Jan 18, 2009
A little abt the Hyderabadi post :)
When I was a diminutive editor of a city magazine called City Info, when I was suddenly thrust with the responsibility to 'write' an edit with the promise of my photograph adjacent to my 'edit' and that too on the front page, I was thrilled and wrote off with flourish a piece Ive been wanting to write. This was sometime in 2002, I guess. The edit was also put up on the Net and it got ciruclated so much around the Net that it was sent me my own mail Id under the title Baap of all forwards.. Or Funny Hyderabadi Forward.. Must read... Needless to say, it got published in various Hyderabadi websites, coffee break pages of dailies... All without any credit to me. So here I am trying to reclaim my credit.. Read along.. and u can add ur own bullet points to it.. Bieeee
Jan 16, 2009
WHISPERING STONES AT WARANGAL
Published in Namaskar December 2006
When explorer Marco Polo was on his deathbed, a priest came into his room to ask him if he'd like to admit that his travelogues and cross-country stories were false. Marco answered, "I did not tell half of what I saw". Those were his last words.
Marco must’ve meant these words because his book Travels of Marco Polo has a mention of the architectural beauties of Warangal, a placid district in Andhra Pradesh, but only in half measure. Now what would a one-liner description by Marco – ‘Brightest stars in the galaxy of medieval Deccan temples’ – suffice for the awesome historic places - thousand pillar temple and the next door black beauty Ramappa temple? Mysterious, alluring and soulful, these temples are stones that whisper untold tales.
For long, the Andhra Pradesh tourism had dissuaded me from visiting these lovely temples by making them sound like, well, regular religious temples in its hard sell brochures that boggle you with dates and years (12th Century, 1139 AD etc) to give prosaic historic touristy information about the shrines there. A default trip actually put things in perspective. Warangal, I realized, is an out-and-out mine house of architectural marvels. Temples all right, but more a work of art, an exercise in aesthetics.
Strictly speaking, the Thousand pillar temple is exactly 150 km away on a straight line drawn between Hyderabad and Warangal. This stretch has its own attractions.
The lure of the country liquor (known as kallu and extracted from the Tati tree) on the highway is irresistible. “Take to your city and do party madam,” the young boy tried palming it off to us. The disheveled hair and crumpled cotton kurtas may have made us look like party animals that lost its way and ended on the highway. For Rs 40 a litre, it wasn’t a bad deal. But strike one deal and the entire battery of liquor boys will descend upon you in a swarm giving you one deal better than the other.
We had a deadline to meet before the temple doors shut so we shooed them all and zoomed off. The temple is about 20 minutes after you enter the heart of Hanumakonda, a dusty and noisy town. A quiet lane leads to the temple. Until you actually enter the lane, you wouldn’t believe there could be such a magnificent temple standing tall in black granite. There is not much of a wall, but pillars and more of it. The play of light and shadow makes it all the more alluring.
Warangal is one of the hottest districts of the state, yet the black granite feels like ice on a hot afternoon. Magical! “That’s nothing compared to the bricks that float in water,” informs our guide Reddy. “Even today, we are not able to replicate this marvel. Some secret formula that died with the architects,” he sighs. Indeed, the bricks float.
The temple has pillars in every form, shape and size. Apparently there are exactly one thousand pillars till date, though most of them are undergoing some or the other form of chemical treatment as part of the Heritage Conservation project. Even the half pillars are part of the thousand count.
The legend goes that Kind Rudradeva had dreamt of Lord Shiva who asked him to build a shrine based on 1,000 pillars. The Nandi here, the vehicle of Shiva, is not just magnificent in its size at six feet in black basalt, it has some of the funkiest accessories that a bull could ever sport! My guide informs me that the anklets, bells and other random tags around the Nandi’s neck is a sign of the prevalent fashion in those times. Beads, ghungroos, chiseled ornaments, belts that resemble leather (made of stone of course). The figurines there, at least 500 in number, have handsome looking men and gorgeous women. The features are distinct – expressive kohl lined eyes, shining nose rings, long bindis and elegant chokers. Beauty must have been the primary preoccupation in those days. It’s hard to believe the kind footwear in vogue those days. Yes, platform heels in its full form under elegantly made soles with dainty straps! From 12th century to 2005, fashion has come a full circle.
