Waiting for a king

The empty space as seen through the “jali" window inside Zafar Mahal in Mehrauli was said to have been kept by last Mughal emperor Bahadur Shah Zafar for his own burial. Known more for his poetry and patronage of the arts rather then his martial prowess, the elderly king supported the 1857 rebellion, albeit reluctantly, and was tried for treason after the sepoys lost.

Exiled to Rangoon, he died there in 1862, and was buried by the British in an unmarked grave, which was rediscovered by some workers in 1991.

Several sources attribute this couplet to Zafar, who died a lonely death away from his homeland.
“Kitnā hai bad-nasīb 'zafar' dafn ke liye/Do gaz zamīn bhī na milī kū-e-yār meñ.” (How unlucky is Zafar, to not have even two yards for burial in the land of his beloved).

Remembered my visit to Zafar Mahal as I came across a recent news story on lndian Embassy in Yangon preparing to offer a chadar made in Ajmer Dargah at Zafar’s grave.

A Few Good Men

Against the backdrop of the horrific incidents that happened around us in the last few days, I, like many others, was thinking about the many, many moments when I felt unsafe on the streets.

For a change, I then tried to remember some instances when I was made to feel safe by random unknown people.

Like the bus conductor who was keeping an eye out for me and my friend as we, young trainees in PTI in 2001, went on an Agra-Mathura trip on a foggy winter day. Dropping us late at night, he brought the bus as close to our house as possible.

Like the rickshawala taking me home one day after I got my dinner packed from Nizamuddin. He pedalled fast and furious to veer off the main road to a side lane to avoid a group of loud bikers who seemed to be on an ethyl alcohol-induced frenzy.

Like the auto driver who turned 170 degrees from his seat at a signal and told me in an urgent whisper, "put your phone in your bag". I did, and saw that a guy in a two-wheeler has come too close to the auto, nearly ready to snatch my mobile.

Like the ATM guard who gave me "do hazar ka khulla" from his pocket as he heard me uttering to myself that I have no change to take an autorickshaw home.

Like the old light-man in erstwhile Regal cinema who would always offer me a special seat, not letting anyone to sit beside me, as I would go to watch movies alone in that ramshackle theatre.

Like the guy in the general compartment of a local train in Calcutta over 20 years ago, who silently pushed back a man who was making me uncomfortable and stood as a protective wall.

I am not trying to say that our world is not overflowing with fear. I know that I, despite being a nobody, have many privileges which most women, facing daily violence, cannot even afford to think about. But I think time has come to stop calling each other names in social media over our views on security for women, as these are mostly quick reactions (I now think I used too many "us" and "them" in my last post on this), and seek justice and safety for everyone, be it a woman or man, irrespective of class or community.

Yeah, that's a mirage. Still...

IITF Diary 2: Rush for tickets, Gumshuda ki Talash and Geographic Confusion

The last weekend of IITF witnessed a huge rush for tickets. As online tickets and those at metro station counters got sold out, scores of people were standing outside Gate No. 10, desperately looking for some means to enter. An officer of our pavilion was saying that random people was stopping him, pointing to his exhibitor pass and asking where did he get it. It reminded me of last year when I was standing at the Gate to assist media entry for a press meet and people were coming up and offering Rs 500 for the complimentary passes I was carrying. This time, while entering through Gate 10, I heard a man telling his wife, "bachhon ka school ID se entry karwa do, phir dekhte hai." I was wondering what if the kids end up like Abhimanyu, entering the Chakravyuh but never coming out.

Along with the rush, started continuous announcements for lost companions and items. One stood out, as a high-pitched note was heard in the public address system, "Bina jee, Bina jee", followed by the announcer's voice, "Binajee, jo CR Park se ayi hai, aapke liye --jee yahan intezar kar rahi hai. Aapke god mein unka baby bhi hai". I understood that the shrill voice represented a mother's panic-stricken state. Hope they were reunited. As for lost goods, people were as hopeful as "kisi bhi sajjan ko ek 1plus5T mobile phone mila ho toh yahan jama karwaye" (I don't think such a sajjan exists) and as specific as "ek safed rang ki thaila mein ek maroon rang ki suit agar kisiko mila ho to..."

