Relative Clarity

My last day in Hampi, and I decided to revisit Vitthala temple. 

I set off, and this time I found a lot more clarity, because I was alone and also because of my new understanding of Hampi.

I noticed the people- an old, wrinkled lady without shoes and struggling to hobble up the stone steps just to go to the temple on the way to the Vitthala temple, and in comparison, the tourists arriving to the Vitthala temple in their white shiny golf carts. I looked at the floor and saw things- the majority of what littered the floor was ice cream candy boxes left behind by the tourists after licking on them to beat the heat, and also, surprisingly, dozens of shoes! Shoes of all sorts just scattered all over the place. Odd.

I stopped again for a moment of pause at the dwelling of the poet Purandaradas, and this time counted the pillars and looked all around me at their architecture and their joineries. At the tree of hopes I pondered some more, and also realized the clarity that one gets from travelling to places alone.

Then I reached the Vitthala temple again, and I this time I reluctantly hired a tour guide. I just felt like I needed some sort of ‘expert’, even if maybe a self-proclaimed one, and actually understand. And to be fair, he did tell me a lot. Apart from data and information about the history and architecture, he told me about the restoration process and ASI, and the UNESCO involvement, and tourism in general. I took note of the facts and then made my way back to the Hampi Bazaar.

Later on in the day, I was sitting in Virupaksha Temple, about to call it a day- when this old tourist lady came and sat in front of us. She very cleverly evaded the tour guide who was trying to trick her into an expensive deal and seemed particularly interesting to me and my friend. So, we decided to have a conversation with her. Sally was a 70-year old retired, widowed professor of anthropology from University of Colombia, and she was so utterly full of enthusiasm, she had us grasping for words. When we told her we were students of art and design, and we were in Hampi to research, she started giving us a full-fledged lecture on anthropology, and religion, and kings and rulers and their methods of control and dominance. She told us, ‘Religion is merely a tool of the kings’. Even such a bold declaration, in that moment, with the resolution she spoke with it, seemed unquestionably true. And what was so great about her was, she asked us to come up with the point she was making by giving us context and asking questions.

As we were chatting with the lady, a monkey suddenly jumped onto my back and grabbed my ponytail!

I think after this week I spent in Hampi, I understand it in a way I haven’t understood many places. I went with an innocent eye- spent my first few days simply marvelling at the place with a visor on which clouded my vision- and then after some enquiry and unearthing of facts, I dealt with my feelings of frustration and disillusionment, and then finally accepted what I saw in front of me, and on the last day, went again with an informed, or at least an initiated eye- and was able to look at a place objectively and report. However I also realized the importance and power of stories, and the importance of the romanticism of imagination.

Hampi seemed to me on my first day, a land stagnated in time. But now I realized, it is quite the opposite. And it took some time for me to look beyond the ancient ruins into what really lay in front of my eyes, among the many, many pillars. 

The Stripping away of Apparent Beauty

It was my sixth day in Hampi, and I was determined to get some real information.

 I had a new area of interest- when I’d gone to Vitthala temple the previous day, I’d seen the deteriorated condition of the structures and carvings at the entrance, and the red paint on a tiny portion of it and then inside, among some of the broken musical pillars I’d seen a brand new pillar being made- one with fresh cement.  The whole idea of restoration and renovation was really interesting to me. I’d also gone to a picture gallery near the Monolithic Bull where pictures of Hampi taken 50 years apart told a story of how the place changed with time. I wanted to find out if the buildings had been restored completely. But also, I had to know who conducted this restoration and how the people receive this process.  

So, I decided to go to the ASI Museum of Hampi. 

The museum was 2km away from Hampi via auto, so we haggled and managed to get one. I also had another agenda on this day. I had decided I'd waited enough. I now needed information that went beyond my own observations or anything that could be read. I had to actually talk to people and ask questions- unabashedly. 

The driver of the auto, Narsimha, was my first interviewee. I found out he'd lived in Hampi all his life. Slowly, question after question, he told me a story of displacement, of a system that gained control of a region and caused several changes. The most disturbing thing he told me was how the residents and shopkeepers had only been given a day’s notice before demolishing their houses.

