The trip to India in video
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Last day in India (actually 2 more but traveling home).
From all accounts Kovalam beach sounded like many other I'd seen in Goa but from brochures Varkala looks smaller and wilde with cliffs towering over the beach.
I used my last day in India to visit Varkala beach and what a good choice it had been. Had I found this place earlier I'd have skipped Trivandrum altogether.
The beach is about 2 hours drive out of the city in the coastal town of Varkala - an intimate stretch of about a kilometer. With Monsoon only a month away and being the end of the tourist seasdon, the beach was not crowded and mostly populated by foreign tourists (Wifi spots abound).
The road leading to the beach from the main road is lined with shops, guesthouses, Yoga & Meditation centers (one of the Osho's) and Ayurveda clinics.
High cliffs overlook the sea and stone stairs lead up from the beach to a line of guesthouses, tourist stalls and restaurants, which offer a shady and breezy respite from the day's heat.
I asked one of the tourists on the beach if she could look after my things while I go in the water (although Elena from Italy later assured me that it is safe to leave your things unattended) to wash off the heat and even caught me some waves in the crystal blue waters.
I could not have hoped for a better finish to this incredible trip.
Tomorrow, very early in the morning I will start my 2 day return that will take 4 flights.
Om Nama Shivaya is playing on the restaurant's speaker.
Thank you India, again.
From all accounts Kovalam beach sounded like many other I'd seen in Goa but from brochures Varkala looks smaller and wilde with cliffs towering over the beach.
I used my last day in India to visit Varkala beach and what a good choice it had been. Had I found this place earlier I'd have skipped Trivandrum altogether.
The beach is about 2 hours drive out of the city in the coastal town of Varkala - an intimate stretch of about a kilometer. With Monsoon only a month away and being the end of the tourist seasdon, the beach was not crowded and mostly populated by foreign tourists (Wifi spots abound).
The road leading to the beach from the main road is lined with shops, guesthouses, Yoga & Meditation centers (one of the Osho's) and Ayurveda clinics.
High cliffs overlook the sea and stone stairs lead up from the beach to a line of guesthouses, tourist stalls and restaurants, which offer a shady and breezy respite from the day's heat.
I asked one of the tourists on the beach if she could look after my things while I go in the water (although Elena from Italy later assured me that it is safe to leave your things unattended) to wash off the heat and even caught me some waves in the crystal blue waters.
I could not have hoped for a better finish to this incredible trip.
Tomorrow, very early in the morning I will start my 2 day return that will take 4 flights.
Om Nama Shivaya is playing on the restaurant's speaker.
Thank you India, again.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Thiruvananthapuram (Trivandrum)
I arrived with headache, probably from yesterday's hours on the hill followed by an hour too long in the pool. I seem to have forgotten how to take care of myself but Nir does not. He SMSs me back to take Homeopathic Belladonna and that takes me on the first excursion into the city.
My hotel seems very central and my room very tiny but at a reasonable price, considering I need to make my dwindling budget stretch for a week here.
I'm directed to MG Main Rd. which seems really the biggest road of the city with 3 lanes of congested traffic going each way. In fact it took me more than a minute of waiting for a break in cars just to cross.
I am given two landmarks that are central and easy to find: the GPO building and the 'Statue' where the biggest bookseller: DC Books is spread across several shops.
Across from this square lies the main Government Secretariat building, a long white and imposing colonial structure.
The contrast to where I came from is stark: No more sea breeze but heavy pollution; no more bare feet and Dhoti's, here the clothing varies from traditional to modern. As in all big cities in India the old mixes with the new, the poor with the rich. Sidewalk vendors display cheap wares and shoe menders in dirty clothes sit with their old rusty tools in front of posh, air conditioned malls (and even posher giant jewelry stores). And the Seashells and religious paraphernalia are replaced with bookshops and Ayurveda pharmacies. Indians in big cities are obsessed with college and grades as this is their children's main passport to a good job, either that or a government job.
Most of the bookshops offer English books on every study course imaginable, new and used and many more 'Photostat' shops for photocopying and binding (for student's thesis). Keralites in general are literate and avid readers from the number of shops and secondhand bookstalls in both English and Malayam.
Speaking of which, my favorite is Chetan Bhagat, a young writer who paints colorful stories of urban Indian youths and from whom I learned a lot about contemporary Indian culture (and problems).
Of course being the birthplace of Ayurveda, as many shops are Ayurveda related, from pharmacies and clinics to colleges and hospitals. I do manage to find one homeopathic pharmacy tucked away in a small alley and sure enough, Belladonna helps.
I return to my hotel for a Lassi (no ice, since the water is not safe) and some toast with jam and am disappointed again. (What is it with these hotels that can't get their $!&@ together in the kitchen?)
Tomorrow I will look for a guided tour of the city and maybe find a less central and more quiet setting. Meanwhile, the bucket in the shower is waiting for laundry with my one rupee detergent packet.
By now my internal clock is set to 'Early' and although mosquitos kept me up at night, by 6am I go out to look for a chai stall. On the way back the alley is blocked off by a middle aged couple as a Coconut picker sits high atop a tree and chops off the fruit which comes down crashing into the middle of the street. The owners of the private house in which the tree grows then pick up the coconuts and throw them into their yard as the picker climbs down with ease and speed using straps tied to both his ankles.
After 24 hours here I cannot say that this nondescript city is appealing. (Hope a coconut doesn't fall on my head for saying so). Although you can get anything around any corner, there are too many 'Bars' and liquor shops for my taste (that sell their wares through caged fronts) and not enough tea stalls. The only smiles I see are on young faces and an only friendly chat I get is in a small dark restaurant where a local jokes with me about coming to Israel (I would replace the owner making Parothas while he stay at my place). Only problem is he doesn't have a passport. I guess I missed my opportunity to become an Indian restauranteur.
The tour starts off in a blissfully air-conditioned minibus that shields us from the sweltering heat outside which is not improved by the thin drizzle that comes down.
.JPG)
First
stop is a beautiful manicured public garden with a zoo on one side, an
Aquarium, an art gallery and the Napier Archeological museum. I forego
the zoo (the very idea of caged animals there only for the pleasure of
gawking visitors is more than deplorable to me) and head to the museum.
The beauty and intricacy of the bronze, stone and wooden artifacts and statues of different deities such as Vishnu, Natarjamurthi, Brahma, Devi, Ganapathi, Buddha, Hanuman, Maheshwara and many others, cannot be described.
The museum also displayed religious artifacts, like a giant temple car with huge wood and metal wheels supporting an elaborate rectangular wood carving, 9 feet tall with hundreds of small details. The sheer size of the wheels must have taken at least ten people to push.
Royals certainly had it good as the royal dresser carved from a single piece of wood suggests or the music box in an ornate wooden box inlaid in pearl that can play four different tunes.
I find two pieces quite exceptional: Radha and Krishna statuettes delicately carved in white ivory, sitting together on a swing that hangs from the tips of two opposing elephant tusks. The other one being Javanese shadow puppets cut from thin leather, colorfully painted with slender pods attached, which the storyteller moved while relating scenes from the Ramayana and Mahabaratha.
The art gallery across from the garden
is dedicated mostly to two brother artists from the late 19th century:
Raja Ravi Varma and Raja Raja Varma and. Together they paint realistic
scenes of rural and royal India as well as mythical figures and colonial
dignitaries. Both brothers paint beautifully with a wonderful mastery
of shadow and light but I like the some of the younger sinling's
paintings more as he uses faint references to Impressionism in the
otherwise realistic scenes.
The next stop was the old palace of the Maharaja of Travancore. 200 years old, 80 rooms (of which only 20 are open to the public) built by 1,000 workers taking 4 years to complete. The only living heir to the lineage, at 90 years old, lives at the 'other' palace that has 200 rooms. The palace is a museum on its own with a throne of ivory and one made entirely out of crystal, rare gifts from other royals, a lamp with a clever device that keeps pumping oil to achieve 24 hours of light, Italian marble, every room with different themed ceiling, a sun clock with a magnifying glass aimed at a miniature canon that shoots every hour (a gift from Sir Isaac Newton) and the unusual extravaganza you'd expect from royalty, but what caught my ear was a remark by the guide that all royal ladies could never leave the palace and had to spend their entire lives in the compound. Talk about a gilded cage.
Next stop, the Veli Tourist Village. Why it's called a village I don't know since no one lives there and you can't stay overnight. It does hold a beautiful lake with green plants floating on the water and covering much of the lake. The 'village' is a big park surrounding the lake that ends at the beach. The water is not enticing as the waves carry the color of the sand: earth-brown. The park is beautiful though and a great spot for families to place their kids on the swings or for couples to secretly hold hands in the bushy paths. (Holding hands is not accepted in traditional Indian society and most of India is traditional. The only hand holding that is common is between brothers and brothers or sisters.)
.JPG)
Next we
drove to Shanghumugham beach. Don't even try to pronounce it, it sounds
nothing like its written equivalent. Maybe that's why foreign tourists
never come here and prefer Kovalam instead. The usual stalls line the
beach and a lone singer with a DJ's box sings traditional songs to the
visitors. No one enters the water and there are no 'beach facilities'.
The Indian Air Force has a base nearby and some uniformed IAF members also sit at the Dhaba's.
The continuing drizzle and hazy sunset may explain the low numbers of tourists there that day.
We are dropped off at the Padmananhaswam temple which is considered the richest temple in the world. Why, I'll never get a chance to find out as non-Hindus are forbidden entry. Literally thousands of carvings make up its roofed golden sides, depicting scenes from the Ramayana and Mahabaratha.
