Terracotta Tales

I have a fair idea about the ancient art of terracotta, being from Bengal where it was used for building beautiful temples with intricate carvings in the mediaeval ages and where it is still among the most popular handicraft traditions, with a thriving cottage industry churning out items ranging from ethnic jewellery and exquisite idols to huge Bankura horses and decorative pieces of various kinds.

The Bankura horse, produced in Panchmura village, can be as tall as 6 feet or more and is famous for its grace, elegance and artistry.  But I didn't know about the terracotta horses at Ayyanar shrines of Tamil Nadu, which are similarly larger than life and magnificent, if not more.

Many villages in Tamil Nadu have shrines dedicated to Ayyanar, a folk deity worshipped and revered as a protector and guardian. Gigantic terracotta statues of Ayyanar, his associates, and figurines of animals like cows, bulls and horses – components of a full terracotta army -- are common features of these shrines, which are usually situated on the border of the villages. Terracotta horses are offered at those shrines by villagers as a gesture of expressing gratitude to the divine powers for ample rains, or a good harvest, or for fulfilment of any such wishes, I came to know during a recent guided tour of Crafts Museum near Pragati Maidan, organized by a newly launched walk group called The Random Delhi.

Standing in front of the replica of an Ayyanar shrine on display at the courtyard of the museum and admiring the massive and awe-inspiring clay figurines, I was thinking how diverse our country is, and still, how you can always find a common thread running through various cultures and traditions. Bankura horse also has the same religious significance as Ayyanar horses. Villagers, mainly in Rarh region of Bengal which includes Bankura district, used to offer them to Dharma Thakur, Manasa Devi (goddess of serpents) and other popular local deities to express their devotion and for wish fulfilment.

Speaking of commonalities in the art form, I found a lot of similarities in the outward appearance of Bankura horse and Ayyanar horse, of course from a layperson's point of view. However, there are differences too. Bankura horse has a long neck and short legs, which are among its distinctive stylized features and which give it an erect posture and straight gait. However, a Bankura horse looks like an abstract piece of art while Ayyanar horses seem more life-like (the stories say Ayynar, the protector-deity, patrols the village on horseback after darkness falls).

After an engaging two-hour walk at the Crafts Museum, guided by Shashank and Manju, two enthusiastic youngsters who have started The Random Delhi grou, we were on our way out when our eyes fell upon a few more terracotta figurines, on display at the crafts demonstration area of the complex. Sitting beside the artworks was a middle-aged man with a gunslinger moustache. As we started talking to Mr Ramaiya Thangaiya, we found out that the 65-year old craftsman has been the main artiste in the team which worked for creating the Ayyanar shrine at the Crafts Museum premises! The world is small, indeed.

Ayyanar figurines range in height from less than a metre to over 6 metres. Most of the times, the various parts of the body of a statue are made separately and later joined together and baked in a kiln of straw, dried cow-dung and mud. Thangaiya showed us the photo of his kiln, or what may be called the potter's workstation.

The veteran artiste from Malaiyur village in Pudukkotai, Tamil Nadu, had displayed his pottery work in various countries such as South Korea, Greece, Japan and France. He had an album of memories of his trips, award ceremonies and meetings with celebrities (including former US first lady Michelle Obama) ready at hand to show us. Thangaiya said he has been visiting Delhi for more than two decades and his work has received appreciation from all quarters. His passion for his art was evident in his visiting card, which he handed over to us. It read ‘R. Terracotta Thangaiya’.

Art, music, culture and aesthetics connect people all over the world, he noted. “My art has taken me to so many parts of the world. They liked my work. Their media publicised my craft. I learnt to speak in English and even delivered a speech before a foreign audience,” Thangaiya said, with quiet pride and confidence.

Terracotta (the word has been derived from Latin terra cocta or baked earth)  has indeed been one of the common threads across many ancient civilizations. Terracotta statues were found in the ruins of Mohenjo-daro, ancient Mesopotamia and Egypt,  Greece, Rome and China, to name a few. And speaking of horses, the famous Terracotta Army in Shaanxi, China, depicting first Chinese Emperor Qin Shi Huang’s army, has 130 chariots with 520 horses and 150 cavalry horses. These terracotta horses were created to appear exactly like the real war horses of the Qin Dynasty (221-207 BC) – each part meticulously carved. A Chinese travel website says that there are six teeth in the mouth of each horse, to highlight that they are three years old and in their prime.

