Centre Stage - P.C. Ramakrishna

P.C. Ramakrishna, veteran theatre actor and director, recounts to Saritha Rao Rayachoti some of the high points of his 50-year association with English Theatre.

If performing Carnatic music professionally had been more remunerative, P.C. Ramakrishna would perhaps be better known today for his prowess on the Mridangam. In the 1960s, faced with the choice of continuing to play the instrument or taking the first steps towards a corporate career, Ramakrishna chose the latter. However, what has remained unchanged over the last 50 years is his commitment to his true calling - theatre.

Ramakrishna is part of The Madras Players, the oldest running English theatre group in India, that itself turns 60 in 2015. This span of time, we realise, parallels perhaps the very growth of English Theatre in the country.

“Initially, The Madras Players produced plays written by English, American, Russian and European writers.” recounts Ramakrishna, “But since the 1970s, four Indian playwrights emerged, who changed forever, the metier - Badal Sircar, Mohan Rakesh, Vijay Tendulkar and Girish Karnad. We enacted their plays translated to English back then, but today many of our plays are written in English, including from Chennai, writers like Sabita Radhakrishna, Chetan Shan, Timeri Murari and Shreekumar Varma.”  

Ramakrishna has been an integral part of productions such as Land of the Free, Silence! The Court is in Session, Rural Phantasy (based on Kalki’s Kanayazhiyin Kanavu), Meghadootam, Dance Like A Man, Mangalam and more recently, Honour, which he directed. He has played innumerable characters, from the titular role in his first play, The Amazing Mr. Scuttleboom to his most recent enactment of Mr. Whymper in the Peter Hall adaptation of Animal Farm.

“In 1960 we had 50 to 60 people in the audience for English plays with Indian themes. Today we have 3 shows running at full house. The audience’s expectations of a theatre experience have also grown. Take for instance, our production of Mike Cullen’s Anna Weiss in 2000.”

The play on the subject of False Memory Syndrome is about a therapist whose young patient, in the midst of therapy, remembers being sexually molested by her father.

Ramakrishna recalls, “The subject was very intense. We rehearsed on camera because the actors playing the two women were not comfortable with onlookers. I found it traumatic to work on this play and return home to two teenage daughters. At the end of the performance, the audience stayed in their seats for almost 20 minutes, reluctant to leave without an interaction on the subject. The therapist, Dr. Vijay Nagaswami, who was part of the audience, spent some time answering the audience’s questions.”

Sivasankari’s Karunai Kolai was conceived as an English play by Ramakrishna and rendered an ending different from the original with the author’s permission. “Mercy is a monologue I directed in 2005, about a couple who are very devoted to each other. The play features the predicament of the husband, as his wife shows no signs of recovering from coma following a mishap. I remember the audience opinion being clearly divided on the ending. The men predominantly agreed with the husband’s point of view, empathising with the guilt of the caregiver. But the women in the audience believed that the ending was not fair to the character of the wife.”

He holds up ‘Water’ as an example of the writer’s keen observation of a social situation. “Komal Swaminathan’s Tamil play, Thanneer Thanneer moved me immensely when I first saw it. In 2012, we approached his daughter about producing it in English at coincidentally the same time that the idea occurred to her. The brilliance of Water is that the social situation and corruption depicted in it are as true of today as they were when the play was first enacted in the Tamil original 32 years ago.”

Ramakrishna retired from a corporate career in 1993 in order to devote more time to theatre. That year, he also dabbled briefly in Tamil cinema, with roles in movies like May Maadham and Mani Rathnam's Thiruda Thiruda. With his accent-neutral diction and resonating voice, he is also a much sought after voice-over professional for corporate films and documentaries for clients such as BHEL and ISRO, with the latter's videos about their launch vehicles and satellites carrying his distinctive voice.   

Ramakrishna speaks of mike-friendliness, and the distinction between a singing voice and a speaking voice, which brings us to the care he takes to keep his vice sounding the way it does. “It works for me, but may not work for a singer. Speaking requires short breaths and singers take long breaths - the discipline is different. I am blessed with the DNA, but I do take care of my voice with some rudimentary breathing exercises. I drink liquids at room temperature and avoid spicy foods. I do not speak above the ambient noise level, at, say, a wedding. I also stay silent when I can.”

The last statement catches us unawares.

Ramakrishna elaborates, “Silence is an active state, and it is not at all about shutting off. An hour of silence a day leaves the voice refreshed and the mind, unclogged. This was, perhaps why the rishis of yore undertook mauna vratham. Silence is indeed the greatest rejuvenator.” 

