Month: August 2018

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A Bastion for Tradition

Think of Chennai, and several word and image associations can spring to mind. City of Temples. Carnatic music. Bharatanatyam. The Marina. Culture. Idli, Vada and Pongal. All of this, and some more, can be encapsulated in a single word, Mylapore. All of 8 square kilometers, this oldest of Chennai’s neighborhoods is surely the cultural and intellectual hub of the city.

Mylapore owes its name to the peacocks (Mayil, in Tamil) that once roamed the area freely. Historical references go back to at least the 7th Century AD, the time when the famous Kapaleeshwarar temple was built here by the reigning Pallava kings of the area. The towering temple to Shiva and its sacred tank (Mylapore Tank), with the famed mada veedhis (streets) and busy shops surrounding it, is the center of Mylapore’s many attractions. Inside are the shrines of the Divine Mother Karpagambal, and Shiva as Kapaleeshwarar. Traditional belief has it that whoever visits Karpagambal would never have to go hungry. The temple celebrates its famous nine day Panguni (Spring) Festival in March/April every year, when the streets stay jam-packed for days on end. Present day Mylapore is a bustling residential neighborhood where much of this old-world charm and religious fervor remain preciously intact.

Speaking of temples, in a lighter vein, it is said that you only have to trip and fall on a Mylapore street, and get up to find yourself at the doors of a temple. You may not have to walk more than a few minutes on most streets here before you can find a shrine to your favorite god or goddess.

One way of getting to know Mylapore, and a delicious one, is a food walk, which can tantalize with a fascinating range of assorted vegetarian treats. Several of Mylapore’s famous eateries (messes) roll out patently traditional items, like the kozhukattais, beloved treat of Lord Ganesha, made as rice dumplings with a sweet (coconut and jaggery) or savory filling. The seventy year old Rayar’s Café on Arundale Street is a must stop as well. This hole in the wall is famous for its idlis, vadas and Mysore bondas, not to mention the coconut chutney. I remember eating here with my dad one summer afternoon as a boy of five, maybe less, where I couldn’t decide which was hotter, the dosa or the weather!

Then there’s the Jannal Kadai (the Window Shop), right next to Kapaleeshwarar temple, where food is served out through a window. After morning devotions around the temple during the sacred Tamil month of Margazhi (December/January), it makes superb sense to fight the morning chill with Jannal Kadai’s  delicious breakfast menu of bajjis, pongal and dosa. Not far from here is the Kalathi Stall, famed for its rose milk.  And of course, one can always find plenty of places for a cup of traditional filter coffee, served in tiny steel tumblers and davaras, to heighten the experience.

Should you go overboard with all the food, a visit to Dabba Chetty Kadai is in order. This 100-year-old shop on Kutchery Road is your ready resort for all kinds of native herbal and country medicine, stacked in neat tin containers (or dabbas). Old timers in Mylapore can swear to its efficacy in combating all common ailments, and thanks to its formulations, report never having had to take to Western medicine. The dabbas may not be labelled, but the shop staff know how to reach out blindfolded for the exact medicine you need. Their Diwali leghyam, a concoction to correct the imbalances from festive eating around Diwali time, is sold only for a couple of weeks around the festival, but is arguably their hottest selling item of the year.

The December music festival is another of Mylapore’s (and Chennai’s) landmark events. The venerable Music Academy hosts some of the top artistes of the Carnatic music pantheon, but is by no means the only venue in town. In the vicinity of Mylapore are perhaps a dozen or so music sabhas (clubs) to cater to Chennai’s famed musical cognoscenti at this time of year. Much of the music is devotional, and it is a known fact that crime rates dip to near zero at this time of year. It’s perhaps got to do with the many gods and goddesses who descend upon the city to hear all of the divine music!

Mylapore wouldn’t be half as interesting though but for its amazing shops and bazaars, teeming with people, where you can find everything under the sun to never have to leave Mylapore your entire life. There’s rows of stalls selling bindis, bangles and other trinkets. Flower sellers and vegetable vendors line the sidewalks. Saree shops famous for their silks, like Rasi’s and Nalli’s, are perennially popular, as are jewelry stores like Nathella’s and Sukra’s. There’s Ambika Appalam for spice powders and papadams, Sri Vidya Manjal Kumkumam store for turmeric and vermillion, Vijaya Stores for school books, and Grand Sweets for snacks and tiffins. The shops at Luz Corner purvey clothes and cosmetics, and gift items and articles of everyday use. Nehru News Mart is a popular newsmagazine store, while Giri Trading is famous for books and religious items, and Sapthaswara Musicals sells traditional musical instruments. All of these, and several more, have carved a permanent niche for Mylapore, drawing locals and tourists alike.

