Monthly Archives: May 2014

A fresh cold wave is what is desperately needed to escape the scorching Delhi heat. Nisha Aggarwal pens down her experience of one such perfect summer getaway, Manali.

Although I never tried intently to go for a vacation to frosty places in summer, but if by chance or through work I visited such places they remain alive in memory as nostalgia. My first such visit was as a kid (may be nine or ten years old). It was my first distant outing with family (relatives and cousins). It was a family trip from Rajasthan to Vaishno Devi through Chandigarh, Amritsar and Shimla. Although it wasn’t a trip aiming to escape the heat of summer, still when I began to think about the ‘cool destinations’ I have visited, I couldn’t resist remembering that trip. I didn’t want to come back/either go ahead from Chandigarh, a city designed by Swiss-French architect Le Corbusier. Memory recalls the open hand sculptures, the city’s rock garden, Zakir Hussain rose garden and its litchi fruit trees which I remember more than the roses! Amritsar’s Golden Temple, Jallian wala Bagh leaving the sense of fear and courage into heart and afterwards Shimla’s natural beauty were the relief to senses. That was the first time I travelled in Indian Railway (perhaps the Kalka-Shimla Railway line) filled up with ebullience of travelling in ‘the longest bus’ (of my then knowledge).

Being in Shimla was my first confrontation with mountains of Himachal Pradesh, a nearest/popular summer tourist spot for all north Indians. Shimla was declared as a summer capital of British India also. During that Shimla visit I was introduced to ‘green’ mountains of Himachal Pradesh but I confronted snowcapped mountains of Himachal during my last year’s Manali tour. One interesting thing about Manali tour was that it was an official trip instead of a holiday but the mountains of western Himalayas made me feel ‘freer’ than ever. It was an adventure programme for students and I was deputed to accompany them as a teacher. We as a team started from Aleo, New Manali, along with three trekking instructors and went ahead to Solang Valley, Dhundiand then to Bakkarthach. Despite persuasive aims this journey percolated to have cultural, monumental and scenic feast.The ethnic and crystal shops, temples and Buddhist monasteries of old Manali, local market and tribes collection set up by the Government of India in New Manali, exciting paragliding at Solang valley, the Naggar castle, Nicholas Roerich art gallery and Urusvati Himalayan folk art museum of heritage village Naggar and to know about the economy and life of the local people were the pickings in my basket.

So, Manali was a sojourn point and the entire journey was divided into various halts. Apart from the halting points, sightseeing was a visual treat for eyes during the trekking. Most unforgettable was the way to Solang Valley from New Manali. It is about 15 km far. The best time for trekking is from May to November as snow is not there during this period. It provides the scintilla of Jogini water fall, Nehru Kund and the lives of local residents in villages like Barua, Balang and Solang in between the way. One can find the trees and plants of apple, apricot, pear, palm, walnut and wild strawberry and also the farmers at work on this way. Good thing about waterfalls and rivers of Himachal is that they are having pure water and Himalayans does not need to use water purifier for purifying the drinking water. The pure water which directly comes from earth is called ‘Jerru water’.

Reaching to Solang Valley adds more to the scenic vision. It is a splendid valley between Solang village and Beas Kund. It derives its name from combination of words Solang (nearby village) and Valley (water stream). It is a side valley at the top of the Kullu Valley in Himachal Pradesh, 14 km northwest of the town Manali on the way to Rohtang Pass. Solang valley offers the view of glaciers and snowcapped mountains and peaks. Giant slopes of lawn comprise Solang Valley and provide its reputation as a popular ski resort. The winter skiing festival is organized here. Training in skiing is imparted at this place. Snow melts during the starting summers in May and skiing is then replaced by zorbing, paragliding, parachuting and horse riding.

Next reaching point Dhundi is the last village in Solang Valley, and the last place to stock up with a few essentials before heading to the mountains. Metal road ends here and temperature gets down. At 9,250 feet above sea level is endued a novice experience. Lungs siphoning the fresh air, taste of pious flashy water and eyesight impinging over snow layered mountains were stimulating the senses. It was an euphonious treatment of nature for a metropolitan habitant like me, who absorbs a plenty of polluted air in her lungs daily drinks mechanically filtered toxic water and eats chemically grown vegetables and fruits. Here the temporary accommodation of tents is provided to mountaineers, as permanent construction is not workable in these hills.

