Footloose in Chamba

What’s a town without a charming legend? Chamba offers quite an engrossing bagful and I was amused by one that spoke of the whims of royalty. It dates back to Raja Bir Singh of Nurpur, in the Kangra hills, who was a friend of Raja Charrat Singh of Chamba (AD 1808-1844). He saw in Charrat an ideal match for his sister and sent across a marriage proposal. Charrat agreed immediately, however, Bir Singh’s sister astounded him by rejecting the alliance. The reason: she apparently had an Imeldian fetish for footwear and felt Chamba residents wore cloddish shoes!

Nevertheless, the marriage was solemnised. And who do you think was part of her retinue? A humble cobbler from Panj Baria village near Nurpur whose duty was to craft gorgeous zari-embroidered leather footwear for Her Majesty; in addition to attractive designs for the public so she didn’t lay her eyes on crude soles. That’s how the region got the famed ‘Chamba chappal’ for women and sandals for men, which are supposedly still stitched by descendants of the cobbler.

The shoemakers I spoke to at the local bazaar weren’t aware of a noteworthy lineage. Some, though, were familiar with the legend and took pride in narrating it. The Nikes, Reeboks and imported fakes, notwithstanding, Chamba can be seen sporting footwear once made-to-order by a princess.

Considering it’s among the few towns in the country with over thousand years of history and is culturally evolved, Chamba surprised me by its size. It turned out to be packed but quite small. In the hills everything is in diminutive dimensions. Some impregnable forts I’ve viewed in Himachal would at best correspond to a chalet. Yet, I had expected Chamba’s past to be more exaggerated in its bearings. It was, instead, typically tucked away and content to be overshadowed by commerce of the present.

To reach Chamba valley we traversed a winding state highway that meandered past pretty rice fields running up the hills and neighbourhoods of sloping slate-roofed houses. Our SUV came to a halt as the land plateaued into a green carpet around which rose a town, appearing almost as an amphitheatre. This mountain table-top was the Chaugan, Chamba’s hub. Everything—melas, picnics, protests, sports, jogging in the morning, strolls in the evening—seemed to happen here. At its foot was the gushing River Ravi, the source for hydel projects in the district, and enveloping it were snow-capped Dhauladhar and Zanskar ranges of the inner Himalayas, all combining picturesquely.

It’s best to foot around Chamba, as you can barely shift gears that an intended spot arrives. For reaching places that are steep, well, the wheels obviously don’t roll up there, so panting and copious sweating is in order, regardless of the weather.

Chamba owes its all to Raja Sahil Varman (AD 920 onwards) who is credited with establishing this as his capital. His contribution, the Laxminarayan Mandir--a complex of five stone temples built in shikhra style--stands in the centre of the market and is Chamba’s holiest spot. It is from here that the annual Manimahesh Yatra commences in July-August. Thousands roll into Chamba everyday through the three weeks of the yatra. I happened to be visiting during its last stages and saw the town buzzing with pilgrims on their way back sporting red bandanas and carrying tridents of all sizes. Lord Shiva chants would rent the air for better part of the day and night and the rush of corporates to cash in on the event and sponsor free kitchens saw food distributed at all corners.

The Suimata Temple, a small dedication to Sahil Varman’s queen who sacrificed her life so that Chamba would always have water, and Chamunda Devi Temple are the other two prominent religious spots. These are at a considerable height and I wondered if my sins had been washed after the effort I made to reach their sanctum sanctorum.

Varman’s descendants ruled Chamba ably and their seat of power, the Akhand Chandi Palace, was built centuries later by Raja Umed Singh between AD 1748-64. It overlooks the Chaugan and is the most prominent structure of Chamba. The green-roofed palace is now a college and its painted walls, stained glass windows, intricate woodwork are to be admired even as their fast deterioration, in absence of maintenance funds, is to be mourned.