If Chennai exudes a conservative, erudite aura of learning, Mylapore has a large part to do with it. The TamBram community can be found in full fledged flourish here, its storied success owing as much to a natural penchant for academics as an inherited fondness for curd rice. The TamBram heritage places a premium on culture and intellect, aesthetics and brilliance. Every other family can boast of a relative who’s immigrated to the United States or some such cold destination abroad. But these migratory snowbirds are inevitably back for the December holidays, to relive traditional memories and revel in the mild weather.

Mylapore’s ethos might be primarily Hindu, but it is also home to old mosques, as well as Luz Church and the Santhome Basilica, two iconic churches that date back to around half a millennium ago. Furthermore, the splendid new Universal Temple of Sri Ramakrishna, adjacent to the century old Sri Ramakrishna Math, provides a perfect modern day amalgam of spiritual harmony.

In cosmopolitan changing Chennai, Mylapore is a microcosm for all things traditional, continuing to thrive and blossom as fine as ever. Its way of life draws gladly from the tried and tested goodness of the past. The old remains adaptable, but has never really had to make way for the new. Rather, it is inevitably the new, which with time, comes to acknowledge the resilient wisdom of the old.  In this ever ongoing exchange and alchemy of old with new, Mylapore is an abiding home for several excellent traditions from the past. Be it with its temples or festivals, Carnatic music or vegetarian cooking, the environs of Mylapore are always ready to welcome you, ever so gently, to the finer nuances and joys of life.

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The Call of Kali

The last week has been one of reminiscences and nostalgia. I was back in Kolkata, that great throbbing city of feeling and soul, the city of my carefree younger days with its enduring memories. Arriving late in the afternoon, we couldn’t have hoped for a warmer welcome than that which greeted us at the Taj Bengal, the modern landmark of Bengali hospitality in South Kolkata’s plush neighborhood of Alipur. Dinner that evening was a languid and leisurely affair at the Taj’s showpiece restaurant, the Chinoiserie. The delectable spread would have done the veteran chefs of Kolkata’s Chinatown proud.

Culinary pleasures aside, the larger quest of this sojourn in Kolkata lay in the realm of the spiritual. The Divine Feminine, especially in her manifestations as Durga and Kali, is a vital presence here, and in the broader spiritual and cultural life of Bengal. Our plans for the next day were to visit two of the city’s most iconic shrines to the Goddess. First would be the historic temple of Kalighat, from which, as the story goes, the city derives its name. Next would be the nineteenth century temple of Dakshineshwar, intimately associated with the life of Bengal’s greatest sage of the modern era, Sri Ramakrishna.

We were up and ready at dawn the next morning, and were rewarded with an incredibly lovely spectacle of dark green foliage, thick purple clouds, and golden pink sunrays.  Sights such as this might well have inspired the imaginations of a Tagore or a Bankim Chandra Chatterjee. The latter’s Vande Mataram is in part an eloquent tribute to the beautiful monsoon moods of the divine painter.

Our hotel was just a few minutes from Kalighat, and we were thus at the temple even before it was 6 am. This turned out fortuitous, as it was a Tuesday, special to Mother Kali, which also meant heavy throngs of worshippers. Upon reaching the locale, we were met by a helpful priest, Krishnaji, and his couple of attendant priests, who showed our group to his home next door. Here, we assembled offerings for worship, including flowers, coconuts and sweets. Led by Krishnaji, we then set off briskly to the temple, ignoring insistent street hawkers and other local characters who offered various types of support and intervention for our visit to the Goddess. Krishnaji marched us through a set of entrances, and presently we were almost at the doors of the garba griha, also called the Nija Mandir, the inner sanctuary of the Goddess’s own home. The crowd at this point was quite thick, even for this early hour of the morning, and from here on our pace barely inched forward.

Entering in through the doors of the sanctum, we were joined by other lines of people, elbowing and crushing upon us as we squeezed and wound our way down the steps. The expert crowd maneuvering of several priests, including Krishnaji, who were actually smiling and joking through it all, eased the pressure, even as we looked askance at some in the crowd who tried to sneak their way forward. This was a real-time spiritual lesson in keeping your composure and letting go. Soon enough though, we were in front of the great Goddess, whose startlingly alive image was clearly the compelling force at the center of it all.