With all the states bundled up in Hall 12-12A, people were running from one to another in a frenzy. "Arre Bangal chal lo, saree dekhna hai"; "Kerala hogaya"? It can lead to odd geographical statements such as "Haan main Rajasthan mein hoon...arre Chhattigarh se left lekar Andaman Nicobar ke pass".

The best statement I overheard today was by a man who was telling his wife "mujhe toh aaj 10,000 rupaye kharch karna hai." The woman said "kuchh dhang ka na mile, toh bhi"? I was thinking why then in WhatsApp jokes it is always the woman who spends unwisely?

IITF Diary 1: Cacophony and carpet

Duty at India International Trade Fair involves a lot of madness, more so in recent years as thousands of visitors jostle each other in a much-reduced space (the fair is being held at a temporary set-up due to renovation work at Pragati Maidan). To unwind, I am sharing some snippets of happenings as I witnessed:

Cacophony: Hall12A, housing state and UT stalls, is offering a strange ensemble of sound and music. A Gandhi@150 stall is blaring "Vaishnav Jana To" at full volume, interspersed by shouts of "Chana Zor Garam" and "Bhelpuri, Bhelpuri" from nearby Rajasthan stall. Someone at the public address system is droning on and on about plastic ban, most of his words coming out garbled and tired. A group of folk artists from Haryana is adding to the orchestra with "clank, clank" sound of the manjira, while Mr. Sameer from Maharashtra is creating the loudest blasts of noise with his "tutari". Also known as "ranashringa", it used to be a war trumpet, but trade fair is a battle no less.

Carpet: It is said that the wall-to-wall carpet at Terminal 3 of Delhi airport is not to the liking of many passengers, but the same at IITF is a hit. Tired after a day's shopping, the families and their trolley bags, both with bellies full of stuff, rest on the carpet. Yesterday, I saw an elderly couple - the man sitting with his legs stretched, the wife fast asleep beside him, using her bulging shopping bag as a pillow. Sometimes, one may witness minor mishaps too. A kid of around 2 years was playing in front of our stall last evening. The Hall was getting emptied, but the boy's mother was still haggling with the stole- seller a few metres away. The boy, unattended, first started "swimming" over the carpet, then took his milk bottle and let a few drops spill over. When he started rubbing his hand over it, a call came and I had to return to the office cabin, hoping that he did not lick his hand afterwards.

A Tree on My Wall

Maa would always stress on the value of time and it is deeply ingrained in me. So, instead of updating my bank KYC, I used my free time on a Saturday a few months back to paint a tree on a wall of my rented flat. The branches were a bit disproportionate, but I was feeling happy.

I am very brave when I am impulsive, so when some doubts occurred, ki landlady kya bolegi, I prepared a reply. I will tell her, "jane ke pehle painting karwa dungi" (I never understood yahan whitewash ko painting kyon kehte hai).

My middle-class Punjabi landlady is a good person (she didn't increase the rent since the last two years) but looks very stern, so I am awkward in front of her. Since the tree, I stopped telling her about small repairs or "pani nahi aa raha hai" issues as I didn't want her to see my "art".

But last evening, the bell rang and she was there! "Beta, agreement renew karwaya, sign kar do. Main khud hi aa gayi, aapko kya niche bulate iske liye." Now, I am torn between happiness (rent iss bar bhi nahi badhaya) and fear, trying to cover the tree with my huge 5 ftx10 inches body frame.

But within a few seconds, her eyes fell on it and following conversation happened.

