Bastar, Chattisgarh

  Rich times in Bastar

Monarchy may have been abolished years ago, but in Bastar it's unshaken. That, and other unexpected experiences, make a trip to this part quite memorable.

The streets have turned into ribbons of dazzle. The glowing October evening sun pales in comparison as a multitude of tan-taut figures attired in vibrant hues... shocking magenta, vermilion red, blazing orange to scorching saffron hurriedly march on. It’s the concluding day of the region’s biggest annual event and the celebratory mood is clearly palpable. Sewak, the cab driver, is manoeuvring his way through the milling crowd and at one point announces he can go no further, in the same breath adding, “I need to exit quickly. The Raja’s convoy is approaching and no vehicle dare come in his way. The public will not tolerate it.” I make insipid noises about law and order and query him on it. He politely informs, “Minister ho ya police, es waqt Raja ke samne koi matlab nahin rakhte.”

What a stunner! 

I don't attach weight to that declaration. A few minutes later, though, the cabbie’s statement rings true. A maroon hatchback blocking the convoy’s path is lifted and flung aside with matchbox disdain. The procession of the king’s men — tribespersons as Gonds, Parajas, Bison-horn Marias, Murias, Halbaas, Dhurwas — nonchalantly carries on. And none, not even uniformed men on duty, challenge them. This is an affair of a Raja and his praja (subjects), the world outside their kingdom may please step aside.  

The episode is of India, circa 2011, and no, it didn’t take place in a back-of-beyond jungle where, purportedly, men dressed in feathers pirouette around fire and their king sits on a throne decked with skeleton heads. I witness it in contemporary Jagdalpur, district headquarter of Bastar, southern Chattisgarh. The region’s crowd had gathered for the Bastar Dusshera finale, and the king they hailed — not overbearingly Rajasthanesque but almost-devotional — was the boyish Kamal Chandra Bhanj Deo, the 22nd Raja of Bastar from the Kakatiya dynasty. Deo, incidentally, holds a foreign degree and when not in royal robes for better part of the year is just another regular 27-year-old guy in jeans and tees who enjoys doing what anyone his age likes to.

Sirpur

Monarchy may have been abolished decades ago but in this part of the country dominated by tribes, despite winds of change (dish antennas atop humble huts, cell phones in most hands), core beliefs have remained intriguingly unshaken. One of these being customs linked to the 75-day Dusshera, which distinctively, is not about Rama or Ravan but a fusion of Hindu-Tribal rituals associated with the worship of Ma Danteshwari Devi and concludes with a rath yatra. It’s  then that the clock is rewound, and just the once when doors of the modest white-blue lime-washed Bastar Palace in Jagdalpur thrown open to let the constant stream of tribespersons pay heartfelt obeisance to their chief and invite him to participate in festivities.

Raipur, Chattisgarh’s capital, has negligible brand recall; ‘exotic’ Bastar having always been the magnet. The city displays precious little that’s inviting. But move out a bit and the state’s hidden gems shyly shine.

Relatively-unknown Sirpur, 83 km northeast from Raipur, off NH 6, is an archaeological treasure-trove. Way back in 639 AD the intrepid Hiuen Tsiang on visiting its impressive temples and Buddhist viharas had felt euphoric! My stopover at the verdant village evokes similar feeling. Untouched by tourism, it is a canvas of quietude, letting me appreciate the effortless beauty of its 7th century Lakshman Mandir, evidently the country’s only brick temple in a well-preserved state, or making me soak in the calm radiating from Lord Buddha’s sculpture in bhumisparsha position at the Tivaradeva Mahavihara, considered most stunning amongst vicinity viharas. The quirkily steep-stepped Surang Tila proudly displays its share of splendour. Around Sirpur lies much more and deserves at least a day’s attention. These are tributes to the song of the chisel and I feel the legacy needs tender, loving care. As a start, can the muggy on-site museums be given a makeover, please?

At the haat in Munda village

With poor railway connectivity, the NH 43 is the state’s lifeline, linking Raipur with Bastar. The highway is considerably smooth except for the potholed 12-hairpin loops of Keshkal ghati that re-jig inner vitals. This spot is a little ahead of Kanker, the gateway to Bastar and the subtle change in terrain from plains to plateau begins appearing during the onward drive. The eyes scan dense green hills of the distant Dandakaranya range, miles of soothing-green paddy interspersed by the revered mahua tree or slate-stone huts flank the tarmac, a trail of erect women in conventional knee-high sarees unflappably carrying aluminium handis swiftly walks past, a sulfi (fish-tail palm) tree waves its leaves and though I’m familiar with the tree’s ornamental value in cities it’s near-reverential status among tribespersons for its toddy, comes as a pleasant surprise. In fact a family’s status is indicated by the number of trees it owns. This is a prelude to discoveries ahead.

