The Flying Carpet - Tales from the Belly of Delhi

POLO

noreply@blogger.com (Andree) — Mon, 10 Mar 2008 15:55:00 +0000

Last Sunday I was invited to the Championship Polo Match. What fun!

And who was playing? The black and red teams of the sixty-first cavalry, one of the world's last full cavalry regiments! They are based in Jaipur, and quite the romantic heroes. It was the finals of the Northern India Polo Championship.

Dashing shiny ponies, of incredible obedience and skill, handsome hunks in tight white pants and boots swinging sticks around, macho bravado within playing ground rules, and even a real prince or two..what more could a girl want for a thrilling Sunday afternoon!

There are four players on each team, two referees, and an umpire.

The black boards on the scoreboard are changed manually, see the steps? the digital board displays time remaining in the chukker.

Each play is called a "chukker". The polo ground seems huge, and they thunder from end to end, hitting the balls though the goalposts. Our reds and blacks were very well matched, the blacks won by half a point. His Royal Highness Maj. Tunku Ismail Ibrahim of Malasia was number 2 of the reds. The minute to minute commentator was terrific.

In the audience we had some famous Indians, Nawab M. Ali Khan Pataudi, Farooq Abdullah, Pickles Sodhi, and His Highness Bhawani Singh, maharaja of Jaipur. There were also some ladies in hats!

Wine, champagne, juice and fresh tea were served in the stands.

After the match and awards, a display of tent pegging skills, marvellous control and power of man and beast. Below you can see the rider homing in at high speed, he speared a tiny piece of paper off the end of that pike.

Malti with the dashing, splendid player, Maj. Navjit Sandhu

a scyce, groom of the 61st

After the game, Lt. Col. Tarun Sirohi rests

lathered pony, and the badge of the 61st Cavalry

The Bunny

noreply@blogger.com (Andree) — Tue, 15 Jan 2008 16:17:00 +0000

Happy New Year, all!

We spent our winter holiday up at Ninder Mahal, our family castle near Jaipur.

Here is a mason at work repairing the front facade.

But right now I want to tell you about our New Year surprise; a tiny bunny who was left abandoned at the farm near Ninder Mahal. One of the stable boys picked him up and brought him over, just as we were packing the car to drive back to Delhi. How could we leave it alone in the cold? And our dog Scruffie is the area patrol at the farm. We had to bring him.

He is a Desert Hare.

Now, adopting a wild creature is a huge responsibility, and feeding him milk from a dropper was how we started out, enclosing him in our picnic basket with a hot water bottle under a towel. He somehow survived the first few days, and now, a week later, has grown from a "dinner roll size", to a small "croissant size". He doesn't weigh as much as a croissant yet!

Unni is showing his long hare-legs. He is so fluffy now, and likes to keep warm nestled inside our sweaters, and at the moment is in my lap under a shawl.

I worry that he has already bonded with humans; now, in our Delhi apartment, he lippity-lipps underfoot, as the basket is far too confining. He is safe enough closed in my room, but scampers right over and sits up on my foot as soon as I stop moving. If my foot is not there, he sits on the empty slipper!

What does mother bunny milk taste like? No idea, but I was pretty sure that cow's milk was wrong. (though he laps it up) I finally found a source of info on wild animal rescue online, and sure enough, the only thing to feed wild bunnies is goat's milk. Easier said than done, though there are goats a-plenty over the road in the Nizamuddin basti (village). Hard to figure out, but goats' milk is never included in any of the Indian cuisine, the main dish is kebabs and such!

It was suggested that I buy a goat to solve the supply problem. Well, I might have done that if we weren't living in an apartment! So I will keep trying to find goat milk somehow.

He is finally getting tiny needle teeth, and I am trying to get him to nibble on greens and oats. He has learned to lick yogourt from a dish.He is ever so furry and has beautiful camouflage markings.

Unni calls him,"Captain Moonbeam". He licks our hands and cuddles. He is Desert Hare, and needs to go back in to the wild at Ninder.

Hares wean after nine weeks, much later than domestic rabbits. I wish we had a wildlife centre to consult here.