Aunty: Beta, yeh aapne banaya?
Me: haan aunty, jane ke pehle painting karwa dungi (prepared reply)
Aunty (slightly irritated) arre, uske liye nahi bol rahi hoon, yeh achcha banaya hai.
Me (too surprised): haan, tree banaya, acrylic colour se (of course, it's a tree, stupid, she can see it)
Aunty: Haan woh toh dikh raha hai (tree toh thik banaya, par iss bewakoof ladki ko sarkari naukri kaise mil gayi?)

Whatevs, agreement renew hogaya. So the tree stays for another year.

Not a tiger in the forest, not a star in the sky

Last time in Ranathambore, it was, “the tiger just dragged its kill towards the lake and we will go there now". And five jeeps full of eager tourists rushed to the “site" for a glimpse of the elusive predator.

This time in Sariska, “there is the warning call. The tiger may come here now.” And three jeeps full of talkative travellers parked beside a pond, expecting the yellow-and-black striped beast to just strut in front of them like a ramp model.

Neither then, nor now, I or any other “jungle safari" tourists saw even the tail of a tiger. Despite the insistence or persistence of the guides and the drivers who follow their trail patiently through the uneven reddish dirt tracks of the reserve forests.

Think about that rationally. Will you eat your food in front of scores of compulsive picture-clickers like me or in peace in the corner of some cave? And if you know a group of determined people are looking for your pug marks, stalking you like obsessed lovers and now waiting for you at a spot, will you not turn away and go somewhere else? I think the tigers are brainy enough to do that. I wonder then who are those people who, during the small window of a two-hour safari, find a tiger along with cubs strolling lazily beside their vehicle and upload photos in social media? Why don’t they buy lottery tickets?

I also wonder how sad the scores of spotted deer, or sambhar, or nilgai must be feeling when they hear people talking excitedly about “sightings" and never meaning them. May be that’s why they always look straight into your eyes, probably asking, “are we not good-looking too? Why do you search for the big guy only, instead of seeing the trees, the birds, us, or the fine web of the spider atop the shrubs, glittering in sunshine?”

Before you mutter “grapes are sour”, let me say that I not only had the experience of a tiger-less tour in Sariska this time, but also had the misfortune of encountering a cloudy sky after checking into a resort which specialises in astronomy and star-gazing. But I rarely feel unhappy during travel. I always find something to take home. Like a new interest in stars and planets, triggered by the education officer of that resort who taught us how to use planisphere, a map-like device to know the night sky. Or like the information that deep inside Sariska, there is a fort called Kankwari where Aurangzeb had once  imprisoned Dara (plan to see it next time).

If only, I had the same positive attitude towards office work!

Chand Baori, a well extraordinaire

Coming from a rain-rich part of the world, I had no idea about Baolis or Baoris, water pools deep inside the ground with flights of stairs leading down to them, before I came to Delhi. The capital has quite a few famous stepwells such as Ugrasen Ki Baoli or Rajon Ki Baoli, the beautiful designs of which attract tourists and heritage enthusiasts alike. I was told by many that the arid regions in the north and west, such as Rajasthan and Gujarat, boasts of stepwells which are even more aesthetically pleasing and absolute architectural wonders, being not only sources of water or rain harvesting units, but places of worship with elaborate columns and pavilions displaying intricate carvings and sculptures of deities. These stepwells served as a spot for social interaction and shelter for pilgrims, often built near popular religious destinations.

Friends with similar interests are not easy to find, but I am lucky enough to have a few, two of whom planned and executed a Diwali day trip to see the 9th Century Chand Baori, one of such ancient stepwells and counted by many travellers amongst the “hidden secrets” of India. Located in Abhaneri village of Rajasthan, it has been described as a “magical maze” and one of the world’s deepest and “most spectacular” stepwells by various writers.

However, neither the narrations, nor the thousands of Google photos do justice to the feeling of amazement it offers to a visitor who walks through a seemingly ordinary village street full of tea shops, fruit-sellers and souvenir-peddlers to suddenly enter into an world of exquisitely symmetrical geometric patterns of steps and stairs, built in a style of an inverted pyramid. The baori, named so because it was built by Raja Chandra of Nikumbha Dynasty, has 3500 steps, 13 levels, and several pavilions and arched galleries, a few of which were later Mughal additions. Two huge pillars with fine carvings can be seen coming up majestically from the square-shaped pool of green slush, but iron railings on all sides prevent visitors from going down. This measure, taken to prevent any possible mishap, is in place since 2012, said Mr. Meena, the ASI guy managing the entry.

