Ghost Towns of Karnataka

People keep asking me about my favorite place in India. For a country with thousands of years of turbulent history, vibrant culture, magnificent religious sites, and breath-taking natural beauty, there is no one answer.

Of the various World Heritage sites I visited during these two years, my favorite trip was to the sites in northern Karnataka--Badami, Patadakkal, Aihole, and my favorite of all, the city ruins of Vijayanagar, also known by the neighboring modern town, Hampi. Swollen rivers almost made sure we didn't reach our destination, but taking the back roads to find bridges that weren't washed out had the added benefit of seeing how village agriculture uses asphalt roads for much more than driving carts. (Pictures here.)

The temples constructed and carved at the first three sites were contemporary to other sites already described here, such as the temples of Mahabalipuram or the carved cave temples of Ajanta and Ellora. As with the other sites, I was overwhelmed not only by the skill and artistry of the temples and carvings, but also the sheer volume of shrines and temples. Most analyses believe these sites were used as institutes for teaching and practicing new kinds of temple artistry and architecture--such as free-standing temples, or enclosed circumambulation paths.

But unlike the others, Hampi was more than just temple carvings. The Hindu kingdom of Vijayanagar existed in the 1500s, at a time when Muslim kingdoms dominated India's landscape. Due to its strategic location among the bouldered hills along the Tungabhadra River and good relations with its neighbors, the Vijayanagar kingdom focused its resources on the arts. When the city eventually fell, it scattered a population of half a million, dwarfing European cities at the time like London or Rome. Because the city was under attack multiple times over several months, it never recovered, and the wealth of granite-carved temples, market bazaars, temples, palaces, fortifications, and shrines were left to the jungle and the river.

And because Hampi is difficult to reach quickly--we used newly established airports not yet listed in guidebooks--we could climb and explore the ruins, sharing the sites with a handful of other tourists, oxen, and goats. It was like getting a private viewing of a shadow of a ghost town.

A Jewish Cemetery in Mumbai

You already know I like cemeteries--they are peaceful public spaces, often in the middle of urban areas, they grant a glimpse into the history of a place in a particularly personal manner, often with religious information, and say a lot about how a place perceives its history.

One of my favorite moments in India was when I stumbled upon the Jewish Cemetery in Mumbai, during a visit in June 2007. The entrance was on a wide street in a non-descript neighborhood with a typical hodge-podge of pigeonhole shops and tiny dwellings, but none of them with names that were in common with prominent Jewish families of Mumbai's past, such as Sassoon, or noticeably Jewish in general. There were a few caretakers resting in a whitewash shelter near the entrance. The cemetery itself was fairly well-maintained: tight rows of stones and sarcophagus-style graves, with low green vines along the walls and grass between the rows--and missing the piles of trash thrown over walls of other similar final resting places I've visited.

As with any cemetery, the stones themselves tell the story of the community best: stones listed places of birth as far flung as Baghdad and Czechoslovakia, and similar to the 19th-Century Jewish gravestones I had seen in Berlin, the stones displayed information in Hebrew on the east side of the stone and in a local language on the back (west) side. It is interesting to note that in Mumbai the west side was written in English, not Hindi. Family names such as Haskell and Sassoon were often coupled with more familiar Indian given names, such as Priya or Akbar.

For the hour I was there, I was the only visitor. And when my departure was delayed by the afternoon's downpour, the caretakers let me sit it out under the whitewashed shelter. (Pictures here.)

Mansions and Churches

For the last of my self-guided tours of historical Chennai, I chose mansions and churches in May (2008--I know I'm late in posting this, but not THAT late). In any city, the houses of the (currently or formerly) rich and famous, and the stories of their influence on a city or community, breathe life into otherwise dry series of dates and facts. Even without an intense interest in the details, the architecture often speaks for itself, announcing that once there was grandeur and style, sophistication and pride, in this place (Pictures here).

We started at what was once Brodie Castle, now housing a state-sponsored college of music. The building itself was solid, even if a little rundown, and the outer verandas and rooftop provided a great view of the Adyar River, and the lush grounds of the Theosophical Society across the murky waters.

Just downriver from the Brodie Castle toward the sea stands Chettinad Palace, also on the banks of the Adyar. To my surprise, the mansion is still an active household, with a first-floor wood-paneled receiving room for public visitors (we were there alone) decorated with photos of prime ministers and dignitaries from M.A. Muthiah Chettiar's lifetime of public service in Chennai and beyond, as well as a staggering collection of trophies and prize cups from equestrian pursuits.

The only lead for finding the next stop on our tour of Chennai's fine old garden homes was a name on the map, Leith Street. Winding our way through more modern homes, all with titles playing on the name of the main house (Leith Manor, Leith Retreat, Leith House, etc.), we eventually spotted the original house, tucked into the center of this neighborhood, which once was simply the surrounding gardens. The house is a private residence, not intended for public visitors, but they were kind enough to show some historical tourists like us the veranda and rooftop. An example of how inactivity can be a blessing, the residence has had no major renovations in recent years, leaving much of the original moldings, wide veranda, and stonework intact. The rooftop is an amazing terrace, though the surrounding apartment buildings now block what was once a 180-degree-view of the entire beach and bay.

Lushington House, in a side street off of Mount Road near the Teachers College in Saidapet, is the saddest example of a formerly grand house, now succumbing completely to the encroachment of Chennai's crammed housing standard. The place looked like a fort, complete with a surrounding wall, locked when we visited.

As the day began to swelter, we stopped by two of Chennai's oldest churches, Luz Church, built in the 16th Century C.E. by Protuguese sailors in thanks for a mysterious light which guided them to safety--however, an inscription in the church gives the credit to some Franciscan monks. The church is modest in size, but has thankfully maintained its spacious grounds, and peaking through the windows, we could feel the cool air maintained by the extremely thick plastered walls.

Another church built by the Portuguese in the same time period is located on St. Mary's Road, but referred to as Descanco Church. The congregation now has several modern buildings for worship and education, and once included a giant pink and powder-blue image of the Virgin Mary, buoyed by a massive papier-mache lotus blossom (no longer on display, as of May 2008). The original structure, now used as a shrine/chapel, still preserves several Portuguese gravestones in the floor.


-----------

When I took this tour, I didn't know that this would be my last city tour of Chennai (for awhile--the last is never the last). As I review the maps and photos, I realize that I was just starting to scratch the surface of Chennai's stories. I mean, it's now a city of 7 million or so; most of the history I've been gawking at is pre-Independence, and there have been several economic spurts, urban developments, mass migration from rural areas, a tsunami, and millions of stories to accompany each of them.