The Mighty Muddy Satluj from Kotgarh, Himachal Pradesh
This is the river Satluj as it traces its muddy course through the valleys of Himachal Pradesh. It originates in Tibet and surges its way through to the plains of Punjab and drains into the Arabian Sea in Pakistan.
The river is muddy all through and I have no idea if it was so before the numerous hydel projects started coming up on it in the state of Himachal Pradesh.
This was shot one fine day on a trip from Narkanda to Thanedhar and Kotgarh from a point just below Barobagh, the place where commercial apple farming began in India.
I was in Barobagh two years later for the BBC Good Food magazine to shoot the story of apples and the huge effort being put up by Mr. Vijay Stokes, the grandson of the legendary Mr Samuel Stokes who commenced the great commercial movement in apples. The article appears in BBC Good Food magazine but alas, online links are not available. Maybe I will put the content on a blog post sometime later.
The Stand of Pine Trees in a River of Clouds at Barog Valley, India
Another take from the same day and shoot as the last one with a slightly different perspective
The foreground has a stand of tall coniferous trees while a settlement of a few houses glints in the morning sunshine through the fleecy thick cover of clouds.
Barog is a mountain at the cusp of the Himalayas and the older Aravalis and is a formidable barrier to the interior Himalayas. The place is named after Colonel Barog, an engineer from England who was supposed to get the longest tunnel in the Kalka – Simla route, made through the mountains. The two ends of the tunnel did not align properly. Sadly that led to a bout of self depreciation for Col Barog . One misty day he put a gun to his head.
You can see the old alignment on the Barog railway station side if you ever go there.
There is a lot of text here.The subject matter may be a tad uncomfortable for some. You are cautioned, there will be rat pictures here.
Rats are not the most liked of mammals for a variety of reasons. They carry the ominous burden of spreading diseases and destroying food grains. The primary response to a rat is revulsion and its removal from the visual cortex.
Deshnoke is a small temple town, about 30 kilo meters away from Bikaner in Rajasthan, India. Dust eddies swirl around chase each other in the trail left behind by motor cars. Most places in Rajasthan are barren and dry with scant grass climbing over large hill sides. Stone boundaries demarcate ownerships. It is a semi desert landscape of utter beauty and fascination and at times terrifying proportions for some.
As you reach Deshnoke, a fort like outer facade of ochre pink stands squat and low with bastions in the corner and gun emplacement slots peeping down at you. India’s feudal structure demanded such forts from the marauding intentions of the neighbors as well as long term Muslim invaders from Central Asia. So there is a fort here too but I wonder if it was ever laid siege to. Not likely. It was built only around early 1900s by which time the British Empire was in total control of the Indian subcontinent.
The fortification served the purpose of hiding the temple from the prying eyes of humans and predators. Within lies the Karni Mata temple and about 15000-20000 rats that inhabit the courtyard. The rats are sacred. It is good manna if a rat scampers over your bare feet. If you manage to sight albino ones, then it is a sign of great fortune.
The temple was built in the early 1900 by the Maharaja of Bikaner who used to be a great patron and follower of Karni Mata. She was a wise and powerful lady with immense spiritual powers worshipped by the the lay populace as well as the Rajas in Rajasthan. We are talking of the late 14th and early 15th century here. She is supposed to have lived for about 150 years. Somewhere in her journeys, a young follower of hers lost his footstep near a water hole and drowned. The other followers beseech-ed Karni Mata to revive the young man. The Hindu God of Death who reaps the souls is called Yama and he comes astride a dark and sculpted buffalo with big horns.
Legend has it that Karni Devi would not allow Yama to perform his duties. A stalemate ensued. Ultimately a solution was arrived at. The God of Death passed on the soul of the dead boy into that of a rat and saved his face. From that day onward any member of the Charan community who died would be reborn as a rat and every time such a rat died, a Charan boy would be born. Re-Incarnation at full work here.
Rats from that day onward are revered by this community of Charans in this area of Rajasthan. The rats are the past as well as the future of the community of Charan male members. The white rats in the temple complex are supposed to be the direct descendents of the immediate family of Karni Mata whereas the others are the rest of the community members.
