Bangladesh, land of ... I'm not sure exactly. Nobody ever goes to Bangladesh, and the only time you hear about it on the news is during the annual floods that affect the country like clockwork and kill thousands of people; or when another over-laden rust-bucket of a ferry sinks, taking its human cargo with it. I can't say that these events are altogether surprising when you consider that 90% of Bangladesh is taken up by the world's biggest delta region, formed by the merging of the Ganges and Brahmaputra rivers, and, to compound matters even more, that is is the most densely populated country, of any size (I'm not counting the Vatican or Monaco), in the world. The country has no real tourist attractions and gets very few visitors a year (though I'm not surprised at that seeing as they charged me over £40 just for the visa). Even a couple of Bangladeshis that I have met were perplexed about my plans and couldn't offer any suggestions for places to visit. But, as George Mallory famously replied when he was asked why he was climbing Everest, I'm visiting Bangladesh "because it's there" (and also because travelling to Myanmar would have been even more expensive!). So I'm rather curious as to what I shall find. Either way you'll be finding out soon.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Friday, February 24, 2006
The Size Of Wales
They say that the lion is the king of the jungle, but personally I disagree. For a start it doesn't even live in the jungle but in the African savannah, and they hunt in groups (whereas kings, as we all know, reign alone). But the clincher is the fact that they aren't even the biggest and the baddest of the big cats. That title goes to the tiger, which actually does live in the jungle. And the greatest concentration of tigers is to be found in the Sundarbans, the mangrove forests located in the Ganges delta as it reaches the Bay of Bengal. The Sundarbans are split between India and Bangladesh and form the largest mangrove forest in the world, covering an area half the size of Wales.
In all my travels whenever I seem to come across an especially large national park, salt marsh, "biosphere region" or some other such entity, its dimensions are invariably compared to that of Wales. Whether it is only half or almost treble the size of my fellow British quasi-country, Wales seems to be the benchmark for bigness. Perhaps it is because it sounds evocative of cetacean bulk, which might lead to misunderstandings: (a Texan couple on holiday) "Honey, the nice man says the forest is the size of Wales. Whales sure are big, aren't they?" Perhaps we should introduce a new area measurement for topographical regions, the SWU, or Standard Wales Unit.
But I digress. The Sundarbans are an extremely important area providing habitats to many birds, deer, crocodiles and warthogs as well as the Bengal tigers. Luckily the wildlife is pretty much left alone as the area is quite inhospitable to humans, which is a good thing because the mangroves also protect Kolkata, which lies upstream, from the numerous cyclones that batter the Bengal coast every year.
A visit was therefore obligatory though, despite staying 3 days, I wasn't lucky enough to get a sight of a tiger. Not that that surprised me particularly, as the big cats each have a territorial range of 12 square kilometres. But I did get to see pretty much all the other animal inhabitants of the area so was quite satisfied with my little visit. Plus I got to take a break from planning my days as it was an organised tour, so I could just laze and let myself be led without knowing where I was going.
In all my travels whenever I seem to come across an especially large national park, salt marsh, "biosphere region" or some other such entity, its dimensions are invariably compared to that of Wales. Whether it is only half or almost treble the size of my fellow British quasi-country, Wales seems to be the benchmark for bigness. Perhaps it is because it sounds evocative of cetacean bulk, which might lead to misunderstandings: (a Texan couple on holiday) "Honey, the nice man says the forest is the size of Wales. Whales sure are big, aren't they?" Perhaps we should introduce a new area measurement for topographical regions, the SWU, or Standard Wales Unit.
But I digress. The Sundarbans are an extremely important area providing habitats to many birds, deer, crocodiles and warthogs as well as the Bengal tigers. Luckily the wildlife is pretty much left alone as the area is quite inhospitable to humans, which is a good thing because the mangroves also protect Kolkata, which lies upstream, from the numerous cyclones that batter the Bengal coast every year.
A visit was therefore obligatory though, despite staying 3 days, I wasn't lucky enough to get a sight of a tiger. Not that that surprised me particularly, as the big cats each have a territorial range of 12 square kilometres. But I did get to see pretty much all the other animal inhabitants of the area so was quite satisfied with my little visit. Plus I got to take a break from planning my days as it was an organised tour, so I could just laze and let myself be led without knowing where I was going.
Saturday, February 18, 2006
The Black Hole
British history in India undoubtedly centres on Kolkata, née Calcutta, and the surrounding region of Bengal. It was here that the British East India Company set up one of their main trading posts; it was here that they fought their first battles against the Indians; it was here that they made their capital, only moving to Delhi in 1911; and it was also here that many of the struggles for Indian independence took place.
