Ladakh

Most people when asked about their philosophy of travel will utter fairly trite statements about understanding the world or themselves. Others seem to go for the green approach and come out with phrases like "only take photographs, leave only footprints." Others may see it as a kind of great social adventure whilst others happily admit to it being one big hedonistic pursuit. Some prefer not to be boxed into any of these categories. Ladakh is one destination where all your travel philosophies go out of the window. I would like to think that it is the mountains which draw you, instead of you going to the mountains, and it is particularly true with the giants of Ladakh. It is a calling, and not a destination.

It is impossible to communicate a Ladakh experience conventionally. I shall attempt an impressionist painting approach with words, in the hope that a passable picture will emerge from the spaces in between…

Mountain gods and rock ancestors standing watch patiently over the hustle-bustle of human activity - brightly colored prayer flags holding the wind and letting go at once - gompas cut into rock or stuck precariously on the sides of mountains - crumbling plaster and brick stupas in every direction you see - veins of murmuring snow-water racing down the mountains – the majestic confluence of Indus and Zanskar – ‘Julley’ greetings of apple cheeked Ladakis with bad teeth – the resounding frequencies of the surna, daman and the cymbals – monks trancing out behind elaborate masks during the cham dance at Spituk monastry – trigger happy tourists poking their lenses into everything and everyone – the double humped Yarkhandi camels of Nubra Valley, the only remnants of the silk route – a Kalachakra mandala in the making at Diskit monastry – shouting ‘KiKi SoSo Largyalo’ on top of mountain passes – walking around in the ruins of ancient dwellings on the south side of Lama Yuru monastery – spinning every prayer wheel in the passageways of every monastery – the feeling of being a part of a different painting, every few steps on the shores of Pangongso – the grueling climb up the 597 steps of Shanti stupa in Changspa, sometimes twice a day – coming across chukur, blue sheep, pashmina goats, marmots, dzos, yaks suddenly around a bend, or on top of a cliff, on the trail – the thrill of treading the territory of snow leopards, however infinitesimal the possibility of sighting one – Maggie noodles and chung in parachute tents – steaming mok-moks and thugpa in the Tibetian kitchen in Leh - following horse dropping markers to stick to the trail – instant vitamin C shots from thorny Leh Berry plants – green garnet hills with a backdrop of purple skies – the many many shades of blue – knee deep footprints in snow during the pee expeditions in the middle of the night – Apricot oil, apricot jam, apricot juice, sun dried apricots – discovering the perfect moisturizer/lip balm/sun protection in Yak butter – walking to the left of mani walls in obeisance – chanting Om Mani Padme Hum - Sun sets over Ma-La-Pho, the red land as described by Fa-Hien - just to be here and breathe is enough.

Visuals at http://vizualzenzationz.blogspot.com/

Random doodles

Most people when asked about their philosophy of travel will utter fairly trite statements about understanding the world or themselves. Others seem to go for the green approach and come out with phrases like "only take photographs, leave only footprints." Others may see it as a kind of great social adventure whilst others happily admit to it being one big hedonistic pursuit.

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The philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer said "Man has but two choices, to be a happy animal or a suffering God."

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An existential crisis is a state of panic or feeling of intense psychological discomfort about questions of existence. It is more common in cultures where basic survival needs have been overcome.

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You are only what you deny you are

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Travellers n'er did lie
Though fools at home condemn em -- Shakespeare, The Tempest

Untitled Poem

Driving into the setting sun
watch it rise again
in the rearview
hours fly by
miles roll on
destination always the same
an escape
an arrival
hellos and goodbyes
always connected
but slightly removed
watching myself...

Visiting Kerala Kalamandalam

Woke up at 4:00AM and walked about 1.5km from the government guest house to the Kalamandalam campus at Vallatholnagar, on a wet empty highway.I was accompanying Dr. Richmond (a family friend) who was a student of Koodiyattam there in 1967. Kalamandalam is a residential. gurukula style school for performing arts of Kerala, founded by the poet Vallathol in 1930. If you can imagine a gurukula founded by a radicle poet, on a piece of land he owned by the river, to preserve and propagate local performing arts without institutionalizing them, then that is Kalamandalam. Incidentally Vallathol happens to be a good friend of my maternal great grandfather, who used to help him with his English translations. Interestingly my mom remembers Vallathol as the frail deaf old man, with whom everyone conversed using Kathakali mudras (gestures)!