Still the snow was far from the touch, only eyes could reach it. Our waiting to touch, play and sliding onto snow ended in trekking to Bakkar Thach afterwards. Trek from Dhundi to Bakkar Thach is an uphill walk for about 3-4 hours. Bakkar Thach is a highland meadow over 9,500 feets height and it literally means ‘Shepherd’s fields’. These sun and wind swept meadows are likely a feast for the senses indeed. Crossing the snow bridges in midway are a bit adventurous to walk over, which are actually a hardened surface of layered old snow. This has converted into a bridge like path over the year’s snow fall, under which the Vyas/Beas River flows. The danger to cross these is its possibility of having any crack in comparatively lean layer, which could lead to any unwilling event. So, one need continuous instructions here from the trekking instructors. Bakkar Thach was the last target place to reach, next was coming back to Aleo from where we started.

Throughout the journey I was remembering my all the college trips ‘as a student’ with friends and teachers and obviously comparing the ‘changed circumstance’ of this tour. Both these visits to Himalayas, to Shimla as a child and to Manali as a teacher were ‘first’ in their kinds yet will live as nostalgia ‘forever’ in life.

H.A.Anil Kumar writes how Nandi Hills ,then called Ananda Giri meaning ‘The Hill of Happiness’,is a perfect summer retreat not only because of its scenic attractions such as Tipu’s Drop, Tipu’s Summer Palace, Amruth Sarovar Lake etc but also for its temples and mythological history.

‘Tipu drop’ is a famous spot on top of the Nandi hills station from where king Tipu used to drop culprits. Located 60 kms to the north of Bengaluru, it compulsorily rains in the city when clouds accumulate on top of this hill. Nandi to the city is Himalayas to India, in attitude and geography. The new address to this hill is that it is also 30 kms north to the new Kempegowda International Airport (KIA). From this angle, the farming spots around the hill looks a real estate agent’s ‘Mechanas Gold’. Tipu, when he ruled the city, it seems, used to drop the State’s enemies from that drop, which was/is steep. There is a renewed joke about it: one of them, who was about to be dropped, protested with a different reason. “I am not afraid to fall and die, but don’t like it below, it’s getting too hot and am going to miss the cold here at the top” he seem to have said. Obviously, he was dropped for telling the obvious truth, this time for telling it to Tipu, instead of to the enemy king!

As the fellow who was dropped said it, the drop in the temperature of Bengaluru, though in a reverse order, is in a way warming up to the phenomena of global warming. The more the city gets hotter, the more is Nandi Hills in demand for its cool temperature. In my childhood days, I saw the vehicles, then rare though, moving far away from the city to Chikkaballapura, the next district, from the top of Nandi; and completely mistook it to be tiny play vehicles and not the big-ones-at-a-distance! May be that is the reason I came into visual arts and have been coming back, time and again, to Nandi hills, since few decades – in order to rectify the perceptual misconception! This is my favorite spot and my favorite anecdote to respectively show and narrate to all those whom I take there, whether they listen or not. Some act very concerned, “Do you still feel them small or you have grown up?” they insist.

Among seven hills, Nandi hill was converted into a hill-station by the Botanical department of the British government. The news that Gandhi stayed here is not only factual but has become legendary, like Rama and Sita staying and walking in various places, throughout the country. One thing for sure, all of them had big, six foot lengthy feet and the rocks became sand when they stepped upon it. That’s how their footprints are visible everywhere, bigger as well so that even myopic people can see through their presence. The ten thousand people who flock Nandi throughout the weekends want to convert the trees into sand – they write their names every possible where; and write the name of those whom they can’t be without, next to those names! At one time ‘Tipu Drop’ was so infamous for committing suicide that when someone tried to jump from elsewhere, he was ardently instructed by a Nandi Hill fan, “Please jump from Tipu Drop only. It’s worth the money; and the experience is unique and unrepeatable, believe me!” Since Kannadigas (people staying in Karnataka) want to travel rather than turn their homes into travel places, they dropped the idea of converting Tipu Drop as the right spot to embark upon a journey-of-no-return. Even if someone is half dead after jumping from here, route to either the foothills or the top is so complicated that he/she will spend the rest of his/her (left over) life reaching it.

