India Khumbamela from SENSES on Vimeo.

Here's a movie by Spanish photographer Luciano Rodriguez Pena, made during a recent trip to India. It features two main events during the first three months of this year: Haridwar Kumbh Mela and Holi. I liked the colors (as befits a country such as India) and the tremendous energy which the movie imparts. I wish there was a different soundtrack to it, but the stills and the movie make up for that.

Luciano is a Nature & Travel photographer, and teaches digital photography in various photography schools in Madrid.

Holi is a festival of color and was recently celebrated all over India. It's an exuberant festival which aims at infusing fresh hope to people as it marks the end of the winter days and the start of summer. The Kumbh Mela in Haridwar is a three month-long bathing festival along the Ganges river which occurs every 12 years, and about 50 million Hindu devotees performing their prayers and washing away their sins in river's waters are expected in this holy city.

The Grand Trunk Road played an important role in India's history at every step of its way. Some 3500 years ago, with the Aryan invasion of the subcontinent, it served as a corridor starting at the Khyber Pass winding eastward between the Himalayas and the Thar Desert onto the Gangetic plain. Hinduism, Jainism, Sikhism, and Buddhism spread through it, and Muslim proselytizers traveled on it. Since 1947, Pakistan controls the 300-mile segment between Peshawar and Lahore, while the remaining 1,250 miles link six Indian states, making it lifeline of northern India.

Nowadays, the road used by Alexander the Great, Ibn Battutah, Mughals invaders and other conquerors and the just curious, is ruled by truck drivers roaring through countless tiny villages.

NPR features a hybrid multimedia project in which its journalists travel the route and tell the stories of young people living there, who make up the majority of the populations in India and Pakistan.

Flying out of Delhi's international terminal is, to put it mildly, stressful-- even more stressful than air travel has become in general-- and chaotic. Not only is it the most aggressively anarchistic place I've ever been in, at least 75% of the passengers look like they could be featured in a Watch For Terrorists ad-- if not an al-Qaeda recruitment poster. An American profiler would short circuit.

There may be, on an office flow chart in someone's desk somewhere, a schematic for how it's all supposed to work... but I doubt it. At every step along the way, among the pushing, shoving crowds-- many of whom seem to have never been confronted with the concept of "a line" before-- there is something designed specifically to hold up the process and make you return to Go. If you ever thought getting to the airport two hours before your departure was too big a waste of time, let me assure that they must have had Delhi in mind when they made that rule of thumb... and they were being optimistic.

The first nightmare involves getting the bags you intend to check into a great big cavernous black box and collecting it on the other side. Somewhere along the arduous quest for departure someone is bound to tell you about this-- usually the man at the end of the 30 minute line in front of the check-in counter. Black box first, check in after. But once you get through the crowds to the black box and figure out vaguely what's supposed to happen and how, you need to confront several hundred Osama bin-Laden look-alikes jostling in front of and all around it. I thought I was at the Kaaba. Nothing really seems to happen-- just a tremendous amount of seemingly unfocused kinetic energy but no discernable movement towards any goal. I knew I'd be OK eventually but I couldn't help wondering if the fragile looking elderly ladies lurking apprehensively on the outskirts of the melee would wind up stuck at the airport forever.

Eventually you find someone with an airport smock, slip him 10 rupees (like a quarter) and he shoves your bag into the box, gets a security string tied around it and you're good to go-- back to the boarding pass counter line. It was worth the 10 rupees because he alerted me about the need for a security stamp or some kind before you can get your boarding pass that allows you to proceed to the security check. I'm sure regular Delhi Airport commuters are well aware of this quirk.

Once you pass through security, it's less chaotic-- but just a little less. There are families (or tribal groups) camped out on the floors, apparently not having chairs as part of their culture. (Later, on the Air India jet, I realized some of my fellow passengers were among the 700,000,000 Indians I wrote about at DownWithTyranny a few days ago who have no access to sanitary facilities. Besides explaining seat belts and oxygen masks, the flight video does a tutorial about how to use a toilet.) But first I had to find a gate for my flight. There were just 3 question marks where a gate number should have been on my boarding pass and the loudspeaker announcements were so garbled and so unintelligible that it was impossible to tell if they were in Hindi, English or something else. Eventually some airport employee started walking around the terminal shouting "Bangkok flight, Gate 11." That worked. I won't have to brave this nightmare again for another month. And in a couple of years this will place will be left to domestic passengers since India is building a new international airport on the other side of Delhi. I only hope it is as well-planned as the brand new Bangkok international airport.

