India – Page 2 – The Book-Butterfly

June 2024 – The Taj and Other Mahals

The sky is despondent in Agra. I also saw an Indian vulture perch on the Taj Mahal and camouflage itself against the cornelian and onyx marble inlay. It has made me pensive. Maybe it should. After all, two of the main sites here are mausoleums: The Taj Mahal and the Tomb of I’timād-ud-Daulah, often misnamed “Baby Taj”, despite being the predecessor.

So little is said about the latter, but it literally sets in stone the transition period of Mughal architecture from red sandstone to intricately inlaid marble. Its details made me gasp! And to my surprise, no one else was in sight!

But the Taj, the Taj… when you’ve seen it so many times in friends’ pictures, and in books, you think you already know what it looks like. Nothing prepared me for how much it moved me! Something stirred in me when I came closer, when I felt the inlaid precious stones with my fingers, when I looked through the delicate lattices carved from entire slabs of marble… now I know what Victor Hugo meant when he described architecture as, “the handwriting of the past.”

We all know the story: 20,000 workers, 24 hours a day for 22 years. Its maintenance workers of today are descendants of the original construction workers 17 generations down. All these, to eternalize this handwriting of love… which, of course, Mumtaz never read, or laid eyes on.

*Mahal* in Filipino means either love or expensive. (Their synonymity is relative and will depend on how much, or what, love cost you. Haha) Mahal, in these parts, means palace. And yet, this is not a palace, but a mausoleum. It is, however, expensive; and is probably the world’s best-known and well-preserved expression of love.

It is interesting how this particular Mahal, the Taj, the crown of all Mahals, is ironically inaccurate in Urdu and accurate in Filipino.

Fatehpur Sikri

It was a mind-blowing family tree that brought me here.

Fatehpur Sikri was established as the capital of the Mughal Empire in 1571 by Emperor Akbar. Akbar’s grandson, Shah Jahan I is famous for having the Taj Mahal built. Akbar, as we know, is the third Mughal emperor, as he is the grandson of Babur, founder of the Mughal empire. Babur in turn, is the great-great-grandson of Uzbekistan’s Amir Timur, known in the West as Tamerlane.

I cannot think of a longer bloodline of distinguished rulers who have left their mark so distinctly (with conquests and architecture) in this world. And oh, did I mention that Babur is a descendant of Genghis Khan on both his father’s and mother’s side?

The architectural details of Fatehpur Sikri are just as astonishing as Akbar’s pedigree. The fort walls, the gates, the palaces, the mosques, are made predominantly of red sandstone. And because Akbar had three royal consorts, one Muslim, one Christian, and one Hindu, their individual palaces were masterfully designed and decorated according to their religion and culture.

The Anup Talao especially left an impression on me. It is a pavilion overlooking a platform for musicians. My guide explained that oil was added to the pool of water surrounding the platform to enhance the sound of the musical performances!

On the opposite side is what used to be the library, now off limits, now sans books, but I can only imagine how glorious it must have been. Salman Rushdie’s The Enchantress of Florence was the first novel I read long ago that got me interested in the Mughal Empire. It was partly set here in Fatehpur Sikri.

The Lure of Udaipur

Jodhpur is closer to Jaipur, so is Bikaner, and then Jaisalmer would have been accessible from there. These names are not words in my head, but meters of music, rhythm, and mystery that lure me from far away. These are some of the cities in the state of Rajasthan that have been playing in my mind ever since the idea of an India itinerary was formed.

I knew I wouldn’t be able to cover all these cities in one trip with the kind of traveling that I do — the kind that asks me to avoid breezing through them, the kind that urges me to sit still and experience a few sunrises and sunsets in them, the kind that begs me to listen to them. After all, each city has its own music. Each city sounds different. And it is waking up to this kind of music that exhilarates me in my travels.

Udaipur was not in the plan. But when the distance between two places are no longer measured in miles but by a melodic strain one can’t help but follow, you follow.

And now I know how this Mewar kingdom founded in 1559 sounds. It sounds resplendent.

Rajasthan: A Photo Journal

The longer you stay in Jaipur, the deeper you plunge into color.

The white marble and the red sandstone for the greatest edifices of Uttar Pradesh — the Taj Mahal and the Agra Fort — were transported by elephants from Rajasthan.

And traveling in Rajasthan is a journey through ancient feats of architecture, engineering, craftsmanship, space and time.

If you do not go through Rajasthan in haste, I promise you, you will be colored by it.

The Stepwells of Rajasthan

India’s arid regions gave birth to stunning baoris, or stepwells, that were mainly built as cisterns, but also functioned as sites for religious ceremonies, rituals, and cool resting places.

There are approximately two to three thousand ancient stepwells in India, and I’m fortunate enough to have visited two here in the state of Rajasthan: Panna Meena ka Kund, a 16th century picturesque stepwell in Jaipur, beautifully contrasting the more massive Chand Baori in Abhaneri that was built between the 8th and 9th century.

Can there be a better lesson in strength, function, and beauty, than a baori?

A Whiff of Book Pages in Jaipur

Universal Books

Jaipur Sunday Book Market

Oh to be in the locale of the Jaipur Literature Festival — the festival that has brought illustrious figures such as Salman Rushdie, Michael Ondaatje, Ian McEwan, and other stars to its marvelous gates! (What can one expect from a literary feast directed by none other than William Dalrymple?)

Unfortunately, I missed this year’s festival by several months. But are the Sunday Book Markets and their bookstores evidence enough that the love of books is alive and well in Jaipur?

Rajat Book Corner

Rajat Book Corner’s shelves were cascading with the best selections. They had Pamuk, Mahfouz, Proust, recent literary prize winners, the Indian greats, among many others. So you can imagine the argument between my other selves against the practical one who kept whispering firmly, “Just one book, just one book.”

