COGNITIVE ANECDOTES: Places

Showing posts with label Places. Show all posts

Istanbul

The Blue Mosque, Attribution: Source-Wikimedia,Image author:Jeremy Avnet

It was as if I was seeing myself for the first time! As I stood in front of the mirror, admiring myself, I caressed my magnificent black beard and glanced at the beauty of my golden colored skin. I had bought a Turkish cap last week from Osman; the clothier and I was going to wear it for the first time. Just then, Gulben, my beautiful wife entered. She had a glass of red cherry sherbet in her hands which I had ordered her to fetch. She looked even more beautiful in the slight ray of sunlight that hit the room. Her red veil though, hid her perfect face.

"The Sultan wants me at the palazzo, I'll have to leave, dear" I said and made my way out of my mansion after kissing my beloved's cheek.

I worked as a minister in our Sultan's palazzo and people called me Hikmet; meaning wisdom. Ten years ago, I would have never even dreamt of living in Istanbul and serving the Sultan. My actual name was Ishak and I came from Persia, ten years ago. I had been a good scholar then and soon was deputed as one of the Sultan's ministers.

As I peregrinated towards the palazzo, I was occupied by the bustling activity in the streets. I observed children running and playing with the toy swords, the beautiful maidens gossiping and few street dogs languishing in the front of food stalls. I could hear the sound of musical instruments as i walked past dervish houses. Osman was busy persuading customers to buy the new arrivals at his garments store. What a clever tradesman! I thought. During my melancholy walk, I wondered why the Sultan had commissioned an order for me to arrive at the palazzo, as I knew I had completed all my work and was looking forward to spending a day with my wife.

The city was as beautiful as ever. I saw that the stunning minarets, tombs and mosques acquired a golden tinge in the morning sun. The cherry and Pomegranate trees had icicles on them. Nature was recovering from yesterday nights heavy snowfall. I couldn't help praising Allah and the beauty he has endowed in earth. The air was cool, fresh and had a sweet smell of lavender dispersed in it. The gorgeous maidens smiled at me as I glanced at them, their coquettish instincts showing off, probably being intimidated by the handsomeness I possessed.

Having walked for few minutes now, I could now see that I was approaching "Sultanahmet Camii" or the Blue mosque. With its 6 magnificent minarets, it was one of its kind. I stood gazing at this architectural marvel for some time. "The Ottomans were really gifted by Allah" I thought. I was awakened from my state of awe when the thought of Sultan's letter crossed my mind and continued walking to my destination, the palazzo.

Sultan's men were waiting for me at the gate. They informed that a masterpiece of the great miniaturist Ismail Effendi that Sultan recently received had been stolen and I was one among the many suspects. I had seen the painting. It was a true wonder and to be honest, I had wished if I possessed it. Its exquisite work and embellishments would have had any person longing to possess it. But I had not stolen it. I wondered why the Sultan would suspect me. It was so harsh, being a loyal servant of the Sultan for years, how could he distrust me!?

The only way to find out the culprit was by torturing methods. The torturers took me and others branded as suspects into a dark room. We were stripped naked, Now, awaiting the torture, I cried to Allah. "How can they punish me? I am Innocent..Allah ! give me strength!! " A man closed in me with a dagger, or was it a dagger? I was not sure. I didn't dare to look.Soon I felt sharp pain, wincing, I jumped, and screamed at the top of my voice.

The pain subsided, I opened my eyes, to my amazement, I was sitting in my bed, sweating. I didn't have the long magnificent beard nor the fair, golden skin nor the ostentatious Turkish clothes. Grandfather was lighting the lamp. I saw the beautiful picture of lord Krishna, Ganesha and other deities in the room. Grandfather had just started praying.

I shoved the blanket and discovered the book I had left half-read last night- "My name is Red" by Orhan Pamuk. I took the book in my hands and buried my face in its pages. I reflected again my time in Istanbul and its mystic beauty, the people I met there, Gulben, the smell of lavender that hung in the air, the blue mosque and the handsome Hikmet or..Ishak.

Grandfather was getting irritated of the fact that I had not bothered to get up and offer my prayers. I quickly got up, prayed to lord and hurried downstairs. I stared aesthetically at the gorgeous morning sky, still, very different to the amethyst sky I saw in my dreams, where Eagles hovered over the myriad tombs and minarets of Istanbul. A strange hollow feeling haunted me, I wish I was still there, to prove my innocence to Sultan and continue my life as Hikmet, in the city where east meets west and which happens to be the most intelligent city of the world, Istanbul.

Land Of The Black Palms.

Posted by Vaisakh comments (15)

The conclusion of 1st M.B.B.S examinations were more of a relief to me than anything else. With the burden put out of my head, I was desperate to get to my hometown. This time, to visit my lone grandmother who lives in a very remote area of Palakkad called Karimkulam. My journey would be in two parts, initially to my beloved village, Pulappatta, and after spending a day there, straight to Karimkulam ["straight" would be a misnomer as i would have to take at least 3 buses to get to my destination.]. This was the first time I was to visit my grandmother all alone. My relatives in and around Karimkulam and my grandma herself had a notion I was not bothered of their well being and hence this visit was a conscious attempt on my part to prove them wrong.