I walk back to MG Main road realizing i haven't found alternate lodgings and witness a ritual I haven't seen before: lots of stalls around a Ganapthi temple sell shelled coconuts (i.e the brown centers) which devotees buy and bring into the temple. Inside they hurl the coconuts with great force, smashing them open inside a stone basin which looks like a pool of milk.
The tour took six hours and having dinner later at a 'Pure Veg' restaurant I wonder where the really spicy food is since I have yet to encounter a 'blow-the-roof-of-your-mouth' kind of spiciness on this trip.
.JPG)
Next
morning another unexpected sight: "Ironing stalls". The operator squats
in the street and lights coals in what looks like a hundred year old
iron then sets up a stall on wheels. People come by and leave their
clothes for ironing. Cool, I mean hot.
To burn off all the Chais and Samosas I walk the city for hours and end up at the Chalai Bazaar, a market street that sells everything imaginable. The sounds of honking rickshaws and street vendors mix with the glitter of the jewelry shops and smells of incense and flowers from the religious shops, the perfumes from the barbers and the various spices. Tens of alleys with more of the same offshoot from the main street, however the parallel street is an entirely different world. There hangars of wholesale merchandise reek of rotting fruit, whose fresh siblings are sold between the rusty tin structures and the Kerala Sewage Administration building that advertises its presence with its namesake odors. In one structure laborers fold thousands of large banana leaves into neatly folded stacks, to be delivered later to restaurants, temples and religious shops.
The entrance to the market is in front of the Ghandi Park (near East Fort), which is also the only place to sit in a bit of shade in the middle of the day, the other seating options in the area being only the posh chairs of the jewelry shops.
If you don't eat meat, your options are limited to a fixed menu of little variety. Most restaurants serve only rice meals at lunch with staples such as Dosa, Chappati etc with 3 types of chutney and Sambar and Chenna.
My favorite is the Hotel Krishna Vegetarian (there's actually no hotel), which is more like a canteen. After serving your food, waiters walk around with huge bowls of rice and small metal buckets and ladle rice, Sambar and chutney refills into the customer's plates until the meal is over or they are asked to stop. Cutlery is non existent as everybody eats with their hand.
I've seen most of the sights and what is left to do is walking, eating and drinking. Shopping is out of the question since my 65L backpack is already bursting with books and presents. So here's another delight: Sharjam - basically a milkshake. Badam Sharjam is based on Badam milk (a yellowy creamy milk with a delicate flavor) wich is frozen and crushed on the spot and mixed with ice cream.
Excluding 5-Star hotels I think I found the only place in the city with Wifi (I found 2 on the net but one closed last year) - an air conditioned western style restaurant called 'Flavors'. As I send this with two days to the end of a two months trip I'm making a list of things I miss at home: my friends, my cat, the beach, fresh fruit and vegetables, preparing my own food, organic tobacco, my Mac and SITTING DOWN for coffee.
No insights, only things I look forward to.
I arrived with headache, probably from yesterday's hours on the hill followed by an hour too long in the pool. I seem to have forgotten how to take care of myself but Nir does not. He SMSs me back to take Homeopathic Belladonna and that takes me on the first excursion into the city.
My hotel seems very central and my room very tiny but at a reasonable price, considering I need to make my dwindling budget stretch for a week here.
I'm directed to MG Main Rd. which seems really the biggest road of the city with 3 lanes of congested traffic going each way. In fact it took me more than a minute of waiting for a break in cars just to cross.
I am given two landmarks that are central and easy to find: the GPO building and the 'Statue' where the biggest bookseller: DC Books is spread across several shops.
Across from this square lies the main Government Secretariat building, a long white and imposing colonial structure.
The contrast to where I came from is stark: No more sea breeze but heavy pollution; no more bare feet and Dhoti's, here the clothing varies from traditional to modern. As in all big cities in India the old mixes with the new, the poor with the rich. Sidewalk vendors display cheap wares and shoe menders in dirty clothes sit with their old rusty tools in front of posh, air conditioned malls (and even posher giant jewelry stores). And the Seashells and religious paraphernalia are replaced with bookshops and Ayurveda pharmacies. Indians in big cities are obsessed with college and grades as this is their children's main passport to a good job, either that or a government job.
Most of the bookshops offer English books on every study course imaginable, new and used and many more 'Photostat' shops for photocopying and binding (for student's thesis). Keralites in general are literate and avid readers from the number of shops and secondhand bookstalls in both English and Malayam.
Speaking of which, my favorite is Chetan Bhagat, a young writer who paints colorful stories of urban Indian youths and from whom I learned a lot about contemporary Indian culture (and problems).
Of course being the birthplace of Ayurveda, as many shops are Ayurveda related, from pharmacies and clinics to colleges and hospitals. I do manage to find one homeopathic pharmacy tucked away in a small alley and sure enough, Belladonna helps.
I return to my hotel for a Lassi (no ice, since the water is not safe) and some toast with jam and am disappointed again. (What is it with these hotels that can't get their $!&@ together in the kitchen?)
Tomorrow I will look for a guided tour of the city and maybe find a less central and more quiet setting. Meanwhile, the bucket in the shower is waiting for laundry with my one rupee detergent packet.
By now my internal clock is set to 'Early' and although mosquitos kept me up at night, by 6am I go out to look for a chai stall. On the way back the alley is blocked off by a middle aged couple as a Coconut picker sits high atop a tree and chops off the fruit which comes down crashing into the middle of the street. The owners of the private house in which the tree grows then pick up the coconuts and throw them into their yard as the picker climbs down with ease and speed using straps tied to both his ankles.
After 24 hours here I cannot say that this nondescript city is appealing. (Hope a coconut doesn't fall on my head for saying so). Although you can get anything around any corner, there are too many 'Bars' and liquor shops for my taste (that sell their wares through caged fronts) and not enough tea stalls. The only smiles I see are on young faces and an only friendly chat I get is in a small dark restaurant where a local jokes with me about coming to Israel (I would replace the owner making Parothas while he stay at my place). Only problem is he doesn't have a passport. I guess I missed my opportunity to become an Indian restauranteur.
The tour starts off in a blissfully air-conditioned minibus that shields us from the sweltering heat outside which is not improved by the thin drizzle that comes down.
.JPG)
First
stop is a beautiful manicured public garden with a zoo on one side, an
Aquarium, an art gallery and the Napier Archeological museum. I forego
the zoo (the very idea of caged animals there only for the pleasure of
gawking visitors is more than deplorable to me) and head to the museum.The beauty and intricacy of the bronze, stone and wooden artifacts and statues of different deities such as Vishnu, Natarjamurthi, Brahma, Devi, Ganapathi, Buddha, Hanuman, Maheshwara and many others, cannot be described.
The museum also displayed religious artifacts, like a giant temple car with huge wood and metal wheels supporting an elaborate rectangular wood carving, 9 feet tall with hundreds of small details. The sheer size of the wheels must have taken at least ten people to push.
Royals certainly had it good as the royal dresser carved from a single piece of wood suggests or the music box in an ornate wooden box inlaid in pearl that can play four different tunes.
I find two pieces quite exceptional: Radha and Krishna statuettes delicately carved in white ivory, sitting together on a swing that hangs from the tips of two opposing elephant tusks. The other one being Javanese shadow puppets cut from thin leather, colorfully painted with slender pods attached, which the storyteller moved while relating scenes from the Ramayana and Mahabaratha.
The art gallery across from the garden
is dedicated mostly to two brother artists from the late 19th century:
Raja Ravi Varma and Raja Raja Varma and. Together they paint realistic
scenes of rural and royal India as well as mythical figures and colonial
dignitaries. Both brothers paint beautifully with a wonderful mastery
of shadow and light but I like the some of the younger sinling's
paintings more as he uses faint references to Impressionism in the
otherwise realistic scenes. The next stop was the old palace of the Maharaja of Travancore. 200 years old, 80 rooms (of which only 20 are open to the public) built by 1,000 workers taking 4 years to complete. The only living heir to the lineage, at 90 years old, lives at the 'other' palace that has 200 rooms. The palace is a museum on its own with a throne of ivory and one made entirely out of crystal, rare gifts from other royals, a lamp with a clever device that keeps pumping oil to achieve 24 hours of light, Italian marble, every room with different themed ceiling, a sun clock with a magnifying glass aimed at a miniature canon that shoots every hour (a gift from Sir Isaac Newton) and the unusual extravaganza you'd expect from royalty, but what caught my ear was a remark by the guide that all royal ladies could never leave the palace and had to spend their entire lives in the compound. Talk about a gilded cage.
Next stop, the Veli Tourist Village. Why it's called a village I don't know since no one lives there and you can't stay overnight. It does hold a beautiful lake with green plants floating on the water and covering much of the lake. The 'village' is a big park surrounding the lake that ends at the beach. The water is not enticing as the waves carry the color of the sand: earth-brown. The park is beautiful though and a great spot for families to place their kids on the swings or for couples to secretly hold hands in the bushy paths. (Holding hands is not accepted in traditional Indian society and most of India is traditional. The only hand holding that is common is between brothers and brothers or sisters.)
.JPG)
Next we
drove to Shanghumugham beach. Don't even try to pronounce it, it sounds
nothing like its written equivalent. Maybe that's why foreign tourists
never come here and prefer Kovalam instead. The usual stalls line the
beach and a lone singer with a DJ's box sings traditional songs to the
visitors. No one enters the water and there are no 'beach facilities'.The Indian Air Force has a base nearby and some uniformed IAF members also sit at the Dhaba's.
