Ashtalakshmi Temple; Chennai, India

Mamallapuram’s central attraction is of course the (Pallava) seventh century Shore Temple. The temple and surrounding area, as I explained in a previous post, has been designated a World Heritage Site. Not quite rising to the level of world status is the Ashtalakshmi Temple in Chennai’s Besant Nagar district, overlooking Elliot’s Beach.

The temple, I’m told is not very old – perhaps thirty years or so. (You could have fooled me.) Though practically within walking distance from where we live, we had never known of this particular temple before. It is overshadowed by the considerably more hectic Our Lady of Velankanni (Christian) Church - which ministers to the sick and boasts of apparitions by Mary, Mother of God – behind which it lies almost totally hidden. Ashtalakshmi is only accessible either from the beach or by a series of narrow streets alleyways. It is nevertheless one of the stops on the Chennai hop-on; hop-off tourist bus routes and ranks as an Indian Heritage Site.

We found the temple by accident. We had told our driver to take us to a temple we had seen earlier that day in passing. He misunderstood and took us to Ashtalakshmi. I was immediately intrigued. The architecture and the color scheme were a decided departure from the usual South Indian temple fare. It seemed as different from classical Tamil temple architecture as gothic is from rococo. Noting the 10 Rs. entrance fee, we decided to first see the temple from the outside and save a more thorough exploration for later.

We went back the following week – a little earlier in the day, when the legendary Chennai summer sun would still be in the process of gearing up to do its worst. The temple’s layout is unique. There are eight Lakshmi goddesses installed on four levels. At each of the Lakshmi idols sits a Hindu priest prepared to perform a ritual that bestows blessings on the visitor. For each of the ceremonies a modest gratuity is asked for. It is therefore smart to carry small bills and coins with you as it becomes awkward to ask for change from holy men.

The temple affords the visitor stunning views of the Bay of Bengal. Officially, it is not permitted to take pictures there. If people happen to see you trying, they will ask you to put your camera away. Still, I managed to capture some images on the sly, either when no one was looking or with my wife pretending to pose.

A second caution worth mentioning is that you’re expected to leave your shoes outside the entrance before entering. As hot as Chennai gets during the day, it is conceivable that the ground exposed to the sun will burn your feet. Do not leave your footwear in the car as you will have to cross burning blacktop in order to get to your vehicle.

Lakshmi is the consort of (the) Vishnu (part of the Hindu male trinity). She is goddess of wealth, prosperity; learning and wisdom; courage and strength. Each of the eight Lakshmis is said to have distinct powers. If you’re going to pray for a child, for instance, you’ll want to walk up the stairs to the third tier where the shrine of Santaana Lakshmi (bestower of offspring) is located and perform your devotions there.

It’s easy to be swept up in the emotion of need-based worship even if you happen not to be Hindu. It is quite evident from watching the people around you here at Ashtalakshmi (as well as at Our Lady of Velankanni, a mere stone’s throw away) that Hindus take their gods very seriously.

Peter Koelliker; pkoelliker8@yahoo.com

Cholamandal Centre for Contemporary Art, Chennai, S. India

“I have been feeling ever since freedom came, that the artists of the big towns of Bombay, Calcutta, Delhi and Madras, have been cut off from their roots and become individualist artists in the European sense. They have little or no contact with people and have totally removed themselves from their native landscapes. In this way they have also broken away from the craft centers of India’s small towns and villages. Consciously or unconsciously, all of you in Cholamandal (artists’ village) may have wanted to break away from the borrowed abstractions of the West and return to your inherited impulses.

“In the works of the Cholamandal artists which I have seen in the last 20 years, I have noticed that most of you are experimenting with synthetic forms, transforming the old imagery with new materials into a futuristic art. On every occasion, when I have been asked, anywhere in the country, about the future of the arts, I have asked my ardent young friends to go to Cholamandal to see what is possible and (then) found their own artist villages so that they can get back to their roots and away from the derivative influence that so often ensnares the artists of our big cities.”

