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

Indian Folk Art: Badhia, Raghurajpur

Badhia painting, Raghurajpur, District Chandanpur, Orissa. Artist: Swain

He claimed the paintings had been made decades ago by his award-winning father, thus the "antique" look. Hmmmn... The one on the wall is also by dear dad. Now, that looked genuine. But the house surely was  limewashed? Yes, every year. But the painting area was never touched. Hmmmn... (Above): painted wall in the village and artist at work on  a scroll 

Published in Deccan Herald, July 2011

Cascais: Do it like Bond!

 I enjoy good cinema, the kind that produces magic, whether it portrays reality, fantasy or comedy, but am not a movie-buff rushing to catch the Friday opener. Certainly there’s no testing my patience in front of predictable, uninspiring scripts. Nonetheless there’s one genre, okay one character, whose movies I can view anytime, despite them being awfully predictable and childishly fantastical. The James Bond flicks! It’s the silken ease and finesse with which 007 performs his craft that makes them engaging. Suspense aside, the locales of these films are mouth-watering, having been chosen from amongst the best the globe offers. One of these happened to be Cascais, Portugal, where I was heading with a group of fellow travellers. The Bond-connection made it the pick of the itinerary for me.   
A little-heard place outside of Europe, some parts of Bond’s ‘On Her Majesty’s Secret Service’ were shot here. And it didn’t take long to know why. Picturesque and brilliant as an ocean-side can be, Cascais appeared made-to-order as an  escape that let’s you truly unwind. Its sun, sand, surf, song and salubrious air has been reason enough to draw them all: royalty, nobility, celebrity and the Joneses. 
Those attributes aside what I found most attractive was it being a lovely train-ride away, all of 30 minutes, from the capital sights of Lisbon (Lisboa to the Portuguese). What's more, for the major part of the journey the rail track runs along the Atlantic Ocean. It couldn’t get better than that, could it! Though I stay away from comparing places, I can’t resist asking you to visualise Goa being a few km beyond Delhi. If the mere thought is relaxing you’ll know why Lisboans cannot be found at home on the weekend. 
Our Portuguese host Ana, a loyal Lisboan who’s now relocated to Holland, shared her childhood memories of cycling and walking along the ocean, from the outskirts of Lisbon, to Cascais (25 km). “Oh! I do miss the trail. Those were wonderful times,” she reminisced. “It would seem the whole city was moving out. Surf-boards, beach-umbrellas, cycles, boats etc stacked atop cars or as baggage in trains was a common sight.” 
It appeared quite similar to us as we boarded the commuter train at Cais do Sodre train station in Lisbon. The seater coaches were delightfully packed with feisty passengers in beach-wear, with a lot of them carrying gear Ana had mentioned. Apart from handful tourists like us, the majority were locals, clearly reflecting the ‘sussegado’ temperament of the Portuguese, the carefree legacy of theirs that’s happily stereotyped the Goans too. When travelling by train to Cascais, there’s a grab for seats on the left of the aisle, quite simply as the ocean borders that end.  We were a little late in boarding the train and had to be content peeping over shoulders to view the aqua spread. Very sportingly those seated by the windows would shift around to let us catch a glimpse, with some graciously offering to swap places. The Portuguese are disarmingly friendly and it’s their warm, welcoming spirit that leaves a lasting impression.
Ana wanted us to experience the joys of walking on her favourite path, flanking the ocean, and made us hop out at Estoril station, two stops before the destination. Estoril is the twin city of Cascais and a 4-km waterfront pathway connects the two. Walking towards Cascais turned out to be very leisurely, with views of the ocean being constantly impressive and beaches filled with sunbathers and sun-shades providing immense colour. Of what I recalled from the Bond flick, Estoril was shown to be a spot famous for its casinos. Ana confirmed casinos remained the biggest draw of the town and pointed out the location where scenes of the film were shot; at the five-star Hotel Palacio, almost adjoining the famous Estoril Casino, amongst the largest in Europe. 
The Estoril coast was pretty but Cascais certainly exuded more appeal, coyly flaunting itself as one of those postcard-perfect beach towns, all cosy, compact and cosmopolitan. It was our ‘day-off’, so to speak, after a hectic tour of Portugal and the agenda for the day was to relax by the ocean. It would have been worthwhile to spot some city sights (see fact file) but on the flipside there was a definite charm in being a local on foreign shores and not go tick-marking. And we did that quite spectacularly by settling ourselves in a buzzing open-air café by a cliff, where we lazily—oh! sussegado is so, so contagious—tucked into succulent Portuguese marine food. We ordered quite a variety and our tables were soon bursting with vibrant platters of gambas al ajillo (garlic prawns), ameijoas a bulhao pato (fried clams), robalinho grelhado (grilled bass), pescada c molho camarao (hake with prawn sauce), and yes, febras de praco na brasa (grilled pork scallops). Sangria was sipped as an accompaniment even as the eyes dreamily drank in glorious views of the vast, sapphire Atlantic. Near us a fado singer strummed his guitar and belted out quick numbers to add distinct flavour to the afternoon.    
Post-lunch the historic city centre beckoned. It was typically old-world with elegant pedestrian pathways typically cobbled with beige-black stone blocks recreating wave patterns. Inviting souvenir and apparel shops, snug bistros, lively restaurants, colourful houses with quaint balconies and trailing bougainvilleas lined the paved paths making the montage picturesque. The royals of Europe had found Cascais an ideal getaway and many had villas here. At present it’s the address for the rich and famous, and their luxurious properties dot town. Many can be spotted browsing around and sometimes are roped in by fans for a photograph, just as a popular Portuguese television anchor was when we were wandering the markets. A lot of Bangladeshi nationals have set up shops here and one of them gave me a generous discount on my purchases on account of being “neighbours back home”. Most cotton-attire stalls were retailing the ‘Made in India’ label and it was heart-warming to see bit of your country and its neighbourhood around.      
Back on the train we had a new lot of passengers. This time around there were tanned bodies and composed faces. The thought of going back to work the next day after a splendid seaside holiday universally makes everyone exhausted. If wishes were horses... the return journey would have had nobody on board. Cascais is one of those sort of places you would never want to leave. Else, Bond would not have been here!  