Kanker Palace: Period cloth ceiling fan 

The stately 1937 AD Kanker Palace, initially built for the kingdom’s British agent, is a welcoming throwback to the days of the Raj, its lived-in Diwan Hall filled with characteristic bric-a-brac, sepia photographs and mounted animal heads. The Deos were the first royals to convert their property into an elegant heritage hotel, the resurrection breathing life into the walls and acquainting travellers with lovingly-preserved original features as hand-pulled ceiling fans. I lunch with amiable Jolly Deo, the younger royal, a chef by profession, who’s got prepared a scrumptious North-Indian spread. I snoop around for local taste and the tangy bamboo-shoot pickle plays saviour for Deo, who promises to lay out a typical Chattisgarhi spread if I come by again. Now, that’s a tempting reason to return.         

Chitrakote Falls 

Jagdalpur is a base for Bastar’s myriad attractions: dhokra (bell-metal) craft villages as Kondagaon, wildlife parks, trekking trails, fascinating village haats etc. The most popular seems the Chitrakote Waterfall, and rightly so. They are spectacular! Fortunately I reach early morning, far before the tourist rush, and enjoy the powerful display of nature. I feel it’s needlessly compared with the Niagara. The raw beauty around it is more compelling than manicured perfection.

Dusshera Haat, Jagdalpur

A haat experience has been missing from the itinerary and tour guide Hiren enterprisingly locates one in Munda village, close to Chitrakote. I’ve always felt a local market is an expression of the place. Munda turns out to be an absorbing sliver of Bastar’s spirit. Under the shade of a few peepal trees, majority ware is spread out by brightly-clad Muira tribe women, picturesquely-conspicuous with side hair-buns, kilos of silver adorning hands and feet, gigantic gold nose-pins and a ready smile for the camera. I spot a young girl wearing a comb in her hair... customarily presented by a suitor. Deals are struck over gourds, tamarinds, red chillies, cane baskets and custard-apples; dried mahua flower heaps vanish fast with kilos being purchased for brew; earthen pitchers regularly undergo the sound-quality test; and despite being in a corner the landa (rice wine) ladies always have a gaggle of customers around them. It’s a quintessential atmospheric Indian village down to its caste hierarchies and yet another stimulating frame of a land full of legends, colour and staunch customs. The state tourism catchline is: full of surprises. I wasn’t surprised, just overwhelmed by the wealth of India once again. I’d say, visit Chattisgarh, it’s still original.

Muria tribe girl wearing comb presented by suitor

The Maoists have made sure Chattisgarh stays in news for not very encouraging reasons. However, gun-totting Maoists are not lurking behind every tree waiting to make instant fodder out of you. Insurgency-related incidents do happen, as it did when I was there, when unfortunately three jawans were killed but “fear did not sweep through all of Bastar”, as a leading English daily reported. Bastar was in the heights of festivity and life carried on. 

FYI

Chattisgarh has a rich green cover. Over a dozen wildlife sanctuaries and national parks dot the terrain. There are two splendid options on this circuit: Barnawapara Wildlife Sanctuary, 85 km from Raipur (Stay: Eco Resort, Mohda, a tourism property in the buffer zone, wonderfully overlooks a small lake and at times avifauna spotting is possible from the confines of the room. Tariff Rs 2,500). The engrossingly-verdant Kanger Valley National Park, 38 km from Jagdalpur, has added attractions in the Tiratgarh Waterfall and limestone formations at the 40-feet-deep Kutamsar Cave. Be prepared to cautiously tackle the cubby hole which leads down under. Tip: Carry a powerful torch to make certain the experience of viewing the stalactites and stalagmites doesn’t turn out to be a darkness-at-noon affair, courtesy sarkari bandobast. 

Getting there

Landa in leaf cup

Air: Direct flights to Raipur from all metros, Hyderabad, Indore, Bhubaneshwar, Vishakapatnam and Bhopal

Railway: From New Delhi: Bilaspur Rajdhani (12442, Tue, Sat), From Kolkata/Mumbai: Howrah-Mumbai Mail (12810, daily), Azad Hind Express (12130, daily); From Bhopal: Amarkantak Express (12854, daily)

Road: The NH 43 connects Raipur with Bastar/Jagdalpur via Kanker: 300km appx/6 hours. No state transport buses; private carriers easily available, one-way ticket to Bastar Rs 125-250. Cabs charge up to Rs 1,500 for a day trip. 

When to go: September to March 

Stay

Raipur: Hotel Babylon International (www.hotelbabylon.com) Quite simply the best address in the state. Significantly, serves delectable cuisine. Tariff: Rs 5,000 onwards.

