Route Check to Ramathra : the fort, the country side and the lake

  

By Shoba Mohan

The above line is taken from Ramathra’s earlier brochure and this simple line attracted me to make a quick trip in 2007. Ramathra Fort now has a brilliant new brochure, but the fort, the country side and the lake will always be Ramathra’s foremost attractions. 

An important factor when proposing a destination hotel and an experiential stay is the routing. And on a quick trip to Ramathra, this is the reason I took my hand around my head to touch my nose , so to speak.

Shatabdi to Agra on a crisp winter morning from the ever bustling New Delhi Railway station was my choice. There was the train on time, the typical Railway signages indicating the coach number - an unblinking red. The train was on platform number one, on time.... so there I was on my seat, reclining and content to snooze. Two hours later, I woke up to be told that the train was still on Platform No 1, New Delhi Railway Station ! The reason; a train collision near Mathura when some police officers pulled the chain to re-capture a runaway convict. An express train made an unprecedented stop, only to have another train literally cut into its last few coaches. Causalities were many and the sight we passed on the now clear tracks was terrible.

Agra to Ramathra took me a little over five hours, including a much appreciated lunch stop at Rajasthan Motel in Mahua. Saag, Tandoori Roti, Tadka Dal and a raita of crisp cucumber in creamy, fresh yoghurt from the local gaushala ( cow shed ) – allow me to list this as one of the attractions enroute.

At sunset, Ramathra Fort stood in quiet welcome while Ravi and Gitanjali received me with a much needed cup of tea. That night, dinner and drinks were under the stars - the night soft and silent, the stars twinkling close enough to touch, the air fragrant with some known flowers and numerous other unknown scents. Finally dropping off the mind cliff into a dreamless sleep.... to wake up to the soft “towee” of a rufus treepie just outside the window of my suite, all this in a day’s work ! I can now understand why many of my friends envy what I do.

The outdoors and outside overwhelm you in Ramathra – the fort itself, the mute crumbling buildings inside waiting their turn at restoration, the stairs upto the ramparts, views of the lake and the country once there, walking trails around and upto the fort, watching birds from hand paddled boats. It was only in the morning that I took in the interiors of my suite , the warm colours of the upholstery, the attentive amenities, candles and the lighting - all a part of the cheerful suite, one of the six new suites that Ravi and Gitanjali restored last November. Two of the upstairs suites are a statement in luxury - space, light and views, out-door bath, shower and a terrace overlooking the vast expanse of the countryside around. 

Return was relatively trouble free, driving about 4 hours to Jaipur Railway station to connect to Ajmer Statabdi for New Delhi. Getting off at the Gurgaon Railway Station to reach home even before the train would have crossed the outer into New Delhi precincts was a personal triumph !

http://www.ramathrafort.com/

Travelling in Rajasthan amidst drizzle and downpour : Part 2

By Shoba Mohan

Jodhpur was a quick stop to explore Ras Haveli, eat Mirchi Vadas at TeepSa’s, have an immaculately brewed Darjeeling at the Umaid Bhawan and make it to Chhatra Sagar at top speed. Ras Haveli is Jodhpur’s latest intrigue - a classy and contemporary new boutique hotel built at the foot of the towering Mehrangarh Fort. Auto Rickshaws painted blue are assigned to pick you up from the city centre right into the Haveli gates, but not before you are overwhelmed by the narrow and scruffy , colourful and commercial lanes of the old city.

A late lunch at Chhatra Sagar as always was a meal to cherish over a lively conversation of which all I remember is bursting into peals of laughter. Fort Barli over two hours from Chhatra Sagar was our next stop, reaching there well after the sun was set. Aniruddh Singh and his family’s warm welcome and offer to stay the night was most tempting . However Shahpura Bagh was on the agenda for the night. On reaching, all we managed was a brief hello and hit the snoozers in our assigned suites.

Next morning began early to try and catch the total solar eclipse, and though we had a fantastic vantage on the terrace of Nahar Niwas, the cloudy sky barred the spectacle. However tea and time spent with Sat overlooking the verdant Shahpura estate, spotting birds was time well spent. Exploring the streets of Shahpura town on foot was great fun, the festival of Rakhi ( this is India’s brother’s day ) was coming up and shops displayed arrays of colourful strings ( much like friend ship bands that sisters tie onto their brother’s wrists ) with oodles of “bling”. The market street was abuzz - silver shops, shoe stores that custom made shoes on the spot, shops selling coloured sweets dripping with syrup , people everywhere buying, selling, chatting. Anjali practised her bargaining skills with the corniest of Hindi lines I have ever heard. In Shahpura over a pair of anklets, she put forth her arguments in “Sindhi” and the amused silver smith conceded to a small discount .


Chittorgarh, a two hour drive from Shahpura Bagh was the first capital of Mewar and remained so for several centuries. It is one of the oldest and most extensive forts of Rajasthan, dating back to the 7th century. The story of Rani Padmini of Chittor is as well known to school children as Rani of Jhansi. For me the victory tower of Chittorgarh symbolised Rajasthan ( thanks to history lessons in school )more than anything else. Sadly Chittorgarh is relegated to being an en-route stop over which is why you won’t find many quality hotels here though hotels like Castle Bijapur and Bassi Fort offer Chittorgarh as excursions.

The drive from Chittorgarh to castle Bijapur was a spectacular ( which is another route I would love to cover on foot ) – the terrain green , with gently undulating mountains, dotted with quaint unspoilt villages. Castle Bijapur comes recommended many times over by several friends in India and abroad and I am glad I made it here. The stories recounted by Rao Narender Singh if it were not so hilarious would really be a lesson in enterprise and hard work. Like I said we fed on stories and food on this trip !

A few routes on this trip are etched in my memory : Udaipur-Kumbalgarh-Ranakpur; Chhatrasagar to Fort Barli ( Bijaipur ); Chittorgarh to Castle Bijapur ; Kota to Bhainsrorgarh. Rajasthan feared for its hot, dry and relentless summers was transformed with the first sign of rain. Every mound and mountain was coloured green, little rivulets filled over, dry river beds came alive and the light from the cloud filled sky bathed the landscapes and cityscapes in ethereal light. Above all there was the talk of water and lakes everywhere, anecdotes and stories were about water – of harvesting it, conserving it, offering special prayers for it.

