Searching for a castle - Naggar

Naggar is a sleepy little village located across the river Beas, half way between Manali and Kulu. A village, well known Russian painter Nickolai Reorich called home. For nearly 1500 years it served as the capital of the Kullu valley. The current “castle” is almost 500 years old. The Lonely Planet describes Naggar as “one of the nicest places in the Kullu valley”. On reading those nine words, I made up my mind. I had to see Naggar.

“An idle mind is a devil’s workshop” goes the proverb. In my case, it is more like the devil’s canvas. The devil in my mind, I must regrettably report, is a very creative artist. An artist hell bent on painting the mundane as grand, and the moderately novel as opulently exotic. The same tragedy befell Naggar, and in the depths of my mind a remote hill kingdom took shape.

A large crumbling castle surrounded by a deep desolate moat - a moat, once full of crocodiles, now overflowing with weeds and garbage. A portion of the castle had been refurbished as a modern hotel, warm water 24x7, warm bed and courteous hotel staff. At night they chose to use torch light flames instead of electric lights. A friendly ghost or two wandered the corridors greeting the guests with goose bumps. Doesn’t that sound like a cross between the Mysore palace, the Ripley Castle and Tuglak’s fort at Aurangabad?

Naggar, the village that it is, isn’t really large, a kilometer in length at the most. Naggar and Kullu / Manali are on opposite banks of the river Beas, and hence a river crossing is necessary if one travels from Kullu towards Naggar. The Beas, at this stage, isn’t exactly meandering, nor is it raging, hence the sound of the river can be best described as a gentle gurgling. The gentle gurgling fades away into the background as one climbs the hair pin bends towards Naggar, and a few kilometers after one has forgotten the existence of the river, one is accosted by a rash of dwellings. The dwellings quickly disappear and give way to a dead end. And as one inspects the dead end, one can spot a parking lot to the right; a couple of desolate eateries to the left; and a very prominent sign proclaiming the existence of the Roerich gallery. Hmmm… So where is Naggar? And where is the castle?

We reached the dead end at around 0930 am or thereabouts, don’t remember the exact time. In any case, we were a wee bit early for the gallery. The friendly shopkeepers at the desolate eateries beckoned. We were sufficiently tempted by the local apple and litchi juice, and bought a couple of cold bottles. While killing time, sipping some fresh litchi juice, and also out of curiosity, I asked the shopkeeper, “Where is this Naggar Castle?”

She pointed in the general direction of where we came from, and said, “Down there”.

Disbelief. Then Confusion.

“But, we just came from there! Didn’t see a castle anywhere…”, I clarified while hinting that she was probably not in her senses.

“Udhar deko…. Vho havayli dik rahi hai? Bahar bahut lakdi raki hai.. Vho hi hai”, she said – See there… can you see that big house there, the one with a lot of wood piled outside, that’s the one.

“And where is Naggar?”, I persisted.

“Surrounding the castle, silly”, she replied with a toothy grin.

Oh yeah! Gone were the illusions of a partially dilapidated grand stone castle surrounded by a deep mote, and in came the reality of a “wooden havayli”.

Pause. Sink in. React.

“And that was the castle I so desperately wanted to see? I came all the way to see a havayli?”, I thought dejectedly.

Dejection soon gave way to disgust, followed by a round expletives aimed at the author. I tell you what? I think the author, of that portion of The Lonely Planet guide, was smoking pot – lots of it. Or maybe the author’s diction was poor. Or maybe he was hung up on the proverb - “An Englishman’s home is his castle”. To clarify – a) this is not an Englishman’s home – it was the home of an Indian King, and b) a Kings abode isn’t always called a castle. So, what the heck was he thinking? Arrggghhhh…..

“Castle” is way too grand and strong; “house” is way too ordinary. “Manor” would have been more appropriate. The Lonely Planet is very shrewd – it said “one of the nicest places in the Kullu valley”. Which means it isn’t better when compared to Manali/Vhashist. This puts to rest any speculation about the author’s diction. Then why castle? Did he not know what a castle is supposed to look like? Must be an inside joke. But, I was not laughing!

Did I equate my writing skills with those of Shakespeare? It just wouldn’t be right! And that was the quantum of difference between my illusion of a castle and that thing the shopkeeper was gesturing at.

The Manor, as you’ve no doubt figured, is fairly easy to miss. To its credit it’s a handsome wood and stone structure. You’ll seldom find anything equivalent to it in India. But one must temper ones expectations. By no means is it as opulent as a castle in Jaipur, no sir, such a comparison is unwarranted. The view is breathtaking, it is Himachal after all. The wood work is magnificent, and an architect’s paradise. The manor also houses an overrated museum, nothing much will be missed if you don’t visit.