What are we going to do??

kids in India

noreply@blogger.com (Andree) — Mon, 10 Dec 2007 15:55:00 +0000

Today I want to show you pictures of kids.

Kids going about their games and business, kids who laugh and play and smile like kids anywhere. They are not all "too poor" or "too rich" here in India.
These are regular kids who I meet when I move about the city.
I especially like to take pictures of kids who look happy.

( if you want to see the pictures larger, click on them. and...check out how many are wearing pink!)

Yasmine, who I met at the Dargah ( shrine of Saint Nizamuddin). She is a lovely self-possessed little girl.

Kids playing in the tomb of a Mughal Emperor, in the shrine.

A family coming to make offerings at the shrine.

Not very well-off, but repectable, having a day-out.

Street children, having to scrabble for money and f ood from babyhood. But the camera delights them , they want to see their pictures right away!

Alice is showing kids their pictures in the shrine.

Young girl in Srinagar with her baby sister. Shehanaz?

(I ask their names, but often forget, I'll take notes for next time!)

Subhash is the son of my freind's house man.

He is totally blind, and lives at the Blind Relief School.

He has two blind brothers, but they are not all at the same school unfortunately.

But he is a cheery lad, and very bright.

I gave him a bottle of scented oil, which he liked very much.

This boy is wheeled to his begging post outside a Dargah in Mehrauli (South Delhi) daily.

Being crippled, he is probably looking at a lifetime of charity, but one can see that he has a home, is loved, and cared for. It is very hard for low-income families to cope with a disabled member.

He was very composed and calm.

The Candy Man! An old-world sound, the tinkling brass bell, announces the candy man on his rounds in the urban village of Mehrauli. Kids scrounge their paisa and scamper to order a lolly..the candy man draws a strap of pliable taffy out from under the plastic sheet on the pole. On a twig of straw, he twirls it to form the requested shape, a fluted wonder, a butterfly, a snake, a toothbrush! or a fat twist.

It was Children's Day, and schoolkids were on an outing in Qudsia Bagh, Mughal Garden. I attracted a lot of whooping and haaalo-ing as they streamed joyfully past!

All schoolchildren wear tidy uniforms in India.

Bigger kids doing things....

Yesterday.

Boys spend Sundays playing video games, even in the cramped lanes of Old Delhi! The "vee-dee-o parlour" is out on the road.

Or they go fly a kite, in the hurtling traffic of Chandni Chowk!

We will see more kite pictures as the winter season progresses.

These girls are members of a learning club, set up by an NGO named Project Concern. The school is located in one of Delhi's gigantic re-settlement colonies, inhabited by mostly very poor immigrant families from the Eastern areas. They pay a small fee to join the school/club.

I was so impressed and touched by the enthusiasm and application of the youngsters, and their wonderful teacher. They are in the "Beauty Parlour" class, practicing their mehndi skills, using their hands and scratch pads. In the "Tailoring Class", a practical lesson plan takes them from basic hand hemming on up to pattern cutting and sewing whole outfits. These skills will be useful when they have their own families to clothe, and some of them will be able to take on paid tailoring work as well. Every bit helps.

My last girl, Sheila in Landour, Mussourie. We met her in the Christian Cemetary, a peaceful hillside terrace of British graves going back 200 years .

Her father is the cemetary caretaker, but he has taken care to send his bright daughter for a proper education at the local school. She expained ( in very good English) that she was studying for exams, so we asked her, " where do you study?" , and she hopped up on a grave " right here!, it is quiet and I can concentrate". Her books were laid out on her workstation, a nearby tomb.

The Family Wedding

noreply@blogger.com (Andree) — Sun, 25 Nov 2007 14:48:00 +0000

My apologies to readers who found no new postings during October!

In OctoberI suprised my family back in Ottawa by arriving unannounced for a family wedding, which I had pined to, but never thought I could attend, too far, too costly, etc.

I found a magician of a new travel agent here in Delhi, who got me cheap, confirmed tickets on AeroSvit, Ukraine Airlines. So off I went, bearing gifts, for a crazy two week visit!

I particularly wanted to surprise my wonderful niece Isabelle, ( Izzy) our adorable bride.