It is so cold up in Nandi that the gates close at 7pm sharp everyday night, not for the fear that otherwise someone is going to die of pneumonia. One should book the rooms inside that gate, to stay overnight, to happily drink beer in the government guest house and to more happily watch the jewel-like lit villages below and the runway of the KIA airport at a distance. May be Tipu should have dropped that pun-filled pundit in night times, with warm regards, because the one who was dropped could have easily caught the flight directly from the runway to heavens.
Shankarnag, known to the rest of the country for his direction of ‘Malgudi Days’ Hindi tele-serials, wanted to construct a rope-way to Nandi hills from top to bottom, or even the other way round. The road accident which killed him when he was just 37 also killed this project as well in 1992. In the Kannada remake of Devanand’s ‘Jewel Thief’ film, Raj Kumar points out towards the city from top of Nandi hills and says that, “Once I am the king, this is my kingdom”. Most climax scenes of Kannada films, wherein the villain or vamp are dropping the male or female child from top of Nandi hills and the hero or heroine is holding on to him or her and kicking the villain or vamp – were all shot in Nandi hills.

People come to Nandi hills to see it from a distance while arriving; and come to see the surrounding districts, after having climbed it. Once on top, the horizon surrounds the hills like a circle, all around. The sun set is not seen only in the west but its effect on the eastern horizon leaves an illusion of the penultimate moments of sunrise as well, like the midsummer of the Nordic countries! Nandi Hills is the cooler as well as the rain harvesting system to a field called Bangalore! Dawn or dusk is the right time to be at Nandi Hills. If you have seen the dawn over here you are a healthy person, because you got up to the early morning mist so earnestly, willingly. If you have seen the dusk over here, it means you are well connected and can afford to overstay, legally or otherwise.

The only way you can climb Nandi is to drive or get driven, with a drive to sight-see. There are altogether seven mountains like this, while only Nandi is put to use. The Bhoganandishwara temple at the foot of the hills is a thousand year old Hoysala-Pallava dynasties construction, that mischievously but brilliantly contests the mystical fact that those two dynasties always punctured each other’s royalty. May be they had a time-out session, wherein they together partied on this hill! The guides, very few of them, tell you these and other stories for a pay which imitates the process of alms-giving. The temple has exquisite carvings a photographer’s delight; a kalyani (water tank) very pleasant for-your-eyes (only, not to take a bath). From this temple, Nandi Hill looks like heaven, if you keep in mind the fact that that is exactly the aim of any temple – to show you heavens.

One needs to drive around the hill, to reach the top, in a clockwise direction, which is almost like driving in the ghat sections, for about 9 kms uphill. Often the truck drivers driving back from Nandi hills are seen getting down from their vehicles and helping out private car owners, to drive upwards with a particular knack. If the drivers or the directions are reversed in such cases, the private vehicle owners who drive can come down walking and collect their vehicles at the foot of the hills – for, the vehicles would have travelled without an owner/driver, just for a change!

The mood on top of Nandi hills is always engrossed by the meticulously planted greenery by the botanical department. The varieties of saplings, flora and fauna, distantly owe gratitude to the German, Mr.Krumbigal, the garder-expert who turned Bengaluru into a garden city. There are no specific places to visit ‘on’ Nandi, but one can move from a temple, to a hotel, from a plantation to a bus stop, over there. All that is to be seen is ‘outside’ of Nandi, as if Shiva is seated on Nandi and watching kailasa all around him. Physically fit people walk all the way from the city to the foothill of Nandi on Shivarathri festive evening; and climb Nandi almost counting the steps. Those in the farm lands all around Nandi sell grapes, cucumber, guava, flowers to the visitors on the highway. The farmers are/were the sellers without a mediator. However, now they are more privileged – - the real estate people visit the farmers in their own abodes, to buy the farm land and convert them into resorts, industries and similar public sectors. This is only if some agricultural land is still left over, without being already sold for similar purposes!