Kanker: The Kanker Palace (www.kankerpalace.com) Delightfully-old-world heritage hotel. Tariff: Rs 6,000 onwards.

Jagdalpur: Bastar Jungle Resort (www.bastarjungleresort.com) Kurandi village (12 km). King-sized cottages set in a sprawling estate fringing the jungle. Squeaky-clean washrooms with mod-cons. Also offers the luxury of a hot shower under an open sky. Tariff: On request

Shop

Kondagoan (en route Jagdalpur) and its surrounding villages are recognised for trademark ‘ghadwa-kaam’ or metal-casting, including dhokra (bell-metal) and wrought-iron figurines, besides straight-off-the-kiln terracotta. Don’t skip visiting national award-winning dhokra artiste Jaidev Baghel’s modest residence-workshop that has over the decades produced outstanding masterpieces.

Drink

At a local haat take your pick between freshly-brewed Mahua (seasonal) or Landa (rice wine) served in a leaf cup and temptingly accompanied with a masala mix of salt-red chilly powder 

Edited version appears in India Today Travel Plus, December 2011

Chamba: Pretty perch

Chamba in Himachal Pradesh is an ancient town cradled by incredibly beautiful mountain ranges.

Cocooned amidst lofty mountains and rolling hills of the incredibly beautiful Pir Panjal, Zanskar, and Dhauladhar ranges, Chamba tiptoes up and down a two-deck plateau rising from the banks of a gurgling Ravi river. Over a thousand years old, this little outpost in northwest Himachal Pradesh was once a remarkable royal dominion established by Raja Sahil Varman in 920. Its geography cosseted it from invasions, letting it develop a culture of its own. Here the arts found patronage, literature strengthened roots and education was encouraged. Its royalty was continually farsighted and the region benefited. Chamba, for instance, was one of the first towns in the north to get electricity as early as 1910, with the dynamic Raja Bhuri Singh (1904-19) tapping into the era's newest concept of hydro-generation. As testimony to his vision, the main market retains several ornate electricity poles erected way back then.

CHOWGAN AT THE CENTRE

In days of yore, Chamba was a tiny town built around the Chowgan, a verdant central square, which continues to be its most popular public venue. In the past, it hosted coronations and sundry imperial ceremonies, now it's used for almost anything from social functions to political rallies and even leisurely picnics. On its flanks rose the attractive royal quarters and the market. Today's town has moved way beyond the Chowgan, with urbanisation creeping into the surrounding hills. The changing times have also diluted or destroyed the finer aspects of traditions. Yet, what remains shyly shines through the clutter, drawing the eye of the keen visitor and enthralling with their varied attributes.

The calling card of Chamba is its ancient shrines and their distinguishing architecture. Amongst the oldest and most revered on the checklist is the 11th century Lakshmi Narayan Temple. A short uphill walk from the market leads to its complex of six shrines dedicated to Lords Shiva or Vishnu. Each of these has been erected by rulers at different points of time and enshrine exquisitely crafted idols, which are now caged behind iron grills. A beautiful Garuda at the entrance is another highlight. Built in shikhara style, or tapering stone towers, it's their slate-wood chattris or canopies that make these temples typical to the area.

What's more, there is a gold kalash (holy urn) atop each, and legend says these were added in defiance to Emperor Aurangzeb's decree ordering temples to be razed. Apparently Raja Chhatar Singh (1664-90) took the audacious step in 1678 to indicate he wasn't afraid of the enemy forces! Other significant medieval shrines in the region include Champavati temple, Hari Rai temple (known for its Vaikuntha idol, a form of Vishnu with three faces — human, boar and lion), Bansi Gopal temple, Bajreshwari temple (that's a little beyond town) and Chamunda Devi temple.

Owing to topography, palaces in the hills are, in general, nowhere as palatial as those on the plains; at best, they are akin to huge mansions. Overlooking the Chowgan is the erstwhile royal address, Akhand Chandi Palace, built by Raja Umed Singh in 1748-64. The unplanned construction in the neighbourhood nearly hides it from view but, like a pretty diamond, it manages to grab the eye, the gaze returning often to its striking green roof and stained-glass windows. Part of the palace has been turned into a college while the rest is still home to the Varman descendants.

PAHARI ART

British influence began making inroads from 1840 onwards and their architectural imprint is noticeable in the post office, the courthouse complex, the well-maintained Circuit House and the Church of Scotland.

The Chamba royals were patrons of fine art, and the region's collective wealth of art history is showcased at the Bhuri Singh Museum, established in 1908, making it one of the oldest in the country. Here you'll find sculptures, costumes and miniature paintings belonging to the Pahari school of art, comprising the Chamba, Kangra, Basholi and Guler styles.

