This should have been written way  back in 1997 when I made the first trip abroad & visited 5 countries – Israel,Egypt,Cyprus,Greece & England.. I chose to travel El Al not only because it offered  good connecting flights but  because my heart was filled with love for the Jewish homeland & my mind full of all kinds of tosh thanks to Leon Uris/ the 6 day war/ raid on Entebbe etc etc.I was head over heels in  love with  the Holy land. This when I am neither a Christian, a Muslim or a Jew. A young girl working with the airline in Delhi had warned me to be prepared for a grilling at the airport & had advised reporting several hours in advance & to answer all questions truthfully. I was game for everything but nothing quite prepared me for  what eventually followed.

May 1,1997. New Delhi airport: Seeing a lone woman from a third world country backpacking, the questions were like:

Are you travelling alone ? How come you  are  alone ? Who dropped you to the airport? Why not your husband? Where is he ? Who packed your bag? When did you pack it ? Has it been in front of your eyes ever since ? Are you carrying anything for anyone ? The lady you walked in with. What is her name ? How long have you known each other. Did you come to the airport  together? The lady in question, my friend Denise was taken aside and asked the same questions by another member of the staff. The answers we learnt were later tallied & corroborated. I quite enjoyed the soap. Maybe  because I was forewarned & knew what to expect. Still I thought it  a bit paranoid.

Onboard the flight to Tel Aviv I was seated between an aged Israeli woman who had her handbag chained to her seat & who dozed off the moment  the flight took off – sans water,food or drink. It was past midnight in any case. The gentleman to my right was a mid level Israeli official who made pleasant talk & who wanted to know why I was’nt flying my national airline ? Travelling to Israel it had to be El Al.  For me it was an intrinsic part of the whole experience. In any case the thought of flying my national carrier had not occurred to me. Whatever for – if only to have butter chicken ? I then noticed that we were the only 2 non Israelis on that flight. When the plane landed at Ben Gurion the next morning all the passengers clapped & broke out into a loud cheer. ” That’s us Israelis” said the man next to me.” Everyone is clapping because  we have landed safely “

‘Welcome to Israel’, read a placard held up by  2 El Al  hostesses. It also had our names  written on it. “Here are your food coupons. I’ll escort you to the rest lounge. You can keep your luggage here. Ask if you need anything.Your flight to Cairo is at 8 pm …..” Such efficiency.

But wait. “we don’t want to rest & lounge or use food coupons. We are tourists & want  to spend the day at Jaffa before boarding the night flight to Cairo.” That you cannot, she insisted. And why not we asked. No you cannot. I can & I will & showed her the multi entry visa.  “ Have a good day “ she murmured “but leave your luggage in our care. Otherwise you have to go through a luggage check with the whole procedure once again. “ God forbid !

May2,1997  We exit  the airport terminal, look right & spot the bus stop mentioned in the travel guide, hop on to a bus going to Jaffa ( bus no: 495/ 4 shekels )recognize the sights along the way & count the stops getting off at the one after the clock tower. How easy & wonderful. No first time bumbling.  Wonderful beginning. The sea is calm & inviting. The weather beautiful. There are art students sitting & sketching along the steps leading to the water front. Quite like a picture postcard. Perfect. With a lighthouse in the distance. The Mediterranean is clear & bluer than I had ever imagined it to be. We visit St Peters’ monastery, the museum of Antiquities & Andromedas fort. Munching a fresh tuna sandwich we take a walk along the beach & cobbled streets of  the picturesque little port of Jaffa or Yafo as the Israelis would have it.

The same shit – another day

Athens  May 15,1997  Forget the housework and come to Greece. I spent 9 awesome days here soaking in  the atmosphere in a lazy /hazy kind of way Be it weather, food,wine,culture. Or people most of all.  It was delightful in a hedonistic kind of way. And the  Mediterranean It was ………the bluest of things blue.  

In the midst of it was one onerous task to perform, which was to reconfirm our onward tickets  to Tel Aviv  – with El Al of course . And going by past experience the sooner this was done the better. The tourist  information booth gave us a listing of all the airline offices and  all except    El Al had addresses on a prominent street in the heart of town. Theirs was in some dark secluded corner in a remote part of town. We located the building & laughed our way up on the lift for there was neither a sign nor a clue and when the lift halted which was in the middle of a nowhere kind of landing the doors remained locked & barred for quite a while before opening mysteriously. Facing us was a door  that was electronically secured. After pressing the buzzer & a little bit of an exchange with somebody on the other side of the wall we were  allowed to enter. Our tickets reconfirmed. Check in instructions reiterated. Everything is cold, courteous & efficient. There are cctv cameras around. Gawd ! our every move was watched. Wonder what they made of the laughter. This is paranoia  at its worst ( especially if you remember it is pre 9/11)

May 19,1997  Athens   We had a morning flight at 09.35 but knowing how hardnosed our favorite airline was decided not to take a chance but to arrive early for the Gestapo style of questioning & be over & done with so as to relax & enjoy a  steaming hot mug of coffee. But it was not to be. El Als’ brochure should read : “ How to make enemies & lose friends”. The  persons tasked for the questioning are complete ignoramuses. Persistence and courtesy – yes, but they lack both education & skill &  act  as if the whole world is out to get them.

So this time round my session  lasts  precisely 40 mins / no exaggeration .And it went like this:

What do you do ?  I am a housewife

What does your husband do ?  He is a colonel in the Indian army

What is the proof ?  I show my defense I card – A lot of other cards spill out in the bargain.

He turned the ID card around. Misread it deliberately or perhaps by mistake and actually psyched me into believing it was long past the expiry date mentioned in the document. “ See  See” he said showing the date of issue. (thank you Mr. Leon Uris ) This required some sorting out. And sorting out we did with frayed nerves & rising tempers. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out an Indian woman backpacking alone. He asked to see my other cards.  This I pointed is my club card. ‘Club’, he repeated in consternation. Never mind I said.  You won’t understand. Clubs are a hangover of our British past.

And whats  that?  This is my IYH card & this last is my Israeli embassy card I said hoping it would soften or impress him. I studied Hebrew for a year at the Israel embassy in New Delhi. It was to be part of the Israel experience. But  the plot had gone so horribly wrong that it had completely the opposite effect.  Mr. Smart looked foxed & got into a sudden panic. What other languages do you speak ? Hindi. English, Italian…I rattled off. He quickly broke into Italian leading to some banter  Italian.  He wanted to know why I was studying Hebrew. Why not Greek for instance. It’s just a language, for heaven’s sake. I will someday but for the present it is Hebrew. Totally exasperated  by now I told him that I had had enough. The joke was over. It had carried on too long. Never again El Al

May 22,1997   Ex Tel Aviv. Flight to Heathrow London. Surprise  Surprise. The  airport encounter is friendly & nice. Must never be too judgmental The devil doth change. Or was it because this was a ‘departure’ ?

May 31,1997  Ex Heathrow to Tel Aviv for the final lap of the trip visiting Jerusalem once again. Also Ein Geidi & Massada. Reached the airport very early as usual around 1830 hrs. My bag got ripped open and by the time it was done with it was already 9pm & time to board the flight. My mistake was that I had allowed a  young Israeli student who was the daughter of some high official to use half of my baggage trolley. I had a single rucksack & she several packages big & small. I did mention to her that I hoped there would not be a problem with the interrogators. She said not to worry. That she would manage. Which she did’nt. Landing me in a soup.

Is this entire luggage yours ? No (truthfully)

Whose is it then ?  I tell them pointing at the girl

How long have you known each other ? We just met

Are you carrying any electronic items ? No ( with anger rising inside me )

Anything for anyone? No again ( more anger /some disgust)

Sorry but we have to check your bag.  I am made to wait in a separate enclosure while they rip it apart inspecting each and every object. Mr  efficient comes running back holding a tiny clock that I had bought in London. You lied he accuses. You said  you had no electronic  goods  Which is the time I came to realize that there  must be  some difference between electronic & electrical that I was unaware of and told him so. He eyed me suspiciously asked where the battery was. What did I care. How was I to know. One uses stuff & changes battery when it is time to do so. I don’t know I said.. You don’t know. You don’t know he repeated in disbelief. How  is it ?  I don’t know. Now do what you can. And that was final. He came back holding a  wrapping paper  that had a design in the Hebrew script. Once again . You lied. You carried something for someone. What is this. I know nothing. And I don’t care. Now go to hell & do as you must. It’s sick. Sick  Sick. And the dinner on the flight is  lousy

June 3,1997  If I should forget thee O Jerusalem   The stones of the buildings acquire a soft pinkish hue as the rays of the sun ascend & fall. And Ein Gedi. And Massada. Such beauty, grit & courage. But it’s time now to head home. Back to New Delhi India. It’s going to be hot this time of the year. But wait, wait, wait. I’m at the Ben Gurion airport & my rucksack is turned inside out and all my belongings put back together again. My crime ?

Which places did you visit ?

Jaffa.Jerusalem,Tiberias,Tel Aviv, Ein  Gedi, Massada and…..Bethlehem

You visited   Bethlehem  also ?  