The site is a huge draw for foreign travellers, but there were very few Indians.
Hundreds of pieces of sculpture can be seen all over the compound, recovered from the adjacent Harshat Mata temple complex, which was built around the same time but was damaged (by Mahmud of Ghazni, some articles said) and is at present undergoing, what looked like, a massive and painstaking reconstruction effort. Harshat Mata is the goddess of happiness who spread glow of joy (abha), in the village, which thus earned the name of Abhanagri or Abhaneri.

Diwali night was a quiet affair. We lighted a few sparklers standing near the gate of our hotel (we stayed in the Haveli-style Abhaneri Niwas, offering modern amenities and simple food) and I was, inexplicably, somehow missing the sound and light show of Delhi.

However, this morning, as I opened my eyes to see a blue-and-white sky instead of a thick layer of smog, I felt better. The visit to Chand Baori was all the more worth it, as geometry,  for the first time, wasn’t a source of pain for me.

(Source: Articles in Lonely Planet and Encyclopedia Britannica)

Mathematical precision 

 

Harshat Mata temple

Abhaneri Niwas hotel 

Phoolwalon ki Sair: An Afternoon of Stories

It started in 1812, as a thanksgiving gesture by a Mughal queen whose son returned from exile by the British; turned into a celebration of harmony and togetherness over the years; and Phoolwalon Ki Sair or Sair e Gul Faroshan (the festival of flower-sellers) is still being held every year in Mehrauli, amongst the monuments and heritage structures in the oldest city of Delhi.

I traced the route of the festival quite a few times (https://trailoftwocities.blogspot.com/2019/02/exploring-mehrauli-part-1-google-map.html?m=1) (https://trailoftwocities.blogspot.com/2019/02/exploring-mehrauli-ii-tracing-route-of.html?m=1)  but never got the opportunity to go there during the course of the event. The wish came true yesterday, during a heritage walk led by Asif Khan Delhvi of Delhi Karavan, which covered the traditional spots associated with the annual extravaganza, and offered the participants a chance to re-live the history of Phoolwalon Ki Sair, sharing tales of its former glory, its significance and its sights and sounds in minute details.

Phoolwalon Ki Sair traces its origin to the reign of Badshah Akbar Shah II, one of those unknown later Mughal rulers and  father of Bahadur Shah Zafar. His Queen Mumtaz Mahal, fulfilling a vow, offered a chadar of flowers at the dargah of Khwaja Qutbuddin Bakhtiyar Kaki in Mehrauli and floral “pankhas" at the nearby Yogmaya temple in gratitude after her young son Mirza Jahangir, imprisoned by the British, was freed. The festival then turned into an annual celebration of amity which reached its pinnacle of glory during the time of Zafar, the last Mughal, who is known better in history for his poetic abilities and his role as a patron of the arts rather than his military prowess. We were told that the festival did not happen in the tumultuous year of 1857, but was revived again. In 1942, during the Quit India movement, the British, like any government following the principle of divide and rule, targeted symbols of harmony and banned it. The event was restarted again in 1962 and is being held every year since then. Floral chadars and pankhas are still offered at the dargah and the temple, while Qawwali, musical storytelling and other cultural programmes are organized in the backdrop of the Lodhi-era Jahaz Mahal.

I have visited these historical sites several times in recent months, but it was still a memorable experience to listen to the stories of pomp and show, fun, frolic, food and festivities, kite-flying and horse-riding during the fading years of Mughal rule, sitting at the Zafar Mahal around the time of sunset, in front of the grave of Akbar Shah II and the sad empty space kept by Bahadur Shah Zafar for his own burial, which is still awaiting the remains of the emperor who died in exile in Rangoon.