Photo © Steven Greaves-All Rights Reserved
American writer Mark Twain wrote:

"Benares is older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend, and looks twice as old as all of them put together."

Varanasi (Benares) or Kashi is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world and probably the oldest of India, and is one of the most sacred pilgrimage places for Hindus of all denominations. More than 1,000,000 pilgrims visit the city annually. For centuries, Hindus have come to Varanasi, the holy city on the Ganges, to attain instant moksha, or "release", at the moment of death.

Steven Greaves's galleries include Kashi, City of the Dead, and Kashi, City of the Living; both which I highly recommend.

Steven is a freelance photographer, who was born in the UK, but considers New York City as his home. With a formal education as a lawyer, Steven interned with VII Photo Agency, and his work was published by a number of international publications and displayed in New York City, Miami, London and New Orleans. His work is currently represented by Lonely Planet Images.

Rock climbing is a popular outdoor sport in certain parts of the world, but India doesn't happen to be one of them. Recently, the state of Maharashtra announced plans to begin promoting the sport to attract tourism to the area. This has inspired Indian born climber Sujay Kawale, who now lives in the U.S., to travel home and help introduce the sport to his native country. Sujay and his friend Mike Wilkinson are hoping to document those efforts while simultaneously showing off the climbing opportunities there in a new film called Ascending India. To do that, they've launched a Kickstarter campaign to help fund their efforts. They're hoping to raise $10,000 for the project and with 14 days to go, they could certainly use some help getting to their goal.

To get an idea of what they have in mind, take a look at the trailer video for the film below. Good luck guys!

Ascending India Teaser Trailer from Mike Wilkinson on Vimeo.

Here's another feature from the recent Kumbh Mela which was held earlier this year in Haridwar, North India.

This body of work by photographer Mark Thomas is titled Kumbh Mela 2010, and is mainly of portraits he made during that religious event.

Mark Thomas is a photojournalist and a multimedia expert, whose work appeared in various publications, including The Boston Globe and National Geographic News. He professes a deep passion for documenting and photographing India.

His Kumbh Mela 2010 gallery consists of portraits of naga babas, the ash-covered sadhus who belong to the Shaivite sect, as well as pilgrims.

Mark's website has other Indian-centric galleries such as Faces of Kashi, Visions of Kashi and Child Labor.

A worthwhile website to bookmark for Indiaphiles.

CNN brings us this short video, which was produced by Alex Zolbert, who traveled by train north of Delhi to witness and photograph the Dvitya Shahi Snan, or Second Royal Bath, on March 15, at the Ardh Kumbh Mela.

Photographs by Palani Mohan are included in the piece. Palani's photographic career started at the Sydney Morning Herald newspaper, and since then he has been based in London, Hong Kong, Bangkok, and now Kuala Lumpur. Malaysia.

As I wrote on my earlier posts about the Hardiwar Kumbh Mela, exuberant hyperbole (and imaginative press releases) describe it as the largest gathering of humanity. It is not. The distinction belongs to the Maha Kumbh Mela which occurs after 12 'Purna Kumbh Melas', or after every 144 years. It was held at Allahabad in early 2001, and was attended by over 60 million people, making it the largest gathering in the world. I would also say that, in my opinion and having been to both Allahabad and Hardiwar, that the latter is an unappealing city and its ghats are not photogenic.

Whether it's over-hyped or not, all of the photographers who attended it over the past few weeks had a wonderful time, and captured magnificent images.