Upon doing some more research about it, Britain's imperial foray into India turns out not to be the result of some overarching, Machiavellian plot to conquer the entire world, but very much the product of happenstance, luck and corporate profit-seeking. Indeed, it wasn't until 1857 (100 years after the first territorial conquests) that the British government stepped in to take up a controlling and administrative position. As improbable as it sounds, until then it had been the British East India Company that had been carving out dominions for itself. It's as unlikely as imagining McDonald's or WalMart taking over entire countries ... OK, strike that thought.
This rich heritage means that there is much more to do in Kolkata than just visiting temples. There is an eclectic collection of museums, some of the most interesting of which are dedicated to the region's famous sons, such as Rabindranath Tagore, the national poet (though also claimed as such by Bangladesh) and one of only two Indians to have been awarded a Nobel prize, and Subhas Chandra Bose, an independence hero at home but not so universally appreciated abroad because he threw in his lot with the Axis powers during the Second World War.
There does, however, seem to be a concerted effort to ignore the colonial past. From the renaming of streets and buildings (not to mention the city itself) to the neglect of Raj-era reminders. For example the British cemeteries, which are particularly fascinating, not for their pomp and grandeur, but for their glimpse into the fates of the "cogs of the Empire" (particularly evocative are the large numbers of young wives, some still only teenagers; one can imagine their stories: married off by correspondence to promising colonialists, arriving to an exotic land, and then quickly succumbing to an even more exotic disease). Or also the palace of a local maharaja who was completely enamoured of all things European to the extent that the palace is chock full of Italian marble, Belgian glass and Bohemian crystal; floorspace is given up almost entirely to French furniture and Grecian-style sculptures; and portraits, landscapes and Renaissance works battle it out for every square inch of wall.
Though I'm looking forward to moving on as well, as you can really feel the smog and grime working its way down your throat (you really know a city's air is polluted when your snot becomes black!). I have also managed to accumulate another accident to add to this week's cricket encounter. As I was crossing the road today I got run over by a scooter that was going in the wrong direction i.e. not at me, though that was the wrong direction as well, but against the flow of traffic, and so I didn't see it. Luckily it was going rather slow so I only have a nice bump on my shin and a bit of a limp. But that's OK as I'm hoping that the next few days will be more sedate, though I'll leave you in suspense as to how and why (and where).
Upon doing some more research about it, Britain's imperial foray into India turns out not to be the result of some overarching, Machiavellian plot to conquer the entire world, but very much the product of happenstance, luck and corporate profit-seeking. Indeed, it wasn't until 1857 (100 years after the first territorial conquests) that the British government stepped in to take up a controlling and administrative position. As improbable as it sounds, until then it had been the British East India Company that had been carving out dominions for itself. It's as unlikely as imagining McDonald's or WalMart taking over entire countries ... OK, strike that thought.
This rich heritage means that there is much more to do in Kolkata than just visiting temples. There is an eclectic collection of museums, some of the most interesting of which are dedicated to the region's famous sons, such as Rabindranath Tagore, the national poet (though also claimed as such by Bangladesh) and one of only two Indians to have been awarded a Nobel prize, and Subhas Chandra Bose, an independence hero at home but not so universally appreciated abroad because he threw in his lot with the Axis powers during the Second World War.
There does, however, seem to be a concerted effort to ignore the colonial past. From the renaming of streets and buildings (not to mention the city itself) to the neglect of Raj-era reminders. For example the British cemeteries, which are particularly fascinating, not for their pomp and grandeur, but for their glimpse into the fates of the "cogs of the Empire" (particularly evocative are the large numbers of young wives, some still only teenagers; one can imagine their stories: married off by correspondence to promising colonialists, arriving to an exotic land, and then quickly succumbing to an even more exotic disease). Or also the palace of a local maharaja who was completely enamoured of all things European to the extent that the palace is chock full of Italian marble, Belgian glass and Bohemian crystal; floorspace is given up almost entirely to French furniture and Grecian-style sculptures; and portraits, landscapes and Renaissance works battle it out for every square inch of wall.
Though I'm looking forward to moving on as well, as you can really feel the smog and grime working its way down your throat (you really know a city's air is polluted when your snot becomes black!). I have also managed to accumulate another accident to add to this week's cricket encounter. As I was crossing the road today I got run over by a scooter that was going in the wrong direction i.e. not at me, though that was the wrong direction as well, but against the flow of traffic, and so I didn't see it. Luckily it was going rather slow so I only have a nice bump on my shin and a bit of a limp. But that's OK as I'm hoping that the next few days will be more sedate, though I'll leave you in suspense as to how and why (and where).
