Category: The Traveller

Ignoring the glamour and allurement of ‘historical’ touristy destinations, reminiscing about a humble ancestral home that once was and continues to be an inspiration and part of her silent reveries, Sushma Sabnis walks through a golden weave of distant memories from her childhood.

When you are a child, even a bungalow with three rooms seems palatial and that is how I saw my grandmother’s home in Bangalore. Born and raised in Mumbai, the rare luxury of more than two rooms seemed like a boon and the possibilities of living in ‘that’ one extra room were more attractive than the single bedroom kiosks we call ‘homes’ in an ever-shrinking metro. Add to this palace a huge terrace, a patio, and large space surrounding the house with medicinal plants, vegetables, fruits, aromatic flowering plants and old trees which stood like green sentinels at a fort gate – aged and relentlessly observant.

To many, Bangalore brings in imageries of flower gardens and bakeries, though the landscape has mutated rapidly over the past few decades, the green cover has remarkably diminished and bakeries are far and few with the advent of bullying mall culture. The innumerable ‘tourist spots’  like Cubbon park, Lalbaug, the ancient city of Vijayanagara, Hampi ruins, Nandi hills, Mysore palace and many historically significant places have become mere embellishments for tourists’ catalogues and work more as tourism aiding devices than culture marques.

For me Bangalore represents one specific place, ‘2722, Ratnakar’. A postal address which no longer exists but there was a time when you could just say these words to the auto-rickshaw and you would be delivered safe and sound to the correct place. ‘2722’ was the house number and ‘Ratnakar’ was my grandfather’s name, he was a musician, a painter, a theatre actor and a textile designer.

This ‘palace’ is very important for me because I spent most of my summer holidays in an environment being one with nature, art and the quintessential activities which most people deem mundane, but seen from a more historical perspective, they form the fine silken threads of our cultural heritage. When one takes a journey to see new places, specifically to break the tedium of an urban lifestyle, one often looks for unheard of places. New beaches, new temples, new mountains, newly excavated ruins, though all of these ‘new’ places are actually ancient according to their carbonic birth dates, the urban thinking anoints them as ‘not-explored yet’ hence ‘new’. Perhaps, the newness is brought on by the generous sprinkling of resorts, beach view, valley view, river view, forest view, palace view, boulder view..you name it, they have the view!

‘2722 Ratnakar’ was all of the above. There was no river, but a water tank with enough water for the family, there was no mountain but the walls were strongly rooted to weather storms, terrace high enough to view sun rises, there were no beaches, but the coconut tree leaves shaded half the terrace and gardens. They say the walls of an old house imbibe the nature of its inhabitants. 2722 Ratnakar did just that. Though I never met my grandfather, 2722 Ratnakar perhaps subtly activated some creative genes in me. No one left empty handed or empty hearted from this house.

Every summer holiday of mine was spent in this house. I learnt to draw and paint there, developed an interest in music, science and nature there, learnt new languages, and developed taste buds for different cuisines which the kitchen created daily. Most of all I learnt to trust in the silent and powerful, creative nature of life.

Pickling was an art my grandmother excelled at; carefully handpicked mangoes, limes, gooseberries and unconventional like carrots, peppers, gingers gave themselves up willingly to become immortal under her nimble coercing fingers. Pickling, an art of prolonging the life of a food item to cater to the short term memory of taste buds, while preserving the fruit or vegetable from fungal fronds, beyond its seasonal occurrence and elevating them to an immortal status..yes, Ammama excelled at it.

I often wish there were some sort of pickling agents for bygone years and their ever enchanting juicy memories, perhaps one could revisit those tastes, moments and the quiet air which emanated a sense of inner peace.

‘2722 Ratnakar’ does not exist anymore on a google map or any map, it lives and flourishes only in my memory. I do visit it in early morning dreams, breathe in the aroma of Ammama’s delicious cooking intermingling with the rose bushes and jasmine intoxicants, touch the pregnant seed pods of the balsam plants, tickle the leaves of a shy mimosa, pluck some fruit and bite into it and let the experience consume me in its entirety.

Maybe in the future, when technology creates a successfully working time machine, you would find me sitting and painting on the terrace of 2722 Ratnakar, shaded by those gently swaying leaves of the grand old green sentinels.

Far away from the maddening crowd and immersed well in history, a tastefully decked Lodi Restaurant at the Lodi Gardens in New Delhi could be an evening get away for anybody looking for culinary delights and ambience of history, alone or in company. Paramjot Walia recommends Lodi Restaurant as she tastes various gourmet specials with her sister.