Yes ( very very calmly)

On the flight back a  pleasant Israeli official is seated next to me. He has visited  my country several times and has kind words to say about it. He is eager to share my experience in his country. Well, the country is great I say, politely. And the people are lovely but I did not like travelling El Al. When I had finished narrating my experiences  he had this to say :

“ As you know we are surrounded by enemies who will do anything to drive us into the sea. All this security is for your safety. You don’t know our enemies. Some years ago there was this incident of a British girl travelling to Israel on holiday. She was pregnant & like you she was travelling alone.  She was questioned & cross examined just like you. She said her husband & she had panned this holiday together but she was travelling alone because of last minute changes. Her husband had business commitments and would be joining her later. Where did he work ? In Jordan. What nationality was he ? Jordanian. The officer requested the lady to wait  while her luggage was checked. “ sorry but it will only take a while “ What did they discover in her bag ? A bomb – believe it or not – . The lady herself was not aware of it. She had been married 2 years & was pregnant.  Her husband did this to her. So like I said  the checking is for your own safety.  Our enemies will stop at nothing “

Lehitraout

www.wordpress.com/sudapoedia47

The same shit – another day

Athens  May 15,1997  Forget the housework and come to Greece. I spent 9 awesome days here soaking in  the atmosphere in a lazy /hazy kind of way Be it weather, food,wine,culture. Or people most of all.  It was delightful in a hedonistic kind of way. And the  Mediterranean It was ………the bluest of things blue.  

In the midst of it was one onerous task to perform, which was to reconfirm our onward tickets  to Tel Aviv  – with El Al of course . And going by past experience the sooner this was done the better. The tourist  information booth gave us a listing of all the airline offices and  all except    El Al had addresses on a prominent street in the heart of town. Theirs was in some dark secluded corner in a remote part of town. We located the building & laughed our way up on the lift for there was neither a sign nor a clue and when the lift halted which was in the middle of a nowhere kind of landing the doors remained locked & barred for quite a while before opening mysteriously. Facing us was a door  that was electronically secured. After pressing the buzzer & a little bit of an exchange with somebody on the other side of the wall we were  allowed to enter. Our tickets reconfirmed. Check in instructions reiterated. Everything is cold, courteous & efficient. There are cctv cameras around. Gawd ! our every move was watched. Wonder what they made of the laughter. This is paranoia  at its worst ( especially if you remember it is pre 9/11)

May 19,1997  Athens   We had a morning flight at 09.35 but knowing how hardnosed our favorite airline was decided not to take a chance but to arrive early for the Gestapo style of questioning & be over & done with so as to relax & enjoy a  steaming hot mug of coffee. But it was not to be. El Als’ brochure should read : “ How to make enemies & lose friends”. The  persons tasked for the questioning are complete ignoramuses. Persistence and courtesy – yes, but they lack both education & skill &  act  as if the whole world is out to get them.

So this time round my session  lasts  precisely 40 mins / no exaggeration .And it went like this:

What do you do ?  I am a housewife

What does your husband do ?  He is a colonel in the Indian army

What is the proof ?  I show my defense I card – A lot of other cards spill out in the bargain.

He turned the ID card around. Misread it deliberately or perhaps by mistake and actually psyched me into believing it was long past the expiry date mentioned in the document. “ See  See” he said showing the date of issue. (thank you Mr. Leon Uris ) This required some sorting out. And sorting out we did with frayed nerves & rising tempers. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out an Indian woman backpacking alone. He asked to see my other cards.  This I pointed is my club card. ‘Club’, he repeated in consternation. Never mind I said.  You won’t understand. Clubs are a hangover of our British past.

And whats  that?  This is my IYH card & this last is my Israeli embassy card I said hoping it would soften or impress him. I studied Hebrew for a year at the Israel embassy in New Delhi. It was to be part of the Israel experience. But  the plot had gone so horribly wrong that it had completely the opposite effect.  Mr. Smart looked foxed & got into a sudden panic. What other languages do you speak ? Hindi. English, Italian…I rattled off. He quickly broke into Italian leading to some banter  Italian.  He wanted to know why I was studying Hebrew. Why not Greek for instance. It’s just a language, for heaven’s sake. I will someday but for the present it is Hebrew. Totally exasperated  by now I told him that I had had enough. The joke was over. It had carried on too long. Never again El Al

May 22,1997   Ex Tel Aviv. Flight to Heathrow London. Surprise  Surprise. The  airport encounter is friendly & nice. Must never be too judgmental The devil doth change. Or was it because this was a ‘departure’ ?

May 31,1997  Ex Heathrow to Tel Aviv for the final lap of the trip visiting Jerusalem once again. Also Ein Geidi & Massada. Reached the airport very early as usual around 1830 hrs. My bag got ripped open and by the time it was done with it was already 9pm & time to board the flight. My mistake was that I had allowed a  young Israeli student who was the daughter of some high official to use half of my baggage trolley. I had a single rucksack & she several packages big & small. I did mention to her that I hoped there would not be a problem with the interrogators. She said not to worry. That she would manage. Which she did’nt. Landing me in a soup.

Is this entire luggage yours ? No (truthfully)

Whose is it then ?  I tell them pointing at the girl

How long have you known each other ? We just met

Are you carrying any electronic items ? No ( with anger rising inside me )

Anything for anyone? No again ( more anger /some disgust)

Sorry but we have to check your bag.  I am made to wait in a separate enclosure while they rip it apart inspecting each and every object. Mr  efficient comes running back holding a tiny clock that I had bought in London. You lied he accuses. You said  you had no electronic  goods  Which is the time I came to realize that there  must be  some difference between electronic & electrical that I was unaware of and told him so. He eyed me suspiciously asked where the battery was. What did I care. How was I to know. One uses stuff & changes battery when it is time to do so. I don’t know I said.. You don’t know. You don’t know he repeated in disbelief. How  is it ?  I don’t know. Now do what you can. And that was final. He came back holding a  wrapping paper  that had a design in the Hebrew script. Once again . You lied. You carried something for someone. What is this. I know nothing. And I don’t care. Now go to hell & do as you must. It’s sick. Sick  Sick. And the dinner on the flight is  lousy

June 3,1997  If I should forget thee O Jerusalem   The stones of the buildings acquire a soft pinkish hue as the rays of the sun ascend & fall. And Ein Gedi. And Massada. Such beauty, grit & courage. But it’s time now to head home. Back to New Delhi India. It’s going to be hot this time of the year. But wait, wait, wait. I’m at the Ben Gurion airport & my rucksack is turned inside out and all my belongings put back together again. My crime ?

Which places did you visit ?

Jaffa.Jerusalem,Tiberias,Tel Aviv, Ein  Gedi, Massada and…..Bethlehem

You visited   Bethlehem  also ?  

Yes ( very very calmly)

On the flight back a  pleasant Israeli official is seated next to me. He has visited  my country several times and has kind words to say about it. He is eager to share my experience in his country. Well, the country is great I say, politely. And the people are lovely but I did not like travelling El Al. When I had finished narrating my experiences  he had this to say :

“ As you know we are surrounded by enemies who will do anything to drive us into the sea. All this security is for your safety. You don’t know our enemies. Some years ago there was this incident of a British girl travelling to Israel on holiday. She was pregnant & like you she was travelling alone.  She was questioned & cross examined just like you. She said her husband & she had panned this holiday together but she was travelling alone because of last minute changes. Her husband had business commitments and would be joining her later. Where did he work ? In Jordan. What nationality was he ? Jordanian. The officer requested the lady to wait  while her luggage was checked. “ sorry but it will only take a while “ What did they discover in her bag ? A bomb – believe it or not – . The lady herself was not aware of it. She had been married 2 years & was pregnant.  Her husband did this to her. So like I said  the checking is for your own safety.  Our enemies will stop at nothing “

Lehitraout

Ayasofya  Hamam Istanbul Turkey

Tel no: 0212 5173535

May20,2012

I am visiting a hamam today.One of the  major attractions on my ‘To do List.’ I almost walked into one both at Canakkale & at Eceabat but somehow they  did not seem inviting enough. This is also my last day in  Istanbul & after much looking around  have decided on the Ayasofya Hurrem Sultan Hamami. It is housed in a wing of the Ayasofya complex  &  being a part of  the historic building  has the same beautiful  architecture. This hamam was built  during the Ottoman period – in 1556. It has lately been acquired & renovated by a business house that appears to fully comprehend the money that could be made off such a venture. From the outside it has traditional thick stone walls topped by a cupola. I was warned about the cost but decided to check it out never the less.

I  wear the plastic  shoe covers placed at the entrance & walk inside. The ambience is fairy like & ethereal. White unstained marble floors & slabs. Snowhite  walls reaching up to  the  domed ceiling with natural light flitting in from the skies. There is soft music, a mild fragrance & Turkish girls in the sheerest of sheers. I have to take an appointment as the staff is busy attending to a wedding party. This has been a long standing Turkish tradition. Matrons  would visit the place with their daughters looking for a suitable match. This is what I love about Turkey.This peculiar mix of East & West.