A tall and articulate priest played head cop, standing directly in front of the deity, orchestrating crowd movement and issuing orders, even as he pressed upon us for contributions to an offering box for charitable initiatives. He bade us touch the image of the Goddess reverently, and prostrate at her feet, allowing us a few precious moments of imbibing Sacred Presence. A powerful maternal energy pervaded the sanctum, revealing Kali as a fierce dynamo of compassion, a perennial catalyst for the ultimate happiness of every struggling being. One needed little convincing that this was indeed how the great Mother of the Universe would manifest authentically, delighting in the surging waves of devotion from sincere hearts.

Persisting in his enjoyable Bengali accent, the priest now raised the pitch of his appeals, that our proximity to the Goddess enjoined us to give generously, and the giving would go to a credible social cause for children. We were aware that outside of this innermost sanctum, there were other lines with more distant and fleeting viewing access. His insistence toned down considerably however, and morphed to appreciation when we complied with a reasonable offering. He now made sure we could edge our way out without too much trouble, which could have otherwise been a real challenge, so fervent was the enthusiasm of the incoming crowd. I felt both relieved and distinctly fortunate.

We made our way out to a hall where we could finish up our puja, with the breaking of coconuts and the anointment of tilak marks on our foreheads. Then, past the ever insistent and annoying line of beggars that tested our resolve for patience once more, we were soon back at Krishnaji’s, stopping to pick up trinkets and memorabilia from the several stalls in the vicinity. We were happy to now offer him and his supporting cast a modest fee for their tremendous help, and were bid a grateful and genuinely warm goodbye. Our early morning darshan at Kalighat, with its accompanying spiritual transactions, was complete.

After a quick breakfast at the hotel, we now made our way northward, opting for a faster highway route on the Howrah side of the Hooghly, or Ganges river. This drive entailed crossing the Ganges and back over the famed bridges of Kolkata, driving through the verdant Bengal countryside rather than the inner traffic of the city, and in less than an hour, we were at Dakshineshwar. This sprawling complex was where the nineteenth century benefactor, Rani Rasmani, erected a beautiful temple to the goddess Kali, in her manifestation as Bhavatarini, the Mother who liberates her devotees from the fetters of worldly existence. The image of Bhavatarini Kali housed here was the great pivot for Sri Ramakrishna’s extraordinary life of spiritual mastery and universal realization.

The arrangements at Dakshineshwar were more orderly, with long lines of people waiting their turn for darshan of the Goddess. The sweet smell of incense wafted through the large courtyard, even as the sun alternated with the clouds to create a play of light and shade. Expectation was writ large on everyone who came in to view the goddess, and then happy smiles and contentment. The dynamic image of Bhavatarini seemed to radiate a blessing of safe passage through this transient world, if only we could bring ourselves to a space of inner trust. A century and a half ago, her intense presence took over the life of Ramakrishna, his consort Sarada Devi, and the illustrious band of close disciples they trained to actualize his teaching, of service to humanity as service to God.

A visit to Dakshineshwar is not complete without a visit to the Ganges, and after darshan of the Goddess, we made our way to one end of the grounds where a flight of broad steps descended to the river. The flowing waters were pleasantly cool, and even as we dipped ourselves, the overcast sky began a mild drizzle. The scene was ethereal, of a gentle curtain of rain enveloping this holiest of rivers. As we walked back up the steps and exited the vast courtyard, it began to pour with the familiar vigor of the August monsoon. Walking like little kids under this magic cascade of rain, we knew in our hearts this was a blessing from up above. Hardly had we reached our waiting cars though, than the showers abated, while cool raindrops continued to float gently, glistening in the sunshine.

Sri Ramakrishna would maintain that the Divine Mother was both male and female, for the nearer one approached the Divine, the more one would realize He has neither name nor form. Going beyond modern feminism, the wisdom of that transcendent equality has in many ways permeated the cultural mores of Bengal, in both family and social life. Under the ever-watchful gaze of the Goddess, the women of Bengal enjoy a freedom of self-expression and action, at home and in public life, perhaps unmatched by any other region of India. On the streets of Kolkata and the villages of Bengal, they are probably safer at night than women are in many other parts of the world by day. In the daily life of Bengal, Kali’s foremost influence is seen perhaps in this genuinely natural equality.