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Cricket And Porn
Almost the whole world over the game of choice for young boys is football, but not so here on the Subcontinent where cricket is king. In back alleyways, in public parks and on sandy beaches one will always find boys with ancient, chipped bats and makeshift wickets. Whilst ambling through old Bhubaneswar on the lookout for temples (there are about 50 gorgeous, old temples in just a square mile) I spotted just such a group of youths. Despite my protestations of being absolutely hopeless and not having played in donkey's years they insisted that I play with them. I eventually gave in and made an OK show of batting, but when it came to bowling it was another matter. My first attempt was well wide and my second was so soft that the batter sent it straight back at me. I took the old fielding adage of "keeping my eye on the ball" a bit too literally as it caught me smack on my left eye. Luckily I wear specs and so the only damage done was to my ego. Still, it has reinforced my view of cricket as the devil's sport.
Orissa is not just home to cricket hooligans though. It is also home to a large number of India's tribal people who, in this land of class and caste division, are well and truly at the bottom of the heap. The local Indians don't fare too well either, as the abject poverty that is evident throughout the country is pervasive here. Nevertheless Orissa is rich in beautiful temples, of which two deserve a special mention.
The beach town of Puri is home to Sri Jagganath mandir. The temple is the residence of Lord Jagganath, as well as his brother Baladeva and sister Subhadra. Lord Jagganath is supposed to be the lord of the universe, but it is hard to take him and his siblings seriously, as they look like cartoon clowns (if I'm not mistaken he's the one on the right of the picture below). There is, however, nothing comical about the Rath Yatra, or car festival. Once a year Jagganath and Co. are taken out of their temple abode, placed in chariots and wheeled over to a temple on the other side of town for a week-long holiday before being wheeled back. It might not seem particularly noteworthy, until you see the chariots that is. They are well over 15m tall, each of their many wheels are easily 2.5m in diameter and it takes well over a thousand men to pull each one. Traditionally fervent devotees used to throw themselves in front of the wheels so that they could be martyred by their god, thereby giving us the word juggernaut, and an apt one it is. Perhaps even more fascinating about the temple is the whole economy that surrounds it. It is thought that up to 20,000 people are employed by the temple to carry out the myriad devotional offerings and sacrifices required by the demanding god every day. It seems particularly wasteful to me that so much money can be found to spend to dote on some wooden statues when such large segments of the population are desperately poor, have no access to safe drinking water and even less to decent schooling.
Orissa is not just home to cricket hooligans though. It is also home to a large number of India's tribal people who, in this land of class and caste division, are well and truly at the bottom of the heap. The local Indians don't fare too well either, as the abject poverty that is evident throughout the country is pervasive here. Nevertheless Orissa is rich in beautiful temples, of which two deserve a special mention.
The beach town of Puri is home to Sri Jagganath mandir. The temple is the residence of Lord Jagganath, as well as his brother Baladeva and sister Subhadra. Lord Jagganath is supposed to be the lord of the universe, but it is hard to take him and his siblings seriously, as they look like cartoon clowns (if I'm not mistaken he's the one on the right of the picture below). There is, however, nothing comical about the Rath Yatra, or car festival. Once a year Jagganath and Co. are taken out of their temple abode, placed in chariots and wheeled over to a temple on the other side of town for a week-long holiday before being wheeled back. It might not seem particularly noteworthy, until you see the chariots that is. They are well over 15m tall, each of their many wheels are easily 2.5m in diameter and it takes well over a thousand men to pull each one. Traditionally fervent devotees used to throw themselves in front of the wheels so that they could be martyred by their god, thereby giving us the word juggernaut, and an apt one it is. Perhaps even more fascinating about the temple is the whole economy that surrounds it. It is thought that up to 20,000 people are employed by the temple to carry out the myriad devotional offerings and sacrifices required by the demanding god every day. It seems particularly wasteful to me that so much money can be found to spend to dote on some wooden statues when such large segments of the population are desperately poor, have no access to safe drinking water and even less to decent schooling.
About 30km further along the beach is Orissa's pride and joy. If the Taj Mahal is the pinnacle of Islamic architecture in India, then the Sun Temple at Konark is the same for Hindu architecture. The massive structure stands some 35m high, though the old temple tower was previously over twice that, though due to the combined effects of neglect and nature (the region is regularly battered by cyclones) it fell down over a hundred years ago. In spite of its reduction in size its grandeur remains. And not only does it impress with its sheer scale, but also with its delicate carvings, many of which are rather graphic to say the least. In fact our guide seemed rather embarrassed talking about them and would always drop his voice to a whisper and try and hurry through as quickly as possible: "And over there we have ... ahem ... twoladiesandaman." And that's just one of the tamer scenes. Suffice to say that Orissan women 750 years ago were very supple and not particularly prudish (unlike today); or it could be that the male carvers had rather vivid imaginations in the long periods of time they had to stay away from their families. Whatever the reason, my camera certainly got a thorough workout on the statuary smut!