(An edited version of this article was published in the January 2015 Issue of Harmony - Celebrate Age)

Restaurant Spy - Auroville Bakery

Auroville, located 10 kms from Pondicherry in Tamil Nadu, is an international-universal city where residents from nearly fifty countries live and work to realise the vision of human unity as envisaged by philosopher-yogi Sri Aurobindo and his spiritual collaborator, Mira Alfassa, known as The Mother.

An indigo-blue wall-painted sign in four languages indicates that we are at the Auroville Bakery. Originally located in Kottakarai, it moved to its current location in the Douceur Settlement in 1991. Since then the capacity has been increased from baking 200 bread loaves a day to 600. The bakery is an extension of the ethos of the community and functions primarily for residents, so it does not pander to the service standards that a casual visitor may expect. Nor does it vie to fulfil one’s fantasies of melt-in-the-mouth confections from bakeries with tenuous links to France.

However, here’s what the Auroville Bakery has going for it - wholesome, filling and - if I may use the word in a complimentary way - ‘rustic’ range of breads, savoury items and cakes. Catering to a large international population, the bakery has been, for years, making the kind of breads that have since come to be known as ‘artisanal’. The items are vegetarian with the exception of egg, but in 2011, the bakery also began making vegan cakes.   

A sweeping design element of red brick forms the backdrop for a cane shelf, wooden racks and glass-fronted displays that hold the items for sale. There is no price list and few items are labelled. Besides, there is no place to eat here near the display, with easy access to second helpings.

I carry an assortment of baked items in their paper wrapper to the modest cafe in the backyard where the resident cat sidles up, hoping to get fed. A larger cafe is scheduled to open soon with a menu that will include breakfast, lunch, dinner. 

THE FOOD

The breads come in varieties like multigrain, ragi, corn, raisin and sourdough. They even have pumpernickel and baguettes. One of the customers tells me that she usually picks up a loaf of bread and freezes it. When required, she simply pops a slice directly from the freezer into the toaster.

I give the breads a miss, and being too early for the first batch of cake, dive straight into a self-assembled platter of croissants. All the varieties are, without exception fluffy and yield easily to the touch. They are kneaded in an air-conditioned room where blocks of butter are compressed to sheets to be better incorporated into the dough. The Cheese Croissant has amazing depth of flavour from the grated cheese encrusted on the outer folds. The filling seems too little for me, but then again, one can never have enough of cheese in one’s croissant. I bring back a Chocolate Croissant and reheat it to find that the hard bits of chocolate have melted to a lovely gooey consistency spilling out of the encasing pastry. The apple croissant has too little apple.

The only way to taste the Spinach Pie is when it’s warm. Sadly, the bakery does not reheat items. The filling is moist without being eggy and the base is just firm. Since there is no cutlery and I have to eat the pie off the wrapper, it’s a messy experience.

The disk-like RiniAmericans are more biscuit than sweet pie. The blend of flavours - the sourness of the lemon curd icing with the cinnamon - is a revelation. I especially liked the flavour best on the thin outer edges that are slightly more browned than the middle.

The muffin is a hefty chunk and I tear off bits and eat it all day, making it an endless treat. The crust tastes nutty and the centre is dense and soft, with streaks of chocolate. After tasting this wholesome version, I’m never going back to demure muffins in frilled paper.

The vegan brownie is less moist than a regular one, but it is crumbly and less sweet, making chocolate the dominant flavour.

The bakery also retails peanut butter, cashew butter and jams in flavours like pineapple, grape and apple, but these are sourced.

WHAT TO DRINK: The cafe serves coffee and tea dispensed from containers. We try a hibiscus flower beverage, also called Power Syrup locally, which I find refreshing in the humidity.

INSIDER TIP:

Items fly off the shelves even as they are being stacked, so turn up for savoury bakes at 8 a.m., breads at 10.30 a.m. and cakes at noon. The optimum time is between 11 a.m. and noon. Also, the items can be very filling and it makes sense to take away some for later. 

BESTSELLERS

Undoubtedly, the croissants.

DETAILS

Auroville Bakery, Douceur, Auroville – 606101. Ph : 0413 2622159

Timings - 6.30 a.m. to 5.30 p.m. Mon – Sat.

Pies and Croissants from Rs. 30, Riniamericans – Rs. 25, Muffins – Rs. 20, Hibiscus Juice – Rs. 25.