In this I succeeded, see the pix captured by her Dad, our brother Miche, when our sister Madeleine went up the stairs, and I came down!

(I surprised him too, I called from Madeleine's house, and he said, "you're where? you are NOT...!")

When I was home in July, I was invited by Izzy for a special preview of her wedding gown, still at the fitting stage with Justina McCaffrey. Here is the Bride to Be, in the fab gown.

Lush fabric, double-sided cream satin.

And here she is trying on my beautiful family Victorian heirloom necklace that I offered her to wear, it was her french great-grandmother Rachel's, it is red gold with seed pearls. Izzy's mother Roberta wore it when she married her father ( Miche) too!

I contributed the day of the wedding by helping decorate the hall, we strung up dozens of hand-made tissue paper flowers on fishing line.

Everything went so well, and everyone had a great time!

More family pix;

Miche, Evey, moi, Felix First Dance Kurt, Roberta, Drew, Izzy, Miche, Hugh

Madeleine Moi, Hugh, Roberta, Kurt

I was really lucky, it's been 4 years since I'd been home for Thanksgiving! We enjoyed a fantastic big dinner at Evey's house. I felt like I was in a dream. I hadn't seen a red maple leaf since 2004 either, and there were lots of those too. Fresh nippy air, compared to Delhi it feels like breathing peppermint. And the light.. such CLEAR light, my eyes felt funny, who turned on the big halogen lights?

The time flew by so fast, really dream-like. Thanks family and freinds who gave me a "non-stop pajama party" camping in your homes! I apologize to those of you who I didn't get time to call or visit in Ottawa, it was such a rush.

Kashmir Holiday

noreply@blogger.com (Andree) — Sun, 25 Nov 2007 13:17:00 +0000

Kashmir Holiday A little story

June 2007 by Andree Pouliot

"Nikaldo saaman!"she barks. I am at a table in the Srinagar airport, enduring a purse examination, along with every other woman passenger. We have already had various machine guns pointed at us, from the first outer gate, by a young moon-faced rosy-cheeked beauty, nestled behind her sandbags, while passing through the "women's target range". The men pass through their own male target zone. We have had all our bags xrayed twice, been body searched twice, and are now approaching the departure "lounge" (lock-up). This is a routine flight, at the height of tourist season, and the airport is clogged with Indian families escaping the blasting heat of the plains, flights are buzzing day in and day out. We are all resigned to the menacing security arrangements. Kashmir has been a battleground since the late 1980's, and as "anything can happen", the Indian Army maintains an aggressive security approach. It crossed my mind that some company must be making a killing supplying razor wire, it is EVERYWHERE, great coils of it looped over walls, gates, seized homes and schools, and leftovers surround no parking zones, clot wildflowers and brambles along the canals, and fail to discourage merrily blooming roses in the flowerbeds of the elegant Mughal gardens. Nasty stuff.

There are four young security women on duty, outsiders from central India, trim in their khaki high-waist belted trousers and hair netted buns beneath natty khaki berets. None of them have a word of English. The officer at the table before me in the heaving scrum, is examining each and every object in a 6 year old travellers' backpack, and commenting on the toys. Every pencil in the suspicious pencil box extracted. Sweeping the piles of flotsam back across the table, she barks, "boarding pass!" and the kid looks nonplussed, as one would expect. Her mother is at the other end of the table, opening lipstick tubes, unwrapping folded hankies..a hubbub ensues,..where is the kid's boarding pass? Mother unpacks her purse, again.
Other women passengers surge against the table. Finally the officer abandons the family, who are now scrabbling in every pocket and shouting to the rest of the clan in search of the lost boarding pass. The little girl, calmly says," I'll repack my bag myself" and quickly collects her skittering toys and barrettes.

My turn. "saaman nikaldo!" A wave of irritation overcomes reason, and I pretend I don’t understand the Hindi order. She barks, I remove my water bottle. She barks louder. The next thing I do is inadvisable, but I did it anyway, I look her in the eye and say 'speak English?' She flaps her hands over my bag, so I pick it up and shake and DUMP all my stuff on the table, all the bits and pieces clattering and skidding about, there is a second of silence in the din. "There" I say "have a look". More hand flapping, dismissive gestures," ok ok!!", and another guard says "put it away". I repack and go find a corner to read.