There is an entrance fee to be paid – I think Rs 60, but it is worth it. The inner courtyard houses the Jagatapatti temple, which was closed when we visited. Legend has it that a chief of the village married a beautiful girl from a village on a distant hill. On arriving in Naggar, the bride cried her heart out at the thought of being away from her village. To pacify her, a swarm of wild bees transported a mega granite slab from her village to the chief’s home – i.e. the “castle”. Over time, the miracle entrenched itself in popular folk lore. Long after the crying bride, a British Burra Sahaib arrived at the “castle”. He pho-phoed the legend, and was promptly afflicted with a mysterious fever. He died a few weeks later – the perfect Egyptian curse. One must hear this story from a local guide. I believed it; didn’t want to die of a mysterious fever so soon. For the record, oh protecting spirit, I still believe it.

The best part about Naggar is that it is comparatively sparse as far as tourists are concerned. Not that there are none, but significantly lower than what I noticed in Manali / Kullu. As the Lonely Planet Guide will tell you, there are plenty of hotels in Naggar, cheaper than the ones at Manali and Kullu. If you must stay in Naggar, I wouldn’t hesitate in suggesting the “Castle” – the views are breath taking; comparable and at times even better than the view from the Dragon in Manali.

Roerich Gallery

If you are the artsy types, then you’d enjoy this place. If you are interested in Roerich Sr. then you wouldn’t be disappointed. Roerich Sr’s residence has been converted into a museum. The house, as expected, is quite old. A well maintained garden literally envelopes the house - you can hardly glimpse the house from outside the compound. You feel as if you are on the sets of Hansel and Gretel – a garden full of candies; a house made up of chocolate fudge and ice cream; and the friendly cat loitering around.

The art gallery and art school is located around 500 meters away from the museum. They teach dance, pottery, weaving besides painting here. We saw a lot of children at school. To be honest, felt a bit jealous. Learning art at a place like this, lucky bas$%^&*, I hope they know it!

Perhaps i'd have enjoyed it more if I had spent some more time there. Let it grow on me types. I got the feeling that I'd love to trek these hills or lounge in a balcony, literary marvel in one hand and a searing cup of hot chocolate in the other. Some day. Some day.

Searching for a castle - Naggar

Lunching in Old Manali

Naggar had been an utter disappointment. I had expected something more grand, more opulent, and certainly more derelict. Naggar was supposed to be home to a haunted castle, and hence the expectation, however, all that we found was a rather well kept bungalow being passed off as a castle - forget haunted. The Roereich estate was a damp squib too. To lift up the spirits, I was looking forward to a good lunch. Didn't want anything too fancy, just some paranta and curd/dhahi. Some butter would do fine too. And so, with thoughts of good food occupying our minds, Vatsa and I made it back to Old Manali a little after noon.

Old Manali can be a very depressing place. It is over crowded. Tourists here, tourists there, tourists every where, and my pet peeve - one ways! Manali beats Bangalore in the number of one ways. I was reminded of Bangalore. Hmm....

If you search for food - your eyes will catch South-Indian meals advertised all over. What the..? You didn't travel from South-India to Himachal Pradesh to eat Taai-Sadam or Idly vada and Masala Dosa. You need your Parantha's and stuffed Shimla mirch.

Vatsa was also of the same opinion. No south Indian idly-vada-dosa for us. So, our first quest of the afternoon was to find a Non-south Indian restaurant. We were probably the few desi tourists who openly referred to the Lonely Planet - India guide. Don't get me wrong, it is a fantastic guide, but most desi's would consider it an affront to use it ;) "Its my country, who are these firangs to tell me about it?" will be the first response, which will be soon followed by "You paid 1000 rupees for that book??? What?? Are you out of your mind??". So, to avoid the risk of being ridiculed by my country men, I discretely opened my copy of the guide, and looked under "Eating - Manali"....

Cafe Amigos, hmmm.. Spanish?? Nah... it is a German bakery! Defies logic if you ask me, but that is besides the point. I am not critiquing Hotel names, I am merely trying to find a nice North Indian place to eat. So, no German/Spanish bakeries please. Next.

Chopsticks - Chinese place, specializes in Tibetian... hmm... no good, will taste that in Leh. Not now.

Mayur - waiters fussing over napkins. What the efff?? Nothing pansy for us... (Not to mention too expensive...)