Quick Facts: 
Air: Lisboa International Airport, 25 km from Cascais, has daily flights to and from hubs of Europe that connect with India. 
Train (www.eurail.com): Cascais is reached by a breezy journey from Cais do Sodre train station in Lisbon. (This station is the final stop on the Green Metro Line). 
Road: Connected with the A5 highway and the scenic EN 6, the national marginal road along the ocean.  
City sights: Museu do Mar (Museum of the Sea); Museu do Castro Guimaraes (housed in a mansion of the Counts of Castro Guimaraes); Forte de St Jorge;  Boca do Inferno, a stunning cliff ; Church do Nossa Senhora da Assuncao (decorated with 17th-century paintings of artist Josefa de Obidos); Guincho beach, featured in the Bond flick and a haven for surfers
Published in JetWings International, July 2011 

Porto: Call of the wine country

THEY were a picture of contrasts. Our Portuguese host Ana, a top-ranking official from Lisbon or Lisboa to locals, and Jorge, a Porto resident and our city guide. The senhora was a freewheeling spirit, with cascading laughter, twinkling eyes and not shy of faltering. The Porto senhor was solemn, duty-conscious and I can’t recall him smiling. The two provided a visual display to a common maxim in Portugal: ‘Porto works, Braga prays, Lisbon plays’! The adage is used to describe the country’s north-south divide (a la Delhi-Chennai but in reverse equation) between the apparently more traditional and hardworking Northerners, and the flamboyant Southerners, flaunting and flirting with power. Industrial Porto is an economy booster, but seemingly doesn’t get due credit. That it wears a chip on its shoulder came through as our tour progressed, with Jorge often making it a point to stress certain attributes of his city being “more/better than Lisbon” much to Ana’s amusement.
It appeared the two geographically-diverse cities — Lisbon (with its sun-baked plazas) and Porto (where cool mountain air wafts in making it semi-Mediterranean) — agreed to disagree on almost everything. Except, when it came to Port wine! The pride of Portugal, the wine is aged and marketed from Porto. Jorge knew he had no competition here and proudly said: “Portugal and its famous wine get their name from my city.” Maybe, just maybe, a faint smile lit up his face then.
Porto, or O Porto (The Port) as Portuguese refer to it, is the country’s second largest city and amongst the oldest provincial settlements of Europe. Dating back to AD 3, it features on the Unesco world heritage list. It’s on the estuary of the lovely Rio Douro (River of Gold) that meanders through the Iberian Peninsula before embracing the Atlantic Ocean.
Around 90 km north of Porto, its waters form the Douro Valley, where the wine is exclusively produced in over six-lakh acres of quintas (vineyards). In times gone by, wine casks were sent down the Douro in rabelos or flat-bottom sailing vessels, to be stored in adegas (cellars) at Porto and its sister city Vila Nova de Gaia, just across the river. It was bottled and exported from here, acquiring the name ‘Port wine’ or ‘Vinho do Porto’.
Vila Nova De Gaia — linked to Porto by the famous arched Dom Luis I Bridge (featured in many a Hollywood movie) engineered by an associate of Eiffel — is where we headed for a tour of the ‘wine caves’ (as cellars are called) at the circa 1859 firm, Calem, one of the leaders among the over dozen lining the Douro.
Our dishy Greek guide briefly introduced the fortified wine, consumed as an aperitif or dessert, before leading us to a casket-shaped room to view a short film on wine production. “You are sitting in a casket, if sweet enough you’ll turn into wine,” he joked. None of us did! Next up was a walk through the caves packed with oak casks and getting acquainted with different ports—Blanco or White, which was gaining in acceptance; time-honoured Ruby and Tawany that could be stored after opening; and the delicately-fashionable Vintages. The quick tour gave a wine novice like me a feel of the deal and concluded with a tasting of red and white port in a sparkling hall, with a live band adding to the mood. Expectedly, each of us picked up a bottle of port as souvenir.