I opt for a ‘Pir i Pak’ ( full cleaning) which is essentially a traditional body scrub alongwith a bubble wash massage. It will be 70 euros/ 35 minutes – thank you. I am given a pestamal – a traditional silk bath wrap & am led to the steaming hamam that has a golden plated Ottoman style bath bowl. The attendant brings along a wooden comb,a scrubber especial to the skin type, special olive oil soap, shampoo, conditioner & body lotion. Clothes removed & placed inside a locker that has an ornate  filigree  carved wooden screen I am quite ready to step into the bath. The pores  literally open up after the scrub. The amount of skin dirt  scrubbed off so gently & diligently is unbelievable. You are led by the hand & made to lie on a hot white marble slab.This is for the bubble bath – the billowing bubble bag merely grazing you like a feather. Hair shampooed & conditioned. Massage complete, the lady walks you through a maze of marbled corridors into an immense room that has glazed glass, Turkish rugs, lamps & Ottoman era artifacts. Everything beautiful & minimal. Seated comfortably you are handed a glass of fruit sherbet & asked to relax & enjoy as long as you wish

An incredible experience indeed

Crowded House

Eceabat  Turkey

Tel: 2868141565

May 16-19,2012

The ferry across the Dardanelles between Canakkale & Eceabat runs every hour right upto midnight. It is a 25 minute crossing  2.50 TL each way. The ferryboat transports cars & heavy vehicles like buses too. It is equipped with space for luggage, has a snack bar,TV , WC  facilities & appears to be the preferred mode of transport in these parts. A ticket bought at the counter is automatically  scanned  before the turnstile gates  open to allow you a passage.

I had a booking for a Sgl / Pvt ensuite @ Euro 23 a night. My room ( No: 201 )is small but smart & modern with a fantastic Dardanelles view. I wake up each morning, cup of tea in hand & idly watch the boats come in & leave by the hour. It is strangely fascinating. Between my two loves ocean & mountain – I realize I am a sea person

The ‘Crowded House’ itself  is a non descript yellow building  named after a rock band. Not as many  suppose  what the name implies. You cannot miss it coming out of the ferryboat Station  It stares you  in the face. It is on 3 floors, has 24 rooms & dorms , a garden restaurant that serves  delicious food  – I had the most fantastic Turkish soup –Tutmac Corbasi – here There is a lobby, library, common area  and  not to be missed Bundys’ Bar.  It is very very basic yet modern & smart. Internet & Wifi are free & thankfully the keyboard is not Turkish –as elsewhere. Ziya Artam & gang  are doing a great job. It is also a 2 minute walk  to the harbor, park, cafes, pharmacy, telephone booth & the daily needs shop The place is hugely popular specially with the Australians & New Zealanders & specially during  Anzac day celebrations. Any wonder then that it is completely booked for 2015 –   the Gallipoli centenary year. It is  an excellent base for the Gallipoli tour. Crowded House arranges that too @ euro 25 / 5 hrs/ services of a guide,transport & lunch included. In Bulent (Bill) Yilmaz Korkmaj they have the best guide in the world. However more on that another time.

Canakkale Turkey

May16,2012

(I had taken a taxi from Sultanahmet to Yenikapi a distance of 3- 4 kms / 12TL)

Travel time between Istanbul on the straits of the Bosphorous & Canakkale  on the left bank of the Dardanelles is roughly 5 hours. However variety  being the very spice of life   I chose not do the whole hog by road. Instead I took the  Yenikapi – Bandirma  fast ferry halfway. It originates at Bostanci on the Asia Minor side & takes 2 hours  across the Sea of Marmara from Yenikapi  to Bandirma port. It is a different experience entirely. Also a somewhat  quiet, relaxed way of travel. After an early lunch, the waters of the Marmara  softly lull you to sleep. (upper deck – seat no: 0348).The ferry is operated by IDO. A booking to and fro can be made online. It costs 38TL. On the day of travel you simply arrive half an hour before departure, swipe your credit card at the Idomatic machine to get a print out, scan the printed ticket at the turnstile & walk into the waiting area that is nicely equipped with every facility imaginable.

Bandirma is nothing to write home about.  However  it is from here that one catches the onward bus to Canakkale. A mini bus  first takes you to the main Otogar ( 1.50TL) a distance of 3 kms. There are several bus companies operating this route but  Truva & Kamil Koc are the best.  I took a Truva that covered the 170 km distance  in 2.30 hours. It was a comfortable & enjoyable ride. The  back of  every seat   fitted with TV,  time/ temperature digitally displayed & drinks & eats  served on board. The Turkish countryside is  unspoilt & beautiful. We drove past rolling hills,fields of corn & vineyards. Saw grazing sheep & cattle & caught a sneek peek at the Dardanelles  every now & then,until it finally hovered into complete view. After the refreshing nap on the ferry  the view offered by the bus ride is pleasant &  the unfolding pastoral landscape a feast  to the eyes.

The bus takes you to the main Otogar  after which a shuttle  transports you into the heart of town. Its a neat arrangement – calculated to keep the streets uncongested I suppose. You are dropped off near the main  fountain square which has the lovely 5 storied clock tower _ one of  Canakkales’ prominent sites.

The relaxed & unhurried tenor of the town is a welcome change from the hustle & bustle of Istanbul. Hardly anybody speaks any foreign language here  so we get by with ‘ishaara’ – sign language. People are friendly &  will go any distance to help especially if asked for directions. A group of young girls ,foreign language students  eager to practice their  English language skills even offered to walk me to the hotel posing for pictures afterwards. We bade  each other goodbye  promising to remain in touch via Facebook

The promenade along the Dardanelles  with the jetty harbor is the throbbing & pulsating heart of town. A walk along the  beach front with  cool breezes blowing  is to be enjoyed any time of the night or day.  It is perfectly safe at all hours. Even for single women.There is the replica of the Trojan horse used in the Brad Pitt movie ‘Troy’. It was presented to the city in 2006 & is a major attraction here. Next to the horse is a basket ball court with stone & wooden benches for seating. The dustbins are in the shape & colour of  fish & dolphins . Young & old come out to stroll & walk or simply sit around the many cay shops,cafes & fish restaurants. The  stringy Turkish ice cream has to be had. An old woman sits among the pigeons -head bowed. She has a scale which you can use for 1TL. There  are men selling Mussels, roasted water chestnuts,  corn &  peanuts coated with a delicious honey – sesame mixture

The  cobbled lanes / by lanes on the street across  crisscross & bustle with activity. It looks like everyone is out holidaying. Canakkale definitely is much much cheaper than Istanbul. Also it has a homely small town feel. For me one of the joys of  the town was the pleasure of simply wandering around aimlessly or sometimes sipping endless cups of tea at the many cafes & restaurants strewn about the place. The Vitalis Kultur Café, adjacent to the clock tower deserves special mention particularly for its ambience, cuisine & beauty. It houses a souvenir shop that sells Turkish handicraft & artifacts

And not to forget – Canakkale is your base for the tour to Troy – a mere 30 kms away

May 17,2012

My Gallipoli tour was organized by Crowded House, Eceabat. It was a day trip – 5 hours to be exact at Euro 25 & included AC transport, lunch, entrances & the services of a qualified guide. We started at 12.30 after a delicious lunch of Turkish soup, spicy chicken wings, potatoes, vegetable & jelly. It had  rained through the night & the day was cold & wet  but that did not deter us in the least.  These are about the last rains before summer sets in with temperatures of above 45 C. Also these rains are good for the crops. We were a  small group  of 3 Aussies, 2 New Zealanders & an Indian – Me – . The Aussies were  kind of  curious about my  Gallipoli connection. Why was I here  at all ?. ‘We are an ignorant lot’ said Michael shaking his head good naturedly

The Gallipoli campaign of WW1  was the brain child of Sir Winston Churchill then 1^st lord of the Admiralty. He  planned to capture Constantinople / Istanbul  via the Dardanelles in order to open a sea route to Russia. The British & the French were joined by the Anzacs (Australians & New Zealanders ) The Turks resisted fiercely & won a famous victory. Mustafa Kemal  their commander was to describe it later as   “ where the battle was defeated”

Gallipoli today is a peaceful wooded war site. About 40000 hectares  covered with sea pine. It was not always so. The landscape then was more shrub & dune than tree. It is a Peace park today, incredibly beautiful & serene with the all pervasive presence of Ataturk & the millions killed or maimed.

The Sphinx
Our tour began with Brighton beach where the Allies were supposed to land but did not because of a fatal error of judgement. They landed at Anzac cove instead, a pretty beach head  further up along the curve of the sea. There is a museum & the cemetery at  Ari Burnu. More on that later. We walk past Johnstons Jolly, the Anzac trenches,  Shrapnel valley, the Nek & Walkers ridge. The ‘Sphinx ‘ is a distinctive  landmark of the area. Mute spectator to the  many battles fought  between April 25,1915 -  January 9,1916.