Live art in progress can be viewed at the town's small but lively bazaars, where weavers make shawls on wooden looms, silversmiths craft pendants, metallurgists hammer on copper and brass to produce trumpets, bells and pujaplatters, artists work on Pahari paintings, and girls embroider the Chambarumal — an inimitable do-rukha, or reversible, embroidery on square cloth used to cover gifts and holy offerings. Traditionally, the rumal is part of a bride's trousseau and her grandmother embroiders it for the special occasion.

Like in many of the region's hilly towns, a plethora of fairs and festivals take place in Chamba the year round. The Sui Mela held in April pays tribute to Shail Varman's queen who, according to folklore, sacrificed her life so that Chamba would never be without water. The Sui Mata temple is dedicated to her and, during the festival, women gather and sing praises of her valour and devotion. It's the poignant tale behind the event that draws devotees from far-flung areas. And on such days, otherwise quiet Chamba comes alive with festivity.

http://www.thehindubusinessline.com/features/life/pretty-perch/article2635741.ece

Published in The Hindu Business Line , Nov 2011

Spain by train: Segovia, Valencia

Ever since Spain expanded its high-speed train network (AVE) — now the largest in Europe — travelling within this vivacious country has become perceptibly convenient. For a visitor with budgeted time, day-trips are far more doable and if planned prudently a Eurail pass (www.eurailtravel.com) makes the outing cost-effective too, happily leaving a few extra euros in the pocket.

On a brief trip to Madrid recently, train travel nudged me into packing in two additional destinations, allowing the experience of contrasting cultures and bringing into focus Spain’s absorbing historical canvas. 

Valencia, Spain’s orange country and the birthplace of paella, is on the Mediterranean coast to the east. The high-speed train from Madrid has shrunk the 391 km distance to a feasible 90 minutes; in comparison the 362-km Chennai-Bangalore route by Shatabdi Express takes 4.50 hr. The country’s third-largest city, it’s a tempting mix of favourable climate (Mediterranean, of course), diverse cuisine (paella, tapas, horchata, turron etc) and engaging culture (historic and futuristic). And of course, it’s the home of the Valencia Football Club, a top ranker in La Liga, Spain’s premier league. Off-late Valencia has emerged out of the shadow of the two biggies, Barcelona and Madrid, but has retained its leisurely character and not turned aggressively touristy.

The non-stop train journey has made it the closest seaside town for Madrid and it’s not uncommon to hear holidayers heading-off for “paella-by-the-beach lunch”. I would vouch for it as a must-do when in Spain, having savoured this experience on the popular Playa (beach) de Las Arenas, which had a picturesque waterfront, a string of heritage restaurants and a lively Sunday market where among other buys were freshly-pickled olives.    

As across classical Europe, Valencia’s Old Quarter exudes Gothic charisma, and my exploration begun from the popular Plaza de la Reina. This has a clutch of striking buildings, the most celebrated being Valencia Cathedral, which evidently has the Holy Grail, the cup used by Christ at the Last Supper. Its hybrid architecture stood in contrast to my next halt, the 15th century La Lonja del la Seda (silk exchange), a Unesco site for being the best preserved late-Gothic example and a seal of Valencia’s golden age as a leading trade centre. What imprisoned my senses here, though, was an overwhelmingly delicate fragrance, which I discovered were from orange blossoms at its small central garden. What blissful natural scent! Oranges piqued my interest once again at the buzzing Mercado Central, the century-plus food market opposite the street, that’s a splendid manifestation of Moorish influences like ceramic tiles and domed glass-roof. It typically offered a window to the city’s culture and as I browsed, observing locals stock-up on paella ingredients, pans, ham and more, I noticed the tag ‘naranja’ on piles of luscious oranges. Apparently the Spanish term for the fruit originated from the Dravidian root naarinja, as oranges were an import from India/China. 

Historic Valencia was offset by two cutting-edge architectural spots. The City of Arts and Sciences, was a complex designed on a spectacular scale. Offering museums, opera house, Imax theatre besides Europe’s biggest aquarium, it was conceived to stimulate the mind. However, Bioparc, a new generation zoo got my vote as the not-to be-missed experience. Its uniqueness was the remarkable recreation of assorted yet freewheeling wild habitats: savannah, rain forests, equatorial Africa etc, with respective species co-existing in harmony. So if it was hello to the giraffe and zebra at one instance, a while later I was observing gorillas and flamingos. Truly, an enthralling tribute to sustainability and conservation; and a rewarding wrap-up to my Valencia excursion.