The campus is a beehive of activity at 4AM. The various kalaris (small roofed open structures that are classrooms) are in full swing. The asans (respected teachers) are some of the leading performing artists of Kerala in their respective fields. All aspects of performing arts like Kathakali, Koodiyattam, Mohiniattam, Bharathnatyam etc are taught here...ie., the dance, singing, instrumental and makeup are taught. Those who know me can imagine the grin on my face as I write, only percussive instruments are taught...:) The morning air is rent with stattacco beats of the Chenda, Maddhalam, Thimila and the Mizhavu.

Barathnatyam and Mohiniyattam kalaris are the most populated (and have the hottest chicks!), and are going through their morning exercises. The various levels of drumming kalaris are in full swing with the drummers sweating it out. he most interesting this early in the morning are the Kathakali and Koodiyattam kalaris. They are going through their 'Uzhichal' (massage) and 'Netrabhinayas' (eye exercises). The boys are all dressed in loin clothes and dunked in oil. Then in pairs, the teachers and senior students massage everyone for a couple of hours...with their feet! Basically the boys are spread out against a wall in wierd, impossible angles, while the masseuses hold a few hanging ropes and walk all over them. The Koodiyattam boys have some sort of oil poured in their eyes (which make them blood red), and are being taught to write alphabets with their eyeballs! I saw one of the teachers do this move in which his left eyeball was stationary, while his right eyeball moved horizontally...

The daily schedule for the dancers goes something like this...

• 4AM - 6AM - Massage/Exercises
• 6AM - 8AM - Eye exercises/Facial expressions
• 8AM - 10AM - Shower/Breakfast
• 10AM - 1PM - Regular dance classes
• 1PM - 3PM - Lunch break
• 3PM - 6PM - Regular school teaching English, Malayalam, Sanskrit etc
• 6PM - 8PM - Regular dance classes
• 8:30Pm - Dinner

For the drummers, they just bang drums all day long, sometimes accompanying dance classes, and sometimes working on their solos. The Chutti kalari (Makeup) had hundreds of clay pots to which the students were applying makeup. There is also a big Koothambalam (Performance space), which is designed exactly like the one at Wadakkunnathan temple in Thrissur.

Some information is available at http://www.kalamandalam.org/home.asp

On having a tarantula for a smoking companion

We live in 'sanitised', poured concrete alien landscapes, unconnected to the earth. The only vegetation we come across are confined to pots, and carefully manicured gardens, with plants of 'our choice', in fumigated surroundings. When I step out of this-world we confine ourselves in, two things strike me. One, green is the most predominant color in this world, and two, insects are the most diverse of nature's children. Mosquitoes, beetles, spiders, butterflies, caterpillars, silk worms, lizards, and a million others, that in my ignorance cannot put a name to.

I stayed a week at my aunts in Trivandrum, in the company of my aunt and grandmother. It was a close confinement, and the only privacy I had was when I chose to sleep outside on the swing - 'Aattu Kattil' (Aattu - swinging; kattil - bed). I had to use the toilet out the back at night, as I would be locked out. I primarily used it for rolling and smoking my nightly mixture. The first night I stepped into this elaborate spider web built across the door, in a bid to catch anything that came in. Needless to say I destroyed most of it that day. Over the next week, I got acquainted with the architect of the silken thread, a tarantula. I do not know if an entomologist, would classify it as a tarantula, but it was big and hairy, and hence I use the word 'Tarantula' as a proper noun, in my human nature's compulsive need to name/label things. Incidentally the only entomologist who comes to mind is the Japanese guy in Teshigara's movie Woman of the Dunes, who metaphorically gets imprisoned in a sand pit that he cant get out of!