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Tech Towns
Over the past few years there have been continuous reports in various media about India's emergence as a global power in the IT sector. Spearheading this charge are the two cities of Bangalore and Hyderabad (affectionately known as Cyberabad). Taking advantage of the cheap, highly educated and, perhaps more importantly, English-speaking workforce many British and American companies have outsourced back-office work to India. Most notorious among these is the outsourcing of call centres. In Britain especially there has been a huge outcry about this practice, lamenting the loss of jobs from the British economy. This is nothing but racist, protectionist rubbish masquerading as an economic argument. These very same people praise national companies to the high heavens when they are successful overseas or are dominant in their fields, but when our companies are out-competed fair and square by companies from developing countries (from ex-colonies no less!) then there must be foul play afoot. Perhaps, although it may not be expressed aloud, it is thought that skilled, value-added jobs are for us, and menial, agricultural jobs are for them (not that that should stop us from subsidising our own farmers,but that's another rant). Instead we should be happy for the Indians who are managing to improve their lot by competing directly with us, instead of having to abase themselves for our favours, for our crumbs. Our common humanity should see also that these jobs, and the wealth they create within communities, are more vital to developing nations than to ourselves. Plus, both as consumers and shareholders (all of us are the former and even most of us are the latter too in some way or another) we benefit directly from the reduced costs of the services that are provided.
Many politically interested people of my generation are vehement anti-globalisationists, often either out of a knee-jerk rejection of anything American (or which seems to embody Americanism) or due to some romantic notion of the superiority of traditional ways. Whilst I am no big fan of America myself such attitudes are not helpful to developing nations. I am therefore a strong believer in the globalisation of employment opportunities. If Indians (or Sri Lankans, or Bangladeshis, or whoever else) can provide the same quality services at a reduced cost they should be allowed to do so without any let or hindrance. World trade is a door that most certainly ought to swing both ways. I am deeply persuaded by this both ideologically, and because it provides fascinating anthropological opportunities.
In Bangalore the place to see and be seen is MG (Mahatma Ghandi) Road. I spent a good while just sitting there, absorbed by seeing the beautiful people of Bangalore trying to outdo each other in conspicuous consumption at the many street cafes, designer boutiques and lounges, flush with their IT money. The whole call centre phenomenon fascinates me. I would have loved to have met someone who works in one to get their impressions on the "culture training" that is required when dealing with customers from Europe and North America. Not only do they have to adopt another accent and identity, but they also have to learn about the pop culture of their clients so that they can "chit-chat" with them. It's a pity there's not a call centre tour aimed at us curious tourists as I'm sure there would be a market for it. At least I got to do the next best thing when I visited Hyderabad; namely visiting Ramoji Film City.
Shame on you if you haven't heard of it! This is India's answer to Disneyland (or is that Disneyworld?) or Universal Studios. It claims to be the largest studio complex in the world, and still manages to find room for a theme park with rides (a grand total of 6 rather timid little things that would probably be too tame for travelling village fairs). The whole place is shockingly dire, with little to do except potter around the various gardens and aimlessly wander amongst the many souvenir stalls (selling the standard T-shirts and caps as well as some random inclusions such as desk lamps and saucepans. I'd love to see the situation: "well, I needed a new desk lamp so I went to the film studio.") and many restaurants and food stalls (it seems Indians are easily contented as long as they have enough to eat). Not only were the sets made out of papier mache and plaster, but it seemed like all the amenities were as well. Our harassed guide wasn't having a good time of it either as people kept insisting that he speak in their language. He therefore only had time to quickly sputter the name of each "attraction" in Telugu, Hindi, Kannada and English before the next one came along. The one saving grace was being able to actually observe a film shoot of a song and dance number. Being in movies may sound like a glamorous job, but the poor dancers were standing around for hours on end in the full glare of the sun and only sporadically bursting into action, only for it to last about 10 seconds before the dissatisfied director screamed "cut". Add to that a gaggle of leering spectators and I'd rather face a classroom of hormonal adolescents, thank you very much.
But there is more to both of these cities than just computers and kitsch. Both were the capitals of sizeable Muslim kingdoms in the Middle Ages and the Islamic influence is still very strong in the local population and the architecture. Good news for me as I could finally get some meat as I've been a de facto vegetarian since Christmas. The kingdom of Golconda (the old name of Hyderabad) was one of the 5 Deccan sultanates that continuously waged war against the Vijayanagars of Hampi. During the British Raj it was an independent, though subservient, kingdom and almost became a separate country in 1947. It wasn't until a full year after Independence that India subdued the separatist region. Hyderabad is also the centre of India's pearl industry; a rather strange phenomenon, it seems to me, as it is some 250km from the sea. Nevertheless the streets around the old bazaar are full of jewellery shops, mainly catering to Muslim women. It is a faintly ludicrous sight, seeing these women decked out head to toe in strict hijab, with only a slit for their eyes, poring over various chunky, gold necklaces that they will only ever be able to wear in private.
