The joys of summer..

For a while now I've been spying on garden activity. Officially summer is here and it has become a whole lot warmer. So warm that I can venture out without a coat and nothing can really beat that feeling. When I spy on my garden visitors its normally with a cup of tea in my hand , my mobile lying carelessly on the kitchen counter at which I gaze every now and then to make sure am doing okay on time. Of late my morning ritual has been super entertaining.
So the bird feeder is frequented by the likes of pigeons, magpies, sometimes even seagulls..
But I was pleasently surprsed when one day I found one of my furry friends stealthily make his way through the garden.

As I watched wondering what he was upto, he jumped across and got onto the bird feeder. :). You shouldn't be doing that Mr Squirril I though :).



My cheeky little friend then used his tail  as a grasp and swung himself upside down getting hold of all the seeds he could :). It was wonderful to watch.

When he was done, I left with a little chuckle. Ahh... The joys of summer!

-Meena Venkataraman

The great big Coorgi wedding..

A guest post for Pocket Cultures... Here! :)

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The Indian wedding is a splash of colour, a blur of reds, yellows, greens and dazzling gold. It is the finest advertisement of Indian hospitality with guests numbering in the hundreds, sometimes entire villages. This detail I am careful not to miss in any conversations about marriage here in London, for the sheer amusement of seeing jaws drop once the comprehension of the scale of the wedding hits the listener. The pageantry of the processions stays in the mind long after the wedding is over – the Mehendi, The Food, The Drink, the Dancing and then the innumerable rituals steeped in traditions and kept alive through the ages, handed down from one generation to the next.

Weddings vary in form and structure depending on the state the bride and groom are from. And so the ‘Indian wedding experience’ is as diverse as they come.

Most Indians grow up romanticizing marriage. The event is planned monetarily years in advance; family heirlooms put away, jewelry painstakingly made and collected. All of this culminates in a wedding extravaganza and then it’s over and the bride leaves over eyes full of tears and a wave of sad goodbyes as she moves to her new home. Traditionally the wedding would be arranged by the families of the bride and groom; the decision solemnized more by consensus among the heads of families rather than the choice of the bride and groom themselves. Once betrothed the wedding takes on a life of its own. But times have changed and weddings propelled solely on an element of choice seem to be on an increase.

I had the lovely opportunity to witness a traditional Coorgi wedding in the Southern Indian state of Karnataka. Once this beautiful land was called Kodagu and still is by the locals. But the name wasn’t easy to pronounce for the colonizing English and so was anglicized to Coorg. Of Rich soil and a very proud people, Coorg stands draped in the mountain mist much like a demure bride.

The natives of Coorg, the Kodavas, are a warrior class. Though the origins of the Kodavas are largely unknown, the earliest references have been found to date back to early Tamil Sangam Literature. Traditionally, the men are attired in a black coat called ‘em>Kupya. This is worn over a white dhoti. There is a theory that the ‘Kupya’ is a variant of the Greek ‘Toga’ and was assimilated into the local culture during the conquests of Alexander the great. A maroon and gold sash serves as a belt and completes the outfit. The men are known to carry a silver dagger called Peechekathand a knife called an Odikathi.

Left alone, the Traditional Indian garment of the saree is just a piece of cloth, and a very long piece of cloth at that. But yet again the Saree lends itself to versatility and the Coorgi’s have made it their own by draping it differently. The Saree is pleated behind and brought over the right shoulder; The Pallu is then secured in front. A scarf completes this elegant garment.

The morning of the wedding, we watched as a sleepy groom was hurriedly woken. The ritual of dressing him up unraveled before our eyes. His Kupya is white instead of the traditional black. A read sash is then tied around his waist.

The groom and his entourage of family and friends make their way to the mandap(wedding hall). We are welcomed by beautifully dressed flower girls.

We stop to watch the ritual of ‘Cutting of Banana Shoots’; A symbolic gesture as a mark of respect to the maternal sides of both families. It is usually done by the groom, a show of valor to prove himself worthy of one so pretty as the bride in question. There will be 3 sets of such cuttings – The first in honor of the bride’s maternal family; The second in respect of the maternal families of previous brides of yesteryears and the third in respect of the groom’s maternal family. This Coorgi tradition of honoring women folk is unique in a conventionally patriarchal Indian society.

The groom’s sister leads the way, a pot of water drawn from the auspicious waters of the river Cauvery and enclosed in a beautifully crafted basket balanced over her head. She would admit much later that it was a heavy weight to carry.

Later on she’s joined by the bride’s sisters each carrying a velaku (lamp), markers of auspicious beginnings. Together they lead the groom into the wedding hall where he joins the bride dressed in resplendent red. The air is thick with the smell of fresh jasmine garlands. Her saree we are told is a prized family heirloom handed down through the generations. She also wears a crescent moon shaped necklace called thekokkethathi.

The Coorgi wedding is unique in many ways. Unlike most there is no priest presiding over the ceremony. The couple is pronounced married by the parents, the gathering at the wedding bear witness to the happy union. The elders there then proceed to bless the bride and groom with the Hindu tradition of sprinkling of rice over their heads. The bride and the groom are then given spoons of milk.

