I tried google maps on Manjeswar last night, and boy, was I amazed!
There is this small trail that I had seen branching off from the main-road, not far from my quarters. So unbecoming to the adventurer in me, I had not ventured down that path even once in my one month here so far. I had tried to do some exploring during the first week, but after having driven off a cliff, the road suddenly having ended into an open gorge while I was still cruising at 60, had more or less decided not to go on any more wild goose chases.
That might have been a mistake.
There is a river running through the village (brother who came down from Delhi last week helped me with that: the old part of town is more appropriately called a village, I have since decided), a shallow stretch of water meandering in between wide sand-banks, typical of a river in its final stages before joining the sea. In retrospect, I wonder how it could never have occurred to me that I should have a look down the road that led in the direction where the river might join the sea.
In Google maps' satellite imagery I saw that the narrow river that I had known was actually only one of three or four, that formed a common delta before leading onto the Arabian sea. Due to the peculiar course of the rivers joining with each other and the sea, the land was carved into a broken chain of islands arranged in a gigantic C shape, the open ends barely 50 feet from one another across the water, but separated by at least 15km if one was traveling by land.
I had to force myself not to get on the motorcycle and go over to the edge of the water then and there. I remember how a friend and I had once been sitting idly watching it rain outside our balcony at the medical college hostel one midnight, when just like that we felt like going to a water theme park near Kochi, that was supposedly the largest in Asia. I don't remember who originated the idea but we dug up some moth-eaten rain clothes (that did a very fine job of keeping us wet even after the rain had stopped many hours later) and started off in our two motorcycles to reach Kochi at around 6.30 in the morning, checked in to the cheapest hotel we could find, caught 2 hrs of sleep before going to the park. It is another story that we were both of us so NOT amused at being asked to step into a shallow pool of water smelling of urine, vomit and alcohol, with a bunch of school kids, and asked to imagine that we were having fun, all for Rs 350. Its just that when you have rode all night braving a thunderstorm and made it across 250km, your benchmark for what counts as adventure is slightly higher. I think theme parks are considered funny because, having paid for the entry ticket, people would better start imagining that they are having a good time!
The night passes, and early today morning I got on Old trusty and went down the narrow lane. It took me past the sand-mining banks and the fishing harbour, to end against a lane of boulders cutting across the road and continuing into the sea. Leaving the bike there and having climbed over the obstacles I found myself in a stretch of sand-bank, the edge of the 'C' that I had seen yesterday, the Arabian sea to my right, the combined pool of the four rivers on my left.
An infinite stretch of water: the rivers tranquil; the ocean, turbulent.
A little out into the sea, isolated boulders could be seen propping out of the surface, part of the chain of rocks. At one or two of the highest points, someone had put up a couple of green flags, signaling that, like me, the local Muslim fishermen also thought this place had the hand of God upon it.
The other shore appeared even more thinly inhabited, with no signs of commercial activity. It would be wonderful to swim across the channel to the other side, and may be set up a fire and spend the night there.
I just couldn't help wishing I had chanced upon this place while going down an unknown road, rather than having a satellite tell me what was practically on my own backyard!
Folks, try google maps around where you live. Who knows what we might find!
Showing posts with label Manjeswar. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Manjeswar. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Sunday, January 10, 2010
In the boots of a colonialist..
Manjeswar is the northern most point of the state of Kerala.
If you are the geographically minded sort, you'll notice that the place is situated well into Dakshina Kanara (Southern Karnataka), only 20km from the port city of Mangalore. Its at just about the same latitude as the city of Bangalore.
It is here that I have been posted to as the the medical officer, my first posting after the very eventful 60 or so months at the the Medical College at the other end of the state.