Many politically interested people of my generation are vehement anti-globalisationists, often either out of a knee-jerk rejection of anything American (or which seems to embody Americanism) or due to some romantic notion of the superiority of traditional ways. Whilst I am no big fan of America myself such attitudes are not helpful to developing nations. I am therefore a strong believer in the globalisation of employment opportunities. If Indians (or Sri Lankans, or Bangladeshis, or whoever else) can provide the same quality services at a reduced cost they should be allowed to do so without any let or hindrance. World trade is a door that most certainly ought to swing both ways. I am deeply persuaded by this both ideologically, and because it provides fascinating anthropological opportunities.
In Bangalore the place to see and be seen is MG (Mahatma Ghandi) Road. I spent a good while just sitting there, absorbed by seeing the beautiful people of Bangalore trying to outdo each other in conspicuous consumption at the many street cafes, designer boutiques and lounges, flush with their IT money. The whole call centre phenomenon fascinates me. I would have loved to have met someone who works in one to get their impressions on the "culture training" that is required when dealing with customers from Europe and North America. Not only do they have to adopt another accent and identity, but they also have to learn about the pop culture of their clients so that they can "chit-chat" with them. It's a pity there's not a call centre tour aimed at us curious tourists as I'm sure there would be a market for it. At least I got to do the next best thing when I visited Hyderabad; namely visiting Ramoji Film City.
Shame on you if you haven't heard of it! This is India's answer to Disneyland (or is that Disneyworld?) or Universal Studios. It claims to be the largest studio complex in the world, and still manages to find room for a theme park with rides (a grand total of 6 rather timid little things that would probably be too tame for travelling village fairs). The whole place is shockingly dire, with little to do except potter around the various gardens and aimlessly wander amongst the many souvenir stalls (selling the standard T-shirts and caps as well as some random inclusions such as desk lamps and saucepans. I'd love to see the situation: "well, I needed a new desk lamp so I went to the film studio.") and many restaurants and food stalls (it seems Indians are easily contented as long as they have enough to eat). Not only were the sets made out of papier mache and plaster, but it seemed like all the amenities were as well. Our harassed guide wasn't having a good time of it either as people kept insisting that he speak in their language. He therefore only had time to quickly sputter the name of each "attraction" in Telugu, Hindi, Kannada and English before the next one came along. The one saving grace was being able to actually observe a film shoot of a song and dance number. Being in movies may sound like a glamorous job, but the poor dancers were standing around for hours on end in the full glare of the sun and only sporadically bursting into action, only for it to last about 10 seconds before the dissatisfied director screamed "cut". Add to that a gaggle of leering spectators and I'd rather face a classroom of hormonal adolescents, thank you very much.
But there is more to both of these cities than just computers and kitsch. Both were the capitals of sizeable Muslim kingdoms in the Middle Ages and the Islamic influence is still very strong in the local population and the architecture. Good news for me as I could finally get some meat as I've been a de facto vegetarian since Christmas. The kingdom of Golconda (the old name of Hyderabad) was one of the 5 Deccan sultanates that continuously waged war against the Vijayanagars of Hampi. During the British Raj it was an independent, though subservient, kingdom and almost became a separate country in 1947. It wasn't until a full year after Independence that India subdued the separatist region. Hyderabad is also the centre of India's pearl industry; a rather strange phenomenon, it seems to me, as it is some 250km from the sea. Nevertheless the streets around the old bazaar are full of jewellery shops, mainly catering to Muslim women. It is a faintly ludicrous sight, seeing these women decked out head to toe in strict hijab, with only a slit for their eyes, poring over various chunky, gold necklaces that they will only ever be able to wear in private.
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Smelly Feet, Scented Hands
My journey northwards has brought me to the city of Mysore, famous throughout the world (at least to those who are interested in such things) for its scents and perfumes, especially its sandalwood as well as its silk saris (though I wasn't too interested in those). The colourful market is a joy to wander round: rows of flower-sellers selling garlands by the kilo, pyramids of fruit and veg, and lots of little stalls selling incense sticks, coloured turmeric powder and essential oils (at least they claim they're essential oils). There was no escaping the perfume treatment for me either, as, for about an hour, I was liberally doused with fine-smelling oils. I wasn't complaining though as I ended up smelling better than I have done at any stage of my trip so far (plus it allowed me to go another day or two without needing a shower!). I am, however, perplexed as to how sandalwood got its name, because after almost a year and a half on the road I can safely say that my sandals smell nothing like sandalwood, indeed I think I might have discovered the reason why I'm not meeting as many people of late...
But there's more to Mysore than just smelling good. The city itself is considerably more spruced up than most Indian cities, although given the competition that's not too hard. The town centre is dominated by an enormous palace, complete with turrets, domes and frilly bits. And just outside the city is the little-known Kesava temple (yes, another temple) which really does merit a detour. It might not be big and imposing, but its beautiful carvings and unique, starburst design are striking.