From Chittorgarh we headed direct to Bhairon Gali in Kota to shop for the gossamer thin Kota cotton sarees. And I must admit we were out-bargained here. The wily shop keeper said plus now and minus later and finally after we had paid up realised that we had paid exactly what was mentioned on the price tag !

Kota came as a surprise to us, well known as a educational and business hub – the town was a melange of old houses along the Chambal river, large tree bound estates which housed heritage hotels , and modern houses and factories spilling over unending boundaries. The day ended at the Kota Railway Station waiting for the August Kranti Rajdhani (delayed due to the rains ) which Anjali was booked on to take her to Mumbai.

It was Bundi, I was bowled over at first sight. Arriving late in the night, the fort was gloriously lit and formed a breathtaking background to our hotel for the night, JP’s Bundi Vilas – a haveli set at the end of one of the old town’s serpentine “gullies” painstakingly renovated into a seven room mid-range hotel and enthusiastically run by the family.

Next morning from the terrace at Bundi Vilas the fort looked shower fresh and enticing. We headed for the briefest of introduction to the fort , of particular interest to us were the Bundi miniatures at Chitrashala and came away discontent, a silent promise to return.

The final destination on this trip was Bhainsrogarh – in many ways a place I would design as the ideal last stop - a place to revel amidst nature, the Chambal River meandering close by. We actually beheld the overwhelming sight of clouds rush in bringing rains and pass by as we stood mesmerised on the veranda leading out from our room .

An unexpected excursion was to the Jawahar Dam on the Chambal and a sunset visit to Garodia Mahadev , a temple perched on a rocky outcrop of the Aravalis, where the Chambal cuts through a deep gorge and literally turns a perfect ‘U’ before flowing into Kota.

Return to Delhi was on the Mewar Express from Kota ( an hour from Bhainsrorgarh ) – just a dreamless night’s sleep away !

Travelling in Rajasthan amidst drizzle and downpour : Part I

By Shoba Mohan

A road tour of Rajasthan this July of 2009 revealed two things – the exceptional beauty of this state in the rains (especially for those like me who are used to the state’s stark winter-scapes ) and that travel was a delight when you have a companion or two, all passionate travellers.

Anjali ( Swaswara ) and I began our journey on the Mewar Express from Nizamuddin Railway Station arriving into Udaipur City. What looked like an impossible itinerary in the beginning was accomplished in totality with very few omissions and changes, however I must admit to uncharacteristic slack timing.

The first drive between Udaipur railway station and Dungarpur took us by surprise. For a state that was lamenting a dissatisfying monsoon, the landscape around us for most part of the two hour drive was an abundance of green.

As we drove into Udai Bilas Palace with a rain cloud in tow, we were rewarded with the fulfilling sight of the Palace snuggling amidst lush trees, the infinity pool effortlessly merging into the lake. Lunch and a quick tour of the palace later, it was time to explore the treasures of the Juna Mahal , a 14th century fort which is where the ruling family of the Guhilot Rajputs resided before moving to the current Palace in the 17th century. The multi-level courtyards, living rooms and public areas including the frescoes and wall art in this palace have been preserved as a museum and one can explore independently aided by signages and carefully sourced information. With some time in our hands we also walked through the old town of Dungarpur, the clean narrow lanes with houses brightly painted in shades of green, blue, pink. Dungarpur is famous for its artisans – stone cutters who sculpt various figures and relief plaques in the blue-grey “pareva” stone that is quarried locally.

Our next stop on this tour of South west and central Rajasthan was Udaipur. The city was over-cast seemed set for poets and lovers to break into songs of love and separation. Our first meal with the Jassols at Devra was an unforgettable home cooked affair, infact all through the ten day trip the meals, stories and the warmth of our friends and associates is what turned this tour, largely an exploration of the region into one of great fun and learning. An unforgettable moment was sitting on Udai Kothi’s terrace, cross legged in one of the candlelit alcoves sipping beer and planning a repeat trip with Daisy and Vishwavijay.

Day three and we had an ambitious program ahead. After a rushed visit to Fateh Garh, a modern day fort incorporating elements of heritage conservation, Vastu and sustainable environment, we were on the winding drive to Kumbalgarh, an invincible battle fort perched on one of the high ridges of the Aravalis. A fresh-lime and soda stop at Aodhi Hotel , a hunting lodge of the erstwhile Mewar Royal family is worth mentioning – clean, prompt and green. This was decided as our perch when we return early next year to accomplish a trek between Kumbalgarh and Ranakpur.

Ranakpur was quiet and unassuming, the beautiful temples standing in quiet grandeur while pilgrims and tourists milled around. It was a meditative moment to watch the temple swathed in surreal light, though the sky was dark with thunder clouds. My best memory of Fateh Bagh, Ranakpur where we stopped for lunch is the kindly old gent , Shivlal . Attired in his traditional dress and a bright red turban, Shivlal was ready with a photography tip or two , a set of keys to show us some rooms and gracefully did the job of five younger men.

A surprise visit was to Narlai, one of the fortress cities under Marwar state ( before independence ). Rawla Narlai, one of the many restored heritage forts in the region is unique in its layout. Intimate gardens have softly spilling fountains, while frequent courtyards have climbers and creepers clambering up its walls. Stunning views from inside Narlai are that of a mammoth granite mountain, majestic, bare and brown - changing colour with the light of the day. This mountain has temples, caves and cenotaphs built on it. The village itself is somewhere you could easily lose yourself with a camera. That is precisely what we did and by the time we reached Deogarh our destination for the night, it was time to head for dinner, but not before being shown to our “rooms” – the “ smallest in the palace” where I could have a party for over 40 people !

Our first vision of Deogarh lit for the night was an enchanting sight, and being the personal guests of the family to be wined and dined and showed around was indeed very special. The family home by the lake ( waiting for a refill from the rains ), their vintage car collection, the other private fort – Fort Seeghsagar and most importantly the numerous stories of the Palace and the ancestors , of short sweet beginnings. We just followed the family around – sometimes amused , sometimes awed.
Still listening to the daring acts of Maharaja Fateh Singh who snubbed the British officers by refusing to attend the 1911 coronation, we ended up over two hours late for our departure to Rohetgarh.
On this tour we spent two nights only at Rohet and Shahpura, which is why both were assimilated at a leisurely pace. Rohet is also where Mohan joined us. Driving in Sid’s jeep to the Bishnoi villages in the backwoods, squatting with the village elders at Dhoondli to partake in the opium ceremony, sunset at Mihirgarh ( Sid’s fantasy fort built on a dune ), spending time at his stables – all thoroughly enjoyable activities were accomplished in a day . After Rohet , the trip was a whirl wind of driving, meeting people, eating upto four delectable meals a day and trying to understand the intricate relationships in Rajasthan where everyone seemed to be related to the other.