In the temple complex about 15000-20000 rats live. I have no idea when the census was done but these are just guesstimates over a period of time. Devotees come in daily and so do visitors who want to see this great terrifying spectacle of rats and the crazy worship. Most visitors must steel themselves to withstand the sight and the smell and get used to the idea of rats and their excrement on the floor. Now a days the visitors have the option to receive a cloth or a polythene sheath shaped like a shoe covering for the feet. It helps.
Writers and media people make frequent forays to present the exotic, arcane and bizarre to the world at large. One of the most terrifying experiences in the world as per the New York Post is a visit to the Rat Temple.
Not to be trapped in the listings game, I would say that the place leaves an indelible mark in one’s mind for the sheer concept of it. The experience can not be termed “terrifying” for sure. More unsettling and unnerving maybe.What about you ?
No photo journey of the Rat Temple would be complete without having close up glimpses of the actual rats that inhabit the warrens inside the Karni Mata temple complex. You can find them peeping out of small holes in the marble walls, scurrying down steps and darting around trying to get some food.MIlk is available in the shops outside that sell prayer ware. You can also buy yellow Laddus for the rats. These are traditional offerings for the rats.The rats that you see during the daytime are generally furtive and not so bold. Not many can be seen either. The popular numbers touted for the rats is about 15000-20000, though no census ever was taken. It is only during the early morning time that there is a large presence of the rats and most of them that are visible are large and healthy. The weaker ones come out later to forage on what they can get.The rats are supposed to be reincarnated male members of the Charan caste of Rajasthan and they are the vestments for the human souls for a short time. As soon as a rat dies, a human being is born. That in essence is the karmic cycle of the Rat temple.There are more rat photos, so just bear with me 🙂
Yes more rats here.
From the Rat Temple at Deshnoke in Rajasthan where the rats are holy and the quirky temple experience is regarded as one of the most terrifying experiences in the world ( NYPost )
A rat was trying to roll a Laddu ( a round yellow sweet made of besan in ghee) away but with an occasional challenge thrown in by other rats from the hood, some peeping from their warrens in the marble walls of the temple complex.
At 10 am in the morning, these are not the strongest and the best rats of the temple complex. The healthy and sleek population is visible in the early morning when the food gets distributed. Thousands scurry around and it is a moving tangle of brown fur.
Most people who visit the Rat temple get to see the weaker not so sleek specimens like what you see in the photo.
Of David Gerstein, Bengt-Göran Broström, Einar Utzon-Frank and others
Lalit Kala Akademy Still Photography
Bicycling is a part of growing up.
An ode or maybe a celebration of motor skills and locomotion that gives you freedom to roam and explore the world around you. The scratches and bruises a life long reminder to the process.
I captured some still images of a sculpture showcased by the Lalit Kala Akademy, the premier keeper of sculpture, art and culture in India. This image is of a bicycle rider sculpted by Narendar Singh in 2008 is titled “My Journey ” and is about 145×12.5×120 cms made of Iron and is painted in green strips of metal with scant flowers on the mud guards. That touch of flowers screamed a watered down “euphoria” of a David Gerstein creation. This metal sculpture by and Indian sculptor is a delight to look at and conveys the sense of freedom and motion that is the essence of what a bicycle represents. Job well done Mr Sculptor.
This post is not about Redbull Racing. No It is not that I do not like Vettel. I positively endorse his driving style and love his performances till date. If things be what they are, he may still win the 2012 F1 championship. If you think F1 racing is extreme or tough and exciting or for that matter snowboarding, skiing down the Himalayas or surfing mighty waves are all tough and exciting extreme sports, than you have not been to India to see the wet mud bull races which are held in Kerala. If you prefer a dry version, Pakistan has some over there.
The most famous bull race is held in Kerala in India and it is an extremely tough one. Bulls are reared specially for racing. They are fleet footed and tough and two of them are hitched together in a harness and a team of 3 men tries to run with the bulls till the finishing point which may be about 100 metres or so. A paddy field is filled with water days in advance and the field is generally in 6 or more inches of water. There is fine mud and rain and sometimes sunshine to accompany the event.