WW1 has  been described as the last gentleman’s war. The soldiers suffered from a shortage of  drinking water. With little to bathe & clean. During the long stalemate they were  to  endure  heat, mosquitoes, vomit, odour & the stench  of the  trenches. Bodies infested with lice & racked by disease  several died of dysentery –  the ‘Gallipoli gallop’  as they called it. The Bully beef supplied to the Anzacs smelled so foul at times that they tossed it as gifts across no mans land.  The adversaries developing a strange camaraderie in the bargain. And the Turks tossed it back with a message : ‘ Any thing else will do. We would’nt  mind  biscuits & sweets’ . Hence  Johnstons  Jolly.

We visit the  Australian graves  at Lone Pine, the graves  of the  Turkish soldiers of the 57 Infantry regiment  & Chunuk Bair which has the graves of  soldiers from New Zealand. This is the  tallest hill feature offering a breath taking view of  both the Dardanelles & the Aegean. Its capture  a strategic aim of the campaign.

Our guide Bulent Yilmaz Korkmaz or Bill as he likes to be called narrates it all  with a rare lack of  emotion, bias or favor. He is the best there is in the trade. Has all the facts as if he were  living witness to the horror that maimed  or killed over half million nearly a century ago. He is a Turk but  sounds  Australian – almost.The result perhaps of showing so many Anzacs around  each year. Unlike them however Bill understands  the presence of a lone Indian in the group. He sidles up to me & whispers : “There are 3 Indian graves too. At Ari Burnu. Come let me show them ”.  The graves are  separate, placed just a little away from the others. The stones clearly marked. My countrymen. Here they lie in  another land having fought anothers’ war. Finally at  peace & tranquil beside the waves. A  flowering rose bush & a field of poppies at the head.

( 21 Kohat Indian Mountain Battery was  present in the theatre of war through out. They  were never used  however  because the British feared they  would not fight  their co religionists.)

Om Beach Gokarna Karnataka  India

July 05 -14,2012

Gokarna is a small temple town in south India about 170 kms south of Goa. It is famous for the mythology associated with its temples, bovine life & lovely sandy beaches. ‘Go karna’ translated literally means cows ear. And you see these creatures roaming everywhere especially on the beaches. Om beach is in the shape of the Sanskrit word ‘Om’. The primeval sound that resonates in the universe & which symbolizes an auspicious beginning. It is a sandy beach along the Arabian Sea that is muddy & turbulent during the monsoons. Two rivers empty out into the sea here. There are shacks, shops, hotels, inns & resorts on the beach but only in season.  A Hippie paradise much like Goa, the difference is that it is essentially a sacred temple town.

The nearest airport is Dabolim Goa but it can also be reached by rail & road. All the trains coming from the north to Kerela halt either at Gokarna town or at a station nearby as it is on the picturesque Konkan line.

Local lass

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Gokarna is basically a collection of temples & beaches. It has some architecturally interesting old homes & paved streets. Wish it wasn’t littered the way it unfortunately is. What’s with the Hindus & their unique heritage I begin to wonder. Why are they never able or even inclined to live up to it?

I hope I am wrong & that there is beginning to be a slow  & perceptible change, for six kms away is SwaSwara the beautiful CGH Earth property. It is bang on Om beach & actively contributes to keeping the environs clean. SwaSwara blends harmoniously with the surrounding land & seascape. Local laterite has been used in its construction. It is 26 acres of pristine natural & man made habitat out of which the built in area is a mere 11 acres. (For more details access its website)

Normally a late riser I would wake up around 4 am  – the hour of Brahma according to the scriptures – before the birds & the bees even. In the stillness of the dark the only sound was the roar of the sea or the pitter-patter perhaps of the relentless monsoon rain. I’d walk the lonely beach or meditate atop a ridge returning to my exclusive Konkan villa with the first chirping of the birds & gulls. Ah yes, there was a cock that crowed -  shrilly too.

Time for worship

Hampi Karnataka India

Feb 7 – 9 2012

Hampi is a small village on the southern banks of the mighty Tungabhadra.  It is today a world heritage site, the ruins spread across 26 sq kms of what was once the glorious Vijayanagar empire (AD 1343 – 1565) It can be easily reached from Bangalore and Goa as both cities are roughly equidistant from it. Hospet, the nearest railhead is 11 kms away. There is a night train from Bangalore, the 16592 ‘Hampi Express’ that departs at 10 pm arriving at Hospet at 07.40 am. From here one could take a taxi, bus or auto.

Most visitors prefer to stay at the several hotels & lodges in Hospet for Hampi is a mere 11 kms away. They can have a quick ‘dekho’ over the weekend. ‘Been there done that’ kind of thing & slip away.  For their own selfish gains the Fat Cats have conspired with the establishment to promote it as a base for Hampi. But Hospet is definitely not for me. It is a dusty, brick & mortar town that is dull, boring, staid & characterless. Imagine the poetic beauty of Hampi juxtaposed with the ugliness of a modern Indian town. I much prefer the gentle folk of the charming countryside that the local mafia is desperately trying to browbeat into submission. In order to get the tourists to stay at their commercial properties in Hospet they are inventing all kinds of rules  & regulations to declare the village homesteads irregular & illegal.

Across the river is village Virupapar Gadde where I am going to stay. I want to go across in a Coracle, the tiny 2 seater basket that the villagers use but dare not because I cannot swim. I take the motor ferry instead. A noisy polluting affair.  It takes 2 minutes to go across. The charges being Rs 20 – Rs 15/ with – without luggage. The ferry plies everyday from 7am – 6pm & it is always tipping because it is overloaded.

“ Hey I CANNOT SWIM ” But who’s’ listening. This is India.

Note: Please carry minimum baggage. I had a small rucksack only. Also the short walk from the ghats to the boat is through mud & slush. I wore 2 plastic shower caps over my shoes rinsing them with a bottle of Bisleri on reaching the opposite bank.

I am booked at the  ‘Shanthi Guest House’ (SGH), which is a 10 – 15 minute walk from the river point. No extra baggage remember. You have to lug it by yourself all the way. There are farms & homesteads a plenty but this village prospers & thrives on tourism. A single unpaved road runs through it  – an entire village of a few hundred families only.  It is clean, easy, uncomplicated & you never have to haggle for anything. Hope it remains unchanged, like this forever. The locals are a simple homely lot. They own the guesthouses, shops & eateries while the workers are from Nepal & Himachal mostly. The majority however are visitors from all corners of the globe. International flotsam & jetsam. No wonder cuisine from almost everywhere is readily available. That single nameless street has it all. Even the ubiquitous German bakery. Not to mention the reflexology parlor where I had a superb foot massage.

And the Israelis are everywhere. Flying their flags & occupying territories. Much like the Russians in Goa.

I have to say that the Karnataka countryside is extremely beautiful. It is lush & green with fields of paddy, sugarcane, banana & coconut palm. It is also a moonscape of giant rocks & boulders with the river meandering by. The rocks are everywhere & in all shapes & sizes. A bewildering variety that gives Hampi & its environs a unique colour.

My accommodation at SGH is a thatched cottage in the midst of a small private garden. It is very basic & consists of a verandah that has a swing bed, the main room that is neat & functional & an attached toilet. All this at Rs 800 a night. (You could have a river view room for Rs 1500 instead.)  The property has several cottages, all interlinked by stone pathways. Beyond lies the green of the fields, plantations & groves & further beyond the river. The whole area is largely unfenced giving one a sense of unfettered freedom & joy.

 Loved the mosquito net hung low over the bed. Can’t remember when I had last used one.

Food at the SGH restaurant is just about okay but there is ‘Gouthami’ next door  & it has excellent fare. I thought their pizza  & south Indian thali really good. After a full day of sightseeing from monuments to ruins to museum this is the place to stretch out & relax. There are candle lit low tables, floor cushions, throws  & mattresses. There is music, laughter & chatter as people exchange notes over tall glasses of beer & platters of food. There is Internet, Skype & Wi-Fi facilities & late night movies if you wish to watch. – ‘The Great Gatsby’ was playing one evening. The atmosphere relaxed & chill after a hectic day at the archaeological sites. Also one can’t help but notice that the crowd here is not the usual ragamuffin sort. These are serious young travellers who have come to a world heritage site  & who treat it with the awe & respect that it deserves.

The village has power cuts from 11am – 3pm daily. Luckily SGH has power backup. But network connection is poor so I walk down to the riverbed past the fields of paddy  & coconut palm. And the phone instantly springs to life. Down by the river the sun is beginning to set. A bright orange orb that is reflected in the ripple of the waters of the Tungabhadra. It is also a moment of quiet reflection & peace. Away from it all. Not a soul around except for the Gopurams of Virupaksha standing tall & beckoning from a distance

The ruins of Hampi can broadly be divided into the royal & the sacred. You could see it in a day or over several days & you could do it in many ways – by car, by auto, on foot, motorcycle or bicycle. Bikes are available on hire & it is great fun riding across a lush green countryside spattered with monuments & ruins of a bygone era. I once cycled 5 kms away to Anegondi village & as luck would have it met an old gentleman who was a direct descendant of Krishnadeva Raya under whom the Vijayanagar Empire reached its zenith.  Anegondi too is full of beautiful ruins. And the drive up is lovely. There are some temples & the Kishkindha resort. So named because Hampi & its surroundings are believed to be the Kishkindha of the Ramayana On the way to Anegondi lies the old Tungabhadra stone bridge which is no longer in use as the river has changed course several times & moved further away over the years. The bridge is also a protected heritage site. Peter an Austrian has chosen to live here. He has an organic farm  - ‘Peters’ Land ‘ -thereabouts.