The lock-up is hot, jam-packed, and swarming with flies. Might as well be in a barn.
Having been thru all-level security, we are trapped within, and here comes an announcement " passengers on Jet Air flight 605, may I have your kind attaantion, there is a deelay in departure of this flight.." an hour goes by. We are herded outside to identify our checked, twice xrayed bags, another tick on the boarding card. My boarding card is starting to look like a palimpsest, it has so many stamps and signatures. Later a security man approaches, "madam, you must have your hand bags checked and stamped" , and he leads me back to the ladies table, to an evidently superior officer. In deliberate Indian-English she asks me to take out everything from my bag. Ok… (regretting all the multitudindous little survival accoutrements I carry around, particularly needed as journeys can take much longer than expected). Now all the four lady-guards are watching, they are, after all, very curious. So are the row of women passengers seated right behind this fascinating examination table, most women would crane a bit to see the contents of another's purse, and here, they have a ringside view. One by one, starting with kleenex, hankie, water bottle, comb, pencil, the notebook is rifled, eyeglass case opened..then it gets interesting..she pries the back cover off my lipbalm and breaks it. A tube of sunscreen, I make a rubbing motion on the back of my hand. Advil, "high BP medication" I lie. And so on. The senior officer seizes on my camera, and is a bit disappointed; I have already removed the "cells" (batteries).

Then she finds a little plastic bag containing two tampons. Aha! They all move in closer to have a good look, take a pinch.."whoh kya hai?"
Searching her vocabulary, she utters " whaat izzit?" Now I have the chance to make my move, and I deliberately set out to embarrass them to end the curiosity show. Ok, it's a bit mean, but I do it anyway. "Oh my gawwwd!" I gesture, hands flying to my face," this is LADIES ITEM!, you know for PERIODS" they draw back slightly. " You know, LADIES item, for BLEEDING?"
"I am bleeding…we don't use big ones like you ladies do..fanning my hands below my waist..." "ok ok, put it away", I have managed, finally, to fluster the leader into stamping and signing my damn handbag tag. As I repack, I hear them chattering and giggling in hindi, .."itna chota, so small, how can it go!"
Back in my corner seat, fanning away flies that cluster on me as if I were a horse turd, I notice a scrum in one corner of the room. Our 2:45 flight is "estimated to arrive from Jammu at 4:00 , inconvenience is regretted". Jet Airways has sent over boxed sandwiches, and I join the heaving mob of parents who are flapping 5, or 7 boarding cards in the face of the hapless fresh-faced ground staff boy who is unpacking the boxes. He is also trying to pour out little plastic cups of coke, but the close jostling makes this difficult and slow. I perform my usual crabwise trick, skin in to the front by cutting around the sides of the mass, an essential survival trick in the absence of queues. I skip the drink. This lock-up has no water, no edibles, and the coffee machine kiosk closed an hour ago. I notice that the tables of five male and five female security officers are in a picnic mood, joking and lunging about to refill their plastic cups with bottles of hijacked Coke and Fanta. Good thing the lady officer let me keep my water bottle.

The toilets are vile, reeking of urine and made more eye-watering by heavy sloshings of phenoyl ammonia. The power shuts down several times, including once when I am locked in the pitch dark toilet. My mobile phone lights me out of there.
A massive thunder storm breaks, all over our double-xrayed luggage, marooned on trolleys out on the tarmac. " Due to bad weather, flight 605 has been delayed, incovenience is regretted"
Indian children, durable travelers, run about playing hide and seek, pestering each other instead of their parents. One rustic family are in possession of a boy of about 3, who continuously shrieks, a regular car alarm of howls, and I notice that the adults are baiting him and teasing him, then cuddling him, like a puppy. Nice little slaps upside the head, more piercing screams. A very tall bearded security officer approaches, picks the kid up off the floor, places him on a seat, and gestures finger to lips, the family says nothing, they smile indulgently. Boy children are sacred. The tormenting part I don't understand.