Laid out in 1936, Lodi Garden is a blissful haven for walkers, picnickers and couples looking for privacy! It was laid out around beautiful tombs and other remnants from the Lodi era. Standing tall amidst history you could find not a very brightly lit restaurant acting as a surprising little oasis.

The restaurant is nostalgic not only for its name but its retro yet contemporary essence that captures you the moment you step in on that white pebbled floor. Cross the wooden swings acting as a perfect getaway from the office mess and the Delhi’s honking horns, you are inside the welcoming ambience of the Lodi Restaurant.

I started my food rendezvous with warm risotto dumplings and a chicken liver pate. Although visibly scarce, that succulent liver pate had deceptive looks. Appetizers favoured the meat eaters more than the vegetarians who could go for penne with fresh basil leaves, whole pine nuts in garlic and tomato gravy.

From the extensive bar menu, we chose the popular Bourbon Mint Julep (perfect concoction of bourbon whiskey, crushed ice, sugar, and sprigs of mint) and the smooth Merlot wine.

Inebriated not by the bourbon or wine but by the canopy of pale green trees and the small jute lamps hanging and lighting your table, you are bound to lose the sense of the time ticker.

As told, and observed, this restaurant attracts the foreign patrons more so pork and beef are most preferred dishes here. Saving the swine and bull, we went for crumb fried river sole with lemon crème and the yummy grilled Andaman prawns. The fish was a little salty for my taste buds so in this completion of sea food, prawns definitely win with a 9/10 from me. There are also good ‘prix fixee’ options of two courses and a cocktail or three courses and a cocktail.

For my sweet tooth I couldn’t have chosen anything better than Almond pudding with the special home-made fig ice cream. Every bite was succulent and bursting with flavour. The speciality, chocolate mousse, was served unasked, one of the perks of being a travel writer! I willl be a little biased here and would let the ‘chocolaty’ mousse retain its top dessert spot.

Another perk includes a quick review of the entire restaurant. While on my inspection I found two interesting things, one being the 16 tap wine machine imported from Australia and the other the Deli counter. With emphasis on fresh home grown products and seasonal ingredients, the Deli counter menu is a mix of fresh home-made sauces, dips, chutneys & some delicious ready to eat options. Organic products made from raw organic ingredients are sourced from their farms or certified organic vendors & farmers. The organic products on offer are Mango chutney, beetroot pickle, mixed vegetable pickle, mustard oil, basil pesto sauce, organic vegetables, local preserve and chilli tomato chutney.

As told by the chef, Elam Rana, the restaurant food menu is changed after every six months. So apart from the ambience, a foodie must visit this place at least twice a year.

Mecca Masjid is near Charminar, Hyderabad. One of the largest mosques in India, Mecca Masjid still retains the old world charm. Nisha Aggarwal hops into a bus from the NTPC Township only to come back with these memories.

Being a former student of Jamia Millia Islamia, New Delhi which has been officially declared a Muslim university, I used to hear the Friday Namaz and daily praying in form of the airy voices impinging into the ears, as there is a Mosque in University premises. I was not familiar with such plaint sonic religious utterances before. Going to temple was a familiar ritual as I belonged to a Hindu household and it was considered to be a good habit. And I have followed it so many times since my childhood, visiting the local temples and also the known ones in Rajasthan, New Delhi, Uttar Pradesh and in South India during family tours and educational trips of college. But the kind of ‘Roohani’/spiritual solace mosques and tombs leaves upon the soul, I didn’t ever find in a temple. Jostling devotees trying to find a glimpse of their beloved god, sounds of conch shells, bells and chanting mostly define a Hindu temple atmosphere.

People visit religious places mainly for spiritual solace. One may feel a sense of fulfillment as they undertake a pilgrimage, tie sacred threads around trees or idols and then travel again to remove them or offer something more as a part of wish fulfillment. Visiting a mosque imparts a sense of ‘emptiness’ that leads to spiritual peace.

During my days in Jamia, I used to visit Jama Masjid in old Delhi with my friends. Those were the second mosque experiences I had. As I now live in Andhra Pradesh, I get to hear the namaz quite often from the mosques seen in various locations near and around the place of my stay, Jyothi Nagar in the National Thermal Power Corporation Township. Hyderabad is not far away from here.