Ratings:

QUALITY 8/10

CHOICE (How many varieties are there on the menu?) 7/10*

ATMOSPHERE 6/10

VALUE 8/10

*depends on time of day

(An edited version of this article was published in the December 2014 Issue of Good Food Magazine India)

The Name of the Game

Early this year, when Sujatha Muthanna attended a social gathering in Mysore, little did she realise that she would be one among many who would go home that evening with an improved vocabulary and a finer understanding of Kodava Takk, the spoken language of the Kodava community.

Bestowed with the sobriquet, The Scotland of India, Kodagu or Coorg as it is commonly called, is a land blessed with lush forests, fertile soil, an abundant monsoon season and bountiful produce in the form of coffee, cardamom, pepper and many varieties of fruits. This is the land of clans and warriors with numerous Kodavas having served in the armed forces, including Field Marshal K.M. Cariappa and General K.S. Thimmayya. The Kodavas are renowned for their valour, respect for tradition and elders, a love for the outdoors and a deep emotional bond with their land.

Today, a major cause for concern within the community is the population figures of Kodavas both resident in Kodagu and outside. The number varies depending on the source and year of survey, but hovers at approximately one hundred thousand. There is also a marked departure from agriculture as a main occupation and migration from Kodagu to other cities and countries in search of better infrastructure and opportunities.

Kodava Takk, the language spoken by the community does not have a script, and many of the stories and songs in the language have been passed down orally. The Kannada language is used as a script even though this poses a challenge in conveying some sounds and expressions that are unique to Kodava Takk. Also, English words have crept into everyday  vocabulary and the usage of the mother-tongue is gradually diminishing.

Many attempts have been made at an individual level by members of the Kodava community to help preserve the culture of their forefathers. One such member is seventy year old Achandira Chondamma Uthappa, based in Bangalore. Chondamma creates the crossword puzzle that appears in the community’s weekly newspaper, Brahmagiri, but a more interesting fact is that she has created an ingenious way to kindle interest in Kodava Takk.

“While those who live in Kodagu use Kodava Takk extensively, the city-dwellers from the community have forgotten many of these words that are unique to our language and tradition.” says Chondamma. “Those who have settled in the cities mainly speak English and the local language of that region. They visit Kodagu occasionally, and except in social gatherings, they do not get the opportunity to speak our language. Moreover, their children grow up not knowing the mother-tongue. This is when I realised that we can promote the language through simple games and Tambola.”

In 2012, Chondamma set about creating the Kodava Takk Tambola as a variation of the popular party game, Tambola or Housie-Housie. She hoped that even as people enjoyed playing a familiar party game, Kodava Takk words would get introduced into their everyday vocabulary.

The conventional game of Tambola or Housie-Housie is extremely popular in gatherings at clubs and social associations in India including the Kodava Sangha that Chondamma is a member of. It is similar to the American game of Bingo, itself derived from the Italian lottery Lo Giuoco del Lotto d'Italia.

The rules of Tambola are simple. This is a game of chance, and the only skill required is that of ticking off numbers on a ticket as they are being called out by the game host. Each ticket has fifteen unique numbers ranging anywhere from one to ninety. There is usually no cap on the number of tickets a person can play and no limit to the number of people who can play the game.

From a bag of numbered coins, the game host pulls out a random number and announces it, placing the coin on the corresponding place on a Tambola board. Those with tickets that have the number strike it off and the objective is to strike out as many called numbers as possible. There are prizes for completing specific sections, for instance, Jaldi Five is the first ticket that strikes out any five called numbers on a single ticket and there are prizes for the first ticket/s to complete each row. The grand prize goes to the first ticket to strike out all fifteen digits.

The Kodava Takk Tambola is only a minor variation on the conventional Tambola - the numbered board and coins remain the same, but the tickets are different. On the ticket, there are fifteen cells with unique numbers printed on them. The variation is that each numbered cell also contains a word from the Kodava language. So, each ticket essentially has fifteen kodava words on it.

For each session, the host can decided whether to call out the number as in the conventional game or choose to call out the Kodava word. For instance, the word corresponding to the number 2 is ‘ibbiny’ which is the word for ‘manji’ or ‘mist’. Those who are unfamiliar with the language, can still play the game based on the numbers being called out, thereby making the vocabulary an interesting byproduct of playing the game.

In the first section of her published book of tickets, along with instructions to play, Chondamma provides the list of numbers with the corresponding Kodava word, usually three- or four-lettered, that are not in regular use. She also provides useful cues about some words and the host can use these or create new points of discussion for each word or concept. For instance, the word corresponding to 38 is ‘kalakupya’ which is the name for a traditional jacket or blouse. The game host, in this case, could go into details of the traditional attire of the community.