My next day-trip was to pocket-sized Segovia. Quaint and delightfully frozen in time, this Unesco heritage town, in the shadows of the snow-capped Guadarrama mountains, was merely 30 minutes by train north of Madrid. A showpiece of the Castile and Leon autonomous province in Spain, centuries of miscellaneous history met around the corners presenting a fascinating museum-like cultural exposition.

The Segovia tour got an awe-start with the multi-arched AD 1 Aqueduct, the town’s symbol. Built with stone but no mortar, it was a characteristic feat of Roman engineering towering over the landscape. Beyond it the skyline dramatically changed.

Dominated by an assortment of quirky Gothic-Renaissance turrets, domes, spires, towers and a labyrinth of twisting alleys, my first impressions were of having almost stepped into fairyland. As I realised, this was an oft-heard reaction. And if modern myth is to be believed, El Alcazar, the erstwhile royal residence on a cliff, at the end of the tourist trail, did inspire the logo of a company that’s enchanted generations with the magic of make-belief world: Walt Disney.

Another multi-spire stunner was the AD 1525 Segovia Cathedral dedicated to patron saint San Frutos at Plaza Mayor. His sculpture holding a prayer book stands in a niche atop the doorway, and legend says the day he closes the book the world will end!

Every step in this dainty, atmospheric town had tremendous architectural power and the liberal sprinkling of outdoorsy cafes, tapas bars, boutiques, old-style restaurants as Michelin-star Jose Maria renowned for Segovia’s signature dish cochinillo, and colourful souvenir shops made my hours vanish quickly. Soon it was time to board the train back to Madrid…with a promise to return.

Published in Deccan Herald, Oct 2011 

Lisbon: Memories of another era

WAYFARER

Lisbon is a small but charming city with many reminders of its glorious past, says Brinda Suri

(From top) A spectacular view of Lisbon from Alfama; The majestic Belém Tower; Passengers step out of a heritage tram Photographs by author As I stepped out of Lisbon’s stunning Gare do Oriente station — a must-visit for its outstanding contemporary design — I was confronted by a familiar name up in bright and bold neon-lit letters. The ultra-modern shopping mall across the street was called the Centro Vasco da Gama. It was a name we’ve all studied  about in our history books. Once you’ve reached Lisbon, it doesn’t take long to figure out that da Gama is one of the most revered sons of this tiny nation. He’s recognised for single-handedly turning it into a naval power, enabling Portugal to rule the seas and colonise distant lands. Discovering the sea-route to India in 1498 AD was his biggest achievement, and the reason that Portugal hailed him as a hero, and continues to do so. Lisbon sprawls along the banks of the River Tagus, which drains into the Atlantic Ocean a few miles away. Its location served as the perfect staging point for travels to the east and enabled the country’s seafaring voyages. And it was from Belém — now the country’s most-visited historical district — from where voyagers like da Gama set sail. I began my rendezvous with Lisbon, or Lisboa as the Portuguese call it, at Belém. Amongst its landmarks is an iconic trio of 16th century edifices in characteristic limestone and designed in the Manueline style — a distinctively Portuguese version of late-Gothic architecture. There’s Torre de Belém or Belém Tower, standing serenely on the shores of the River Tagus. It provides a beautiful view of the city’s skyline and the April 25th Bridge **.  The Belém Tower was once the last sight of homeland for sailors. Across the road is Belém’s splendid Mosteiro dos Jerónimos or Jerónimos Monastery, which has all the grandeur of a royal palace. The Portuguese are proud of the Manueline legacy and the monastery is said to be the best-preserved example of it. I loved the rounded arches, floral motifs and stones shaped to resemble twisted ropes. It’s here that da Gama spent the night before sailing for India. The existing expansive structure, however, was built to commemorate his successful return. Completing the trio of the spectacular structures at Belém is the adjacent Church of Santa Maria. It’s an ornate place of worship and also has tombs of royalty. There are only two commoners buried here — one is, of course, da Gama. The other is the distinguished Portuguese poet Luis de Camões. Even as I was admiring these iconic landmarks, I was drawn to an interesting-looking construction close to the Belém Tower. From a distance it looked like a ship’s prow on the edge of River Tagus. Indeed, the Padrã dos Descobrimentos or Monument to the Discoveries has been designed to look like that and is dedicated to the ‘Age of Discovery’ (15th to 16th century) when Portugal’s explorers brought glory to their homeland. A trip to Belém remains incomplete without stopping at Pastéis de Belém, the legendarypâtisserie next door to the monastery. For over a century, it has been serving Lisbon’s best egg-custard pastry with a sprinkling of pounded sugar and cinnamon powder. It’s a buzzing eatery and the fact the recipe is still a closely-guarded secret adds an extra flavour to the treat. Lisbon is a famously laidback city that comes across as being slightly different from other European metropolises. It’s a montage of pleasing contrasts with ornate palaces, museums, majestic churches and a Downtown with open-air cafés and swanky fashion stores. There are also delightful residential pockets with balconies awash with bright colours or dressed in Moorish blue tiles. Portugal was once under Roman rule and there are distinct Moorish influences from the time the Moors dominated the Iberian Plateau between 711 AD and 1492 AD. Lisbon’s well-connected public transport system makes it easy to explore the city. I hopped in and out of the trams and suddenly stumbled upon a heritage gem — the Number 28 wooden tram that goes up the steep hill to Alfama district. I was rewarded with panoramic views of Lisbon at sunset. I wrapped up my Lisboa experience with a traditional meal and port wine at Senhor Vinho, the city’s most authentic and stylish Fado (it’s a type of traditional Portuguese music) restaurant, owned by the country’s top Fado performer, Maria da Fé. It was an an indulgence, but well worth it. READY RECKONER Getting there: There are no direct flights from Calcutta to Lisbon. You’ll have to change flights in Delhi or Mumbai and London. For train bookings from other European cities, visit www.eurailtravel.com. Staying there: Hotel Olissippo Marques de Sa is a good option. Go to www.hotelolissippomarquesdesa.com. Photographs by author  **Correction made in blog text Published Sept 17, 2011 in The Telegraph, Calcutta

