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Temple town Kathmandu: Pashupatinath, Swayambhunath and Buddhaneelakantha

wanderadmin — Fri, 17 Feb 2012 04:22:45 +0000

Vendors mark the approach to Pashupatinath Temple

In Nepal, heritage is a way of life. The grandeur is spellbinding and legends come alive. A country of contrasts, where god and mortals live together, a treasure trove of architectural marvels. When it is an act of faith that made the whole country, it is no surprise that there are more religious monuments than houses. Kathmandu, the capital of Nepal and the largest city in the country, is believed to have been founded around 300 AD. However, real development in Kathmandu and surrounding Patan and Bhaktapur began only from the 14th century onwards when the Mallas came to power. The Valley has the finest congregation of temples, sculptures and other monuments in the world which continue to hold visitors and natives alike in awe. This has earned Kathmandu the epithet, ‘temple town’.

Happy to see you - pilgrims at Pashupatinath

The Pashupatinath temple, dedicated to Lord Shiva, is a very important pilgrimage as well as tourist destination. Like the durbar squares, this one too is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and is five kilometres east of central Kathmandu. The approach to the Pashupatinath temple, as with any other buzzing pilgrim destination, is lined with vendors selling flowers, holy necklaces, engravings of gods and other pooja requirements. Bargaining is on in right earnest by pilgrims who also look for items to be carried back as memorabilia.

Lord Shiva, revered as the most benevolent god in the valley is depicted here with four arms and three eyes. One of his hands holds the trident which symbolises his three-fold manifestations – that of the creator, keeper and destroyer. Many childless parents also pray to the Nandi or bull, his vehicle, believed to be a symbol of fertility. Shiva is at the same time, the creator and the destroyer. He is Mahadeva, the Great god, Bhairav, The Cruel or Pashupati, the Lord of the Beasts. A lingam or the phallus is worshipped in this temple, also called ‘The Temple of Living Beings’ symbolising Lord Shiva. The Pashupatinath Temple is by the banks of the Baghmati River which is lined with cremation ghats and pilgrim guesthouses or dharamsalas. This cremation ghat is called the Bhasmeshwar Ghat and is the most-used cremation site in the Kathmandu Valley. Till the early 20th century, sati – the practice of married women following their husbands in death through the funeral pyre – used to be performed here. There is also a separate cremation ghat for the royal family called the Arya Ghat. Despite the state of the water, couples still bathe here together in the belief that they will be together again in their next life as well. Believers also take ritual purification bathes in these waters.

Built along the Nepalese pagoda style of architecture, beautifully carved wooden rafters or tundal, multiple level roofs with copper and gold covering, the Pashupatinath Temple is where history and mythology goes hand in hand. The often conflicting and multiple versions of the origins of the famed temple seemed to have only added to the mystic allure of the shrine. While on one side there were those seeking blessings for the journey of life. On the other side were those who had embarked on a different journey altogether. The Pashupatinath Temple embodies the contrasts Nepal is famed for, with a profound grandeur.

Swayambhunath - where the valley was founded

Nepalese legends believe that the country was formed when Manjushree, an avatar of Buddha, came to a holy lake to worship the blue lotus, which contained the eternal flame of the Primordial Buddha. To make passage for the devotees easier, he drained the lake which revealed a fertile valley which eventually became Nepal. The site of the Swayambhunath stupa marks the place where the original island stood. The eyes of the Buddha that gazes in all directions denote that this was an important centre of Buddhist learning for several centuries.

Great views from Swayambhunath

The gigantic, white hemispherical mound of the Swayambhunath represents creation and is designed as per certain rigid parameters. The 13 gilded rings on the spire represent the 13 degrees of knowledge required for enlightenment and finally to nirvana, represented by the umbrella at the top of the stupa.

Vishnu reclines at Buddhaneelakantha

Buddhaneelakantha, nine kilometres from Kathmandu, is one of the earliest settlements during the Licchavi period. This is a little village that sits comfortably at the foot of the Shivpuri Hill – a 2732-metre summit which is a hot spot for trekkers, bird watchers and picnickers. Here, the monolithic black statue of the reclining Vishnu rests on a bed of snakes. Vishnu is part of the Hindu trinity of Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva and is most revered by many Hindus as he is the creator and the keeper of the world. He has a thousand avatars among the more popular ones are that as the frolicking god Krishna and as Narayana – as he is depicted here, floating in the primeval ocean, resting on a bed of snakes.

Divinity's denizen

Some 1500 years ago, during the reign of the Licchavi kings, a massive five-metre rock was dragged and placed in this pond at the foot of the Shivpuri Hills which was sculpted by master craftsmen into a literal translation of Vishnu as Narayana. Modern folklore says that no Nepali King ever visits the Buddhaneelakantha as it supposedly led to a premature death. A drastic belief perhaps, still one of those arcane, archaic ones which keep adds to and keeps alive the enigma that is Nepal.

Heritage Country Nepal Part 3: Bhaktapur Durbar Square

wanderadmin — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 06:43:42 +0000

The following travelogue on Nepal is based on the series ‘See More Nepal’ written and directed by me for Travel Trendz TV.