The bulls are always impatient and eager to run the gauntlet of 100 plus yards, mud or no mud. Two runners hold a guide rope to control the direction and speed of the bulls and they actually sprint in the mud alongside the bulls. There is a third rider who sits on a thin plank of wood between the two bulls. Here is a photograph to show case how it looks.
This event is one of sheer courage and am sure an embodiment of manhood for the Malayali man. That year there were about 50-60 heads of bulls that you could count. The latest one held in August in 2012 is reported to have had only 12 pairs. There has been a steady decline in the numbers mostly because of ongoing litigation between organizations wanting a ban on any event that requires animals to perform. They are fighting cases in the Higher courts to stop the horse races because of the usage of a whip. Stuff like that. Anyway, it appears that these races may go on now till it suffers normal attrition as less and less brave or courageous souls venture in this mad bull rush.
For this event I drove down from Cochin to a small town called Adoor. Close to this, is a village called Ananadapalli where the race track was located.The whole exercise of the bull racing is called “Maramadi” or Maramady” and is held every year around Onam time. It is an agrarian pursuit and a thrill to watch for the pure joy of men splashing in the water and running as if for their lives. Beats the 100 m dash at the Olympics.
More exciting things happen during the race. Specially interesting and dangerous is when the bulls can not be stopped from running. They scramble and jump over the 4-6 feet embankment in the blink of an eye and the bystanders, mostly young men packed on the earthen bund have to save their lives. Similar fate awaits camera men who happen to be there. Fortunately all is in God’s hand and nothing untoward happens. A living proof that God exists and wants Indians alive and kicking..err running.;-)
This post is to showcase photos from the event A series of photos where the bulls go charging into the embankment stands will come up in a separate post.
As you come out of the Shivalik ranges that form the southern bastion of Dehradun and head for the dust fields of Delhi, you pass through quaint rugged settlements populated by a rustic breed of farmers, tillers, cattle keepers, cut throats and other remanants of the Huns that invaded the country many centuries ago.
Chhutmalpur is one such sleepy place where in the season they crush sugarcane and make “gur”. From my early childhood days I remember seeing open fire pits blazing away in the night and workers silhouetted in the flames. The sweet heady aroma of raw sugar cane juice being boiled in large cast iron pans and the leftover acrid tingle of molasses was a smell that one grew up in the valley of Dehradun. It still has the same overpowering presence that it had back then.
I was passing Chhutmalpur enroute to Dehradun after photographing the Pushkar Cattle Fair. It was a good time to stop. There were no other passengers with me and this was like Childhood Revisited.
I am reminded of a book ” Rerun at Rialto ” written with great finesse by Tom Alter, where he writes of this very place in one of his stories. A book worth reading for its simple easy narrative and some unexpected twists that make the stories so much more endearing. That was ages ago. I once read voraciously but rarely read fiction now. This book is a treat and along with books of Ruskin Bond, a beautiful easy read.
Here are 11 photos that make this sweet essay on the making of gur.
This is highway58 and you can see the traditional cow patties that have worked the Indian hearths for ages. Some of it still does apparently. It is the season for sugarcane and you can see a buffalo drawn cart carrying sugar cane
Photos Of Boats from Kerala, Kashmir, Goa etc. in India.
Of Catamarans, Coracles, Sand boats, Kettuvallams, Snake Boats, Trawlers and Shikaras
For several years, one has lived in parts of India like Kerala and Goa which are on the sea and also have vast areas of backwaters and rivers. While the sea is dotted with large vessels carrying commercial cargo, there is a significant presence of smaller vessels that the common people use for their daily transportation of goods and for travel, fishing or for pleasure.
Not only the sea, but the rivers and the backwaters are teeming with these boats and vessels and here is a presentation of boats, small and large, round and conical, colored and sometimes drab and black. Some with boatmen and some without.Some with glamorous passengers and some without.