The continuing drizzle and hazy sunset may explain the low numbers of tourists there that day.
We are dropped off at the Padmananhaswam temple which is considered the richest temple in the world. Why, I'll never get a chance to find out as non-Hindus are forbidden entry. Literally thousands of carvings make up its roofed golden sides, depicting scenes from the Ramayana and Mahabaratha.
I walk back to MG Main road realizing i haven't found alternate lodgings and witness a ritual I haven't seen before: lots of stalls around a Ganapthi temple sell shelled coconuts (i.e the brown centers) which devotees buy and bring into the temple. Inside they hurl the coconuts with great force, smashing them open inside a stone basin which looks like a pool of milk.
The tour took six hours and having dinner later at a 'Pure Veg' restaurant I wonder where the really spicy food is since I have yet to encounter a 'blow-the-roof-of-your-mouth' kind of spiciness on this trip.
.JPG)
Next
morning another unexpected sight: "Ironing stalls". The operator squats
in the street and lights coals in what looks like a hundred year old
iron then sets up a stall on wheels. People come by and leave their
clothes for ironing. Cool, I mean hot. To burn off all the Chais and Samosas I walk the city for hours and end up at the Chalai Bazaar, a market street that sells everything imaginable. The sounds of honking rickshaws and street vendors mix with the glitter of the jewelry shops and smells of incense and flowers from the religious shops, the perfumes from the barbers and the various spices. Tens of alleys with more of the same offshoot from the main street, however the parallel street is an entirely different world. There hangars of wholesale merchandise reek of rotting fruit, whose fresh siblings are sold between the rusty tin structures and the Kerala Sewage Administration building that advertises its presence with its namesake odors. In one structure laborers fold thousands of large banana leaves into neatly folded stacks, to be delivered later to restaurants, temples and religious shops.
The entrance to the market is in front of the Ghandi Park (near East Fort), which is also the only place to sit in a bit of shade in the middle of the day, the other seating options in the area being only the posh chairs of the jewelry shops.
If you don't eat meat, your options are limited to a fixed menu of little variety. Most restaurants serve only rice meals at lunch with staples such as Dosa, Chappati etc with 3 types of chutney and Sambar and Chenna.
My favorite is the Hotel Krishna Vegetarian (there's actually no hotel), which is more like a canteen. After serving your food, waiters walk around with huge bowls of rice and small metal buckets and ladle rice, Sambar and chutney refills into the customer's plates until the meal is over or they are asked to stop. Cutlery is non existent as everybody eats with their hand.
I've seen most of the sights and what is left to do is walking, eating and drinking. Shopping is out of the question since my 65L backpack is already bursting with books and presents. So here's another delight: Sharjam - basically a milkshake. Badam Sharjam is based on Badam milk (a yellowy creamy milk with a delicate flavor) wich is frozen and crushed on the spot and mixed with ice cream.
Excluding 5-Star hotels I think I found the only place in the city with Wifi (I found 2 on the net but one closed last year) - an air conditioned western style restaurant called 'Flavors'. As I send this with two days to the end of a two months trip I'm making a list of things I miss at home: my friends, my cat, the beach, fresh fruit and vegetables, preparing my own food, organic tobacco, my Mac and SITTING DOWN for coffee.
No insights, only things I look forward to.
Monday, March 4, 2013
Vivekanandapuram
After four, fairly intense days at the Saravana Lodge with the temple's loudspeakers broadcasting to all of Kanniyakumarī from under my window, I feel it's time for some quieter surroundings. From the tour I took on the first day I had a very good impression of Vivekanandapuram, a Vivekanandra Kendra campus, at the outskirts of town, right under the arch that marks the southern entrance. Besides the peaceful atmosphere and museum, I remembered a big park, a reception desk with hanging keys and also seeing something there about Yoga. I drove out at noon to try my luck.
The first hurdle was the guard at the entrance who wouldn't let me in, saying that single men cannot stay at the campus. I wouldn't give up that easily and said the magic words: Yoga and Meditation. It seemed to work as he pointed to a building inside.
I reached the reception desk of the campus lodge and asked if they had rooms available; "only for one night" was the answer as they were fully booked. I still wouldn't be deterred and repeated the magic words again, saying that I would like to take yoga classes and meditation. This time I was instructed further into the campus to ask for a Deepakji at the office.
I waited for him to arrive, as he was out for a lesson and when he came back, introduced myself to the lanky and gentle mannered Indian and expressed to him my wishes. He in turn explained that there were 4 scheduled 'retreats' every year, each one only one week long and that the February retreat had already started 4 days ago (the day of my arrival at Kanniyakumarī). I thought maybe I could 'weasel' my way in for the last three days while staying there too but he seemed reluctant. He did have time to talk and seemed interested in my background. Having read a little about Vivekananda's history I mentioned the common roots he had with my own 'revealer of light' Guru Maharaji - the Advait Math lineage that focused on teaching a direct experience by which all becomes One. After another attempt at requesting admittance, this gentle man, who seemed pained to outright refuse me, said that I would find the accommodations here uncomfortable (which I assured him was no problem), then that the classes were difficult since some were in Hindi and that there was only one foreigner attending the course, from Rumania. "Rumania you say?", I said with a big smile widening over my face: "My parents are from Rumania". His smile matched mine and I was starting to think there might be a chance. Finally he suggested I talk to the lady (after she came down from Bhajan lessons near the library) and to call him at a certain time in the evening and he'll let me know what can be done.
When a group of women came down an hour later I easily recognized the only foreigner and called after her in her mother tongue: "Scuzaci mê doimnâ". She whirled around in surprise and delight and in rusty Rumanian with a Israeli accent I introduced myself and explained my situation and Deepak's suggestion that she provide some details regarding the activities taking place. I learned from her that there were 2 types of week-long retreats: Spiritual and Yoga and that this one was the spiritual "Shibri", with a packed schedule of learning Bhajans in Sanskrit from five in the morning, a yoga lesson afterwords and evening lectures, as well as service work like cleaning the yard. Several meditation sessions were also scheduled throughout the day. I took it all in and went back to my lodge, now thoroughly excited at the prospect. I was even willing to accept the 'No Smoking on campus' rule for the three remaining days.
Evening came and after not taking my call, I wrote a heartfelt SMS saying I could pack and be there in an hour. Deepak replied that I could join the evening Bhajans and meditations (no mention of staying there or attending morning classes). Well, that was enough for me to pack - I had a foot in the door and remembered the receptionist's comment that I could stay for one night. I arrived, dropped Deepakji's name and got a room for one night in the fully booked lodge.
Tomorrow I would present myself at five in the morning at class and let Karma take its course. I would accept Deepak's decision, whatever it may be but I hoped my perseverance and good manners will prevail.
In the mean time I got to sleep in a more quiet atmosphere and under a mosquito net in the austere room at the campus, yay! Jaya Guru Dev.
The next morning I showered and waited at 5 o'clock by the prayer hall as the Retreat Groups trickled into the building. When Deepak arrived he was obviously surprised to see me and with a little hesitation said: "OK, you can join the morning prayer."
Men and women sat separately on the floor of the large hall facing a shrine with a large OHM stitched in gold over a purple satin cloth, encased in a wooden frame. Everyone held a prayer book in Sanskrit with translation.
A woman sang single lines of Bhajans and everyone repeated after her. When the prayer was over half an hour later the groups split in two and someone announced:
"Ganga group please proceed to the Narenda building." Deepak stayed in the prayer hall with another group and ignored me. The rumanian girl went with the Ganga group and mentioned that this group received instruction in English. However I did not want to disturb Deepak, nor join the group uninvited. I followed the 'Ganga' people and stayed outside while they performed basic Yoga exercises. When a power out occurred and the hall was flung in darkness I felt that this is the most I would get and it was time to let go. Besides, having actually been there my continuous presence would have imposed on an already cohesive group.
As I made my way back to the room in the first light of day, a woman, one of the instructors, inquired about who I was, my country of origin and what I was doing there. I explained my situation and she confirmed that it was indeed too late to join the retreat. I understood and was grateful to have at least experienced the place and the activities, even if only for a short while.
Not having had a smoke since yesterday, I made my way outside to a Chai stall and drank a Chai with a smoke, then a coffee with another cigarette. The campus was situated at the entrance gate to Kanniyakumarī and the outskirts of town looked more shanty than Shanti. An old man sat on the steps next to the stall and ground some Betel kernels on a stone, then put the mixture in a green leaf to be consumed later while black goats scurried across the road.
It was decision time. I had to leave the campus today. Should I stay in Kanniyakumarī or proceed to Thiruvananthapuram? Also my funds were dwindling.
I took a stroll to the Kendra's private beach to think it over. Still undecided, one of the 'Ganga' group, a Mr. Mohan engaged me in conversation as we strolled along the quiet paths. The retired electrical engineer from Maharashtra was still seeking enlightenment and seems to have all the theoretical knowledge of philosophy but no real experience of it. We talked about quantum mechanics, Vivekananda's vision and a story about his father who witnessed miracles, like clay becoming fruit in the hands of a Krishna holy woman from his village who had reached enlightenment.
I decided to stay a few more days since I haven't yet visited the legendary rock (reachable by boat) where Vivekananda meditated before embarking on his world tour.