Mom's Kitchen - "tastes like Mom used to make back home". Hmm... "Back home", as in Mangalore or as in England?? My guess was England, something the next sentence confirmed - "tasty mashed potato". The only place for mashed potato is inside a paratha or pani puri or Masala Dosa.

I'd almost given up by now, and next one in the list irked me some more - Swamiji's Madras Cafe. Aaarggh! I wouldn't go to a hotel which advertised itself so blatantly as a Idly-Vada-Samabar place. Even if it were the only surviving hotel during a nuclear winter. "Why O' God why? What sin did I do that you make me eat Idly-Vada-Sambar in North India?", I thought.

Now you know why any self respecting, normal, desi dude would look down on The Lonely Planet. It just wasn't written for us! The target market is totally different. You have to be an Idly or continental cuisine fanatic, and I qualified as neither.

The next two restaurants in the list saved the book form being consigned to the closest garbage bin. And of course, the paucity of the aforementioned garbage bins in public places coupled with my misplaced civic sense would have prevented me from throwing garbage in public anyways.

By a method of elimination (i.e. lack of other alternatives) we zeroed in on Kwality Sher-e-Punjab and Original Sher-e-Punjab. The names themselves inspired confidence of being able to provide quality Dal Fry and Alu-dhay-paranthay. "These two restaurants abut each other, one on the left, one on the right, perhaps even share a common kitchen", said the guide. I think the author of the guide was just trying to get done with the "Indian" section in a hurry. Can you think of any other explanation?

My mind began chanting the words "Sher-e-Punjab. Sher-e-Punjab. Sher-e-Punjab....", and in its echoes it effortlessly drifted to a roadside dhaba run by a friendly Sardarji welcoming me with a glass of tall cool lassi, and that is exactly what I began searching for. The concept of being in the middle of a bustling town was lost on me. I yearned for the open roads, and the roadside shacks which routinely serve hot rotis and lip smacking dal fry. The reality was... hmm.. well... quite disappointing. Sher-e-Punjab turned out to be this hole in the wall, and definitely adjacent to Original Sher-e-Punjab. Kwality was more gaudy, and both were equally choc-a-bloc with people.

Waiting outside gave us a sense of what to expect on the inside. Honeymooning couples coo-chi-cooing, while feeding each other Bhel puri; hyper active kids demanding ice cream before their full course meal of - soup, starter, masala papad, one butter naan and one sabji. It was the suburbia that we all thought we had left behind.

Back to the first detail - Honeymooning couples... nah forget them, they seem to be everywhere. And so does Bhel Puri, even in Sher-e-Punjab! Yup, serving Bhel Puri in a hotel called Sher-e-Punjab. Blasphemous! You might as well serve masala papad in an Italian restaurant.

Our expectations from Sher-e-Punjab considerably lowered as we entered, for we were struck by uncanny resemblance it had to the "Darshini" from down south. Exact look and feel, minus the standing crowd. Square bathroom white tiles on the walls; a picture of Balaji adorning the cashier's desk. The works! Continuous parallel mirrors lined facing walls from waist height and above. It gave a sense of being at a barber's shop. Maybe it was really a barber's shop before the Original decided it could do with some expansion and bought out the barber, with a wicked ransom. Someone must have told them about mirrors making the place look larger. Yes, that must be it. Sigh. The waiter was in no hurry to reverse our assessment either. He explained very politely, "We do not make Alu-de-paranthe. "

Yes. I repeat. Sher-e-Punjab no Alu Parantha. It took us a while to make our peace with this cruel joke and settle for at least roti and Baingan Bhartha. Incredulously, the waiter replied, "Sir, we do not make Baingan Bhartha either".

"How can you not have Alu parantha and Baingan Bhartha in a hotel claiming to the pride of Punjab?", we indignantly asked the waiter.

"What to do sir, most of the crowd wants Pani puri and Mysore Masala Dosa these days", the waiter lamented.

Market economics... sigh... what a crappy situation. But then we got to got deal with it, so we just ordered for some Naan, some paneer and some dal fry. The usual ghantan gopal that you order at the around-the-corner-restaurant in your home town. Is that why you traveled all the way across the country? To eat Masala Dosa? Who are you? Campus Man*?

It is with regret that I must inform you, that you really cannot get authentic north Indian food in the hotels of Manali. Chinese - yes, Korean - holy cow - yes, Israeli - what the? - yes, Greek - who visits from Greece? - yes!!! No kidding, you can get pita bread, falafal, pasta and vegetable balls in all the hot garlic sauce in the world. More easily than Dhahi and Alu Paranta.