Porto’s history shows a series of conquerors, from the Romans to the Moors, stepping on to its shores and dominating for centuries. Their assorted influences are visible in the compelling architecture found within its labyrinth of cobbled alleys, edifice façades with distinctive blue ceramic tiles, Gothic churches (the pick of the city sites for me being Igreja de São Francisco or Church of Saint Francis with Baroque-style gilt edged wood interiors) and the classic town square, all coming together to lend a quaint yet atypical medieval look.
The river-front or Ribeira is the most atmospheric part of the historic city, packed with open-air cafes, restaurants and pubs. It’s nice to sit by the river here and soak in the spirit. Adding to bygone charms are the sailing rabelos. Though no longer in use, these are a tourist attraction for cruises. On St John’s Day, June 24, crowds gather by the Douro to watch rabelos take part in the annual regatta.
And of course, celebrations mean the vinho do porto flows unrestricted and diligent Porto lets its hair down.

PORT WINE BRANDS TO PICK FROM: Fonseca,Taylor’s, Calem, Romariz, Sandeman

HOW TO REACH: Air: Several low-cost and regular international carriers fly into Porto.

Train (www.eurailtravel.com): From Lisbon stations (Gare do Oriente or Santa Apolónia), take the train for Campanha (3 hours), from where there’s the choice of changing to a train heading to Sao Bento, the city centre (5 minutes, no extra ticket required), or taking taxis.

WHERE TO STAY: Tiara Park Atlantic Porto (www.tiara-hotels.com), Porto Palácio Hotel (www.hotelportopalacio.com)


Published in The New Indian Express, July 2011

Indian Folk Art: Saura painting, Orissa

Symbolic: Reflecting their cults and myths.

Art

Saura invocations

BRINDA SURI

Apart from depicting primitive everyday life, Saura paintings are meant to appease the presiding deity, Edital.

Saura paintings almost always become a victim of mistaken identity. The reason being that the-less-promoted Saura with origins in Orissa and the-very-popular Warli from Maharashtra seem separated at birth.

The common factor between the two begins and ends with them both being tribal pictographs and thus having similar elements expressed in a similar idiom, which in this case is stick figures. That apart, there are subtle differences that distinguish a Warli from a Saura; and once pointed out by masters of the art, there's a lean chance of not being able to make a distinction between the two.

Decreasing in number

The Sauras are considered amongst the oldest tribes in India. They have features resembling the pre-Dravidian tribes, and largely inhabit the currently-strife-torn tribal zone of Orissa, particularly Koraput, Gajapati, Nabrangpur and Rayagada districts. In addition, sizeable numbers are also settled in Chattisgarh, Andhra Pradesh, Jharkhand and Assam.

Tribes across the country have a thread of commonality running through their customs, and the differences that exist have been observed to be largely region-specific. All tribes have a close affinity with nature and besides worshipping its bounties in all forms, their daily existence, including household chores, livelihood and entertainment, also revolves around it. It's no different in the case of the Sauras, who live in a terrain that is hilly and has dense forests. Their huts are characteristically built with bamboo and mud on a raised platform and are very basic in design— rectangular with a small main door. The tribe is known for contoured farming and their sustenance depends on shifting agriculture, hunting and fishing.