Horses have been recognised as a symbol of vitality, power and speed  since time immemorial. In Vedic tradition too, the Ashwamedha yagna or horse sacrifice ritual used to establish the king's power and his conquests of other kingdoms. The special relationship between man and horse manifests itself through traditions and crafts such as Bankura or Ayyanar horses.

Trivia: Bankura Panchmura Terracotta Craft recently received a Geographical Indication registration and a special logo of its own.

Roam Alone; Salimgarh

I first heard about Salimgarh Fort during a walk at Purana Quila by heritage group DelhiByFoot. The walk leader mentioned it while narrating the on-and-off rule of Sher Shah Suri and Humayun and the construction of the sixth city of Delhi in the area now known as old fort, which was called Dinpanah or Shergarh, depending on which side you are on.

Salimgarh lies in the Red Fort complex only, but does not record high footfalls. However, history enthusiasts of Delhi know about its significance. 

It is said that Humayun camped at Salimgarh for three days while readying for the final assault to take back his kingdom from the Suris. The fort was built in 1546 AD on an island on the Yamuna river by Salim Shah Suri, son of Sher Shah. In subsequent years after the Mughal recapture of Delhi, a bridge was built to connect it to the mainland and then to Red Fort. Emperor Aurangzeb used it as a prison and so did the British, who incarcerated soldiers and officers of the Indian National Army in the barracks. After the 1857 war of independence, Emperor Bahadur Shah Zafar was also detained there for some time.

The fort earlier housed a freedom fighters' museum displaying INA memorabilia which has now been merged with the newly-built Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose museum in the Red Fort complex. When I visited Salimgarh a few months back, the barracks were barren sans a few guards.

The first thing that struck me as I took a left turn towards the ruins from the road leading to Red Fort  from Meena Bazar is that I never noticed the signage pointing to the fort despite visiting Lal Quila so many times. As I passed the stepwell and reached in front of the yellow-hued walls of the fort, I was dithering, because no one seemed to be going there. I asked a man standing nearby, who looked like an official, if it is safe to venture inside. He assured that security guards are stationed there and I should not worry.

Still, as I walked towards the gate, I felt he and his companions were looking at me. “They must be thinking I am crazy.  When you can walk straight and see the beautiful diwan-e-aam and diwan-e-khas and Moti Masjid, why take a left and enter a hidden citadel?” I thought.

You can peep through the narrow slits on the wall of the pathway connecting Salimgarh with Red Fort and see the familiar arched brick-coloured railway bridge on Ring Road. I walked a few more steps and was studying a map of the complex embossed on a stone slab when a lady security guard asked me “kahan jana hai”. I told her that I want to see Salimgarh. “Woh bridge ke uss side hai, par abhi museum bandh hai,” she said.

Nevertheless, I went on, crossing a longish footover bridge which offered a view of the Red Fort and the railway tracks. There were rows of empty British-style barracks, and a few bored dogs here and there. The only old structure in the complex was a structure, or rather, half a structure. One side of it was missing. The map outside described it as a “jarjarit masjid” or the ruins of a mosque. 

In the internet, there are stories galore of the fort being haunted and local people claiming to have heard footsteps or laughs. And I could understand why such stories would spread. The dreary  barracks where soldiers were imprisoned, the dark dungeons which witnessed the killing of Mughal prince Dara Sikoh at hands of assassins sent by his brother, the jails which held Aurangzeb’s eldest daughter Zebunnisa, a Sufi poetess, for 20 years after she fell out of favour of his father – if one thinks about such stories while standing at the ruins of the forgotten fortress on a smoggy winter afternoon, it is natural to feel that there's something uncanny in the air.

For me, the problem at hand was something else. The dogs were sensing something amiss and giving cold stares at the cellphone-wielding woman loitering at Salimgarh. I am not exactly comfortable with the canine species and they also share the same feeling, most of the times. So, I paced back to the bridge and started the long walk (for me) to the main Red Fort complex.