I'm a firm believer in traveling as light as possible. For one thing I hate checking luggage. "One in every 138 checked bags was lost during the first nine months of this year, compared with one in 155 bags a year earlier." Now that statistic is for U.S. carriers, which are much worse than reputable international carriers, like British Air, which is what I'm flying on to India. Nevertheless, I don't want to bring anything extra or check anything. So the weather becomes a problem. In Delhi, my first stop, the temperature dips down into the 40s and it cane get colder. That means I need a jacket. In Yangon and Bangkok it never gets below the mid-70s and is as likely to be in the low-90s; no jacket needed. Maybe I can just bring one I hate and leave it in Delhi when I fly to Bangkok.

But what about the monkeys? Do I bring monkey food? Or pick it up when I get there? Are you supposed to feed the monkeys. The ones I've run into in Nepal in 1970 were pretty nasty and aggressive. When I returned 20 some odd years later they had replaced them with tame, friendly docile monkeys. I hear the ones infesting Delhi this year are neither tame, friendly nor docile. They're eating people's small pets, attacking people and trying to steal babies. Does it sound like a Hitchcock movie with simians instead of birds?

Troupes of monkeys are out of control in India's northeast, stealing mobile phones and breaking into homes to steal soft drinks from refrigerators, lawmakers in the region have complained.
"Monkeys are wreaking havoc in my constituency by taking away mobile phones, toothpastes, sipping coke after opening the refrigerators," Hiren Das told Assam state's assembly Saturday.

He said the primates were "even slapping women who try to chase them."

"It is a cause of serious concern in my area, with more than 1,000 such simians turning aggressive by the day," fumed Goneswar Das, another legislator representing Raha in eastern Assam.

And last month the deputy mayor of Delhi died when he fell off his balcony defending himself against a monkey attack. Another bunch broke into Sonia Gandhi's daughter's apartment and wrecked it, while others have been ransacking hospitals and attacking patients. They're out of control but devout Hindus believe they're the incarnation of Hanuman and can't be killed.

The problems stems from humans displacing monkeys from their natural habitat. Tens of thousands of them have moved into Delhi... where the livin' is easy. Gee, and I though all the danger on this trip was going to be in Myanmar.

Chongqing: bring a gas mask

The first time I was in Delhi, in 1970, the air was so unbelievably filthy that I got out of town as fast as I could. Like many cities-- Los Angeles and Bangkok being two good examples-- Delhi is a lot cleaner now. But not so much, apparently, as I thought it was when I was there last year. According to the World Bank in 2004 it still had the second worst air pollution of any city in the world. Numero uno was Cairo. Here's the list of the 20 most polluted:

Cairo
Delhi
Calcutta
Tianjin
Chongqing
Lucknow
Kanpur
Jakarta
Shenyang
Zhengzhou
Jinan
Lanzhou
Beijing
Taiyuan
Chengdu
Ahmadabad
Anshan
Wuhan
Bangkok
Nanchang

Twelve are in China and five are in India. I'm finishing up on Robyn Meredith's NY Times best selling book on the economic changes in India and China in the last two decades, The Elephant And The Dragon and she has a lot to say about the overwhelming pollution in both countries.

Nothing can prepare visitors for the pollution in China... One of the worst places to breathe on the planet is the world's biggest city: Chongqing, China, with a population of 30 million people counting the exurbs, about the same number of people as live in the entire state of California. There the New China coexists with the Old China: skyscrapers and construction sites decorate downtown, but scrawny bong-bong men wait for work on street corners. Bong-bong men are paid sixty cents an hour to ferry heavy loads-- from building materials to groceries-- up and down the city's hilly streets using bamboo poles slung over their shoulders. They must have powerful lungs, not just strong legs: the city is half dark most days. Sunlight barely reaches the ground, dimmed by thick, gray smog. Skyscrapers just three blocks away are mere outlines because of air pollution. Emerging from the inside of a building onto the streets prompts one's eyes to water. The air is filthy but that is not all. The raw sewage produced by 30 million people-- 30 million-- is dumped straight into the Yangtze River as it flows past. The countryside nearby is not the place to go for fresh air: there you notice that the leaves of trees-- along with everything else-- are coated with black dust from the coal mines and factories in the region. More acid rain falls on Chongqing than anywhere else on earth.

...Nearly a third of China's rivers are so polluted that they aren't even fit for agriculture or industrial use, according to Chinese government statistics. Village doctors have documented increased cancer rates near polluting factories and chemical plants. Untreated waste water dumped into China's famed Yangtse River is killing marine life and turning its water "cancerous," according to Xinhua, the state-controlled media outlet.