I wrote a thank you note to Deepakji, made a donation to the center, checked out and went outside to look for accommodation. The first lodge, named Rehobot (Rechovot?) was full but the Kanya Lodge next door had rooms available. At the cheapest rates in town I had to make do with a showerless, i.e, bucket shower, and a squatting toilet. At least the bathroom was attached as some lodges have common bathrooms. Being far from the center, the back room barely let any light or noise from the busy street and I managed to get a midday nap.
The boat ride to
Vivekananda's memorial was funny with all on board going 'Hoooo' and
'Ahhhhhh' every time a large wave rocked the boat, as if the were on
rollercoaster ride. The memorial is a majestic piece of architecture
with a little museum, meditation chamber and the actual shrine ornate
inside with black marble and a tall golden statue of Vivekananda. The
view from the rock is uninterrupted horizon of the Arabian Sea, or is it
the Indian Ocean? Only the waters themselves can tell.I've become attached to a little family run Dhaba next to the Vivekananda center. The five members share in the cooking and serving and the love is felt in the food which is simple and unvaried. Here the Idli are thicker, the Sambar and Korma not too spicy, the coconut chutney the best I've had as were the chapatti's - all served on a banana leaf. My opinion of the food seems important to them as, first the mother, then the grandmother, inquire in sign language if its' tasty. Halfway through they pour more food from the Tiffin pots until I have stop them: "Bas". I forego the food in town and make the trek there for every breakfast and dinner.
After dinner I sip coffee standing under the city gate, where the hotels and lodges end and the poorer population lives. Across, by the side if the road, is a 6 foot statue of Krishna enclosed by a small fence in which two Brahmin priests preform Pooja and present Prasad the the devout group of villagers that gather. Next to them an assistant dispenses Dahl from a big pot on banana leaves to the villagers, who squat on the ground to eat. The abjectness is evident by the very few who can even afford a donation. For the few seconds of video I took, I add some rupees the plate, remembering that taking a photo is also taking and that always something should be given back. Besides, no one ever became poor from giving.
Finally found WiFi in Kanniyakumarī at the Tri Sea Hotel, a fancy accommodation for local standards with an air conditioned lobby and rooftop swimming pool. At double the price of a lodge it is still affordable and I move there for the last two days in Tamil Nadu.
The 180 degree view from the fifth floor is magnificent and a surprise since I've only seen the place from street level or one floor up. The towel laid out on the bed is also a luxurious welcome. Large room, more than one electrical outlet, room service, swimming pool, central but not within earshot of the Temple; by far the best place in town. (Just stay away from the restaurant, 'nuff said'.)
On the way to a visit to Nagercoil I saw a tall hill with a temple nestled in the rocks. After some inquiry I am told that the name of it is Medicine mountain - Marthuvarmalai.
Legend has it that Laxmana, having fallen in the hands of his enemies, was struck down with poison. His brother Rama then asked Hanuman to bring a certain medicine from a far away mountain, but having forgotten the name of the medicine, Hanuman took the whole mountain with him and flew it to Sri Lanka. On the way a piece of the mountain fell and landed between Kanniyakumarī and Nagercoil.
Many holy men visit the place and It is said that spending time there bestows a genuine feeling of well being. With two more days here I inquire in town how to get there and am told (by a travel agent) that there is no access other than by autorikshaw that would cost 400 rupees plus one hundred for every hour the driver waits. However an evening chat with the Kanye Lodge manager, a literate and knowledgeable Tamil, revealed that there is a bus stop only one kilometer from the foot of the hill. Cost of bus: 10 rupees.
On the last day in Kanniyakumarī I set off early in the morning to Marthuvarmalai mountain so as not have to make the climb in the heat of the day. The hardest thing for me in India is to pronounce local names based on their written representation. V is pronounced 'W', TH is sometimes pronounced 'D', K in the middle of a name also sounds like 'D' but sometimes like 'R' and so on.
The locals can't figure out the bus station I'm looking for as I try to pronounce Pottaiyadi (I try Podeeyadee from memory of the lodge manager who identified the place for me), then Priaree, then Podeydee but to no avail. I try with even less success to name the mountain: Marthuvarmalai, by vocalizing "Marduwahrmalay". Only when outlining with my hands a big mountain, someone gets it and points to the correct bus stop. The scene repeats itself with the conductor inside the bus and again a passenger comes to my rescue. This time I listen attentively: "Potteyree".
On arrival, some 12km out of town a local points to the direction of the mountain and I set off, only to find after one kilometer that I'm going the wrong way. I back track to the bus station where another local points again to where I came from. No signs in English revealed the location and few people walk the road so I give up and take an autorikshaw that enters a path I missed on the first kilometer.
He leaves me at the foot of a long flight of stairs that wind up the mountain (or tall hill?).
I join groups of barefoot pilgrims climbing the steep stairs and after about 15 minutes reach a temple where most stop and pray. At that point the stairs end and fewer people continue on between boulders and rocks, the way being marked only by yellow arrows painted on the rocks.
You have to admire pilgrims who set barefoot on a climb across jagged rocks and slippery boulders.
Lithe young women and men take the path gracefully while older ones do it with a slow sure-footedness. Being neither I negotiate every step carefully. The climb gets steeper and steeper so much so, that I wish I had climbing skills. Locals smile at the sweaty pale skinned man and after what seems and endless climb, egg me on with a promise that it's "only one more kilometer."
I am joined by a Keralite about my age, who makes this pilgrimage every year, and the climb seems a little easier talking and resting. As we near the top, the rocks make way for a narrow path (still rocky) with trees on either side.
I munch on the white meat while making my way back to the bus stand and on arriving at the hotel make use of the cool waters of the swimming pool. The heat and sun has taken a lot out if me as I wake up at seven in the evening.
I take a stroll for the last evening in Kanniyakumarī, the streets still busy with people shopping, eating and sipping Chai. I write this sitting next to a closed temple, drinking milk-based coffee which is poured back and forth several times to create a froth and notice the elaborate stone entrance, carved with a dancing goddess (Natraj?) and a huge horse on its hinds, sporting an erection that is held below by an elephant's trunk, all ornate in delicate detail.
Tomorrow morning I'm taking the train back to Kerala's capital - Thiruvananthapuram for the last six days of my trip.
Cape Comorin 2
Kanniyakumarī itself is a coastal town catering exclusively to local tourism. I estimate the ratio of foreign to local tourists at a thousand to one. Hotels and 'Lodges' (hostels) abound. About half of the stalls and walkabout sellers offer religious items and 'services' as well as pearl jewelry for which the cape is famous. Even the toughest looking old ladies can't help but have their eyes drawn to the necklaces offered by the street vendors. Beggars attract sympathy with deformities, small children or pure and simple abjectness. Fortune tellers sit on the ground with small green cards and a little wooden cage from which emerges a green parakeet that picks a card, then goes back on its own to the open cage. The fortune teller then turns the card and explains to the customer their fortune (or reasons for misfortune).
Following the inauguration ceremony a local Kumba Mela takes place with the streets and temple filled with people. On the roof of the temple, where in the morning priests performed Pooja, hundreds climb the wooden structure to touch the tip of the golden peak of the temple. The Ghat steps leading to the rocky beach are filled with visitors from all over India, females bathing in Sarees, males in shorts or fully clothed. The market behind the temple and the alleys surrounding the town are also busy with visitors and the sea breeze carries a cacophony of sounds from bells, music over loudspeakers and various vendors on bicycles walking around yelling out their wares"chaicoffee, chaicoffe", "wadeewadoo, wadeewadoo". It would take many pages describing everything offered, with maps of India, postcards, seashelled ornaments, religious pamphlets and cheap jewelry to name but a few.
At dusk a towering statue of Devi, erected on wooden poles and made entirely out of lightbulbs illuminates the street below.
The main street leading to the temple is quiet for a few hours in the afternoon, when the loudspeakers take some time off too.
Relying entirely on tourism the town employes scores of street cleaners that work day and night to sweep the streets and clear the garbage thrown on the ground, despite dustbins available every few meters.
The streets of Kanniyakumarī are kept clean but the beaches and water are filthy, as anything consumed is dumped by everyone where they stand. This doesn't deter local tourists who dip joyfully along the rocky and busy beaches. The southern part, which is a string of beautiful fishermen's village with single story houses spread along the coast and inland through narrow alleys, is not frequented by tourists. The beaches there are still filthy from motor boats, garbage and refuse water pouring through town into the sea but going even further south I came across a clean one. Apparently the current carries water north, towards the busy beaches of the temple and beyond (where everyone else bathes) but as nothing lay south of the cape, except wind turbine power plants far away, the waters are cleaner. Just look for the spire of a tall white church and continue south. I finally dip in the Tri-Sea waters.
The entire town's food is a vegetarian's heaven as devout Hindus do not eat meat. Brahmins are further restricted with garlic and other substances which are considered 'unspiritual'. Strict vegans might find it difficult though as almost everything is made with Ghee (clarified butter).
My friends know I love food and Indian food is a special treat for me. Breakfast can be Upama, a porridge of semolina with mild spices or Idli - steamed rice cakes served with a light sauce; both easily digestible foods. For the "bulk enhancing" inclined, go for Dosa, which is a large rice pancake fried and folded over, served with either a small soup/sauce or stuffed with vegetables.
Lunch can be a traditional Thali : rice served with various side dishes and crispy and spicy Papad bread or a more heavy Channa Masala with Bhatura: a chickpea curry in gravy with puffed fried flatbread. If you want to counter the spicy-ness of the food, order some Raita- a salty or neutral yoghurt dish, served with anything from onions to pineapple.