Flight tickets are very cheap in India now, and a large proportion of holidayers have never set foot on a plane before. This is hilarious, but aggrivating for the service staff. One hears of plane-loads of passengers all rushing from their seats in a mass to crowd into the "drivers cabin", to urge the pilot to stop circling and PARK! This leads to weight imbalance and emergency landings. An elderly hoary Sikh was seen (I have an eyewitness account) elbowing the pesky toilet doors apart, cursing, jetting his arc of pee towards the "latrine" from the corridor. One man was prevented from opening the door hatch, which he was attacking, because the plane was "stuffy".
Seatbelts are optional, and everyone surges up to open the overhead lockers at touchdown, aircraft still rolling on the runway. There is a gap between the essential firm training of first time air passengers, and the air hostess staff, who are young, wimpy, lacquered in make up, and dressed in sexy "modern" uniforms, short plaid skirts with cute matching headbands. I expect that after awhile the leering, groping and catcalls will harden them into learning to take the rowdy passengers in hand.

In the end our plane arrives, in driving rain, and middle aged gents are backslapping the young ground staff, crediting, "well done, my boy, you got the plane in", as they dash about with their walky talkies.
Before boarding we are herded into yet another search cabin on the tarmac (women must always be enclosed in a tiresome curtained cubicle, losing sight of one's belongings at the heaped xray belt is worrying) and we board our flight, three and a half hours late. I have had all my bags xrayed 3 times, had my breasts and hips caressed in a curtained cubicle 3 times, and the contents of my purse viewed by dozens of curious women.

But it was a lovely Kashmir holiday…

( in case you are wondering..no, I did not risk taking a single photo of the soldiers, bunkers, armed roadside guards posted at 8 yard intervals, army vehicles, sandbagged and razor-wired crossroads, or police, though all are very thick on the ground. I did not want my camera seized. You must imagine that part of the scene).

my website is back!

noreply@blogger.com (Andree) — Sat, 29 Sep 2007 09:45:00 +0000

*news flash*, my artist's website is now back online.

www.andreepouliot.com

You will also be able to view my animation piece, " I Dreamt of India" there.

My apologies to those of you who couldn't access it for a few months. I now have a new server

here in Delhi, so stand by for updates, and more creative work online!

people at work

noreply@blogger.com (Andree) — Sat, 29 Sep 2007 09:04:00 +0000

Some pictures of how people work, where I live.

Rainy day boy, begging at the traffic light in Jaipur.

So young, and forced to dart amongst moving traffic to beg. No future to look forward to.

Heartbreaking.

Siesta time on a hot afternoon.

Rickshaw drivers park in the shade
at the circle between Humayun's Tomb
and the Dargah of Hazrat Nizamuddin.
These guys work so hard, late into the night.

Exhausted.

Shop in Kinari Bazaar, Old Delhi.

The smiling shopkeeper sells articles for household shrines, this idol is of Baby Krishna, wearing magenta, today.

Tiny dresses in every colour of the rainbow, and jewelry, provide sets of new garments for every festival. The doll-sized thrones, in wood, or velvet, are also available.

Freindly.

A sign-painter's tiny shop in Jaipur.

The graphic in Hindi says "Pentr".The box on legs is his shop/storage, the board serves as doorstep, and the paint can is his client's seat. Samples of the lion and actors are set out daily. Jeetu's shop is squeezed beside the on-ramp of a 6 lane national highway.

Maybe something could be done to perk up the Queensway in Ottawa? Something tells me it would be regarded as graffiti, rather than as a respectable career.

Resourceful.

King Grasshopper, still eating!

noreply@blogger.com (Andree) — Sat, 29 Sep 2007 08:57:00 +0000

elephants

noreply@blogger.com (Andree) — Fri, 21 Sep 2007 11:00:00 +0000

One of my favourite things about living in India; ELEPHANTS!