On the face of it, it's this primitive everyday life that is depicted in the Saura paintings. There is, though, a deeper meaning to each work that the artists produce. Most significantly Saura paintings are done to appease their presiding deity, Edital, who is invoked during all rituals and celebrations. This invocation in the Saura paintings is shown through assorted symbols drawn from their day to day living, cults and myths with each holding a meaning for their worship.

“The most important tradition among the Sauras is praying for the well-being of their ancestors. This is followed by other celebrations as child-birth, harvest, marriage etc. During each occasion the painting called ekon, or nowadays eponymously referred to as edital, is worshipped,” says artist Kesudas of Baleswari Kala Kendra, Balasore. “The ekon is made on the walls—it's mandatorily done when a new house is constructed—and traditionally the Sauras choose a dark corner inside their home for it. Every occasion does not demand a new ekon and the existing one is regularly used; until and unless it is a significant family/societal event or time to give the house a new coat of paint, which is when specific set of prayers are done before an ekon is created,” he adds. These days artists draw ekons but customarily it was only the Kudangs, or the community of priests among the Sauras, who were qualified to do ekons. These men had the expertise to explain their meaning to village gatherings and the ekon thus was looked at as a valuable feature of a vocal tradition through which the Sauras connected with their customs.

Natural motifs

According to convention, the only colours used by the Sauras for the paintings are geru (from red earth) and white (from rice paste). Saura art, as mentioned, uses the stick figure iconography and their motifs consist of people, trees, sun, moon, animals, village activities etc. Among some distinguishing characteristics of their paintings when compared to its fraternal twin Warli, is each painting being constructed within a specific geometrical framework. “In a Saura painting the border is drawn first after which the interiors are filled, which is called the fish-net approach. This is not the case with Warli wall art. These days market-driven customs and more awareness about other forms, have seen both Saura and Warli picking up each other's nuances,” says the artist.

Saura paintings have travelled from walls to handmade paper and tussar silk in keeping with demands of contemporary times, which is also seeing the widespread use of black ink in these drawings; leading to the misconception that traditionally Warli is done in white and Saura in black! The subject has also moved away from being solely religious to that showing various social acts. Modern icons like buses, cars, television have also been incorporated in the paintings. Saura paintings are treasures of folklore and a fantastic pictorial tradition that convey a community's literature and beliefs.

Published in The Hindu, June 2011

Perfectly 'Made in Japan'

BRINDA SURI   

The Land of the Rising Sun greets you with dignity, composure and grace all the way.

Even as Japan recovers from the devastation wreaked by nature's fury, its people retain their dignity and composure. They remain ever-willing to assist, although communication barriers can sometimes lead to funny situations. An account of some lighter moments from a recent visit to the country

The Chinese have[n't] made it

Japan, and all the wonders it was working with technology, were a part of my growing-up years. Back then, in many homes National was the telly of choice, Fuji was the film roll, Canon the camera, Yamaha the motorbike the neighbour's son rode, Citizen the watch, and so on. Except for the juta not being Japani everything else seemed to be. Buying or gifting Japanese proficiency meant you had invested in the best.

That was in the 1980s. By the time I visit Japan in 2011, I find I have to hunt for the ‘Made in Japan' label at consumer stores. It's not as tedious a task as it is in the malls of the West, but it's a job nonetheless. For each Japanese label present there are seven Chinese labels vying for attention. The 100 Yen stores have items that are Japanese in preference but, as with their cousins — the Dollar stores, are Chinese in production. I browse through a lot and finally pick up a set of miso soup bowls. The salesgirl assisting me beams and says, “ Hai (Yes)! No China. This Japan!” I buy it.

A-wash with pleasure

What bliss to visit a country of fellow bottom-washers! Characteristic to Japan, they have made technical art out of a routine, light years away from the modestlota. And thankfully, it's not as tricky as the futuristic faucet systems in hotel loos. All you need to do is press a few buttons on the panel beside the toilet seat and experience an automaton mop-up. Japan's revolutionary toilets began making news ever since Toto arrived on the scene with its Washlet, which has since attained generic status. Statistics speak of Japanese homes having more washlets than laptops. The tissue-roll — considered one of the barometers of a consumerist society — is nowhere near the top-10 household items. The washlet, described as a bidet toilet, has features such as the delightful seat warming, anus washing, bidet washing, dryers and so on, with the latest ones being able to check blood sugar, blood pressure and BMI. Need a fart-disguising sound? Install the Otohime, also known as Sound Princess, a faux-flush tone that saves embarrassment. The washlet's prime endeavour is to provide comfort and hygiene alongside being a water-saver. At some places there's a spigot atop the tank, allowing users to conserve by washing hands with water intended for the next flush. Even squeaky-clean public toilets boast similar features. As across Asia, Japan has squat toilets and has revolutionised these too. Unlike in India, the Japanese have used technology to make a conventional need more convenient. As a start, will star hotels in India please ape East rather than West and include an elementary water-wash feature (yes, the process has slowly begun) rather than just the eco-foe tissue-roll.