Were there nothing else in Nepal save the Bhaktapur Durbar Square, it would still be aptly worth making a journey half way round the globe to see. E.A. Powell, The Last Home of Mystery, 1929, London

Bhaktapur, between the 14th and the 16th centuries, was the capital of Nepal. Though today it has lost the privilege to Kathmandu, it still retains its culture and traditions, some say, even better than Kathmandu or Patan. One reason is that it is 15kms away from the madding crowd, the choking traffic and the general mayhem of the capital city. During the ancient days, the city was an important business centre as it was located in the bustling trade route to Tibet. The inhabitants were prosperous and self reliant. They were blessed with a fertile soil and the farmers could make enough produce to feed the entire town. The craftsmen were a respected lot and they were entrusted with the task of making the temples really fit for the gods. And by the looks of it, they did extraordinary justice to their responsibilities.

A living heritage

‘Bhaktapur’ meaning ‘city of devotees’ proudly bears the title of the ‘cultural capital of Nepal’ and lives up to it. Listed as a World Heritage by UNESCO for its exquisite temples, exotic wood carvings and other rococo works in stone and metal, Bhaktapur is in a class of its own. Compared to the other durbar squares, the Bhaktapur Durbar Square is quite spacious. Ironically, this is because of an earthquake that happened in 1934 which destroyed many of the temples and monuments that stood here once. This is a living heritage in every sense. There is even a school inside the premise, the entrance to which is the famous lion gate. Right next to the lions that stand as a possible deterrent for students bunking classes, is the statue of Ugrachandi, one of the masterpieces in stone. Ugrachandi is the fearful manifestation of the consort of Lord Shiva. Bhairab, the fierce avatar of Lord Shiva, associated with annihilation, is revered all over Nepal by both Hindus as well as Buddhists. Bhairab is invoked to destroy and annihilate enemies. The images of Bhairab which you find in the durbar square hence are quite ferocious and intimidating.

The golden spout in the pool

The Dattatreya Square named after the triad deities, Brahma the creator, Vishnu the preserver and Maheshwara the emancipator are a delight for those interested in wood carvings. The Square also features some of the finest examples of metal craftsmanship you would ever see. The 55 Windows Palace, built in the 18th century, is made of brick and has an upper floor entirely of wooden windows. Hence, the name. The earthquake of 1934 partially destroyed the palace. Fortunately some of the more exotic carvings were mercifully spared from the fury. The Taleju Bhawani was the preferred deity for the kings here as well. Getting inside the Taleju temple complex is not usually encouraged but you can persuade the armed guards to look the other way. Once inside the complex, you get a foretaste of some imperial preferences. The Mallas, it seems, were as fond of luxuries as they were of their gods. Their swimming pool had an open terrace for sunbathing. The golden spout was for filling the pool with water and the entire pool was outlined like a sprawled snake. Even inside the pool, the kings had set up miniature temples – well, it definitely looked like they had long-lasting bathing sessions.

A view of the Lohan Dega

At the southeastern corner of the royal palace is the Siddhi Lakshmi Temple. This is known as the ‘Lohan Dega’ or the stone temple. The steps leading up to the temple is flanked by the male and female species of animals and two nobles at the bottom, each of them are shown dragging a naked child and a dog. Just five minutes from the Durbar Square is the Taumadhi Square where the legendary Nyatapola temple stands towering elegantly. ‘Nyata’ is Nepali means ‘five stepped’. The Nyatapola, rising to a regal 30 metres, is Nepal’s tallest temple. Balanced on five receding square plinths, there are five balconies over which are five roofs each supported by magnificently carved wooden columns. At the bottom of the steep stairway that leads up to the temple are two wrestlers from the Malla times who were famed for their skill and strength. Further upwards are lions and griffins and statues of goddesses Singhini and Baghini.

The Nyatapola

The temple was built by King Bhupatindra Malla for his favourite deity the Siddhi Lakshmi. There are 108 wooden beams that support the roof from below, each depicting the goddess in her different forms. However, one strange fact is that despite the size and the allure of the temple, no one has really seen the goddess. The temple offers great views of the durbar square as well as the surrounding areas. The brick red of the square offers a fabulous contrast against the verdant green of the mountain of the valley. Set at right angles to the Nyatapola is the Bhairavnath Mandir. The three-tiered roof which stands against a clear afternoon sun shows off a massive grandeur. The temple, dedicated to the city’s patron god Bhairav is believed to have extraordinary powers which make it a favourite among the locals.

Friendly potter wheels

Southwest from the Nyatapola square is the famous pottery market. If you do enjoy the high that you get by moulding a mound of clay into beautiful objects, or just enjoy seeing the finished goodies, then this is a place you cannot afford to miss. Here, the amiable and ever helpful craftsmen take novices through the basic motions. Alleys where culture oozes out from every corner. Heritage buildings standing tall, bearing testimonial to an era that earned it the label of the ‘culture capital’. Exotic works by immensely gifted and talented craftsmen. A charming people. If you have to make a trip half way around the globe to see Bhaktapur, I second Mr Powell that you make it.

Heritage Country Nepal Part 2: Patan Durbar Square

wanderadmin — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 10:12:48 +0000

(The following travelogue on Nepal is based on the series ‘See More Nepal’ written and directed by me for Travel Trendz TV.)

The Krishna Janmashtami celebrations

The ancient city of Patan, known as the city of fine arts, is just 5km southeast from Kathmandu. It is widely believed to have been founded by Emperor Asoka in the third century BC though there are no proofs to support it. The place is also called Lalitpur which means ‘the beautiful city’. The day I came to Patan Square happily coincided with the Krishna Janmashtami celebrations, the birth anniversary of Lord Krishna. I was privy to the peoples’ enthusiasm about the local festivities and beliefs – which are celebrated with the same pomp and splendour the way it was centuries ago. The devotees – all attired in traditional finery – had assembled in the Krishna Mandir, the ancient temple in Patan Square. They also visit other temples which deify Lord Krishna and offer prayers, food, flowers and sweets. They chant hymns all the while, invoking the god’s blessing for a fruitful year ahead.