I did not attend the cultural evening at Jahaz Mahal, but took some pictures quickly, amidst irritated gestures by a posse of hassled policemen trying to keep a large number of curious onlookers away from the gate of the monument which at other times remain largely empty except by a few localites resting here and there.

Cultural programme at Jahaz Mahal

Yogmaya temple, decked up for the festival

Entrance gate of dargah of Bakhtiyar Kaki, decorated in a similar manner

A glimpse of the dargah

Grave of Akbar Shah II

Grave of Akbar Shah II and space kept for the last Mughal

City of Palaces-Part I

Much before Calcutta was given the somewhat-mocking sobriquet of the “City of Joy”, There was a time when it was known as the “City of Palaces”, because of the sprawling mansions built by the British as well as wealthy Indian landlords. The latter preferred to combine native architectural traditions with European neo-classical styles. Marble sculptures were used often as decorative pieces while Corinthian columns were popular. A walk in Pathuriaghata area during the Puja holidays offered me an opportunity to click the pictures of a few remnants of a bygone era. The photo of the temple is from Baghbazar in north Calcutta.

Temple Run: "Pandav Kalin" Mandir in Delhi

When someone asks them about famous temples of their city, most Delhiites mention Akshardham, Jhandewala and Chhattarpur. But there are quite a few other temples in Delhi that are believed to be much older, and the phrase used here to describe them is “Pandav Kalin Mandir” -- the legend being that the Pandavas founded these, either during their rule in Indraprastha or during their exile period. If you ask people in these temples, they just say “hazaroon saalon se yeh yahan hai” or “5000 saal purana hai”, thus making it a bit difficult to arrive at a specific date.

Yogmaya temple in Mehrauli is regarded among such “pracheen mandir” in Delhi. It is an Adishakti Peeth dedicated to Devi Jogmaya (the story here refers to the girl child who was kept in place of Lord Krishna, was thrown into the wall by the cruel King Kansa, and who vanished after predicting his death). The temple was said to have been destroyed by Mahmood of Ghazni and has been reconstructed several times. The gateway of the present temple is situated on Kalka Dass Road, near Qutab Minar complex. The temple itself is a marbled one, with intricate carvings on the outer wall. Floral fans offered during the annual Phoolwalon-Ki-Sair procession of harmony add to its serene ambience.

Kalka Ji Mandir, dedicated to goddess Kali or Kalika in the form of destroyer of demon “”Raktabeeja” (the asura, who regenerated in hundreds from droplets of his blood, ‘Matrix’-style), witnesses huge rush of devotees during Navaratri. A long pathway lined up with small shops displaying puja samagri, idols, photos, mounds of vermilion, toys and knick-knacks lead to the Octagonal temple. There are signboards warning that cellphones will be confiscated if pictures are taken, so I did not try to. Both these temples have been sketched and described by Sayyid Ahmad Khan in his seminal 1847 work on Delhi, Asar-us-Sanadid, which has been translated into English by Rana Safvi. Khan mentions that Kalka temple's pinnacle was built by Mirza Raja Kedarnath, the accountant in the administration of Mughal king Akbar Shah.

A floral pankha offered at Yogmaya temple during Phoolwalon-Ki-Sair procession of harmony

Sketch of Kalka Ji temple in Asar-us-Sanadid

At a shop near Kalka Ji Mandir

Behind the Old Fort, on Bhairon Marg, you can see two temples some 400 metres apart – Shri Kilkari Baba Bhairon Nath Ji Pandavon Kalin Mandir and Shri Dudhiya Baba Bhairon Nath Ji Pandavon Kalin Mandir. It is said that there is option to offer alcohol at Kilkari temple to Baba Bhairon Nath Ji, who is a Tantrik deity, though in Dudhiya temple, only milk is offered. Dudhiya Baba temple pathway runs parallel to the walls of the fort and the structure is not visible from main road like Kilkari temple. The former has a nice gateway, though architecture-wise I found the latter better.