If you really must eat foods of north India, either you befriend a local cook or you cook it yourself. The only edible Himachali thing you can easily get your hands on, are the apples and pears which still abundantly line the roads and streets! Thank god for small mercies.

P.S. If anybody does know where I could get authentic North Indian food in Manali, please do write to me! I would like to try it the next time I go visiting.

Just for the record - the author is not anti-south Indian or anti-European or anti-Indian or other anti-blah blah person. The author loves eating Masala dosa, Vada sambar and Uttapam - as long as it is made in a Mumbai Udupi Restaurant or at home :) The author has no issues with European/Mediterranean cuisine either - he is know to have soft corner for Pita bread and Au-Gratin. The author also loves authentic Chinese food, and is know to have a soft corner for delicacies from the Hunan province.

* A mythical superhero from Manipal, who dared to eat the Masala Dosa of the MIT Cafeteria. A Cafeteria, which sadly doesn't exist anymore.

Lunching in Old Manali

Mysore Dassara '08 - Fairy Queen

One of the star attractions at this year's Dassara celebrations is the vintage/heritage steam Locomotive "Fairy Queen" - the world's oldest running steam locomotive.

It was built in 1855 by Kitson, Thompson & Hewitson. Forty years later it was imported into India by the erstwhile East India Railway. It still retains its old East India Railway service number - EIR 22. It saw active service hauling light mail trains between Howrah and Raniganj. It retired from service in 1909, and spent the next 34 years on a pedestal outside the Howrah railway station. In 1943 the Railways shifted (relegated) it to Chandausi Railway Zonal Training School as a curiosity item (ouch!)

In 1972, a century after it was built the Indian Government declared it to be a piece of heritage, and a national treasure. This eleveated status saw it being shifted to the National Rail Museum, where it was the first exhibit. In 1997 it was overhauled and revived for working on the mainline.

In the same year, it saw its first commerical trip in 88 years ferrying tourists from New Delhi to Alwar as the Fairy Queen Express. The Guinness book of records recognized it as the world's oldest running steam locomotive in 1998.

Ten years later, it still runs. Although the railways consider it prudent enough to send a diesel locomotive at a discreet distance behind the Fairy Queen Express to lend a helping hand if required ;)

An old gentleman commented - "Just like I have come with my grandson, this engine has come with its grandchild. To help if we oldies trip and fall down... hahaha..."

This year it ran on the Mysore - Nanjangud sector for three days as part of the Dassara Celebrations. It ferried two coaches full of VIPs and Gold Pass holders. Others queued the stations and the railway crossings to get a glimpse of the ancient engine. The engine drivers were enjoying themselves, despite being constantly fogged and steamed by the ancient boiler. The jolly fellows were seen waving and egging the spectators to cheer and wave some more ;)




Seeing this little and ancient engine roll by evoked memories of a childhood almost forgotten, those carefree and wonder filled days!

Mysore Dassara '08 - Fairy Queen

Mysore - Dassara '08 - pre trip

Dassara and Mysore are synonymous. One cannot imagine one with out the other. There are other blogs and links which would've covered the subject to death, so I am not going to delve into those details.

Even though Mysore is my dad's native place I haven't seen the fabled Dassara procession even once in all these years. I remember going to the exhibition when I was a small kid. Mirchi Bhajjis is all that I remember though. The place was lit everyday as it usually was every Sunday evening. And that itself added to the festive spirit.

Anyways, this post is neither about Dassara, nor is it about what to do in Mysore during Dassara. How would I know? All I do during Dassara, if I am in Mysore, is sleep on the sofa at my granny's home! I hope to make amends to that anomaly this year. So, I am heading out to Mysore this afternoon.

The bike fuel tank had a hole, the same one that sprung a leak during the Cloud Valley ride. Had that gas welded this morning. The Ramzan and Roza holidays meant that my tank was held captive at the mechanic's garrage for the past three days. It is with a little trepidation that I will set out - what if the hole springs a leak again? I am carrying MSeal to mitigate that risk. But what if the bugger has not cleaned the tank properly? What if I have allowed moisture into the engine? What if... what if....

Tenshan nahi leneka. What ever will be, will be. Deal with it! Hopefully, I will have something worthwhile to write about once I get back!

P.S. A little birdy told me that our Olympics heroes are also headed to mysore today. Maybe they left early in the morning... Maybe I will bump into them en route, who know man!

Mysore - Dassara '08 - pre trip