Journey to the City of the Light

By Daniel Dorfman

When I returned from a journey to India, I was met with as many curious questions as befuddled faces. The most popular one was “why?” and while I often stood pontificating on an experience I had seen with my own eyes (a dentist pulling teeth in a street gutter), heard with my own ears (the unforgiving cacophony of car horns) and tasted with my own mouth (well, this one is really beyond words), I was reminded how far I had travelled , and how otherworldly India is when compared with home. The objective of the trip was to film a city called Varanasi, one of the oldest continually inhabited cities in the world and the holy site for more than three religions. The fact that I was a tourist in another country provided me the special privilege to gain a unique insight beyond those who have lived there since the day they were born. (Ever notice how few New Yorkers have actually visited the Statue of Liberty?) More than anything I remember, however, is how desperately I tried to remind myself that when I returned to New Jersey, India would continue to exist; the things that I saw would continue alive in memory. A young girl dressed in a ragged and torn ballerina tutu spots me in a passing crowd. She takes my hand and introduces herself. Her eyes are black but they glow like the Indian sun. “Hi,” she says and smiles. “I’m Muni.” “Hi,” I manage to say but struggle to find words that will break through this unusual encounter. She begins to walk. Pointing. Naming. She acts as if we’ve been friends forever. She pulls me into a labyrinth of dark alleyways that flood with sweet smells, frenzied clamor and gazing faces. The farther along we walk, the narrower the streets get and the tighter I hold her hand. Ordinary norms are quickly lost on me. I realize I am as far from home as I’ve ever been. When I begin to convince myself that none of it is real, a dream maybe, she pulls me out of the alleys and back into the light. The sun illuminates a landscape familiar of pictures in history books of a world that existed two thousand years earlier.


“Here,” she says matter-of-factly, “Ghat.” I was standing on the banks of the Ganges River 8,000 miles rom home. The sun burnt away the morning fog laying bare Varanasi, the City of Light. Our unlikely fellowship, a mix of Indians and Americans, ages ranging from 20 to 60, went off to capture the morning Hindu rituals along the banks of the holiest of rivers. There is little to compare with the splendor of the Ganges River in the morning. Bright rays of the rising sun spray across the glittering water and are met with a crescendo of drums and bells, prayers and salutations. Nowhere in the world is the sun received with such celebration as in Varanasi. It appears as though Hollywood (or Bollywood, really) spotlights illuminate the banks like a grand stage where ancient temples, shrines, ashrams and pavilions stretch along the river for as far as the eye can see. At the foot of these steps thousands of worshippers greet the rising sun with ritual bathing, the practice of yogic exercises, breath control, and conduct meditative disciplines. Along the quiet neighborhood Ghats, the women slap brightly colored fabrics against stone slabs with a rhythm that resembles a classical Indian dance. Enormous stretches of the riverbank are covered with the patchwork of elaborately colored saris. Holy men, or Sadhus, lift their painted faces to the sky and submerge themselves in the river, chanting Sanskrit mantras in deference to the gods.

It is in many ways a sight that is so removed from anything I’ve ever witnessed it resembles a beautiful, strange dream; a dream created when the brain cannot decide on one shade and so relies on an infinite arsenal of color and design. When Muni announces she is going swimming, she asks me to watch over her most prized and limited possessions. Before I can even question or caution that I saw a dead floating ox in the water just moments earlier, she hands me her watch, purse, and necklace. She undresses naïvely, takes a running jump and dives off the steps into the river. She swims underwater and waves. She could be any seven-year-old in the world enjoying the splendour of cool water on a warm day, but when I realize that just one hundred feet away the smoke of cremation pyres is rising and the ashes of the recently dead are swirling through the water, I see that this is no average little girl, at least no average little girl from my world.

By way of necessity, Muni has learned five different languages to be most persuasive when asking soft hearted tourists for rupees. The riverbank is her home, workplace and playground, as it is for thousands of other Indians who live sprawled along the river’s twisted ends. In the ancient days, Hindus believe, it flowed in the heavens as the Great White Milky Way. It is believed that the most revered of Hindu gods, Lord Shiva, was persuaded to catch the Ganges in her hair as she fell so the earth would not be shattered by torrential force. And so it is said she plummeted down from heaven to the Himalayas where she meandered in the tang led ascetic locks of Shiva before flowing out upon the plains of India. So too did Muni dive off the edge of the river banks into the water again and again, smiling and singing. In more earthly concepts, the river is considered a goddess and supreme mother. Devout Hindus on the banks of the river cup their hands and pour the water back into the river as an offering to ancestors and their gods. When we visited a hospice for those who plan to die in the holy city, a woman was brought spoonfuls of river water to quench her parched lips until the time that her body would return to ashes and be laid to rest at the bottom of the river.


Invocations of how the Indians consider the river Ganges as a divine force come from every direction up and down the river. Colourfully dressed pilgrims arrived packed in boats. They claimed to have been travelling for months in hopes of finally reaching the city and having the thrill of plunging into the river for a sacred bath. In this city every aspect of human life is brought into a religious arena. As quoted in the holiest of Hindu scriptures, “if only the bone of a person should touch the water of the Ganges that person shall be honoured in heaven and experience what is called Moksha or the freedom from rebirth. ” The steps that lead from the river to darkened inner streets are flooded with saffron-robed Sadhus, who roam free from material concern. When I looked them in the eye, I couldn’t help but get the sense that they were seeing me but not really seeing me. When I took photographs and they looked at the camera with an unwavering glint of humanity and blankness, this further proved it. They were living in another realm.