Lunch which followed was a lavish affair. The most famous corgi dish is Pandhi curry (Pork).

Evening comes. Happy visions of the bride and groom walking away into the sunset surface. Hold your horses for there’s more to come. The bride is put to the test. She first has to break a coconut. Then she draws water from a well, and with the pot placed over her head tries to make her way into her new home. The groom’s family guarantees there no easy passage and amidst much singing and dancing block her from making her way to the door. The bride inches her way, slowly. She is accompanied by the groom’s sisters, probably symbolizing the forging of new relationships. The hypnotic rhythmic beats of drums and pipes, called Volaga(traditional Kodava music) fill the air, dancing forms merry against the blackness of the night. Everyone seems to be having their fill of the food and drink except for the poor bride who must focus on the task at hand.

And close to 5 hours since the ritual first started she finally arrives at the door step and steps in amidst much cheering. She is finally home.

Art imitates life they say and nothing speaks more eloquently of this fact that the Indian wedding. Over the past few days we were witness to remarkable customs and practices, preserved in time and symbolic of the Kodava ways of life, as part of their wedding. Here’s hoping that they survive the onslaught of change and are kept intact for future generations to see.

This is a guest post by Meena Venkataraman. Meena is from Bangalore, India where she lived before moving to London couple of years ago. An engineer by profession, she is also an artist and a freelance travel writer, both of which bring together creativity and her love for the outdoors. An avid travelled and a wild life enthusiast, Meena has travelled through much of India and the world. She blogs atTravel Tazzels.

A Game of Cricket in the English Countryside..

At some point, I reach for a cap. The sun can look innocuous, beguiling even, the temptation to feel the warm tingle on my skin overriding any caution of sitting out in the open for too long. We are here to watch a game of cricket. But for me cricket is only a backdrop (Shame on me , I can see the spouse frown :)). Don't blame me , look how beautiful it is around. When we entered Eynsford, we had to stop by the little river 'Darent', teeming with people, kids playing in the water, swans and duck merrily wading about, people picnicking on the Grass. Summer ravished, Eynsford had the prettiest pubs. We would enter one only to leave as it was too posh and not nearly as pub like as we would have liked it to be. Soon we were seated outside on the wooden benches so characteristic of this country. The
gentle breeze cool against the sun kissed afternoon. The boys didn't want to eat too heavy cause of the game at hand, but what was that to us:). To fore go a pub lunch would be a cardinal sin. I savor the Ravioli, but have to admit that I can't finish my portion inspite of a bet with S that I would. In my defence the portions were deceptively large!

We saunter back to the ground. I have a book, which remained unopened for most of the afternoon. The car is parked close enough. We sit in front of a tree , which seems to have come alive with spring, white petals rain down and I collect a few to accentuate my idleness :).



The game is about to begin and the ground where the action is about to unfold has been around since the 18 hundreds. The river hugs the ground , and beautiful weeping willows stand around and I remember Virginia Wolf - "On the further bank the willows wept in perpetual lamentation, their hair about their shoulders. The river reflected whatever it chose of sky and bridge and burning tree, and when the undergraduate had oared his boat through the reflections they closed again, completely, as if he had
never been"...

The Church spire stands tall , magnificently brown in a blur of green. As we watch a pair of mallards fly over the grounds. We discuss the mechanics of mallard flight. They could not have flown too far, probably just over the ground, we decide ; cause the mallards are relatively big birds and flying is an energy expensive operation...

Wickets fall and the game proceeds at a steady pace. The sun climbs further up. The boys join us having batted and we take a walk around the ground. This time we get a little more adventurous and jump into the river. The river is shallow , and we are fooled by the happy children fishing for tadpoles in its merry waters. We step in and the cold water is electric against my warm feet. I stay in just long enough to get pictures. Once outside I can feel the rush of blood, the invigorating cold waters sending tingles up my feet. We walk on the grass. Its soon time for tea and cakes and the boys take the field.



We decide to take a walk. The town itself is not very big. Big brown cows graze on the verdant green grass. They look happy. They turn into tiny specks as we walk up a small hill and then altogether disappear. More dramatic greens and yellows emerge into view. But first we must cross the railways tracks, where only moments ago A train seemed to have whizzed past. We approach cautiously. There really is nothing worth stopping for in sight. And we hop across quickly into the fields of gold. The horizon is a pale blue and theres not a cloud in sight. The Rape seed fields are gloriously yellow. I stop to smell them, and get some pollen on my nose and my friend laughs in amusement.
Rape Seeds are 'break crops' (rotational crops) and the name comes from the Latin word 'rapum' meaning turnip. We stroll over to the other side and then try to find our way round the hill, only to be thwarted in the attempt by a steep drop onto the motorway.



We walk right back along and take a differnt route down, as we discuss the absence of potential slythering threats in the English countryside. We have both travelled in the subcontinent, where snakes abound and the chances of provoking one of them into a bite in self defence by encroaching into their territory(like paddy fields) are plenty. This time around we are lucky and can find our way down.