Dhal fry with Chapatti is always an Indian staple.
I think Indian sweets outnumber dishes in variety, as India is also the largest consumer of sugar in the world. Among my favorites, Gulab Jamon, sweet balls of milk and flour with rosewater, fried to brownness in sugar sauce - dangerous. Other favorites are Lassi- a sweet and ice cold milk drink with rosewater and Badam Kheer - a milk based almond drink made with saffron and cardamom.
It should be noted that many Indians are overweight from indulging in these while others suffer from diabetes due to frequent drinks of sweet Chai. For example, local policemen suffer the highest mortality rate (heart attacks, strokes and such) among all professions, due to their constant postings and moving about at different hours of the day and night with no routine and many times with no option other than street food.
I realize that so far my accounts have been mostly positive. So as not give an impression that I only see the world through dreamy eyed pink glasses here are some other aspects you should consider when visiting India, all in one go (if you do not wish to spend money on a European scale, and even then): filth, cold showers, no room service, squatting toilets, at night no service at all anywhere, bugs, insects, cobwebbed walls, the occasional flea attack, to have to hand-wash your own clothes, mosquitos undeterred by repellants, power outs that may leave you sweating in the middle of the night, being ripped off for not knowing the price of things, catching diseases, seeing misery and squalor (sometimes heart wrenching beyond belief), paperless toilets, total darkness at night (during powerouts and in some rural areas), powerful stenches, cruelty, spicy food, unfamiliar food with locals not able to explain the menu, traveling long hours in packed spaces, congested and fume-filled traffic, no obvious road rules and the risk of offending the locals (even unawares) which may include not removing your shoes when necessary, not covering your head when required or stepping where you shouldn't, inappropriate touching (usually concerning women, since in such a dense population there's a lot of touching going on even communicating by touch), table manners (eating only with your right hand, never touching a communal plate or another person's plate with your hands) and I might have missed a few more. Tip for female travelers: bare shoulders and especially bare backs are considered erotic and in some parts may invite harassment.
Nevertheless, you will not encounter these things everywhere or all the time (and thankfully never all at once) and ALL situations can be handled with acceptance, practical common sense and keeping an open and unbiased mind.
With the right eyes though, India is a country of great beauty and wonder and contrasts that can fill your senses to the brim and lift your soul. wishing you all a sturdy spirit of Satvikka. OHM.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Kanniyakumkari (Cape Comorin)
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The morning train should take 6 hours to from Shoranur junction to Trivandrum, but this time it was to be with comfortable seats in an air conditioned car. I travel without any reservations since a huge Attukal (pronounced Aadighal) 'Lady's festival' is taking place there and 160 Lakhs of visitors have already filledthe city. (1 Lakh = 100,000) Any inquiry as to accommodation gets the same reply: "No chance". I change plans accordingly and will try to get ASAP to Cape Comorin, which is supposed to be more secluded and sparsely populated.
With each station closer to Trivandrum exceedingly larger groups of women await at the platform to embark with few men to be seen around. I cannot but wonder what would happen if they all showed this kind of fervor and solidarity for a political cause. This thought comes in the wake of a spate of attacks on women in India, who suffer more anyway in a country rigidly controlled by societal norms.
Anyway, their numbers so large that not everyone makes it into the train and big groups are left behind, glaring angrily at the departing train.
Luckily I arrive one hour before the next (and only) train to the cape, who's local name is Kanniyakumarī.
The 'sleeper' train cabins on the way to Kanniyakumari are almost deserted, which bodes a peaceful and quiet contrast to the hordes around the Trivandrum train station.
Traveling through Kerala by train (this time in broad daylight) it's easy to see why locals refer to it as "God's own country". Not one patch of land is arid. Miles and miles of lush greenery, coconut, banana, papaya, pecan, neem and countless other trees line the railway, interrupted sometimes with rice paddies, a man walking his cow on a leash like a slow dog, sometimes with wide rivers winding to the sea or with kids as little as 6, and nearly naked, playing cricket in the afternoon sun. Almost every other household keeps some type of animal, goats, cows, chickens and ducks with their own ponds. The only thing disturbing these peaceful settings is probably the train I'm currently in.
As we cross into Tamil Nadu, large expanses of fields and hills dominate the landscape.
Since I had no reservations and no idea where to stay, I texted from the train my trusted friend in Israel, whose intuition never fails, to look up something suitable on the Internet. He came back with a phone number and sure enough they had rooms available.
You cannot miss the Kanniyakumarī station, the train tracks that stretch for thousands of miles across India literally end there. I arrived after dark and was greeted with a cool sea breeze. From there straight to the ho(s)tel, which lay at the end of a long and busy road of brightly lit stalls. The hostel was the last commercial building, after which stood a huge and ancient Devi temple with a stage in front. Live Bhajans were sung by a trio of musicians accompanied by a violin and tabla, behind them stood the entrance to the temple with a 20 foot statue of the goddess entirely lit by colorful bulbs and led lights.
Behind the temple lay the cape itself, which at night reminded me of the view from Jaffa.
Famished from a day's travel on a single serving of rice, I had dinner at a pure veg restaurant next door: Chapatti, veg curry and raita (salted yogurt with onions).
After a quick shower back at the room I came down to the temple, in part, to express thanks for the safe trip that brought me to the door of Devi.
I entered shoeless and shirtless, as required, and stood in line to bring Doop smoke to my face and receive Prasad - yellow and red powder served in a banana leaf by a Brahmin priest to be given to the wife or married daughter. In the absence of both, I was to take it home and apply them to my forehead in one of several accepted patterns.
No cameras were allowed inside the temple. I guess some sights are for biological eyes, not electronic ones.
Suffice to say I was awed by the beauty of the temple, the reverence of the pilgrims and the devotion of the priests performing various rituals inside.
Afterwards I lit two incense sticks in my spartan and TV-less (but fanned) room and went to sleep, bathed in the smell of roses.
I awoke just after 4:30 in the morning to the loud sound of a Kali Durga sung in a strong and clear female voice (when do these people sleep?). This was a signal for the morning Aarti. When the next Bhajan started around half and hour later, this time for Shiva's consort Paravati, I felt I had no choice but to go down. The songs came out of the same loudspeakers that carried the live music last night. A trickle of devotees flocking to the temple had already turned into a throng while it was still dark outside.
Outside the temple, along the walls that separated sea from temple, long lines of people stood or sat in groups in the dark chilly early morning air: whole families, teens in jeans and sadhus in orange robes. All heckled by Chai sellers and people walking the crowds, selling ornate hangings made of seashells, jewelry, maps, postcards and religious offerings. I sat there in the midst of this scene, warming myself with a Chai and wondering about the hardcore devotion that brings so many people out at this, very godly hour. At least I knew the word that describes this devotion: Bhakti.
Everyone jostled for a position along the walls, sitting on wida and long stairs that resembled a statium and which ended at a large Ghat at the edge of the water, facing the famous statue of Thiruvalluvar, situated some 100 meter in the sea on a temple 'island'. Some went down to the water and performed Poojas by the full moonlight that looked like a golden lamp in the sky. By six in the morning, still in darkness, hundreds became thousands and their numbers grew by the minute.
I sat there among the thousands, waiting for sunrise.
The first rays of light were marked by the sound of a horn and raising of a red flag on the little temple island across from the Ghat. At that moment everyone got up to their feet in anticipation of the sun. I was taking videos and pictures throughout the morning but at that moment my iPod's battery finally gave out, again reminding me that the most precious moments are to be experienced directly.
I got up with everyone else and watched as many devotees brought their hands together while others climbed to higher stairs to catch a glimpse if the first rays.
When the sun finally came out from behind the statue it was one of the most moving sunrises I have ever experienced.
Slowly the great crowd started to disperse and only then did I notice that behind me a full fledged market had come up. The space behind the temple was now occupied by people who spread their wares on the ground, selling shirts, pants, Sarees, Dhoti's and countless orher knickknacks. Around them the shops had opened, their proprietors loudly cajoling the visitors to come in. I needed no encouragement to wander into a shop myself and have a samosa with Chai - breakfast of devotees.
Excitement gave way to fatigue and I made my way back to the hostel, wondering how I could sleep since the
loudspeakers still played Bhajans nonstop from early morning. Thankfully the music stopped at 8:30, allowing me to sleep until noon.
Trying to keep some of the principles of Ayurveda, which I picked up during my stay in Otapallam, i order an Onion Dosa and Chai. Besides keeping a balance of tastes, a good rule is the rule of thirds: a meal should consist of a third solid, a third liquid and a third air, meaning not to fill oneself up and keep a third of the stomach empty.
Instead of wandering the city in an autorikshaw looking for attractions at 50 rupees a pop, I opted for the guided tour for 150.