Two forts, standing side by side, but the grandeur and hustle and bustle of Lal Quila, packed with hordes of excited tourists, seem all the more distinct after coming from the lonely fort. You will feel as if you just experienced a mood swing.

Roam Alone; Siri

I heard a light rustling sound. As if somebody or something is moving slowly behind me. And my heartbeat quickened.

I was inside a part of the ruins of Siri Fort, near the auditorium of the same name which is well-known in the capital's cultural circle for holding sarkari film festivals. I was standing in front of a beautiful mosque consisting of three doors and a single dome, named Masjid Muhammad Wali. And there was not a soul anywhere in the complex.

I came to the green and sprawling DDA Sports Complex nearby with a friend for a walk. While returning, I saw an ASI signboard and asked her to drop me there as I wanted to explore whatever's left of the famous second city of Delhi, developed under Sultan Allauddin Khalji. And here I was, standing amidst yellowish fallen leaves, trees and green shrubs in front of the old mosque, with the surroundings somehow adding a touch of serenity and soulfulness to the moment.

I read that there was not much left see in the ruins, except parts of walls. As I stepped inside through a half closed black gate, I noticed a map of the area, which mentions Muhammad Wali Masjid, Tohfewala Gumbad and Lal Gumbad. This enclosure only had the mosque, and as I treaded gingerly towards it, I was already a bit nervous because they were no one around. Not even a guard on duty. How can that be?

So, the rustling sound paced up my heartbeats. I should get out of here fast, I thought and turned, only to find the source of the sound. Two peacocks, not in their usual when-you-see-humans-run-away-as-fast-as-possible mode, but looking directly at me, as if asking me, what are you doing here, a woman alone in this garden, amid overgrown vegetation and ancient walls in which age-old stories and historical anecdotes are entrenched along with mythical heads of Mongol invaders (It is believed by many that Khalji buried ‘sir' of 8000 Mongols into the foundation and walls of his city (built between 1297 and 1307), which gave it the name of Siri.

I was relieved to see that there were no humans to be scared of (how sad it is that we always need to be on guard against our own fellow beings), but decided not to take much more chance with my luck and made a quick exit after clicking a few pics of the walls of Siri.

Muhammadwali Masjid

Walls of Siri

Outside,  I discovered an ASI children's museum, the existence of which was not in my knowledge, but which had excellent replicas of famous sculptures and artefacts. There was a very interesting section dealing with how  encroachment is destroying heritage monuments in Delhi.

Later, with the help of Google map and DTC bus, I visited Tohfewala Gumbad and Lal Gumbad, respectively.

As for the first one, I couldn't find its entry amid the urban jungle of Shahpur Jat and only clicked a pic from outside. Lal Gumbad, in Sadhna Enclave, is more easily accessible, situated in the middle of a park. But as opposed to Siri, Lal Gumbad complex had too many people loitering around and all of them did not look like heritage enthusiasts. However,  I faced no problem or odd stares as I took a few pics of the monument. Also called the Rakabwala Gumbad (Tomb of Iron Rings), it is the tomb of Shaikh Kabiruddin Auliya, who was a disciple of 14th century sufi saint, Hazrat Roshan Chirag-e-Dilli. This tomb is said to be a replica of Ghiyasuddin Tughlaq's tomb in Tughlaqabad. It is in good condition as compared to many other lesser known heritage structures of Delhi.  The tomb of Chirag-e-Dillli lies near Greater Kailash, in the area that is still known by the name of the saint.

From Lal Gumbad, those interested can visit Malai Mandir in Palam Marg as well as the Dakshin Dilli Kalibari which is situated just beside it. You need to get into a bus, though.