But there's more to Mysore than just smelling good. The city itself is considerably more spruced up than most Indian cities, although given the competition that's not too hard. The town centre is dominated by an enormous palace, complete with turrets, domes and frilly bits. And just outside the city is the little-known Kesava temple (yes, another temple) which really does merit a detour. It might not be big and imposing, but its beautiful carvings and unique, starburst design are striking.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Wayward Explorers
In 1492 Columbus sailed the ocean blue, and landed on the islands of Hispaniola and Cuba. He was in fact looking for the Malabar coast (today's Kerala) which, at the time, was the source of most of Europe's spices (which were very expensive commodities back then). The fact that he was 15,500km off course and yet is still greatly admired today is a mystery to me. Anyway, for many centuries Kerala has been an important centre for spice production and remains so to this day. Wandering around the spice market of Kochi (formerly known as Cochin), Kerala's main city and port, is a veritable assault on the nose. There are heaped piles of cinnamon, cloves, green cardamon, black cardamon, mace, nutmeg, green and black pepper, aniseed, star anise, ginger and many others whose names and uses elude me. It seems, from the number of spice sellers who targeted me as a potential customer, that spices are very popular souvenirs. Though what I would do with a kilo of cloves is beyond me. Not only do I dislike them in particular, but, when I do cook, I'm not much of a spice person in general either, barely using anything other than salt. The same cannot be said of Keralan cuisine that believes it has a duty to support the local industry by pouring in mountains of the stuff. It's not particularly bad, except when you happen to bite directly on a cardamon seed or a clove.
But back to our explorers. When the sea route to the Indies was finally discovered it was done so by Vasco da Gama (who was actually looking for it) who landed in Kerala on the 20th of May 1498. 26 years later he would also die there whilst on his third trip to the Indies. His gravestone can still be seen in the St Francis church in Kochi (his remains, however, were shipped back to his native Portugal in 1539). The Portuguese (and later the Dutch) influence can be seen in the houses in the old part of Kochi, where one could almost believe oneself in Europe, albeit a warmer and more humid version of the continent; and in the many churches in the state. Upon arriving in Kerala with their Jesuit missionaries, intent on converting the heathens, the Portuguese must have been surprised to find their job already half done when they found that Christianity, though a minority religion, was already firmly entrenched. It had been brought all the way to India from Palestine by the apostle Thomas (he of doubting nature). But, because they weren't proper Catholics, they converted them anyway.
But back to our explorers. When the sea route to the Indies was finally discovered it was done so by Vasco da Gama (who was actually looking for it) who landed in Kerala on the 20th of May 1498. 26 years later he would also die there whilst on his third trip to the Indies. His gravestone can still be seen in the St Francis church in Kochi (his remains, however, were shipped back to his native Portugal in 1539). The Portuguese (and later the Dutch) influence can be seen in the houses in the old part of Kochi, where one could almost believe oneself in Europe, albeit a warmer and more humid version of the continent; and in the many churches in the state. Upon arriving in Kerala with their Jesuit missionaries, intent on converting the heathens, the Portuguese must have been surprised to find their job already half done when they found that Christianity, though a minority religion, was already firmly entrenched. It had been brought all the way to India from Palestine by the apostle Thomas (he of doubting nature). But, because they weren't proper Catholics, they converted them anyway.
Ah-Shur-Am Gettin Outta Here
The West has always had a fascination for the exotic mysticism of Asia, and that of India in particular. Perhaps it is because the critical and questioning nature of Western philosophy has eroded away the power of religion's dogma there, or maybe it is the very esoteric nature of Oriental religions that increases their allure, or it could just be a case of the grass always being greener on the other side. Whatever the cause there area great many Westerners that come to India for "spiritual enlightenment", and there is a commensurate industry of gurus, ashrams, yogis and swamis that provide it for them ... for a fee, of course. (Though it must be noted that these sects are also hugely popular with the local population as well, who devote incredibly large amounts of both time and money to them. As is often the case, poverty, lack of education and credulity go hand in hand.)
Since this is such an integral part of Indian culture my curiosity compelled me to experience it firsthand. I therefore checked-in to the Mata Amritanandamayi Math ashram, home of Amma. Amma (Mother) is a jovial, slightly chubby 50 year-old who preaches love as her central tenet and practices it by going round the world hugging people, hence her appellation as the Hugging Saint. Although she professes a unity of religions, the rites and rituals of her cult are clearly Hindu; and her various "profound" statements are little more than cliched platitudes.But there's nothing wrong in that really, and there is no denying that she has used a lot of the vast sums of money she has raked in for charitable causes (building schools, hospitals, houses and even universities).