As there is a Bus via NTPC township to Hyderabad at 12.10 AM starting from NTPC Main Shopping complex which reaches to Hyderabad by early in morning. There is frequent bus service.  There are many employees from NTPC, Godavari Khani coal mines, Ramagundam power station and nearby small industries those travel to Hyderabad on Saturday and Sunday nights. The route is well connected by train also. I too decided to travel to Hyderabad during this Eid celebration specially to see the ‘Mecca Masjid’, one of the oldest mosques in Hyderabad.

Mecca Masjid, also known as Makkah Masjid, is one of the largest mosques of India. It is located near Charminar, the central point of Hyderabad. Chowmahalla Palace and Laad Bazaar are the other places around. Mecca Masjid is a listed heritage building in the old city of Hyderabad. In order to protect the old structures, vehicular traffic has been barred from this area by a special order by the government in 2001. Mecca Masjid derives its name from Mecca, the holiest site of Islam, because Muhammad Quli Qutb Shah, the fifth ruler of the Qutb Shahi dynasty, commissioned bricks to be made from the soil imported from Mecca, and used them in the construction of the central arch of the mosque. One could say that the whole city moves around this centrally located mosque.

It is said that Muhammad Quli Qutb Shah, the fifth Qutb Shahi Sultan of Golconda (now Hyderabad) personally laid the foundation stone for mosque. The three arched facades have been carved from a single piece of granite, which took five years to quarry. More than 8,000 workers were employed to build the mosque, which was later completed by Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb in 1694 BC after conquering Hyderabad. The entrance courtyard of the mosque is a rectangular, arched and canopied building, which houses the marble graves of Asaf Jahi rulers. This structure came up during the rule of the Asaf Jah rulers. It contains the tombs of the Nizams and their family.

The main structure of the mosque is sandwiched between two massive octagonal columns made out of a single piece of granite. The main hall of the mosque is 75 feet high, wide and long enough to accommodate 10,000 worshipers at a time. Fifteen arches support the roof of the main hall, five on each of the three sides. A wall rises on the fourth side to provide Mihrab. The octagonal columns have arched balconies on level with the roof of the mosque, above which the column continues upwards till it is crowned by a dome and spire. Inscriptions from the Quran adorn many of the arches and doors. The floral motifs and the friezes over the arches seem to have a close resemblance to the arches at Charminar and Golconda Fort.

One could see thriving local market at the entrance of the mosque. Pavement hawkers sell bangles, sweets, soft drinks, fruits and household items. The open quadrangle of the within the main mosque is filled with pigeons. Myths say that pigeons love silence and they like to live in graveyards, tombs and heritage sites. On the edge of the pond there are two stones and slab benches, and it is believed that whoever sits on them, returns to sit on them again.

I did not sit on the slab benches though I want to come back here once again. But I don’t want to go back to the places where religious superstitions are proliferated. However, I don’t mind sitting there at the mosque in a serene night all alone and watching the crescent moon trying to listen to the secrets of spirits from the twin tombs.

When reality begins to evade us, as if behind a veil; as an artist my eye catches those subtle apparently fleeting moments. Each picture appears to present a reality augmented by imagination, but as the Black Babul eternally stands by the waters, the inverted image is for real.

I live on my own by the waters…..

I look at the water and in it I see me, day and night  dancing, swaying, twisting , turning , shimmering , at the beck and call of  each breath of the depths, as they breathe high and low or settle into just a shiver. I live on my own by the waters. No one need protect me. My thorns might prick, but I live and let live. The Arabica gum oozes out of me with a fragrance so sweet. Many a medicines are made .The blue Kingfisher and its friends flap their wings and nestle into me. The winds caress my leafless branches as I bow down and serve. I am the Black Babul.

Kavita Jaiswal

The Keoladeo National Park formerly known as the Bharatpur Bird Sanctuary ,Rajasthan

June 19^th 2013

The magic of tussar weaving by old hands amidst the lush green paddy fields of Bhandara, near Nagpur, Maharashtra….

“Welcome to plastic free Nilgiris” proclaim painted boards dotting the hillsides around Ooty, Coonoor, Kothagiri. The landscape is striped with tea plantations and multi-coloured wooded sections. All this is punctuated with picturesque villages; also resorts and motels waiting to be occupied by tourists arriving in the overflowing vehicles that wind and honk their way along the ribbon-like roads. The Nilgiris or ‘Blue Mountains’ is a name that does not seem to have any recorded history, though it is conjectured that the blueish haze caused by the altitude (situated at an elevation of 900 to 2636 meters above MSL) gave the area its name, or that the name came from the kurunji flower, known to bloom here every twelve years and cover the hillsides with shades of blue.