With these words, renowned Indian author and founder of Marg Publications, Mulk Raj Anand (1905-2004) endorsed the Cholamandal Centre for Contemporary Art as a starting point for native Indian visual artists to discover their own unique direction. It is likely that the collection has changed several times over the years. In fact, I saw a good number of non-Indian names attached to the sculptures displayed in the garden. The only connection to Indian themes I recognized, was the medium used: granite (which is ubiquitous in this part of the world). For traditional Indian art (especially in granite) you would do well to travel 50 km south to the historic stonecutters town of Mamallapuram.

Peter Koelliker; pkoelliker8@yahoo.com

Cut And Paste

It’s Saturday. Outside, there’s a storm brewing. It may be advisable to stay home and look at the pictures of where we might have been back when the weather was fine. There’s not all that much in that old pile of photographs that screams out for preservation; cut-off heads (mostly) of the people we might have been with. What about those we took in New York? – Nothing. It was so much better just being there, feeling the hot sun on our backs; the smell of the crowd; eating. We felt we were a part of something then – alive.

Still, there are actually parts of all these pictures that could indeed be interesting: The girls that just happened to pop up in a shot at our son’s graduation; the train racing down the track to Washington, DC’s Union Station; the Aristide Maillol sculptures at the Bronx Botanic Garden; Monet’s painting of water lilies at MOMA; the Tomahawk missile at the National Air/Space Museum; etc.

Parts of these pictures that are definitely alright! Tell you what: You have photo shop on your computer, don’t you? Crank it up and use it. You’ve got time. What else are you going to do? Get busy cutting out all the good parts of the pictures you’ve taken and paste them together along with all the other good parts you may have identified. Make a collage of sorts. Watch how it turns out. Keep working and you just might create some kind of “masterpiece” – something that rings truer than all your albums put together.

Since it’s begun to rain, I think I’ll do the same. I invite you to view some of the results. Pretty good, huh?

Actually, I myself have gotten pretty much away from messing with my pictures lately. I might still go so far as to crop them or adjust the contrast, but my “cut and paste” days are pretty much over. The change came with the introduction of the digital camera (which actually makes “cut and pasting” even easier). But, on the other hand, these cameras allow you to take so many more pictures; the odds of capturing something memorable have improved considerably. Deleting the bad ones no longer involves a trip out to the garbage can in the garage.

It’s just that darn roll you shot on Liberty Island years ago. You thought there’d be at least one picture worthy of hanging in the study along side all the bowling trophies. But, when you got them back from CVS, all of them were blurry. It still rankles you no end to have missed the opportunity. And ever since then, you’ve always avoided every opportunity to go back there, preferring instead to nurse the old wound. Why did you keep them anyway, if they were no good? Was it the money? If I had been you, I’d have tossed them long ago and started over.

Peter Koelliker; pkoelliker8@yahoo.com

DakshinaChitra Redux: Lord Ayyanar

I recently visited DakshinaChitra again. There is so much to see here, one visit is not nearly enough. This time, their Ayyanar statuary collection caught my eye. Lord Ayyanar is a Hindu village god, worshipped predominantly in the South Indian state of Tamil Nadu and in Tamil villages in Sri Lanka. He is primarily worshipped as a guardian deity who protects the rural villages. His priests are usually non-Brahmins, who belong to mostly the potter caste, but other caste members also officiate in his temples. The temples of Ayyanar are usually flanked by gigantic and colorful statues of him and his companions riding horses or elephants.

The Tamil word Ayyanar (or Aiyanar) is derived from the root word Aiyā which is a title often used by Tamils, Malayalees and Telugus to designate ‘respectable’ people. The word derives from the Proto-Dravidian term denoting an ‘elder brother‘. It is used in that meaning in various South Indian states. Yet some derive the word Aiyā as a Prakrit version of the Sanskrit word ‘Aria’ which means 'noble’.

Interior South Indian villages often exist outside the reach of the central government. Yet for countless generations they have functioned well and effectively based on an emphasis on civic duty, and codes of honor and respect. It is not necessarily a utopian model as we commonly see it in modern communism. Though there are such elements inherent here as well. But rather than an emphasis on a nameless state, it’s power derives organically from an acceptance of the wisdom of elders who perpetuate an appreciation for strict ancestral lineage.