We pass a Roman Bridge, a truely beautiful piece of architecture providing semi circular frames for the scenary beyond.



Between discussing the choice of being vegetarian (which can be sometimes hard to explain)
and other things of extraordinary importance we find our way to the grounds again. There still 20 odd overs for the game to get done and we begin to count it down.



Every now and then the ball would fall into the river and would have to be ferried out resulting in frequent interruptions of play. A bunch from the fielding team stand around the water, and then someone is brave enough to get into the icy cold river :). Some stand and watch from afar. It starts to get chilly as evening approaches and we get out coats..

When its finally done, we drive back home and enjoy a nice cup of english tea , a perfect end to a beautiful summer's day. :)

Meena Venkataraman

The reculsive traveller...

The reculsive traveller is doing the rounds...
Will spill all the beans soon :)

Meena

Women of the War..

War is cruel. Many die defending ideas, and nations. And so it's only natural that all civilizations have ways to honour their dead. London is full of Cenotaph's , tombs in honour of those who died elsewhere , who perished in alien lands, mostly during World Wars 1 and 2. Most boroughs (neighbourhoods) have one for the locals who served during the war.
Among the ones I've seen here, my favourite would be the one erected in honour of the women who fought in World War 2. A 22 feet poignant reminder in Whitehall of the hardships of the time and those who rose in response to it. What I so loved about this , was not just that it honoured the brave soldier, but also women who soldiered on in other aspects of life.. Doctors, Factory workers, emergency services; The little Handbags left dangling says it could have been any one of us.. The statuettes are attired in Working women's clothes, bronze metaphors to the 7 million odd women who worked in service of the country then. It was unveiled in 2005 , to mark the 60th anniversary of the end of the war

The Cenotaph @Whitehall

- Meena Venkataraman

A day in Hydepark

It was just another day in Grey London, Cold and Windy with a hesitant tentative sun. Perfect we decided, for a walk :). And so all bundled up we found ourselves in Hyde Park.
Hyde Park is one of the Royal Parks and has a long and colourful history going back all the way to Henry Viii, when it served as a private hunting ground. Changing hands among the important British families of the time , it finally was made a public park. The park also served as a platform for mass demonstrations in times of war and peace, most famous among them being the 'Stop the War' protest against the Iraq war of 2003. Between Chartism, a very important movement to reform the politics of its era and The Reform league, pushing for the ballot being more inclusive, the Park truly was power to the people!

We of course had other more pressing matters to attend to! The Serpentine which snakes its way through the park is full of Birds! The Serpentine is a recreational lake and was created in 1730.
We were the outsiders , but the birds didn't mind having us around... (Very inclusive I must say :))

Greylag Geese, Keep watch over the lake :)

The Greylag geese , are predecessors of the now common domesticated geese. Also known as the Wild Goose, their greyish brown bodies stood erect watching the action on the waters. These geese are now found only in Scotland , specifically in the Outer Heberdies . This news excites me and am really hoping to see them on our trip to Scotland thats soon coming up. They were the subjects of a study on imprinting. (I first heard this term while watching a falconry show. Among the birds there was an owl which had almost entirely grown up amongst humans and the person conducting the show warned that the imprint did not recognise humans as the top predator, having grown amongst us and so was not scared to attack ! )

Canada Geese 

A twosome of Canada geese swim past. They of the black head and beautiful plumage , are also migratory like the Greylag geese. The difference between the two species is striking. Among the two the Canada goose definitely is more elegant.

Watching the Sun set from Serpentine Bridge..

The sun begins to set. We linger on..

Mute Swans , Coots, and Tufted Ducks

A Mute swan casually glides past. The not very flattering adjective 'Mute' is just to say that this particular specie is less vocal than others in the swan family.I love the colours , especially the striking orange beak and the white body which is soo graceful in flight.
Coots are supposedly omnivores. Something about the way their heads end seems a little abrupt :).
But make no mistake, black and white are prime plumage!. The others of the black and white kind are the tufted ducks. Among all the ducks I've seen this one is my favorite. Small and beautifully crafted, nature can seem partial to some of her creations. I make a mental note to get better pictures the next time we visit

A beautiful Mute Swan..

Is it only us that seem so affected by the cold. It definitely seem so. The birds don't seem to care . Joggers  , some people walking dogs.. The owners all huddled up, the dogs totally excited by the chill air, barking at the birds. We wish we could linger on. But we would return we decide, maybe in Summer :)

M

Furry Friends..

Discovered that camping in the garden has its benefits..
Even if it means standing out in the freeeezing cold

After days of winter, it looks like Spring is finally here :). Got this shot of this little squirrel yesterday.
It was hard to keep up with this skittish, frisky visitor who was such a joy to watch.
There certainly are more birds in the garden and when I look up I seem to see nests... As nature gets busy and the little broods appear, there seems to be a lot of frenzied chirpy activity...
Its been a beautiful day

M