I have been feeling low since yesterday in spite of keeping extremely busy and doing and saying everything to stay positive.
I even thought of not writing and just staying with my thoughts.
My thoughts took me to another time I was sad about missing Sankrant in Jaipur-the first year of college, and since there were many of us missing home, we decided to do something about it and the day-scholar friends decided to take us out to celebrate, Jodhpur style.
They procured the kites and spools the Charkhis and we drove to Mandore for the open spaces.
Mandore is the old city. It was abandoned after multiple attacks convinced Rao Jodha to build Mehrangarh and the city of Jodhpur at a more strategic location.
Mandore is mainly known for its well-preserved palace gardens, a picnic spot for locals and a place to click pictures of beautifully sculpted cenotaphs/chatris for the tourists.
It was once more famous as Mandodri’s maika, her parental home and Ravana’s sasural. Jodhpur to Sri Lanka must have been quite a distance in that age. Ravana had a private plane so commuting might have been still ok, but I wonder how they coped with the cultural differences.
Ravana probably spent quite some time here (before he got embroiled in the Ayodhya controversaries) because this place still echoes with the music of the instrument he invented-the Ravanhatha.
The war would have destroyed everything in his Golden Lanka, but the strings of the Ravanhatha continue to make their music.
That was pretty commonplace for us.
We preferred listening to Shah Rukh Khan singing on blasting car stereos and of course flying kites in that vast open space.
Once we were ready to go back, one of the local guys insisted that we could not go without tasting the ‘chunti ki chakki’. Nobody would have noticed the badly-lit shop set in the crevices of the thick stone walls of the fort, where you had to stoop to enter. A girl had to go and make the purchase. The owner was probably as old as the crumbling fort. “He doesn’t sell his sweets to tourists and boys.” He was nice to me even though I was not a local and added a few extra grams.
Years later, I went back with my husband and kids. Not to fly kites but to buy the ‘chakki’. I wondered if that uncleji would be there or if even the shop was still standing.
It wasn’t difficult to find it this time. It was bigger, had tube lights and a proper door. No signboard still, but everyone knew of it. There was a different shopkeeper-polite, courteous, and who let anyone buy his sweets. The chakki tasted the same, but I didn’t have the heart to ask about uncleji.
Thankfully, there wasn’t much else that had changed in the ten years. The chatris were well preserved and the gardens were not so crowded. This time, I stopped to listen to the guys in matted white kurtas and colourful turbans playing the Ravanhatha.
Going back does that to you.
I even thought of not writing and just staying with my thoughts.
My thoughts took me to another time I was sad about missing Sankrant in Jaipur-the first year of college, and since there were many of us missing home, we decided to do something about it and the day-scholar friends decided to take us out to celebrate, Jodhpur style.
They procured the kites and spools the Charkhis and we drove to Mandore for the open spaces.
Mandore is the old city. It was abandoned after multiple attacks convinced Rao Jodha to build Mehrangarh and the city of Jodhpur at a more strategic location.
Mandore is mainly known for its well-preserved palace gardens, a picnic spot for locals and a place to click pictures of beautifully sculpted cenotaphs/chatris for the tourists.
Ravana probably spent quite some time here (before he got embroiled in the Ayodhya controversaries) because this place still echoes with the music of the instrument he invented-the Ravanhatha. The war would have destroyed everything in his Golden Lanka, but the strings of the Ravanhatha continue to make their music.
That was pretty commonplace for us.
We preferred listening to Shah Rukh Khan singing on blasting car stereos and of course flying kites in that vast open space.
Once we were ready to go back, one of the local guys insisted that we could not go without tasting the ‘chunti ki chakki’. Nobody would have noticed the badly-lit shop set in the crevices of the thick stone walls of the fort, where you had to stoop to enter. A girl had to go and make the purchase. The owner was probably as old as the crumbling fort. “He doesn’t sell his sweets to tourists and boys.” He was nice to me even though I was not a local and added a few extra grams.
Years later, I went back with my husband and kids. Not to fly kites but to buy the ‘chakki’. I wondered if that uncleji would be there or if even the shop was still standing.
It wasn’t difficult to find it this time. It was bigger, had tube lights and a proper door. No signboard still, but everyone knew of it. There was a different shopkeeper-polite, courteous, and who let anyone buy his sweets. The chakki tasted the same, but I didn’t have the heart to ask about uncleji.
Thankfully, there wasn’t much else that had changed in the ten years. The chatris were well preserved and the gardens were not so crowded. This time, I stopped to listen to the guys in matted white kurtas and colourful turbans playing the Ravanhatha.
Going back does that to you.
(all pics from Wikipedia, I don't have my photos from college days)
Lovely post. The place sounds nice and interesting too. :)
ReplyDeleteYou make me want to taste that chakki now; seems feasible since they are selling it to anyone now? ;)
Better go and taste it before the present owner grows old and selective about his customers! Go more for the Ravanhatha played in it's land of origin :)
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