The thousand pillar temple is also an exercise in geometry. The main shrine of Lord Shiva has been built at such an angle that through the day, never does the sun’s shadow fall on it. “Some believe that it adapts the design of the Konark temple which also is a masterminded plan against the sun’s rays.
The city-bred folks were found huffing, puffing and panting trying to transcend the dozen steps. “The average height of each step is an indication of the height of the people in those days. Obviously, people thronged to the temple,” our guide gave us a little archeological gyan. Looks like our ancestors were nothing less than eight feet if they had to climb these stairs in flourish.
The temple had a rather low profile until a flamboyant Telugu movie director chose to shoot a sensational and sensuous rain dance in the temple precincts. The Nandi bull at the entrance plays a significant role in the movie that went on to become a blockbuster last year. Ever since, young moony-eyed lovers in Warangal gave the coffee pubs and lakeside benches a skip in favour of the big, black Nandi’s shade. How lucky of the Nandi to be able to overhear sweet nothings of lovesick couples!
When explorer Marco Polo was on his deathbed, a priest came into his room to ask him if he'd like to admit that his travelogues and cross-country stories were false. Marco answered, "I did not tell half of what I saw". Those were his last words.
Marco must’ve meant these words because his book Travels of Marco Polo has a mention of the architectural beauties of Warangal, a placid district in Andhra Pradesh, but only in half measure. Now what would a one-liner description by Marco – ‘Brightest stars in the galaxy of medieval Deccan temples’ – suffice for the awesome historic places - thousand pillar temple and the next door black beauty Ramappa temple? Mysterious, alluring and soulful, these temples are stones that whisper untold tales.
For long, the Andhra Pradesh tourism had dissuaded me from visiting these lovely temples by making them sound like, well, regular religious temples in its hard sell brochures that boggle you with dates and years (12th Century, 1139 AD etc) to give prosaic historic touristy information about the shrines there. A default trip actually put things in perspective. Warangal, I realized, is an out-and-out mine house of architectural marvels. Temples all right, but more a work of art, an exercise in aesthetics.
Strictly speaking, the Thousand pillar temple is exactly 150 km away on a straight line drawn between Hyderabad and Warangal. This stretch has its own attractions.
The lure of the country liquor (known as kallu and extracted from the Tati tree) on the highway is irresistible. “Take to your city and do party madam,” the young boy tried palming it off to us. The disheveled hair and crumpled cotton kurtas may have made us look like party animals that lost its way and ended on the highway. For Rs 40 a litre, it wasn’t a bad deal. But strike one deal and the entire battery of liquor boys will descend upon you in a swarm giving you one deal better than the other.
We had a deadline to meet before the temple doors shut so we shooed them all and zoomed off. The temple is about 20 minutes after you enter the heart of Hanumakonda, a dusty and noisy town. A quiet lane leads to the temple. Until you actually enter the lane, you wouldn’t believe there could be such a magnificent temple standing tall in black granite. There is not much of a wall, but pillars and more of it. The play of light and shadow makes it all the more alluring.
Warangal is one of the hottest districts of the state, yet the black granite feels like ice on a hot afternoon. Magical! “That’s nothing compared to the bricks that float in water,” informs our guide Reddy. “Even today, we are not able to replicate this marvel. Some secret formula that died with the architects,” he sighs. Indeed, the bricks float.
The temple has pillars in every form, shape and size. Apparently there are exactly one thousand pillars till date, though most of them are undergoing some or the other form of chemical treatment as part of the Heritage Conservation project. Even the half pillars are part of the thousand count.
The legend goes that Kind Rudradeva had dreamt of Lord Shiva who asked him to build a shrine based on 1,000 pillars. The Nandi here, the vehicle of Shiva, is not just magnificent in its size at six feet in black basalt, it has some of the funkiest accessories that a bull could ever sport! My guide informs me that the anklets, bells and other random tags around the Nandi’s neck is a sign of the prevalent fashion in those times. Beads, ghungroos, chiseled ornaments, belts that resemble leather (made of stone of course). The figurines there, at least 500 in number, have handsome looking men and gorgeous women. The features are distinct – expressive kohl lined eyes, shining nose rings, long bindis and elegant chokers. Beauty must have been the primary preoccupation in those days. It’s hard to believe the kind footwear in vogue those days. Yes, platform heels in its full form under elegantly made soles with dainty straps! From 12th century to 2005, fashion has come a full circle.