We were and strange and mixed group of 20 in a minibus that travelled through several points of interest around Kanniyakumarī, allowing between 10 and 20 minutes for each spot. No one was interested in the first stop, the Wax museum, so we went on to a small Shiva temple. Next came Vattakottal fort, a 12th century fort built Pandya kings protecting the Pearl Harbor. The Sai Baba temple was next and seemed deserted except for workers doing construction work (which is seen in almost every temple in India). The next temple, Suchindra temple was probably the hilight of the tour. A towering building covered entirely by intricate seashell carvings of the gods. This 2000 years old temple also boasts a 1000 pillar hall with stone carvings of deities and depictions of the Kama Sutra and other erotic art. Supposedly a venue for the dancing pleasure of the royal couple. A strange one that caught my eye was a pillar that had the carving of a woman standing with one leg raised under which sat a dog, licking her vagina. Inside a Brahmin priest demonstrated how hollow pillars resonated sound by hitting the pillars in sequence, creating a melody. Many more activities were taking place around deities like Vishnu, Shiva, Rama, Ganesha and others, so the short 20 minute stay was definitely not enough as this place was immense and well worth a more detailed visit. After such a glorious experience the group decided to skip the humble Ram temple in Kottaram and we continued back towards Kanniyakumarī . Next came Swami Vivekananda center with its pictorial museum of the history of India along with the story of Vivekananda's work. Vivekananda who was born in the late 19th century, at a time when the very soul of India seemed to be overrun by colonialism, foreshadowed the Ghandi movement with his clear vision that service and spirituality will save the world rather than the rampant indulgence and exploitation, which threatened Europe too. He was one of the first feminists and preferred assimilation to the divisive caste system. His travels took him around India and as far as the U.S where he spoke at the Chicago Parliament of Religions. Words cannot do justice to Vivekananda's influence on shaping modern India.
This year also marks Vivekananda's 150 birthday.
The last stop was Sun Set Point, about 1km north of the cape and a picturesque spot with a small church overlooking the water, another worthwhile walking trip for later.
In the evening the stage under my window became live again, this time with a seven piece band. The volume felt like they were playing inside the room but living next door to a busy temple, that is the price, or privilege, depends how you look at it.
After getting up at six every day at the Ayurveda hospital, advancing the morning by an hour and a half is no big deal, especially with such glorious sunrises. At ten thirty the band finally wraps it up but the bustle continues, as preparations are underway for a big festival inaugurating the temple tomorrow, following several years of restoration. Plans include water being brought from the holy Ganga, an elephant parading and official dignitaries that are expected to honor the occasion.
The next morning I manage somehow to sleep through the first 45 minutes of Blaring Bhajans and, at a quarter to six, leisurely make my way to the same spot I sat yesterday. By now a platoon of police personnel have spread across the temple area and cordoned off all entrances, probably in anticipation of crowd control. The steps leading to the water, which were littered with thousands of paper cups discarded by Chai drinkers from yesterday, are clean again having been swept last night. Large colorful billboards proclaim today's festivities.
A barricade is erected 50 meters from the temple's entrance and no one allowed beyond that point. Lucky I stay at the Saravana. My room key convinces the police to allow me to pass. By now, a Mahoot riding an ornate elephant stands at the entrance. Devotees offer money and the elephant delicately picks it up and gently places Its trunk over the donator's head in blessing, then extends its trunk backward, giving the money to the Mahoot. Personally, a sad sight, as I abhor animal exploitation.
An hour before the ceremony, scheduled at 08:30 and despite the manager's advice to watch the proceedings from the hostel roof, I leave my shoes and shirt in the room and join downstairs a long line that winds around the temple. Police are spread across, edging people to stay in line. Despite the masses awaiting entry everyone seems orderly and we progress fairly quickly. Outside bands if youths wearing matching Dhotis, play drums and cymbals at increasing speeds, creating an atmosphere of excitement. Inside the temple we pass the holy lamp, which devotees touch and bring their hand to their forehead while the spiritually greedy (yes, there is such a thing) repeat this five times in quick succession. We pass the various religious relics while priests along the lines urge the devotees along, sometimes barking at the ones who stray or linger too much at a relic: "Line! Line!". But what everyone is here for is the ceremony which will take place on the roof.
A single wooden gangway that allows access to the roof, one person at a time, is guarded by 10 policemen as the orderly line inside the temple turns into a chaotic surge of masses pushing to get up. The crushing scene that followed was not for the faint of heart. I allowed the gravity of the mass of people to take its course, surging forwards and backwards as the police pushed against the crowd so as not to allow more than one person at a time to climb the wooden stairway; obviously since unchecked it would have collapsed under the combined weight of the crowd. Movement and time pushed me forward and I made it to the concrete expanse of the roof. There more uniformed men and women (without Lhatis, it should be noted) instructed everyone to fill the stone benches surrounding the golden structure that was the center of the temple, displaying golden wooden carvings and a statue of Devi at the very top. Each side of the roof had a smaller shrine and they were all, including the center one, surrounded by wooden structures with stairs that went to the top. The roof filled up with more and more people and I realized that there is only one way in and out and going out was not an option as the route was restricted only to the incoming crowds. I sat on the floor and waited patiently while a priest chanted into a microphone. Finally a group of priests started climbing the stairs to the central shrine while four other groups went up the side of the smaller ones. The dedication ceremony began and everyone came to their feet. The high priest, surrounded by helpers who passed in succession items for the ceremony, performed the Pooja and when he took a large lamp with fire and smoke and passed it around the statue that crowd went wild with excitement, the women ululating. Next, a cup of oil was poured over the deity while the assistants showered the high priest and shrine with flowers. Now buckets of water were poured over the entire shrine and hosed down over the people (Abishegam in Tamil) who rushed to receive droplets as blessings. Every face that turned away after getting wet was smiling with joy. More priests placed ash-filled and lit lamps which everyone put their hands in and smeared their foreheads (a sign of Shiva). You literally had to slightly burn your fingers to get ash. This marked the end of the ceremony and we all made our way back to the gangway to get down. Now the crushing crowds bottlenecked at the exit of the temple and also had to fight people who still wanted to get in. I was almost swiped sideways, back to the beginning of the line, but by some forceful determination managed to push ahead to the exit and to my hostel. The time was 09:30 in the morning but the condensed and uplifting experience felt like I spent an entire day.
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With each station closer to Trivandrum exceedingly larger groups of women await at the platform to embark with few men to be seen around. I cannot but wonder what would happen if they all showed this kind of fervor and solidarity for a political cause. This thought comes in the wake of a spate of attacks on women in India, who suffer more anyway in a country rigidly controlled by societal norms.
Anyway, their numbers so large that not everyone makes it into the train and big groups are left behind, glaring angrily at the departing train.
Luckily I arrive one hour before the next (and only) train to the cape, who's local name is Kanniyakumarī.
The 'sleeper' train cabins on the way to Kanniyakumari are almost deserted, which bodes a peaceful and quiet contrast to the hordes around the Trivandrum train station.
Traveling through Kerala by train (this time in broad daylight) it's easy to see why locals refer to it as "God's own country". Not one patch of land is arid. Miles and miles of lush greenery, coconut, banana, papaya, pecan, neem and countless other trees line the railway, interrupted sometimes with rice paddies, a man walking his cow on a leash like a slow dog, sometimes with wide rivers winding to the sea or with kids as little as 6, and nearly naked, playing cricket in the afternoon sun. Almost every other household keeps some type of animal, goats, cows, chickens and ducks with their own ponds. The only thing disturbing these peaceful settings is probably the train I'm currently in.
As we cross into Tamil Nadu, large expanses of fields and hills dominate the landscape.
Since I had no reservations and no idea where to stay, I texted from the train my trusted friend in Israel, whose intuition never fails, to look up something suitable on the Internet. He came back with a phone number and sure enough they had rooms available.
You cannot miss the Kanniyakumarī station, the train tracks that stretch for thousands of miles across India literally end there. I arrived after dark and was greeted with a cool sea breeze. From there straight to the ho(s)tel, which lay at the end of a long and busy road of brightly lit stalls. The hostel was the last commercial building, after which stood a huge and ancient Devi temple with a stage in front. Live Bhajans were sung by a trio of musicians accompanied by a violin and tabla, behind them stood the entrance to the temple with a 20 foot statue of the goddess entirely lit by colorful bulbs and led lights.
Behind the temple lay the cape itself, which at night reminded me of the view from Jaffa.
Famished from a day's travel on a single serving of rice, I had dinner at a pure veg restaurant next door: Chapatti, veg curry and raita (salted yogurt with onions).
After a quick shower back at the room I came down to the temple, in part, to express thanks for the safe trip that brought me to the door of Devi.
I entered shoeless and shirtless, as required, and stood in line to bring Doop smoke to my face and receive Prasad - yellow and red powder served in a banana leaf by a Brahmin priest to be given to the wife or married daughter. In the absence of both, I was to take it home and apply them to my forehead in one of several accepted patterns.
No cameras were allowed inside the temple. I guess some sights are for biological eyes, not electronic ones.
Suffice to say I was awed by the beauty of the temple, the reverence of the pilgrims and the devotion of the priests performing various rituals inside.
Afterwards I lit two incense sticks in my spartan and TV-less (but fanned) room and went to sleep, bathed in the smell of roses.
I awoke just after 4:30 in the morning to the loud sound of a Kali Durga sung in a strong and clear female voice (when do these people sleep?). This was a signal for the morning Aarti. When the next Bhajan started around half and hour later, this time for Shiva's consort Paravati, I felt I had no choice but to go down. The songs came out of the same loudspeakers that carried the live music last night. A trickle of devotees flocking to the temple had already turned into a throng while it was still dark outside.
Outside the temple, along the walls that separated sea from temple, long lines of people stood or sat in groups in the dark chilly early morning air: whole families, teens in jeans and sadhus in orange robes. All heckled by Chai sellers and people walking the crowds, selling ornate hangings made of seashells, jewelry, maps, postcards and religious offerings. I sat there in the midst of this scene, warming myself with a Chai and wondering about the hardcore devotion that brings so many people out at this, very godly hour. At least I knew the word that describes this devotion: Bhakti.