Tohfewala Gumbad

ASI Children's Museum

                              Lal Gumbad

UPDATE: I went on a Siri walk again on April 28 with Dastan, run by heritage storyteller Joydeep Daey. I had the opportunity of visiting Tohfewala Gumbad this time. The walk also covered two sites which I missed in my last visit -- parts of the Siri wall inside a DDA Park nearby, and the Eidgaah in Hauz Khas, constructed by Iqbal Khan (who was in control of Delhi at that time) in 1404, after the destruction and loot of the city by the invading army of Timur the Lame. Delhi was unbearably hot that day, but the walk leader kept our interests alive with his elaborate narration of the history of Siri and Allauddin Khalji, trying to cover various aspects of the reign of the Sultan in a nuanced manner. Here are some pics of the walk:-

From the roof of Muhammad Wali Masjid

Parts of wall inside DDA Park

Tohfwala Gumbad, proper view

Eidgaah

 

From red tape to red seal: The journey of Jamyang Dorjee

"I was a babu. Working as a Joint Secretary with the Government of Sikkim. Then I decided to change my life. And took a voluntary retirement,” said the white-haired man with a solemn demeanour, holding a large calligraphy brush and looking intently at a piece of handmade paper which will soon experience his bold strokes.

I was at the Tibetan calligraphy exhibition of Jamyang Dorjee, organized by Tibet House, Lodi Road, as part of a three-day “Legacy of Tibet" festival (March 22-24), which also had demonstration of thangka painting, book stalls and sale of Tibetan traditional medicine, food and handicrafts as its key components.

Dorjee, one of the pioneers of Tibetan calligraphy, was displaying his art which deftly combines Buddhist elements, symbols and images with Tibetan script. The added attraction was an opportunity to get your name written on a piece of paper by the master calligrapher in his inimitable style. I did not miss the chance.

Dorjee said that for him, calligraphy is not only an art.  “It is a form of meditation. It is spiritual. Japanese, Chinese and Persian calligraphy are well-known and widely acclaimed. I just wanted to make more people aware of the beauty of our Tibetan script. That's why I left the world of bureaucracy and devoted myself fully to this art form,” he said.

In 2010, Dorjee created a 165 metre-long Tibetan calligraphy scroll, with prayers and drawings consisting of 65,000 Tibetan characters. And more recently, he was among 11 calligraphers who used their art form to highlight the message of Mahatma Gandhi at an exhibition held at Indira Gandhi National Centre for the Arts, New Delhi, titled Gandhi Virasat: Kagazkala.

After he wrote the name in black, Dorjee
took out two tiny red seals. “One denotes the artist's own name and the other projects an image of a flower. They are used to create a sense of balance in the artwork,” he said as he put the stamps on the paper.

Bureaucracy is also about seals and stamps, I thought.  As for a sense of balance, that is  another story.

But if I wouldn't have met Jamyang Dorjee, I wouldn't have known this key aspect of Tibetan art. Whenever someone talks of Tibetan art, I remember the colourful thangkas (Tibetan scroll paintings made on cotton or silk) I saw in Norbulingka institute in Dharamshala, which is dedicated to preserving this ancient art form. I am especially reminded of one very young and very talented artist who told me that he had escaped from Tibet, risking his life, just because he wanted to see His Holiness the Dalai Lama in person. I forgot the guy's name. I just remember his beautiful paintings.

A young thangka painter called Pema was at Tibet House too, using vegetable dye to create an image of Mahakala. “A painting like this takes nearly a month to complete,” said Pema, whose wooden sculptures were also showcased at the venue, along with the instruments used by him to create them.

Speaking of sculptures, the Tibet House museum had a number of statues of revered Buddhist gurus on display. My eyes fell upon one of them.

I remember reading about Atiśa Dīpaṃkara Śrījñāna (982-1054 CE)in history books. He was a Bengali Buddhist religious scholar who went to Tibet and worked for spread of Mahayana Buddhism there.

So, when I saw this statue, I felt happy, as if I have met someone I know. After all, he was one of our own, born in Bikrampur in (now) Bangladesh. The plaque accompanying the idol mentioned him as a prince who turned into a spiritual guru. I was thinking that here is another story of a person who gave up a life many would aspire and paid heed to a higher call.

It is natural, though. After all, the Buddha also did the same, isn't it? In that, he left a path for his true followers to walk on.