Ladakh Festival 2011

Published September 2011, Deccan Herald 

Discovery of India in Lisbon

Monument to the discoveries, Lisbon

No worries if you don't know Portuguese, chances are you'll get by with a few Indian words!

I'm at a restaurant in Porto, the city that's given Port wine its name, and I see an order of potato fingers whizz past my table. Despite that irksome word calorie attached to it, it's such comfort food and, a la Jughead, I'm tempted to follow its aroma. Instead I settle for the next best option of hailing the waiter and trying to explain what I want. After a few minutes, the eureka! moment happens. “Ah! Batata,” he says. I nod, slightly stunned. In a country where language is a barrier, I didn't know ordering a plate of chips was as simple as mouthing a term used in my own country. Who in west, or east India hasn't heard of batata vada, batata sev and the likes? Over the next couple of days I come across quite a few Portuguese loan words found in our regional languages: sabonete (soap), almiro (almirah), camara(room), chave (key), balde (bucket), toalha (towel), ananas (pineapple) and pao (bread).

WHAT'S IN A NAME?
Names in South India are known for their record length but, as I saw it, Portuguese ones can easily give them a run for their money. I happened to glance at a cab driver's identity card and it read: Nuno Jose Da Silva Machado Garcia Vilela. How do people address him, I asked. “They call me Nuno,” he smiled, adding, “My original name is longer!” Six-seven deck names were pretty common. So when our guide used the phonetic alphabet to spell the name of a posh area adjoining Lisbon's splendid UNESCO site, Jeronimos Monastery (where Vasco da Gama prayed before departing for India in 1497 AD), a colleague noted it as: Richard Edward Simon Thames Edward Lima Othello. But all that the beleaguered guide had meant to say was, Restelo!

TASTE OF INDIA
There's something very reassuring about home flavours. We had toured the Iberian Peninsula for about a week, and though we had been treated to outstanding cuisine, the taste buds longed for dal-chawal-roti. Very accommodatingly, our guide cancelled a prior booking and led us to a place local Portuguese recommended — India Gate, in Downtown Lisbon, one among the nearly 100 Indian restaurants here. No sooner had our group made itself comfortable than we had owner Hemant — who arrived here from Jamnagar six years ago to marry his ‘Internet lady love', a Gujarati settled in Portugal — scurrying around with our requirements. Oh! We felt quite at home placing the order in Hindi and then digging deep into an absolutely scrumptious fare, including baingan bartha, moong dal,raita, saag-paneer, a variety of non-veg besides aromatic basmati, crisp naan, and a host of accompaniments from papad, aachar, pyaz to namak. I requested a meeting with the chef, who turned out to be Vijeesh from Thrissur. I complimented the South Indian on preparing excellent North Indian food, and he beamed saying it was a team effort. His squad included a Nepali and two Punjabis: Baljit from Jalandhar and Mumtaz from Lahore, Pakistan.