Initially, Chondamma prepared a handwritten set of fifty tickets which were introduced at a social gathering within the Kodava community. Based on its success, the feedback and the appreciation she received, she published ticket books with one hundred tickets each. She has since distributed ticket books across associations in the city of Bangalore as well as in Mysore, where Sujatha Muthanna came across the game.

“The most striking aspect about Kodava Takk Tambola is that it is a form of experiential learning.” says Sujatha, “When a number or word is called out by the host, there is a brief conversation about the word and the concept it may represent. The host is, in this case, not merely an organiser of the game who reads out the word, but is also a sort of facilitator for learning the vocabulary. At the session I attended, the conversations that this game sparked off were so rich with detail and filled with anecdotes narrated by the elders and the host, that we were all clamouring for more rounds of the game.”

The possibility of using the Kodava Takk Tambola for language-learning is immense since a large group of people with one ticket each can effectively add a minimum of fifteen words to their vocabulary in the duration of one game session.

Chondamma hopes that the community will play Kodava Takk Tambola in many of its social gatherings and provide her feedback. She also believes that this game will benefit families, where under the pretext of playing a game, children can very quickly be taught words and traditional concepts that they may not be familiar with but which link them to the land, language and the cultural identity of their forefathers.

An edited version of this article appeared in the September 2014 issue of Harmony India's online edition. Pic courtesy Harmony India (Prasad Durga).

Uncoding Kodi

I have fond memories of an earlier time, when school excursions from Madurai were invariably to Kodaikanal, where friendships were forged over smuggled cigarettes and teen romances kindled on post-dinner walks. I have grown up since, and so has Kodaikanal, which now aspires to upgrade from ‘Princess of Hill Stations’ to ‘Queen’. Lately, although I steer clear of tourist attractions like Chettiar Park, Bryant Park, Coaker’s Walk and Pillar Rocks, I absently revert to calling this beloved hill station by its touristy nickname, Kodi. 

I can’t help notice how some things remain the same and some have changed. The man-made lake, a brain child of Vere Henry Levinge, continues to be the tourist hub, with bicycles and horses for hire, and street-food indulgences of steamed peanuts and roasted corn-on-the-cob seasoned with lime, fiery chilli powder and salt. The next generation of cherubic toddlers of Tibetan origin cling to their mothers’ chubas in shops selling woollens. The fruit stalls near the Bus Stand continue to sell plums that are always too ripe to behold and too sour to devour. The homemade chocolates industry has grown by leaps and bounds and the Cheese Factory is renowned for its cheddar. Suicide Point has long since shed its besmirched reputation and now goes by the real-estate-friendly name of Green Valley View.

Unlike Ooty which has long since been ravaged by tourism, I hoped Kodi would remain pristine. But I also itch to do something different, delve to find a deeper personal connection to the place. This is where a nature guide like Kumar comes in.

Kumar leads treks and nature walks in and around Kodaikanal and staunchly follows the adage, ‘Take only pictures, leave only footprints’. He also believes that the Forest Department is justified in keeping some lush parts of the forest, particularly the area around Berijam Lake, off limits for tourist invaders.

Over the years, Kumar has added numerous words and phrases to our nature vocabulary - Hipericum, yellow raspberry, wild passion fruit, wild lemon, blue gum, acacia bark and numerous kinds of lichen. We learned from him that the ‘idli-flower’, with its flower-head that looks like the South Indian steamed rice-cake, is hydrangea that grows blue in these parts because of the high iron content in the soil. Thankfully, Kumar steers clear of mentioning the famed blue Kurinji, whose blooming once in 12 years in these hills I have been unfortunate to miss thrice over.

On one of Kumar’s treks, we met two tireless German farmers who walked on ahead discussing botanical names of the trees that they passed, while we wheezed weakly to catch up with them. Another time, we trudged up a hill to a little house that hugged the side of a steep hillside where we met someone who was presumed to be skilled at crafting moccasins the Native American way. I had my Pied Piper moment when we walked through a village handing out many kilos of ripe plums to the children of the village who pursued us till we ran out of fruit.   

This is the other, less touristy side to Kodi that I have the privilege of experiencing, one that compels me to return.