After a while of intense internal struggle, I finally went with something I hadn’t seen in Philippine bookstores: Pyre, a 2023 longlister of the International Booker Prize written by Perumal Murugan.

“Good choice,” said the man at the counter.

“Thank you,” I answered, thinking it was something he always said to bookstore clientele.

“It’s a great book! We discussed this in our bookclub.” That’s when I realized he meant it. He had read Pyre. To my surprise, he added, “Wait. I think this is a signed copy. The author signed it when he came here.” And indeed, it was!, “Wait. I think this is a signed copy. The author signed it when he came here.” And indeed, it was signed!

For yet another surprise, he recommended a book based on my choice: “Banaras” by Vertul Singh. And because readers have a sixth sense that can detect another reader’s literary preference, it certainly looked like a book I would love to read. Practical self was defeated. I bought it. But I think the bookseller just pointed me to my next destination in India if I get the chance to return.

Amidst the scent of spices and sandalwood, there is a whiff of book pages in Jaipur that a reader’s nose cannot help but follow. These are my souvenirs from following that trail.

Isn’t it a wonderful thing when you allow books to lead you to places, and when you let places lead you to books?

June 10, 2024 –Indian Mangoes

These mangoes were purchased from a side street in Jaipur to refute Aimee Nezhukumatathil’s claim that — *gasp* — India’s Alphonso mangoes are sweeter than Philippine Carabao mangoes!

Don’t get me wrong. I love A.N. She is the most wholesome and heartwarming author one can find on bookstore shelves these days. Her World of Wonders still keeps my heart soft. Before leaving for this trip, I suggested her latest book, Bite by Bite: Nourishments and Jamborees, to two friends who are also traveling, and then hinted that we discuss it over wine when we’re all back in Dipolog. But after scanning the first few pages, I ended up reading the whole thing even before I left! It was the last book I read in May.

I just had one problem with it: The mango verdict.

“I am the daughter of a man from India and a woman from the Philippines,” She writes. “They have argued all my life about whose mangoes are the sweetest, the best. Both have asked me to take sides, and for years I’ve refused until now. Alphonso mangoes, hands down. From India.”

And these were the lines that led me to a dark side street in India. I began to worry on my way back to the haveli. Not for my safety, but for the reason that, from within the bag hanging from my hand, the unbelievable fragrance of the mangoes were already invading my nostrils! I think my heart raced when I sliced one open with my Swiss knife.

My verdict? Maybe THAT will endanger my safety! Haha!

What I realized, however, as the two juicy mangoes were immediately reduced to seed and skin, was that THIS is nourishment — tasting, exploring, discovering, learning, reading, traveling, and eating the mangoes of another country. Once in a while, our hearts need this.

June 10, 2024 –In Jaipur, this is how each day arrives…

In Jaipur, this is how each day arrives. There are birds as timekeepers to wake me through the low windows of the 250-year-old haveli where I’m staying.

I’ve only been here for three days but it looks like I have already established the beginnings of a library on a small marble table.

Outside, the city is stirring. And I know that once I walk through one of Jaipur’s magnificent city gates and into its chaotic main streets, there will be an assault on the senses. But for a few silent hours, there will only be the duet of the chirping birds and the rustling of pages, and a reading traveler Mahmoud Darwish would describe as, “a woman sunbathing within herself.”

P.S. Play the video to listen to the birds.

June 8, 2024 –Jantar Mantar, Jaipur, India

A knowledgeable guide taught me how to distinguish between Rajput and Mughal architecture as we walked through the profusion of terra cotta pink which is Jaipur.

But to his surprise, it was here that I inspected the structures more carefully despite the onslaught of the solar noon. What looks like modern art installations amidst the flowery and intricate designs for which Jaipur is known, is Jantar Mantar. And it is not modern.

It is an astronomical observatory built in 1716CE by Jai Singh, the Maharajah of Jaipur. Jai Singh was born in 1688, and though he was crowned as monarch when he was but eleven years old, he continued his studies in philosophy, art, architecture, city planning, and astronomy. His passion for the latter manifested in the way he planned his city according to mathematical and astronomical patterns; especially in Jantar Mantar, which is the largest, most accurate, and most well-preserved observatory out of the five that he erected throughout India.

“Science,” an Italian poet once wrote, “was moved by beauty, and by the desire to understand it.” Jantar Mantar exhibits this.

Paolo Maurensig: Game of the Gods

Without meaning to, I read Paolo Maurensig’s three chess novels in chronological order of publishing dates. The Lüneburg Variation, Theory of Shadows, and Game of the Gods. The sequence in which I read these books were, admittedly, influenced by Goodreads ratings. Maurensig is quite obscure in my part of the world, so I had to consult Goodreads despite my distrust of its stars. Game of the Gods has the lowest rating among the three.

But I enjoyed it! It’s not exactly a literary masterpiece, but I found it to be an easy and entertaining read that has its gems. I think the low ratings come from readers who have particular expectations. Those who read this for chess will soon realize that it’s not wholly about chess. Those who read this for its biographical aspect might be disappointed because the story is mostly imagined from the little that the media knows about Indian chess grandmaster, Malik Mir Sultan Khan, who enthralled the chess world in the 1930s by defeating world champions but soon faded into the night sky like a shooting star.

The passages that describe the incorporation of Indian philosophy and thought in Sultan Khan’s games was what I appreciated the most. The book also introduces the reader to chaturanga, the precursor of chess, that had a more sacred aspect to the game, and wherein its player had to transform himself in order to succeed.

And from what this reader can conclude from the third of Paolo Maurensig’s chess novels, the “game of the gods” is not chess. It is fate.