ROOSTER CALLS
The Galo de Barcelos or the Barcelos Rooster is the national symbol of Portugal.
As legend goes, an accused sentenced to death in the town of Barcelos, celebrated for its pottery, appealed for reversal of judgement one last time before the Judge, who was attending a banquet. The Judge asked him to prove his innocence. The man desperately looked around and, on seeing a platter of steaming hot fowl carried by a waiter, prayed aloud to the Lord to prove his innocence by making the rooster crow. It's believed the cooked fowl got up and crowed loudly. The amazed Judge pronounced his verdict: ‘Never sit on judgment of a fellow man, and let the rooster be a reminder of that for generations to come'.
To this day it remains an emblem of honesty and is meant to bring good luck. I saw the rooster splashed across all sorts of souvenirs, perched on doorways or preening in lovely gardens. Though nowadays available in assorted material and colours, it's traditionally made out of clay, painted black, and decorated with white, green, yellow and blue polka dots.

A STRONG BOND
During World War II, Portugal was neutral territory and Lisbon quickly turned into a rendezvous zone for spies, chiefly because of its strategic Atlantic connections. Many a spy novel was set in and around the capital city and tourist agencies use that feature to their advantage by conducting special walking tours through spy routes. The most famous spy, though, to have set foot on Portugal is a certain James Bond. And Cascais, the cheerful town by the Atlantic Ocean, all of 30 minutes by train from Lisbon, flaunts the Bond connection via the flick On Her Majesty's Secret Service (1969), which was shot here and in the neighbouring casino town of Estoril.
While browsing Cascais's prettily-cobbled shopping street, I chanced upon a poster of Bond. “No one's been able to replace him,” I jokingly asked the Portuguese sales assistant. “None. They have all been merely 003.5,” he winked.

NO SOUR GRAPES
It seems a borrowed tradition from neighbour Spain but the Portuguese believe in it resolutely. It's the custom to eat 12 grapes on New Year's Eve as the clock strikes midnight. As a ritual, people are tuned to the town's clock tower and munch a grape with every chime. This is supposed to fulfil wishes and bring luck. I was told hardly anyone can finish all 12 in time and Lady Luck continues to act fickle. When I saw the lovely, big-sized grapes in the market, I realised why.

OF PASTRY AND MONASTERY
You can't have visited Lisbon and not savoured Pasteis de Belem, an egg custard-filled sweet puff pastry with a sprinkling of cinnamon and castor sugar. Not only will that amount to sacrilege, it's an epicurean loss too.
A legend in its own right, it was first prepared around the 1820s at the Jeronimos Monastery as a means of livelihood for nuns and monks. Since 1837, Antiga Confeitaria de Belem, adjoining the monastery, acquired the right to use its name. It bakes it by the hundreds every day and the recipe remains top secret.
The patisserie was typically packed when I visited. Every table had the same order, and when mine arrived, as I bit into its softly-crisp pastry and creamy filling I realised why locals said, “a dozen never reach home intact”! It is its sweet nostalgia that makes it so endearing.

(This article was published in The Hindu Business Line, on August 25, 2011)
www.thehindubusinessline.com/features/life/article2396898.ece

Indian Folk Art: Kalighat Paat

            Published in Deccan Herald, August 2011

Puri for the backpacker

The Indian backpacker circuit is pretty well defined now. Saunter its analogous boroughs and ubiquitous signage winks back at you. From Little India to Pumpernickel Bakery they’re all there to extend a reassuring welcome. Only local backdrops change as Old Manali dittos Rishikeish dittos Leh dittos Jaisalmer dittos the trendsetter of them all, Goa. The circuit adds new spots like Gokarna quite regularly. One recent discovery though that took me by surprise was Puri in Orissa being an old-timer of the trail.

Restless sea and siesta
From amongst the country’s beach-towns Puri is my top pick. I’ve been here quite often but never felt the need to surf the town; perhaps the reason I remained oblivious to its backpacker district. A holiday in this coastal town for me begins and ends with its beautifully-rough sea. I’m particularly drawn to its playful restlessness, the way its waves teasingly rise and forcefully crash, before coyly submitting themselves to the shore. It’s like a sprightly companion and I can sit for hours watching its antics.

Sea, swim and siesta, all perfect weekend ingredients, keep me quite occupied here. Throw in a daily massage and life is a beach! It’s an effort to exert and at best I stroll up to the bustling-with-tourists Golden Beach market to catch the evening buzz. 

Little else matches the enjoyment in having a munch, watching the waves coming in; and a lot of choice is on offer here. My favourite amongst hawkers is the singhara-wala, whose ware includes piping-hot singharaas (potato-filled fried savoury) and an assortment of chhana mishti (milk-based sweets). The fare is typically stocked in a series of aluminium pots swinging on two ends of a bamboo staff, merrily balanced on his shoulders. It’s been this way forever; the man and his trade being part of uniquely-timeless Puri.

When a friend from overseas recently dropped by holding that venerated bible for lonely travellers of this planet, did I stumble upon Puri’s backpacker information. I was curious. Seizing the first opportunity and armed with details I arrived in town to experience its not-so-new ‘new face’.