Nandi hill is half a kilometer drive from the northern edge of Bengaluru. This was the hill which was visible from any high-rise building in the city in the 70s, when such high-rises were rare. You see Nandi in one whole form, as if it is intricately composed and connected. On the other hand, Bengaluru, seen from Nandi, is like a being distorted and fragmented due to disorganized planning and demonic ambitions. For those who break their heads in matters of town planning of the Metro, Nandi is an ideal place to chill out. Or, there is another myth about Nandi: no matter how suffocating the city of Bengaluru is, it seems pleasant only from one point – i.e. when seen from Nandi Hills

Every moment we travel, freeze memories and learn unlearn something. Through his words,H.A. Anil Kumar explores the real definition of travel.

As this guy rode in a bicycle towards me, I realized that he had a cheap artificial leg that would have drawn the attention of the whole village back home in India. It was a tiny village somewhere in between Columbia and Jaffna, in 2012 or so, after the LTTE chief Prabhakaran was officially announced dead. I spoke to him, not Prabhakaran, but the one-legged-fellow; and he appeared special to me not just because he was one legged but because of the peculiar artificial leg he carried and that carried him. He appeared more special after he began to speak, about travels.

“We travel because we are sure to come back from it!” he insisted that travel was a job, a sentence, a task, from which one needs to be ‘release from’, sooner or later. “Why did you come to Colombo?” he asked and smiled, expecting any and all the replies to be below the mark of mediocrity. “I am sure you are not sure. If you knew, you would have refused to come here because of the burden of knowing beforehand, about your travel!” I did not understand his words in all its essence, even after returning back to India; and even to this day. The only thing I realized was that his artificial leg was very enthusiastic to move, it always appeared in the shape of an exclamatory mark! As if an afterthought, I realized that all his sentences ended with an ‘!’ i.e. exclamatory marks!!!

A Journey becomes a travel when we realize that not everything that we ‘see’ and ‘hear’ can be realized!    

Nobody is a lonely traveller, for we always travel with guilt: of being extravagant, because we don’t consider a purposeful journey as ‘travel’! We don’t travel for pleasure, for always change the definition of pleasure. How else can one justify the ‘Dharavi slum tourism’, ‘Indian election tourism’ and the religious ‘guilt tourism’ to places like Tirupathi, Dharmasthala and Dhammashala. What is so pleasurable about being witness to poverty, theatricality and the mad trade between religion and economy, respectively?

Contemporary travels aim at a moment of inner, deeper fulfillment. Hence it is a growing industry. The hunger of an establishment depends on the fulfillment of people’s yearning to travel. Earlier, those who would go to religious places had to renounce something dear to them, over there. Some, as the joke goes, would drop their elders, redefining them as burdens. Others, who would renounce their anger there, would get really angry when asked repeatedly about it!

Murderers and thugs would run off to religious places wherein they would be availed with one sumptuous meal and a piece of cloth every day, throughout their lifetime, due to the belief system. Those travels are always with one way ticket, like that of those who are getting ready to go to Mars, now. “You want to climb up; we want to go deep within” is a quotation that separates the travel-attitude, between the past and the present, East and the West, as is mentioned in the film “Seven Years in Tibet”.

The one-legged Srilankan’s question and teasing statement about the burden of travel needs time off travel, to contemplate. He was speaking in the land of an overwhelming presence of Buddha, like Cheguvara is present in India. It was Gautama who said that the best journey is to travel here and now. Why do we travel? Really? A teenager recently replied, “to travel! Travel is its very purpose, isn’t it!?” Thus the imagination-of-travel-in-itself has become a memento for travellers, they relish bringing back only one thing now, unlike earlier times (mementos-as-reminders-of-travels were the objectives). They bring frozen memories in visual forms: the future photos, to be imprisoned in their Facebook accounts!

Physical movement from one to other place is an ancient mode of travel. If one follows it, even today, despite quicker access through fast engines/gadgets and virtual worlds, such a travel is considered pilgrimage. ‘Home away from home’ is a riddle: where do people residing in/near Vatican, Haridwar, Taj Mahal, Las Vegas and Pyramids travel to? Hence, visiting a place is different from travel, considering travel as a means to an end is taking away half of the pleasure it offers.

My care taker artist at HIAP in Helsinki (Finland) used to ask me often whether I feel like going back to India. Most artists-in-residency, it seems, did so, owing to the cold, solitariness and boredom. I said no, not because of mere courtesy. Back at home, my friends asked me whether I feel like going back to Helsinki. Being tired of my company was not the only reason for them to ask that question.