The very thought of these verdant spaces being sullied with plastic is depressing; the reality of the plastic-free status of the area is apparent in the strict use of either brown paper, or sturdy newspaper bags by the shops, whether curio shops, stores selling the famous ‘home made chocolate’ and eucalyptus oil, or general stores where plastic, if any, is the packaging of some product like chips or biscuits. A chance sighted plastic cover is most certainly brought by a careless tourist, unwilling to follow the rules. ‘When in Rome, do as Romans’ is the saying – the constant reminder that it is a plastic free zone makes an impression on everyone, regardless of the status of their personal environmental-friendliness. It is hats-off to the Tamil Nadu Government, and the local people, for jointly implementing the system, and taking a positive step towards conserving their green spaces and preventing (further) environmental pollution.

The popularity of Ooty, Coonoor and Kothagiri, once belonging entirely to the Kota, Soligas, Irumba and Badaga indigenous tribes, as a holiday resort began early in the nineteenth century. History records the role of East India Company employee John Sullivan in popularizing the Nilgiris as a summer home for the English working in the heat of the plains. He even introduced a variety of plants and trees to the region, brought from Europe and South Africa, and his house and grave can still be visited in Ooty. The late nineteenth century saw the region well connected by road and rail, and with the ownership of vast tracts of land by British officials came the tea and coffee plantations. Existing forest area and a great deal of grasslands and shrub-lands were cleared to make way for cultivation. However, the area continued to grow as a tourist destination in summer months, the plantations at least preventing large-scale building activity and urbanisation. In a bid to support eco-tourism, the TN government also encourages home-stays; these are available the year round and are a good way to enjoy the landscape, particularly if they are set on their own acreage of land. Residential homes with rooms converted into comfortable accommodation for guests are akin to sustainably run cottage industries as opposed to the high consumption and wastage in mechanized hotels and large resorts.

Many of the home-stays, being part of the original architecture of the area, blend in with the scenery and offer different panoramic views of the landscape, hills flowing into each other surrounded by the blue-green haze, living up to the name ‘Nilgiri’. The area is a bird-watcher’s paradise, as even the uninitiated will observe, and it is possible to see bison in herds, lithe horned deer, and even elephants and tigers (for those who are very lucky). Driving through the estates looking for vantage points to capture the best views can be filled with adventure, the roads sometimes narrowing down to rutted paths with perilous drops down the sides of the hill, and often steep climbs at alarming angles. However, every step of the way and every hairpin bend miraculously produce a new picture, and just when one is convinced it cannot get better, there appears an immense breathtaking view, with spectacular skies and undulating land spreading like a fairy-tale scene until they meet at the horizon. Standing in the resonant quiet of the landscape, small and powerless like anonymous characters in a Japanese wash-painting, one cannot but be thankful for the gift of nature’s resources and our opportunity to still enjoy them.

On an everyday basis, youths and others from the region are leaving to the ironically termed ‘greener pastures’ of cities in search of better lives. But urban spaces of this world cannot survive without the parallel existence of a green environment, to regulate temperatures and suck the air of its poisons, and animals and creatures to maintain the life-cycle. Visits to green spaces (also fast being eaten by encroachment) serve to provoke thought and encourage us to meditate on what we have lost, and pledge to do what we can to conserve every aspect of nature –we are jointly and individually responsible for it.

Making an area plastic-free is perhaps a small move, but will go miles in protecting what we have left of the natural world. I sincerely hope to see the signs “welcome to plastic free Karnataka” in and around the nature conserves in Karnataka too. It is imperative that other governments learn from Tamil Nadu’s success, and take these small steps towards a cleaner and happier earth. And remember, every single individual’s efforts count.

Lina Vincent Sunish

Sometimes following your instinct can result in giving you some of the most fascinating and incredible memories in life. I am glad that for taking one of the best decisions of my life that day.

My experience with Mayong, also known as the land of black magic in India, was a consequence of a small conversation with a native of Assam while I was on a trip to Guwahati. He introduced me to this mystic land which I was imagining with a lot of interest, while he narrated me a couple of stories flying about that place.