Most hotels here shut down after March when the tourist traffic declines because of the summer heat.

But the ruins? The ruins are what brought me here in the first place. The temples _  Virupaksha & Vithala, the grand Hampi bazaar, the Ramayana in stone, the Guard Quarters & Elephant Stables, the ruins of the ancient fortifications & much much more. One gets a breathtaking view of the magnificence of these  sites, from atop Matunga Hill. Twenty six  sq kms of glory to behold in its entirety. And while each & every monument is spectacular & bewitching my personal favorite is the Queens Bath. See it yourself to understand why.

Tariki Turkiye

Dateline Turkey

Come whoever you are. Just come as you are

Turkey is the sixth most popular tourist destination in the world. It is a delightful mix of East & West, modern & traditional, young & old. And nothing epitomizes this better than Istanbul on the Bosporus. A Eurasian city astride two continents. It is a place of frenetic activity & leisurely pace. One feels the vibrant energy & sense of joie de vivre everywhere. It’s many charms ever so beguiling.  Turkey’s largest city. Let these pictures do the talking.

Foreign language students

English is spoken & understood in very few of the cities & towns of Turkey. To that extent communication does pose a problem.  At Cannakale I asked  a group of women  for directions to the jetty. I knew it was in the general vicinity but did not want to waste time going around in circles. The women spoke no English whatsoever. ‘ Just a little ’ gestured one & then they animatedly broke into what seemed  a torrent of gibberish. Except that it was Turkish not gibberish. ‘Wait’, I yelled, halting them in their tracks. I just heard you say ishaara. I understand that. I am from Hindustan. I understand ‘ishaara’. There were smiles all around as they followed me on to the road pointing the way to the jetty. Using sign language or ishaara. Shukran, I said. Thank you, followed by a wave of the hand & gule gule.  Goodbye!

Experts believe that the Indo European group of modern languages originated in Anatolia, Turkey. This would of course include English, Turkish & Hindustani. Mr. Burak Akcapar who is presently the Turkish ambassador in New Delhi has said that Turki & Hindustani have at least 9000 words in common. You bet they do, as I discovered trying to make myself understood in NoEnglishInTurkland. This understanding came upon me very slowly, aheste aheste. But it made travel sefer so much easier especially when chatting up women (avrat /aurat).  Only (sirf) women, in some heart to soul (ruh) talk. Travelling alone this was not only useful but also immensely interesting. What do women who are complete strangers (ecnebi/ajnabi) discuss? Our thoughts & feelings & the injustice done to us obviously. Common words with the deepest meanings. Yani,that is to say, words such as

gam       sorrow

gurur    pride

muhabbet   love

nefret   hatred

dost  friend

dusman  enemy

musibet  trouble

masum  innocent

akil – akal   intelligence,

asik  ashique  lover,

avare awara  vagabond

azad  freedom.

This above all. Azaad. O, for a life of freedom.

The world dunya appeared to shrink despite the wide chasm of the seas darya separating our shores  sahil.

The Cay/ Chai Boy

There are a host of general words that the reader will easily comprehend. The most familiar being vatan, hamam, meydan, hisap (hisaab), faqir, insan, saf, zalim,seytan. If someone were to commit a gunah he would be taken to an adalet or to the polisi with a seykayet against him.

Many of the inns sarays are owned & managed by Kurds who are a politically disgruntled minority. Away from their families they come to the cities in search of work. A lot of them taxi drivers. One has to watch out & keep alert or else get completely rooked. It’s the same old story all over the world dost. So look yourself in the mirror aina before getting judgmental

The bazaars are laden with goods from all over. And the dukan has practically everything from kitap to sabun to seker, sugar or shakkar. The stalls are full of absolutely taze ananas, badem, nar, pomegranate or anar  there are cay chai shops, chaiwallahs & hamams. Away from your vatan you are a misafir here, a guest. We love you yar.

The Dervish before his performance

I had dinner one evening at Café Mesale in Sultanahmet. I had to be there by 8pm in time for a performance by a whirling dervish. A drink was ordered. Yes, sarap or sharab is readily  available in this  Islamic republic. The dervish appeared with his tombstone like headgear & white shroud & whirled with open arms, his right hand directed to the sky ready to receive the creators blessing & the left turned solidly towards the earth. He whirled & pivoted from right to left stating the fundamental belief that the human  condition is meant to revolve & circulate. Like blood for instance. It was mesmerizing.

The whirling Dervish

The food at the café had a wide variety of taste & traditional flavor. Baharat is the word for spices in Turkish because spices originally came from Bharat, India in Hindi. Even today the spice markets  are full of exotic spices from  Hindustan as the Turks would have it.

 When cultural vocabulary of any language creates special words to denote a special connection we can truly be said to have entered each other’s consciousness. The same can be said of  other Hindustani words such as vilayat or misr, for England & Egypt respectively.

So what shall I have to eat ? I think I’ll settle for sade or plain tava baked bread, taze sebze/ fresh vegetables, and pehnir/cottage cheese. Kebab, Pilaf, Kiyma & Kofte. Thank you.

How befitting don’t you think that the chief architect of India’s wonder of the world, the Taj Mahal, is none other than a gentleman named Isa Efendi. And you know what ? He came from Istanbul

Ahmedabad

Dec. 2012

It is the time of reckoning once again. Both for Narendra Modi & for Gujarat. A decade down the line & two elections later the ghosts of 2002 simply refuse to die. ‘Across the border ‘as Amdavadis term it; the Teen Darwaza area is kicking with activity.  Everyone has a stake in the pie. It is as Vaznavi said: “ unlike the Muslims in other parts of the country, especially in the North, the Muslims of western India are interested in what they have for breakfast, lunch & dinner. Therefore, while religion is important it is not the be all & end all of our existence”. Poor Vaznavi. What was he thinking? What did he expect? Of course he never got the position he aspired to in the Deoband   for, whatever your faith it isn’t easy being contrarian.

Arriving in Ahmedabad one quickly gets into the groove of the city. There is hustle & bustle, purposeful people everywhere making the most of it, getting along with it. Coming from Delhi I look around for tell tale signs of disaffection, social or communal strife. I strike up a conversation. Things could be better of course but at least the basics are in place. The rest of the country has contrived a certain image of Gujarat treating it almost as a pariah but the common man here is either totally oblivious of the perception or maybe he just doesn’t care. There is a quiet confidence born out of opportunity, peace & order.  There are the marginalized also but the citizen has a stake in the future – make no bones about it. Whether Modi carries the state or not democracy will be the eventual winner.

The Sabarmati Ashram

Ahmedabad has recently applied for heritage status & may well be on its way to acquiring it. If it does it will be the first city in the country to do so.  It has the most beautiful, ornate  & well-maintained step well that is even today a refuge from the searing heat of the summer. The ancient civilizational ruins at Lothal on the outskirts, the tombs at Sarkhej, the shaking minarets & the Saiyyid Siddhi monument all vie for attention along side the modern day Meccas _ IIM, NID & Hussian Ki Gufa. It’s a city on the mend what with the wealth  & drive of the Gujarati diaspora, the coming of the waters of the Narmada & the beautification along the banks of the Sabarmati.

Jama Masjid

The Sabarmati. Alas!  The river is brimming with clear clean water. A rarity in any Indian city these days. What hurts & surprises however is the dilapidated condition of the Ashram on its banks. What should be the city’s’ showpiece & pride is the scene of utter & total disrespect & neglect. The abode once, of a great, albeit simple & humble man, the Mahatma himself, this was where the great leaders of our national movement met & confabulated  & where momentous decisions relating to the freedom movement were taken. Mira Bais’ room was this tiny little cubicle & this is where Gandhi sat spinning at the wheel. There is a stark austere room where he received his most famous & special guests. His goat was tethered there. In that corner.

There used to be a Sound & Light show in the evening up to some years ago. Not any more. Just as the city of Ahmedabad is beginning to perk up there is a noticeably steady deterioration within the precincts of the Ashram.

Gandhi ashram must have been miles away from the city during the Mahatmas’ time but Ahmedabad has expanded & encroached upon it literally strangling it by the neck. There is an Ashok tree at the entrance – hardly noticed – planted by Jawaharlal Nehru, no less. Monkeys & stray dogs roam the place, the toilets stink  & the books & papers in the library are all musty & full of dust. Devotees come never the less for neither Gandhi nor his legacy may be wished away that easily.

Someone needs to answer.