A disbelief that the answer lies within is the basic reason for travel. Realizing it is called as a return-journey. Yet there is and will be only one reason to travel: to find out why one does so!//

Chavittu Nadakam is a colorful Latin Christian classical art form originated in Cochin,Kerala. Tanya Abraham goes to its birthplace to know this ‘Indian Opera’ deeper and better.

I am in Vypeen in Kochi, with Joy, a Chavittu nadakam artist. My research on culture, and their confluences has brought me to him.He is young, in his late twenties and one of the few of his generation who have chosen to carry on the tradition of the dance-drama.He offers me a cup of tea, we are sitting in his drawing room, the TV buzzing with that evening’s Asianet News. Joy’s wife Omana is standing at the doorway to the kitchen, attentively listening to it.I wonder if she can hear, as Joy lowers the volume. He then pulls out an album of photographs – of his father and uncles, artists who don’t perform any longer. I am curious why he gave up his college degree to become a Chavittu nadakam artist. “i believe that is what I am born to do, the reason why I was born into this family.’ Three generations of artists, have won his family pride; an array of certificates and places sit dust free on the shelf above the TV. Prized possessions. I tell him the reason I am visiting him, that I need to know how this particular art form is an interesting amalgamation of details, where history ties stories together. Joy is thinking, and says that the reason is simple; We are in Kerala, so much has happened in Kochi over the last centuries. ‘Besides music and dance has been the medium of expression, of communication,’ he adds.

Chavittu nadakam carries in its bosom specifics which no other art form has – It is special. It is a narrative of the past – both through movement and speech, and emerged in Cochin amongst a specific community of people called the Latin Catholics in the 17th century. Chavittu means stamp and nadakam means drama. And it is performed by men only,requiring enormous strength and stamina. I am amused at the elaborate, gaudy costumes which hang in Joy’s bedroom.Sequenced jackets, satin pants and crowns in gold paper. ‘It is too expensive to have metal crowns any longer, so we use paper and embellish it with colorful plastic stones. We need to portray royalty, he says. Wigs of various hair texture and colours are places in clear plastic bags in a basket, each assigned for a particular performance.The dramas are set in the Portuguese period, and the costumes carry the flavor.Of Indian men in pink make up and red tinted lips, everything to provide a foreign look. The costumes seem odd for hot weather, but Portuguese Cochin is brought alive on stage. Joy invites me to a performance that evening, and promises he would have me escorted home late that day. Vypeen is a boat’s ride from mainland Kochi, and performances are always at night.It provides to the drama, and the excitement is elaborate with lights and sound.I promptly agree, and promise his wife to help her pack his costumes in a cardboard box. Omana has them arranged on the bed, and combs out the wigs – black, brown and auburn.They go into the box as well and before we know it, Joy is honking from his Maruti 800. I manage to squeeze in at the back, the box snug next to me. It is an hour’s drive from Kochi, he announces.First we cross the waters and then ply our way to Allepey. The church there has asked for a performance, for its Centenary Celebrations.We are to meet the rest of the troupe enroute, at a tea stall where they will stop for a early meal. ‘It is not always easy to find people who want a Chavittu nadakam performance, very few people perform these days; its a dying art he says.I can sense the pain in his voice, as he swallows, his Adam’s apple moving in unison. I notice anxiety rise around in the car, from uncertainty (and a college degree forgotten).

At the tea stall, a van of peering faces stare at us.Pink faces with moles and artificial mustaches.They spill out of the vehicle, sweat beads forming on their painted faces.The make-up artist is dabbing them clean. Joy introduces me to Anthony maash, a veteran and a dedicated Chavittu nadakam enthusiast. He invites me for a cup of tea, with Joy sitting opposite to me.He lights a beedi.’ It started during the time of the Portugese, when they ruled in Kerala.It is the folk dance of the coastal region, and has a religious tone to it.That is why the church still supports it today, perhaps our only support. Religion plays an important role as stories tend to be Biblical or at least carry a Biblical tone:Stories from the Bible were best communicated through dance, music and drama; it was an ideal way to spread Christianity in the region. I decide to mount the van, to be with Anthony mash. He lights another beedi. He narrates a portion of the entrance dialogue to me : The dialogue is extensive and has to be bi-hearted, and are narrated with the stomping of the feet on the wooden stage.The sound of the stomps add to the drama, accentuates the narration. I am amazed at the skill required to synchronize the two, Anthony mash says he can do it in his sleep.

