The Garrison Cemetry

  A private abode for the dead...                  Bumping into somebody, sometimes charts a different course to your day ..your priorities change and you catch up on good old stories and gossips..you chatter..you giggle, you mourn..an unexpected series of events on a monotonous day.

A pilgrimage to remember

                                          Pilgrimages for some  are done as a routine, or on special festivals or when people come visit their native shores for vacations. For some it is a rejuvenation,  for others,  it becomes a part of the holiday season when the family can spend precious time together.  For us… it has to be decreed…It was never ever taken on our own will and vision..To drag Santhosh to the nearest temple is a mammoth task, and a losing battle, and now find it easier to go and converse and bask in the Lord’s glory alone..  So this time the decreed  destination was Pillayar petti.. a drive of around fifteen hours, and he couldn’t wait to be there and asked me to put aside a close wedding…I was adamant that we go for the wedding, and the next day we set off.. For Santhosh, the wheel is his pal and soulmate..he shares the most intimate conversations and bares his heart out and also schemes and plots and plans with the wheel in his hand, and for me as soon as the seat belt is fastened, sleep drifts in and blissful slumber..

Mysore with Roopu

Three days spent in gay abandon….and a lot of aches and pains… laughter and ghost stories to ease it off. Roopu, alias Sai Roopa  is Santosh  first cousin, who is married to Ravi, a Maharashtrian and lives in Nasik.

Music from the Royal Kuthiramalika Palace

The Kuthiramalika Palace

The invitation  for the Swathi Sangeethotsav 2015  from Prince Rama Varma stared at me from my laptop,  and I tried brushing it off like I do with all the normal invites which needs me to stroll off the beaten track. But a voice quipped.. "Don’t you want to go?" … again I brushed it away.. Trivandrum by train alone..to me it meant rats, running over me, roaches scurrying, and smelly toilets..well not my cuppatea.    It persisted.. "I bet you do".. No I don’t..The voice taunted me..Oh well I would love to go, but the reunion round the corner,(I was the team leader for the school reunion which was scheduled  the very next week) my team would not hear of it. It would sound insane.. When I used to see the travelogue..”Ten things to do before you die”.. I would tell myself..what would it be? Well prioritizing is a hard task, but one thing I wanted to do was..attend Prince Varma’s concert in the 200 year old Kuthiramalika palace..But now with the invite staring at me from my laptop in Kannur, I was not sure... Then I found a personal note from the Prince himself.. “Watch me on home turf.”

 I put the case up with my hubby,.one more of my idiosyncrasies, he had better things to deal with or so he thinks..well, no help there. I picked up the phone and rung Dr Geetha, who spares two days  a year for the Swathi Festival., and another two days for the Navarathri fest. I asked her to book the tickets for me, a day later, . She came home to hand over the ticket to me. When asked about the fest she said that once you go, nothing can pull you back from attending it the next year. She and Dr. Kumudham, who is the Prince’s aunt, would go the previous day so that they could hear  Sanjay Subrahmanyam, a popular Carnatic vocalist who always kick starts the fest.

That done, I felt the ethereal world of Mahraj Swathithirunal and his beautiful compositions  revolving around me..I felt as if I was in the middle of the Milky way..  the  twinkling stars being his compositions.  In my mind’s eye, the oil lamps flickered in the Kuthiramalika palace and the old bearded man was  refilling the lamps with a air of accustomed familiarity.. The school reunion and it’s demands were dealt with, with a spring in my step and of course Aliveni( one of my top fav Swathi compositions) on my lips. Would he(Rama Varma) sing Aliveni? should I send him a request? Nope… shall wait and see.

A brief sketch on the fest.  The Swathithirunal Sangeethotsav  is a music fest being conducted by the  Travancore Trust, in the courtyard of the Kuthiramalika palace, known as Mansion of Horses,  built by Swathithirunal himself. The name Kuthiramalika stems from the  one hundred and twenty two carved horses which serve as brackets supporting the roof.  The fest is not

ticketed. The scion of the Travancore Royal family, Prince Rama Varma, a musician himself, is on the helm now, and he makes sure that rare compositions are unearthed and sung. It starts on the first week of January, an auspicious start for a new  year.

