the holy place. The man who showed us the place had a big long stick in his hand and he told us to beware of the monkeys who are aggressive and dangerous and actually bite human beings. It appears that dignitaries such as Lord Mountbatten of  Burma and the Vatican Ambassador, Cardinal Pedro Someone had also stood at the same spot and taken in a glimpse of the temple.

     Light was fading as we hired cycle rickshaws to take us back to the car where we then made our way back along a very crowded and congested road past many ‘dharamshalas’ or pilgrim shelters that were clearly at least a hundred years old. Overall, it was a wonderful lesson in Cultural Studies—to find such robust worship in the heart of one of Hinduism’s holiest spots was a stirring sight.

    Back in our hotel, we were able to rest and relax for at least two hours during which I called my Dad to tell him all is well.  He expects me to touch base with him daily.  There was also some drama about Chriselle not reaching Zurich on time—she had flown from Los Angeles en route to Bombay via Swissair and was supposed to meet my classmate Farhat in Zurich. Just out from work, Farhat began contacting me because Chriselle had not contacted her and she wondered if her plane had landed in Zurich.  Turns out Chriselle’s flight was delayed by 2 hours but, eventually, she did manage to reach Farhat who took her out for dinner to a fondue restaurant and gave her a good glimpse of the snazzy city in which Chriselle will spend one night before heading to Bombay where she will arrive tomorrow night.

    

Dinner at Chanakya Hotel:

     I was certainly ready fo a good decent dinner after all the garbage with which we had stuffed our faces all day! Good job Lonely Planet told us about the Railway Restaurant attached to the heritage hotel called Chanakya which used to be a government outpost during colonial days. It was only a short walk from our hotel to Chanakya and after dressing in three layers (yes, it was that cold!), we arrived there and were immediately charmed by the place 

      The Hotel belongs to the Bengal-Nagpur Railways and is maintained quite beautifully by it. It consists of a whitewashed two story building with wide corridors that have painted cement floors and a winding staircase that leads up to a gallery-balcony at the top that overlooks the Reception Area.  There is a lovely gracious colonial feel about the entire place in which rooms are let out for Rs. 6,000 per night. The receptionist was kind enough to let us explore and take pictures of the establishment that was punctuated with gorgeous black and white photographs of the many train stations sprinkled around India taken at a time when the Railways were run by the British and Anglo-Indians exclusively and were India’s pride and joy. It was all completely lovely.

     Dinner in the dining hall on the first floor was another one of those gracious meals that remain memorable for the combination of ambience, food and service.  We were ready to eat a horse and started with fresh lime sodas and an assorted platter of tandoori meats that included children, lamb, fish, and prawns that were just delectable.  We all had soup but mine was just too spicy—it was Hot and Sour Soup but it was truly lethal and I had my eyes and nose watering profusely. I actually had to leave it after only a couple of spoonfuls.

     Dinner was Fish and Chips for me (I thought a colonial meal was in order in a colonial place) while Nafisa chose Chicken Mercury served over fine linguine and Hosefa chose Fish with a continental sauce. It was all delicious and so good after a day of food deprivation.

     We also discovered that the hotel had a nice breakfast buffet where we will come on our last, more relaxed day.

     We walked back to our hotel, picked up food from the bakery for our breakfast tomorrow and then returned to our rooms to get ready for bed.

     Until tomorrow...  

Namaste Orissa! Arrival in Bhubaneswar and Exploring Puri

ORISSA AND CALCUTTA

Sunday, December 16, 2018

Bombay-Bhubaneswar-Puri

  

Namaste from Puri in the state of Orissa!

    As is to be expected, I did not sleep much as I have a trip tomorrow. Stayed awake until about 2.00 am—so decided to get up and write! Another blog post in the bag later, it was 3.00 am. I set the alarm for 6.00 and hoped for at least 3 hours of sleep.  I was gratified. At 6.00 am, when I could have easily slept much longer, I had to awake, strip my bed linen, take a shower, strip my bath linens, do last-minute packing, eat my breakfast of muesli (no time for coffee) and left for Dad’s. I left my laundry at his and said goodbye to him and Russel before leaving and going back home. I found a rickshaw on the street outside and hailed him, took him to my flat, picked up my stroller and backpack and raced downstairs. He took me to the domestic airport at Santa Cruz in time for my 10.25 am flight by Indigo Airlines to Bhubaneswar—where it just happened to be the last day of the Hockey World Cup Tournaments. 