This morning, we are blessed with glorious weather on a half-day nature walk with Kumar and a few other trekkers. The sun is only now beginning to slant into the Sholas, shooting slivers of light through the dense foliage that is still dripping moisture from last night’s rain. I inhale the wet, lush, earthy aroma and try to memorise the smell of this morning so I can summon it to mind in the throes of rush hour in the city. The others in our group have moved ahead but I decide to take it slow, attempting to capture some of the experience in futile megapixels.

I feel something brush against the side of my leg, and jump back to let Shiva bound ahead of us. He is impatient for the opportunity to play ‘fetch’ and frequently jumps into ponds to retrieve sticks, liberally drenching us in the process. Ever since as a child I was chased by a ferocious dog, I have always been nervous even around an even-tempered Labrador like Shiva.

I admire the sight of a bunch of worms that walk in a weird manner on the shaded path. I crouch to get a good angle to capture the mid-air wiggle that these worms make. Kumar usually sets his pace by those in the group who lag behind and I’m not surprised to find him standing nearby, observing me. But I am focussed on capturing for digital posterity, this mysterious type of worm that uses both ends of its body to maneuver its way.

“If I were you,” says Kumar in a hushed voice, “I would be very still.”

In these parts, it is not uncommon to come across a Gaur, an Indian Bison that is indigenous to the region. I remember seeing one on a previous trek, a majestic beast with large horns, a muscular back and legs seemingly clad in white-socks. It stared us down with unfathomable eyes for an unnerving duration of time.

I whisper, “Is it a Gaur? Is it behind us?”

“No, but you are inches away from photographing a leech.”

I stand up in a rush, stomping my feet and brushing away hundreds of imaginary leeches that could catapult me into a low-budget ‘forest adventure-gone-wrong’ movie. In my haste, I’ve dropped my camera and hesitate to reach for it, as I look frantically for a sunny patch in which to examine my shoes.To my alarm, the leeches are all over the shaded sections, and for the rest of the morning, we stop occasionally to dislodge them from our shoes and socks.The others walk on, unperturbed, using their bare fingers to pick leeches off their ankles.

We walk along gurgling streams and sun-drenched grasslands, but the morning is ruined for me. I fear that unspeakable horrors might be hovering over our heads, and in this case, it was indeed right under under my nose. This wasn’t the discovery I had in mind and I now have a compulsive need to  check my footwear for imaginary blood-engorged worms that I’m anyway not supposed to feel.  

On completing the walk, we pile into the back of a pickup truck. Kumar and the rest of the group sit among chatty village folk who take to Shiva rather effortlessly. I give him a wide berth and shrink against the side of the truck, examining my socks yet again, silently cursing them all for being nonchalant about leeches.

Near the town centre, we alight from the pickup truck and walk along steep paths that have not seen tar in decades. Kumar leads us through an upper road that overlooks the site of ‘The Church Under The Hill’, the first church to be erected here in 1858, with a roof that some claim, was made entirely of biscuit tins. All that remains is a granite pillar marking the spot, and a cemetery around it. In all the years I have visited Kodi, the engraved history on those old tombstones have been kept out of bounds for us by ferocious hounds that seem to be the guardians of the cemetery. Shiva seems very mild in comparison and I decide, quite on a whim, to befriend him.

We finally stop at a cafe for refreshments, and I ask to hold Shiva’s leash. I have no idea what to do and I sit on a bench awaiting the coffee and chocolate brownie I have ordered. Shiva sits on his haunches regarding me. He finally decides to take charge and walks up to me. I look into his eyes and stroke his forehead. His tail wags joyfully and I am emboldened to stroke his back.

In that moment I make two discoveries. I have a mortal fear of leeches, and I am a little less afraid of Labradors.

GETTING THERE -

Kodaikanal is a hill station in the Palani Hills, about 500 km from Chennai. The nearest airport is Madurai (120 km) or Trichy (150 km). The nearest railway station is Kodaikanal Road (80 kms).

LEECH THERAPY

Dhanvantari, who is the Hindu god of medicine, is usually depicted holding in his four hands, auspicious symbols such as nectar, conch, disc and a leech. One of the forms of Ayurvedic therapy for conditions like varicose veins and eczema is Jalauka Vacharana that makes use of leeches for treatment.  

BLUE KURINJI FLOWER

Strobilanthes Kunthiana blooms every 12 years in the Nilgiris and Palani Hills. The next blooming is presumed to be in 2018.

GAUR, THE INDIAN BISON

The Gaur is one of the largest living land animals in South East Asia. In India, it is found predominantly in and near the Western Ghats. With a body length that can go up to 11 feet, Gaurs can easily weigh a ton.