I've thought about what Tarantula thought of me, who intruded to create a few minutes of intoxicating environment every night. It was a daily ritual to try and find a way inside, without getting trapped in the web, and trying not to destroy it either. I looked into each of its eight eyes, eight windows into its insect brain, attempting communication. What a stange world it must live in! Did my Tarantula friend see different aspects of the same thing, or does it see more detail of the same aspect, with its eight eyes? Or did simply see the bare minimum it needs of this world that it requires to survive?

Resurrection

This laziness in flexing my writing muscles and in connecting the uncountable thoughts is deplorable! Sometimes I think I might be scared, and at other times thoughts of incapability and possibility of shallowness plague my mind. Well with this post, I am Lazarus resurrected again, so to speak.

Is it really necessary to communicate? I remember writing about leaving markers for those who might chance upon it. I have stumbled upon some myself, and felt connected. Thoreau and Hesse come to mind. But I digress, and as usual get caught in meta-statements and plugged sentences.

To make a list of things I intended to write about during the past two couple of months, might aid in action after resurrection.

• On having a tarantula for a smoking companion
• Divine percussive instruments of Kerala
• Sanskrit drama - Koodiyattam
• Encounters with old age
• A Tamil classic - Ponniyin Selvan (Son of Ponni)

This Lazarus intends to be back more regularly now....

Daily rituals

Its my star birthday today, and like everyday went to the temple at 630AM with my grandmom. She goes to 3 different temples on 3 days of the week, to make special prayers for me. I asked what she prayed for, and she said marriage if it is right for you, and 'nalla buddhi' which rougly translates to 'good mind'. I cant argue with that, and so I join her in her early morning jaunts.

Another everyday ritual is to go to this great grand uncle's house everyday around 11ish to read him The Hindu from cover to cover. It takes about 2 hours, since he is more than half blind and deaf. Then follow it with a few pages of a translation of Natyasastra, written originally by Sage Baratha. This is great training if I deciede to take over the world with my oration! This great grand uncle happens to be a well known scholar on Theatre arts and music of Kerala. Have been researching the history of some percussion instruments of Kerala, and its fascinating. As the plan goes, I leave for Trivandrum to meet a more insistent grandmom for a week. Then come back to Thrissur to start Maddhalam lessons.

Afternoon naps are the best! I almost always wake up dazed and stay that way for 10 - 15 minutes. It takes some time for the cognitive part of the mind to get back to being in control. Afternoon naps take you to new depths of relaxation and chillness. Evenings, I walk to the city library and read some, and generally walk around town, meet old relatives, do minor work in the garden etc. No great revelations, inroads into philosophies, or 'fantastic' things to do...just the comforting drone of walking leisurly through these daily rituals.

Where am I?

A week in the Chennai pot boiler, outside and inside my head. I ride off towards Thrissur, Kerala tomorrow morning. There I gotta make plans to survive and travel during the South West monsoon. This is the time when the Roman galleys of the old would have been making preperations to brave the unknowns and ride the wind home. Me, I will be trying to resolve my personal contradictions at the roots, and preparing for a journey that might show me reality in a different light.

Random Journal Entry

I love to roam around and I like tough self-discipline, I don't mind hard work, and being poor doesn't bother me much. Being free doesn't mean evading necessity, it doesn't necessarily mean being happy. It is independent of where you are, or what you are doing.

Thunderstorms

I am ferocious in my leisure.
The lightninng strikes
in beautiful directions
mostly away from me.
I am uncompromising
in my attitude

Nomad Poet

the nomad poet
the poet nomad
with the words
he carefully chose
shoes chewed
how did it feel
no direction that don't point to
.... the poem

So as to speak...

"What is in the saying of things? It is in the doing of things..." ~ Unattributed quote

Once a course of action is arrived upon by a judicious mix of intuition and logic, such that, it is the only possible alternative left, then there is no reason to fret about. There are no waves of doubt in the ocean of the mind...only a deep calm.


"It might be possible to live life as a series of koans" ~ Unattributed quote

The Rinzai school of Zen buddhism is based on koans, and the Soto school is based on zazen. Koans are puzzles, which the practitioner lives and breathes intensly, until in finding the answer to that one kaon, he finds the answer to everything. Zazen is simply sitting...without any ego...without any expectations...just sitting.