48 Hours in Mangaluru

Mangalore has scenic beaches, beautiful temples, old churches and delicious cuisine, but when I started writing about my 48 -hour visit to the coastal city, the first thing that came to my mind is that “yahan autowale 3 rupaye wapas karte hai!”

Now, that's not how you should ideally start writing about a city, but fellow public transport users from Delhi can understand the feeling of elation one experiences when the auto guy starts the meter as soon as you sit inside and gives you the exact change back after the journey. Moreover, they don't refuse a passenger even if it is a short distance trip. We roamed around in autorickshaws quite often during our stay. Only once, we received a refusal. Or so we thought!

We asked the guy, “Forum Mall”? He shook his head. And we started backing out, when we saw him gesturing us to sit inside. His head shake was meant to convey an “yes”. Our misjudgement, coupled with the usual Delhi experience of autowallas who have taken saying “no” to the level of modern art, had created the confusion.

That said, how can they afford to refuse short distance journeys when the entire city is of an area of 170 sq km? In fact, the Panambur beach, known for its colourful international kite festival, is also outside municipal limits, we found out as we went to see the sunset there, a few hours after arriving to Mangalore following a four-hour road trip from Coorg.

The most striking aspect of Mangalore for me was the view from our hotel room. You can see the sea and the confluence of two rivers, Nethravathi (nice name, no?) and Gurupura. The city is home to many communities and everyone calls it by a different name. ‘Kudla' (Tulu), 'Mangalooru' (Kannada), 'Mangalapuram' (Malayalam) and ‘Kodial' (Konkani),  are just a few. Google baba says that Kudla in Tulu means junction, and the city is called so because it is situated at the confluence. The sight of the sea and the rivers kept me engaged for hours that night as I watched the darkness slowly break into dawn and the flickering shadows on the water disappear. I guess the rooftop would have given a even better view but it was not accessible.

The afternoon of day one was spent on finding out about and visiting the beach nearest to our hotel. Panambur, just beside the new Mangalore sea port. is well-maintained and clean. It has jet ski and other sports activities,  but we could not try them as we reached just half an hour before the beach gets closed. I get scared of water sports anyway, so no loss for me (During my first visit to Goa, I spent a lazy hour reading a novel and eating tuna salad while my friends were parasailing). Me and my friend watched the sun go down while enjoying a plate of charumuri, a puffed rice snack which is a cousin of jhalmuri, but more health-conscious. (It had grated carrot). Even mango pachodi (raw mango salad) had carrots. Talking of food, Mangalorean cuisine is counted among the best in India and known for its diversity, due to the fact that different communities staying here have added their own specialities to it. So you have Tuluva dishes, Udupi cuisine as well as food of choice of Saraswat Brahmins, Mangalorean Catholics and Beary Muslims. During our stay in the city,  we tasted pomfret curry, egg sukka (dry preparation with grated coconut), Mangalorean buns (they look like kachori, have a sweet tinge and are made with maida and bananas), and goli baje (fluffy flour fritters, darne ka nai).

Other than food, architectural style is another notable aspect of Mangalore. The brick-coloured Mangalore tiles prepared from hard laterite clay are used in many parts of the country, and also exported abroad. However, traditional roofs and houses are gradually giving way to typical box-type multi-storied buildings. The city has quite a few old churches and chapels such as Our Lady of Rosary Cathedral (1568) and Milagres Church (1680) but we could only see St. Aloysius Chapel (1878), on Lighthouse Hill. The interior of the chapel is decorated with paintings by Italian artist Antonio Moscheni. The paintings have undergone restoration by INTACH and their prints on postcards are on sale at the chapel. We bought a set from a smiling middle-aged man called Brother Henry, who could converse a little in Bengali and was very excited about it. He told us about the chapel, the St. Aloysius College (George Fernandes was an alumni) which is run by Jesuits,  (they also administer the St. Xavier’s College in Calcutta, he did not forget to mention) and the painter Moscheni. Brother Henry also told us about some popular tourist spots of the city and famous temples that we should visit.

Next morning, we went to Mangaladevi temple, from which the city got its name. It was built in 9th century by king Kundavarmana (though legends associate it with Parashurama, maintaining that the king only excavated and restored it). The Gokarnanatheshwara temple, which we visited later, was consecrated in 1912 by social reformer Shri Narayana Guru. What I found striking in both the temples are the tall dhwajastambham, or flagpoles.