By the time the van moves through a paddy field and into the church compound, people have already begun to gather.The church vicar is there to greet us, and looks at me oddly.I quickly introduce myself.He ignores me.Joy makes sure I get a chair to sit on, V.I.P seating, he says.The others are squatted on the ground. Anthony mash and team have already readied themselves backstage.A gong strikes and the actors appear.I trace the Malayalam in the dialogue and parts are in ancient Portuguese, some a creole. Narrations break out into songs, much in Tamil.The close proximity of Kerala to Tamil Nadu explains the reason why, but also the interesting idea that Tamil scholars and musicians once traversed Kochi.The music and percussion provide a strong ambience, stomping of feet and elaborate gestures mesmerize the audience. I am awed. There is no art form in Kerala which is so unique; the merging of history, culture and ideas from different parts of the globe.Joy appears in orange satin pants and a cross in hand.The otherwise quiet man breaks out in loud dialogue.I clap. Omana smiles at me.The church vicar doesn’t turn to look, but his assistant next to me says that it will perhaps be the last time the church will have the performance.’Too expensive…. the travel, the stage.’ My heart goes out to Joy and his team.Patrons no longer exist, the art is dying and artists are few. Maybe Joy would go back to a regular job in the years to come, I think. I glance at Omana.’His college degree still holds good,’ she says.

Shubhasree Purkayastha’s words explore not only Ajanta’s artistic beauty and heavy history but also the skill of the artisans of that era.

“I want to stand there under the murals, experience them in person, before they are damaged forever.”

“Ummm…okay. And?”

This is how my flat mate reacts when she sees me packing bags for Ajanta. I had no better answer to her question of why I was going to a cave in the Deccan on a college break, unlike my other batch mates who were making plans for Goa. Over the last semester I had read and worked on the Ajanta murals for my paper so much, that now it only made sense to visit the place in person.

Ajanta and Ellora caves had always been in my bucket list, and during my second semester breaks in college, I made sure I visit Aurangabad and its vicinity. A week-long stay in the region gave me the opportunity to admire many other landmarks such as the tomb of Aurangzeb, the Bibi-ka-Maqbara (which has been inappropriately labelled as a “copy” of the Taj Mahal), Daulatabad Fort, etc.

Here I would contain a discussion of only the Ajanta Caves, and primarily its murals, due to paucity of space.

The Ajanta Caves were named after the nearby village of Ajintha, when discovered in early 19^th century by officers of the Madras Army. Located in the very heart of the “Indhyadri” Range, the horse shoe bend of around thirty caves border the curve of the Waghora River, in the state of Maharashtra. At once grandiose and pleasantly rustic, the site also benefits from a nearby waterfall, the “Saptakunda” (Seven Cascades).

The only textual mention of the caves is by the Chinese traveller Huin Tsang who visited India during the 17^th century CE, during which time the site was probably still active, attracting myriad pilgrims, devotees and travellers. These were primarily Buddhist caves, used during the monsoon season as shelters for the itinerant monks. Over decades more and more living rock was hollowed out and “viharas” (monasteries) and “chaityas” (prayer halls) constructed by generations of followers and well as non-followers of Buddhism. The site probably received royal patronage, hinting at the importance of the region, which enabled the creators to undertake an awe-inspiring program of architectural and visual accomplishments.

In order to reach the main site, I had to take an eco-friendly bus up the hill and then walk for another half an hour, to finally reach Cave 1. The steep walk up had left me breathless, and sweaty, and I had begun to reconsider walking any further than this. But on entering the cave, I instantly realised that all the physical labour was worth every bit!

There I stood, wide eyed and jaw dropped, amongst layers and layers of paintings, covering almost every inch of open surface, as if in “horror vacui”. Animals and birds set on creepers and other fauna, celestial beings hovering overhead, royal personages being initiated, musicians and dancers accompanying every event – all around me there was a celebration of beauty, perfection and life!

The caves were painted by guilds of artisans, being commissioned by the royalty or noblemen. The colours used were organic and mostly the images narrated the Jataka stories and the biography of the historical Buddha. Along with religious topics, secular themes were also dealt with which portrayed a very vibrant and exuberant ancient Indian lifestyle. An analysis of the murals have revealed that the painters followed the ancient treaties on techniques and art-making (Shilpa Shastras), mainly the “Chitrasutra”, in the creation of these masterpieces.