Now ,about the Maharaj himself…...Long Long ago, that is, two hundred and two yrs back,  he was born to Queen Gowri  Lakshmi   and Raj Raja Varma of Changanasseri  Palace.  He was born  when the star sign swathi was ruling.. hence Swathi Thirunal..His coronation happened, when   he was already reigning supreme, in his mother’s womb. Hence was endowed with  the title Garbha Sreeman.  The famous lullaby,” omana thingal kidavoo” was composed for the newborn  by Iriyamman thampi who was a close relative.

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kPOLSSOfUGY 

 He reigned under the regency of first his mother and then his aunt Gowri Parvathy Bayi. When he turned sixteen , he  ruled with full powers till his death in 1846..a short span of thirty three years. But much water did gush under the bridge during his rule, as it was an eventful  thirty six years.  I felt I should write a bit about his musical prowess, but then what scrolled before me swept me off my feet..

Two hundred years back,  events were chronicled with diligence by the British, so a clear picture of the life of Maharaj is left  on a platter. Even then, some claim that the Maharaj never existed!!  He was born into a turbulent scenario, the British leaving no stone unturned  to find ways and means to annexe the state.

 "A brilliant lad" ..is what historians make of him..and his family took keen interest in his studies which he lapped up with  ease..  He had an affinity for languages and that can be seen in his  multi lingual compositions. Col Welsh, on a visit to the palace, was dumbfounded when he came face to face with the brilliant prowess this lad had.  The intricacies of geometry was found in our Vedas..he informed Col Welsh and stated that the word Geometry came from the Sanskrit word Jyamithi, along with hexagon,  heptagon, etc. Col Welsh stated that this boy would be one of the best sovereigns of the finest state in India.

Wiki states that he had a well defined code of laws,  introduced English education,  installed the first Govt Printing Press,  the first manuscript library, and his keen interest in the stars and the sun and it’s ways made him start the first observatory.

Recently, I had read a post about Mulakkaram or breast tax. A tax exhorted  by the Travancore Rulers, from Dalit  ladies who chose to cover their breasts. I wondered if Swathi thirunal  had done anything about it, and  gingerly  googled… ahhh….relieved…yes,  he had.  A  reformist , Ayya Vaikundar,  had put forth pleas and agitations, for equal rights.( and it is believed that  later, Maharaj himself became his follower),  he had  to repeal the  act and several others which were forced upon the Dalits. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Swathi_Thirunal_Rama_Varma

His keen passion in the arts has left us a treasure chest of compositions for every Malayali to flaunt..but how many of us know him?.  Just a glance at the other great musicians , be it Carnatic or Hindustani,  stick to their chosen genre, language, and  chosen deity on whom their compositions revolve.  I am tempted to draw columns , as in school, and write down  a comparitive study between the composers of yore.  The compositions of olden time musicians are propagated  through  their disciples or shishya parampara.  But Swathi thirunnal Maharaj was a ruling King, and so we can very well imagine  the oppressive time he would have had, as Prince Varma, his worthy descendant puts it,” he was born at a wrong time and place”.  Being a ruling King, he  was able to import musicians from all over India…. Not only did he listen to them, he himself composed music in Sanskrit, Telugu, Malayalam, Mani pravalam,braj bhasha and Kannada.   He composed Swarajathis, Jathiswarams, Varnams, Thana varnams, Keerthanams, Ragamalikas, Thillanas, Padams, and Javalis in the Carnatic style, and,  Dhrupads, Khayals, thumris, Bhajans,  Horis, Tappas, and Taranas in Hindustani style.

Cannot help pondering on how talents are bestowed on mankind, how is t doled out and what would be the criteria? Previous karma?  

Have strayed from music, but you have to know the man… 

So in the present..8.30 p.m and I boarded  the train..a three tier compartment,  the count down had started. Immediately, the girl next to me wanted to go to sleep, that means I have to lie down too..I thought of the  unfortunate ones who are stuck in bed for various reasons, and stopped cribbing to myself….. the train chugged me to sleep.  Nights  are not still in trains… snores of varied tones and  decibels and durations rent the air. Mobile ring tones pierced the  snores and grunts.. hungry babies cried for the breast, and old ladies were assisted to the loo… cockroaches heard my prayers and hid themselves for a night…no two nights.. rats were not to be seen, guess they needed  a lil bit of peace and quiet .

It was Monday, so chances of me going for a tour of the palace did not materialize as it was closed on Mondays.