I started my journey to Karimkulam early morning in an inept looking bus. Courtesy of the side seat I occupied, I was able to appreciate the breathtaking milieu that my hometown always offered. As the bus sped through the dilapidated road, I could see the rubber plantations gradually give way to the vernacular trees and shrubs. The plantations were a part of modernization. Though initially implemented by the Christians, nowadays, every resident of my village seems to have a rubber farm in his share of land. My ostentatious carry bag seemed to catch the attention of many people as they tried to figure out what I must be doing in this very austere town.

Much to my delight, I reached Palakkad [my first stop] sooner than I expected. The first part of my journey had not been pleasing. I found it extremely gruesome to sit in the bus hunching over my bag. It was an ordeal to walk in the scorching town of Palakkad. The sun, as it is in Palakkad was unforgiving. I made my way to the next bus station on foot, luckily I got the next bus anon, it was standing in ignition, so had to leave soon. I observed the people closely, unlike those in Calicut, most of them were old fashioned, the youngsters wore hilarious clothes that made them look like outdated Tamil movie stars and there was an air of confidence in all of those faces.

As I bellied up to Karimkulam, i could see the contrast between it and Pulappatta. Though both places were in the same district, there were myriad differences between them. Both were beautiful in their own ways. Pulappatta was cooler, always in the canopy of rain clouds while Karimkulam, though jam-packed with rice fields, was much like a Savannah region. I was thoroughly relishing the surroundings my eyes feasted upon. The rice fields seemed like a green carpet laid out in an endless landscape, with the Western ghats towering above the horizon. The black palms, which i fancy to be endemic to this region [at least in Kerala] stood tall in between the rice fields. Occasionally, the brooks appeared, the adolescents hung out there, fishing and chatting. I fancied being one of them, totally free and enjoying life in their peer group.

After hours of waiting, I finally reached my destination. As I peregrinated through the dusty road, many natives eyed me with surprise. I returned all the smiles from the innocent faces I saw on my way to Granny's house. She was ecstatic on my arrival, gave me a hug and welcomed home. I ate all the dishes she had made specially for me. Our neighbor also showed her love by regaling me with a piece of fried fish. I was over-whelmed by the love and care i got from my grandmother and the relatives in the vicinity. I spend the rest of the day musing in a book I had brought from Calicut.

I settled myself in the balcony, gazing at the Western Ghats, gleaming in the twilight. As I scanned through the massive black mountains, I lost track of time. The sun had disappeared and the sky became atomized with stars. It has been a long time since i saw such a magnificent sky, I tried to figure out the constellations, the big dipper, the Orion [but without luck, I had forgotten them] and i was lost in the aura of the mysterious universe. The silhouettes of the black palms now disappeared totally. Only sound that evaded into the air were the holy hymns from the lips of my grandmother. It was a magical evening.

I had made this visit to prove a point or two that I am old enough to travel alone. But I found that I really did enjoy my visit and I was overjoyed that I was able to give my solitary grandma a day to cherish with me. I made my journey back to Pulappatta, with each and every part of me wanting to come back sooner or later to this wonderful village.

The Ailing Mendicant

Posted by Vaisakh comments (10)

It was a heavenly morning in my village; Pulappatta. As I brushed my teeth, I saw the sun rays scatter, hitting the methodically arranged rubber trees; perfectly demonstrating the Tyndall effect. I always feel myself more content in my village; free from the irritatingly boisterous city life and of course, the hectic studies. I crossed into oblivion as I mused in the nature around me. Soon, I saw grandfather gathering flowers for the morning rituals. By the time he finished plucking them, I had managed to finish bathing in the pond. Days without my mom, dad and sis have always been monotonous but nevertheless being alone with grandparents always helped me to reflect upon myself.

As I sat occupied with thoughts in the verandah, my eyes set at the gate, I saw a conspicuous red figure emerging through the lush green surroundings. I wondered if it was an oracle, but there was no jingling of bells. As the figure approached our house, his looks made me realize it was a mendicant. He didn’t seem to take notice of me as he ignored our front door and walked towards our accessory door. I moved hastily towards the mendicant, he looked straight into my eyes and exclaimed “Ah, you must be Vaisakh, son of Sasi!” I was shocked; I asked in disbelief “How do you know me?” He didn’t reply, but continued staring at me in amazement and finally offered a wide grin. He quietly settled himself in the door step. I could see him reciting holy verses under his breath. Owing to his untidy beard and mustache, the contours of his face was extremely tough to make out. I tried to recollect this person, but in vain. Finally he asked me to fetch grandfather. I ran to the pooja room, grandfather had not finished praying.

“Some beggar is at our doors, he called out my name!” I said frantically

“It must be Appu” Grandfather replied.

Even though I’m seeing him for the first time, I had heard about Appu, the mendicant. He had been associated with our family for generations but it has been years since he had last visited us, probably the reason why I don’t recall him. I remembered granny saying that this mendicant was particularly fond of my dad. But I still couldn’t fathom how he recognized me, ‘may be because I resembled my father in looks’ I reflected. We soon approached the mendicant; with much effort, he stood up as a token of respect and greeted my grandfather. It’s now that I realized he was terribly old.