A pilgrim’s shelter that resembled what I recognized to be a public park was covered with straw and sleeping bags. Groups of pilgrims flooded the tent surrounded by a sea of odds and ends used mostly for marking the boundaries for their temporary homes. Some had just arrived with their families after travelling for weeks. Some were preparing to vacate and continue onto their final destination. The smells of incense, curry and cow faeces combined to fill the air. I met a man who introduced himself by two names, the second of which was Manohar Babaji. When I asked him why he had two names he said the first man was gone. Before making this journey, I could never comprehend the meaning of a single resource that ignites a sense of immense connectivity within the spiritual life of a cit y. Every person on the banks of the river Ganges is a fibre in a huge woven tapestry. Pilgrims come to bathe in the river; families come to spread loved one’s ashes. For an entire society, the river provides life, from the most mundane daily chores down to the awareness of the next life. It is a massive pipeline of energy that the whole city is tapped into. The rhythm of a little girl’s stride is captured in the eyes of a wandering Sadhu or reflected in the rhythm of a woman pounding her sari on the riverbed. The energy of the river that draws tens of thousands of pilgrims to bathe in its waters feeds the flames of the burning Ghats and the promise of an end to the cycle of birth and death.

The river is a place that opened up a singular awareness. For a moment, I was tapped into the pulse of the city and the river’s auspicious electricity, which powers the lives of millions of people who live through it. It is a notion of such elegant simplicity, and as I gaze out into the river, I can’t imagine anything as poetic or real existing anywhere else in the world. For a moment I began to feel the flow of the river pumping through my own heart and veins. On the plane ride home I reflect on how we did not reach all the places we had planned, and how special it is that within the city of Varanasi there is a sacred place at every step.

Daniel Dorfman is an English major at the University of Delaware. Apart from his college studies, he enjoys visiting places like Israel, Cuba and Africa, and writing about and photographing his travel experiences.

Exploring Kumaon Himalayas

By Shoba Mohan

A trip into the hills and valleys of Kumaon with two friends – a photographer and a retired diplomat, both from America was a quirky adventure I was looking forward to after a period of self-confinement.

Getting off the Ranikhet Express at Kathgodam railway station on a cool April morning, the drive to Fishermen’s Lodge Bhimtal for breakfast was planned many months in advance. Doing what I do, that is advising people about beautiful places to visit and stay, when I see brochures that tell me lot but images that say too little, I just have to see the place. And Fishermen’s Lodge was being chanted to me from all quarters……

Driving along the lake, the first glimpse of the building, a grey stone cuboid with broad white lines did not stop my breath, what did was the skimming view of the lake from the deck, built right at the entrance. Shown to the rooms for a quick “wash and change” – I was IMPRESSED.

And as I explored and was shown around, the thoroughness of Bindu and Bunti’s maiden endeavor to emulate one of the Irish bed- breakfasts in India’s ‘lake district’ was laudable . The rooms in colours teal and mauve , the quiet and trained service, small details - white baskets to roll your comforters into, tiny balconies overlooking the lake, a add-on pantry ( god ! she did think of everything ) for young nervous mums , a table on the deck heaving with breakfast, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and, I was tempted to stay on for a nice long vacation ! For those unfamiliar with Kumaon, Bhimtal is one of the many lakes that dot this region of the lower Himalayas. http://www.thefishermenslodge.com/

Almora is alleged to be the first hill station that the British discovered to this side of the north, it was also a popular hangout of the flower power era in the sixties and to this date you will find some returning to explore or couples who met then having stayed on to make Almora their home. Deiter and Geeta, who own and run Kalmatia Sangam are one such couple. With 10 cottages named after Himalayan birds that frequent the Kali-mat estate - Scarlett Minivet, Himalayan Magpie etc. Built in the typical sloped roof cottages typical to mountain resorts, Ka Sa’s cottages are scattered on a sloping pine grove overlooking breathtaking views of the western Himalayan ranges ( on a clear day). Dieter walked the trails around Almora, exploring villages for years and the Kali-mat village treks which is what we did for the next five days are a result of his innumerable explorations.

The three village house are set at about 5-6 hours walking distance from each other and as you walk, across valleys, dive into clouds, ascend terraces, skid down slopes, catch your breath in fields, stop at ridges for a leisurely picnic lunch – I felt I could walk for ever. Fresh air, villagers with face splitting grins, going about their chores, thumping grain , rocking babies, drying millet……. it all seemed so simple, life and living, working and laughing, praying and waiting. Piping hot meals – local vegetables, rice and coarse bread ( rotis ) quickly rustled up by Yoginder our trek guide and his team of two. Sometimes like in Jawalbhanj ( the last village house ) we always dined to our cranky host’s commentary on the rising prices and diminishing fire wood ! Yoginder our hearty trek guide was always ready to arrange tea or to regale us with stories of semi-divine kings of the region. In the village houses, restored to its traditional form and space, beds were comfortable and inviting after a day’s walk, warmed up to a toast by the bukharis and sleep was effortless as was the waking to bird song.

There were some “readers digest” moments too when we were caught in a frightening storm, wind and icy cold rains hitting at us as we shivered up a steep hill to seek refuge in a Shiva temple midway between Kalmatia and Deora. Shelter in a low stone hut around a fire of pine needles could not have been more welcome. There were some “ I give up “ moments too, trying to maneuver a tricky slope on the Binsar walk. We did cheat a bit and drove a stretch, but never gave up on the walking – a minimum walk of 4 hours per day or a maximum of 6 hours was accomplished effortlessly and our gift was the spectacular sunrise vision of the Himalayas on the last day. Only to find that on return to Kalmatia the rains had driven the haze and views of the Vanilla tops from Kalmatia Sangam seemed close enough to touch.

Post all the walking two things I welcomed - a sunset drink with Dieter and friends and Imogen’s massage the next morning. For small pleasures like these I could walk to the very ends of the earth !