And it is not Modi alone

When the rest of India was agonizing over a horrendous incident of gang rape in the national capital there was I in another metro, cruising the streets at night, alone & unafraid. That is Calcutta. Sorry folks. I cannot call it Kolkata. It sticks in the throat as does Mumbai, Bengaluru & Chennai.

As always pictures speak louder than words. While the rest of India is witnessing a minor economic miracle of sorts West Bengal continues in deep slumber. It was pretty awful even during my last visit five years ago but the level of squalor & dilapidation is now completely overwhelming & is to be seen to be believed. It is as if the city were drugged into a stupor.

The much-hyped Millennium Park near Babu Ghat resembles a locality park in any other town. One can take a ferry to Howrah from here. The swank SBI building over looks hovels & slums. But Rabindra Sangeet is everywhere, in the most unlikely of places, as if it were the panacea to all the city’s ills. Seeing some happy frolicking street kids I took out the camera to capture the moment. After all where else in the world would one get to see such happy, care free children. Their parents the very dreg of society. “ Eh Didi,” said a voice from inside the flaps of a hole in the ground, “ photo nai lena…. No pictures… yes, not even of the children…. Only if you pay for their milk “

A poor old Anglo Indian lady sits crumpled & alone at the Park Street – Ghalib Road corner inviting stares from every passer by. Catching my eye she whispers ‘ can you help me cross the street, please’? Just like that. I try to help her get up ‘ I need some food’ she says. Next to us are Barista & Café Coffee Day outlets. ‘ What would you like to eat,’ I ask. ‘Some food.’ I leave her sitting in the corner & return with a chicken & cheese sandwich. And why not? What the hell!  Then hand in hand Suzie & I cross the road together to go our own separate ways.

The Hotel Fairlawn on Sudder St is a delightful place as is its owner, 92-year-old Violet Smith, an Armenian who has lived all her life in this country. Her face is creased with smiles as she greets & waves goodbye to her many guests who are all welcomed with an old world warmth & cheer.

The Fairlawn is a 2 star property having just 18 rooms. The building is around 240 year old but has been with the family for about 80 years now. It gives the feel of a home away from home & home it is to the many who come again & again from all corners of the globe.

So, Calcutta is in a state of irreparable decay. Lenin’s’ own country, now governed by a mad woman, all squalid & run down. What could one hope for or expect?

There was an art exhibition happening at the Oxford bookshop followed by cakes & ale & a lot of the paintings depicted empowered women astride what looked like emaciated tigers. But what of it? This simply whittles the issue down.

Coming out for a whiff of fresh air there are long serpentine queues outside the Indian museum. Now in which other city in India could one see anything remotely like that?

And what is that in that corner, with so many curious hangers on?

That is a fellow peddling his ware – a collection of priceless old stamps. And coins.  Calcutta surely has many firsts.

December 2012

Footpath,old coins on sale

long queues outside the Indian museum

hovels opposite the swank SBI building

Hotel Fairlawn

Interiors .Fairlawn

Against All Odds

It is said that the Ganga descended from the matted locks of Shiva so that the impact of it hitting ground did not destroy the land. The architect of this damning feat – Kapil Muni, in whose name there is a temple. At the estuary, crisscrossed by several tributaries Shivas’ locks come unbound -  so to speak. The languid river enters the sea, the sweet of its waters mixing with the salt. Marshland & sea, human & wild, 54 islands big & small, inhabited & uninhabited.

The Sundarbans, was declared a world heritage site by UNESCO in 1987.

It is also the place I had set my heart upon. Plans were made & unmade. Plans that came a cropper due to some inexorable wheel of karma.

I had wanted to ‘island hop’ but seeing local conditions the idea was dropped. Everything it seems is contrived against the traveller. You have to be one crazy, intrepid wanderer to come along.

As I must have been, surely.

I arrived at Bakkhali Island at the south western tip of the archipelago sans hotel reservation – only because – everything in this bastion of communism is routed through Calcutta.

The direct bus from Esplanade departed at 8 am & took 5 hours via Diamond Harbor, Kakdwip & Namkhana . The fare, all of Rs 78/- it halted at random for the convenience of locals with no planned halt for toilet, food or water. I semi dozed most of the way the countryside being largely non descript. It being December when the crops were already harvested & fields bare. There were acres upon acres of tawny, seared ground.

Hotel rooms there were aplenty but none, it seemed for the lone & weary traveller. Nobody told me why in so many words but it was the unwritten, unofficial rule that was followed to the tee. The policemen on the island were of no help either. What did they care for a single woman ?  I soon discovered it had something to do with a spate of recent suicides in sundry hotel rooms.  “ Would I come all the way to commit suicide?  Here? I could do it outside the police station. And well I might if I didn’t get that room fast.

The Govt owned Bakkhali Tourist Lodge relented but not before trying to scuttle me off some place else where the tariff was lower ‘For your own good madam….’ But temperatures both outside & inside were soaring & so we clinched a deal without further ado. Room No: 7 it was. Spacious, neat & clean with running hot water, television & room service. A veritable haven. I didn’t fail to praise it to the skies every time I ran into Mr. KK Kanjiwal, the manager.  “ Don’t forget to tell the higher ups in Calcutta “, he’d say. I swore I would. We soon became friends, my stay extending from one night to two, to four. I could have stayed on forever. Two hoots to  ‘No Singles’.

Bonbibi,Lakshmi,Durga,
Sithala

Fish mongering

After a terrific fish curry – rice lunch & rest it was time to scour the isle. What better way to get oriented than on Sikantos’ motor van, a contraption that ingeniously aligned the desi thela/ van to a motorbike. Sikanto was to be Man Friday for the duration of my stay here. He is young & well informed, knows the islands like the back of his palm & speaks a smattering of both English & Hindi. Today it will be a trip to Frazerganj  & Henry Island. With the cool evening breeze blowing in the face it is really quite enjoyable.

The 3 kms stretch to Frazergunj goes past the silver sands of Dolphin beach, lines of Casuarina trees, windmills & paved paths leading to hidden tribal villages. It is a harsh existence indeed but the people seem content & happy. Perhaps because they are as yet simple & unspoilt. The islands have electric power but lanterns are lit in most homes, as electricity is unaffordable. Saw lots of kid lamb & goat reared for a living. The people are mostly farmers, fishermen & honey catchers. There is a junior school miles out of town & a clinic almost 22 kms away. The staple diet is rice, dal, veg & fish. There is no crime to speak of, the 2 policemen at the chowki being a mere presence.

Frazerganj has a deer & crocodile park managed by the department of Forests. A quick halt there & off we go to Benfish harbor to catch a ferry to Jambudwip. The charges are Rs 800 for a 2 hour ride on a motorized barge carrying about 15 persons. We are 10 of us so we each pay Rs 75/ – The waters are a light sea green, choppy & turbulent. With blue skies above it is exhilarating especially when the barge nears a mohana, which is, literally  where diverse streams of water & current converge. The barge sails along a coastline of Mangroves. It is forbidden to disembark but one can clearly see what must be at least a zillion red crabs on the silver shore.

The sands at Bakkhali are silver too but its’ nice long beach with canopied benches is sadly littered. There are stalls selling fresh fish & tender coconut & there are chairs, if you can believe it at Rs 5/ an hour. Some enterprise this!

I have come in search of a Bon Bibi temple. Following the lampposts along the periphery I walk past the last one then take a left turn into a forest of dense Sundari trees. The temple, also called Bishalaksmi is bang on –  a simple corrugated structure. It opens from 7 to 12 noon for rituals performed by Thakur Maharaj . The temple has images of Durga, Lakshmi, Sithala Devi, Ganga & Bon Bibi who is the patron of forest dwellers. She is perhaps the closest one could ever get to creating an Islamic deity. But the many worshippers are oblivious to the Muslim connection, if any. The writer Amitav Ghosh has given a sample rendering of what he terms a mantra, in ’The Hungry Tide’.

“ In Allah’s name I begin to pronounce the Word

Of the whole universe. He is the Begetter, the Lord To all His disciples. He is full of mercy

Above the created world, who is there but He”

on Henry Island

Sundari & Bani trees

village huts Bakkhali

A narrow creek leads to Henry Island. Less than 5 kms from Bakkhali it is a magical space with an abundance of deer, wild boar, birds & trees. There are nature walks & the  beach is the best in the area. Limpid pools reflect the green of the leaves. The island has solar power & tiger prawns bred by the department of Fisheries. The watchtower offers a panoramic view of jungle, beach & water. Beherkhedi & Lothian Island  (populated by the royal Bengal tiger)& the ocean in the distance. There are cottages, named after trees of the forest-  Mangrove, Sundari, Bani – at Rs 700 a night, with advance booking – only through Calcutta, of course.

“ Teerth Sthan Baar Baar / Gangasagar Ek Baar” chant the pilgrims waiting to board a ferry to Kachuberia at the northern end of Sagardwip The journey thereafter would continue by road, another 35 Kms to Gangasagar at the southern most tip of the island where the Kapil Muni temple stands, at the confluence of river & sea. Most of the pilgrims have visited the  river along its path from mountain to sea. At Gangotri, its source, at Haridwar where the mountain river splashes into the plains & again at the Sangam in Allahabad where the Ganga & Yamuna meet the mythical Saraswati. A ‘darshan’ of the river meeting the sea is for most the penultimate.I must be the only person not a pilgrim  but I also want to see the river meet the sea.