Legend has it, that once Raja Ram Singh, a general of the Mughal Empire, was ordered by Aurangzeb to take an army to Assam and subdue the Ahoms in 1667. Singh followed the orders of his master only to get a horrific defeat as the whole army perished in that land of witchcraft and not a trace was left.

It is also believed that Assam was one of the last states to be colonized by the British, as they were petrified of the power of witchcraft prevailing in Mayong.

Witchcraft or the occult sciences is a phenomenon that fascinates many, it definitely did fascinate me. It was that point of time in my life when I felt that I was missing out on a lot that needed to be explored, and I was in the mood for complete adventure. Mayong is a two hours’ drive from Guwahati, so I cashed in the opportunity of going there.I, along with my friend, was about to experience the coveted trip to the land of black-magic.

We encountered a police post while entering the village. They stopped our car just to give us a warning to keep from talking to any of the pedestrians on the way as it could be dangerous. I was beginning to enjoy this.

My eyes felt blessed at the sight of this beautiful land. Mayong lies on the banks of the dynamic Brahmaputra, surrounded by flush green trees and a soothing scenic beauty. But there was much more to it than just that, which I was yet to explore.

I spoke to a few locals while strolling around and was captivated by what I heard. They told me that there have been incidents where humans have been transformed to tigers and some of them have even disappeared mysteriously through black-magic.

I couldn’t help smirking at that statement. One of the persons did not look very happy by my reaction and said with a coarse voice, “There must be a reason why people are scared to come here since ages.” It seemed, as if the characters from a horror book were beginning to come alive.

It was fascinating to know that some of the families had inherited their ancestral relics,which they had either preserved or destroyed out of fear of these falling into wrong hands. The spark in their eyes while talking reflected a strong belief in the art of magic.

It was getting dark and I had started to get an eerie feeling by now, after listening to the tales of the locals, all of which sounded completely absurd to me but were able to impact my mind at large.

After toiling for over five hours, we decided to grab a bite at a small, shanty dhaba. It was time to dig in some mouth-watering smoked pork curry, prepared in mittikihandi. As a hardcore Bengali, I can never resist the taste of shorshediyeilish. Even though, my stomach did not permit me but my taste buds can never give up the charm of ilishmaach.  But the divine experience turned out to be a painful one, as a bone got stuck in my throat and I began to choke.

I was immediately taken to a small hut, which was two minutes from the dhaba.  A petite, old woman, draped in a maekhla chador emerged out of the hut. I assumed her to be a local doctor but, little did I know who she actually was.

She turned out to be a bez or a witch doctor. I did not know how to react at that point of time. I was in no capacity to resist the treatment from the bez. Though, reluctant, I left it to my fate, to see, how the cookie crumbles. By now I was fretting. She held my clammy hands. She mumbled a few lines and what happened left me completely startled. The choking disappeared and everything was back to normal. I still do not know how something so incredible happened.All through my convalescence, my friend was beside me, but even she was caught unawares about the whole incident.

I wished I could have stayed there a little longer but as I was on a shoestring, I could not afford to do so.

The incident changed my perception about things forever. I do not know if what happened to me was an art of magic or an intelligent trick but it left a print on my find. It made me think that there might be some phenomenon in the world which existsbeyond the theories of science, which exist beyond our knowledge or imagination. It made me realize that he world is as mysterious and deep as an ocean, which carries within itself innumerable stories and aspects that are still unknown and unthinkable of, but do exist.

Amrita Ray

It was a Sunday afternoon inside one of the colossal, cool, half-dark room of the Fort St. George museum at Chennai. Perhaps it’s the only place where I felt the existence of soft winter in entire town during my visit. There, in the late afternoon light I was amazed to observe an early colonial map showing Pulicut as a flourished port town, which has reduced to a small fishing town now. The ambiguity of the room must have added to my surprise.  The pale yellow tinted page had definitely sprung up my imagination to create an image of the fort city. How the artist imagined aerial view of the area in 17^th century? I try to look into the city through the eye of the unknown map-maker… How far the image has changed in last three hundred years?

My fellow travel-mates, who came all the way from Japan for tracing the Dutch trade connection between Japan and India, were busy pointing at the fort, churches, and cemetery at Pulicut, the headquarter of Dutch Coromandel in 17^th century. Comprised of a square structure with projection in its four corners, the structure of Fort Geldria is very similar to that of Fort St. George, though the earlier was essentially a Dutch one and the later-English.