Everyone jostled for a position along the walls, sitting on wida and long stairs that resembled a statium and which ended at a large Ghat at the edge of the water, facing the famous statue of Thiruvalluvar, situated some 100 meter in the sea on a temple 'island'. Some went down to the water and performed Poojas by the full moonlight that looked like a golden lamp in the sky. By six in the morning, still in darkness, hundreds became thousands and their numbers grew by the minute.
I sat there among the thousands, waiting for sunrise.
The first rays of light were marked by the sound of a horn and raising of a red flag on the little temple island across from the Ghat. At that moment everyone got up to their feet in anticipation of the sun. I was taking videos and pictures throughout the morning but at that moment my iPod's battery finally gave out, again reminding me that the most precious moments are to be experienced directly.
I got up with everyone else and watched as many devotees brought their hands together while others climbed to higher stairs to catch a glimpse if the first rays.
When the sun finally came out from behind the statue it was one of the most moving sunrises I have ever experienced.
Slowly the great crowd started to disperse and only then did I notice that behind me a full fledged market had come up. The space behind the temple was now occupied by people who spread their wares on the ground, selling shirts, pants, Sarees, Dhoti's and countless orher knickknacks. Around them the shops had opened, their proprietors loudly cajoling the visitors to come in. I needed no encouragement to wander into a shop myself and have a samosa with Chai - breakfast of devotees.
Excitement gave way to fatigue and I made my way back to the hostel, wondering how I could sleep since the
loudspeakers still played Bhajans nonstop from early morning. Thankfully the music stopped at 8:30, allowing me to sleep until noon.
Trying to keep some of the principles of Ayurveda, which I picked up during my stay in Otapallam, i order an Onion Dosa and Chai. Besides keeping a balance of tastes, a good rule is the rule of thirds: a meal should consist of a third solid, a third liquid and a third air, meaning not to fill oneself up and keep a third of the stomach empty.
Instead of wandering the city in an autorikshaw looking for attractions at 50 rupees a pop, I opted for the guided tour for 150.
We were and strange and mixed group of 20 in a minibus that travelled through several points of interest around Kanniyakumarī, allowing between 10 and 20 minutes for each spot. No one was interested in the first stop, the Wax museum, so we went on to a small Shiva temple. Next came Vattakottal fort, a 12th century fort built Pandya kings protecting the Pearl Harbor. The Sai Baba temple was next and seemed deserted except for workers doing construction work (which is seen in almost every temple in India). The next temple, Suchindra temple was probably the hilight of the tour. A towering building covered entirely by intricate seashell carvings of the gods. This 2000 years old temple also boasts a 1000 pillar hall with stone carvings of deities and depictions of the Kama Sutra and other erotic art. Supposedly a venue for the dancing pleasure of the royal couple. A strange one that caught my eye was a pillar that had the carving of a woman standing with one leg raised under which sat a dog, licking her vagina. Inside a Brahmin priest demonstrated how hollow pillars resonated sound by hitting the pillars in sequence, creating a melody. Many more activities were taking place around deities like Vishnu, Shiva, Rama, Ganesha and others, so the short 20 minute stay was definitely not enough as this place was immense and well worth a more detailed visit. After such a glorious experience the group decided to skip the humble Ram temple in Kottaram and we continued back towards Kanniyakumarī . Next came Swami Vivekananda center with its pictorial museum of the history of India along with the story of Vivekananda's work. Vivekananda who was born in the late 19th century, at a time when the very soul of India seemed to be overrun by colonialism, foreshadowed the Ghandi movement with his clear vision that service and spirituality will save the world rather than the rampant indulgence and exploitation, which threatened Europe too. He was one of the first feminists and preferred assimilation to the divisive caste system. His travels took him around India and as far as the U.S where he spoke at the Chicago Parliament of Religions. Words cannot do justice to Vivekananda's influence on shaping modern India.
This year also marks Vivekananda's 150 birthday.
The last stop was Sun Set Point, about 1km north of the cape and a picturesque spot with a small church overlooking the water, another worthwhile walking trip for later.
In the evening the stage under my window became live again, this time with a seven piece band. The volume felt like they were playing inside the room but living next door to a busy temple, that is the price, or privilege, depends how you look at it.
After getting up at six every day at the Ayurveda hospital, advancing the morning by an hour and a half is no big deal, especially with such glorious sunrises. At ten thirty the band finally wraps it up but the bustle continues, as preparations are underway for a big festival inaugurating the temple tomorrow, following several years of restoration. Plans include water being brought from the holy Ganga, an elephant parading and official dignitaries that are expected to honor the occasion.
The next morning I manage somehow to sleep through the first 45 minutes of Blaring Bhajans and, at a quarter to six, leisurely make my way to the same spot I sat yesterday. By now a platoon of police personnel have spread across the temple area and cordoned off all entrances, probably in anticipation of crowd control. The steps leading to the water, which were littered with thousands of paper cups discarded by Chai drinkers from yesterday, are clean again having been swept last night. Large colorful billboards proclaim today's festivities.
A barricade is erected 50 meters from the temple's entrance and no one allowed beyond that point. Lucky I stay at the Saravana. My room key convinces the police to allow me to pass. By now, a Mahoot riding an ornate elephant stands at the entrance. Devotees offer money and the elephant delicately picks it up and gently places Its trunk over the donator's head in blessing, then extends its trunk backward, giving the money to the Mahoot. Personally, a sad sight, as I abhor animal exploitation.
An hour before the ceremony, scheduled at 08:30 and despite the manager's advice to watch the proceedings from the hostel roof, I leave my shoes and shirt in the room and join downstairs a long line that winds around the temple. Police are spread across, edging people to stay in line. Despite the masses awaiting entry everyone seems orderly and we progress fairly quickly. Outside bands if youths wearing matching Dhotis, play drums and cymbals at increasing speeds, creating an atmosphere of excitement. Inside the temple we pass the holy lamp, which devotees touch and bring their hand to their forehead while the spiritually greedy (yes, there is such a thing) repeat this five times in quick succession. We pass the various religious relics while priests along the lines urge the devotees along, sometimes barking at the ones who stray or linger too much at a relic: "Line! Line!". But what everyone is here for is the ceremony which will take place on the roof.
A single wooden gangway that allows access to the roof, one person at a time, is guarded by 10 policemen as the orderly line inside the temple turns into a chaotic surge of masses pushing to get up. The crushing scene that followed was not for the faint of heart. I allowed the gravity of the mass of people to take its course, surging forwards and backwards as the police pushed against the crowd so as not to allow more than one person at a time to climb the wooden stairway; obviously since unchecked it would have collapsed under the combined weight of the crowd. Movement and time pushed me forward and I made it to the concrete expanse of the roof. There more uniformed men and women (without Lhatis, it should be noted) instructed everyone to fill the stone benches surrounding the golden structure that was the center of the temple, displaying golden wooden carvings and a statue of Devi at the very top. Each side of the roof had a smaller shrine and they were all, including the center one, surrounded by wooden structures with stairs that went to the top. The roof filled up with more and more people and I realized that there is only one way in and out and going out was not an option as the route was restricted only to the incoming crowds. I sat on the floor and waited patiently while a priest chanted into a microphone. Finally a group of priests started climbing the stairs to the central shrine while four other groups went up the side of the smaller ones. The dedication ceremony began and everyone came to their feet. The high priest, surrounded by helpers who passed in succession items for the ceremony, performed the Pooja and when he took a large lamp with fire and smoke and passed it around the statue that crowd went wild with excitement, the women ululating. Next, a cup of oil was poured over the deity while the assistants showered the high priest and shrine with flowers. Now buckets of water were poured over the entire shrine and hosed down over the people (Abishegam in Tamil) who rushed to receive droplets as blessings. Every face that turned away after getting wet was smiling with joy. More priests placed ash-filled and lit lamps which everyone put their hands in and smeared their foreheads (a sign of Shiva). You literally had to slightly burn your fingers to get ash. This marked the end of the ceremony and we all made our way back to the gangway to get down. Now the crushing crowds bottlenecked at the exit of the temple and also had to fight people who still wanted to get in. I was almost swiped sideways, back to the beginning of the line, but by some forceful determination managed to push ahead to the exit and to my hostel. The time was 09:30 in the morning but the condensed and uplifting experience felt like I spent an entire day.
Saturday, February 23, 2013
(I just typed for half an hour only to have everything going "puff" due to a power outage. That's India for you. I accept it with Indian equanimity and a Chai Masala)
On the 8th day the Dr. determined the length of the course - 28 days and changed his assesment of my Dosha to Pitta-Kapha (much better). After drinking a total of 625ml of warm medicinal Ghee in the span of a week and after 1- days of "Kanye", I'm back to normal food. My continuous presence and 'veteranship' finally get some recognition from the other patients as we exhange smiles in the hallways. Ice is broken with the reserved Indian women too as I show them an interview on Indian TV of our own Dr. Nair, which I happened to catch and record on the iPod.
The 'Heating' stage begins with daily hot oil massages and sitting in an old traditional 'sweatbox'.
Another beautiful sunset on my little roof and I look for a soundtrack to fit the scene with the Mouazzin in the background.... found it, perfect:
"Color in sky Prussian blue,
scarlet fleece changes hue.
Crimson ball sinks from view,
share your love like heaven".
- Share your love like heaven by Donovan.
