My Way Is The Highway

Injected Impurity

Walking in the general direction of the Intihuatana at Machu Picchu trailing our rather attractive Quechua guide, we had to climb up a few steps The ancient 15th century Inkan artisans have repeatedly and cleverly blended natural rock formations into building structures (as you can see in this picture). A sprawling rock has been converted into a tiny staircase. 

Yet, how inexplicable is the disparity of attention provided to the steps on the left – nicely detailed and finished – and to the one on the right – rough hewn and incomplete.

Why did the artisan stop when he are almost there? Budget cut? Reprioritization?

Will we ever know?

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Here is the profusely decorated south wall of the Chennakeshava Temple in Belur.  Right in the middle of the frame, notice a glaring 5 X 3 space of schist left raw?

Why?

A space assigned to a famous (popular?) sculptor who could not finish it (accident/death?). A now forgotten compulsion (contractual/superstition/cultural sensitivity?) that did not allow another artisan to complete it?

Or should one believe a story of supreme confidence that the space was left blank as a challenge to other artists of unknown generations to try and better the art on the surrounding walls? Or one of servile humility silently agreeing that perfection can only be attained by God? I will never know.

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On a different note, I encountered these steps while climbing up to the ballekilla – the fort within the fort - of the 17th century Pratapgad in Maharashtra. You can see two sets. One is 360 years old. The second has been laid less than 15 years ago.

One is beautifully intact, the other in tatters. I am sure you know which is which.

Hampi Bazaar...

 

The sky was still on fire, like the muscles in my legs, as we climbed down Matanga

We entered the Hampi Bazaar - dark and deserted. I shot one reflex frame. I knew the light was too low. I knew I should atleast stop walking while grabbing that frame. I knew it would look grainy later on. I cared less. I knew the TZ1 could not capture what the eye of my mind saw.

500 years ago, this must have been what Champs-Élysées was just before the French revolution or the Sunset Boulevard in LA today is. Rows of bright wicker lamps burning animal fat lighting the place up. A shop in every stall. Fresh vegetables selling next to Sri Lankan pearls. Finest goat ribs next to sharpest swords. Men and women on horse back, buying from 6 feet tall stalls (and one would think America invented drive-thru). A hawker shooing away a truant. An unshod child scattering a chicken flock. A widow in white hurrying towards the Vitthala temple. A nervous boy eyeing a pretty girl in a bright duppatta across the street. A royalty strolling under a gold laced umbrella.

Hubbub. Chaos. Aroma. Dust. Every sensory organ invaded.

I did not look at the LCD screen to see what I had captured. I would rather live in the present. 500 years ago.

Matanga Hill, Hampi

 

Beer or sunset ?

The prevalent debate as we walk through the 500 year old Hampi Bazaar - once famed for selling diamonds and rubies in the open - today being reused, quite pragmatically, as a police station, a travel agent, a grocer and such.

Actually, I thought it is quite a non-debate.

After a long, tiring day in 110 degree F will a dull consistent ache in every perceivable muscle and with ruin-fatigue starting to setting in,  there was no doubt in my mind that we should be climbing the 200 steep steps up Matanga hill, that would take us 110m above terra firma, to catch the sunset. 

The call was right. After all, we still guzzled gallon of ice cold amber later.

The sequence could not have been reversed.