Patan is the oldest city

Patan is the oldest among all the cities in the Kathmandu Valley. It was a well developed and hugely progressive town right from the earliest days. The city was designed in the shape of the Buddhist Dharma Chakra or the Wheel of Righteousness and it is believed that the great Emperor Asoka came visiting Patan with his daughter Charumati in 250BC and built Buddhist stupas here. There are approximately 1,200 Buddhist monuments spread around the city. The most famous Buddhist landmark here is the Golden Temple, a short walk from the Durbar Square. The Patan Durbar Square today is one of the World Heritage Sites listed by UNESCO. It is a city of arts and artists and craftsmen with undisputable skills. The majority of the population follow Buddhism, but you also find exquisite Hindu temples in addition to the bronze gateways, marvellous statues, guardian deities and beautiful carvings in metal, wood and stone. The shops lining the palace square are a delight for anyone interested in curios. Handicraft shops with a wide variety of statues and idols leave a lot of options as far as souvenirs go.

The Garuda statue

The Royal Palace, guarded by Narsingh on the outside, is a spectacular sight and a singular example of the Newari style of architecture. Inside the courtyard of the palace is a small temple where the locals pray today. The gilded statue of King Yoganarendra Malla, one of the most powerful of the Mallas, prays on top of a pillar shaded by the hood of a cobra. A bird is seated on the cobra and legend says that the king will be remembered and will remain immortal as long the bird does not fly away. The Krishna Mandir, on the northern side of the palace courtyard, is one of the most exquisite temples in the whole of Nepal. It was built in 1637 by King Siddhi Narsingh Malla after he had a dream of Lord Krishna and his consort Radha. A statue of Garuda on a pillar faces this embodiment of elegance. The temple is an example of Shikhara style architecture made entirely of stone and has scenes from the epics Ramayana and the Mahabharata.

The Bishwanath Mandir

Thanks to the superb craftsmanship of the artisans, intricate woodcarvings, quite deep in detail, are to be seen everywhere. A lot of rebuilding took place from the 16th to the 18th centuries under the Mallas and has undergone renovation in recent years. The Bishwanath Mandir is a double roofed pagoda guarded by stone elephants and decorated with fabulous carvings. Though the fierce monsoons of 1990 destroyed the entire building, it was reconstructed.

A short walk from the durbar square, in a temple which goes back 800 years, a little boy holds the chair of the high priest. The Bahals are two-storey Newar Buddhist monasteries and a short walk away from the Durbar Square is the most famous of them, the Kwa Bahal. This is also known as the Golden Temple. The entrance to this ancient place of worship is guarded by two lions and legend has it that it was built by a queen in the 12th century. Inside this building are metal works which show exquisite craftsmanship. A hotspot for Buddhists from all over the world, the rich friezes inside depict Buddha is his different avatars. Inside the temple are large prayer wheels as well as large statues of Buddha. A protected shrine holds an elaborately decorated Buddha looking at believers through bright, unblinking eyes. The main priest of this temple is a small boy who has not yet reached his teens.

God and mortals together: The Patan Durbar Square

A melee of colour, a profusion of culture and an exuberant heritage, the Patan Durbar is where architecture is at its evocative best. Where gods and kings mingle with the mortals. This is where history comes alive. In its truest spirit.

Heritage Country Nepal Part 1: Kathmandu Durbar Square

wanderadmin — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 13:21:44 +0000

(The following travelogue on Nepal is based on the series ‘See More Nepal’ written and directed by me for Travel Trendz TV.)

Here, heritage lives. It is revered and celebrated. It embodies not just the culture and the traditions of the land, but epitomises a way of life. It is a source of pride and forms the crux of many conversations. The grandeur takes you by surprise, the intricacy holds you in awe and the legends leave you spellbound. Welcome to Heritage Country, Nepal.

Nepal, with more than 60 linguistic groups, has always nurtured the reputation of being a country of contrasts, where gods and mortals live together. A rugged terrain protected by the Himalayan peaks also adds to its rich diversity and traditions. The geographic contrasts are wondrous at the same time appalling – you find tropical jungles, frozen peaks and high altitude deserts – all within this mountain-clad country. Besides predominance of Hinduism in the south and Buddhism in the north, there exists also Shamanism, Tantrism and other animistic rites.

Masterpieces of Newar craft

Though heavily influenced by its neighbours, cultural heavyweights, India and China, Nepal has, over the centuries woven its own unique and rich inter-cultural tapestry. The country is known for the harmonious coexistence of different tribes and traditions, culture and architecture making the society dynamic and progressive yet firmly moored in traditions. Over the centuries different ethnicities with different languages, culture and religion settled here. The country is a cauldron of cultures and beliefs, heritage and history. The original inhabitants, the Newars, are an outcome of this cosmopolitan heritage and are believed to have descended from Indo-Europeans and Burmese and Tibetan-speaking people. Patronised by the rulers of the country over the ages, the Newars, as a tribe, were exceptionally skilful artisans and craftsmen. With a history that goes back over 2000 years, little wonder the traditions are at times fascinating, at times arcane. The culture is colourful and dynamic. Festivals are an integral part of life. And worship takes on mythical and sometimes mysterious dimensions.