The Neeli Chatri Shiv Mandir in Kashmere Gate and Shri Batuk Bhairav Mandir inside Nehru Park are two other temples in Delhi which are generally described as “Pandav Kalin”, though there may be many other temples where this epithet is used to claim that they belonged to ancient times.

             Kilkari temple gateway

The pathway of Dudhiya Baba temple was deserted in the morning barring a few dogs who came towards me menacingly, but a helpful priest told them off

Dudhiya Baba temple

Well near Batuk Bhairav temple, Nehru Park

A Sultan rests here, but not in peace

“Chirodin Kaharo Saman Nahi Jay/Aajke Je Rajadhiraj, Kal Se Bhikkha Chay”...

This song by Bengali poet Kazi Nazrul Islam, with a simple message (Good times do not last forever/Overnight, a great king may turn into a beggar), used to be cited by my mother quite often, to drive home the point that life is ephemeral.

I remembered it this morning, during a heritage walk with Delhi Karavan to the tomb of Sultan Bahlol Lodi, who was the founder of Lodi dynasty, the last rulers of the Delhi Sultanate before the Mughals came here. Lodi was an able military general who won many battles and administered a large tract of north India for a long 38 years from 1451, but his tomb now lies mostly forgotten and unkempt, deep inside the congested neighbourhood of Chirag Delhi, named after Sufi saint Hazrat Khwaja Mehmood Nasiruddin Roshan Chirag-e-Dehli whose dargah is situated nearby.

Of course, maintenance of such structures is difficult in view of the rapid urban growth, and to be fair, even Asar-us- Sanadid, the seminal 1847 work on Delhi by Sayyid Ahmad Khan, describes it as being in a “state of disrepair". But it somehow reminded me of another walk in March 2018 when we were led by historian Rana Safvi through narrow and dark bylanes of old Delhi to the grave of Sultan Razia. I was shocked to see that South Asia's first female monarch doesn’t even have a roof over her resting place! Time is a great leveller, after all. Bahlol's son Sikander Lodi's tomb is in a much better state, as it lies inside Lodi Garden.

After the walk ended, I walked some more on my own to see another Lodi-era structure, the tomb of Sufi saint Sheikh Yusuf Qattal in Khirki. It is a small tomb, but very nice to look at, with beautiful “jali" work. See for yourself.

Sultan Bahlol Lodi's tomb

Dargah of Hazrat Roshan Chirag-e-Dehli 

Tomb of Sheikh Yusuf Qattal

Darna Zaroori Nahi Hai

In every article about the so-called “haunted” places of Delhi, you can find some usual suspects; Feroz Shah Kotla, Sanjay Van, Bhuli Bhatiyari Ka Mahal, Chor Minar, Malcha Mahal, Khooni Darwaza and Mutiny Memorial, to name a few. Some even mention Karkardooma Court, though I don’t know why the ghosts will prefer “court-kacheri ka chakkar” when they have the ridge forests at their disposal.

I have visited several of these sites, but neither did I go alone (except for Chor Minar) nor after dark. So, I should not make any claim regarding their “bhootiya” rating. But even in broad daylight, some places emanate an air of eeriness. In that respect, I will give four stars to the abode of djinns at Kotla.

Sanjay Van looks like any other forest, and it seems that probably the rumours about the spirits roaming there were spread by anti-social elements who did not want anyone else to venture into their shelter. Bhuli Bhatiyari ka Mahal, a Tughlak-era hunting lodge behind the huge Hanuman statue in Jhandewalan, is unkempt, but not scary. Lovebirds and loafers are found aplenty at the site. Chor MInar in Hauz Khas, associated with stories of heads of thieves being hung from it, looks deserted, but can headless ghosts rest at a garden in the middle of a Delhi neighbourhood manned by security guards?

