Sunday, May 20, 2012

Travelogue: The Hampi Café


Hampi is one of those surprises that travel had brought me. Last November I visited this magnificent landscape dotted with ruins of Krishnadevaraya era. Those giant temples and complexes set in the background of stony mountains is indeed a sight. Perhaps, the river Tungabhadra brings in the additional glamour and it is always an enthralling experience to sit in the banks of it in a local coffee-shop sipping simmering hot Indian Espresso and engaging in a conversation with backpackers from all over the world.
Indeed Hampi is one of those places where the corporate-tourism had not yet set its foot, so there wont me much of advertising pamphlets announcing walk-tours or Hampi-in-2hours kind of things.

The nearest railhead is a sleepy town called Hospet. We reached there early in the morning after an overnight train-travel from Bangalore and then took an auto-rickshaw from Hospet to Hampi. We then took the state-run ferry to cross the Tungabhadra river to reach the Hippie island of Viruppur gadde. This small island formed by Tungabhadra is believed to be the nerve center of kingdom of Hanuman in the Hindu epic Ramayana. In the contemporary sense, this island is more of a ‘Hippie hideout’. The diehard backpackers choose this quite haven to abate their hangovers of rave partying in Goa. The fact that, we visited this place in lunar-eclipse night had also meant that there were bearded god-men roaming with their saffrons and unfixed glares.

The next day, we rented a two-wheeler to visit the Hampi ruins. The Virupaksha temple, The Vittala temple, the queens bath, etc and then the rocks. The rocks here are quite different and these boulders give a feel of lunar-surface. We climbed up the Matanga hill to see the sun sink into the horizons which means we were quite late for the last ferry to Viruppur Gadde. So, we took a coracle to cross Tungabhadra at exorbitant cost.

In my stay there, I felt that the beauty of Hampi is more enhanced by the interaction between the locals and the foreigners and the resulting cultural exchange.  Owing to the absence of packaged programs or conducted tours, most of the tourists set to explore Hampi on their own meeting the locals. The diary of such backpackers gets filled with experiences from People rather than that of the place itself. The true sense of travelling, which is not just clicking photographs, comes to the fore.
Perhaps, it reminded me of my encounters in Europe during my backpacking days, where I met scores of interesting peoples in various picturesque places.
Hampi, I noted down in my journal, is a place where one can easily understand different strata of Indian society without getting bothered by the hawkers selling souvenirs. The tea shops (try ginger lemon honey tea) run by locals gets visitors from Manhattan to Mannheim, from Sydney to Stockholm. This confluence is indeed the beauty of Hampi.

But the happy part of the story ends here. The tea-shops and Guest houses of Hampi are seen as encroachments, and the giant bull-dozers have already started smashing these structures. The people of Hampi, who earned their living working in such places, are now relocated (the new word for ‘Deported’) to the villages around Hampi like Kamalapuram.
Those beautiful riverside cafes where the travelers from all over the world converged will soon be a heap of dust. Those guest houses where one can stay close to ruins will now vanish.
The project, when completed, would leave Hampi only with the ruins. There would be no overnight stay possible in Hampi. One has to stay in one of those posh hotels in Hospet, and should make a day trip to Hampi.

Perhaps, I felt lucky that I had visited Hampi when its streets were teeming with life, and its ruins were a stone throw away. But with this drive, Hampi will become desolate again

Saturday, May 12, 2012

Travelogue: In search of Razia Sultan's grave

Ever since I started my backpacking, I always met some interesting people and end up in interesting places. My travel journals are filled with many such incidents.
Well it is a Sunday morning, and I got up early and decided to browse my old travel journals. Here is one from my 'Great historical north Indian trip' of 2009.

I met him near Kalan Masjid in Old Delhi and he is quite indelible in my canvas of travel portraits. I was lost in the maze of old Delhi streets which is always a sweet thing to happen and my destination was to find out the mausoleum of Sultan Razia Begum. Being the only women Sultan to have ruled over Delhi (the next women to rule Delhi would be Indira Gandhi, some 750years later), I always wanted to visit the grave of her. This place is not in any regular touristic trails which is what I wanted.

My map told that 'Razia mausoleum' is not far away from Turkman gate in Old Delhi. The rickshaw-walah dropped me near the Kalan Masjid area from where I started walking asking directions to Razia's grave. Razia is so forgotten in contemporary India that one suggested me to find the whereabouts of Razia's son first, so that he can help me in finding the grave. I was quite unprepared for this and my laxity of Hindi vocabulary prevented me from explaining him about Razia Sultan's skill and valor.
Probably my backpack would have added the noble hump on my back, an old man approached me with a profound care towards the lost wanderer. The scar in his forehead and the beard showed his piety, the pale skin and crackling voice his senility. I told him about my quest to see Razia's grave and he readily agreed to take me there (You meet such helpful people rarely in Delhi).
What followed was a walk through the history. He was perplexed by the cruelity of nobles conspiring and in the end murdering the first female Sultan. And how instability prevailed in Delhi following the murder of Razia sultan until order was established by Balban. For a few minutes, I forgot that I was living in 21st century and was taken 700years back . The Slave dynasty (and also Mughal empire) had always been my favorite topic in my sessions in Library before I undertook the trip. The stories of Qutb-ud-din Aibak, Illtutmish, Balban (each of whom were slaves who later rose to become emperors) are so interesting that I had burnt nights of midnight oil reading about them. Now, I am discussing all this like current affairs with this Muslim nobleman. It is one of the marvels of travel.
Some of the streets that he took me through were so narrow that only a goat can walk through it. The windows were blaring Hindi songs and the balconies smelled of wet clothes. The narrow street gave way for open squares (where men were smoking and talking politics) only to be followed by another narrow street. I didn't mind getting lost.

Finally, the noble man opened a large iron gate of what seemed to be a unkempt garden. 'Yahi hai. Razia ki Samadhi' told the old man scratching his beard.
There were two small mounds separted by a few inches. A goat was sleeping on top of one of the grave, which the noble man didnt like. He told one of the grave is of Razia and the other one is that of her sister Shazia, but didn't tell me which is what. He cursed the ASI (Archaeological Survey of India) for neglecting this historic place and Muslims of Old-Delhi for forgetting Islam.

The neglected state of Razia's grave gives a harsh reality check. The fact that none of the women rights organisations is taking measures to fight for its proper attention is quite surprising. The Razia sultan whom I portrayed in library sessions through the books definitely deserves a better honour than this neglected grave.

The old Noble man who took me to this place quietly retired to prepare for the next prayer as I stood in what should be historically important landmark in India.