Kathmandu, the capital of Nepal, is the commercial nerve centre as well as the gateway to its throbbing tourism industry. Situated in a valley surrounded by hills, the picturesque city is also renowned as the land with the largest congregation of magnificent monuments and temples ever built. The city is a treasure trove of history and architectural marvels holding some of the finest examples of craftsmanship in stone, metal and wood. Religion and art play a very important role in the Kathmandu Valley. Art, most of the time – be it painting or sculpture, dance or any other rituals – is dedicated to the deification of a favourite god. Anywhere you visit you find paintings of gods and goddesses in their different avatars and poses. These gods are usually shown in their peaceful manifestations and at times vengeful, spitting wrath.

Kumari Ghar courtyard

The masterful sculptors from the kingdom were adept in using stone as their favoured medium. Don’t be surprised to find stone sculptures strewn all over the Valley. There are still some pieces left from the Licchavi-era which continue to enthral for their intricacy and attention to detail. These sculptures usually are that of Hindu deities with the local favourite being Vishnu – the creator and the keeper.

The gods and goddesses are venerated in temples and shrines found mostly in the Durbar Squares of Kathmandu and its two sister cities, Patan and Bhaktapur. The temples built of bricks with tiered roofs are one of the most outstanding contributions of the Newars to the architecture of the country. Reports by early historians and travellers show that these were inspired by the ancient Indian temples. While the basic concept remains the same in each of the durbar square, the structures vary only in size and shape. The main structures are of brick and the regal timber struts support the multi-tiered roofs that come slanting down. Most of the temples, the more important ones, have three-tiered roofs. The temples as well as the sculptures and stupas, pagodas and palaces of the durbar squares were designated UNESCO World Heritage Sights in 1979. All the durbar squares showcase the skills of the Newar artists and craftsmen.

The Durbar Square at dusk

Of the three durbar squares, the Kathmandu Durbar Square is the biggest and is right in the heart of the city. All the temples here have a unique style which hasn’t changed much over several centuries. The locals refer to the place as Hanuman Dhoka, after the monkey god who is revered as the protector of the Square. There are over 50 monuments and temples here and this is on the top of any tourist’s sight-seeing list. The Kathmandu Durbar Square also houses the palaces of the Malla and the Shah dynasties who ruled over the country. This durbar square was the preferred place for constructing the palaces from the period of the Licchavi kings who ruled over Nepal during the third century. However, it was under the rule of King Ratna Malla, under whom Kathmandu became independent, that the Durbar Square witnessed an architectural revival.

At the north eastern end of the Durbar Square is the magnificent Taleju Temple, standing 40 metres high and built on a huge stepped platform. Dedicated to the royal deity Taleju Bhawani, the temple is off limit to ordinary Hindus except during the Durga Pooja that falls between September and October. The temple built in 1562 by King Mahendra Malla used to have even human sacrifices till the practise was outlawed in 1780. The Shiva Parvati temple is an attraction not to be missed at the Durbar Square. This temple, built in the distinctive Newar style, has a single roof and holds the Navadurga, a group of goddesses, inside.

Truth or dare - Kalabhairav

The relief of Kala Bhairav, believed to be Lord Shiva in his destructive avatar, is a masterpiece. Here locals throng with prayers and offerings. This fiery god has eight arms, holds six swords, an axe and a shield. He is shown trampling a corpse which symbolises human ignorance. During the earlier days, criminals used to be brought here to swear their innocence as it was believed that anyone who lies in his presence would bleed to death. Conveniently, the police station today is also situated closeby.

Not all the heritage of Kathmandu is about temples and palaces. Some are even about humans as well. Little girls, four to seven years old, to be exact. Worshipping a pre-pubescent girl as a source of supreme power has been prevalent all over Nepal, especially among the Newar community in the Kathmandu Valley. It was Jayaprakash Malla, the last Malla king, who first built a temple for Kumari or Durga in her virginal state. The Kumari Devi is a young girl who stays in the building called the Kumari Ghar at the southern end of the Durbar Square. This is like a golden cage as the young girl, chosen through an ancient, mystical process to find whether she is actually the reincarnation of the Hindu goddess, is not allowed to go out except on occasions.
For a serious traveller, Kathmandu Durbar Square can take up the better part of a day. As I headed out late afternoon I saw this group of fine arts students from a nearby institute honing their skills. They told me that they were observing the magnificent forms and structure and translating them to art.

What better place for that!

The Hornbill Festival: A Traveller’s Account

wanderadmin — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 05:56:44 +0000

(This is a reproduction of the travelogue I wrote for the North East Sun magazine published from New Delhi. Basically a compilation of the the individual accounts from each of the seven days, this is a quick reference for anyone who wants a glimpse of the festivities. Not so much details though. I have been getting requests to reproduce parts of the Hornbill account from Wanderink. Please go ahead, but kindly attribute the source to Wanderink.com, that’s all! Happy New Year!!)

Preparations in full swing

The celebrations had started during my train journey from Guwahati to Dimapur. Suddenly out of nowhere, a bunch of silk-clad singing males and dancing damsels popped on to the platform. The train had stopped for tea. A local Assamese festival; I took it to be a warming up of sorts. This was my second time at the Hornbill Festival and I just couldn’t wait to reach Kohima where my friend from last year was waiting. The reason I love coming here is the people – every turn you meet someone who turns out to be nicer than the last one. And the stories – there is one in every step, around every corner. This year, I had come one day earlier as I wanted to see the sprucing up for the big day as well.