I reached the museum and collected a lot of information about the history of Hampi, and its pillars and its carvings. But after looking through all the exhibits I still wasn't satisfied- i wanted more. So we asked to talk to the Superintending Archaeologist who was a part of the restoration process of the Archaeological Survey of India. 

He talked at length about how the ASI had, since 200 years worked on restoring sights all over India- how the British had simple attempted to keep the buildings upright by adding pillars and columns- but later the ASI had made conducted several restorations. 

It was, at that point to me when some of the grandeur of the structures was lost- to know that they were broken pieces, simply put back together by a foreign body, artificial and alien to that time and dynasty.

He then told me how the UNESCO had come in and stopped some of their restorations in their tracks, because it made the structures look less like ruins and too perfect- which was NOT what the people and the tourists came to see. 

Somehow, that angered me. It was as if they were imposing, forcing our supposed ignorance upon us. The buildings now to me seemed to be not much more than trinkets and props to woo the people and spark their fancies and their imaginations. 

In an attempt to feel better about the whole situation, I thought I’d go around the Hampi Bazaar and do some touristy shopping. I looked at the shops, yet I couldn’t help but overhear some of the conversations of the shopkeeper and the tourists from abroad. To me it all sounded like the shopkeepers, in their overly convincing whispers were laying tricks and traps for the unsuspecting shoppers and their vulnerability of being new to this land. Some stories I heard about incidents that had happened simple disheartened me further.

I got into conversation with two women from a spices stall- they spoke in Gujarati, the familiar language of my home town, and emboldened by this fact, we got to talking. They told us about how, after ­­the earthquake in Gujarat, they lost all their belongings and, not having received a share in the ancestral land and property, they decided to come to Hampi, where they set up a shop in the Hampi Bazaar. But, even as they came here, they were displaced and not properly rehabilitated or given commercial land. They even mentioned their regular uncertainty- there was talk of the current ‘Hampi Bazaar’ as it was, being demolished in the near future. There were tears in the woman’s eyes as she told ­her story.

By this point, I was utterly disheartened. I felt like I simply could not look at the buildings anymore. What added salt to the wound was a 10 year old boy running up and down the hot stone slabs and hills with a huge tea thermos, begging us to buy some. I was no fan of tea, but after every single one of us declined, and he looked beseechingly at us for the last time, I gave in and decided to take a shot at tea. I surprisingly enjoyed it and became a fan of tea thereafter; yet the tea only made my day infinitesimally better.

In the evening, we stayed back in Hampi and attended a grand concert in one of the ancient monuments, of the band ‘Prem and Joshua’. The concert was quite extravagant, and as a prequel to the main band, there was a group which performed a very catchy song called ‘Happy Hampi’ but the only thing I could think of was how all this was superficial and pandering to the demand and self-righteous fascination of people for ‘heritage’ and ‘culture’, and how heartless this disregard for the lives of the inhabitants and shopkeepers was.

 I went back to the hotel, quite upset. But after some discussion with our class and facilitators, I realized that as a student of art and design, the only thing I can do after this in-depth understanding of a situation is to, with objectivity; place a mirror in front of this this rather than to be driven by my own emotions. That this stage of understanding was necessary, as was accepting of the reality- only after that would I be able to present it with justice.

A Studio by the River

My fourth day in Hampi saw me following the trail of old structures and dwellings to the main attraction, the mascot of Hampi- the Vitthala temple and its famed chariot. Yet indeed, the starrer in my story is not the chariot; but little pieces that came before and around it.

To go to Vitthala temple, one must either take an auto, travel 13kms on a proper cement road for an exorbitant price, or tough it out and walk through some moderately tricky terrain for what seems like forever in the heat of the sun. Obviously, taking the easier softer part was underneath me.  So we set out, trudging through the steep steps and the glistening stone slabs interspersed with tufts of grass. We came across tiny crevices in the massive stone boulders with intricate carvings hidden and quite invisible to anyone who didn’t know to look. It was almost as if the carver wanted an aimless wanderer to stumble upon it and be greeted by the face of Ganesha or Hanuman smiling down at them.