“I’m not the same any more, I just turned 80!”

The mendicant spoke with a slight humor, embarrassed with his paroxysmal efforts to rise up. I felt sorry for him. He pulled me closer, made me sit beside him and asked me when we returned from Varanasi and as I expected, enquired about the well being of my dad. Like a baby, I replied politely to his questions. His body had a mystic odor. Though he looked as if he hadn’t bathed for months, his body smelled fresh herbs, a smell so captivating that no other deodorant could match. I enjoyed his company. As we talked; he explained to me how much he longed to go on a pilgrimage to the holy city of Varanasi, which is considered to be the final destination of most yogis and mendicants. I wondered how blessed I was to spend 3 years at this city.

My grandmother soon came with a banana leaf and started serving the specially made items for the mendicant. As he ate, he shared a lot of experiences, from the various temples he had been lucky enough to visit to his own family matters. The innocence with which he spoke, the compassion and benevolence in his eyes made me wonder how men like him with divine virtues could thrive in this devilish world.

The mendicants are devotees of Lord Subramanian. On the 1^st Monday of a new Malayalam month, they beg, moving from house to house collecting food grains, money and even clothes. Families having a good liaison with the mendicants, like ours would offer free meals to him. A custom known as “aandi-oottu” involves presenting the mendicants of this clan with food and valuables, prior to their pilgrimage.

“I had wished to come to Varanasi when your family was there, now since you have come back, my chances of making it is very feeble” he said, I could feel a regret in his tone, which made my heart weep. Again, wrestling with his own body, he got up, placed his hand on my head and blessed me. Then he gave a handful of the holy “bhasma” to each of us and finally completed the thankful gesture by blowing the white magnificent conch.

I desperately wanted to spend more time talking to this genuine and lovable old man. But then, it was a long walk back for him and I didn’t expect him to have the luxury of being driven in a vehicle. He wished me good luck and again pressed me to convey his regards to my dad, I promised him I would and sincerely wished in my mind he would make it to Varanasi. The ailing mendicant now walked back to the lush green from where he emerged, dragging him along the way.

Today, the mendicant is just a memory, his dream of making it to the holy city, unfulfilled …

The Oracles Of Pulappatta

Posted by Vaisakh comments (4)

It’s the festive season in my village; the temple is all set for welcoming the oracle. Dressed in bright red and holding the holy sword, the oracle starts his day with energy and vigour, likely to get more intense as the day progresses. Few local villagers accompany the oracle to collect rice grains and money from the houses that lie in the vicinity of the temple. It is intended to benefit the temple workers and the poor.

The festival means a lot to the villagers. It is meant to bring prosperity and good luck to the village and so, the oracle is considered to be a person through which the mighty goddess conveys her blessings to the people [Oracles are usually associated with temples that worship goddesses].

Anxious people await the oracle to arrive in their houses and bless them. Tension is always in the air when the oracle arrives at the house. He runs around the house maneuvering him through the narrow corridors throwing rice grains. This ritual is believed to purify every corner of the house. Children hide desperately, too afraid of the oracles enthusiasm with the sword in his hand. The long hair, dark skin and bright red clothing with an enterprising sword in his hand make a fearful prospect for the kids. The blessing ceremony is traditionally done by placing the blunt end of the sword on the devotees head, often turns out to be a nightmare for the younger members of the family. This marks the end of the oracles duties, now the family head shows his gratitude by offering the oracle rice grains and money. The oracle is now all set to move on to next house and repeat the rituals.

The oracle finishes blessing the houses by dusk and starts his venture towards the temple along with the local villagers who accompanied him to the houses.

The jingle of bells as he walks on vigorously cuts through the tranquility prevailing in the village. His energy levels now begin to increase in an exponential fashion as he approaches the temple. It reaches its maximum on arrival at the temple. The people greet him with prayers. The deafening sound of instruments and the mystic smell of holy smoke create an atmosphere that sets fire to the dynamite waiting to explode in the oracle and he bursts into dancing and jumping vigorously. A strange energy runs through his blood, he cuts his head time and again and blood pours out like lava overflowing from a volcano. The temple now would have definitely evoked a sense of chaos in a young individual. The oracle continues to dance in the bedlam. Villagers pray with desperation and after several minutes of self-mutilation, the oracle calms down. The people cover his wounds with turmeric powder to check the overwhelming bleeding. The oracle sits exhausted.

The villagers believe God himself incarnated into the oracles body as for he knew no pain when he cut through his head. The oracle was in another world for several minutes, where he had no family, no belongings, no emotions, not even a body of his own. The power of faith in the goddess, the rigid feeling that the goddess will bless the village through him made his soul imbibe an energy that is alien to the world of science.
It has been a long day for the oracle, his deeds done, mission accomplished. Now he walks back carrying his humble share of rice grains and money through the murky night to his home, where his family awaits for his selfless soul.