The euphoria of the walks dimmed a bit thanks to a confusing drive to Corbett – and Jim’s Jungle Retreat and safari lodge style luxury awaited us. My travel companions couldn’t wait to jump into the pool and I couldn't wait to set off into the Corbett Jungles. Walking on the pebbly bed of Kosi acquainted us with the tiny call of the Copper Smith bird and we saw pug marks of the resident male tiger all along the river bed.
However my wish to see him at the next turn the river took remained unfulfilled. Drives with a disinterested Forest official into the Corbett National Park yielded the rare ( so he said ) sighting of a yellow throated Martin, langurs, spotted deer and birds - a family of wooly necked cranes, a Himalayan flame back, jungle owlet, Shikara etc. What I particularly enjoyed was riding the temperamental elephant Kaleena in the Corbett Jungle. She would stop for her friends, refuse to take a slope, shower us with a stream of saliva……. but as she swayed and rolled amidst the forest trees and thicket….. you are lulled by the quietude, the emerald green of the jungles, vague smells of rotting flesh - may be a tiger kill lying somewhere, informs our Mahout, Afsal. We see nothing….. but the afternoon sun and Kaleena’s rolling gait has already rocked us to contentment.

Christmas at Dharamsala Dec 2008

By Shoba Mohan

The colloquially correct way of saying Mcleod Ganj is “ Mcload Ganj” . That’s what people call this tiny little hill town granted to the Tibetans as their haven by the Indian Government. Dharamshala in the Kangra region of Himachal is divided as upper Dhramshala and Lower Dharamshala. Hundreds of migrants forced out of Tibet have settled around Upper Dharamshala at a height of 1700 mts , a virtual relocation complete with a government in exile, secretariat , monasteries and flourishing businesses. The main town is a series of criss-cross sloping streets that extend from the Temple and Residence of HH Dalai Lama to the main chowk ( square ) right at the beginning of the town. From the square the roads also extend out towards Naddi and Bhagsu on one side and down to the Kotwali Bazaar and lower Dhramshala on the other.

Mcleod Ganj especially during milder winter months upto December end and early January is a coveted holiday destination for many Indians as well as foreign visitors. For Indians the climate of Mcleod Ganj in the vicinity of the Dhauladhar ranges of the Himalayas make it an ideal vacation while the westerners come here seeking the presence of HH Dalai Lama , monasteries and Tibetan learning centres. For all visitors the rows of books shops, cafes and restaurants are great places to hang out. There is a certain trance like element walking those lanes in and around the Dalai Lama’s temple. Cafe’s playing music, Tibetan women chatting away, momos steaming by the side of the road, a huge brown woolly dog flopped below the popcorn cart, monks in animated conversation under the suns lengthening shadows, the prayer wheels spinning in slow motion till another reverent hand passes over .......

A three day trip to Mcleod Ganj was accomplished with the primary intent of attending the mid night mass on Christmas eve at the Church of St.John’s in the wilderness. On a previous visit in August with a friend , we imagined how it would be to be a part of the Christmas eve celebrations. And lo ! something planned that long back was actually put into action and we boarded the Jammu Mail on the Dec 23 in good time for Carol singing at St. John’s on the Dec 24. The biting cold weather of Mcleod Ganj would not allow for a mid night mass in the real sense so Father Kunjumon called for a more appropriate Mass at 7 in the evening. The church was packed to capacity with people from all nationalities, infact the choir group was a wonderfully varied group who passed out the candles and photo copies of some popular carols. To the accompanying notes of a violin they sang beautifully, beginning with “Silent Night “. In between the local choir group joined in with a few songs in Hindi. Biting cold with the anticipation of snow, a quick tea and biscuit was to be our after-mass treat and we made it back through the winding roads back to Glenmoor Cottages.

Glenmoor Cottages is a short distance from the main square of Mcleod Ganj and through the dense well preserved deodar forest you would walk 15 minutes uphill right up to your big cottage behind Om Villa – the owners residence. A compact estate spread along the mountain side, Glenmoor is Dharamshala’s best accommodation if you are not too caught up about wanting to stay in town or by the temple. 3 Small cottages ideal for a couple with small children and 2 large cottages best if you have grown up kids and a couple of beds only with bathroom to share for those looking for a deal is the limited accommodation that Glenmoor provides. Rooms are neat and correct, I mean a small sit out, curtains, attached bathrooms, piping hot water, carpeted ( not the fluffy smelly kinds that you so often find in hill hotels but a thin red layer to keep the chill off the floors ) , table, chairs, bed side lights, extra blankets....... and anything you want is just a phone call away. What’s more it is wi-fi enabled but I recommend you strictly keep that laptop away and enjoy the beautiful outdoors – the sunrise and sunset over the lush deodars..... its seems so far away from city dust, that you should savour the moment.

In the end the trip turned out to be a “chiller” – hours of badminton outdoors , listening to fabulous hill stories from Ajaiji ( who owns Glenmoor ), living from meal to meal and coffee to coffee while we discovered one restaurant after another – Jimmy’s ( Italian ) , Moonpeak and Sambhala ( cafe ) , Pemathang ( pizza’s and salads ) , Lungta ( for a Japanese thali and snow ball cookies ). The one day we decided to do some sightseeing ended up to be another culinary visit to Taragarh Palace where the boys got hooked to hill country cricket with the staff of the hotel. By the time they were threatened out of their game to visit the Sarin’s at Tara Villa and drive back to Glenmoor, the stars were out. A moment that thrilled us ( amateur photographers and enthusiastic explorers ) is a forced stop at a Kangra Railway Crossing – the toy train emerging around a bend in the middle of a field with the vanilla ice cream topped mountains in the background. The best photographer amongst us ( armed with a near professional camera and eye for frames ) got some memorable shots.

And then the drive back to Pathankot railway station stopping by at Kotwali bazaar to pick up a CD of ‘Dostana’ and we “shut up and bounced” all the way back to the station, warning the driver to take it easy time and again. I must mention here that most mountain drivers drive like crazy – having travelled alone, in groups , with fellow women travellers I am still to find one who is not winding down the convoluted roads as if his tail is on fire. Anyway we reached safe, well in time to have a fulfilling dinner at the “Khalsa Hindu Dhaba” – I did mention we lived from meal to meal on this trip !

The train ride back was uneventful except for the usual attempt at juggling seats with fellow passengers so that our group could have berths together. This time we were lucky, a young couple willingly gave up their bay seats in exchange for the two seats we had at the end of the coach. And yes the train was a few hours late and when we finally slid to a halt at Old Delhi Railway Station it was close to noon.

Jungian Experience - A Spiritual Travelogue

By Mohan

Let me start this travelogue with a story that I heard one evening over Dinner recounted by our guide Srinivas who was escorting the 4th Jungian Journey organized for the members of the Carl Jung Foundation New York.