I have only been here a week, and am even now getting used to the slow pace of life, the food, the language, and of course, the ubiquitous burqa worn by most women of the majority Muslim community. I am trying to not feel too irritated having to treat someone who wouldn't show me the face. But then I have started noticing that not two of these robes are all alike, differentiated as they are by some embroidery here and a splash of colour there, and I know that the women were themselves waging a battle, even if they did not recognize it as such. I have a feeling that, for many of my burqa-clad patients, going to the hospital is just an excuse for a dash of fresh air, a stroll around the market, a visit to the beautician's. Who am I to grudge them that!
The food is another story. I have known before, during my days in Northern India, how food could be very communal. There were Hindu eateries as there were Muslim ones, and where one chose to dine could be a very political statement of loyalties. As a non-vegetarian family, as most keralites are, we used to go over to the muslim part of town for dinner, and I still remember how my friends in 9th std once told me I could either be a Hindu, or eat beef, but not be one and do the other. Fortunately, as far as I have seen, there is none of the moral posturing here, but the options are nonetheless stark: either an endless parade of dosas or else its the eateries around the mosque. At least that is the way it is in the old part of town.
Speaking of which, brings us to a bit more of local geography. Manjeswar (Manjeswaram in Malayalam) is essentially divided into two parts, what I shall henceforth refer to as the 'old town' and the 'new town'.
The old part of town is situated a couple of kms off the arterial Manglore-Cochin highway, and houses the important places of worship for both Muslims and Hindus, as also the govt offices: The hospital, the police station, Post Office and Telephone exchange, public works and the railway station, etc. And yet it is a throw-back to the seventies, with its narrow single-lane alleys where children play at all hours, the general slow pace of life, apathetic shop-keepers most of whom haven't even got name-boards. It is here that I work and live in the quarters of the Govt hospital, officially referred to as the Community Health Center, a first referral unit. The town branches off from the highway, cutting across the Mangalore-Cochin railway line which, for the most part, runs parallel to it, and then after nearly 10kms or so rejoins the highway, cutting back across the railway line. It is obvious that the old town was here before the now all-important road and rail networks developed and in their wake gave rise to the 'new town'- a bustling commercial area, and an upcoming suburb of Mangalore, with wide roads and well-maintained shops, right where the old town branches off the highway. This must have been a village in olden times and is called Hosangadi. Thus, here we have the Old and the New: The Old is uncorrupted by what is new, and the New, for its part, has un-apologetically severed ties with whatever is old.
But living as I am in the old town, the language is a maze if not a total mess. People speak Kannada, Tulu, Konkini, Marathi, and last, a bit of Malayalam and no English. I have picked a couple of words of Kannada already, but am adviced to be not too confident in my knowledge of the local language before ascertaining which among the local dialects I am dealing with: they say that often similar-sounding words have exactly opposite meanings in the different dialects. Already, at least on one occassion, I almost prescribed for someone with loose stools, drugs to stop vomiting. So much for learning the local language.
But, as the doctor, not many of whom are around, the onus is upon them rather than me. It is in the interest of the local people to see to it that I understand what they got to tell, or else they might get medicines that act at opposite ends of the body like above. Its the same story everywhere - be it the police station or the water authority or public works, I am sure we must have pure-blood Malayalees sitting in the smug confidence that they can never go wrong, simply because its up to the native population to ensure that we understand what they have in mind. This is where I feel like one of the colonial officers of the Raj, with whom Indians had to converse in bits and pieces of English. Of course, there is none of the motives of exploiting or subjugating the local population, nor is there talk of 'civilizing the savages'. Quite to the contrary, the govt of Kerala has gone out of its way to ensure proper services and facilities in this far-flung part. Haven't they even sent their best doctors here, after all!!
Not to forget the Royal Enfield motorcycle cruising through the narrow alleys of the old town to complete the picture.
If you are the geographically minded sort, you'll notice that the place is situated well into Dakshina Kanara (Southern Karnataka), only 20km from the port city of Mangalore. Its at just about the same latitude as the city of Bangalore.
It is here that I have been posted to as the the medical officer, my first posting after the very eventful 60 or so months at the the Medical College at the other end of the state.