It is possible for me to pick up the phone and hire and elephant like a taxi,

to come to my house, say, for a birthday party. The one below was ferrying visiting children around the outside of Humayuns' Tomb garden. Right out on the road with the whizzing scooters and cars. I feel so sorry for the poor beasts who work in the city. They are almost all middle-aged females ( deserving more respect!) and suffer many discomforts. Besides the noise and hard concrete under their cracked feet, the elephant has in fact, very tender skin, that needs daily bathing. Up to a decade or so ago, the Yamuna river, which flowed through the city, provided their bathing grounds. Now the "river" is in a state of appalling decay, more like a giant sewer, and I guess that the elephants still have to bathe there, in the black slimy fluid. Poor beasts. Also, last year the traditional elephant-keepers ghetto at the river bed was razed to the ground by the city. I know, because I went looking for it. Nobody seemed to know exactly where they are living now.

But, the demand for elephants to ferry bridegrooms and children around the city has not ceased, so they are out there, plodding along...

elephants heading for work, crossing the bridge, from the far side of the river

Mixed transport,

in my neighbourhood.

elephants parked outside the Udaipur City Palace. The delicately freckled skin is very prominent on this elder. I think she's snoozing...

Royal Elephants, fighting.

miniature paintings, from Udaipur City Palace Museum

welcome to my blog!

noreply@blogger.com (Andree) — Tue, 11 Sep 2007 17:06:00 +0000

Dear Freinds,
Welcome to my blog , "Tales from the Belly of Delhi"
I hope you enjoy my stories and pictures, and do please comment.
In fact, I anticipate your encouragement, and go ahead and nag me if I slack off the postings!
If you are just joining me now, you will find my first posting at the bottom of the main page.

photo taken by Marie-France, in Orchha, Central India.

left, and above; Udaipur City Palace

In City Palace, Jaipur

A magnificent ruin of a haveli, in Ballimaran, in Old Delhi

Humayun's Tomb, restoration project

noreply@blogger.com (Andree) — Mon, 10 Sep 2007 16:29:00 +0000

Stone work at Humayun's Tomb

distinctive speckly local red sandstone was used originally, and is still used today for restoration work.

This old pillar has a classic Mughal "chevron" pattern.

Some of the recent restoration work was criticized for being highly insensitive. They can do ( and usually do) a lot better job than this. Some contractor was skimming funds and buying cheap modern marble. Disgraceful!

Teams of stonemasons are contracted to carry out the painstaking carving work during the winter months, each piece of stone is carefully measured to fit. The water channel restoration alone required over 3000
meters of dressed sandstone. Sometimes the delicate "jali" screens have to be replaced. All is done with amazing precision. I will try to get a photo of how they transfer the intricate fretwork design to the stone, the
pattern is punched into a sheet of tin, and the design is "pounced" through tiny regular pinholes using charcoal or blueing powder. They carve within these templates.

Most of the stonemasons come from areas where stonework is traditional, especially Rajasthan.

Well, it's a job. A team of elder women get to work hammering bricks into dust, for the traditional mortar preparation. They were very cheery that day! I suppose working in a circle helps.

One day I came to the tomb with freinds, and we passed a group of masons setting stones with traditional mortar. I am familiar with this kind of mortar, when were began restoration on our own castle in Rajasthan, we idealistically began using exclusively the original recipie for traditional mortar. The mortar is a lovely suede-pink colour, and it contains, brick dust, powdered slaked lime, and a good portion of raw brown sugar, called "gur". Sometimes it also has crushed fenugreek seeds as a binder, and jute fibres.
I showed my freinds, telling them that you can taste the sugar in the mortar, and took a wee lick along with my freind Ruth. It was..hot.
I asked the masons, "what did you put in here?"
"We put acid",
"from what" , says I...
"from this"...and he showed us crushed used batteries!
So there's the modern binder for you.

noreply@blogger.com (Andree) — Mon, 10 Sep 2007 16:07:00 +0000

Humayun's Tomb and garden on a foggy morning in October

noreply@blogger.com (Andree) — Sun, 09 Sep 2007 17:38:00 +0000

Humayun's Tomb

More about our neighbourhood; our home is situated around the corner from the beautiful Mughal tomb and garden of the Emperor Humayun.

From our roof we have a good view of the magnificent dome of 16th c. Mughal emperor Humayun’s tomb, set in a 30 acre garden that was recently restored by the Aga Khan foundation.