According to sepia-tinted bromides, royal Chamba offered only the palace and handful other buildings. The present day district headquarters has clusters of small shops, homes, hotels and offices. As I walked its lanes I would often pause at stone-latticed havelis with prettily carved wooden doorways and window frames. Many of these are increasingly being juxtaposed with brash constructions with no sense of design. Where and when did we lose our sense of artistry and hygiene is a question that has baffled me. It’s not merely in these hills but unfortunately across the country.

Chamba is a repository of monuments, fine arts and craft. The rajas were worthy patrons and their collective wealth of art history can be seen at the Bhuri Singh Museum (one of the oldest in the country established in 1908) that has a large compilation of sculptures, costumes and miniature paintings in the Chamba, Kangra, Basholi and Guler styles. Bits of the art processes can also be spotted at its bazaars where I saw weavers on wooden handlooms making shawls; silversmiths crafting pendants; metallurgists hammering at copper to shape it into trumpets, bells and puja platters; artists working on Pahari paintings; and girls embroidering the Chamba rumal (a unique do-rukha or reversible stitch-craft embellishing cloth used for covering gifts and holy offerings).

Lamp-posts in the market, dating to the early 20th century, pointed to the arrival of electricity here far before it reached more accessible parts of the country, courtesy progressive rulers who encouraged development in all fields. It's Chamba’s glorious past that remains its calling card.

Getting there:

Road: Connected via SH 33. There are frequent buses to Chamba from across Himachal. Private taxis are easily available.

Railway: Nearest railhead is Pathankot in Punjab (120 km).

Airports: Closest airports are at Pathankot and Gagal in Kangra (187 km).

Stay: The Hptdc Hotel Iravati has comfortable accommodation, friendly staff and good food. Tariff: Rs 800 upwards.

Published 2009

Chamba Rumal

‘Firdous Handicrafts’ said the board of the shop down a narrow lane ahead of the Main Market in Chamba town. The gracious lady behind its counter was Siraj Begum, an award-winning artiste who had been honoured for her specialisation in Chamba Rumal, which I had heard was a unique style of embroidery. There were numerous pieces of the stitch-craft displayed at her small showroom and on  first glance they seemed to be simple stem-stitch embroidery. But it was not as rudimentary as it seemed. It indeed was distinctive. The technique of embroidery was double stem-stitch known as ‘dou-rukha’ the uniqueness lying in the design on either side being alike, making it reversible in use. Being a master artiste, Siraj Begum was well-versed in the history of her craft and wove a fascinating tale on the rumal’s journey.

Embellished squares

Chamba Rumal is an illustrative skill of embroidery whose origin is believed to date back to the 16th -17th century, to the royal kingdom of Chamba, in Himachal Pradesh’s north-eastern region. The embroidered pieces were called ‘rumals’ or handkerchiefs as they were usually done on square pieces of cloth.

But that’s where its similarity with a handkerchief ends. The richly embellished Chamba Rumals can be as small as 6” x 6” or as large as 5’ x 5’. These were, and continue to be,  used to cover offerings made to gods and dieties, gifts presented to royalty, weddings platters, other ritualistic items at ceremonial events like festivals and religious fairs. Moreover, traditionally it is a part of the bride’s trousseau and it's her grandmother who especially embroiders it for the marriage.

The lineage of the rumal dates back to the Pahari School of painting established by miniature artists who were given patronage by Chamba rulers after the disintegration of the Mughal Empire in the mid-18th century. The painters translated their art on to fabric and this stimulated the women of the region who took up the craft with gusto. The motifs they embroidered were largely folk style depiction of Hindu mythology and social themes. “With time the designs have come to stay and even today only a slight variation in theme can be found on the rumals that continue to exhibit original patterns, with only the colour combination having become slightly urban,” asserts Siraj Begum.

Stitch art

The cloth used for the embroidery is usually hand woven muslin. The ground fabric is white or cream and it’s the embroidery threads—handspun silk strands dyed in natural colours—that provide the arresting contrast. As the initial step, the design is drawn or traced after which the filling of figures, flora and fauna is done in dense stem stitch in such a manner that an identical pattern appears uniformly on both sides of the cloth. Upon completion, the outlines and details like facial features, pleats of a lehnga etc are worked out in with black thread making use of basic or double running stitch depending on the cloth used, as in the instance of silk. For esteemed functions and for royalty the rumals were embroidered on silk, a delicate fabric on which the artiste needed to do extremely small double-running or darning stitch. The task was laborious but the final result in silk would have the magnificence of a painting.