Pics by author

An edited version of this article was published in the June 2014 issue of Culturama.

Wood-Fired at the Piazza

On our last evening in Firenze, we race across the Ponte Santa Trinita before the take-away pizza goes cold and the white wine goes warm. We rush past touristy eateries with menus in English, street performances too zippy for our taste and finally reach the Piazza della Signoria where the sketch artists are packing up for the day. We settle on the steps of the Loggia dei Lanzi and listen to the street musician playing his guitar for those of us still too aroused by the splendour of the city to call it a night. This would be a good way to die - with food, wine and music, surrounded by Renaissance sculpture at a Piazza I have come to love.

Firenze is a giant museum in the guise of a city. While the dome of the Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore is breathtaking in its enormity and detail, and Michelangelo’s David and his Slaves series look like marble come to life, every chance I get, I return to this Piazza that throbs with the formidable presence of the Medicis, the patrons of the Renaissance.

From the Loggia Dei Lanzi, I get a fantastic view of the piazza with its souvenir shops, al fresco restaurants and gelaterias. Take these out of the picture and the Piazza seems pretty much as it was in the days of the Renaissance.

The Loggia dei Lanzi is a hall open on three sides, whose graceful arches and trefoils are barely noticed in the presence of sculpture as engaging as Benvenuto Cellini’s bronze, Perseus with the head of Medusa, Pio Fedi’s Rape of Polyxena and Giambologna’s Rape of the Sabine Women and Hercules beating the Centaur Nessus.  

Both the Piazza (square) and the adjoining Palazzo (palace) are named after the Signoria or Priori of nine members who formed the governing council during the Medieval and early Renaissance Period. The statues of Hercules and Cacus and a replica of Michelangelo Buonarroti's David flank the entrance to the palace. The original stood at this very spot until 1873 when it was moved to the Galleria dell’Accademia, a mere kilometre away. But this replica is just as riveting and costs nothing to behold.

Originally used as a town hall, the Palazzo Signoria went on to become a palace for the Medicis during the time of Cosimo I. The task of converting it into a palace befitting the ambitions of the Medicis fell to the talented Giorgio Vasari.

With a little advance planning, The Secret Passages tour is a better way to see the palace, particularly to understand the threats that necessitated private hiding places and passages for a quick escape, and for an ‘above-the-scenes’ look at how Vasari went about restructuring the thirty nine-panelled ceiling of the magnificent Salone dei Cinquecento.

With the same entry pass, you can also access other parts of the palace like the modest private chamber of Cosimo I’s wife, Eleanora of Toledo, the Room of Maps and The Old Chancellery that was at one point, Niccolo Machiavelli’s office. It is presumed that at Eleonora’s urging, the family moved across the River Arno to the Palazzo Pitti in 1550. Palazzo della Signoria soon came to be known as the Palazzo Vecchio or ‘old palace’.

A little to my right, stands the Uffizi (offices wing), that brought the region’s administration under one roof, also during the time of Cosimo I. Today, the rooms leading off the corridor showcase a staggering collection of art and sculpture including Botticelli's Primavera and Birth of Venus, Raphael’s Madonna of the Goldfinch, Caravaggio’s Bacchus, Titian’s Venus of Urbino, Michelangelo’s Doni Tondo and Leonardo Da Vinci’s The Annunciation.

An interesting story that I came across at the Uffizi was that of the Carmelite monk Filippo Lippi whose paintings, Madonna and Child and Coronation of the Virgin were modelled on a nun called Lucrezia Buti. Filippo is said to have fathered Lucrezia’s son, Filippino Lippi, also an artist, whose paintings are on display at the Uffizi.

We walk towards the middle of the Piazza in search of a gelateria that is still open, passing Ammannati’s Fontana del Nettuno, a marble fountain glorifying Neptune on a chariot of rearing sea-horses. Not far from it, stands Giambologna's elegant bronze of Cosimo I on horseback. It wouldn’t come as a surprise to find that Neptune’s well-built frame with rippling muscles was perhaps originally modelled after Cosimo I.

With the Piazza nearly empty, we reluctantly begin to retrace our steps to the B&B when we come across a plaque underfoot with a familiar name. The phrase ‘Bonfire of the Vanities’ came about when the followers of the monk, Girolamo Savonarola burned objects that were presumed to lead one to sin, including musical instruments, art and books considered too immoral for the time. Savonarola himself was hung and then burned at the stake and this plaque marked the spot where the monk met a grisly wood-fired end.

The consumed pizza from earlier does a little flip inside me. There were worse ways to die in this Piazza. 

