Tharangambadi village

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Our train dropped us, early in the morning, at the rain-washed station of Mayiladuthurai. The rains were unexpected and we had no umbrellas. Leaving my son to take care of our luggage, I hurried to find a taxi that would take us to our destination. The drivers were huddling inside their vehicles, reluctant to step out. Eventually, one of them agreed and we made our way through the rain-drenched streets of the city to a small fishing village—Tharangambadi, along the Tamil Nadu coast.

Arriving in the sleepy fishing village

The little town of Tharangambadi was still fast asleep when we arrived. Only a few fishermen were visible, returning with their catch. The first indication that this was no ordinary fishing village came when we passed through the arc of the Town Gate. Restoration was in progress and it clearly pointed to a past era of grandeur and importance, much different from the sight it presented today.

The narrow road passed by old houses, churches and schools, and dropped us at the gates of another grand old structure, the former British governor’s bungalow, now a heritage hotel, the Bungalow on the Beach. While waiting for our room to be readied, we sat on easy-chairs on the veranda, enjoying the sight of the waves crashing on the shore, their roar reverberating through the silent beach. Complementing the waves was the rain that beat a rhythmic tapping on the roofs. The sea and the rain seemed to be playing a jugalbandi, and the effect was so melodious that I could guess why the early settlers had called this land Tharangambadi—the land of the singing waves!

Past glory of the Danes

Tharangambadi had become Trankebar with the arrival of the Danes in 1620. The Danish Admiral, Ove Gedde, had built a settlement here, the heart of which was Fort Dansborg. The central citadel, which is all that remains of the fort today, is typically European, a trapezoidal structure that faces the sea and has borne the brunt of its moods over the centuries. There is no sign of the moat that once surrounded the fort, and only traces of the walls that once protected it remain.

We had been eager to explore, but the fort’s caretaker was nowhere to be seen. Although when the rain subsided, he arrived and led us into a courtyard carpeted with tiny yellow flowers, from where the brownish-orange sandstone walls of Dansborg rose. From the top of the fort, we had a wonderful view of the sea and the village and it was almost like time had stood still.

For my son, it was a joyous adventure to walk on the partially submerged brick walls of the fort. For me, it was a scary escapade. As he stood there, the wind teasing his hair, his eyes rose to see a flock of flamingos flying past. I stood on the shore, ruminating about the rise and fall of fortunes.

On the shore, right outside the fort, stood a stone plaque commemorating the arrival of Bartholomaus Ziegenbalg and Heinrich Plutschau in 1706, the first Lutheran Missionaries to arrive in India. Both were zealous men of faith who spent years studying Tamil, understanding it, and becoming so fluent that they translated the Bible into Tamil! They also brought along a printing press to distribute copies of the translated Bible. The three churches in this tiny coastal village—Zion Church, New Jerusalem Church and the Lutheran Church—are testaments to the number of devotees the missionaries garnered.

Changing times

After the Danes, the British took over the village, even changing its name to Tranquebar. However, once India won her independence, and they were forced to leave, Tranquebar once again became Tharangambadi. Reflecting on the ever changing and cyclical nature of life, we headed next to explore another aspect of the town.

Dedicated to Lord Shiva as Masilamani Nathar—the unblemished one—the temple told us a story that was far older than the fort. Built during the reign of King Kulashekhara Pandyan I in the 14th century, the temple stands by the village shore, with the waves lapping at its steps. As we sat on the steps, our feet emersed in the water, we listened to an old priest tell us stories about the temple. He didn’t know of any legends or myths about the temple, but he told us it had great importance during the Pandya rule, when the village had been a busy port. Romans had come here, as had the Chinese. “There was a Chinese deity affixed atop the spire,” he insisted, “to draw more Chinese traders here”. We must have looked sceptical, for he added, “You ask them at the museum. They will tell you it is true.” As to where the idol was now, he had no idea. “It must have been washed away in the tsunami. Not the recent one, the one they say came centuries ago.”

This coast had been prone to nature’s fury, and a tsunami, centuries ago, was believed to have swept away the first temple built here. We know little of those times, but the tsunami of 2004 wrecked this coast and scarred monuments and humans alike.

Life in the village goes on

On that wet weekend in October, we were amongst the few tourists left in Tharangambadi. A young couple from Bangalore gave us company during mealtimes, and a few families dropped in to see the fort or play on the beach. “There are so few people here because of the rains,” rued the guard at the fort. We didn’t mind the rains though, and we enjoyed walking barefoot on the beach, revelling in the experience of having it all to ourselves.

The next morning, our last in Tharangambadi, we woke up early and walked down to an estuary where the river Manjaar merged with the Bay of Bengal. The shore was strewn with shells and we struggled to decide which ones to take back home with us. A fish, washed ashore by a wave, caught my son’s eye. Picking up one of the huge shells lying on the sand, he scooped up the fish and threw it back into the river. Never had I felt prouder!

As the sun rose, the crab fishermen arrived and began digging holes in the sand, deftly pulling the crabs that hid underneath. Then the fishermen came, returning with their day’s catch. The crows and kites followed the men closely, flying against the strong gusts of wind, and trying to grab any fish that escaped from he nets.

It was a simple moment, one that happened in every fishing village. Yet, it made me wonder, “Was it like this, before this town became a trading port? Before great powers caught the sight of this land?” The land and its people have been through so much, experiencing nature’s fury as well as bounty. They have known times that were joyous as well as tumultuous. Whether the tourists come to see the church’s spire towering high, or the temple with its steps leading into the waters, there is one thing for sure—humanity endures, and there is always hope!