As the agrarian villages have prospered, the Ayyanar statuary came to be painted in bright, modern colors. The DakshinaChitra collection adheres to the older version in which color has yet to been introduced.

Peter Koelliker; pkoelliker8@yahoo.com

DakshinaChitra: Picture of the South

DakshinaChitra literally means “Picture of the South” in Sanskrit. It is a popular Chennai (formerly known as Madras) tourist destination only twenty-five kilometers south of the city along the East Coast Road at Muttukadu. Its ten rolling acres overlooking the Bay of Bengal contain representative dwellings from four South Indian states: Tamil Nadu, Andhra Pradesh, Karnataka and Kerala. Each home is furnished in the appropriate regional style. Weavers, potters and the other craftsmen give continual live demonstrations of their regional arts and crafts. In addition, DakshinaChitra can also boast of having a wonderful art museum, a gift shop and an open sky amphitheatre where music and dance performances are often given.

On my last visit, the theme was ‘Asia’. Accordingly, a classical music group from Japan had been invited to perform. After the Japanese Consul General had said a few words by way of explanation, we were treated to a fine performance of Japanese dance. Earlier various delicacies from five different South East Asian cuisines were offered for sampling – all, prepared and provided at nominal cost by top Chennai hotels.

On a prior visit to DC, a Kerala Theyyam dancer had come to perform and pose for pictures. He was dressed in full and stunning regalia, dancing up a storm, bare feet stomping the hot dust until our own teeth rattled in time with his silver ankle bells. It was a truly inspired performance quite in keeping with DC’s usual standards.

DakshinaChitra lists the special events it has contracted for on its informative website. Even without anything of note scheduled, DC is well worth a visit. Within the time it takes between arriving at any given airport and taking off, one will have had a taste of the diversity that is South India. It is recommended that you watch a 15-minute film before starting your tour. Guides are available but not mandatory. Exhibits are clearly marked, their relevance explained in English.

Above all, DakshinaChitra is a peaceful place. The ride down from Chennai along the East Coast Road by hired car is likely to put your nerves on edge. There’s nothing like entering the lush green park-like setting and leaving the bustle of modern India behind. I suggest you arrive around lunchtime and relax with a traditional Indian thali at DC’s excellent restaurant before going on your exploratory tour.

Unlike in many places – even back in the States – here at DC the taking of pictures is actually encouraged. You’ll come away with a treasure trove of images representative of different places without even having had to leave your comfort zone – and you’ll have learned a bit as well.

Peter Koelliker; pkoelliker8@yahoo.com

Space Farms Zoo and Museum, Sussex, NJ

Man has always entertained a deep fascination with animals. That’s why we keep pets and maintain zoos. In recent years, much attention has been paid to animals at risk of extinction. Considerable human effort has gone into trying to reverse frightening trends of declining animal populations. We seem to know instinctively that, if we were we to lose this resource, something fragile and sacred would be irreparably broken.

A trip to the zoo used to rank quite high on the list of activities for families. Now, any parent suggesting it is likely to get skewed looks. All children simply love animals. They seem to enjoy a special connection with our furry and feathered (and perhaps less so with our scaly) friends. They tend to be reticent to embrace the cheerless spectacle of seeing living beings trapped behind walls and moats. Even adults have come to see cages and bars as metaphors of their own: guilt; habit; obligation; etc. For most – perhaps less susceptible to popular media-based psychological reverie – a trip to the zoo remains a great opportunity for family bonding.

Twenty years ago, we took a ride up to Space Farms in Sussex, NJ. My kids at the time had not been to school yet and were quite enthused by the prospect of a family outing. The only thing I personally remember is seeing a huge 2000 lb. bear (Goliath) standing bolt upright inside a cage that seemed woefully small. To be fair, anything in close proximity to this huge animal would have appeared small. Within weeks of our visit, however, our local Sunday paper published an article listing the best and worst zoos in America. Space Farms came in dead last.