I have only been here a week, and am even now getting used to the slow pace of life, the food, the language, and of course, the ubiquitous burqa worn by most women of the majority Muslim community. I am trying to not feel too irritated having to treat someone who wouldn't show me the face. But then I have started noticing that not two of these robes are all alike, differentiated as they are by some embroidery here and a splash of colour there, and I know that the women were themselves waging a battle, even if they did not recognize it as such. I have a feeling that, for many of my burqa-clad patients, going to the hospital is just an excuse for a dash of fresh air, a stroll around the market, a visit to the beautician's. Who am I to grudge them that!
The food is another story. I have known before, during my days in Northern India, how food could be very communal. There were Hindu eateries as there were Muslim ones, and where one chose to dine could be a very political statement of loyalties. As a non-vegetarian family, as most keralites are, we used to go over to the muslim part of town for dinner, and I still remember how my friends in 9th std once told me I could either be a Hindu, or eat beef, but not be one and do the other. Fortunately, as far as I have seen, there is none of the moral posturing here, but the options are nonetheless stark: either an endless parade of dosas or else its the eateries around the mosque. At least that is the way it is in the old part of town.
Speaking of which, brings us to a bit more of local geography. Manjeswar (Manjeswaram in Malayalam) is essentially divided into two parts, what I shall henceforth refer to as the 'old town' and the 'new town'.
The old part of town is situated a couple of kms off the arterial Manglore-Cochin highway, and houses the important places of worship for both Muslims and Hindus, as also the govt offices: The hospital, the police station, Post Office and Telephone exchange, public works and the railway station, etc. And yet it is a throw-back to the seventies, with its narrow single-lane alleys where children play at all hours, the general slow pace of life, apathetic shop-keepers most of whom haven't even got name-boards. It is here that I work and live in the quarters of the Govt hospital, officially referred to as the Community Health Center, a first referral unit. The town branches off from the highway, cutting across the Mangalore-Cochin railway line which, for the most part, runs parallel to it, and then after nearly 10kms or so rejoins the highway, cutting back across the railway line. It is obvious that the old town was here before the now all-important road and rail networks developed and in their wake gave rise to the 'new town'- a bustling commercial area, and an upcoming suburb of Mangalore, with wide roads and well-maintained shops, right where the old town branches off the highway. This must have been a village in olden times and is called Hosangadi. Thus, here we have the Old and the New: The Old is uncorrupted by what is new, and the New, for its part, has un-apologetically severed ties with whatever is old.
But living as I am in the old town, the language is a maze if not a total mess. People speak Kannada, Tulu, Konkini, Marathi, and last, a bit of Malayalam and no English. I have picked a couple of words of Kannada already, but am adviced to be not too confident in my knowledge of the local language before ascertaining which among the local dialects I am dealing with: they say that often similar-sounding words have exactly opposite meanings in the different dialects. Already, at least on one occassion, I almost prescribed for someone with loose stools, drugs to stop vomiting. So much for learning the local language.
But, as the doctor, not many of whom are around, the onus is upon them rather than me. It is in the interest of the local people to see to it that I understand what they got to tell, or else they might get medicines that act at opposite ends of the body like above. Its the same story everywhere - be it the police station or the water authority or public works, I am sure we must have pure-blood Malayalees sitting in the smug confidence that they can never go wrong, simply because its up to the native population to ensure that we understand what they have in mind. This is where I feel like one of the colonial officers of the Raj, with whom Indians had to converse in bits and pieces of English. Of course, there is none of the motives of exploiting or subjugating the local population, nor is there talk of 'civilizing the savages'. Quite to the contrary, the govt of Kerala has gone out of its way to ensure proper services and facilities in this far-flung part. Haven't they even sent their best doctors here, after all!!
Not to forget the Royal Enfield motorcycle cruising through the narrow alleys of the old town to complete the picture.
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