OK, 11 days with no sweets is tough and my excuse is that Indian sweets are great and varied. I allow a slight deviation from my hospital regimen and get 2 oatmeal cookies in town. Much to my surprise the sweet 'Oatmeal' cookies have curryish taste and are SPICEEEEE!!! Instant karma.
By the time I leave the hospital I will have spent a month and a half only in rural India. With 2 weeks left to travel I intend to reach Cape Comorin in Tamil Nadu, the southern most point of the Indian landmass. As you may remeber, 40 million years ago the Indian landmass rushed at Asia (Eurasia) and the collision formed the Himalayas. If the north is the youngest geological region, then Cape Comorin is the oldest and last to attach to Asia.
Here at the 'Ayush' the heating stage is over and I'm given a diuretic, I stay close to my room.
Some patients have completed their course, whether for back pain, diabetes, stroke or other and have left. A female patient who is leaving enters each of the other patient's rooms and says goodbye. My room is not missed.
Two of the veterans here, and elderly man and woman, sit on the little side-roof: him with his back to her and her reading vedic scriptures to him in low and soft voice to the sound of birds chirping in the trees. I don't understand a word - but the vibe is good.
Saturday is visiting day and the halls fill with relatives of the patients. The place is suddenly alive with chatter, laughter and children running around. A cute dolly-dressed 4 year old scuttles around seemingly unsupervised but the ornate strings of tiny bells around her ankles alert the mother when she ventures too far.
By dinner time most of the guests have gone and the hospital takes on its previous atmosphere of serenity (except for the blaring of TVs in some of the rooms).
Purgation period over and the 3rd stage is 'Rejuvenation'.More patients leave and the floow is occupied only by myself and another gentleman. The Ayush takes on a monastic silence.
I use the time to study volume 1 of the Caraka Samhita, the most comprehensive body of work on Ayurveda (in 7 volumes) and another book given to me by Dr. Nair, being a more condensed version with 'only' 500 pages. The book describes 4 pillars required to overcome illness: Doctor, Assistant, medications and finally the patient him/her self. Here the patient takes on an active role in their recuperation: "The patient needs to have good memory to recollect the circumstances of illness, fearlessness, candor and willingness to comply with medical instructions."
Furthermore, the environment and especially - FOOD is considered essential factors for a successfull therapy. Consioder these vis-a-vis the widespread chronic diseases in 'developed' countries and you may (and should) start questioning modern society's approach to curing diseases.
Food at the hospital, as in many places in India, is served sans cutlery. Of the benefits of eating with your hands: The need to wash before eating; Eating less with each bite since the tips of the fingers can hold less then a spoon; Eating more slowly and therefore reducing overeating; and the tactile experience that is missed out on when using utensils (a plus when eating fish too as the fingers can remove bones before eating)
As a rule you eat with your right hand as the left is used in the toilet, but let's not mix input with output here.
A week left and I feel a need to give thanks to my, so far, easy and pleasant experience. I buy a fresh garland of Marygold flowers in town and on returning to the hospital, place it on the small statue of Ganesha in the reception area, paying obeisance to the guardian deity of the the hospital, and hopefully its patients.
The last few night I hear explosions from far away. I was sure it was some kind of firecrackers, as Indians love to blow things up on any occasion, from weddings to religious ceremonies, however the timing of these explosions seemed strange, like midnight and early morning too. I inquired with Sunil as to the source and was told it was simply thunder. "So when are the rains coming?" I asked. "Oh, around June", said Sunil.
That very night a torrential rain came down on Otapallam and abated only by early morning. It was the first rain I experienced since arriving and I was relieved that India could still be as unpredictable to locals as it was to me.
The crisp morning that followed was magical. You could almost taste sweetness in the air. Heavy drops of water still clung to the leaves. The stark change from arid to soaked made me undestand the local's deference to the blessings of their gods.
'Rejuvnation' continues with copious amounts of hot oil being poured over me during treatments and now I know what it feels like to be Anointed. With 4 days to go, Basti treatments start. 'Nuff said.
On the last day of the course the dear Doctor comes in and besides congratulating me for reaching the finish line, offers HIS thanks for me being such an "accommodating" (his word) patient. He even books a train ticket for me to travel with him to Trivandrum, as he planned to go there himself. I'm meeting him on the platform the day after tomorrow. Nandhee, Nan pokundu, veendem kanam (Thank you, I'm going, see you again - in Malayam).
On the 8th day the Dr. determined the length of the course - 28 days and changed his assesment of my Dosha to Pitta-Kapha (much better). After drinking a total of 625ml of warm medicinal Ghee in the span of a week and after 1- days of "Kanye", I'm back to normal food. My continuous presence and 'veteranship' finally get some recognition from the other patients as we exhange smiles in the hallways. Ice is broken with the reserved Indian women too as I show them an interview on Indian TV of our own Dr. Nair, which I happened to catch and record on the iPod.
The 'Heating' stage begins with daily hot oil massages and sitting in an old traditional 'sweatbox'.
Another beautiful sunset on my little roof and I look for a soundtrack to fit the scene with the Mouazzin in the background.... found it, perfect:
"Color in sky Prussian blue,
scarlet fleece changes hue.
Crimson ball sinks from view,
share your love like heaven".
- Share your love like heaven by Donovan.
OK, 11 days with no sweets is tough and my excuse is that Indian sweets are great and varied. I allow a slight deviation from my hospital regimen and get 2 oatmeal cookies in town. Much to my surprise the sweet 'Oatmeal' cookies have curryish taste and are SPICEEEEE!!! Instant karma.
By the time I leave the hospital I will have spent a month and a half only in rural India. With 2 weeks left to travel I intend to reach Cape Comorin in Tamil Nadu, the southern most point of the Indian landmass. As you may remeber, 40 million years ago the Indian landmass rushed at Asia (Eurasia) and the collision formed the Himalayas. If the north is the youngest geological region, then Cape Comorin is the oldest and last to attach to Asia.
Here at the 'Ayush' the heating stage is over and I'm given a diuretic, I stay close to my room.
Some patients have completed their course, whether for back pain, diabetes, stroke or other and have left. A female patient who is leaving enters each of the other patient's rooms and says goodbye. My room is not missed.
Two of the veterans here, and elderly man and woman, sit on the little side-roof: him with his back to her and her reading vedic scriptures to him in low and soft voice to the sound of birds chirping in the trees. I don't understand a word - but the vibe is good.
Saturday is visiting day and the halls fill with relatives of the patients. The place is suddenly alive with chatter, laughter and children running around. A cute dolly-dressed 4 year old scuttles around seemingly unsupervised but the ornate strings of tiny bells around her ankles alert the mother when she ventures too far.
By dinner time most of the guests have gone and the hospital takes on its previous atmosphere of serenity (except for the blaring of TVs in some of the rooms).
Purgation period over and the 3rd stage is 'Rejuvenation'.More patients leave and the floow is occupied only by myself and another gentleman. The Ayush takes on a monastic silence.
I use the time to study volume 1 of the Caraka Samhita, the most comprehensive body of work on Ayurveda (in 7 volumes) and another book given to me by Dr. Nair, being a more condensed version with 'only' 500 pages. The book describes 4 pillars required to overcome illness: Doctor, Assistant, medications and finally the patient him/her self. Here the patient takes on an active role in their recuperation: "The patient needs to have good memory to recollect the circumstances of illness, fearlessness, candor and willingness to comply with medical instructions."
Furthermore, the environment and especially - FOOD is considered essential factors for a successfull therapy. Consioder these vis-a-vis the widespread chronic diseases in 'developed' countries and you may (and should) start questioning modern society's approach to curing diseases.
Food at the hospital, as in many places in India, is served sans cutlery. Of the benefits of eating with your hands: The need to wash before eating; Eating less with each bite since the tips of the fingers can hold less then a spoon; Eating more slowly and therefore reducing overeating; and the tactile experience that is missed out on when using utensils (a plus when eating fish too as the fingers can remove bones before eating)
As a rule you eat with your right hand as the left is used in the toilet, but let's not mix input with output here.
A week left and I feel a need to give thanks to my, so far, easy and pleasant experience. I buy a fresh garland of Marygold flowers in town and on returning to the hospital, place it on the small statue of Ganesha in the reception area, paying obeisance to the guardian deity of the the hospital, and hopefully its patients.
The last few night I hear explosions from far away. I was sure it was some kind of firecrackers, as Indians love to blow things up on any occasion, from weddings to religious ceremonies, however the timing of these explosions seemed strange, like midnight and early morning too. I inquired with Sunil as to the source and was told it was simply thunder. "So when are the rains coming?" I asked. "Oh, around June", said Sunil.
That very night a torrential rain came down on Otapallam and abated only by early morning. It was the first rain I experienced since arriving and I was relieved that India could still be as unpredictable to locals as it was to me.
The crisp morning that followed was magical. You could almost taste sweetness in the air. Heavy drops of water still clung to the leaves. The stark change from arid to soaked made me undestand the local's deference to the blessings of their gods.
'Rejuvnation' continues with copious amounts of hot oil being poured over me during treatments and now I know what it feels like to be Anointed. With 4 days to go, Basti treatments start. 'Nuff said.
On the last day of the course the dear Doctor comes in and besides congratulating me for reaching the finish line, offers HIS thanks for me being such an "accommodating" (his word) patient. He even books a train ticket for me to travel with him to Trivandrum, as he planned to go there himself. I'm meeting him on the platform the day after tomorrow. Nandhee, Nan pokundu, veendem kanam (Thank you, I'm going, see you again - in Malayam).
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