When the next day we arrived at the site, no one could say us about the fort there except Mr Benedict. “There, across the moat…the whole fort area is covered under layers of thick bush”, as he explains the history almost comes alive in front of us. The fort was destructed during the Anglo-Mysore war and then by the British. Around the fort area, irregular settlements came up over the ages. Adjacent to the bus stop, appears the “new” Dutch cemetery (which was in use from 17^th century). The gateway, with an arch and intricately carved skeletons in both the sides had certainly shocked me out. Last few months, I was a visitor of temples and forts, where the doorways are guarded either by muscular guardians or sensuous river goddesses. Comprising of seventy seven graves, the cemetery is a land of astonishment! The tomb-stones, each carved with different themes and patterns have stories deep-buried about their time, patronisers and obviously the artists. According to Mr Benedict, some stones might have been carved in this region, which show the ease of dealing with Indian design patterns. One of the tombstones carved out of black granite, has a syncretic image of cherubs with earthen lamps in their hand. I wonder how the communication between two distant countries had resulted in creation of these imageries. While our way back to Chennai, I observed the pot-bellied, fierce-looking guardian sculptures with earthen lamps in their hand, placed over the roof of temples.

AARDE foundation has a small, well-maintained interpretation centre there, few steps ahead the cemetery. A number of objects including pieces of pottery, glass jars, maps, and an intact bed, collected from the neighbourhood. Definite evidences of Dutch trade in Coromandel, lot of these objects were accidental find. The earthen jars were used for storing crops or water, even somewhere as garbage bin. The bed was lying in a household, who were looking for replacing it with a new one. The ultramarine blue glass jars have their ancestry in Middle East. The most interesting for me was a map. Very similar to what I found in Chennai, the map is etched and hand coloured, manufactured in 18^th century, showing a very different Pulicut from what I see today. Local members of the organization do basketry and mat-weaving during the off-time which partially support them financially and also keeping the local craft practice alive.

A short tour through the roads around fort area was full of exploration. Portuguese and Dutch churches and houses share space with their Indian neighbours here. St. Anthony’s church, a white-and-blue structure, in the bright sunny day and middle of a fishermen’s settlement looked altogether an alien. Inside the double folded blue doors, there’s a small hall-cum-store room. A wooden chariot with cylindrical base and pyramidal roof was kept there, possibly for the processional purpose. What a shared culture we belong to! Similar chariots in larger scale are part of almost every Hindu temple in this part of the country, which serve similar purpose.

Finally we entered fort area (though only the name remains) facing the blue Pulicut lake. Reminiscent of the golden era of this port town, an old house remains in the fort area (or perhaps the only house). With simple Doric pillars supporting the slanted tiled roof, the house was once used as a trading post. Now the house is situated in compound of the local health centre. Health of these falling houses and architecture needs to be taken care of. In the night, the cemeteries are dug up for seeking hidden treasure, which, if not anything else, destroying these structures. A navy blue blue board with “protected monument” written over were seen more than one places, I hope the words come true in near future.

Often majestic trade ships are drawn in the maps. In the blue lake before my eyes, I see spindle-shaped boats, made out of tree trunks. The simple engineering of making them are continuing till ages, from long before the trade ships reached this land. While the map-maker was busy documenting the grand ones, the small ones got ignored. Through the passage of history, these modest fishing boats made its way, which the grand ones had failed. I decide making a map based on my experience; is this the way they started thinking? But I shouldn’t forget to draw the bunch of lively boats beside the lost landscape!

Rajarshi Sengupta

We asked the Delhi based art critic, writer, curator and translator about his experiences .

Here’s Johny ML’s take on travel and experience
Travel Deal: Which is your favorite travel destination? And why?
JohnyML: Favorite destinations change depending on the nature of traveling. I am not a person bitten by travel bug. But I do travel a lot as a part of my work. When it comes to traveling for pure enjoyment Kanya Kumari is a place I would like to visit again and again. Known to the rest of the world as Cape Comerin, Kanya Kumari is a place where three oceans, the Bay of Bengal, the Indian Ocean and the Arabian Sea meet. It is the southern tip of India. This place is nostalgically connected with me as there used to be annual family visits to this place during my childhood. Kanyakumari Temple, Vivekananda Rock and Thiruvalluvar Statue are the major attractions. Though the nature of seashore has changed over a period of time, I still look for those small crabs running along the shore and hiding in small holes, differently colored sands and shells. This is my favorite destination because I find some amount of peace in this place. Besides, on the way to Kanya Kumari, one could visit Sucheedram Temple and Padmanabhapuram Palace with wonderful murals. Both the bus and train journeys to Kanyakumari from Trivandrum are refreshing as the landscape along the way is really interesting.

