D Writer Speaks: Pictims

Showing posts with label Pictims. Show all posts

WHAT DELHI HIDES IN IT'S HEART

Ever fascinated with ancient monuments, when I heard about this place I was very excited. I immediately googled about it and read up whatever was available. Strangely, even though it is in the heart of the city, not many people know about Ugrasen or Agrasen Ki Baoli.

Again, there is no general consensus as to who built this historical stepwell. The popular belief however, holds that it was built by the Raja Agrasen of the agarwal community in the pre Lodhi period to preserve water.

In December 2012, I had visited another step well, Anangtal Baoli, located in Mehrauli. It had been a memorable trip with two of my friends. Something I had wanted to repeat soon but hadn't got the chance.

Baavris at Baoli

Then one fine day, me and a friend, who is equally gung ho about quaint places, eagerly set off for the Ugrasen Ki Baoli. The place is located inside a tiny lane called Hailey lane on Hailey Road in CP. The fact that it can be easily reached by an auto or by the metro made us too happy. For your information, the closest metro station is Barakhamba or Rajiv Chowk.

Quite interestingly, the road that leads to the Baoli has graffiti art all over. It’s a stark contrast to what awaits a visitor inside. The entrance to the Baoli is very unassuming and low key, with a very small courtyard leading in. See more pictures of the Baoli here.

When we entered the place, we met the usual crowd that greets you at all Delhi Heritage sites. College kids, photographers, love birds and a few elderly people who visit the place to crib about the rest of the visitors.

The moment we reached the Baoli, I went ahead on my snap happy spree and my friend became my muse for the day. The light however, was not very favourable. The deeper we went into the well, the worse the pictures turned out.

Simplicity at its best

It is a relatively simple structure, consisting of a single flight of 103 steps that culminate in a now dry water tank. The stone walls of the well are stark yet beautiful, forming a 60 x 15 meter rectangle made up of a series of superimposed arcades.

As you go down the steps, the silence deepens. The air too becomes putrid with the smell of bat shit, making one wonder what we are doing to preserve such places. However, all is not lost. Unlike other places, this Baoli did have some caretakers who if nothing else saw to it that people don’t enter the restricted areas.

Walkways interrupt the walls at three levels, allowing the visitor to explore various alcoves and rooms. Today, the more hazardous of these rooms are secured with gates. One can easily see the craftsmanship and the intricate work on the ceiling of the dome. It’s a pity however, that most of it is in a poor condition.

Many years ago, this Baoli must have been a solace for people suffering because of the summer heat. There used to be water in the Baoli till as recently as 2001. Lovers threw coins to wish for something, boys threw pebbles and the birds alighted for cool dip.

As with all relics, the silence was all encompassing making it hard to believe that this place is so close to the commercial capital of Delhi. The only giveaway is the skyscraper which outlines the horizon seen from the Baoli.

While people have deserted this place to a great extent, the wise have taken abode. Every nook and cranny of the Baoli has been taken over by the pigeons. Now it is their world.

If you ever visit the Baoli, do look out for a mosque nearby. Unfortunately, I couldn’t make the time to visit this place. Instead, me and my friend preferred to walk down the Hailey Road which itself is quite a nice place for a walk.

ON DEATH

The view from the cab

Ting Tong

Leisure

Leafy way

The nest

A visitor

Living on the edge

The winding way

A stolen shot

Once upon a bridge

Mad about Mukteshwar

Somerset, the place to sit and watch time walk by...

A quaint little hut by Somerset

Devotion lurking everywhere...even high atop hidden hills...

The Nest, right in the middle of the hills, no lights to guide you at night, no clear road to lead you there...utterly unbelievable

Oak trees playing with the sun...amazing forest to get lost

A lonely cloud afloat

Bird house, so reminiscent of farmville

Treetops meeting the morning eagerly, 2kms before Nainital

Agra for all

What can be said about a place which resides in poetry… which every Indian who can afford has visited at least once in life.

Fortunately for me this was the second time. When I left for Agra I wanted to leave some things behind; I wasn’t expecting much. The bus was not quite what I had expected. But the crowd was an odd mix - an Assamese family, a Belgian, a Korean, two Moslems, two unclassifiable could-be-any-bodies and Bahadur & me.

I realized yet again that looks are so deceptive. The person you believe is the most sensible of the lot often turns out to be the least. The Belgian who looked completely self-possessed chose to pile on with us without any rhyme or reason. And by the time she got our message the journey was over.

In the beginning the journey seemed to drag; our first stop was for breakfast at an over priced restaurant. Hogged on chicken cutlets and utterly unnecessary bread toasts. The bill was so much that it happened to be more than the lunch and the dinner bill. Couldn’t help myself from wrapping the leftover cutlet in a tissue paper and putting it quietly into my bag ;o) Good thing the place had a swing …made optimum use of the time I had in hand. And surprise of surprises no one came to say that the swing was meant for kids under 12.