One day in the heavens, a debate ensued between Goddess Lakshmi (Symbol of Prosperity and Wealth) and Goddess Saraswati (Symbol of Knowledge and Wisdom). Lord Narada , the trouble maker instigated this debate for supremacy. The story of the poor Brahmin settled the dispute by affording equal status to both the goddesses.

A poor Brahmin had a large family but did not have the means to support them. He had heard about King Bhoja Raja ( the king of plentiful ) and went to seek his help. The king upon hearing him asked him to return the next day.

When the Brahmin returned to the court the next day, the King ordered that a Pumpkin be given to him. The Brahmin disappointed at being given a pumpkin did not have the courage to say anything to the King. His Dharma (duty) prohibited him from cursing the king and he left the court carrying the pumpkin on his head.

On his way back home he traded the pumpkin with a person of the Vaishya Community (a trader) and took whatever money he got in exchange. The Trader on the other hand went home and gave the pumpkin to his wife who cut it and found it full of precious stones .

Moral of the story : The Brahmin had the wealth but did not have the wisdom to find it. The ideal situation in life is when you have both wealth and wisdom by your side.

The Jungian journeys through India followed the footsteps of Carl Jung who traveled extensively in India and wrote several books analyzing the Indian and Western Philosophies. Meticulously researched by Regine Iyer from Mindful Journeys, USA and lead by Ashok Bedi, a Jungian expert and a psycho therapist, the group on their 14 days program began their journey at Bangalore, and covered Sravenabelgola, Chikmagalur, Mysore, Nagarhole, Tellichery and Neeleshwaram. Overnight stays at Shreyas Retreat ( Bangalore ) , Metropole ( Mysore) , Cicada ( Nagarhole ) and Neeleshwar Hermitage were combined with sessions with Ashok Bedi and sightseeing and cultural insights.

I was fortunate enough to be with this year’s Jung group for a few days and hear Dr. Ashok Bedi lecturing on various topics. I joined the group at Cicada in Nagarhole, five hours drive from Bangalore and headed directly to the conference hall where Ashok’s lecture was in progress.


Sessions at Cicada Resorts, Nagarhole :















The Flower and the Thorn in a rose bud represent the TOTALITY of life, the positive and negative, the good and evil – a duality and a choice that we are constantly faced with in our day to day life.

Life’s journey towards the ultimate is manifold and there are many paths to this. Jesus represented the Path of Sacrifice while Buddha chose the Path of Wisdom. One’s path is entirely an individual choice but it must be remembered that as every path begins with the sacrifice of the EGO.

For a first session it was a soulful connect for me. All the pressure of work, life and living was set aside and to be able to do this even briefly is wellness as one experiences inner healing.

Our second session with Ashok was on analyzing the Jungian Philosophy with the the Hindu Epic RAMAYANA. It was an amazing session and an eye opener of sorts for me . Using the character of Lord Rama as the archetype, Ashok expertly defined the use of archetypes from a religious point of view. How one can adopt certain traits for their personal growth but trying to completely emulate them can be detrimental. He also delved deeply into myths of Indian Goddesses. Words flow out of Ashok and one gets so engrossed in his lectures that you do not want the session to end.


Session at Neeleshwar Hermitage, Dist Kasargod, Kerala :














The DREAM GROUP session was a first for me. One person shares his or her dream with the group and the rest of them discuss that dream and come up with their own interpretations or experiences related to a similar dream that they might have had. The session ended as we lit a lamp for world peace, held hands and offered a prayer.

To wrap up my experience I would say that the three days spent with Dr. Ashok Bedi and the group were small blessings I always feel that power my life as I travel either on work on leisure. The retreats and destinations – Shreyas Retreat, Cicada and also Neeleshwar Hermitage lent themselves superbly to the theme of the journey, and enhanced the experience for the group.

Slum Tours in Mumbai

By Mohan

On the eve of the smashing success of Slum Dog Millionaire at the Oscars , my report on a walk through Dharavi would be most timely.

Dharavi was probably a small village on the outskirts of Mumbai. In the mid 19th century migration from other parts of the country started to the bigger cities of India in the hope for better economic opportunities. Mumbai was no exception as it had the makings of a melting pot.

As slum dwellers started growing in numbers they were directed towards Dharavi which was the end of city limits of Mumbai at that time. Today the slums of Dharavi stand in the centre of Mumbai conveniently connected to the different parts of the city and the National Highway corridors.

I had heard and read about Dharavi Slums but had never visited the area. My imagination of slums was poverty , people living in the worst conditions, slum lords, drug peddlers, drunkards, underworld, mafia, poor children, unhygienic conditions so on and so forth.

I have heard about companies offering tours to the Slums of Dharavi. Slum Dog Millionaire has evoked more interest amongst travelers for the Slum Tours of Mumbai. I decided to see it for myself to decide whether it would be an experience worth considering for our guests.

My guide was Dev a young lad from Gujarat. He’s the 3rd generation of his family who have been living in Kumharwadi (Potters area) of Dharavi Slums. Dev reminded me of Jamal in several ways for he was ambitious and driven. His father was a potter and now runs a retail business. Dev has studied in a convent school and has a degree in commerce. He’s currently pursuing a post graduate degree and aims for an MBA. Currently he’s employed with JP Morgan as a Drafter.

The tour begins from the industrial part of Dharavi Slums in Mumbai. We walked through the area visiting several units that are engaged in re-cycling of plastic, metal, copper, corrugated boxes, etc. We came across several bakeries, soap manufacturing units, tanneries, women making snacks like chips, papads etc.

The tour then goes through the residential part. If your thought that the lanes in Old Delhi and Benares are narrow. Wait until you visit Dharavi. It cannot get narrower than this. Some of the houses probably never see sunlight. But residents have essentials like water and Mumbai’s uninterrupted electricity.

It’s a cluster of unplanned construction of dwellings that has taken place over years and people have accepted and adjusted to whatever space they can afford to pay for. The tour ends at a community center where children were being given lessons in English. The whole tour lasts about 2.5 to 3 hours depending on your pace and the time you would like spend.

At the end of the tour Dev took us to his house though we couldn’t go in his parents and some guests were sleeping.

Some important points that need to be included in the briefing given to guests prior to the walk.