It has taken the better part of the day already & here I stand with jostling crowds on a narrow pier at Lot 8 waiting to board the ferry that promises never to come. It is supposed to every hour but there is this play of tides – jwar bhata / ebb & flow – because of which 2 earlier ferries were cancelled leading to this unprecedented rush. Why, I wonder, is the man at the ticket counter giving out tickets & swelling the crowd? To think that Gangasagar is a mere 72 kms from Bakkhali but short distances make for long journeys, as connectivity is poor. For the greater part of the day one has been juggling road & river transport, ferry & bus, bus & ferry doling out Rs 13 or Rs 8, at times even 50 paisa to cross a ford or a creek . The time taken enormous.

It is noon almost, the heat over bearing. I make a quick calculation. Would it be worth the gamble were I to manage the river crossing now ? It would be an hour to the other side & another by road to the southern most tip. I had been on the road for 5 hours already. There is also the matter of return. To journey back before the various river crossings close & before the last bus departs from Namkhana. There is always the option of staying back for the night but what if there is a ‘No Singles’ policy in place here also?

Standing in line I make up my mind. It is impossible to turn around & walk back for the chanting crowd behind me is humongous. So I simply squeeze myself between the barricades & ouch …land safely  on the other side.

Gangasagar, for me was never meant to be.

Dec 2012

a motor van

Bakkhali Tourist Lodge

jostling for Nirvana

enjoying the chill

Room with a view

India exists in several centuries simultaneously. These 2 pictures epitomize the stark reality. They were both clicked in the very heart of urban India. Not in some remote, dusty outback as one might imagine

The first belongs to Mumbai, the commercial hub of the country. Standing on my balcony & sipping a morning cup of tea this is what I espied – an elephant go majestically by.

Rush hour traffic

Dashing to work, in the national capital Delhi, and what have you? A traffic jam revolving around a pachyderm, camel, bus & a car.  All merrily blocking the way.

This is co existence.

Laugh as you may, it is also beauty in chaos. Hardly to be noticed or commented upon. An everyday thing that we take in our stride.

Bandra Worli sea link

Bombay, a city of dreams must see over a billion footfalls a minute, with every mode of transport jostling for space. How nice then – in the dead of night – to be able to take a quiet walk through the cobbled streets of its most famous suburb, Bandra. With film star mansions atop Pali hill, on to Carter road promenade via the 400 year old fishing village of Chimbai, Hill road & Bandstand. The promenade at lands end that boasts, the Salman – Shahrukh Khan mansions at either end with the best of Bollywood thrown between. Groups of people keep constant vigil outside the Khan homes hoping for a glimpse of their favorite star. Who knows when they may get lucky & see Salman rip off his shirt & display a Fab Ab

This is Bandra, in all its wild colors, as the graffiti boldly proclaims. Once a tiny fishing village it is full of restaurants, pubs, bars & high-end stores.

Outside Mount Mary Church

Sandra from Bandra

old homes

christian neighborhoods Chimbai village

A walk through the narrow by lanes is a joy & a must. It has many quaint & charming bungalows with tiled roofs, verandah & porch. Most of these are over a hundred years old & belong to the Catholic East Indian community. Bandra was indeed a Catholic suburb not very long ago. There is Mount Mary’s basilica, several churches & schools & over 100 -200 crosses & candle lit grottos at various inter sections of the road. But the skyline is slowly changing because of the land sharks buying up property for high rises.

The opening of the 8 lane Bandra – Worli sea link has contributed to escalating property prices. It is however both, a beauty & Bombay’s’ pride. Zipping through it past midnight can be a fun filled experience.

Every Mumbaikar to my mind appears to be living a fantasy filled existence. Ask a simple question & get ready for a captivating narrative.

I called up the plumber to find out why he hadn’t come to work. “ I am under tension “ he informs, “ I cannot come today “

The next day he was busy doing a round of the temples. “ Right now I am at Siddhivinayak…. so you can imagine…”

His neighbor had committed suicide by hanging, on the third day. “ Therefore, we are all at the funeral & cannot say when we will be free”

The Midas touch

Along the Nahan – Dehradun highway, on either side of the road are forests of Sal, Mango & Poplar. Cruising at an easy 80mph, fast approaching & almost upon us, is what can only be described as a forest on wheels. Would this be Birnam Wood marching towards Dunsinane Hill?

It is rural India at its chaotic best. Tractors spilling with sugar cane bear past. Sometimes it is a beast of burden plying this load. There are make shift stalls beneath the shade of trees selling fresh sugarcane juice. At Rs 10 a glass it is a most refreshing drink especially when garnished with lemon & mint.

Villages appear & disappear, hand pumps dot the landscape, vast stretches of pot-holed roads interspersed with amazing state of the art highways. The forests give way to fields of mustard, wheat & corn. Swaying in the breeze, ready to be harvested for Holi has just gone by & Baisakhi is only a few days away.

Past Asan barrage on the Yamuna are field of strawberry. Ripe & red & a plenty the farmers don’t mind you plucking & eating them.

There are tractors brimming with human cargo in their colorful best. Everyone it appears is going to the Holla Mohaala fair at Paonta Sahib, midway between Nahan & Dehradun. The scenic Gurudwara dedicated to guru Gobind Singh is on the banks of the Yamuna. It has a museum that has antiques, weapons & personal belongings of the last Guru.

The mela is on in full swing & will continue up to Baisakhi.

The same at Anandpur Sahib is bigger & better we are told. Here there are turban tying competitions, mock fights & a demonstration of martial arts. Also, simulated battles with war drums & standard bearers, games of tent pegging & bareback horse riding.

SOAP BUBBLES

Weaving my way through Naga bazaar, in search of an address, it feels like Sausage land. Creepy Crawlies  on sale everywhere. Nothing, it appears is inedible.  Platters of dog meat line the sidewalk. Animal entrails hang in the air.  Intestine. Lungs. All minimally cooked & eaten with relish, for the region boasts no culinary skills whatsoever. Unlike other meat loving areas where food is painstakingly cooked aided by an assortment of aromatic spices & garnish, here it is simply a matter of putting it into a pot of boiling hot water with a dash of chilly & salt. And, Hey presto, a meal is ready. Eaten with rice it is delicious too. By all accounts.

So what do we have here? Grasshoppers. Insects. Both enemies of  agricultural crops. The variety is astonishing as is the price. Frog, snail & caterpillar at Rs 200/Rs 200/Rs 300 a kg. Well, snail is good for the eyes. Or didn’t you know. Pork goes for Rs 170. Beef is at 120 & chicken 150.

This information was gleaned from my host Zhavi Wiso. “Sorry,” I tell him.  I don’t mean to be rude but I just gotta know “.  He can’t see what the fuss is all about & readily gives a low down.

Cow is reared for meat & dung. Not milk. A cow in Nagaland is small in size & yields  little milk.

Pigs are reared for meat. They are healthy & clean & slaughtered during festivals to be distributed among friends & neighbors.

Dog meat @ 400 is a delicacy. It comes from dogs reared in farms in Assam & smuggled across the border.  60 – 70, put into sacks & transported in an Alto. (The north east accounts for the largest sale of Maruti cars in the country) If caught  police levy a charge of Rs 70 an animal. Call it a fine, tax, bribe or what you will.

And not only is it a delicacy, but is a cure for malaria & tuberculosis as well.

My contact in Assam vehemently rubbished this story. There were no dog farms, he said. “The Nagas enter our villages like marauders & make off with the strays. Fed up with the menace the locals sell these for a fast buck sometimes.”

By now I have turned vegetarian, inside out & crave some comfort food for sustenance. There are ‘Rice Hotels’ galore. So called, because they serve only rice/not roti, together with  —-you know what. They look dingy & uninviting. This option is therefore completely ruled out. At the Ozone Café later in the day I have a passable vegetable sandwich with a mug of steaming hot coffee & music for the soul. On the way home I pick up small eats & a Naga cake (made out of rice flour) This is to be breakfast for the next 4 days as most restaurants in Kohima do not open until well past noon. A vegetarian can easily subsist on a diet of sandwich & noodles. The helpings are large but you would be hard put to locate the vegetable in the dish. Quite surprising really as there is plenty to be seen around the market

Much to our amusement Mr Wiso Senior expounds on his philosophy of food.

Why did God create plants?    For animals

Why did God create animals? For man

Why do other people die of animal/insect bite?   Only because it is not part of their diet

Asked to explain the anomaly of his keeping a dog as a pet, Wiso pats Snowy on the head & says: “ O, we can eat our pet. We often do. I once ate mine after keeping him for 4 years.”

Then with a twinkle in the eyes.” If pet disobeys we give capital punishment”

“ Does it not sadden you?”

“ I once tried to hammer a dog to death but missed. Instead of the head I hit him on the face & saw tears roll down his cheeks.