      It was a pleasant flight—right on time. I did not even have to empty my bottle of water when I went through Security. There was no food served on board but it was available for sale and I picked up a Cup of Ramen Noodles in Paneer Makhani flavor which was actually not too bad for an airline meal! At Bhubaneswar airport, there was a lovely example of sand art (for which the state is famed) that featured a massive hockey stick and ball and the trophy. I started the naughty trend of everyone leaving their bags on the conveyor belt and taking pictures of the tableau!

     I found a pre-paid taxi service by merely asking the IndiGo Ground crew if there was such a thing.  They directed me to the right man who filled out the bill for me for Rs. 300. Next door was the Orissa Tourism Corporation and I managed to pick up a few maps as well as colorful brochures of the many places we will be visiting—apart from the state’s capital Bhubaneswar, we will be at the beach resort of Puri where the famed Jaganath Temple is also located and then on to Lake Chilka, the Temple of Konark, Raghurajpur where a tribal village and tribal artisans are to be found, before we take a train and head to Calcutta in West Bengal.

     In the cab, I was impressed by a wide road that led into the city that went past long stretches of a wall that was beautifully painted with depictions of flowers. It was stunning. My first impressions of the city was of a modern metropolis that is thriving and devoid of the horrid traffic ills of Bombay. I was at the hotel of my friend Nafisa and her husband Hosefa in ten minutes. The Royale Midtown Hotel is very centrally located and I reached there by 1.15 pm. They had just finished lunch of delicious biryani and were ready to roll. One call to a pre-arranged taxi and they were checking out of the hotel (where they had spent the night having arrived in Bhubaneswar yesterday) and we were on our way to Puri which we would make our base for the next four nights.

     The drive to Puri from Bhubaneswar was lovely—we were in the heart of rural India and it looks sufficiently rustic without revealing any overt signs of malignant poverty. The fields are still green following the end of our recent monsoons, the road was superb (a lovely highway that was devoid of pot holes or manic traffic) and the area was studded with villages that were actually quite prosperous to look at. There were many large posters of the current Chief Minister of Orissa, Nareen Patnaik, everywhere. I asked my cab driver is he is the son of the former Chief Minister, Birju Patnaik, and he said he was! The two look very similar! Seems he is doing a good job keeping his state in fine fettle.

     Once reunited with my friends, we got into a cab and drove towards Puri. Nafisa asked the driver to make one stop en route—to the Buddhist house of worship called the Shanti Stupa at a place called Dauli.  We could see the top of the stupa from a long distance.

The Shanti Stupa at Dauli:

     The Shanti Stupa at Dauli is a lovely snow-white structure that follows the traditional architectural design of the Indian stupa. It was built in 1972 by the Japanese Nippon School of Buddhism and it is they who maintain it and keep it looking pristine. Hordes of Indian tourists were at the site, having arrived in tour buses. Many seemed to be from the neighboring state of West Bengal and were of lower income classes. As I do all over the world, I keenly observed the clothing of the women.  No shalwar khameezes here—all the women were in sarees of a very colorful variety. However, they do not seem to have much color sense—there is no color coordination of any kind. It’s like a slap on, dash on kind of game is played with their wardrobes and they pick a bunch of things together and throw them on. At this time of year, when the weather is cooler, they are all enrobed in shawls over their sarees. I found the weather very pleasant indeed with no need for a wrap or jacket at 2.30 pm. There was also an overcast sky today so while we got good pictures without any shadows to spoil them, it was a tad too cool for Indian tourists but perfect for me.

     The stupa involves the climbing of a low hill and then the climbing of several steps to get to the top. It also involves the removal of footwear before one ascends the steps. We did as required. Hosefa watched hawkishly over our footwear to make sure it was still there upon our return as footwear is known to disappear when one is at a religious site in India.  We circumnavigated the circular structure at the top which is punctuated by four huge statues of the Buddha—two seated, one standing and one reclining. There are several sculpted scenes in bas-relief of the life of the Buddha all around the structure. 