 So at the venue by six and the first three rows were all taken..I couldn't believe I was there.  The evening sun had mellowed and the golden rays  splashed benevolently on the  majestic  laterite structure.  The lamps were being lit and my favorite character, the old man with the beard, moved slowly from one lamp to the other. The coconut  leaf streamers were  dancing in the slight breeze..mandha maruthann ( lazy breeze) as Swathitirunal  Mharaj  puts it. the wide corridors reminded me of Nagaavalli in the movie Manichitrathazhu..the likes of her must have danced their way through these very corridors. 

I watched the crowd, an eclectic blend of  The East and the West, the North and the South. Most of them were happily clicking pictures. Some were busy catching up on the year gone by, some makiing new acquaintances, some waiting with an air of always have been here look, some scanning  for the people who were missing this year, maybe..  I asked somebody whether it was alright to take pictures..pat came the reply.”with Varmaji, anything is okay, no restrictions” in this age of cut throat  copyright issues, and rules and norms, Prince Varma’s music and his lessons and discourses all come right through to you..like the  river..Oh no!! look at the Cauvery issue..I think it is like mandha maruthan ( soft breeze) again..not bargained..and  not curtailed..

An air of apprehension and impatience hung in the air..There he is, Ashwathi Thirunal Rama Varma,  a direct descendant of The Maharaja.. a worthy descendant or  is  he the Maharaja himself..reborn? to spread the work he had started and left midway? Simple and unassuming he greets us with folded hands and we relaxed and then it was magic….. His devoted student Amrutha Venkatesh, follows his footsteps and gave the Prince and his accompanists a befitting introduction, with splashes of humor strewn throughout.. He started with a pada varnam in Kamas..Enchantment.  a delight , a play of swaraksharas, where the note and the syllable in the sahithya  coincides. There he is…a bit about the song.. A beautiful metaphor of the chakora bird lamenting for the moon, and leaves the question..what good does a  mere reflection of the moon in a bejewelled mirror do for the bird?    Poets from the renowned Kalidasa  to the contemporary poets use this  to depict someone yearning for something which cannot be attained.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zJodQUD_Zyo

The melodious strains offering us a journey to heaven…a free ride..in a golden chariot..soaring high..away from the big bad world..the chains of responsibilities let go off me for a song..with conditions apply, like Cinderella…

The team on stage.. all great artists in their own right.. brilliant and vibrant.. giving, taking and sharing..The rapport the Prince shares with his accompanists on stage,you cannot see elsewhere.

There comes Aliveni.

.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mtLXsK9ttU8

All good things must come to an end..and my train is waiting… a pic with the Prince and off to the station. I bid a mental goodbye to the old man who was nowhere to be seen..  There was time to grab dinner from the railway refreshment stall..oily vadas, fried hours earlier, soggy and soaked in oil, and dosas which resembled a cosy quilt were our only options. I settled for tea and a rustic cake which I dipped in the hot tea. Was certainly not in a mood to complain..with my heart intoxicated and dull from the mandha maruthan… hunger pangs lost its persuasiveness and knew it did not stand a chance to win today. The station literally stank.. Swachh Bharath campaigns has not made the necessary impact.  The capital city ..where tourists .would step down  from the train to God’s own country..would have to step into the city with  their noses covered and breath held tight. The pilgrims to the sacred Shabarimala Shrine were  sleeping on the bare platform, waiting for the connecting trains, and we groped our way through them, careful not to step on them. The train arrived and our seat was near the end ..means near the stink.. How was I to bear this?.. A voice quipped in…” Switch tracks”… Lo and behold.. Aliveni..endhu cheyvu.. andharyanini maanini… no stink, no snores, no grunts.. Bliss.

The knife grinder's visit

The knife  grinder stood at the gate, checking whether  the dog was secure in its cage.  My maid informed me that all the knives had to be sharpened so please let him come in..so he cycled in. 
He asked for my mother in law and was shocked to hear that she was no more. It has been more than two years since he came this way.

O for Onam..

Onam.. synonymous with any Malayali...the legendary story of the just Demon King Mahabali heralds the spirit of happiness, hospitality, and prosperity. Ten days of delightful expectancy for the arrival of our beloved King. Plantains are sliced in thin rounds dipped in turmeric and fried till crisp, and the sweeter version, which is coated in jaggery and spices are even more delicious. Flower carpets adorn the front courtyards, which in olden days are first sanctified with cow dung paste. We used to go flower hunting..a scene which has faded into oblivion.Coir swings dangle merrily from the branches which would  be helplessly  witnessing  a tussle between the numerous little contestants waiting for a chance. .. Now flowers arrive in lorries in loads which busy parents after office haggle and strike a deal.Little girls in white petticoats picking flowers after giving the floral branches a good shake is a sight which has receded from our midst.