(This is the preferred mode I discovered. Was witness to it once & man was it grisly!)

That day I felt a little sad……. But I ate …………..

Silk worms. I do not eat”

“Why?”

“Because it has side effects”

The Kohima Epitaph is dedicated to the memory of the 10,000 Allied soldiers who died fighting the Battle of Kohima in the summer of 1944. It is built & maintained by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission & is among the best in the world.  Located on the slopes of Garrison Hill the cemetery overlooks the hustle & bustle of a crowded town & is both a prominent landmark & tourist destination. There are row upon row of neatly laid out graves in a landscape of pine trees, grassy slopes, butterflies & flowers. Except for Sunday it remains open everyday from 8am – 5pm.

I am at the gates on a rain drenched day patiently waiting for the cemetery to open.The caretaker arrives like clockwork & soon I have the place entirely to myself – for a couple of hours at least. Like most cemeteries it exudes an air of quiet peace & repose. The Pines stand tall & give off a scent with the wafting of the breeze. Lone sentinels. With the rain & mist rolling in from the surrounding hills it is beautiful beyond compare.

It takes almost 3 hours pausing & walking past each & every grave. Wish I had done a head count. There are 1480 graves I am told but cannot be certain. (It is 1420 according to Wikipedia) Except for a single one belonging to a young woman, a nurse, the rest are all soldiers. Each one killed in his prime. Each very young. Very very young. Far too young.

The Roll of Honor proudly proclaims the regiment & names of those who were cremated. There are several marked graves in memory of the unknown soldier, both Indian & Foreign.

“A soldier of the Indian Army 1939 – 1945 is honoured here”

Or

“A soldier of 1939 – 1945. Known unto God”

The tombstones convey feelings of pride & simple grief at the loss of a loved one. Most of the inscriptions are personal, some religious, “Rock of Ages. Cleft for me. Let me hide myself in thee”

Others patriotic, inspiring, poetic & stoic.

Dickens is the most quoted with “ greater love hath no man than this – His life for his country “

And the hugely popular  “ At the setting of the sun & in the morning. We will remember them”

There is Shakespeare too:  “after life’s fitful fever he sleeps well”

Also the deeply poignant “O, for the touch of a vanished hand & the sound of a voice that is still”

But strangest by far surely was: “Ever remembered by his devoted wife VI & relatives. Gods will be done”
(I reread this several times to be sure I had read right. Or was there a hidden message that I had missed?)

My personal favorite however,is: “ In a short time he lived a long time”
Short & crisp. Like a life well lived

.

                                                                                                                                                                                                         ceremonial gate

Handy Tips, Info & Insights

Kohima has a helipad but is not directly connected to any other place either by rail or air. You could travel by road or take the train from Guwahati to Dimapur a distance of 250 kms/ 4hrs. From Dimapur, the commercial capital of the state it is a further 70 kms.  The road is good & the drive scenic. The roughly 2hr journey costs Rs 80 by bus, 220 in a shared taxi & 800 by private car. You are dropped off at the NST – Nagaland State transport – in the heart of town. Local buses & black & yellow taxis (all Marutis) are available at a minimum of Rs 80. There are no auto or cycle rickshaws.

Cricket on a rainy day

It is a crowded mid size town with crazy traffic that snarls through the day. Restaurants & coffee shops are few & nothing to write home about. The ‘Ozone Café’ near Naga Bazaar was pretty decent but it did not open until noon. Which means that there simply is no ‘breakfast place’. Also, there are no parks or bars as liquor is banned – enjoy the rice beer, instead.

DC Heritage Bungalow

Despite the big & small hotels there is a real paucity of accommodation especially during the Hornbill festival in December when occupancy shoots up & there isn’t a room to be had. Nagaland tourism advertises homestays but there is a wide discrepancy between rates quoted & prevailing. What the tariff includes is also a bit hazy. Most often rooms do not have attached toilets. Toilets are generally clean but without running water. You may also never get to share a family meal. This, when tariffs are at par or higher than that of the hotels.

The DC Bungalow, now a heritage hotel is strongly to be recommended not only for its rooms but also for food & service. The rates are extremely reasonable & it is beautifully located.

Above the entrance of a Naga home

Homestays are an experience nevertheless & well worth trying out. One gets a feel of the pulse of the people & the place. In any case it all depends on how well the inter action goes. I had a neat & clean room with the Wiso family at Naga bazaar. We had long interesting chats over cups of tea & coffee with smiling little children flitting in & out not to forget the squealing pigs & crowing at the crack of dawn

Local girls wearing Tribal jewellery

Nagaland is Christian majority. There are Christians of all denominations with churches scattered everywhere. Until the arrival of the American missionaries in the early 20^th century society & culture was Animist. Without music & drinks it seems rather joyless now.  The church exercises a rigid control. Sunday is strictly a day of rest so plan it well. No taxis ply.  You will be charged return fare for a cab to the airport or to the station. You may not even get a cup of tea anywhere.

The Church actively discourages family planning. Most couples have 4 children on an average. Families are larger in the countryside.

Aids & drug awareness slogans adorn billboards.

There is little Hindi but English is widely understood & spoken.

Angami Naga Tribal home

The beauty of Nagaland lies in its quaint & charming villages. There is Kohima village adjoining the town, also Kisama (a fake showcase village), Phesema, Zakhama, Kigwema & several others within an easy 30 kms radius. The weather is lovely & the girls beautiful.

Because of a largely salt & meat diet many of the elderly suffer hypertension.

The Policeman here is as elusive as the London Bobby for there is hardly any crime. One doesn’t even hear of petty theft

It is lovely to stay connected while on the move. Updating status on Facebook, posting pictures & keeping abreast

Traffic police woman

What one cannot help but notice is the near total disconnect between rulers & ruled. Nagaland feels like it has been left in the backyard. The local government- corrupt & rapacious, while the writ of the banned Underground rules. There is an organized extortion racket in place where the Naga Underground collects tax. All government servants, policemen included, have to pay one month basic salary. It is also the reason why shops close so early (7.30 – 5.30). Every shopkeeper shells out anything between 10 – 50K.

Kohima village

There is no shortage of water yet whole colonies go without. Tankers fill the streets. Water has to be bought. My hosts buy 1000 cc, at Rs 500 every week. This is besides the water from the bore well that is pumped up daily. Each member of the family makes do with a bath on alternate days. In fact a lot of time goes into the ritual of collecting & organizing water for the day. Any wonder then that the local lad looks confused & dumb when asked for directions to the Raj Bhavan or Tourism office? Nobody knows or cares.

There is also the perennial question of the “inner line permit”. Is it or is it not a prerequisite? Tourist brochures insist it is compulsory but I roamed around freely without one. Neither did I see or encounter any checking. Nagaland tourism please clarify.

June 2013

Ceremonial door used as a rain shelter

Guwahati crow

“There is nothing here”, said my host, of Guwahati, while conceding it was the entry & exit point to most of the North East.

I was surprised.

The thought of not having seen the Brahmaputra had niggled a long time & set the adrenaline flowing. The entire NE trip had in fact been planned around it.

The mighty river & Kamakhya the ancient temple atop Nilachal hill. Two birds with one stone as I flitted across states by road, rail & air.

Guwahati is a B grade town, no doubt.

We drove through empty streets for the VIP ‘darshan’ scheduled for 08.30 am when the temple opens to the general public. The queues get inordinately long thereafter.

It was a distance of 30 kms from Narangi  & took 45 mins by car.

Kamakhya Devi is 800’ above sea level & offers a stunning view of the town below. It is in fact a collection of temples dedicated to goddesses of the Hindu pantheon who are important to the tantric worshipper. The garbhgriha or sanctum sanctorum is ancient & prehistoric & lies in a cave below ground level. There is no image. It is simply a sheet of stone in the shape of a yoni washed by the fresh waters of a natural underground spring.

The structure above has frescoes & figurines reminiscent of Khajuraho. It is all about Shakti. Worshippers can be seen leading goats to the altar – not as a sacrifice anymore. The temple dates back early 4^th century & has solid silver artifacts & doors. It was destroyed several times during foreign invasions & later reconstructed by an Ahom king in the 16^th century.

Saraighat Bridge

On to the Brahmaputra.

It is breath taking in its sweep. It is awesome!

Stretching 2900 kms via Tibet, India & Bangladesh

Home to the endangered Gangetic Dolphin

Its monsoon waters muddy & brown.

The currents fast & furious

There are river cruises from Machkhowa Ghat, Fancy bazaar operated by ‘Al Fresco’. A sunset cruise at 1700hrs followed by the dinner cruise at 1930. At Rs 250 per person one gets to sail for an hour. The cruise ship has a restaurant & bar & crooners sing to a live band. There are weekend parties on board & extended tours further north to Kaziranga wild life sanctuary & Majuli, a large river island & world heritage site.

Nearby at Uzan Bazaar state owned motorboats give a ride for as little as Rs 10. Taking you to a small mid River Island that has a Shiv mandir & view of the swirling waters around busy Saraighat Bridge in the distance.