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.

Sandy Hook, NJ

Having lived most of my life in North Jersey, ‘going to the beach’ for our family has generally meant going to Sandy Hook. It is the a large sand spit, the extension of a barrier peninsula along the coast of New Jersey, separated from the mainland by the Shrewsbury River. The 1,665-acre peninsula is said to have been discovered by Henry Hudson.

I remember back when I was around 12, getting up early in the morning and driving over there with one of my father’s friends in his gleaming white Galaxy 500 convertible. He had an outboard motor and fishing gear in the trunk. At Highlands we rented a boat, fastened the motor onto the back of it and headed out to catch some fish. We’d go pretty far out but always remained within sight of the rise that is the Highlands, also reputed to be the highest point along the entire U.S. Atlantic coast. We generally never caught much until after I started getting sick.

‘Onkel Dick’, as we called him, was a true mentor. In those days, he taught me a lot and inspired me to do things out of the ordinary - like fishing, birding, and chopping wood. We both understood that I’d get sick and wouldn’t be able to eat my mother’s tomato and cheese sandwiches. But there was no shame in it and I learned to bear it. And he agreed to eat the sandwiches for me so that my mother wouldn’t get mad.

Later, having a family of my own, we contented ourselves with hitting the Hook’s beaches. None of us were on very good terms with repetitive wave-like motion.

Eventually we noted that the traffic and parking were becoming just to much too handle. So, we’d pick the off-season to go down there and commune with the sea. There was the excuse of eating seafood at Bahrs Landing, open year-round. The excuse became doubly attractive when the Hofbrauhaus up on the Highlands (overlooking the Hook) closed and Bahrs retained its German chef.

After lunch we’d drive down along the Hook and take in its various sights. There’s the old Nike base; the ghostly abandoned barracks; the bunkers and crumbling fortifications; and the still active Light House, purported to be the oldest in the country.

The beaches are as wonderful as any along the Jersey coast. There’s of course the ocean side; and, for those who seek calmer waters, there’s the bay.

The landscape even holds up in the winter, fresh and bracing. One is likely to encounter no one - just the people you might have come with.

Peter Koelliker; pkoelliker8@yahoo.com/

INDeco Resort Hotel, Mamallapuram, South India

Living here in Chennai, we’ve been down to Mamallapuram any number of times. I’ve written about it in previous blogs. Each time we go there’s more to discover. One of my titles reads ‘GRT Temple Bay Resort’ which rightly deserves much more than a mention (even if it is way too expensive for us retired folk).

We did actually overnight at Mamallapuram some years ago in a place that calls itself ‘Sea Breeze’. The location couldn’t be better. It’s directly on the beach right next to the town’s main attraction, the Shore Temple. The compound is at the end of a wonderfully neat dead end lane. It contains both cottages and rooms, a pool, a restaurant, and gift shop. ‘Sea Breeze’ is relatively new, but lacks the attention to detail and sophistication of the Radisson GRT complex. There’s a certain charm in that though. Whereas ‘Temple Bay' consists of a template that is recognizable anywhere in the world, ‘Sea Breeze’ retains a distinct Indian flavor.

Last weekend we made still another intriguing discovery: The ‘INDeco Hotel’ just south of the World Heritage site. It bills itself as the hotel that is also a museum and is run by the Indian government (that owns some of the best real estate in the country). INDeco too has a restaurant and a pool but it’s a bit of a distance to the ocean - about 5 minutes walk.

INDeco is wonderfully lush, green and shaded. That’s saying a lot for the east coast of India that tends to be arid apart from monsoon season. INDeco - like ‘Sea Breeze’ - is totally Indian. There’s a touch of the exotic here that’s missing at ‘Sea Breeze’ which seeks to be modern. No such pretensions here. INDeco is proud to be old (colonial) school.

I never actually stayed there. Neither did I eat at their multi-cuisine restaurant, ‘Pongamiya’ (named after the Pongamiya Glabra trees that shade the grounds). But from what I’ve seen so far, I wouldn’t mind checking it out. It has, of course the added advantage of its government affiliation which in my experience has always served us well throughout India.