The thousand pillar temple is also an exercise in geometry. The main shrine of Lord Shiva has been built at such an angle that through the day, never does the sun’s shadow fall on it. “Some believe that it adapts the design of the Konark temple which also is a masterminded plan against the sun’s rays.
The city-bred folks were found huffing, puffing and panting trying to transcend the dozen steps. “The average height of each step is an indication of the height of the people in those days. Obviously, people thronged to the temple,” our guide gave us a little archeological gyan. Looks like our ancestors were nothing less than eight feet if they had to climb these stairs in flourish.
The temple had a rather low profile until a flamboyant Telugu movie director chose to shoot a sensational and sensuous rain dance in the temple precincts. The Nandi bull at the entrance plays a significant role in the movie that went on to become a blockbuster last year. Ever since, young moony-eyed lovers in Warangal gave the coffee pubs and lakeside benches a skip in favour of the big, black Nandi’s shade. How lucky of the Nandi to be able to overhear sweet nothings of lovesick couples!
Jan 14, 2009
Admissions and Confessions
‘International e-techno school with world class curriculum’ read the hoarding.
The nursery school in the neighbourhood opened up with a gala party. Precocious cuties walked around to get a feel of the school. Parents stepped down their imported cars to walk through the red carpet with their wards in branded wear, sippers and sling bags to find out about the school. Teachers escorted the parents around the place.
The school correspondent explained the various amenities. Sand pit, to help kids play and improve their motor skills; splash pool for the kids to, well, splash around, and get friendly with water and perhaps learn swimming at a later date; models of fruits, vegetables, plants and trees. All of them in 'feel-like-real' fibre models…
In the study area, they have computers, baby lap tops, audio visual aids to teach them – A for apple, B for bat and such other things, a flat screen television for them to watch cartoon network if need be, a dance floor and discotheque along with strobe lights for them to develop their creative skills and fine arts such dancing, singing etc. Oh yes, they also have field trips, camps, workshops, seminars, conventions… for nursery kids… to keep up with the times.
In good old days, when we were in school (and that wasn’t too long along ago), nursery just meant a place to freewheel. A place where you could show your thumb to drink water, show the little finger for a visit to the loo, pinch the girl next to you and come back home happily looking forward to school the next day. Today, children have to ask ‘Maayyyaaaiiii pleezzz haaaaaaff vaater to dink, teashur,” at a time they can barely muster up the words, “Mom, I am hungry’ in their mother tongue.
For us, the living room doubled up as the doll house. Empty cartons became the rooms and old cushions served as the ceiling. Mom’s used up slim and tall Ponds powder dabba served as a telephone and granny’s old broken umbrella was a rifle in the police police game. Kids were teeming with creativity and anything could become anything else.
There were no real time models of fruits or workshops about the vegetable market. A chat with the mobile fruitwallah who walked around with his wares in a cane basket gave us inputs about fruits. Holding Dad’s hand to the vegetable market every evening acquainted us with roots, tubers, legumes, leafy greens, beans, peas and what not. Sand and mud on the street developed motor skills while helping mom wash clothes was sheer water games. Watching mom cook in the kitchen was a great lesson on pots, pans, ladels and forks. And finally, a bedtime story – not your American Cinderella or the Goldilocks – from, your granny about local heroes and heroines which we could relate to, helped us pick up vocabulary, increase our IQ and yes, comprehend too.
Ah, those where days when you could pay Rs 85 a month and get home a happy child. Today, you shell out a few thousand rupees to bring home your nursery kid, restlessly look up her diary, read up what the project work for the day is, quickly factor in the time (even canceling a meeting at home) to do her project work on ‘red coloured vegetables’. International e-techno school with world class? My foot!