"What is this compulsive need to be understood?" ~ Unattributed quote

The things you do to counter this cosmic boredom...

What great burdens we humans carry, caught in this trinity of unknown, unknowable and the ignorant!

Now did I read that somewhere, or did I make that up myself?! I honestly dont know.It has been like that. I havent been living up there in my head recently. But as and when such things (for lack of a better way to put it), occur to me, I have been

• Writing them down on paper, making paper boats, and subversively floating them in the office fountain pool.
• Saying it very slowly to random strangers at traffic lights, just before it turns green, and riding away.

Quite a Calvinish prank...:P Now if I were smart, I would sell it as a performance art that is my interpretation, of Dostoevsky's Notes from the underground, of the subversive angst in the urban culture...but fuck being smart. Here are some more of these one liners...

Civilisation began when man began to live in cities, and will one day come to a stand still in one bloody HUGE traffic jam.

Koyaanisqatsi. Do you know what that means? Its a Hopi Indian word that means a way of life that is out of balance.

Row Row Row your boat... gently down the river... Merrily, merrily, merrily... till the end of world is here...

Wish List of an experience junkie - Maddhalam

Gone are my days of the aimless vagabond wanderer. On this journey, I intend to explore some possibilities. In 'The WishList of an experience junkie' series, I aim to do the ground work for some of the experiences I wish to go towards.

The first of them is to learn to play one of the Deva vadhya (Instrument of the Gods), the Maddhalam. Maddhalam is the pre cursor to the more popular Mridangam, and finds mention as early as the 13th century. It is believed to be the instrument of Nandi the bull, escort of Lord Shiva, who danced to the beats of the Maddhalam. It has one of the most sublime and warmest of sounds I have heard on any drum.

Check out the video of the Maddhalam solo in the traditional orchestra of Kerala, Panchavadhyam (literally means 5 instruments). Now the rest of the article is for all you lurking drum-nuts and wierdos who collect random useless information.





Maddhalam is a medium sized barrel drum played in Kerala, about two feet in length and tapers outwards from the middle. It is an integral part of the traditional orchestra, the Panchavadyam. It is also used as an accompaniment in various dance forms of Kerala like Kathakali, Krishnattam and Thullal. It is made of the hardwood of the jackfruit tree, and both ends are covered with stretched buffalo hide.Maddalam is held up horizontally while playing it with both hands, with finger rings worn on the left hand. Suddha Maddalam is one of the varieties of this instrument played while firmly attached to the waist of the player, used in temple rituals. Toppi Maddalam, which is played suspended from the neck, is the lighter version used as accompaniment in dance and theater.

The primacy of the maddalam in a Kathakali performance can be gauged from it being the first to be sounded before the performance. ‘Maddala keli’ is a term used for the ritual of ‘announcement’ made with to the public that a Kathakali performance will take place later on. The first stroke is on the maddalam, the left side of which produces the Omkara dhwani. It is because that Toppi maddalam allows a more prolonged sound of Omkara as compared to the Shuddha maddalam that it is preferred in Kathakali and other theatre forms. Later, when the musicians enter the stage, before the play begins, the maddalam is again the first to be played in the segment known as the ‘Arangathu keli.’ During a Kathakali performance, the custom for accompaniment of various characters dictates that the maddalam accompanies female characters (because of its warm melodious persistent notes), whereas male characters are accompanied by chenda as well as maddalam percussion.

Now to go about finding teachers who would take me on...:)

To begin at the beginning...

It is simple. All it takes is to maneuver yourself to an unpredictable situation and proceed to the point of no return.

It is simple. I have, for the first time in my life, quit, and will soon be unemployed. Without any routine. Without a fixed amount of money (a lot more than I need) every month. I have given myself a year.

It is simple. Pack up, and roam the subcontinent, in an old fashioned adventure. Do odd jobs, learn a craft, exchange services (not money) as much as possible, connect at the roots, follow footsteps, sustain, dream and do.

In March or April I shall be leaving life as I have known it, within all the various layers of security, to go outside and see. I have several crazy ideas that I would like to try, and these pages will bear the burden of my doubts, exhilarations, satoris and horrors.

It is simple...This is life...not existance...not art...