Waiting for the inauguration

A fire engine was spraying rain over the ceremony ground at Kisama, the festival venue, to settle the dust down. A giant black pig was being carted away pole-bound – for the thousands of momos which would be washed down over the next seven days with rice beer. Flower stands were being set up by dainty, sprightly women for the big day. Stalls were being freshly painted and nails hammered in for hanging up the red-feathered daos. There was the intoxicating smell of rice beer which wafted over the festival ground. I wasted no time in starting a morung-to-morung quality comparison: once the festival started, I would be busy.

Akhu Keteli: The bride price

The Hornbill Festival – celebrated from December 1 to 7 – is a show of solidarity and peace among the 16 tribes of Nagaland. The festival is also related to the harvest cycles; over half the population of the state depends on agriculture for their livelihood. The opening day was a melee of martial dances, shrieking war cries, pounding on canoe-shaped drums and bursting energy. I walked around in an arena rendered surreal – a whole centuries-old culture was being played out, compacted and capsulated in the confines of a fair ground. The bull and the bolero became one. Colour charged the air. The pervading pride was palpable. Strings of tatiphe, the wordless houtho songs of the Angamis and the engrossing mooung songs by the elderly Changs…the first day of the Hornbill Festival featured enough teasers ensuring I hung around for more.
The Nyalipu or Fish Dance of Konyaks, the Bai-Bin or the post-harvest folk dance of Dimasa, the Kuki’s Sagol Pheikai dance imitating the movements of the wild boar and the hornbill dance of Aos, the arena erupted to yells and yodels pregnant with narration. The enthralling display of sinewy stomping over, the tribes retreated to their respective morungs or huts to much-needed bamboo mugs of rice beer. The rhythmic rampage was to continue albeit on a smaller, more informal scale. Newly oiled hunting guns fired empty rounds in the air – their startle effect creating much merriment among tribe and tourist. Music and dance continued with gusto well into late afternoon. Pork was the staple that kept every limb moving. And the rice beer ensured there was no dearth of laughter and camaraderie.

The Warrior Car

The Hornbill Rally is probably the only rally where your steering skills rub shoulders with your punk quotient. The car driven by two Sumi lads, besides the obvious ‘Warrior’ bold on the windscreen also had a spear, dao and a leather shield screwed painstakingly to the body. In addition to the warrior, there was the usual line-up: the elderly lady from Thailand whose abandon made you suspect she was on a bucket list. Her car sputtered twice before the start much to the embarrassment of her much younger navigator.
Taking off to such a roaring start, it was a superhuman task to hold on to the audience imagination and interest. So day three was a test on the organisers’ ingenuity and imagination. The carrots had done their job, the flitters had left and the real festival junkies slouched around to check whether the varnish peeled. With the honeymoon over and the real business of the festival settling in, the best way out was to rekindle the passion for storytelling so prevalent in the Naga culture.
The Pangan by the Chang tribe was a slomo dance with vigorous vocals to herald in the winter season. Tapping two conical hard leather instruments, the sound which would awaken the souls of the forefathers – to ensure victory in warfare, the Phoms took the arena with their ‘Blowing Horns’ ritual. The Bhandari Osho Sharu sounded very much like a church choir. Sung only on occasions by the Lothas, it celebrated the commemoration of the best warrior in the clan by the chief who would drape him with a shawl called the Longbensu. My personal favourite was the Akhu Keteli of the Rengmas. Here the young tribe members would visit the houses of newly married couples and dance outside singing, demanding the wife’s price from the groom – to be paid in meat or beer. The ritual purification dance of the Chakhesangs helped them keep their resolutions for the New Year; something like the Christian confession. Whether you wielded the dao or wore denim, I wondered at these striking pointers to a common genesis.

Greased pole climbing

Day three also saw the start of many inter-tribe competitions. The greased bamboo pole climbing didn’t see any winner despite an hour of wriggling up and slithering down. The organisers had to take down the poles and rub off most of the glistening fat with ragged jute. Whistles were blown again and the fastest to reach the top was adjudged winner. Well, rules are written to be rewritten. Over the next days there would be pork and chilly eating competitions.
The crowd let out a genuine cheer when the first lady’s name was announced for the pork eating competition. Each contestant was given one minute to finish four large chunks of pork – each of the whitest fat, boiled to blubbery softness with no condiments, not even salt. A gagging contestant was announced as ‘your Youtube moment’ by the MC – went on to show how social media had made a postcard of human suffering some probably even borne out of necessity.

Zoom in on the rising fashion scene

From a day with the beasts, I went on to a night with the beauties. Atsu Sekhose was evidently a local celebrity going by the fashion show was packed despite the ‘by invite only’ attendance. The third round, the evening wear, was stylish and sensuous. The female form was elegantly accentuated at times with touches of quirk. I found myself peering through the zoom in full bloom.