What I found disconcerting, however, was the ashram atmosphere. Here Amma, undoubtedly with her tacit approval, has been elevated to god-like status. Garlanded pictures of her adorn most of the rooms; hymns of dedication (penned by her own hand) are chanted to her daily; people pay ridiculous sums for her cast off garments or dolls that she has blessed ($180 anyone?); and she even refers to herself in the third person which is the surest sign of being absolutely bonkers (unless you happen to be the Queen). Furthermore people at the ashram seem to want to ignore any inconsistencies in her message. A glaring example would be the fact that physical contact of almost any kind between the sexes is streng verboten. The fact that she preaches universal love and that her signature party trick happens to be hugging anybody and everybody doesn't cause the least bit of head-scratching amongst her devotees. The ashram population is almost evenly split between locals and Westerners, yet the two groups have little, if any, interaction. They have separate services, separate accommodation, separate dining areas and separate food. Although I do understand the latter because Amma wouldn't be able to retain as many foreign adherents (and their money) if they had to eat watery rice and bland vegetable curry (to which I ascribe my latest bout of loose bowel movements) three times a day, seven days a week. To this people may say "so what, it's just beardy hippies, and they don't harm anyone." And that may be true, but I am constantly reminded of the words of Martin Luther King when he said that "nothing in the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity."
P.S. I am sometimes asked why I am so interested in religions and the like when I am so obviously an avowed atheist and amateur cynic. The question is valid, and I think it has something to do with a morbid fascination for the, what seems to me, unexplainable and illogical clutching at dogmas. I suppose it would be best to compare it to the instinctive curiosity that everyone has when they see a car wreck by the side of the road and slow down to get a closer look, all the time saying to themselves "thank god it wasn't me".
Since this is such an integral part of Indian culture my curiosity compelled me to experience it firsthand. I therefore checked-in to the Mata Amritanandamayi Math ashram, home of Amma. Amma (Mother) is a jovial, slightly chubby 50 year-old who preaches love as her central tenet and practices it by going round the world hugging people, hence her appellation as the Hugging Saint. Although she professes a unity of religions, the rites and rituals of her cult are clearly Hindu; and her various "profound" statements are little more than cliched platitudes.But there's nothing wrong in that really, and there is no denying that she has used a lot of the vast sums of money she has raked in for charitable causes (building schools, hospitals, houses and even universities).
What I found disconcerting, however, was the ashram atmosphere. Here Amma, undoubtedly with her tacit approval, has been elevated to god-like status. Garlanded pictures of her adorn most of the rooms; hymns of dedication (penned by her own hand) are chanted to her daily; people pay ridiculous sums for her cast off garments or dolls that she has blessed ($180 anyone?); and she even refers to herself in the third person which is the surest sign of being absolutely bonkers (unless you happen to be the Queen). Furthermore people at the ashram seem to want to ignore any inconsistencies in her message. A glaring example would be the fact that physical contact of almost any kind between the sexes is streng verboten. The fact that she preaches universal love and that her signature party trick happens to be hugging anybody and everybody doesn't cause the least bit of head-scratching amongst her devotees. The ashram population is almost evenly split between locals and Westerners, yet the two groups have little, if any, interaction. They have separate services, separate accommodation, separate dining areas and separate food. Although I do understand the latter because Amma wouldn't be able to retain as many foreign adherents (and their money) if they had to eat watery rice and bland vegetable curry (to which I ascribe my latest bout of loose bowel movements) three times a day, seven days a week. To this people may say "so what, it's just beardy hippies, and they don't harm anyone." And that may be true, but I am constantly reminded of the words of Martin Luther King when he said that "nothing in the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity."
P.S. I am sometimes asked why I am so interested in religions and the like when I am so obviously an avowed atheist and amateur cynic. The question is valid, and I think it has something to do with a morbid fascination for the, what seems to me, unexplainable and illogical clutching at dogmas. I suppose it would be best to compare it to the instinctive curiosity that everyone has when they see a car wreck by the side of the road and slow down to get a closer look, all the time saying to themselves "thank god it wasn't me".
Friday, January 27, 2006
Backwater
Tucked away in the southwest corner of India and isolated from the rest of the country by the Western Ghats mountains, lies the state of Kerala. Sometimes dubbed the "Venice of India" (I don't see why one should always compare places with canals to Venice. One could just as easily call it the Birmingham of India.) Kerala's backwater canals are a must see. The way of life among the brackish waterways has changed little in the past few centuries: the main mode of transport is still by punted canoe, coir rope (made from coconut fibres) is still spun the old-fashioned way, and the same type of fish nets have been used since time immemorial. A few hours being lazily poled along the labyrinthine network of channels, watching the people at work, the children at play and the birds doing their thing, is remarkably relaxing.