A domineering stylistic element of the Ajanta paintings is a contrasting chromatic effect obtained by juxtaposing figures of different flesh colour. The Ajanta painters were also considered experts in the subtle art of modelling and relief, intended to give roundness to the forms and fullness to flesh. In treating the human figure, he may also choose to delicately manipulate highlights against a darker background, for instance, underlining the curve of the lips or the bulge of the eyelids with a pale stroke, accenting the nose bridge with a light line or with bright points, picking out the reflected gleam of jewels on dark flesh.

What at first seems a confused, disorderly pictorial jumble follows definite rules that, once known, allows the viewer to differentiate among the scenes, isolate the groups, gradually perceive the internal organisation of the composition, and appreciate the harmonious beauty of the whole.

It is impossible to talk about every single mural or every single architectural detail in such a short space. Hence I would limit my narrative to some of the most beautiful works of art. Most of the murals are confined to the first few caves, the term “vithi” (galleries) being used for them.

Cave 1 is an elegant “vihara” constructed during the 5^th century CE. The most astounding paintings from this cave are those relating the Mahajanaka Jataka, the story of King Mahajanaka. The painters here depicted the second half of the story dealing with Mahajanaka’s renunciation of the kingdom, renunciation of desires being considered of utmost importance in Buddhism. I tried my level best to get decent photographs in spite of the “no-flash” rule, but the murals have been so terribly damaged over the last few years of neglect and ignorance (a group of archaeologists once varnished the entire walls which led to flaking of the same in a huge amount) that I could only capture below average shots. Interesting figures in the Mahajanaka panels were the dancer in the foreground with her tie-and-die garment (a technique of cloth decoration still prevalent in India) and a companion of the royal entourage with an intricately detailed geese-motif shawl.

Adorning the two sides of the sanctum sanctorum, where the image of Buddha was sculpted, were the figures of Bodhisattva Padmapani and Vajrapani.

The Padmapani image can be undoubtedly classified as one of the masterpieces of Indian art for all times to come. Sticking perfectly to the technical treaties in every sense, the figure still manages to invoke an individualistic emotion of duality – as appropriate for this particular Bodhisattva, who serves mankind earnestly and yet does not desire liberation for himself. The facial expression, the downcast meditative eyes evoke sympathy and detachment, passion and indifference at the same time, a feat mastered so well by the Ajanta painters that to be repeated by any contemporary artist today is highly under doubt.

Hypnotised by the unbelievable beauty of these murals and the rock-cut architecture, I kept moving further and further ahead.  Ignoring all the physical strain, I kept exploring cave after cave, and finally made it till the end. As mentioned previously, most of the murals were in the initial caves only, but the others were majestic displays of rock-cut architectural achievements in themselves. The “chaitya grihas” (prayer halls) had more complicated ornamentation than the “viharas”. The outside walls of these prayer halls were profusely filled with reliefs depicting events from Gautama Buddha’s life, related myths of Yakshas, Yakshis (Nature Spirits) and Nagas (Serpent).

Also worth mentioning were the elaborate chaitya windows, pillar ornamentation and the inside of the roof carved with beam pattern, which had resonances with previous wood constructions. This characteristic of mimicking beam construction from wooden prototypes is a consistent feature in almost all ancient Indian Buddhist structures, a fact proving the theory of transition from wood to stone in Indian architecture (The wooden structures could not survive the climatic and other onslaughts of this humid country).

I travelled to many other places after this visit, it has been three years since my Ajanta summer break, but something about this visit will always stay with me. The caves of Ajanta with their breath-taking beauty humbled me. What our ancestors could do with bare hands and a chisel, what they could paint with nothing but organic colours and a hand-made brush!

We, living in modern times, could be mistaken in the assumption that we are the most developed humans that history has ever produced. We may have advanced mechanically and scientifically to an unprecedented level, may have built many beautiful things with machines and robots. But, one only needs to experience something akin to what I did at Ajanta, to realise that maybe we are wrong in our assumptions.

Maybe we have become too confident today, and maybe there is more to our ancestors than just mud huts and bullock carts.