Well, thank the Lord that I've been born in this last generation who has witnessed these scenes and then could  write about it.

Attire does matter..

 Any festival..you name it and sparks of joy runs through your spine, even without you knowing it. You want to be a part of it, that is a way of holding on to your own traditions and values. Movies glorify it with  family reunions, doting grand parents waiting in their ancestral house.. a too familiar scene.. Onam is also the harvest festival, though now bungalows have evaded  the endless stretches of paddy fields and plantain groves or vazha thottam in Malayalam. But this younger jet set generation of ours too contribute in their own way and try to live up to them by conceptualizing  and  tying to keep the spirit alive. It is no fault of theirs that the customs are vanishing..

Malabaris do not have much Onam games to boast of, the southern counterparts have a much more active Onam, as they have the boat races, Puli kkali, Ona Thallu (Fight) and so on.

For me Onam has always been at Rama Nilayam( my husband's house), but nobody comes home as Karnataka schools do not have holidays for Onam so it would be just us and my ma in law. A research on the design to be cast in flowers would be done, delving into kolam designs. A mundu veshti would be the yearly Onakkodi from my mother in law. It s'been a year since she passed away, and I had to chose between spending the Onam at the family house alone or leave the family house forlorn and join Malabar Bay Onam celebrations.... Malabar Bay it was..

Malabar Bay's first Onam..a floral design adorned the entrance for ten days.  Onam songs lent the desired spring in our steps feel of Onam in  the air. We bought masks of tigers for the kids and fliers were issued.

Twenty six dishes are the norm of a normal Onam sadya. The number can be doubled or trebled as per your purse strings. Plantain leaves are laid the tips pointing left. North malabaris  are not much adept at the art of  partaking the traditional sadya hence, they are an object of ridicule to their Southern counterparts where it is strictly vegetarian., and they follow the rules of a sadya to the teee. Plantain chips sweet and salt arrive first, and immediately we go for it..but it should not be the case..wait wait wait till the salt is served the very last..Pilckles and tamarind ginger chutney are doled in close to each other which we Malabaris lap up as soon as it lands on the leaf. Pachadis mainly one of ginger and one of white gourd and another one of pine apple, then comes the kootu karis..an amalgamation of vegetables, crushed coconut and vegetables garnished with mustard and chillies , the elegant and mild olan.(.vegtables simmered in cocnut milk), and then the much awaited aviyal..(.veggies spiced with green chillies and laced with curd, cumin,and  coconut, curryleaves, and a liberal dose of of the aromatic coconut oil).

Lore goes that Mahabali is led here by the aroma of the mustard seeds , chillies and curry leaves spluttering in coconut oil..  Dried chilli kondattams and papapds crushed and crunched into the rice..sambhar which we have borrowed from Tamilnadu occupy the pride of place in a sadya.. Rasam and buttermilk with  a smattering of crushed ginger and green chillies, and  curry leaves are poured into cupped hands..Payasams are poured into paper cups..burppp. one with jaggery and the other rice pasta simmered and simmered to a creamy consistency. It is poured onto the leaf and we take care it does not slide over onto our onakkodis, a delightful way of lapping up the payasam is crushing a ripe plantain into it.. a literally fingerlicking treat..burrp..

Ona Sadya treat given to a Ninety yr old friend.. touched my soul.

The rice (mostly red rice is served and then comes the dal and ghee with salt. papads . The dal ghees and salt mixture is a slice of heaven. I remember attending a wedding in Trivandrum, when they served payasam, which left me wondering..Oh such a large spread and no kaalan (currry made of thick curd<which was my fav), and after the payasams,we  folded the leaf and lo..there camre the Kalan..that was the norm there and we found others throw us an amused look, finding our plantain leaves closed. But for us Malabaris.. fried fishes and chicken rule the roost.. if not , we are lost.

 Onam discussions at Malabar Bay..a tussle ensued veg or non veg? non veg won hands down, and it was decided that chembally fry  and Kerala chicken  fry would  vie with one another.

Who would be Maveli? Deepu of course. Deepu was our Captain from Nepal, round and wobbly, with  a disposition to match..but we asked him to say 'Nan-ni' (thanx) but 'panni'(meaning pig) was all he could stutter. so we cautioned him just to flash his thousand watt smile and bless his subjects.