It took us 20 some odd years to return. We’d been hearing Space Farms advertise on the radio and were curious as to any improvements that might have been made. At the very least, we felt, it’s a lovely ride through some fabulous rural scenery. Zinga’s Corn Patch still beckoned us along the way, but we decided not to stop there this time around. Instead, we picked a 50’s-style burger joint just up the road (to have our lunch) where girls in snappy uniforms still skate out to the parked cars to take orders.

According to the zoo’s website, Space Farms has the largest private collection of North American animals in their natural surroundings in the United States, adding that there are also many exotic species from around the world. It boasts of being internationally known for its bear and lion cub breeding programs.

Arriving at Space Farms, we found it to be a great place. The animals seemed well-fed and happy enough. There is also a series of buildings, housing collections of old cars, tools, toys, and farm machinery. The bear I had seen some 20 years ago was now stuffed and standing bolt upright in the entry hall along with many other taxidermal curiosities. I noted immediately that there was a definite dearth of visitors. Perhaps this was due in part to the unsettled weather or the fact that our visit fell smack in the middle of the work week. Perhaps, if they could figure out how to put the visitors into cages and let the animals roam free, Space Farm’s attendance would improve significantly.

Ganesh Chathurthi

Ganesha is the Hindu god who helps one to overcome all obstacles. He is generally the first deity approached in any religious ritual. He is the son of Shiva (the destroyer) and Parvati. In the West he is known as the ‘Elephant God’ because he is the god with an elephant’s head.

There are many legends that explain Ganesha’s unusual appearance. One has it that he was born with five elephant heads; another, that he was beheaded by his father in a fit of rage who then replaced his human head with an elephant’s head at his mother‘s pleading. In still another legend Vishnu replaced his human head with an elephant’s head after Shani (Saturn) incinerated the baby’s head with his evil eye.

There are too many such legends to recount here. Suffice it to say, Ganesha is considered to be a happy, carefree god. He is intelligent and is said to have penned the divinely inspired Mahabharata, as he was said to be the fastest scribe. Once in a contest his father contrived, Ganesha and his brother (Subramania) were to race around the world. Subramania dutifully took off and circled the globe whereas Ganesha simply walked around his parents. He was declared the winner.

Today was the first day of the Ganesha festival. I have never seen the streets of Chennai so empty of traffic. As we breezed through the city, we encountered crowds of people clustered around major and minor Ganesha temples (of which there are many in this city). All around the various festival sites stalls were set up selling garlands and small stylized umbrellas made of brightly colored paper.

An annual festival honors Ganesha, starting on Ganesh Chathurthi, which typically falls in late August or early September. The festival begins with people bringing in terracotta idols of Ganesha, symbolizing Ganesha's visit. The festival culminates on the day of Ananta Chaturdashi, when representations of Ganesha are immersed in a river, lake, or ocean to chants of “Ganapati Bappa morya; pudchya varshi lavkar a…” (Ganesha, father of mine; come again next year).

Peter Koelliker; pkoelliker8@yahoo.com

Unworldly

Yesterday, I had the privilege of attending another Kathakali performance at Kalakshetra, an internationally recognized school of South Indian dance. (Please refer to my previous post entitled ‘Kalakshetra’.) This time the troupe was performing Shakespeare in its own inimitable way - Othello, to be exact. The performance was held inside a huge semi-open tent constructed improbably with a virtual flurry of wooden supporting beams, all tied together at the ends with jute. The seemingly haphazard construction was soon forgotten once the performance started. It was in every way top-notch and thoroughly professional.

As Kathakali players do not speak, the dialogue is sung in Malayalam by two singers at the back of the stage. A projector and screen on the right side gave a translation in English.

Kathakali is native to the state of Kerala located on the opposite Indian (Malabar) coast. Top dancers and musicians from there were invited to perform at this festival that lasted several days. Last night’s performance was the last.

Kathakali is said to be an expression of the ‘unworldly’. It is highly stylized (much like Japanese kabuki theater), involving largely small gestures – hand and finger contortions; eye movements, and shivering – and flamboyant, bell-shaped costumes. Make-up can take up to four hours to apply; dancers can only dance with broken arches; the whites of the eyes of the principals must appear red… The demands on performers are endless.