And edited version of this article was published in the May 3, 2014 edition of The Hindu Melange. A link to the article is here.

Butter Tea and Conversation

It must be a cunning curse from Hermes, the Greek god of travel. I always seem to leave something unfinished on my holiday itinerary. At one level, it irks my Type A personality to have anything left unticked on a list. At another level, I am told by well meaning travel partners, that this gives me reason to return.  

The last time we visited the Bylakuppe Tibetan Settlement in the early 2000s, it was a journey spurred by the whimsical idea of getting a glimpse of Tibetan life a short drive away from Mysore, Karnataka. The idea was so whimsical that we forgot to carry a camera. 

Bylakuppe was supposedly halfway to Madikeri, Coorg. We estimated it to be an easy afternoon drive, with a couple of hours for sauntering around at the Settlement and back home for an early dinner. However, the distance to Bylakuppe proved to be about at least twenty kilometres more than we had estimated and the additional distance meant that we had less time to saunter before sundown. 

I remember tall trees flanking the highway, resplendent with Tibetan prayer flags, leading up to the turn-off to Bylakuppe Tibetan Settlement, the Golden Temple at the Namdroling Monastery. But back then, all we had time for was the Golden Temple, where we gazed in awe at the giant statues and resplendent paintings on the walls. I regretted not having enough time for a proper exploration of the place and to indulge in my fantasy of perhaps nursing a cup of hot butter tea as the Tibetan who runs the eatery narrates inspiring tales about how the early settlers converted this arid expanse to arable land.

It’s been nearly fifteen years and Bylakuppe is firmly on the agenda this time, albeit en route to Madikeri. We have Google Maps, we have web resources to guide us and we pass signages until Hunsur. We even have a camera. More importantly, we have a plan to spend a couple of hours on focussed sauntering, drinking in culture and hot butter tea in equal measure.

Before we know it, we’ve missed the turn-off. However, the highway seems bereft of tall trees and I search for the Tibetan prayer flags that heralded the way the previous time. We backtrack and choose a road that looks unfamiliar but promising, thanks to the profusion of Tibetans in the vicinity. I cross my fingers and hope this is indeed the right road.

I remember the sense of incongruity from my previous trip. We pass Tibetan Buddhist monks riding bikes, spilling out of share-autos and buying supplies at small shops whose names are written not in the angular flourish of the Tibetan script, but in curving Kannada lettering!

The road winds through small clusters of houses and intermittently, open land where there is little shade, when we suddenly spot bursts of bright colours, fluttering happily in the breeze. Belated, but welcome confirmation all the same. The prayer flags transform the surrounding landscape into a sacred kaleidoscope of colour. We even spot a unit en route that prints them, and make a mental note to check it out on the way back.            

We follow the signs, some printed, some handwritten and finally arrive at our destination, the Golden Temple. While India is home to several Tibetan settlements, the first to be set up was the Lugsung Samdupling Settlement at Bylakuppe, Karnataka in 1960. According to the Central Tibetan Relief Committee, it is also one of the largest settlements in India, spread across 3210 acres. A second settlement in Bylakuppe came up in 1969, called Dickyi Larsoe and it is spread across 2000 acres.

The Logsum Samdupling settlement itself has five monasteries, and we make our way towards the Namdroling Nyingmapa Monastery that houses the Golden Temple. Walking into the precincts of the Namdroling Monastery through its ornate archway, we cross the neatly maintained yard and buildings with multicolour trims and then take the path to the prayer halls, passing through the courtyard garden with the occasional turkey scurrying about on the grass. The monks’ quarters are clustered around this garden and every doorway is decorated with auspicious festoons and doorway curtains in bright fabric. The monks, draped in maroon and ochre robes, hurry towards the prayer halls, where they are seated in neat rows, their droning voices dipping and rising, with the steady beat of an accompanying drum. It is rousing and calming at once. It sounds as though a thousand bees have congregated under one roof, droning in unison.

The Golden Temple is less gold and more colour. It looks taller than the last time I was here and I realise it has acquired an ornate wheel-like frame that forms a backdrop. The exterior has handpainted frescoes on the outer walls and statues on each storey of the vihara and on the wheel backdrop. Khatas or auspicious white scarfs, symbolising offerings of goodwill are tied on the large red doors to the temple.