The state, although populous, is highly rural, with most people living along the backwater canals, for which the state is famous, cultivating coconuts, bananas, spices and other mainstays of the tropics. This makes it one of the poorer states in India, and yet paradoxically it is one of the most developed. Its people have the highest life expectancy, the highest literacy rate, the lowest rate of infant mortality, and so on. Many people attribute this to the state government, which has often been controlled by the Communist party (the first state in the world to have a democratically elected Communist government), and their socialist welfare policies. Whatever it may be you don't see the same extreme poverty here as in other parts of the country. Which just goes to show, not all backwaters are backwaters.
The state, although populous, is highly rural, with most people living along the backwater canals, for which the state is famous, cultivating coconuts, bananas, spices and other mainstays of the tropics. This makes it one of the poorer states in India, and yet paradoxically it is one of the most developed. Its people have the highest life expectancy, the highest literacy rate, the lowest rate of infant mortality, and so on. Many people attribute this to the state government, which has often been controlled by the Communist party (the first state in the world to have a democratically elected Communist government), and their socialist welfare policies. Whatever it may be you don't see the same extreme poverty here as in other parts of the country. Which just goes to show, not all backwaters are backwaters.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Guess The God
Some of the most interesting sights in India are its Hindu temples, from the ancient cave temples at Ajanta and Ellora to modern mandirs. The Hindu pantheon is full of colourful gods and fantastic legends of their exploits, scenes of which cover the walls of their temples. I've therefore devised a little game to amuse myself, where I try to guess the various deities on display and the associated stories. I'm not often successful but I'm getting better all the time as I learn more of the mythology. Still, I do manage to recognise Ganesha most of the time!
The southern state of Tamil Nadu, in particular, has some extraordinary temples. Older dynasties are represented by the monolithic temples at Mahabalipuram and the great Chola temple at Thanjavur. The latter's 70m central tower is topped by a dome made from a single stone which, because it weighs over 80 tonnes, required an earthen ramp 4 miles long to get it to the top! Tamil temples are usually characterised by their gopurams. These are gateways that are surmounted by huge, pyramidal towers. Every inch of these towers are covered in gods, demons, mythical beasts, heroes and anything else the sculptors happened to dream up, all painted in garishly bright blues, reds and greens. Two beautiful examples of gopurams are found at the Sri Ranganathaswamy temple in Tiruchchirapalli (it has the highest one in the world at 73m) and at the Sri Meenakshi temple in Madurai, which I really enjoyed in no small part due to the continuous and slightly hypnotic mantra of Om Shiva resonating throughout the complex from the many loudspeakers (it probably had some subliminal message). Not only are the temples interesting architecturally, but I find it fascinating to see people carrying out their devotional duties. It is very different to services that one sees in churches and mosques which are usually led by priests and are very ordered. Here people come in and set about doing their little ceremonies (lighting candles, circumambulating statues, offering bananas to the resident elephant, throwing coconuts against a wall (honestly!)) in their own time. Temple complexes also seem to be places where people just come to relax and perhaps have a picnic in the cool shade.
The southern state of Tamil Nadu, in particular, has some extraordinary temples. Older dynasties are represented by the monolithic temples at Mahabalipuram and the great Chola temple at Thanjavur. The latter's 70m central tower is topped by a dome made from a single stone which, because it weighs over 80 tonnes, required an earthen ramp 4 miles long to get it to the top! Tamil temples are usually characterised by their gopurams. These are gateways that are surmounted by huge, pyramidal towers. Every inch of these towers are covered in gods, demons, mythical beasts, heroes and anything else the sculptors happened to dream up, all painted in garishly bright blues, reds and greens. Two beautiful examples of gopurams are found at the Sri Ranganathaswamy temple in Tiruchchirapalli (it has the highest one in the world at 73m) and at the Sri Meenakshi temple in Madurai, which I really enjoyed in no small part due to the continuous and slightly hypnotic mantra of Om Shiva resonating throughout the complex from the many loudspeakers (it probably had some subliminal message). Not only are the temples interesting architecturally, but I find it fascinating to see people carrying out their devotional duties. It is very different to services that one sees in churches and mosques which are usually led by priests and are very ordered. Here people come in and set about doing their little ceremonies (lighting candles, circumambulating statues, offering bananas to the resident elephant, throwing coconuts against a wall (honestly!)) in their own time. Temple complexes also seem to be places where people just come to relax and perhaps have a picnic in the cool shade.
From the previous paragraph you may also have noticed that there's an old proverb in Tamil that says: don't use two syllables when you can use six instead. OK, I did make that one up, but there is no escaping the fact that many of the place names are unnecessarily long and unpronounceable. Luckily Tiruchchirapalli is usually referred to as Trichy and Udhagamandalam is more commonly known by the much cuter name of Ooty.
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