Krishna Ras Leela, a beautiful circular pattern of Lord Krishna with the gopis, is a dominating motif on the Chamba Rumal. In all shops across Chamba town this design was found and classically is a hot seller. Siraj Begum too had plenty of colour combinations on offer in the motif, though she admitted that it was in vibrant folkish hues that the design looked best and not in nouveau shades. Seeing the difference in presentation I couldn’t agree more. The other designs that have stood the test of time are those of mythological episodes, especially from the Mahabharata and the Ramayana, nayika (maiden), deer hunting, forest scenes with lots of trees and animals, Shiva-Parvati, Radha-Krishna, and the typically dressed Gaddi-Gaddan with lamb (shepherd couple). Chamba’s famous Minjar Fair also finds prominence on the rumal. The motifs are bordered by floral patterns, highlighting the Mughal influence in design.

New trends

Moving on from handkerchief shapes, whose use is confined to an item of décor, other products in this craft now include a variety in apparel. The restricted available range includes panelled skirts, stoles, scarves, dupattas, kurtas and saree blouses.

The Chamba Rumal was registered under Geographical Indications (GIs) of Goods Act in end 2008. The Union Government’s Geographical Registry in Chennai issued a certificate in this regard in its response to an application for registration by the Himachal Pradesh Science, Technology and Environment Department. According to standard, “the registration of GI is akin to a community patent in which case in place of an individual, the whole community of artisans, producers and other stakeholders of a GI get benefitted. This registration will grant legal protection to the embroiders of Chamba Rumal, which in turn will prevent unauthorised production and use of the term ‘Chamba Rumal’ by any producer outside the geographical region of Chamba”.


For more IMAGES, DESIGNS, INFO contact: brindasuri@gmail.com

Udaipur

You can decipher the top spot of a destination by the names of its hotels and resta-urants. In Agra, almost everyone, the under-the-mango-tree dhaba included, wants an association with the Taj Mahal. At coastal places there are definitely a few dozen with Sea View as suffix. In the Himalayan belt there will always be a Snow Point or Hill Retreat amongst the billboards you spot. Likewise, Udaipur is no exception to the rule, with lake and palace being the buzz words here. So there’s Lake View, Paras Mahal, Hilltop Palace, Queen Palace and any other permutation you can think of. The choicest of them all of course is one whose name combines both elements: Lake Palace, a hotel that’s been voted amongst the most romantic in the world.

I had often heard mixed reviews about Udaipur, the erstwhile capital of the Mewar dynasty, and considered one of the most beautiful heritage cities of the country. The shrinking water table ruining its pretty lakes was a constant cry. This had lead to a spurt of NGOs sprinting off to rescue its decaying wetlands that looked less blue and more green on account of algae and hyacinth. Nonetheless, since the past few years the city of lakes had hosted a string of celebrity dos so it couldn’t be in such a pitiful state I presumed, setting-off for it.

The Mewar Express links Delhi with Udaipur very conveniently. It’s a 12-hour overnight journey that gets you in by 7 am, just in time for breakfast. With due respect to The Bard, if food be the music of life, eat on is my mantra. Though Duke Orsino in the Twelfth Night wanted an excess of music to kill his appetite for love, there is certainly no such cause and effect as far as food goes. Rajasthan is famous for its spicy as well as drenched-in-the-sweetness-of-sugar offerings. Udaipur in particular is known to have had one of the best royal kitchens and those recipes are still prepared here. My preference in those morning hours was for off-the-street fare and my guide was more than willing to kick start my city sojourn on a scrumptious note. We drove towards the eateries packed between the city landmarks of Jagdish Temple and City Palace and within minutes of our reaching I was savouring a typical straight-off-the-wok mirchi vada—a stuffed chilli-pepper and gramflour fritter—handsomely loaded with a variety of chutney. It had the right measure of spices and was not the dynamite its name made it sound. Next up was a flaky lentil kachori and a steaming glass of milk resplendently flavoured with a fusion of condiments. What was an enormous breakfast for me was a mere appetiser for local men in colourful turbans who had gathered at this hole in the wall stall.