...Lack of enforcement of environmental laws is also a big problem in India. Its capital city, Delhi, used to have pollution levels ten times higher than the nation's legal limit, mostly because of the high-pollution taxis, trucks and buses on its roads. Delhi has the world's worst air pollution in 2002, but managed to clean up its filthy air after being taken to task by India's Supreme Court. The overhaul began in 1997. Some steps were long overdue: the city finally banned lead gas. However belatedly, the city reduced pollution from Delhi's power plants by installing scrubber to clean up smokestack emissions and requiring them to burn cleaner coal. It banished motorized rickshaws and buses built before 1990 from the roads. In 1998, the court required all city buses to run on compressed natural gas (CNG)-- a cleaner fuel than gasoline-- by 2001... Just 10 percent of sewage is treated in India, with the rest dumped into waterways, along with industrial pollution. India's rivers-- even the holy Ganges-- have become sewers.

I still remember leaving a restaurant in one town after dinner and seeing some kids behind it filling up the "bottled water" from a garden hose.

Photo © Tony Smith-All Rights Reserved
Tony Smith is an adventurous Welsh photographer who, at the age of 15 joined a cargo ship to South America...and this is how his world travel started. He worked on ocean liners, and subsequently on dry land in Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), Johannesburg in South Africa and London before settling down in Winchester.

He's been deeply involved in travel photography to the point it's developed into a second career. He tells us in his biography that nothing pleases him more than attending and photographing cultural and religious festivals: the more difficult and remote the better.

Tony is an Associate member of the prestigious Royal Photographic Society. His travels have taken him to Nepal, Bhutan, India, France, China, Spain, Morocco the USA and Canada as well as the West Coast of Ireland. He attended Hindu, Christian, Muslim, Buddhist and Gypsy events.

He has just returned from Haridwar in North India where he attended the Kumbh Mela, and produced a photo slideshow and a blog travelogue.

Tony also produced a number of slideshows of festuivals such as Holi, Gypsy Pilgrimage, Maha Shivratri (particularly recommended) and Feria de Bernabe, as well as others which are on his website.

My friend Rick McCharles, who writes the Best Hike Blog, has been busy adding to his already impressive resume of trails that he has walked. Recently he's been in the Indian Himalaya, spending the better part of a week trekking the Kuari Pass and writing about his experience there. The trek takes travelers deep into the mountains of northern India where 7000 meter peaks abound, it also affords those who make the walk views of the famous Nanda Devi, a mountain that many believe is the most beautiful on the planet.

Rick starts his travelogue of the trek with a Day 0 post that outlines what to expect on the hike, including the price. The 8 day trek costs $600 apiece for two hikers and includes a guided walk covering 82 km (50 miles) with the highest point reaching 5135 meters (16,847 ft) at Larkya La.

The trek offers some fantastic cultural encounters and amazing views, but of course one of the highlights is Nanda Devi, a 7816 meter (25,643 ft) peak that is the second tallest in India. It features a steep, sharp summit that cuts across the horizon in dramatic fashion. It also happens to fall inside the Nanda Devi preserve, that is off limits to all but a few lucky visitors. On occasion, permits are issued to climb the peak and some of the best climbers in history have attempted to reach its summit. The mountain is so striking that American climbing legend Willi Unsoeld named his daughter after the mountain. Sadly, she would later die trying to climb it.

Rick wrote six posts on the Kuari Pass trek, each of which can be accessed from the Day 0 post linked to above. Each of those posts shares his experience from each day and plenty of photos from the trail, giving us readers a sense of what it is like to make this hike.

After finishing up the Kuari hike in India, Rick has now jumped over to Nepal where he is busy walking the Manaslu Circuit. I'm sure we'll get some great info on that trek soon as well.