TD: What’s your favorite street food?
JML: When I travel South, I prefer to eat from Tattukadas, makeshift eateries that become active only by evening. These eateries are different from dhabas of the North. Tattukadas serve you with good dosas, idlis, fish fries and many other vegetarian and non-vegetarian delicacies. I like to eat parottas and mutton fry from these shops.

TD: What’s your memorable journey?
JML: Most of the journeys are memorable ones. Traveling from Bastar to Narayanpura in Chattisgarh is one such memorable journey. Naraynpura is a Maoist center. We drove from Bastar to meet a tribal sculptor living in the Naxal region. We were advised to return by sunset by the Army deployment. Somehow we could not make it by that time. As we drove back it was pitch dark. The forests on either side had Mahua trees that yielded flowers with alcoholic contents. Tribal people set fire under each tree during the flowering season. We witnessed a vast land with trees circled by the girdles of fire. It was thrilling though we were partly benumbed by the fear of a possible Maoist attack on our vehicle.

TD: Could you narrate one of your funny travel experiences?
JML:When you are in it, no experience is a funny experience. But in retrospection they could look funny. I would rather recollect a happy and touching experience. Once I was traveling from Delhi to Kerala by train. A person from Lakshadweep befriended me during the journey. He was helping everyone in the train, to collect water, to fetch food or any chores like that. I got curious and he narrated his story to me. In an island everyone helps everyone else. That was the lesson I learnt from him. I recounted this experience in an article which got published in a very popular magazine in Kerala. A few weeks later, when I went to book my ticket back to Delhi, a booking clerk at the window, after looking at my application form asked me whether I was the same person who wrote about a guy from Lakshadweep. I said yes. Then he told me that the same person had come to book the ticket a week before at the same counter and they had talked about my article. This remains a very happy and touching experience in my journeys so far.

TD: Where does your work take you often?
JML: Work often takes me to Mumbai and Ahmedabad. In Mumbai I work with galleries and artists and in Ahmedabad I teach in two academies, National Institute of Design and CEPT University respectively. I enjoy spending time in Mumbai because in this city you could be simply anonymous. I walk into galleries, see shows, go to Samovar Restaurant at the Jehangir Gallery and occasionally meet some familiar people. I like Mumbai as a destination though I do prefer to live in Delhi.

TD: What is your take on art and travel?
JML: Somewhere I have written that travel is always filled with the unexpected even if it is a chartered one. Absolute strangers come up to help you or you meet up with people whose life stories could change your perspective. If you are an art/culture person, you are inclined to look out for such things during your journey. Travels reveal the characteristic features of the places where you travel and character of each place is constituted by the living cultures; it could be traditional as well as contemporary. You could read the people by looking at the images in the public domain. Artists and art people should travel as it is integral for developing and enriching their experiences and world view.

TD: Which is your get away place where you want to spend time alone?
JML: When you are not traveling, it is always my study room. But when I am traveling, I wish to spend time in small temples and or near temple ponds. I do not call it meditation but such places give you some kind of calmness. My experience is that I could go blank in such places. My favorite get away place is Sabarmati Ashram in Ahmedabad. Whenever I get a chance I go there and sit for a long time. I just think about Mahatma Gandhi and his days there. Perhaps, I always like to live my life in an ashram, devoting myself completely to reading, writing, meeting people and listening to them.

TD:How does travelling help you as an art critic? Does travel help you in understanding art better?How?
JML: As I mentioned before, I am not an avid traveler like many others in our art scene. But travelling does help me expand the scope of my experience about contemporary art and history. I speak less and listen to artists a lot. I speak only when I am asked to speak. Whenever I travel, I try to visit the studios of artists and listen a lot from them. Listening to their version of art is always important to formulate a critical idea about the art scene which you are writing about. If at all I have learnt any lesson from my traveling it is this: each person out there has a story worth listening to. Each artist has potential and an interesting life. But I gauge their life with their ambitions, aspirations and philosophy; and most of them fall flat in my eyes when I come to know that they are more keen on certain ideas about ‘success’ than the art they produce which could take them to that ‘success.’ Really good artists do not talk about success or opportunities. They talk about their art and success naturally comes to them.