Udaipur’s reference is never complete without mentioning Lake Pichola on whose banks stands the stunning City Palace complex, a few ghats, dwellings, and a couple of leading luxury hotels. The lake is the pride of the city and the Aravallis in its backdrop lends added charm.

The initial views of Udaipur had shown me a series of atmospheric narrow lanes and bylanes typical to Rajasthan but as I approached the lake front it was as if I had entered a completely new world. Geography textbooks never told me an oasis could be so beautiful. They never mentioned its mornings could be ethereal or its sunsets gorgeous. They never said it could evoke poetry. You see, they never revealed the romance of a place called Udaipur. It’s Lake Pichola and the royal quarters around it, so sculpted and planned to precision, that overpower the senses. It’s said, when Maharana Udai Singh was ruling the kingdom of Mewar, Mughal emperor Akbar captured Chittorgarh in AD 1568. This forced the Maharana to relocate and establish a new capital, which was christened Udaipur. The Suryavanshi dynasty ruled fearlessly and passionately, each succeeding maharana beautifying the capital city and leaving his imprint on the sands of time.

I spent Day One by the lake enjoying its many moods. If it were up to me, I would not have ventured beyond its sight, so fairytale-like are its environs. But my super efficient guide was more than eager to show his city, and so the next day we began, delightfully so, with a boat ride to the two island palaces — Jag Mandir and the exceptional Jag Niwas (now the Lake Palace, a Taj hotel property). Next up was the City Palace museum where I found Mor Chowk particularly spectacular. Its mosaic and enamel courtyard has peacocks in lapis lazuli and other stones...talk about royal living and this is a shining example. A little later I was at Bagore ki Haveli, on Ganghori Ghat. Once the house of Amar Chand, the prime minister of Mewar, it's now a cultural centre and a must-visit to view a slice of Rajasthan. By noon I was running up the flight of steps at Jagdish Temple and then resting the heels at the popular Saheliyon-ki-Bari, a garden where ladies of the royal households would spend their leisure time. My whirlwind tour wrapped up at Ahar Museum, about 2 km from the city, a tranquil garden that has a cluster of cenotaphs of the Maharanas.

By sundown I was back by the shores of Lake Pichola. The sapphire blue sky of the morning had given way to flaming auburn and the waters reflected that majestically. Two musicians played the sitar, the stringed notes adding a dose of sublime to the already blissful ambience.

I hadn’t expected Udaipur to be so spectacular. A few days in the city showed what many others have felt before me. In the sweltering bowl of Rajasthan nature had been more than generous on Udaipur. Further on, its creators had accentuated this already worthy canvas with forts, palaces, temples, lakes and islands to compose an architectural landscape that was truly the shining jewel in Mewar’s crown. The reason millions have been smitten by it and I was no exception.

Factfile

Air: Direct flights from Delhi, Mumbai

Road: Connected with Delhi and Mumbai through NH 8.

Railways: Mewar Express (2963): Departure Hazrat Nizamuddin (Delhi) –1900 hrs; arrival Udaipur – 0700 hrs

Accommodation:

Fateh Prakash Palace, City Palace

Tel: 0294-2528016-19

Published in The New Indian Express, February 2010

Snowtime in Simla

She was Grandpa’s premier amour. He was smitten by her when a teenager and that was the beginning of an enduring romance. Even after he married Grandma, with whom he had a long innings, he never did forget her. For him she was an eternal beauty who always responded the way he chose: as a companion, refuge or elixir, sometimes all rolled into one. The years trotted on but nothing ever diminished his commitment towards her; not her wrinkles, not her tatters. She remained his Queen. Grandma had resigned herself to that fact and never resisted nor forbade any rendezvous he ever planned. When we queried her on it she would all-knowingly say, “First love is not easy to forget.”