I'm busy making reservations for a trip to India this winter. Everything seems so much more expensive than I remember it. And it wasn't that long ago that I visited Bombay, Delhi and Calcutta. The first time I went to India, though, that was like a whole different world and a whole different age. I had just graduated from college and I drove across Europe and Asia to India. It was still 1969 when I got there-- December 1, 1969, in fact. I remember because it was a major day in my life. I was waiting for my paper work-- or my van's paper work-- to get processed at the Pakistan-Indian border (Wagah, I think) and it was very hot in the sun. I had spent a year being very frustrated about not being able to stop smoking pot and hash. But suddenly at that remote, desolate border crossing I felt a hand reach inside me and rip away the desire for drugs. Gone; forever. I never desired to use a drug again after that. What a great way to start my trip inside India.

Eventually I made my way down to Goa and rented a house on the beach. When I left I decided to drove to Sri Lanka. In between was Kerala, a very green and beautiful state. I remember they had the most Christians and the most Communists. In fact they had a Communist state government that was working far better than any of the other state governments. I was pretty carefree and drove wherever my fancy took me. I wound up one day in Cochin, a seaport on the Arabian Sea. Today's Washington Post has a story about the city, now (since 1996) called Kochi, In India, A Jewish Outpost Slowly Withers.

When I visited in 1970 is was a real outpost with nothing going on at all. I don't remember it as a city, just more as a village. Now there are around a million people and it's a major port and historically it was a place filled with traders from all over the world: Greeks, Arabs, Romans, Chinese, Portuguese, and Jews. And Cochin has been somewhat famous in the west as an oddity, a Jewish enclave in Hindu India.

I was curious about Jews living in such a place and I decided to investigate. I found very little-- an old synagogue but no actual Jews around. The Indians boys eager to take the three or four visitors a day on a tour weren't Jewish and they said the Jews had all moved to Israel. Legend says the first Jews to have settled in Cochin came when Solomon was King of Israel. A thousand years later there were Jews from Europe arriving and at the time of the Inquisition, more Jews from Spain and Portugal arrived. In the middle 1500's the Jews of the area sought protection from the Hindu king against Muslim oppression and he let them build their own "Jew Town" in Cochin.

It was still called Jew Town when I visited, although I didn't see a single Jew. According to the story in the Post there are only 13 elderly Indian-born Jews left. "In Kochi, there is concern that Jew Town soon will be little more than a quirky tourist destination." That's certainly what it was in 1970 when I visited. Occasionally Jewish tourists from the U.S. or Israel come by but it's the kind of place that's not worth more than a pleasant afternoon on the way somewhere.

Photo © Tewfic El-Sawy-All Rights Reserved
Photo © Tewfic El-Sawy-All Rights Reserved
Photo © Tewfic El-Sawy-All Rights Reserved
Photo © Tewfic El-Sawy-All Rights Reserved
During my Theyyams of Malabar Photo~Expedition™ in early 2009, I had arranged for a photo shoot at an ancient Vedic 'gurukul' (or training/boarding school very similar to the Buddhist monasteries for novitiates, or a Muslim madrasa) in Thrissur, where we were treated to a demonstration of this way of teaching the sacred Vedic scriptures.

The Vedas are the earliest literary record of the Indo-Aryan civilization, and the most sacred books of India. These are the original scriptures of Hindu teachings. The oral tradition of the Vedas consists of several rhythmic recitations and ways of chanting the Vedic mantras. The traditions of Vedic chant are often considered the oldest unbroken oral tradition in existence.

While photographing and watching the hypnotic chanting by the young boys, I was reminded of the similar recitation styles used by the Buddhist novices and the Muslim children at madrasas, who sway their torsos in time with the cadence of their chant. Moreover, many Jews also sway their bodies during prayer; a practice called shokeling in Yiddish.

Photo © Stuart Freedman-All Rights Reserved
Photo © Stuart Freedman-All Rights Reserved

"In Western art, few sculptors -other than perhaps Donatello or Rodin- have achieved the pure essence of sensuality so spectacularly evoked by the Chola sculptors, or achieved such a sense of celebration of the divine beauty of the human body."- William Dalrymple, Nine Lives

Stuart Freedman is an award-winning British writer and photographer whose work was published in, amongst others, Life, Geo, Time, Der Spiegel, Newsweek and Paris Match covering stories from Albania to Afghanistan and from former Yugoslavia to Haiti. His work has been exhibited in Visa Pour L’Image at Perpignan, The Scoop Festival in Anjou, The Leica Gallery in Germany, The Association and the Spitz Galleries in London.