Our last stop in the Mangalore sightseeing trip was Tannirbhavi beach. We went to Sultan battery, a watch tower constructed by Tipu Sultan on the banks of Gurupura river in 1784 to prevent any British warship from invading via river route. One can get an wide-angle picture of the river from the top of the structure which also have embrasures for cannons, now used by stray lovers. We crossed the river in a ferry and walked down to Tannirbhavi. I liked it better than Panambur because it was less crowded and I could see various shades of green in the sea.

The evening of day two was free, so we decided to go for “Badla" in PVR Forum Mall. It was only 120 rupees per ticket! We should have watched more movies here, we joked.

Ok, it is not proper to start a travel story with talk of money and end it with talk of money.

Pretty middle-classist, you can see!

Feeling At Home in Evergreen Coorg

Whenever I travel from Delhi to my hometown, I somehow know the exact time it enters Bengal. No, not by the name of the stations, but by the shade of green outside the window.

From the rough brownish green landscape near Delhi, to the dull green in UP and Bihar, it suddenly changes into a bright and nearly fluorescent versions in Bengal, a colour we called “kochi kolapatar rong" (the hue of the new banana leaf). It always gives me a feel of being at home.

Somehow, a visit to Coorg in Karnataka brought back that feeling, just because of the beautiful and bright greenery all around.

Somewhere in between those well-known names like Bangalore and Mysore, Coorg may not appeal to all kinds of travellers. For the north Indian tourist, it is not at such a great height to be called a proper hill station. Neither it is a “happening” place like Goa. But it has its own old-world charm – in the winding roads, in the colourful temples seen here and there on the sides of the highway,  in the small rural post office cabins, in the tall silver oak and rosewood trees trying to touch the sky, in the traditional pyramid-shaped sloping roofs of the houses, in the jasmine-flavoured white coffee flowers scattered like snowflakes atop the shrubs, in the Golden Orioles, always in pairs and flying from one tree to another like yellow streaks, and in the magnificent Brahmagiri hills lording over it all.

My trip to Coorg started with a bang, literally. On the way to the airport with my friend and her son, our cab was involved in a minor pile-up accident. No one was hurt except the vehicles, but after a quite hectic morning, which began with a pre-dawn call telling us that our Air India flight will be more than three hours late and us getting into a rush of cancel-AI-and-purchase Jet-to-Mangalore-and-inform-hotel-and-rearrange-cab, this incident made us slightly apprehensive. I turned it worse for myself by going on thinking about an YouTube video I saw about the difficulties in landing an aircraft on the table-top runway situated on a hill in Mangalore. Don't be silly, people do it every day,  I rebuked myself as I tried to eat the cuppa noodles served at the flight. It tasted like rubber.

But by the end of the day, as we reached Woshully Estate, and checked into a more than 150-year-old British heritage bungalow tucked deep inside the over 20,000-acre Tata Coffee Plantation in Pollibetta, Coorg, my spirits had soared considerably, especially after seeing the extra-large rooms tastefully decorated with antique furniture. The next morning, a glorious sunrise greeted us, rays sneaking through trees and brightening the coffee plants all around. It is an idyllic setting for doing nothing. Just sit back and relax, and enjoy the view of the trees and the Durbeen Road in front of the bungalow (named so because anyone coming through it can be seen from the house), listen to sweet birdsong or sharp-tongued crickets, contemplate about life and read Robert Frost/Browning.

Tata Plantation Trails run nine such bungalows in the area, 40 kms from Madikeri, the main town of Coorg, or, Kodava district. We were taken to a jeep safari of the Woshully Estate and gained some knowledge about varieties of coffee plants (robusta and arabica) and their processing. It is said that coffee was introduced to the region in the 17th century by a Sufi saint named Baba Budan who planted seven “magical seeds” that he had got from Yemen on a hill in Chikmagalur. Among the many British and Indian planters who worked in the region, one name stands out. Ivor Bull, the former managing director of Consolidated Coffee Estates (which was later taken over by Tata Coffee) who encouraged the visionary ‘pooling system’, where planters came together and marketed their coffee like a co-operative. Interestingly, the Woshally bungalow has a photo of a British gentleman displayed prominently in its drawing room, but no one could tell me his identity. Only when I was searching for Coorg and coffee in Google, I found several websites and links with the photograph of the pioneer planter and conservationist, and it turned out that it was Mr. Bull’s photograph on the mantle-piece.