Onam dawned. flowers were separated, leaves chopped, shredded  coconut,  dried, crushed and colored.. .. a beautiful carpet took shape. strands of marigold wined and twirled around the staircase and hung down from the Kerala style wooden railings... the Kerala boat which we had was filled with orange marigolds..the lamp was lit and then arrived Maveli in all his glory....the crowd started trickling in. ladies, let out their love for their home land..decked up in onnarayum mundum (as malabaris call it, the two piece mundu set of women), the creamy cotton sarees glowed with their subtle golden borders. bejewelled in palakkas and kaashu maalaas, . little girls scrambled holding up their cream skirts, men and boys with   mundus and cream shirts and kurtas ..poovili poovili ponnonamaayi..Salil Chowdury's hit song.. we are proud to be Mallus..it was nostalgic..click clickk..with Maveli  and the splendid and sumptuous sadya..

Malabar Bay family

me in mYsore

At Depth of Green..

 
Being in Mysore is being myself.. only me..a space of my own, ironically, silence, solitude and strains of music for company.  commitments shuttle you to and fro.. no complaints..as I have Mysore to turn to for a whiff of relief, and freedom. Now,the  weather is next best to your skin as it caresses and comforts, with showers of rain choosing to play hide n seek instead of pouring n pouring for hours together.
The house needed my attention as the bills had to be paid, the tv had to be repaired and the cable connection had to be restored, Santhosh left me in Mysore and drove off to Bangalore. The cloudy monsoon weather gifted me an illusory feel..  as though my cosy quilt was inviting me to snuggle in, as it had been lonely for quiet a long time, I obliged with drooping lids and  and slipped into  soft slumber .. n  lo it was past seven. lit the lamp and my sambrani dhoop, I left home to trod on the lanes I used to frequent, to the divine Ganesha who was clothed in creamy butter, with cherries for toenails, peppercorns for eyes, leaves and stems are made to look like garlands and jewellery.( bennai alankara), was soothing beyond words.The theertha was dribbled into my hands and a jasmine flower  given as prasad. I dipped my fingers into the kumkum bowl and streaked it on my forehead. A silent discourse with the Lord, telling him how I miss him, and I m on my way to the vegetable wala and the small crowded grocery store, which cd rival a supermarket, the boy there waved a cheery helloooo," thumba naalayi, kaanthaayillaa "( havent seen you for long). Well.. Im missed,, intoxicating ...Right next used to be a small hotel reeking of sambhar, where i used to inadvertantly quicken my pace.. I stopped short.. it was all done up in creamy ivory white and a man was playing  Yemen Raga on his flute. The small space had a small vertical garden fixed on a wall and small brass pots of indoor plants. seeing me, a lady with Italian features invited me in with folded hands.. namaste.. a very small space.. I sat on the wooden bark of a tree which served as a stool, and they handed me a small cup of phal ras, a banana crush laced with cardamom, and their menu on a on a wooden board.  I looked around, not so comfortable on the wooden stool, I must admit, an antique wooden round book shelf, filled with books, fitted in the centre of the room,(it seemed to be pleading for salvation) and another wall with wooden shelves are arranged with essential oils and herbal powders and potions. sambrani fumes get pathetically diffused amidst the cooking and transit of the staff. black and white photographs of Ramana. Maharshi, Aurobindo, and Jiddu Krihnamurthy lent a holistic feel.   The menu consisted of a variety of pastas, soups and salads sprout sandwiches, and fruit juices. I ordered a soup and sprout salad for Rs 100 and got ready to harness my mind to the ambience they strive to offer. 

Mr Tarneiv, came and introduced himself.. a techie from Canada...wanted to give back to his motherland, do business including a social cause... present and promote a holistic lifestyle, a noble idea indeed..but doubts soared in my mind. India.. after Canada..He explained..this was a small start towards building a holistic community..read, write, eat good food, sing and
share ideas.. he wd move over to a larger space later. Just then Rahul Dev, the bollywood villain barged in and here I am... clicked a pic with him. The young boy, a techie too fell in the groove, as he too left his job to dedicate his life to Sangeeth. I wished him all the best and he asked me to sit for some time more..I did and at ten, walked back home with mixed emotions. The road less traveled..is the one Tarneiv chose to live..