For many, Hornbill is rock

For many, the Hornbill Festival is synonymous with its final gala – the rock festival. This is because any band worth its, well, rocks, have to earn its stripes from Hornbill. Preferably by winning. With screen days crowd of over 15,000 and close to seven times that on the finals, the benchmark is well set. There were over 100 applicants from all over the country from where 24 were screened and the final day saw the face-off between the nine ones shortlisted. On December 7 every year, the Indira Gandhi Stadium, 5 km from Kohima town, wakes up to acoustic checks throbbing with anticipation. Awaiting their turns, members of the nine final bands shared cigarettes, shared tips and appreciated each others’ talents and equipments. Watching the musicians encouraging and egging each other on was humbling: it was a world of constructive camaraderie and blotless bonhomie.
Like last year, this year too I came back enriched – with many more stories to share and new friendships to be cherished.

Woodstock lives

wanderadmin — Wed, 14 Dec 2011 02:27:29 +0000

In the end, it all began

“Excuse me, do you smoke?” A brawny guy wearing dark glasses – it was pitch dark even on the outside – and a shocking pink jacket asked me.
“No, I quit.” I replied.
“Of course you know I didn’t mean just cigarettes,” he said laughing and dipped into his pink pockets for a cigarette that looked like a forgotten soul from Alcatraz.

Smouldering on stage

This incident was the final day of the Hornbill Festival in a nutshell. Merry-crazy crowds. Berserk with joy. Swaying in union, with a joyful abandon. Fighting with a passion, drawing blood. Singing along in a pitched frenzy. One after the other, all nine bands set the stage shuddering. The ground groaned under the stomping crowd of more than a hundred panting thousand.

Who doesn't like to party

Camera crews were provided with thoughtful platforms – beyond flagellation by wildly swirling metal manes. But there was no escape from the dust that was kicked up, rising up like a billowy blanket and settling impartially into every nook and cranny of the cameras. And of course, there was no ducking the occasional bottle that came flying from half an ocean of humanity away. Some even had a few pegs of whiskey in them; I always knew the Nagas to be a caring lot, this gesture set me teary. Not to mention tipsy. Surrounded by so much love, there was nothing to worry about and I descended the platform / tree throne. I didn’t know whether the appreciative roar was meant for the song or my bravado. Roaming half-crazed through the craziest crowd, I touched Nagaland like I had never. I lived the spirit of Hornbill like it ought to be. Above all, I converted myself from a camera-toting coy observer to a mane-twirling, dust-kicking, metal-head.

The soul of metal

“Hornbill rocks!” The master of ceremonies screamed.
“Oh yeah!” I screamed back with the crowd.
“Nagaland rocks!”
“Oh yeah!”
“I touch my heart when I tell you this,” one band member confessed on stage. “You guys are the best I have performed to so far.” The cheery acknowledgment was deafening.

Drum it up

The transformation was complete. Rockers who were jean-clad in the morning pranced about the stage in funky skirts. Some doffed shirts despite the biting cold. The vocalist who was seriously gauging his chances a few hours earlier on camera had jumped the barricade and was having his tee clawed. He did look like he never had it better. One after the other the bands executed to perfection what they were chosen for: enthral. When it came to delighting the metal-fed crowd, they were at par making the process of elimination a nightmare. The judges didn’t have an enviable job that night.

Go...Indigo

Performances over, it was clear what everyone from this friendly north east had come looking for that night. There was no one in the crowed who discussed possible winners of the Rs 5-lakh booty. Rather most seemed remarkably disinterested to even discuss who would be taking home the biggest prize money in Hornbill history so far. Those who hadn’t made a beeline for the exit, squatted around catching their breath amidst the settling dust. I joined a crowd who was passing around the last cigarette – a symbolic farewell, ‘thanks for the lovely time’ gesture.
“Any personal favourite?” I asked one of them.
“Everyone should be given first prize!” She said and unhurriedly blew the blue smoke against the returning ashen-white of the sky.

Hornbill is rock

wanderadmin — Mon, 12 Dec 2011 12:07:15 +0000

Hornbill Rocks. Because any band worth its, well, rocks, has to earn its stripes from Hornbill. Preferably by winning. With screen days crowd of over 15,000 and close seven times that on the finals, the benchmark is well set.

Bring it on...stage, set

“When we started the Hornbill rockfest, there were only two small speakers…the sound seldom reaching till the entrance gates,” said Neingulie Nakhro, event director, Hornbill Rockfest. “But look at us now, we have the best acoustics in the country today and all the leaders of the industry want to join hands with us.” The biggest achievement, Nakhro feels, is that ‘Nagaland has the biggest rock fan base of the country’. When the invites for this year’s instalment was announced, over 100 bands from all over the country applied out of whom 24 were screened and nine shortlisted. “Today is gonna be crazy,” said Ngipwang Angely, event secretary, excited in her yellow boots and electric purple jacket. “From the nine who made the shortlist, we will choose the winner today. And the two runner-ups.”

Jared: Drumming for an encore

“We sing about love, life and hope,” Jared of the Bengaluru-based band Final Surrender says. “The Naga crowd have had enough of violence and drugs and sex.” Jared was making an informed guess as he was on the drums with the last year’s title winner, Slain. New name? New fame? It was more like fate – it will happen and you have no option but to move on. “I started Slain with my brother. We had creative differences and we decided to part ways.” Jared says without a blink; rockstars are not ones to give away any emotion. Nor do they delve into any.

Dec 7: IG Stadium in the spotlight

Check. Check. Check. The Indira Gandhi stadium woke up to acoustic checks and practise beats. It was December 7, the grand finale of the rockfest and the festival itself. Long haired guys, lighting up, hunched against the cold, ‘bro’ing each other, lounged about with a deceptive laziness. Whom they couldn’t hug they signalled peace. The Indira Gandhi Stadium, five kilometres from Kohima town, was slowly grooving into the rocker world. Awaiting their turns, the nine finalists tapped toes, shared cigarettes, pinky-fingered their ears with good humour at errant notes.