It might be the coffee country, but no story about Coorg forgets to mention the cuisine and hospitality of the people, a taste of which we were also fortunate to receive thanks to Jayamma, who cooked amazing food for the guests and bungalow caretaker Palraj. Among the famous dishes of the local Kodava people that we savoured were Pandi (pork) Curry (I don't eat pork, but tasted the delicious gravy), rice rotti and Kudumbuttu (rice flour balls). Kodavas are a proud martial race with many notable names in the armed forces (Such as Field Marshal K. M. Cariappa) and their staple is rice. They also celebrate Huttari, a paddy harvest festival. Next time someone tells me rice makes you lazy, I am going to cite this.

Speaking of Kodavas, I had the chance to read up a bit about their distinctive culture in a few books kept at the study room of the bungalow and was really fascinated. They are ancestor worshippers and their traditional ancestral homes, called aine mane, have shrines for praying to ancestors. In earlier days, all members of a clan (okka) used to live in aine mane.
The Kodavas also revere the nature and the river Kaveri, their lifeline. Many of the Kodava villages have sacred groves, a pointer to their deep respect for the nature. Kaveri is worshipped as water and not as an image. Its birth is celebrated during Kaveri Sankramana, held at its source in Talakaveri in the region. The other interesting aspect is the position of women in society. Dowry system is not encouraged and widow remarriage is a traditional practice. During the marriage ceremony, it is the mother who first blesses the bride or groom, even if she is a widow. Instead of the groom, the bride’s mother ties the symbolic chain (called pathak) on the bride. Their culture makes Kodavas truly unique. And reading about them made me realize how little I know about so many of the communities of our country.

Coming back to my tour, the only problem with staying inside a plantation is that you cannot venture out much after dark. Options of day trips were there though, and we went to see an elephant camp in Dubare (25 kms from Polibetta) where tuskers are trained for the famous Dussera festival of Mysore (highlight of this tour: crossing a rocky river Kaveri on foot. It is a lot of balancing work, but I got help from my friend), visiting the Namdroling Monastery in Bylakuppe, the second largest Tibetan settlement in the world outside Tibet after Dharmashala and taking a tour in a rickety bus in Nagarhole National Park and Tiger Reserve (sightings: A few spotted deer, a Gaur and a Sambar here and there, and two wild elephants who were so far that the photo clicked by me may need a red arrow pointer).

In fact, more than any of the sightseeing trips, I enjoyed an early morning birdwatching arranged for us as part of our tour package, in which the in-house naturalist and local guy Uday Naik took us to the Golf Course area inside the Estate and with his guidance, we had fleeting glimpses of the Golden Oriole, Plum-Headed Parakeet, Small Minivet, Scarlet Minivet and Flowerpecker. Mr Naik knows 30 types of birdcalls, mostly picked up in his childhood, during his daily journey of five kilometres to his school and back. “Then there were no school vans... like now we see even for a short distance. We used to walk for long and indulge in such activities for time-pass. Then I found out more. I knew the names of the birds in Kannada. Then I studied their English names and more about them," Mr Naik said.

You never know when and how you will discover your true calling, I thought.

As we started our journey back to Mangalore on the morning of the third day of our trip, I was restless, as if I have left something back there. I checked and rechecked my bag and everything was in order.

Maybe I left behind those hours of unhurried existence which I can never get in Delhi.

(Information collected from: The  Connoisseur’s Book of Indian Coffee, McMillan; The Romance of Indian Coffee by P T Bopanna; Coorg-The Land of the Kodavas by John and Jeannette Isaac; and Tata Coffee website and a few websites on Coorg)

(Next: 48 hours in Mangalore)