But then we climbed down a side track to a structure right at the banks of a river, with warnings about crocodiles in red paint guiding us there. Right outside the structure, there was a sign which asked us to remove our shoes. We did robotically, and climbed into the structure. Only later did it occur to me that we did not remove our shoes in most sites in Hampi- and it was particularly strange that we’d remove them to enter a place which didn’t feel like a temple at all- It was a drab, mundane platform with rows and columns of pillars- sixty, to be precise, with no explicit splendour compared to the rest of the structures of Hampi. Yet, as we sat down at the edge of it and splashed our feet in some stream of the Tungabhadra, a silence fell upon us. For the first time in Hampi, and possibly one of the few times in my recent memory, I felt a presence- the kind that can’t be described or rationalized and which, had I not experienced it, would’ve been greeted with cynicism by me myself.

But, as we sat there amongst the pillars, a silence fell and everyone seemed to simultaneously dig their noses into their journals and sketchbooks and materialize their own bubbles. I wandered, looking at the pillars and their architecture- they looked sturdy, and simple. Yet I stumbled upon one singular pillar, on which there seemed to be a carving of some sort of musician with an instrument in his hand. Unlike the other carvings in Hampi, I noticed this one had a garland around it- and a fresh one too. 

There were some guards sitting nearby, and upon inquiry they told us that what we were sitting in, was the 60 pillared building where Krishnadevaraya’s poet, Purandaradasa came after prayer to write his poetry and work to channel his creative thought.

Something about this made a lot of sense to me. The place itself though quite drab seemed as if it had been designed and placed in a location so utterly perfect for the creative thought process. Somehow the connection I felt with this place was much more than any temple I’d been to.

I think it really said something about how art and creativity is such a dynamic, yet stable and unmoving, uncompromising presence in this world. And also how finally I found something I could identify with and connect to from all those years ago.

After spending some time there- which didn’t nearly feel enough, we marched on ahead, but on the way we encountered something that made us stop again.

This overwhelmingly mysterious Banyan tree, with its hanging bundles of cloth and plastic and piles of stones underneath, stopped us all in our tracks. When we asked around later, we were told that it was a prayer tree where people hung their hopes and aspirations for a good life, husband, job, or house in the form of bundles of rock or the towers of stone.

Apart from the shock value and explicit strangeness of the tree, I got to thinking about why humans place so much faith in objects, and how is it that they range from massive stone chariots and grand ornate carvings- to pieces of stone wrapped in rags and plastic and hung on an ancient tree.

After these two pauses, the main attraction of Hampi seemed to me quite bland in comparison. The Vitthala temple with its several Mantapas and the Chariot though very interesting, just seemed to me to be too much to take in after what I’d already dealt with in the day.  So, after a quick look around and several sneaky eavesdrops into explanations by tour guides, I made a mental resolution to come back here and dig deeper into the place.

I went home that day still deep in thought about humans, and their need to put faith into things, and also about that poet and that place- and how I wouldn’t mind going for prayer if I could have a beautiful art studio built for me by the hills and the river.

Grasping for a Focus

And so I returned to Hampi, my detective kit full to the brim with tools I was certain would be essential, with my mind sharpened three, four times and my confidence in myself, the place and my method of inquiry bubbling.

The boat also seemed to bob confidently up and down the river in rhythm with the song in my head, and the sun seemed to be shining just the right shade of my mood. 

But as soon as I alighted, I seemed to hit a block. There I was, in this ancient land brimming with mystery, chronicles, architectural marvels and secrets to unearth- and here I sat, next to the water tank in Virupaksha Temple with the pages in my journal blank. 

When the others started telling me about all the people they'd talked to, I suddenly became aware of the people around me and the inhabitants of this place- the Indian devotees, dressed up in their best for worship, the 'Hippie' tourists with their sunglasses and their cigarettes, the clingy tourists and guides, and the local shopkeepers desperate to sell their wares. But there seemed to be a bubble around me. I didn't dare go near them- trying to convince myself that it was too early to start talking to the people. I told myself I'd start after I knew precisely the questions I wanted to ask them. 

So I sat in my corner, next to Lord Naagini, marinating in my hesitation. 

Finally, after walking around aimlessly for a bit, a shred of inspiration hit my right by the behind of the Monolithic bull. 

Hastily sketching types of pillars

My indecisiveness with picking a subject to research

The pillars- which had tugged my fancy even the previous days while we rushed through the structures. Something about the joineries and the variety in shapes interested me- and it was a straw to grasp at while everyone else seemed to be so certain about their areas of inquiry. 