-ends
The nursery school in the neighbourhood opened up with a gala party. Precocious cuties walked around to get a feel of the school. Parents stepped down their imported cars to walk through the red carpet with their wards in branded wear, sippers and sling bags to find out about the school. Teachers escorted the parents around the place.
The school correspondent explained the various amenities. Sand pit, to help kids play and improve their motor skills; splash pool for the kids to, well, splash around, and get friendly with water and perhaps learn swimming at a later date; models of fruits, vegetables, plants and trees. All of them in 'feel-like-real' fibre models…
In the study area, they have computers, baby lap tops, audio visual aids to teach them – A for apple, B for bat and such other things, a flat screen television for them to watch cartoon network if need be, a dance floor and discotheque along with strobe lights for them to develop their creative skills and fine arts such dancing, singing etc. Oh yes, they also have field trips, camps, workshops, seminars, conventions… for nursery kids… to keep up with the times.
In good old days, when we were in school (and that wasn’t too long along ago), nursery just meant a place to freewheel. A place where you could show your thumb to drink water, show the little finger for a visit to the loo, pinch the girl next to you and come back home happily looking forward to school the next day. Today, children have to ask ‘Maayyyaaaiiii pleezzz haaaaaaff vaater to dink, teashur,” at a time they can barely muster up the words, “Mom, I am hungry’ in their mother tongue.
For us, the living room doubled up as the doll house. Empty cartons became the rooms and old cushions served as the ceiling. Mom’s used up slim and tall Ponds powder dabba served as a telephone and granny’s old broken umbrella was a rifle in the police police game. Kids were teeming with creativity and anything could become anything else.
There were no real time models of fruits or workshops about the vegetable market. A chat with the mobile fruitwallah who walked around with his wares in a cane basket gave us inputs about fruits. Holding Dad’s hand to the vegetable market every evening acquainted us with roots, tubers, legumes, leafy greens, beans, peas and what not. Sand and mud on the street developed motor skills while helping mom wash clothes was sheer water games. Watching mom cook in the kitchen was a great lesson on pots, pans, ladels and forks. And finally, a bedtime story – not your American Cinderella or the Goldilocks – from, your granny about local heroes and heroines which we could relate to, helped us pick up vocabulary, increase our IQ and yes, comprehend too.
Ah, those where days when you could pay Rs 85 a month and get home a happy child. Today, you shell out a few thousand rupees to bring home your nursery kid, restlessly look up her diary, read up what the project work for the day is, quickly factor in the time (even canceling a meeting at home) to do her project work on ‘red coloured vegetables’. International e-techno school with world class? My foot!
-ends
Happiness@Rs 3
How would you feel if you went around a noisy vehicle, from 9 to 9, every single day of your life? Tired? Exhausted?
Spent 12 hours of your work day on the road negotiating traffic? Frustrated?
Encountered 8 people who were suspicious of you, four who shouted at you, two who walked away without paying you for your time and effort and another one who threatens to file a police complaint against you? Disgruntled?
A couple of fines, a few challans and the perennial threat of your only means of livelihood being picked up in a tow away van? Disillusioned?
Actually you would feel like the ubiquitous auto rickshaw driver in Hyderabad. Agreed, you’ve all had awful experiences with this breed but did you ever try just being nice to him? Yep, being nice to the auto driver!!! He may not thank you. He may not even give the Rs 2 change back after the transaction. But he will certainly send you an invisible vibe that will linger long after the noisy auto rickshaw swirled off into the busy thoroughfare.
I am not someone who uses the three- wheeler too much but on occasions I did, I met extremely nice fellas. One who helped me find a cobbler in the bylanes of Marredpally. Another who did not charge me the mandatory Rs 12 when he found his metre was not working after we crossed nearly 3 km. But I’ve heard of horror stories from friends about the auto drivers and their harassment.
Interestingly, those who fear and detest the autowallah invariably get the crudest and rudest fellow. Must be the ‘you attract what you think’ rule. Sometimes, it feels great to just let go. Not argue with him about the four rupees he did not give back. Not suspect that his metre charged you six rupees more than what you normally pay! It feels great to give him 70 and ask him to keep it if the fare is Rs 66. The glint in his eyes, the smile on his lips send me vibes that are much more than the four bucks I’ve saved.