One of his many galleries is The Idol Makers, which documents the work of Radhakrishna Stpathy, an idol maker, a caster of statues, a master craftsman in Tamil Nadu, India. Stpathy mastered the ancient art of bronze casting which traces its origins from the Indus Valley civilization and achieved its apogee during the Chola period.

Chola period bronzes were created using the lost wax technique, which is also know by its French name, cire perdue, and is the process by which a bronze or brass is cast from an artist's sculpture.

Be sure to read Stuart's accompanying article on Stpathy, and the historical background to idol making in Tamil Nadu.

I've previously featured Stuart Freedman's work on Kathakali here.

Photo © Paulette Waltz-All Rights Reserved
Here's an audio slideshow of black & white photographs of the Tibetan community in Manali by Paulette Waltz.

There are 3 Tibetan monasteries in Manali; two of which are located in the main downtown area of Manali, while the third monastery is on the opposite bank of the Beas river. In common with other Tibetan communities, there are a number of handicraft stores and restaurants. The two I frequented -while teaching at the Foundry Photojournalism Workshop- was Chopsticks (not much imagination in the name, but decent and cheap food) and the delightful Peace Cafe which served a wonderful granola and yogurt breakfast, as well as noodle soup and other staples.

Paulette Waltz lives and works in Tokyo, but was born and raised near Washington, DC. She pursued Psychology at Emory University, studying in Europe and Africa. Post-graduation, she traveled Asia and lived in northeast China as well as Japan. She developed her interest in photography in Namibia, where coming across photogenic Himba women.

Photo © Asim Rafiqui -All Rights Reserved
A few weeks ago, I had just returned from my Tribes of South Rajasthan & Kutch Photo~Expedition™, and felt that I hadn't done enough in terms of street photography in the Kutch area of Gujarat.

I, rather ludicrously, expected to photograph non-stop in its small villages that had seen few (if any) foreign tourists and when that didn't happen, I had to content myself with a some frames here and there. Back in New York City, and still cursing my bad luck, I chanced on a post by Asim Rafiqui, in which he describes his street photography in Lucknow as follows:

"And in the rare moments when something close to a photograph does appear I keep ruining it with poor timing, inappropriate angles or by being club footed and lumbering towards it so slowly that the moment is gone. Yesterday I had waited nearly 3 hours for a frame, arousing suspicions among the many shopkeepers who had patiently tolerated me and my cameras on the corner of their street, and then missed it when it seemed to come together!"

Three hours for a frame! And Asim is one of the better photographers I have come across. So I swallowed my curses, and realized that this is what it takes...this is reality...and street photography and paparazzi-style travel photography are miles apart.

Because of such gems, I am a frequent follower of Asim Rafiqui's The Idea of India project. An extraordinarily erudite, both intellectually and visually, blog in which he examines traditions of social and religious sharing which still exist in India, reports on shared sacred sites like major Sufi dargahs where Hindus and Muslims co-pray and on religious festivals which evolved past their sectarian sources and welcome participants of all beliefs and faiths. A veritable cornucopia for those of us who are eager for deeper understanding of the roots of current events.

The latest blog entry is titled The Kerala Journeys. This is what street photography is all about.

When I arrived in India for the first time, in 1969, I immediately gave up my dependence on drugs. I've been-- excuse the expression-- "clean" ever since. The trip to India, through India and back to Europe from India took a little over 2 years. I saw a lot and I missed a lot. I've been back to India 3 times since, most recently just over a week ago. My trip was actually to Thailand and Myanmar and I was just stopping in New Delhi for about 10 days before and after. I had no business, no appointments, no agenda, no pressure. So I went out of my way to really spend some quality time at the best sites in Delhi, sites I had seen in the past but never really immersed myself in.