I call it "the Great-Grandfather of the Taj Mahal", as the innovative architectural design of Humayun's tomb later inspired that masterpiece of architectural grace, the Taj Mahal, which was built by his great-grandson, Emperor Shah Jehan.
Humayun suffered an accidental death, in 1556, after falling down the spiral stairs in his library, leaving his young son Akbar as heir apparent.

His widow, Haji Begum, began construction on the tomb in either 1565, or 1569 (sources disagree). She contracted a Persian architect, Mirak Mirza Ghiyas, to create the building in the Persian style, and he gave India it's first full double dome. Red sandstone outlined by white marble was a design feature indigenous to the subcontinent, as were the chattris (roof pavilions).

The interior is quite austere, but the surface designs of intricate geometrical stone inlay, play with the poetry of filtered light, entering from the multi-layered chiseled stone screens.

The morning sun lays a network of lace shadows in the eastern burial chambers, where the queen and other royal ladies are buried, and the setting sun sends molten gold jigsaw shapes across the west-facing starry-patterned floor. At each corner of the octagonal chamber, light filters in through three sets of separate carved screens, creating a somber dappled light.

The building is known as the "dormitory of the Mughals", as, beneath the massive plinth, hundreds of later royals lie buried. Each archway marks a burial chamber.
The complex contains 3000 meters of hand-chiseled sandstone water channels, pathways, fountains, several other beautiful tombs and a mosque. The Mughal garden is an earthly reflection of Paradise, divided into orderly quadrants, sectioned by sparkling running water in channels and water chutes and fountains, and ornamented by favoured trees and shrubs, cypress, neem, fig and other fruit trees, and flowering shrubs like jasmine.

The engineering entailed to manage the smooth flow of water by gravity from end to end of the 30 acre garden is mind-boggling. When the Aga Khan foundation undertook the extensive restoration project, much stonework, cleaning, and channel repair was required, but correction of the original water levels of the garden channels was minimal.

The peace and quiet in the garden is sublime.

Many residents of our neighbourhood enjoy early morning walks in the garden.

coming next; more about the restoration work, and other buildings in the complex

jungly heat and humidity

noreply@blogger.com (Andree) — Mon, 03 Sep 2007 15:07:00 +0000

Delhi in maximum jungly heat and humidity.

Jungle (detail) by Andrée, watercolour and pastel

Delhi is extremely hot and humid right now. The monsoon is almost over, and after the cooling rain and clouds comes the blazing-sun-out steamer effect. Insect life (and other organisms) are in full glory, the trees and plants are fresh-bathed and flourishing, and one is soaked in sweat from the least activity. It is all gloriously GREEN. And damp.

It is mating season for peacocks, fanning their tails and filling the air with their clarion honks.

Here is the morning view from my window at Ninder Mahal, our castle in Rajasthan. Nature's most extravagant creature,

how did the peacock get designed thus? Over-the-top colour,

pattern, shine and glitter. A great National Bird for India.

I found a giant grasshopper last week at Ninder Mahal, sipping nectar by night on the Queen of the Night bush. The length of my longest finger, maybe 6", a King of Grasshoppers he was, and the most pop-art design you can imagine; chrome yellow and bright blue rings end to end! Just like a hallucination, or Alice in Wonderland. Then the details; delicate irridescent glassy wings, shaded yellow through coppery red, tiny sketched lines along legs, and stripey ringed antenna, and buggy blue eyes. The King was slowly picking up each tubular flower in both "hands", and sipping it back, as from a chalice. After a while he began to eat them slowly, like cucumbers.

(more about Ninder Mahal next post)

Monsoon Winds

noreply@blogger.com (Andree) — Tue, 28 Aug 2007 08:02:00 +0000

Here comes a string of Tales, and lots of pictures, from the Belly of Delhi.

I will start with the view off my balcony,
during an afternoon rainstorm.
The big tree thrashing about is a NEEM tree.
Hundreds of birds visit it daily,
don't you wonder where they all are hiding now?

music; Shiv Kumar Sharma, of Kashmir