Melody metal: Manu

“Melody metal,” was Manu’s mantra. Manu had come from Saket, New Delhi, with his band Arcane Deception. “We hope to stand out from the rest with our generous sprinkling of melody in our metal. Hope this will be a new brand of music the crowd hadn’t heard before.” On the genesis of the band name, “Oh, I love the word ‘deception,’” he said.
“Where did you get the funky hat, bro?” I asked him about his woollen hat cut like a Mohawk. “From the Night Bazaar,” he said and went on to proclaim his love for most things Naga. “For vegetarians, staying here for more than a few days can be a nightmare,” he pointed out.

Bonhomie, camaraderie

It was the turn of ‘Final Surrender’ to set the acoustics and Jared was setting the drums on fire. Some technical glitches were delaying the practise sessions and the organisers were getting a bit jittery. The members of the band, ‘Grammy Winning Effort’ – whose turn it was next – stood there, enthralled, encouraging and egging him on. It was humbling, watching one artiste openly appreciating another – his talent, his music. Welcome to a beautiful world – one of constructive camaraderie and blotless bonhomie.

Ways of seeing

wanderadmin — Fri, 09 Dec 2011 13:10:28 +0000

(This is the fifth in the Hornbill series. Apologies for the delay in the uploading…several reasons, including the really, terrifically crazy rockfest finals the day before. And whatever afterwards…)

Joy is all around you

Somebody akined cars to a tin box. By extension trains would be jolly rides with Tutankhamen and flights, plush cells. So, I decided to give the cultural fare a miss on the fifth day and explore Kohima town. On foot.
“Which is the way to the Cathedral?” I asked the first pretty lady I met when I started from Naga Bazaar where I was staying.
“Oh, it will take you half an hour,” she replied in the typical clipped English of the north east with lots of coy thrown in. “That is if you are taking a taxi.”
“Can you give me the directions, please?” I insisted. “You know, like which way?”
“Oh, you need to know the way,” she laughed more at her miscomprehension than my plight. “That is simple, just go straight.” She hurried away so she could laugh with abandon. After over an hour of walking, I was finally sauntering up the Aradurah Hill, the top of which was the largest church in north east India.

The Nagas are a dapper class

On the way I passed by dapper students – boys looking like Beckhams of Mongoloid descent and girls with practised unawareness of their charms. The city had dolled itself up for the annual gala: there were hastily put up welcome hoardings and competition announcements. What really made my day was an installation which I chanced upon – Under Scrutiny – which I would have definitely missed had I been in a car / tin box. Quite a thought provoking work with lot of effort thrown in, besides the mechanics involved.

This one made my day

‘Kohima View Point with Safe Drinking Water’, the signage announced in bold white lettering against a blue jaded by the sun. While I wasn’t exactly thirsty on the foggy morning, I could any day do with a lovely view. However the promise was nothing to crow about: just a chaos of tin roofs punctuated with haphazard concrete dwellings. Of course, there stood the churches like dainty nobles scurrying amidst wanting plebeians. Lording over them all was the Police Headquarters with its regal blue slating roof.

Nagaland welcomes everyone

As I went up the Minister’s Road which led to the Cathedral, I passed by a migrant family running a tea shop in a tin-sheet ramshackle and living in it. At the threshold of a miniature side door to the tea shop, two girls sat looking and smiling at me. I just stood staring back happily at them; it took a while to dawn on me that I had a camera. The migrants to Nagaland are mostly Assamese who take up menial daily wage work or semi skilled labour. The famed Naga hospitality makes them feel at home where they set out to chart a new future.

Imly: What's in a name

“I-M-L-Y,” Imly spelt out the name for me. Imly was carrying a pup to the veterinarian in Kohima as I was making the final assault to the Cathedral at Aradurah Hill.
“Oh, he is not feeling well,” Imly said when I enquired after the sweet mutt that submitted itself meekly to Imly’s arms.
“Must be the weather,” I shared my expertise in matters canine.
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Imly replied, lost. “Whatever it is, I don’t want anything to happen to him. That’s why I am taking him to the doctor.”
“Don’t worry, nothing will happen to him,” I said. “What is his name?”
“He doesn’t have a name,” Imly said. “What’s the big deal about a name?” I stood watching Imly sashaying softly downhill like a scene straight out of a Paris sidewalk. Then that was Nagaland – a cauldron of style and strange loves.

Gone in 60 seconds…well, almost

wanderadmin — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 13:10:40 +0000

(This is the update from day four of the Hornbill Festival, December 4, 2011)

A worried Dr Thorsie

“It is not a very advisable thing to do,” a worried Dr Thorsie said. The pork eating competition was about to start in a few minutes. “But the participants are mostly members of the cultural troupes you know,” he added as a consolation. “Doing some dancing or sports all the time.” The Hornbill Festival is the biggest drain on pigs in pork-loving Nagaland. Since morning, I have been watching pork minced for momos, boiled for chowmein and now, the whitest fat being gulped down competitively.