A kind gesture, when words fail

Communication remains a challenge, even in bustling Tokyo: signboards and brochures are either in Kanji or Katakana script and the population speaks Nihongo. Written English is by far more understood than spoken. Sometimes the verbal can lead to the hilarious: on my saying I'll ‘manage' I was asked if I wanted ‘marriage'. But the Japanese are a beautiful people and make a genuine effort to help. At my wit's end once, trying to locate a particular street in Roppongi, the entertainment district, I saw a ray of hope when a shop assistant ran and got a pamphlet that announced ‘Map' in English. Happily I bowed and said my “ arigato-gozaimasu (thank you very much)” and marched out of the shop. I spread out the map and it was all crystal clear… It was in Japanese.

Take a bow, beautiful people

During interfaces, I was often reminded of the dialogue in the film Hum Hain Rahi Pyar Ke where a crisis-ridden Rahul Malhotra (Aamir Khan) chides his assistant: “Mishraji (Mushtaq Khan), aap jhukte rahenge, kuch karenge bhi?” when he finds the Japan-returned Misharji bowing non-stop prior to seeking help from a group of Japanese tourists. While the film spoofs this emblematic Japanese etiquette, I saw in it a disarming custom of bestowing honour on the other person during any interaction. According to tradition, quite like in India, physical touch is avoided. So the Japanese humbly bow to all, with such dignity and grace, it almost seems poetry in action. They bow even after you've said goodbye and turned to leave, and continue doing so while you or the vehicle is still in sight. What particularly left an impression was the lined-up airfield ground staff in Sapporo bowing as soon as our aircraft landed. They were extending a welcome, without us knowing.

Auto giants in name only!

Japanese auto brands are household names in India, so meeting persons with surnames such as Honda, Mazda or Suzuki would bring on a smile. Some would realise that and quip, “Oh, oh! Not from the car family.” I would routinely bump into a familiar last name. The only time I didn't, I was a co-passenger to a sales executive on a local bus in Hakone; and he belonged to the city of Kawasaki.

Published in The Hindu Business Line, June 10, 2011

Indian folk art: Of Bankura & Bishnupur

Published in Deccan Herald, June 2011

Paella Valencia

"It's pronounced pah-e-yah," he said. I repeated after him but it didn’t match up to his standard. "You got to say it with a lilt ('song' was the word he used to explain). Bring a little romance into it," he smiled. "Pah-e-yah," I said. "Almost there," he exclaimed triumphantly. I was at the century-old La Marcelina, a renowned classic in Valencia, the home of paella, and it was the gracefully-grey chief steward who was playing tutor. When it’s the paella being discussed with a true-blue Spaniard, getting every nuance correct relating to this star of the gastronomy galaxy is essential. And lesson one is its intonation. The recipes and ingredients may patiently await their turn.

Paella has interesting history, its origins lying in the food preferences of the Moors who repeatedly conquered Spain between AD 711 and 1492. Their typical dish was a combination of rice, meats, vegetables and spices cooked in broth (which in turn was supposedly an Arabic/Persian influence and closer home the biryani and pulao are said to have come across those shores). The rice-based hot-pot was usually prepared at family feasts or religious celebrations and shared by the community, a feature that’s still common in the Islamic world. The paella was born out of these influences. Around the 18th century it began being savoured as a stand-alone celebratory fare in the Valencia region, at places replacing the barbeque as an outdoorsy treat, and evolved to its present-day form by the mid-19th century. Steadily its aromas spread across Spain acquiring a tag for itself on the way as the national dish, tad inaccurately though, as it primarily remains proudly Valencian, prepared and served with flourish at its bistros and restaurants. Paella is their top souvenir too, its image being visible on fridge magnets, aprons, diaries, broaches and much more. 