If you were to go to Kerala to see Kathakali, you would have to pay a pretty sum for the privilege. Performances there are usually held in temples at night by the light of a single oil lamp with as many as 63 wicks ablaze. The temples are generally off-limits to non-Hindus. Therefore, Kathakali can only be seen by foreign visitors when and if a tour operator is able to make it a part of a (rice boat) inland waterways package. Here at Kalakshetra it was free – and absolutely, wonderfully ‘unworldly’, made even more so by the continual swooping of bats among the tenuous rafters.

Peter Koelliker; pkoelliker8@yahoo.com

Vasanta Vihar, Chennai, India

If you remember reading my article about the Goetheanum in Dornach, Switzerland, last year, you will recall my saying that Rudolph Steiner’s branch of the Theosophical Society broke ranks with the leadership of the main group in India primarily because of their insistence on declaring Jiddu Krishnamurti as the ‘second coming’ of Christ. Rudolph Steiner was apparently not the only one who had misgivings. Krishnamurti himself would decline to accept the ‘holy’ mantel and seek his own direction. He would come to be known internationally as a deep thinker and visionary quite in his own right.

I recently visited the home of the late J. Krishnamurti, Vasanta Vihar, here in Chennai. As I have tried to make clear from the outset, it is not my intention to publicize or promote anyone’s personal views, especially as these might pertain to philosophy or politics. Nevertheless, Jiddu’s story is a compelling one. He was a sickly child, born into relative poverty. His mother died when he was 10. His manner as a boy made him appear retarded and he was often beaten by his father as well as by his teachers. When his father landed a job as a low-level clerk at the Theosophical Society and moved his family to Madras, the boy’s fortunes changed dramatically. Prominent occultist and high-ranking theosophist C.W. Leadbeater had seen him on the beach and was amazed by the boy’s aura, describing it as the "most wonderful aura I have ever seen, without even a particle of selfishness in it". Krishnamurti was subsequently invited to join the inner circle to be schooled in the Society’s teachings and groomed for the role of “World Teacher”. Annie Besant would become his surrogate mother.

Krishnamurti would go on to dissolve the Order of the Star which he had been created exclusively for him and which he was expected to head. He would spent the rest of his life giving public talks on the nature of belief, truth, sorrow, freedom, death and the quest for a spiritually-fulfilled life. He accepted neither followers nor worshipers and regarded the relationship between disciple and guru as unhealthy. He accepted gifts and financial support freely from people who were inspired by his work, and continued with lecture tours and the publication of books and talk transcripts for more than half a century.

Critics complained that his lavish lifestyle – which included homes both in India and America – disqualified him from speaking as he did. But many more were drawn to him – especially women – finding his quiet, unassuming manner attractive. My wife too had the opportunity as a young student at Mysore University to see him several times as he conducted small study groups in discussions on various topics. She too was stuck by him (perhaps it was the aura that Leadbeater observed), though now admits not to have taken much from the thrust of his words at the time.

For me it was a thrill just to walk the same earth and breathe the same air as a man who by most accounts was a great inspiration to many, whose legacy remains vital in the books he has written and in the countless speeches he has given around the world. On the day I visited Vasanta Vihar, one of his ‘disciples’ had erected a presentation in the main hall, aptly entitled, “The World in Crisis”. It consisted of glossy posters containing photographs interspersed with appropriate snippets from Krishnamurti’s writings on topics that still concern us today. On that basis, I was told by the youthful presenter, that Krishnamurti can be regarded as a visionary, certainly by some of the younger set. I held my tongue; though I was itching to suggest that Krishnamurti’s world - defined by the World Wars of the 20th Century - was in essence no different from ours; that Krishnamurti merely stated the obvious. If, by extension, the world can be said to have remained the same (as it has), then the obvious will also never be subject to change. In this way it’s entirely predictable for any ‘visionary’ (as long as he continues to state the obvious) to always remain relevant.