Then and Now
Puri is now directly connected with a number of trains, which usually run packed. As soon as I stepped out from my coach, I was swallowed by a sea of humanity on the platform. Whoever says Indians don’t travel needed to be there that day! Since my previous visit, the number of three-wheeler autos has shot-up and I was surrounded by a frenzied bunch of drivers offering to ferry me at “best price”. When I mentioned the hotel I was booked into, one of them said, “Oh! Angrezi taraf jana hai...You want to go to the foreigner-end,” and disappeared. I finally settled for one bargain and was happy to be out of the chaotic station. En route the driver re-confirmed if I had a hotel booking or was a walk-in customer. Apparently they got “no commission” at the backpacker-end and found it profitable taking passengers to the popular Swargadwar Road or Puri Hotel-end.

Nothing is too far in Puri and I reached my destination in a matter of a few minutes. It was a bumpy ride through mucky roads and I can’t resist my rant: when will we as a people learn to dress our towns? We’ve become conscious in (television) dressing ourselves but keeping it clean is also fashionable! It was a let-down seeing Puri dirtier but a few hours later I was glad at a redeeming factor: its beach was clean, very clean, the administration prudently having involved local fishermen to keep it such.

One of the first signage to greet me as I turned into Chakratirtha Road or CT Road, was, well, Little India! Not overtly backpacker when compared to other towns, this side of Puri is diametrically opposite to the popular end and blissfully quieter. On my friend’s recommendation I headed to a hotel whose old-world air had pleased her. It turned out to be a stately bungalow and in essence was a non-hotel hotel, but disappointing. Yes, it did let the spirit of communion develop among travellers through its non-intrusive ways but lacked modern amenities and a certain style. As in oft-seen cases, I felt, it was running on the sheer might of an entry into the sort of venerated bible my friend had been toting. Or maybe I’ve been spoilt by what heritage hotels in India now offer the budget spender. No, Z Hotel, yes that's the name,  was not value for my money. 

CT Road
CT Road has developed over the past few years, but it essentially remains an area where you can find your space and share notes with an interesting mix of easygoing travellers on sidewalks, cafes and of-course the beach. An Italian couple I met had been touring the region on scooter as it reminded them of home. A New York resident was here to study 7th century temple architecture while an Indian based in the UK was doing a project with stone sculptors near Konark. A 60-year-young Swiss was researching dolphin breeding patterns. Not everyone was here with an agenda, though. A trio of girls from Australia on sabbatical had been in Puri for a week with no plans yet of going anywhere further. I couldn’t resist asking them what kept them glued to the Puri beach when Australia had some of the best the world offered. They liked the “slow pace of life here, the untamed sea and warmth of the locals. A little hygiene would make it perfect”, they chorused. I agreed. During an interaction I was let in on a tip (from a travel bible) of getting the best views of Lord Jagannath Temple from Raghunandan Library opposite it, but to beware getting conned into paying a small sum for the views.

Expectedly the shops lining CT Road are tuned in catering to the requirements of an international clientele and fairly well equipped. The Enfield is on hire here and yoga/mediation classes are on offer. There are a number of internet cafes, a few lovely bookshops where you can sit quietly and browse, curio and antique shops that are not overly overpriced, apparel stores and quite a few open-air restaurants offering an assortment on its menu. As most businesses shut down during off-season (February to June) I had to settle for traveller reviews on places like Xanadu restaurant serving “fantastic sea-food”. One cafe which gets my top marks is the inviting Honey Bee Bakery and Pizzeria. If there’s any reason for me to return to Puri apart from the sea it’s this! Run by Debabrata ‘Debu’ Tripathy and his Japanese wife, it has a tranquil ambience and offers scrumptious breakfast, delicious cakes, good bread and a largely Italian spread. The ice-cream with chocolate sauce served in an off-beat blue glass cup-saucer was a divine treat. It’s its artistic presentation and passion that goes into freshly preparing every order taken which elevates the experience.

At this end, the beach shacks of Pink House Restaurant are very popular. They adjoin the fisherman cove and you can choose fish from the daily catch and get it cooked to order. There are some stand-alone shacks too that offer chairs on the beach for Rs 10, massage for Rs 50-100, and “meals” which essentially means, well, Maggi noodles and omelettes accompanied with masala chai or tender coconut water. The more things change the more ubiquitous they get in the backpacker world. No one’s complaining, though.

Quick Facts
Air: Closest airport is in Bhubaneshwar 57 km; Railways: Direct connections from Delhi and Kolkata; Stay: Plenty of budget accommodation in the range of Rs 500 – Rs 1,500. In the off-
season hotel rates are down by 50 per cent

Published in JetWings, July 2011