I spent a whole day at Lal Qila (the Red Fort), for example, a place I probably gave an hour to previously. And I'd go spend another day there without a second thought. I also spent some time at Old Delhi's other stunning-- equally stunning-- tourist attraction: Jama Masjid, India's largest mosque. The Moghul Emporer Shah Jahan started it in 1650 and the red sandstone and marble house of worship-- not far from his palace-- look six years to complete. It's truly awe-inspiring and I guess that was the point. We sure don't build 'em like that any more!

I had heard about a Sufi poet and saint, Hazrat Sarmad being buried in a tomb at the Jama Masjid. He was actually a Jewish Armenian from Persia who converted to Islam-- perhaps to Christianity for a spell before that-- and became a peerless Sufi mystic of great renown in his day (1590-1661). Somewhere along the way he fell head over heels in love (ishq) with a young Hindu boy, Abhai Chand-- so head over heels, in fact, that he renounced all worldly possessions-- including his clothes-- and became a naked fakir. This (nudity) wasn't that weird in India but the Moghuls weren't into it and Sarmad was pals with Dara Shikoh, the heir to Shah Jahan's throne. That didn't work out and when Aurangzeb staged a coup and took over the joint it was hard times for Dara Shikoh's friends. He had Sarmad beheaded for blasphemy (although historians have always sensed some politics in the mix).

I decided to go visit and pay my respects. I didn't have my camera so the picture above is of me in front of an entirely different tomb, Humayun's, which is in New Delhi, not even Old Delhi, although it's just as old. I stopped there on my way to another tomb the Hazrat Nizamuddin Darga, which is very much a lively scene in an living medieval community and in front of which-- and the reason I went-- qawwali singers do their thing in the evenings. I love that music and the video below in front of the darga should give you an idea of what it's like. Anyway, back to Samad; I never did get to take any photos and it was very difficult to find, since everyone claims to know where everything is, even if they don't. And even when I found it... well, how do you know he's really in there anyway? And if he is, is his head?




UPDATE: NY TIMES DOES DELHI IN 36 HOURS

Don't try it... but there are some useful tips... about art galleries and sitar shopping. They agree with me that Swagath, though not in the center of town, is worth the trip for a delicious south Indian (especially otherwise unavailable Mangalorean) seafood meal.

The first time I went to Sri Lanka it was 1970. It was about the most faraway, exotic place I had planned to go to on my drive across Asia, a place I had always fantasized about. After months in India, anything would be a breeze so I had no trepidation whatsoever when I set out for Rameswaram from Cochin in Kerala. The road wasn't great and I can remember that I never saw a plate or eating utensils on the whole drive south; all food was served on banana leaves. I guess its kind of a truism to say that the food got spicier and spicier the further south you ventured, but even a truism is based on something. I love spicy food and it didn't bother me at all. South Indian cooking is very different from North Indian cooking and I dove in wholeheartedly. The roads were definitely not as good as the food. I remember once there was a big boulder in the middle of the narrow road but I realized immediately it was a trap set by decoits (bandits). Fortunately they were lethargic and lame and we somehow managed to avoid being killed or even interacting with them.

I can't remember who I was with at this point. I used to meet people who liked the convenience of a nice new VW van. They got transportation and paid the gas and other car-related costs. I was thoroughly broke at this point, having run out of whatever money I had in Goa. All I remember about the Cochin to Sri Lanka crew is that everyone got tattoos when we got to Jaffna except me (who thought a- it was probably unsanitary, and b- it would nix any chance I had of being buried in a Jewish cemetery if I ever changed my mind about the religion thing). But I'm jumping ahead of the story.

After outsmarting the decoits and arriving in Rameswaram, I don't recall much about the town. Supposedly it's a big pilgrimage scene but I don't recall anything but it being a small, grimy port town with a ferry that crossed the Palk Strait to Talaimannar at the tip of a small peninsula that jutted out of northwestern Ceylon (which is what Sri Lanka was called then). The problem was that the ferry was too big for the port at Rameswaram and one had to be rowed out to the ship on a small boat. My recollection-- colored by unabated terror even after 3 dozen years-- can't possibly be precise. They put a wooden plank between two small boats and had me drive my van (which was my entire universe at the time-- and not insured) onto it, so they could row it out to the ship which had a crane to lift it aboard. It sounds beyond belief-- even to me! But what I do remember in vivid detail is being on the ferry with my van hanging in mid-air, courtesy of the crane, and a representative of the Indian (or Ceylonese) maritime workers union approaching me for some baksheesh. It was a smart time to ask because I was thoroughly terrified and in no position to dicker, something I had become quite adept at in the preceding year. I think he wanted $6 or 7 and, although that put a serious dent in my budget, I was happy to give it to him and get my van back safely. The Ceylonese side had a pier where the ferry actually docked.