It was almost 1 pm when we reached Agra…first stop was Agra Fort…2 kms of area open to visitors and only 35 mins to cover it. In spite of this I seemed to be the only person finding it a grave injustice. I tried to salvage whatever was possible in that short span of time that too with the Belgian tied to our tails...she needed translations of what the guide had told, every sentence we were talking in Hindi & every sentence we were talking in English, not once but at least thrice. To top it all she was paranoid the bus would leave us stranded.

Punctual that I am, I reached on the stipulated time but the rest of the lot didn’t seem as obliged. The Belgian was busy cracking jokes on ‘Indian standard time’ while I was lamenting the fact that I can’t differentiate between the diwan-e-aam & the diwan-e-khaas and also because I couldn’t spend more time there.

Next stop was for lunch. Some more commission into the dear driver & guide’s pocket. Food & bill both were fine this time. I won’t tell you anything about the amazingly clean loo. Lunch done the journey once again began in earnest. Our dear guide began an elaborate speech on the mini Taj Mahal, built by the UP Govt by the descendents of the aboriginal artisans of the Taj Mahal. He was also quick to add we shouldn’t shop on the roads as the stuff sold there is not made of authentic marble. After such a prologue our expectations were sadly mocked when we discovered the mini Taj Mahal was just another art & craft shop and not even a govt authorized one. So shocked were some of the visitors that they never realized they were being duped.

I and my Bahandur performed the infamous fuming walk out post which the dear guide & driver were perennially sour faced. Once outside we recovered our spirits by taking some pics. But here too the Belgian appeared.

At Taj Mahal we managed to give the Belgian a slip. Later on she said that Taj Mahal was quite an experience for her, better than the other wonders of the world. What a proud moment it was for me.

There too I got some real nice pics, beginning to think of myself as a budding photographer… (trying to humor myself). As Taj got dressed in the evening and the aroma of a distant “Budham Sharnam Bhikshamdi” wafted into our minds I rediscovered the charms of the evergreen song. There gazing at Yamuna and a flock of cranes we enjoyed few quite moments. For once the idealist in me prevailed and I declared this to be a great example of unity in diversity. In contradiction, Bahadur argued that this is actually propaganda.

After dozing for about an hour and half we reached Mathura. As is the case with every temple visit, I was in two minds whether to enter the temple or not. In the end purely with a tourist instinct that I might miss something I decided to enter the temple. There was nothing much to do or see inside except see devotees in different stages of madness. When we came outside the temple we found that Bahadur’s pretty white sandals were missing. We made a valiant attempt to buy a new pair but couldn’t find a shop. Finally when it came down to either sashaying on cow dung or stealing someone else’s pair Bahadur’s good sense prevailed. She chose a not so attractive pair of slippers…and we left the place thinking something about poetic justice ;)

On the way to Vrindavan a new guide cum pandit came on board complete with a Brahmin ka chotti. He was good orator and pretty convincing one too, won’t go into the details of his sermon. While he gave a lot of info about Lord Krishna and unlike the previous crude guide even at the end of his speech there was no reason to doubt his intentions.

He took us through various gullies to a shady temple…I m still researching to find out whether this was really the main temple. What we found there further reinforced our belief that tourism is in fact fast becoming organized crime. From the guide to the pujari at the temple everyone was busy emotionally blackmailing people. The guide solemnized “purify yourself with the tap water (which he claimed was from Yamuna) because you are coming directly from the Taj Mahal”. Yet another intolerant speech “Mughal Emperor Auranzeb’s pride was broken when a temple was built here”. Like it or not I sulked through the entire episode with folded hands while all the while my mind was screaming hypocrite! hypocrite! Who was I trying to please? Even mom wasn’t around :D

The pujaris, “pay Rs 1000 and your parents will become immortal” was the last straw. What my inconsistant beliefs couldn’t do the threat to my precious money did…lol.. There was a second walk out, this time from the temple. I cursed myself for being part of this hypocritical mono-act. I really envied the two Moslem guys and the Belgian who decided to stay back in the bus.

Outside I had a glass of rabri garnished with pure ghee outside our bus. The bus finally reached Delhi around 2 in the morn…the next day despite everything I was very happy. :D I am so confused. Must have been the Taj …

Another way to begin

I was always partial to low key New Year celebrations…ones that had family dinner snugly tucked in, bonfire, friends and relatives wishing you and the ever bankable idiot box for entertainment. But this year, I tried something different. I rang in the New Year from Mussoorie. I actually started the journey bang at midnight…explored Mussoorie throughout 1st of Jan and moved on to Dhanolti the day after…

Here are some memories that have spilled all across my thoughts…something I saw…enjoy them and wish you a very happy new year.