First of all a general overview of the settlement and living conditions is to be given to guests as entering Dharavi for the first time can be quiet overwhelming. It is best not to engage in conversations with people and ignore any remarks made by bystanders. At all times it is best to follow your guide’s instructions and keep walking.

Dress modestly while going on a slum tour and since there is plenty of walking, a pair of good walking shoes is a must.

Lastly this tour should only be offered as an option for those who seek the experience. We did have a group of Americans who had done the trip before me. Dev told me that they enjoyed the trip. Written feedback is awaited which will also be posted here.

To conclude here’s a something my friend Jaideep Gupta wrote after watching the Oscars this morning.

“As I watched the Oscars today two thoughts passed through my mind. First, the journey from despair to hope is not a fantasy. The slum kids Azaruddin and Rubina did just that when they climbed the stage at Kodak theatre. Second, the happy gathering of the cast of the movie on the stage at Kodak theatre on winning the Oscars was so Indian. This large noisy inclusive and participative society of ours was showcased perfectly at the Oscars today. In everyway JAI HO”!

Unlikely Pilgrimage

Dear Friends,

I am presenting a travelogue written by my friend Jaideep Gupta on our pilgrimage to Varanasi with three American friends. We spend 3 days exploring this ancient city which is a sacred to the Hindus as a pilgrimage site and a great learning center.We hope you enjoy reading the experience and looking at the visuals.

Mohan

UNLIKELY PILGRIMAGE - BY JAIDEEP GUPTA

Last week we joined a million other persons on an unlikely pilgrimage to the spiritual centre of Hindu civilization. Benaras. The purpose of the journey was to film Benaras, to capture its visual splendour and if possible to explore its soul through a photographers eye. But as we discovered soon, whatever the stated purpose of the journey, it was really a pilgrimage after all.














We were an unusual group. A lawyer (Jaideep Gupta) , a travel professional (Mohan) , an American musician who has converted to Hinduism who describes himself as a Hindu trapped in an American body (Michael Fontana), a Jewish musician turned photographer (Jay Dorfman) and his 20 year old son (Daniel Dorfman) a quiet American undergraduate far removed from the intensity of Indian life.

Demonstrating the first truth of all pilgrimages: when you go in search of God, your background and your heritage ceases to matter. You become a participant in a great melting pot of humanity all seeking in some sense spiritual knowledge and enlightenment.














January is a month of pilgrimage in North India. Thousands of Hindus are on the move. Most of them start in a small island of the coast of Bengal called Ganga sagar on Makar Sankranti, and make their way to the Magh mela in Allahabad which takes place in the end of January. On the way they stop by at Benaras to take a holy dip in the Ganges.














We met a cross section of these travellers at the Pilgrims shelter behind the steps leading down to Dasaswamedh Ghat. The shelter was a microcosm of life itself. Basically a public park, a temporary shelter has been created with corrugated tin sheets. The ground had been covered with straw to make it possible to sleep on the otherwise cold ground and hessian sheets had been spread on the straw. Groups of pilgrims were sprawled around the shelter surrounded by their cheap duffel bags carrying their worldly possessions to mark the temporary boundaries of their travelling homes . They were of all ages. They had come from all parts of the country. There were families, several generations travelling together. Some had come from as far as Rajasthan and were on their way back after a dip at Ganga Sagar. The sadhus had come with their chelas and their chillums. They were surrounded by curious groups of onlookers hoping to gather spiritual knowledge or maybe just hoping to get a drag from the chillum that was being passed around.


Food was being cooked and served and eaten on one side, the menu sometimes quite elaborate. Dal sabzi and roti with pickles for those feasting elaborately. Nobody stayed more than a night. A dip in the holy river and off they went. No reservations were needed in the trains. They were completely at peace with the world. After all as one of the sadhus said when asked how he made a livelihood " He is all powerful."














While we made friends with the pilgrims, Jay's camera kept clicking. The variety of expressions and subjects he captured was truly astounding. Danny had his first puff at the chillum under the watchful eye of Mike, a veteran of the flower power army of the sixties. And Mohan made friends with Manohar Babaji of the Udasi akhara at Rishikesh and promised to look him up on his next trip to Rishikesh, thousands of miles upriver from this spot.

Later on while filming on the steps of the Scindia ghat, we came across a different phenomenon. A lone sadhu and his helpers had set up tent on the steps of the ghat. Babaji was sitting cross legged his eyes fixed unwaveringly in front of him. The entry of the cameramen did not ruffle him in the least and he merely stared back. His was a solitary pilgrimage untouched by the life teaming around him.

The next day we went down to the bottom of the river at Assi Ghat. This is one end of Varanasi, which is a segment of land encircled by the Ganges, the Varuna and the Asi rivers. Legend has it that to establish his abode on earth, shiva diverted the course of the Ganga below Asi by planting his trishul. Leading to the geographically amazing phenomenon of a huge river turning towards its source. It is said that anything which turns back to its origins is sacred and hence the spot where the river turns back towards its source was immediately identified by the devout as Gods place on earth. The ghats around this part of town were much quieter and less crowded. This is the best place to take a dip, if one is so minded. I took the opportunity to perform my duties as a Hindu here by wading into the river and pouring some water on my head.














Here we met the boat pilgrims. A party of maybe thirty or more pilgrims crowded into a country boat, travelling from Bharaich to Allahabad. Inquiries revealed that they were residents of a village , men and women of all ages travelling together. They had come ashore at the Tulsi Ghat to spend some time in Benaras. Jay filmed with Mohan translating for the pilgrims, thoroughly enjoying his new role. The rest of us basked in the mellow late winter sunshine soaking in the local detail and colour. Bathers came in a steady stream, ever willing to talk. A young man in safron when asked what he did, said without a moments hesitation " I am doing my duty". An elderly man in his sixties waded in and was introduced by the bystanders as a wrestler who had spent his life in Kolkata and had retired in Benaras. Twenty two years, confirmed the wrestler proudly. Some people still look up to Kolkata I said to myself.

Danny came up. It was a revelation to him, he said, to find that people still went on pilgrimage in the early twenty first century. What do you think you are doing right now? I asked. He thought for a minute and agreed. He too was on pilgrimage. So were we all.