The post Tharangambadi: Land of the singing waves appeared first on Complete Wellbeing.

Published by: Leadstart Publishing Pvt Ltd

ISBN: 9789381115800

Pages: 379

Price: INR 399

Samir Nazareth is on an exploratory journey. He has quit his job and is spending months on the road; his aim—to explore as much of the coastal regions as he can, on a limited budget. The title of the book makes his primary interests evident—food, towns and people.

Food, clearly, is of great importance. Samir calls himself a ‘travelling gourmand’ delighting in local food, whether at the small thelas [carts] on the road, or in small hotels and shacks. This not just provides him with much needed nourishment at reasonable rates, but also acts as an ice-breaker for conversations. The towns he halts at are varied and interesting. He starts his journey by train from Nagpur to Bhuj; moves on to Okha at the westernmost point of India; travels down south to Rameshwaram and Kanyakumari, up the coast to Kolkata and Gangasagar; and finally heads towards the hills to Gangtok. Along the way, he stops at small and big towns, some he knows; some he has just heard of; some just end up on his itinerary according to the whims and fancies of the public transportation system.

Coming to people—they are everywhere! Unlike the towns and the bananas, there is no way he can keep a count here, but some stand out, and feature predominantly in the narrative. Whether it is the couple on the train, who is focussed on ordering food, the fishermen at Korlai, the guides at the palace museum at Trichur, or the hotel owner proudly talking of heritage at Puri—they enhance the story of his journey, reminding us of similar people we have met.

The narrative is smooth; Samir’s quaint humour coming through every page. There are hilarious bits, many relating to communication gaps due to difference in languages and dialects. His journey often takes him to ports and boat yards. We learn that he has some experience with them and naturally his knowledge in the area comes across. However, though the book is about his journey, we learn but little about him.

One thread that runs consistently through the book is the questions he is asked regarding his reasons for travel: Why does he travel? Why is he travelling alone? Why isn’t he married? But I like that he does not try to explain his actions and choices. After all, they are his reasons and his choices, relevant to him alone. Upon returning home, when he’s asked these same questions, he realises that he has come full circle.

I enjoyed reading the book, especially the sections about places that I have myself already visited. The people in this book reminded me of people I met on my trips and, as I read, I frequently had a nostalgic smile on my face.

Towards the end, Samir concludes that there is no such thing as a bad decision while travelling. I agree with him. Travelling is about the experiences; everything else is just incidental.

This was first published in the September 2015 issue of Complete Wellbeing.

The post Lessons from a traveller: 1400 Bananas, 76 Towns & 1 Million People By Samir Nazareth appeared first on Complete Wellbeing.

Published by: Cognite—an Imprint of Embassy Books

ISBN: 978-9383359660

Pages: 232

Price: INR 250

Death and the afterlife are among the most debated issues, not just today, but forever. Do we go to heaven or hell? Do our loved ones remain in the skies, looking over us? Do they walk among us? What is the journey like? The questions are innumerable, and there are as many answers as there are people. The answers could be religious, spiritual, or philosophical, and there are many tomes which deal with it in detail. Priya Kumar’s latest book deals with the same subject, though in a much simpler, easily readable manner—one that we can all relate to, and actually understand.

I will go with you is a story of 300 passengers and the crew aboard a flight, whose pilot has decided to commit suicide on duty. It might seem, at first glance, to be fatalistic, as well as macabre, but Priya Kumar tells us a story filled with adventure, twists and turns and suspense, intertwined with deep philosophy and as well as discussions on life and death that leads the reader to introspection.

There are 300 passengers on board, but we hear the stories of only those in row 26: Sarah, a writer, struggling to decide whether to trust her boyfriend, or not; Jim, a young man obsessed with technology, who falls in love with Sarah the minute he sets eyes on her; Muttu, a clairvoyant and blogger, the only one who has an inkling of the death that awaits all of them; and Paul, a rich and successful businessman who struggles with questions about life and living in the larger perspective, and who changes his seat from the Business class to join the other three on Row 26 in Economy, thus leading to the conversations which enable him to finally get answers to his questions, albeit at the very end of his life.

In this book, Priya Kumar lives up to her reputation of being a stellar story-teller who has developed a keen knack of inspiring people even as she entertains them. Her wisdom flows through in the dialogues by Muttu, the most evolved character of this story.

This is an intriguing story that combines the heavy questions of life, death and everything in between, in the form of a suspense thriller. The author intersperses the fictional narrative with bits of philosophical thought, making make us stop and think about the situation, and even  helps us relate them to our own circumstances. In spite of this, the story doesn’t lose its momentum.

The book is aptly titled for it is indeed a journey of a lifetime—for the passengers of the flight as well as for the reader. After all, every journey of life ends in death.

I especially like the end, because it reminded me of a conversation I recently had with my son, where he said that in his opinion, people who die, don’t really go to heaven or hell. They stay back, unseen, with their loved ones, in the form of memories. Priya’s ending, though not exactly the same, brought back that conversation, and I appreciated how she turned the negative emotions into positive ones, by choosing to let her departed characters turn inspirational—for those they loved, as well as those who needed them.

The genre of ‘inspirational suspense’ is new to me, but this is one book I enjoyed reading!

This was first published in the April 2015 issue of Complete Wellbeing.

The post I Will Go With You: The Flight Of A Lifetime By Priya Kumar appeared first on Complete Wellbeing.