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We entered into Andhra Pradesh with a bang! As we were heading towards Tirupati from Madras, our jeep collided almost head on with a truck.
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The jeep was badly damaged, the windscreen and windows shattered, my back was pierced with flying glass, and there were splinters all over my face and arms.
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Our plans for the journey to Tirupati were in a shambles.
Reba and I had set off to see India in an old jeep. We left Delhi on February 24th and zig-zagged our way down to Kanyakumari and then up towards Madras. On the evening of the accident we reached Vijayawada where we rested and watched the sunset over the river Krishna. We had driven about 350 kilometers without a windscreen and it took a couple of days for the necessary repairs on the jeep. In the meantime Reba flew on to Hyderabad saying she would join me at Calcutta. And on the following day, I left Vijayawada alone at sundown. My next stop was Kuchipudi.
The jeep's horn packed up when I was just half an hour outside of Vijayawada. This added to my tensions. They highway was busy and I found it difficult to drive the jeep. I turned to a pot-holed road lined by moonlit palms silhouetted against the dark, blue sky. This road led to Kuchipudi- the popular Andhra style of dance has acquired its name from this village. At one time, the site of a famous school of Kuchipudi dance, today the place shows no signs of is hallowed past. This school stands amidst the serene calmness of coconut trees and lush green vegetarian. On one side of this building is a second school. I arrived there at about 8:00 p.m. and was allowed to spend the night upon request. I chose to sleep on the terrace where the cool breeze ruffled my hair- sensuous and caressing. The stars where dimly visible and I dozed off counting them. At about 2:30 a.m. I woke up cold, clammy, drenched and totally miserable. It had not even been aware of it.
In the morning, I was tried, bleary-eyed and dull. I watched the children chatter their way to school. Nothing really registered in my mind. I was too tired to even lift my camera. I was told that that dance classes which were schedules to be held that morning had been postponed. May be I could return in the evening or try again the next morning. I decided to leave the place and drove away to the market place.
Telugu music blared from the radio, as idlis were being steamed fresh for breakfast. It was while eating the steaming hot idlis that I noticed people dancing in the streets. A group of young men danced to a live band of wind and percussion instruments. The procession was in aid of a bachelor praying for a good wife. He was covered with turmeric paste and his companions were in rather high spirits at 9:30 a.m. I soon realized that Hindi films had an obvious influence on the dance of the young men. The whole occasion seemed ironic and strange to me considering I had come to see a purely classical dance form. I then thought that I would have to once again visit this place to watch the Kuchipudi dance. Well, qua sera sera.
Machalipatnam is a seaside down, famous for its century old Kalamkari art. It is also a busy trade centre and there are many shops lined up along its bustling streets. I finally managed to get the right directions to reach the office of the Kalamkari printing unit. The Union leader there, first refused to let me take pictures as the suspected I would show his prize winning designs to competitor units. But he relented after a lot of persuasion and persistence. I was taken around the unit and through the various stages of Kalamkari art. I was shown the block printing process and then the several prints of the colored Kalamkari artwork. The cloth on which the Kalamkari artwork is printed is dipped in the boiled solution of vegetable dyes and the resist painted on the cloth turns to a typical indigo or red. These are then dried in the sun.
I took several pictures of the unit in various stages of production, as the light was good. Some women were sitting comfortably in front of their houses doing the artwork while others sat in huge hall, in rows, block printing. I had a field day trying to capture the best on Fujichrome. I had to retrace my tracks to join the national highway at Hanuman Junction, 47 kilometers away from Vijayawada. After a meal of rice and meat curry, I started at 2.p.m. to cover the distance of 349 kilometers to Visakhapatnam. Oh, what a drive! It was virtually a backbreaking, neck-aching, eye-soring, body-wracking, jeep-bouncing jeepathon. With little sleep the previous night, and the long guided tour in Machalipatnam, I was quite tired to begin with. And when I reach Vizag at 10:00 p.m. and checked into a hotel, I knew I was totally exhausted and on the verge of collapse.
I stayed at Visakhapatnam for two day, watching video films in my non-air-conditioned room, having breakfast in bed and beer in the afternoons. I did drive around the quiet town finally ending up in a small fishing village on the seashore. Here I strode through the village, shadowed by a bunch of kids. Women scurried away as I approached them with my camera gear strapped handy. Some people stood around in the shadow, smoking cheroots. A couple of bold women asked me to go ahead and shoot pictures. I wove my way through the thatched huts. With even steps I reached the fishing boats strewn across the beach. Men sat lazily in the shades under the trees, their eyes fixed on me. Others who were folding their nets also noticed and looked at me. Eyes followed me everywhere. Dusky eyes in dark, beautiful faces. I captured memorable images to take back with me.
I made an early start and drove along the sea to the hills of Andhra Pradesh to see the tribes there. By late morning, I had reached Borra, 12 kilometers from Anantagiri. Here the immense natural limestone cavern was singularly the most fascinating place I visited during the course of my journeys around India. A flight of steps led me down into the heart of the dark interiors. My young local guide, Ramu, had lit an old-fashioned kerosene and cloth torch, its relentless orange flames throwing eerie shadows on the walls of the cavern. There were natural limestone stalagtites and stalagmites suspended from the ceiling in geotropic projections or on the ground as sections of intricate trellis patterns. The ceiling, which could have been about 1000 feet high was covered with bats which I could not see in the dark but felt their presence by the dank smell of their droppings and squeaks. The steps were wet and slippery as water was constantly dripping from several niches. And as we entered the interior of the cavern, we realized that the ceiling was getting progressively lower.
Eventually, I found myself crawling on my stomach with Ramu leading the way, holding aloft the flaming torch. This was really crazy! I was on my elbows and belly, protectively clutching my camera gear in my hands. My freshly laundered green and white T-shirt was by now filthy. Even my face was dirty with the kerosene soot from the torch and the grime from the floor. I came out of the cavern with a wide smile on my face, feeling and looking every bit like Denis Mitchell after a roll in the mud. Still, I must acknowledge, it was good to be back in the fresh air and daylight and the picturesque environs of Borra. I was still rather dazed, having been through an incredible experience, the sudden brightness dazzling me further.
Lunch at Araku Valley. A tribal area. The tribals who live here have flat faces, high-cheek bones and thick-noses. For some reason the women in the area were mostly topless. Many of them wore bright clothes, a shade brighter when they went to the local cinema hall in Araku. Their eyes were large and bulging, a look of anger on their faces. Usually with a child clasped in their arms or resting on their hips the women wore many nose and ear rings. Some stood outside the cinema halls in clusters with a few men around, the dark brown cheroots much in evidence.
The valley was green surrounded by low hills. There were number of huts at the base of the hills. As I walked towards them, I was surprised at not having found a single man. Where had all the men gone?
I climbed into my trusted 'iron steed', driving towards Jeypore, in Orissa, 98 kilometers away. Leaving Araku Valley which had a lot of open spaces, giving it a certain quality of a simple natural beauty. The emerald hills were glowing in the afternoon sun as I drove away. Little did I know that my entry into Orissa was to be as dramatic as my entry into Andhra. I was stopped by a group of tribal women who had blocked the road with a tree trunk. This could have led to a dangerous confrontation with tribesmen. But as they say, that's another story…
Courtesy : Discover India
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