The boat carrying the pilgrims now slowly drifted off upriver to its next destination. As we sat watching it dissappear down the wide curve of the river with the magnificient high ghats of Kashi ,the City of Light glistening in the back ground, it was easy to understand that life itself was a pilgrimage. We are just on the way to our next destination.

Jaideep

REVIEWING - SLUM DOG MILLIONAIRE

By Shoba Mohan

I love the movies. But when a movie is preceded by hype and attention however well intended, i usually refrain from “first day - first show”. After SDM , and having spent a night and morning ruminating on the film , i would say – “ I love the film”. Its movie magic for sure.

The first half was revolting and nauseating but you won’t walk away because the story has got to you. The breathless unfurling of hope, keeps you in your seat . You want to see for yourself where it goes, even though for the last one month you have read every review, blog and comment. Rehman’s music is an integral part of the movie, it is hard to imagine the compelling moments of the film without it.

I also like the idea of life being the biggest teacher and the catch in the end before the million dollar question. I have seen some fantastic films based on life in the slum. However as SLM weaves its story around a fantasy and a romance, the squalor and hard hitting truths just become a part of Jamal’s journey. Also the teaming of the east and west has been perfect in this case – an Indian story and a cinematographer from the west. Not for a moment does the camera linger – so it is effectively a glimpse. Sample this ; as the camera pans over Dharavi – ( Rehman’s racy score here is a winner as the kids gleefully run through gullies ) the atmosphere of the slums is established even as the children are chased by the constable .

The film’s brevity of scenes and juxtaposition of sequences is another strong point. The story moves back and forth, always in context but does not shy away from addressing a larger audience – hence it is Amitabh that little Jamal covered in crap goes to see and not Shahrukh Khan. Its Amitabh’s films that he has grown up watching – in the nineties ?? These are intelligent inclusions on the script writers part – also adding to the movies international appeal.

For movie buffs there are fine nuances – the grudging turnaround of the inspector superbly portrayed by Irfan Khan, so so subtle. I am a fan more for implication can explicitness and Danny Boyle’s film has many such implied moments. His superb direction is evident in scenes which Bollywood would have highlighted, in Boyle’s film its only a quick glimpse and then relegated to the back ground. For eg : Latika being taken into the taxi and the glint of steel. Only the next scene shows the damage.

Earlier I used to think what’s the big deal about casting, those were the days when a film was written for the superstar. In Slum Dog.... you have to applaud Loveleen Tandon’s superb casting right down to the ears of the 3 chaps who played Jamal ! And how they got the kids to speak with their eyes ??? Wow !

When Jamal says that it’s not the money he is after and he hopes Latika would see him on TV and that is the reason he is here. I like that.
That circumstances have not made a cynic of Jamal Malik.

Lastly you leave the hall elated . Jamal is still dewy eyed after all that he has seen in his young life ! Very Rare ! Very Bollywood. Jai Ho !

Still there is plenty we must have missed...... i strongly recommend an encore !

Educating your family for their future, not our past.
  
In today's flat world, multicultural competencies are an absolute. With that in mind, the Kemper Valentines headed to the Indian subcontinent in December 2007 for a month.
 
Incredible India!  India, India, everywhere, as they say at the World Economic Forum in Davos. It was an opportunity for our daughters, Kelsey ( 17 )and Christina ( 15 ) to experience a land that is becoming increasingly important in their lives. India's emerging economy, especially in the field of information technology makes them a global player.  This is education for their future, not our past.

We flew from Dulles and, after one flight change, took the overnight to New Delhi.Mohan, our remarkable travel agent and head of Travel Scope ( India) Pvt Ltd, met us at the airport with his assistants. I already felt he was almost a part of our family, since we'd been exchanging mails daily for nearly six months, planning and mapping this adventure. My goal was to alternate exotic adventures and periences with interludes of luxury and glamour. Mohan orchestrated the perfect combination. 

Exotic adventures bewitched us, there were so many - a tiger safari where we rode on elephants (better than the other way around!); lived with the resident Holy Man respectfully addressed  as Swamiji at Anant Van, an eco-lodge in the jungles of Central India.  

Wandering through villages; camel rides in the desert watching the riotous sun sets ; horseback adventures to 12 century temples with picnic lunch, Indian style; bazaar visits and shopping; seemingly endless conversations about dependence,learning about Rajputs of Rajasthan, about their Maharanis and Maharajas, the spread and lasting influences of Mughals and their decline, the poignant love story of the Taj Mahal, and the JEWELS of India…..... all so exotic and fabulous and rich.

Our senses were so often overwhelmed. Vibrant colors, ever-present noise of laughter, music and traffic jouncing over roads that resembled cratered paths. Panoply of smells everywhere, including food being cooked outdoors over wooden or charcoal fires, whose aromas presaged their flavors. In places, though, we could've done with better toilets....

Personal aspects of the Indian culture shone forth individually and collectively - their spirituality involving a pantheon of gods, beliefs and rituals; their warm hospitality; their friendly open faces, their love of Americans, their family connections; their respect for elephants, cows and other animals, for the planet, indeed for the whole connected cosmos. Their habit of standing so close when they talked for in their world they don't share our concept of personal space.

A vivid image best evokes the juxtaposition of tradition and innovation that is India today, people along the roadside smiling and waving, in saris and turbans that blazed with colors rarely seen in fabric, laying fiber optic cables in ditches that they shoveled with their hands. We're so glad our children saw it, so glad they understand or will in time all that it implies for their future.

It’s the contrasts about the country that is so remarkable and the fact that every experience is contained in this one country. Each one of the experiences engaged our senses and effected our emotions.

The horse back adventure through the rugged Aravalli hills, riding through dried river beds, semi arid plains on thorough-bred Marwari horses was a unanimous adventure highlight. Riding into the sunset on camel back gently swaying, the sky crimson overhead was our idea of exotic romance.

Riding an elephant and sighting the Royal Bengal Tiger in flesh and blood in its natural habitat was the ultimate wildlife highlight. Staying at the Taj Lake Palace, a floating palace on a lake in the incredibly beautiful city of Udaipur was a luxury highlight.  A vegetarian meal at Mohan’s home, that provided us an insight into the life and daily living of an Indian family, an inclusive existence which is increasingly becoming alien was a ________ highlight.

We could go on and on, there were so many “wow” moments. In the end we agreed that another trip was essential for factual evaluation.