Quite stereotypically it’s said the Spanish love siesta and fiesta and everything else fits in between. If this is another way of saying they enjoy the good life, that’s true, as my Spain tour showed. Weekdays were workdays, just as the weekends were strictly not that! I was in Valencia on a Sunday, when city commerce tightly downs its shutters and the crowds are out sunning on the popular Playa (beach) de Las Arenas, cruising down the Mediterranean, happily filling open-air cafes, or among other sites exploring the superb Bioparc—Europe’s only new generation animal habitat, certainly not to be skipped during a visit.

It’s also a custom-made day to enjoy Spain’s famously-long lunches (a several course affair between 2 pm - 4 pm). And nothing could have been more apt than an extended session at the beach-front La Marcelina, digging into the traditional ‘Paella Valenciana’, consisting of bomba rice (incidentally, rice as an everyday grain was introduced by the Moors to the Iberian Peninsula), rabbit, chicken, snails, vegetables—white lima beans and green beans or bachoqueta are a constant—tomatoes and saffron. Today there are as many versions of paella as there are cooks and its ingredients can include seafood, pork, meat, duck etc but these are given a thumbs-down by the connoisseur. I settled for a veggie adaptation which was deliciously robust even as it was delicately flavoursome. My group of fellow travellers definitely enjoyed their genuine-as-it-gets fare making correct noises about succulent rabbit meat, spice-infused chicken and crisp-tender snails.

  

Just as every home in India worth its garam masala has a secret recipe, every Spanish home will lay claim to preparing the most authentic paella. It requires painstaking labour, being cooked fresh and on an open fire. So as elsewhere in the world, Spaniards have increasingly begun going out for a paella meal and classic restaurants make sure they serve it suave.    

As I realised, savouring the paella is merely a part of the experience. The joy lies in the element of passion accompanying every step. In fact the entire process, from preparation to presentation, is akin to a faultless theatre production. There are the backstage boys — the master chef and his team, them being more like the king and his trusted aides; the supporting cast — steward, maitre d', front-end  manager; the various acts — the multiple courses which include sangria/red wine and rounds of appetizers; and of course the protagonist of the plot — paella.

At conventional places as La Marcelina, the paella is brought to the table in the paellera (wok-like, albeit flat with shallow sloping sides and large, the dimension going up to 3 ft) itself and displayed almost vertically  — a mark of perfection — to guests garnering much applause and appreciation. Individual portions are subsequently placed on platters and served with a wedge of the all-important lemon. At homes there’s a scramble for the toasted rice (the khurchan as we know it) lining the bottom of the pan, and considered an essential of good paella. The restaurants make sure they distribute the khurchan unbiased! Spanish restaurants are buzzing places to be in and a paella meal makes the occasion more celebratory; a must-experience when visiting the country, especially Valencia.  

A question I was frequently posed on my return was if the paella could measure up to a biryani. My plea is don’t even venture into the apples to oranges debate. Besides, it’s sacrilege to compare anything prepared with a certain long-grain, divinely-fragrant rice called basmati.  

Best paella restaurants in Valencia (as recommended by locals) 

La Marcelina                                             

Neptune Avenue 8, 
Playa de Las Arenas (beachfront)

www.lamarcelina.com
La Pepica

Neptune Avenue 6, Playa de Las Arenas

www.lapepica.com

Palace Fesol

Calle (or street) Hernan Cortes 7, (City Centre)

www.palacefesol.com

El Rall

Calle Tundidores 2, (City Centre)

www.elrall.es

Restaurant Nou Raco 

Carretera (or road) Palmar 21,

Inside Albufera Park

www.nouraco.com
Restaurant Mateu

Calle Baldoví 17,

El Palmar, Albufera

Quick Facts

Best time: June to September

City sights:Plaza de la Reina, part of the historic City Centre, that has El Micalet, the landmark octagonal bell-tower, and the Valencia Cathedral purportedly housing the Holy Grail; Plaza de Toros; Central Market, amongst Europe's biggest enclosed food trade space; La Lonja, a Unesco world heritage site; Bioparc Valencia; and City of Arts and Sciences  

Getting there:

Air: International carriers fly into Valencia. From India flights have stopovers at European hubs of Milan, Zurich etc

Train: Valencia has direct connections with Barcelona and Madrid. The train from/to Madrid takes about 1.30 hrs and the journey is on the new, high-speed AVE train network. Purchasing a Eurail (www.eurailtravel.com) country/inter-country pass is a practical option.  

Accommodation: Hotel Sercotel Sorolla Palace, Avenida de las Cortes Valencianas 58,

www.hotelsorollapalace.com

Hotel Westin, Amadeo de Saboya 16,

www.westinvalencia.com

Published in JetWings International, June 2011