Inside, three large statues dominate one end of the hall – the 60 ft Buddha Shakyamuni and the slightly smaller statues of Guru Padmasambhava and Buddha Amitayus. The structures hold holy relics and are made of copper, plated with gold. The walls behind the statues and all around the hall bear testimony to the painting traditions of Tantric Buddhism, replete with paintings of teachers, scholars and disciples of the Buddhas and numerous gods and goddesses, some smiling benevolently while others wrathfully bare their fangs.

At the canteen, the absence of butter tea doesn’t augur well. The canteen does, however, have momos (steamed dumplings) and thukpa (noodle broth) and we try to get the lady behind the counter to talk. She looks to be about thirty five and wears a pangden apron over her chuba (robe), that traditionally suggests that she is a married woman. She says that she was born here, which explains her effortless instructions in the Kannada language to the young boy working in the canteen. But she doesn’t talk much, only stopping to point out the portrait of Penor Rinpoche, who established the monastery in 1963. We valiantly try to finish the bowl of bland Thukpa without dribbling it over our chins and struggle through steamed momos stuffed with what I’m convinced is surely a local adaptation with the Kannadiga penchant for soppu (greens) and alugadde (potato).

We must be on our way, onward to Madikeri, but I have a vague sense of dissatisfaction as though I haven’t seen enough. Just as we’re winding our way towards the highway, we remember the Tibetan flags. I finally get my chance to learn more about the Tibetans in Bylakuppe when I meet Jampagelek who runs the Bhodjong Prayer Flag Printing Centre. 

“Tibetans regard prayer flags as sacred.”, he says “It is believed that the prayers they hold are carried by the wind to benefit all humanity. Prayer flags are hung auspiciously on the first 14 days of the lunar cycle, when the moon is on the ascent. The flags have sacred mantras printed on them, and this is why they should not be allowed to fall on the ground or come underfoot. When the flags become old and begin to come apart, they can be discarded by burning and a new set can be put up.” 

In 1959, Jampagelek’s parents and elder brother fled from Tibet and arrived in Sikkim through the Nathu La Pass. They led a difficult life as coolies and construction workers and this was where Jampagelek was born. When he was six years old, the family moved to Bylakuppe where the settlement had been established. After completing his primary education, Jampagelek studied Buddhist Philosophy at Sarnath and returned to Bylakuppe to begin the prayer flag unit. He says, “In the old days, these flags were made using wooden blocks which made the lettering illegible. I have type-set all the mantras and use the computer to lay out the content and then screen print it on to the fabric.”

We leave Bylakuppe after purchasing a packet full of flags that Jampagelek has kindly picked out specially for me. He gives me flags with the Wind Horse, a symbol of good fortune, health and happiness. The flag with the Wind Horse in the centre also has four other animals in the corners- Garuda, Dragon, Snow Lion and the Tiger. Collectively, the five symbols hope to evoke the dynamism of these five animals in the spirit. It is said to be specifically beneficial for people who are writing exams, travelling to faraway lands and to energise a lazy family member. I’m going to assume that the travel part is the only one that’s relevant to me.

Back home, when the next new moon cycle begins, we fasten these colourful flags on the railings of the verandah and wait for the possibilities to unfold. It has been an unfinished journey yet again. Maybe Wind Horse will hasten my return to Bylakuppe, to visit the unit that makes Thangkas, and talk to the owner who, I hope is old enough to have actually lived in Tibet before 1959 and has intriguing tales to narrate over a long pending cup of hot butter tea. 

TIBETAN PRAYER FLAGS 
Jampagelek shows us both the Dharchen which is a pole flag and the Mugthak Lung Thar - a composition of five flags, in the symbolic colours, Blue (Sky), White(Wind), Red(Fire), Green(Water) and Yellow(Earth), fastened with a rope between poles.

There is a central spiritual figure in each flag - usually the Wind Horse, Tara, Padma Sambhava and Avalokeswara - surrounded by the relevant Sanskrit mantra written in Tibetan calligraphic script. Each flag has spiritual relevance to the deity being invoked and personal relevance to the household it is hung over.

There are also small festoons for the entrance to homes with the same five colours, but with the sacred mantra, Om Mani Padme Hum printed across them. 

HOW TO GET THERE 

Bylakuppe is about 240 kms from Bengaluru and 87 kms from Mysore on the Mysore-Madikeri Road.

NOTE: Foreign nationals are advised to get in touch with www.tibetbureau.in, the official bureau of His Holiness The Dalai Lama, about applying for a Protected Area Permit (PAP) that is required to visit or stay at the Tibetan settlements in India. It is advisable to contact the office by telephone first.     

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An edited version of this article was published in the April 2014 issue of Culturama.