Neikho and co

Neikho, Zhavi’s youngest brother, a beautiful lad in his early 20s, dreams of starting his own restaurant one day. He and his friends ran a small four-table eatery at the Hornbill Night Bazaar. Each morning I and Sahil woke up to the thud of dao splicing pork and onions: Neikho and co would be in full swing at the courtyard after an encouraging night, businesswise.
“We put prices a bit higher than usual,” he said with a disarming smile. “But being the festival season, nobody seems to mind.” Besides, they also have the rent to pay to the chamber of commerce for the few square yards they occupy. In a land where suppertime is 6pm, the Night Bazaar doesn’t go beyond 8pm – a rule not just detrimental to the local economy but to the festive spirit as well.
“They tell us to close at eight o’clock, we close at eight,” Neikho remarked with trademark Naga complacence, stirring the boiling pork churning white.

Waiting for the pig moment

The crowd let out a genuine cheer when the first lady’s name was announced for the pork eating competition. Each contestant was given one minute to finish four large chunks of pork – each of the whitest fat, boiled to blubbery softness with no condiments, not even salt. A gagging contestant was announced as ‘your Youtube moment’ by the MC – went on to show how social media had made a postcard of human suffering some probably even borne out of necessity.
From a day with the beasts, we went on to a night with the beauties. Atsu Sekhose was evidently a local celebrity going by the fashion show was packed despite the ‘by invite only’ attendance. The third round, the evening wear, was stylish and sensuous. The female form was elegantly accentuated at times with touches of quirk. I found myself looking through the zoom more often than I do generally.

The gown round didn't let me down

Later that evening we were at the Night Bazaar to see how Neikho was faring when we bumped into a vendor of gulab jamuns – the one thing I will never resist. Manoj Aggarwal’s grandfather had come from Punjab in 1952 and had started a sweetmeat shop. Though the Nagas had a bigger meat tooth than a sweet tooth, the shop had flourished and Manoj was prosperous by any middleclass standards.
“I was born here, so I am as good a Naga as anybody else,” he replied when I asked him whether he felt a stranger so far away from his native state.

Pork it out

“All those reports about Nagaland being dangerous et al is false.” I had asked him about life in general. “In my opinion, Delhi is more dangerous than Nagaland.” Later, as we sat by the curb eating yummy gulab jamuns, we both were uncannily quiet. Was it because of the yummy sweet or the unsavoury truth we just heard? I didn’t know.

A story in every step

wanderadmin — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 12:14:48 +0000

(This update is from day three of Hornbill Festival. Dear reader, apologies for the delay in the update as businesses take a strict break in Christian-dominated Nagaland.)

The hunt has to wait, I am at the inauguration

Petering out crowd is a challenge to any festival. Keeping the audience interest alive is a comment on the organisers’ ingenuity and imagination. Day three of the Hornbill was hence a test; the teasers had done their job, the flitters had left and the real festival junkies slouched around to check whether the varnish peeled. With the honeymoon over and the real business of the festival settling in, the best way out was to rekindle the passion for storytelling so prevalent in the Naga culture.

Pay up or else: Akhu Keteli

The Pangan of the Chang tribe was a slomo dance with vigorous vocals to herald in the winter season. Tapping two conical hard leather instruments, the sound which would awaken the souls of the forefathers – to ensure victory in warfare, the Phoms took the arena with their ‘Blowing Horns’ ritual. The Bhandari Osho Sharu sounded very much like a church choir. Sung only on occasions by the Lothas, it celebrated the commemoration of the best warrior in the clan by the chief who would drape him in a shawl called the Longbensu.

No cribbing, it was a prop

My personal favourite was the Akhu Keteli of the Rengmas. Here the young tribe members would visit the houses of newly married couples and dance outside singing, demanding the wife’s price from the groom – to be paid in meat or beer. I remembered a similar occasion when a bunch of tykes threatened not to leave my bedroom unless I paid up. The ritual purification dance of the Chakhesangs helped them keep their resolutions for the New Year; something like the Christian confession. Whether you wielded the dao or wore denim, these were striking pointers to a common genesis.

You greasy pole, I mean pig

The action outside the ring was equally evocative. The tribal lads with their ripped torsos, humungous calves and devil-may-care attitudes were a huge draw for everyone, especially the visiting women. Any photographer or cameraman coming in the view of their eye candies was shredded to bits. Understandably many found this to be a bit overwrought and there were quite a few verbal scuffles.

Say it like it is: Dominique

“The behaviour of some Western photographers was indeed embarrassing,” said Dominique Rowe, a writer from New Zealand. “However, the balancing act was that the guys themselves went overboard wanting to take photographs with them.” Dominique must know as she got three photograph requests from local dandies as she was speaking to me.
“These guys are really nice people,” said Piran Elavia by means of an explanation. “They wear their heart on their sleeves.” I could second that. Piran went on to elaborate that the culture of the state permitted them to be open about appreciating beauty; taking photographs with a stranger girl was their way of telling her that her beauty was acknowledged. An eco-tourism activist, his organisation Kipepeo (butterfly in Swahili) promotes tourism to the north east.

With new buddies from the homestay

Day three also saw the start of many inter-tribe competitions. The greased bamboo pole climbing didn’t see any winner despite close to an hour of wriggling up and slithering down. The organisers had to take down the poles and rub off most of the glistening fat with ragged jute. Whistles blown again and the fastest to reach the top was adjudged winner. Well, rules are written to be rewritten. Over the next few days there was going to be pork and chilly eating competitions. Zhavi, whose wife is a nurse, told me that doctors would be kept on high alert during these two, the latter, especially.
I can’t wait.