     At the top, the stupa looks upon vast sprawling plains. These are significant because somewhere out there is the battle field of Kalinga on which the Emperor Ashoka (one of India’s greatest ancient rulers) caused so much death and destruction that on surveying his handiwork the next morning, he instantly became a pacifist and embraced Buddhism. He vowed never to wage war again and his gesture is a very important one in ancient Indian history as it marked the nod that the people needed to embrace Buddhism themselves. In other words, the spread and propagation of Buddhism got an enormous boost under Ashoka—rather like Christianity got a huge boost when the Roman Emperor Constantine embraced it and converted to Christianity after his mother Helena became a Christian—this was somewhere in 300 AD and it ended the persecution of the Christians in the Roman Empire and allowed them to profess their religion publicly for the first time. This is why the stupa was built on this site and why it is called the Shanti (Peace) stupa. I was so delighted to recall my own grade schools lessons in Ancient Indian History as I stood on this site.

     Nafisa and I then switched places with Hosefa who also took a look around upstairs before we got back to our waiting cab. About an hour later, we had arrived at Puri.  Both Nafisa and I nodded off for a 20-minute nap in the cab and arrived nicely refreshed at our hotel—the Hotel Holiday Resort that faces the Bay of Bengal. Check in was quite swift and safely housed in a lovely hotel with a large and very comfortable room, the bell hop showed me how to switch on the TV, etc. Nafisa and Hosefa had the room next door. I unpacked, made myself a cup of tea (I always carry my own decaf products when I am traveling) and ate a couple of granola bars. 

    

Exploring Puri:

     About a half hour later, we were ready to get out again and found that our beach front hotel opens up directly on the water.  Puri is known for its wide sand beach but there is not a single man made or natural structure on it—the sun must be quite merciless in the summer. We walked towards the lights of Golden Beach in the distance and then came upon a break that prevented us from going further unless we wanted to wade for a short way. We turned back and walked towards our hotel and out of it. On the main road, we started walking towards what is called Golden Beach—a good ten minute rickshaw ride from our hotel—and so we hailed one. It is interesting to note that it is only in Bombay that cabs and rickshaws ply by meter.  Here you pay whatever the driver asks—and this involves bargaining! Anyway, we got one for Rs. 50 and in ten minutes, we were in the area where all the action is to be found. 

     Golden Beach was teeming with tourists—both the waves and the waterfront that has a broad promenade running alongside it. The main drag is filled with nice hotels, restaurants like Indian Kamats (part of a popular South Indian food chain), and a whole lot of shacks that sell fresh fish and sea food from the morning’s catch. The thing to do, I was told, by my companions, is to select one’s fish or shellfish and watch it being cooked right in front of our eyes. I have to ay that I was a bit squeamish about eating food on the road side from a shack where the bucket of water in which the fish was being cleaned looked none too clean to me. When I voiced my concerns, the fishmonger-cum-chef heard and understood what I said and immediately ordered his help to switch buckets and bring a fresh clean bucket of water! I felt quite gratified at his attempts to reassure me and I agreed to split an order of freshly caught tiger prawns—that were the size of small langoustines actually. We selected six (Rs. 200) and watched as they were chopped, cleaned and carefully deveined. They were then marinated in a spice mixture with a lot of turmeric, salt, white pepper and a bit of chili power and thrown into a wok where they were stir fried at high speed and then plated and served to us with an accompanying mustard sauce.  I have to tell you that all my fears dissipated as they were simply superb. Maybe among the best shrimp (called prawns here) that I have ever eaten. 

     We then decided to have dinner in this fashion—moving from one stall to the next picking up little morsels and making a meal of them. Hence, a little later, when we spied a stall that was named Kolkata Rolls, I thought they were serving Kathi Rolls (made famous by Nizam’s of Calcutta) and decided to check them out.  We discovered inside that they were not kathi rolls but sort of Frankie’s—except that there was no mutton: there was paneer and chicken.  We chose two rolls and divided them and they were also delicious if a tad too greasy for our liking. Already feeling full with these offerings, we turned our steps back and made our way to a Momo stall where we chose steamed Mushroom Momos and fried Chicken Schezwan Momos—all simply terrific. At every stop, we were lucky enough to find seats where we could park ourselves and really enjoy these gastronomic delights. They made the best possible dinner. All that ways left was for us to get dessert--and this we found at a Wall’s Ice-Cream cart where we picked up chocolate Magnum popsicles and ate them with childish thrills. 

     It was not long before we found a rickshaw to take us back to our hotel where I spent a little while checking Twitter, calling my Dad to tell him all was well with us (he was in the throes of the last shoot out of the finals game and had no time for me) and then I was changing and preparing for bed after what had been a very nice introduction to a short touring jaunt.

     Until tomorrow...