Kotla Feroz Shah, however, offers the perfect ambience for supernatural experience with its dark alleys, cave-like chambers with flickering flames of candles, hordes of bats, smell of burnt incense and pieces of paper left behind by people seeking fulfilment of their wishes by the resident djinns. I went there on a heritage walk once. Perhaps it was the effect of a series of odd stories narrated by the walk leader, or of the approaching twilight, but as I was capturing a video in the passageway, and suddenly realized that our group has gone ahead leaving me alone there, my footsteps became more rapid than required.

Yes, the video is still here and did not vanish mysteriously. (In pics: A collage of Sanjay Van, Bhuli Bhatiyari Ka Mahal and Chor Minar; the photo of the arches and the video is of Kotla Feroz Shah)

P.S.: I will never visit these places at night, because "bhoot se darr nahi lagta sahab, insaanon se lagta hai".

Temple Run: Lord Narasimha and Marjara-Keshari

Delhi has several temples built as a replica of or having resemblance to famous places of worship situated in the southern parts of the country, such as the Tirupathi Balaji Temple near Mandir Marg in central Delhi or the Uttara Guruvayurappan Temple in Mayur Vihar. I recently came across another such temple in Karol Bagh -- Sri Ahobila Lakshminrisimha temple.

Ahobilam in Kurnool district of Andhra Pradesh is known as Nava Narasimha Kshetra as it is home to nine shrines dedicated to nine different forms of Lord Narasimha, spread over an area of about 5 km radius. The nine deities are Sri Jwala Narasimha, Sri Ahobila Narasimha, Sri Malola Narasimha, Sri Kroda Narasimha, Sri Karanja Narasimha, Sri Bhargava Narasimha, Sri Yogananda Narasimha, Sri Kshatravata Narasimha and Sri Pavana Narasimha.

Legend has it that the Ahobila Narasimha temple in AP was built at the spot where the part lion-part man incarnation of Lord Vishnu killed the demon, Hiranyakashipu. In fact, Andhra and Telangana are the abode of the most well-known Narasimha temples of India. Including the ones at Yadagirigutta and Bhadrachalam. During a trip to Vishakhapatnam last year, I had the opportunity to visit Simhachalam Hills, where the Lord is worshipped in the form of Varaha Narasimha, combining the incarnations of the Boar and the Lion-man. This temple has a magnificent golden Vimana (rectangular pyramid-style structure over the sanctum sanctorum) and is decorated with exquisite carvings on its walls.

Bargarh in Odisha, where my elder sister and her family were staying for a few years as my brother-in-law was posted there, is home to Sri Nrusinghanath temple. Before visiting it, I thought that it will be a place of worship dedicated only to the lion-man incarnation. But, interestingly, the temple at the foothills of Gandhamardhan Parvat is said to be the only Vishnu temple where the Lord is seen in a feline form. The presiding deity is made of black stone, with a face like a cat and a body like a lion. It is believed that Lord Vishnu took the form of Vidala Nrusingha, also called Marjara-Keshari (marjar is the Sanskrit word for cat), to destroy Musikadaitya (Mouse Demon). The demon, pursued by the Lord, entered into a hole in the hills and is still hiding there.

Photography of idols is prohibited in most of the temples (in Simhachalam, you need to deposit your cellphone), but I captured the picture of a beautiful Narasimha statue at an exhibition held in the National Museum in Delhi in May this year. The Bronze statue, of AD 1600–1700 and from Tamil Nadu, is originally an exhibit of Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya, Mumbai.

(Source: Website of Sri Ahobila Mutt and Odisha Review magazine, Feb-Mar 2015)

Ahobila Lakshmi Narasimha temple in Delhi

At Bargarh Nrusinghanath temple 

Nrusinghanath temple in Bargarh

Temple at Simhachalam

Bronze, AD 1600–1700, Tamil Nadu

Planes and Ruins

Aeroplanes fascinate me, (except when I am inside one). So here's an album to pay my tribute to the modern flying machines and old heritage structures. Plan(e) to add more photographs to it.