I’ve often been accused of being a spendthrift at the vegetable market or for not bargaining for two rupees less with the old lady selling guavas. Frankly, sometimes I feel like letting them have those few extra bucks. I would probably anyway spend that ten on a Chotta Pepsi and guzzle it in a less than a minute. But it could get them a bunch of green leafy vegetable to make hot sabzi for dinner that night.
I deliberately don’t fight with the vegetable vendor, flower seller, parking boy, street corner bhutta (corn) walla, garbage collector and balloon boy at the traffic light… I don’t know if the two bucks that I don’t bargain for will make his day. But I know that giving away that two bucks for someone who has done a little service for me has made my day, bought me a wee bit satisfaction and yes, that little invisible ‘Good day’ vibe he sends.
For me, it is happiness@Rs 3!
-ends
Spent 12 hours of your work day on the road negotiating traffic? Frustrated?
Encountered 8 people who were suspicious of you, four who shouted at you, two who walked away without paying you for your time and effort and another one who threatens to file a police complaint against you? Disgruntled?
A couple of fines, a few challans and the perennial threat of your only means of livelihood being picked up in a tow away van? Disillusioned?
Actually you would feel like the ubiquitous auto rickshaw driver in Hyderabad. Agreed, you’ve all had awful experiences with this breed but did you ever try just being nice to him? Yep, being nice to the auto driver!!! He may not thank you. He may not even give the Rs 2 change back after the transaction. But he will certainly send you an invisible vibe that will linger long after the noisy auto rickshaw swirled off into the busy thoroughfare.
I am not someone who uses the three- wheeler too much but on occasions I did, I met extremely nice fellas. One who helped me find a cobbler in the bylanes of Marredpally. Another who did not charge me the mandatory Rs 12 when he found his metre was not working after we crossed nearly 3 km. But I’ve heard of horror stories from friends about the auto drivers and their harassment.
Interestingly, those who fear and detest the autowallah invariably get the crudest and rudest fellow. Must be the ‘you attract what you think’ rule. Sometimes, it feels great to just let go. Not argue with him about the four rupees he did not give back. Not suspect that his metre charged you six rupees more than what you normally pay! It feels great to give him 70 and ask him to keep it if the fare is Rs 66. The glint in his eyes, the smile on his lips send me vibes that are much more than the four bucks I’ve saved.
I’ve often been accused of being a spendthrift at the vegetable market or for not bargaining for two rupees less with the old lady selling guavas. Frankly, sometimes I feel like letting them have those few extra bucks. I would probably anyway spend that ten on a Chotta Pepsi and guzzle it in a less than a minute. But it could get them a bunch of green leafy vegetable to make hot sabzi for dinner that night.
I deliberately don’t fight with the vegetable vendor, flower seller, parking boy, street corner bhutta (corn) walla, garbage collector and balloon boy at the traffic light… I don’t know if the two bucks that I don’t bargain for will make his day. But I know that giving away that two bucks for someone who has done a little service for me has made my day, bought me a wee bit satisfaction and yes, that little invisible ‘Good day’ vibe he sends.
For me, it is happiness@Rs 3!
-ends
Jan 6, 2009
Less is more, Excess is bore
The best moments in life are not meant to be captured as silly tif images in your mobile camera or viewcam. They are meant to be amassed as lovely memories and cute reminiscences in your heart’s desktop.
It was a beautiful moment on that glittering morning on the summery beach. We were in a make-do wooden boat on the Miramar beach in Goa and ostensibly on a ‘Dolphin sighting’ trip. Dolphins are considered to be amongst the most intelligent of animals and their often friendly appearance and seemingly playful attitude have made them popular with the tourists. We were all geared up with the paraphernalia - binoculars, sunglasses and straw hats - to catch a glimpse of this aquatic mammal. After steering a few minutes into the deep, azure waters, the boatman showed us, ‘Dekho, waha hai.” There were squeals of delight, oohs of pleasure and aahs of ecstasy. Everyone in the boat now took out their cameras – digicams, phone cameras, viewcameras and went click, click, click. The next few moments were spent in showcasing their triggering skills. “Oh, yours is a Cannon Powershot A530. How many megapixels? Is it a 4 X zoom. Got it in India?”. “No, from my cousin in Dubai. Has a 1 GB SD card free also.”