The maiden in question is Shimla! Her affect on old-timers like Grandpa has to be seen to be convinced off. There’s the classic case of a friend’s NRI relative who visits India annually to avoid the cold European months. While here, the moment he hears ‘snow’ he rushes off to Shimla, defying all logic of having come to spend time in a cheerfully-mellow winter sun. “I’ve been from Alaska to Switzerland, but nowhere do you feel the magnetism of Shimla,” he always explains.

Shimla attired in her white winter ensemble holds particular charm for them. I had never been drawn to snow destinations so the only portrait I was acquainted with was Shimla in summers with its perennial rush-hour feel. Thus Grandpa and I could never agree on her status of beauty. He had seen her heydays when The Mall was a ramp for connoisseurs of elegance and concrete structures were few and far between.

It was a particularly cold morning in the winter of 2008. This was the effect of snowfall in the higher reaches, and happily for all local newspapers Shimla wrapped in snow took care of the editions’ lead picture. “You’ve never seen her in winters, why don’t you make a trip,” Grandpa proposed. I knew he would have liked to dash off but arthritic knees prevented that luxury. His suggestion was tempting and the next morning I was in Shimla. No sooner had I arrived than I looked around in disbelief. There was not a square inch of snow! I was 24 hours late. The previous day’s bright sunshine had made sure the season’s first snow-carpet did the disappearing act.

I rued missing my date with white floss as I trudged up to The Mall. Sprightly elders zipped past me even as I huffed and puffed, halting every few moments to catch my breath. At one such pit stop a local clad in the traditional coat and pahari topi began chatting. After a while as I took his leave he said, “Don’t fret. It will snow by late evening. I can smell it.” My olfactories smelt nothing; and I was certain his too had failed him when it was way past sundown and no sign of snow. It had been an exhausting, disappointing day and I retired early.

Despite the layers I was clad in, the night had been uncomfortably cold and I was up early. An inky blue dawn sky was peeping through the window and as I walked up to the balcony I noticed that quite bizarrely the colour was being reflected from the entire township. It took me a while comprehending the visual imagery and then my eyes stayed peeled. It had snowed!

Apparently snowfall began late last evening. Never again would I doubt a local. They know the scent of snow.

I stood in the balcony till the sky wore some blush-on. It was no picture postcard I had been looking at. It was real and the experience was sublime. What heightened the affect was the contrast; the myriad hues of yesterday’s muck and mundane had disappeared and all that was visible were the shades of purity. Now I know why the many who courted the Snow Maiden did. Attired in a sinuous robe of pristine white she appeared breathtakingly beautiful. One stellar stroke from nature’s brush had magically transformed her.

I stepped out of the motel for my maiden walk in the snow. The town was waking up and only once in a while did someone appear adding colour to the whitescape. As I strolled past its landmarks —the Scottish Church and State Library on the Ridge, Gaiety Theatre and gabled-roof shops on The Mall— Shimla looked a painter’s canvas. From trees to trails to buildings, they all wore a new expression. Snow had brought in a dimension where bare was beautiful. It felt God belonged to the school of surrealism. What I was witnessing was the annual presentation of his art-work. And each composition was a masterpiece.

As I approached Scandal Point tiny cottony balls began flying in my direction and I wondered what that was. Snowfall? Ah! It was my day. Within minutes snowflakes began melting on my hands and eyelashes. The flakes barely embraced before they disappeared. If rain is a resounding raga, snow is silence in motion and quite spectacular. I walked some miles in the snowfall and in those few hours savoured a lifetime.

For the return journey I opted for the narrow gauge railway route and travelling through snow by train was the perfect cherry on the top.

On arrival I showed Grandpa digi-shots of Shimla. For me these were mere images. For him they were frames of nostalgia. He beamed when I told him she was majestic. “I’ve always maintained that,” he said triumphantly.

It’s fortunate my trip materialised. Grandpa passed away shortly after. I’m sure his Queen shed a tear.

Published in The New Indian Express, January 2010