I forgot to mention that I was smuggling. I had found that the Ceylonese wanted cheap saris from India and the Indians wanted large tins of coconut oil from Ceylon. No one ever checked the van for anything ever. I made a lot more money later in the year smuggling alcohol from Pondicherry, the old French (Christian) colony just south of what was then called Madras (now Chennai), to Madras' YMCA where Muslim gentlemen put out by Madras' dry laws were eagerly waiting. Like I said, no one ever checked the van and I scraped up enough to live for a month or two at a time.

There were literally no tourists traveling this way; I mean I never met one driving around southern India the whole time. So we had no real advise about what to do or where to go. I suppose the normal thing would have been to drive south to Colombo. So, of course, I drove north to Jaffna, the Tamil city. I remember it being a big, busy exotic city without a lot of charm, but with delicious food. I remember eating omelets cooked in coconut oil; HEAVEN! The taste stayed with me for decades and eventually brought me back to Ceylon (by then Sri Lanka) for another visit. Everything was cooked in coconut oil. I bet you didn't know that coconut oil is very healthy, did you? We were all brainwashed into thinking it was horribly fattening and disease-causing. But that's completely false.

My more recent memories of Sri Lanka are going to be a lot more vivid and useful and I'll try to get them down this week. I don't remember much about the first trip beyond the tastes and smells... and the beautiful tropical beaches. It was a real chill-out time for me after the hustle and bustle of all-consuming India-- kind of like a vacation. I made a point of circumnavigating the island-- something that is impossible now because of the guerilla war and I can remember a few towns that I really liked standing out, Walauttu, Batticaloa, and Trincomalee on the east coast, Hikkaduwa, Hambantota and Galle on the glorious south coast, Nuwara Eliya, Kandy (home of the sacred Temple of the Tooth; see photo above), and Anuradhapura in the middle. I never stayed at one hotel, just slept in the van or on the beach every single night. I have a recollection of swimming and lounging around the beach during the hot days and then driving into the cooler highlands to sleep at night.

Photograph © Michael Rubenstein-All Rights Reserved
Michael Rubenstein is a photographer based in Mumbai to cover South Asia for Redux Pictures, having lived in New York City and Portland, Oregon. He has a degree in Environmental Policy and has studied at Ohio University's School of Visual Communications.

His clients include: Time Magazine, Newsweek, The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, The New York Times Magazine, The Oregonian, The Chicago Tribune, The Financial Times, Complex Magazine, The Paris Match, Bloomberg News Service and W+K.

Some of his work on Andheri, a Mumbai suburb being transformed into a hip neighborhood appeared in the NY Times. And it's interesting to see the stylistic difference between this photo sideshow and his India gallery on his website.

Photo © Tewfic El-Sawy-All Rights Reserved
Photo © Tewfic El-Sawy-All Rights Reserved
Here are two images made while traveling in Chhattisgarh and the neighboring Orissa. There were made using my first digital camera, the Canon 10D...remember that one?

The first is of an Odissi dancer in Bhubaneswar. Odissi is one of the eight classical dance forms of India. It originates from the state of Orissa, in eastern India. On the basis of archaeological evidence, it's the oldest surviving dance form of India.

The second is of an adivasi in the Bastar region of Chhattisgarh, whom I found amongst the thousands of tribal people who congregated at one of the weekly haats. It's estimated there are 300 haats in Bastar, where villagers come to buy basic necessities, and to socialize.

It's at these haats that the adivasis imbibe copious quantities of toddy, the palm wine ubiquitous in these parts. The fellow was in a pseudo trance along with other members of his group. Despite my efforts, I never found out what the purpose of the trance was.

Here's my gallery The Adivasis of Chhattisragh.