Not one in the boat was actually relishing the graceful leap or noticed the swing of the dolphin’s waist and the sway of its rocky black skin against the glitter of the sun. Alas, the moment was gone forever. It was only captured as a silly tif.image in their cameras. Everyone came back home and heroically downloaded the pix. Yes, there was the dolphin against the waters, but it was just a dumb photograph that they would show the world.
Ever wondered why your Grandpa’s single keepsake Black & White photograph is more appealing than your 1214th picture of your new car? Excess is boring, less is more.
Some things in life – like the Mahamangal aarti at a temple, the secret kiss to your new bride, the first smile of a newborn, your Dad’s hug when you turn a first time Dad, your mom’s tears on your first appearance on television - are not meant to be stored as tif.images on your desktop. They are meant to be permanently amassed in your heart’s memory bank and relished every time you recollect it. You are not supposed to spend time recording it in your viewcam or your mobile camera, then dump it in your PC and forget about it. The next time we went to Goa, I laid down the rules. A) I will NOT pose for any pix B) I will NOT click pix for anyone C) I shall not spend all my time protecting the silly camera from the water, the sand or the hangers-on the beach.
This time around, I have fond memories of the dolphin with yellow spots, the devotional frenzy on the streets of Tirumala, the young boy immersed in meditation on the Rameshwaram beach. I don’t own a phone camera, viewcam or a digicam. I only have the built-in camera God has given me when I was born. Thank you God!
It was a beautiful moment on that glittering morning on the summery beach. We were in a make-do wooden boat on the Miramar beach in Goa and ostensibly on a ‘Dolphin sighting’ trip. Dolphins are considered to be amongst the most intelligent of animals and their often friendly appearance and seemingly playful attitude have made them popular with the tourists. We were all geared up with the paraphernalia - binoculars, sunglasses and straw hats - to catch a glimpse of this aquatic mammal. After steering a few minutes into the deep, azure waters, the boatman showed us, ‘Dekho, waha hai.” There were squeals of delight, oohs of pleasure and aahs of ecstasy. Everyone in the boat now took out their cameras – digicams, phone cameras, viewcameras and went click, click, click. The next few moments were spent in showcasing their triggering skills. “Oh, yours is a Cannon Powershot A530. How many megapixels? Is it a 4 X zoom. Got it in India?”. “No, from my cousin in Dubai. Has a 1 GB SD card free also.”
Not one in the boat was actually relishing the graceful leap or noticed the swing of the dolphin’s waist and the sway of its rocky black skin against the glitter of the sun. Alas, the moment was gone forever. It was only captured as a silly tif.image in their cameras. Everyone came back home and heroically downloaded the pix. Yes, there was the dolphin against the waters, but it was just a dumb photograph that they would show the world.
Ever wondered why your Grandpa’s single keepsake Black & White photograph is more appealing than your 1214th picture of your new car? Excess is boring, less is more.
Some things in life – like the Mahamangal aarti at a temple, the secret kiss to your new bride, the first smile of a newborn, your Dad’s hug when you turn a first time Dad, your mom’s tears on your first appearance on television - are not meant to be stored as tif.images on your desktop. They are meant to be permanently amassed in your heart’s memory bank and relished every time you recollect it. You are not supposed to spend time recording it in your viewcam or your mobile camera, then dump it in your PC and forget about it. The next time we went to Goa, I laid down the rules. A) I will NOT pose for any pix B) I will NOT click pix for anyone C) I shall not spend all my time protecting the silly camera from the water, the sand or the hangers-on the beach.
This time around, I have fond memories of the dolphin with yellow spots, the devotional frenzy on the streets of Tirumala, the young boy immersed in meditation on the Rameshwaram beach. I don’t own a phone camera, viewcam or a digicam. I only have the built-in camera God has given me when I was born. Thank you God!
Dec 26, 2008
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