A Gentleman's Farm in Vermont

New England is the vacation spot for active adults and their families who don’t necessarily like to sweat in the hot Florida sun and get sand between their toes. New Englanders have a reputation of being a fiercely independent lot. They are often outdoorsy types who like hunting, fishing and chopping wood.

We’ve been going up to New England on vacation since my grammar school days. My brother and I always looked forward to our summers spent in a cottage along the shores of Lake Sunapee in New Hampshire. Later, I would take my own family to a similarly bucolic lake setting in Vermont. Occasionally, we would end up on Cape Cod, clam digging; or on Martha’s Vineyard, celebrity watching.

Of course, New England in many ways also represents the cradle of American history: Plymouth, Boston, Concord, Lexington, etc. It pays to visit the historic sites whenever possible to get a sense of where we all came from. As such, New England has also served admirably as America’s incubator for artistic inspiration. Emerson, Hawthorne, Dickinson, Longfellow, Poe, King among many others had roots in New England. Henry David Thoreau’s sojourn on Walden Pond marked the beginnings of America’s now muscular environmental movement.

New England also serves as an oasis of privacy where it is still possible to lose oneself. J. D. Salinger, after having had his fill of being hounded by paparazzi, secluded himself at Cornish, NH, where the streets seldom have names and houses lack letter boxes. Many of its less than 2000 residents live out of sight of their neighbors. When, as sometimes happens, big city interviewers come into town, stop at the General Store and ask the patrons for directions to Salinger’s house, their inquiry is likely to be met with stone silence. New Englanders look out for their own. It seems like the old man had let it be known that he doesn’t want to be bothered.

Of late, we’ve been visiting friends in a similar town (possibly even more remote) on the Vermont side of the border. There’s a special feel about the place – the chill at night; the heat of day that brings the snakes out from under rock piles; the ‘hearing oneself think’ kind of quiet, except for the wind rustling in the tops of trees and the birds, and the distinct possibility of losing one’s bearings in the woods.

I haven’t had the pleasure of knowing all that New England is famous for. I haven’t personally witnessed fall there, when the trees are said to literally explode with brilliant color. I haven’t skied at New England’s famous mountain resort. I haven’t gone whale watching off the coast of Maine. But I can well imagine. My sole recent exposure (aside from a trip or two to Boston) has been a tiny farm in Halifax, VT. This alone qualified as a near mystical experience for someone who spends most of his life in the thick of one of a major eastern metro.

Do head up to New England if you can stand the quiet - and the ghosts. If you don’t happen to know anyone up there, there are plenty of charming inns. Google ‘New England: Bed and Breakfasts’ or ‘Cottage Rentals’ and you’ll have plenty to choose from. The only B&B I can personally vouch for is Taraden in Vermont. It’s run by friends of ours.

Mamallapuram, Tamil Nadu, South India

Less than two hours drive south from Chennai is historic Mamallapuram, now designated as a World Heritage site. It was the second capital and seaport of the Pallava kings of Kanchipuram who ruled much of Tamil Nadu from the 4th to the 9th century. Today, they are remembered primarily for their patronage and promotion of Dravidian architecture. The landscape in and around Mamallapuram features huge rock outcroppings which have traditionally attracted armies of stone cutters whose progeny to this day still ply their trade producing intricate sculptures of Hindu gods and goddesses.

The principal attraction here is the Shore Temple. It has been a matter of intense speculation, some claiming that seven of these were originally built (six, they say, having since been claimed by the sea). Though now largely relegated to myth, the tsunami - which hit the coast in December of 2004 - nevertheless re-ignited the controversy after some eye-witnesses recalled seeing patterned arrangements of stone emerge briefly from the water.

Mamallapuram (or Mahabalipuram, as it was called up until only a few years ago) also boasts of having the largest open air bas-relief monolith in the world, known as “Arjuna’s Penance” or “The Descent of Ganga”. In addition there are the “Five Rathas”, or vehicles, which, scholars suspect, was the result of attempting to determine a suitable architectural style for yet to be commissioned Pallava-sponsored temples built to honor the gods they revered.

Virtual tomes have been published about all the antiquities that can be found in Mamallapuram. Of more immediate interest to the casual traveler might be the fact that Mamallapuram is the only spot on India’s arid east coast that can claim to have world class resorts. The area is an amalgam of the very old and the very new and, as such, a fair representation of present-day India.