I went back having collected a few sketches of some pillars, still feeling quite uninspired and hoping for better the next day.

Picking up the Quirks of Anegundi

In the duration of my visit to Aneguddi, (half a day) there were merely some of it's quirks that I could pick up upon. Not having been able to explore it deeper, I suppose I have what you might call a superficial understanding of it. Yet I did pick up on little things that caught my eye, and that in itself tells a story about me, and my perception of the place.

 From within the yellow pillared darkness of the first temple we visited emerged this child, offering us kum-kum, (or teeka) and running like the wind to fetch us pretty purple flowers, and spouting obviously fabricated facts about the temples and their deities. We warmly offered him biscuits for all his adorable eagerness- but he graciously declined and asked for something else...

The child in the temple wanted nothing other than a PENCIL for his eager assistance!

I spent most of my time there relishing the beauty of tiny things- 

In the pile of diyas in the hidden hind side of a temple, or the white Parijat flowers spread out on the ground

I picked up some of the little trinkets I found lying around the temple floors

The broken doors and tattered staircases of the ruins

The beautiful river Tungabhadra and the massive boulders that flanked it and all the land the eye could see, or the noise of water as we floated in a boat across the water in order to get to a temple on the other side. 

An authentic south indian meal on a banana leaf later,and hop and a skip onto some delightful autos away, we got back to the hotel to rest our heads.

I wish I had been able to revisit Annegudi and dig deeper. But alas I knew in my heart, Hampi was calling me

Setting Foot into the Graveyard

The excitement at the prospect of a trip unaccompanied by any parental authority, the exhaustion of the travel from the previous night, and the sheer delight and wonder of being in a brand new land sprawled with massive boulders and serpentine streams had not even left me as we hopped into the boat that would ferry us from the real world into this mysterious land that to me seemed utterly stagnated in time. From afar, and even after stepping into it, it seemed to me like a magical bubble where fantastic beings once dwelled.

As my imagination soared, I conjured up stories about the ancient souls that once might've inhabited the magnificent structures and I felt an awe for them, and a slight inferiority I couldn't possibly explain.

When we first go to a new place, we tend to romanticize it. We set foot into Hampi with what can be called a 'touristy' approach.

 I found myself looking at the massive structures, the intricately carved pillars- these evidences of a once-magnificent civilization- with an exceedingly marveling eye.

 My imagination soared- I thought of the ancient souls that inhabited those pillared hallways and magnificent temples and I was afraid to say a word. I almost felt as if saying something would destroy the sanctity of the place, would bring those mysterious souls back to life and at my throats, to mock me and my so obvious inferiority of being ‘modern’, of being a mere resident of the  21^st century. 

As we skipped from one site of ruins to another- Virupaksha Temple, the Monolithic Bull and Narsimha Temple, this feeling of wonder and mystification persisted.

I took slight notice of the people inhabiting this Temple Town. I barely registered the desperation of the shopkeepers or the sheer volume of the thronging tourists, - I suppose, because I was one of them. I was too preoccupied with my fantasies of the histories to notice the present.

Hampi felt like this mysterious, magically intact graveyard.

 And I was irrationally delighted.  

Thoughts constituting a Summary

This blog traces the journey of my understanding of a new place- Hampi, the Temple town, and maneuvers through the innocent eye, the initiated eye and the informed eye and their conflicts. It also celebrates the adventures of my expedition in this ancient land. 

At this point you'd expect me to make a declarative statement about Hampi- such as, 'Hampi is quite certainly the most magnificent place I have been to! I salute the architecture, the history, the culture- its all absolutely remarkable!'. Or, 'Hampi is a very disturbed place- my heart shudders at the thought of the greediness of the different stakeholders and the strife of the people'. 

But, after having lived through my nine days, I would say Hampi is just a place. Maybe not like any other. But, after looking at the place from near and afar and taking into account the history and current stories and situation, I simply have a deeper, cognitive understanding of the place. I am objective. Perhaps not completely, but to an extent I hadn't realized possible, and necessary.

And I reached this understanding after observing and listening, asking questions and interviewing, eavesdropping and overhearing, reading and watching, gleaning and picking up, staring and glaring, marveling and bemoaning as I walked and cycled through the rickety roads of this town of ruins and temples and tourists that is- Hampi.