#3 Postcards from Kalimpong: Cultural Gradients

My parents recently had an argument about which places they like travelling to. My mother loves the mountains, the sea and anything green. She reminisced of our time in Goa, when she stood by the rain at the sea, at Sikkim, when we caught our first glimpses of towering snowy peaks and at Kodaikanal, when we sat by a quiet lake teeming with insect life. My father said he liked the exact opposite. He loved the churches with stained glass windows, old temple ruins that remained unvisited, and art galleries that were filled with paintings and cultural artefacts. They looked to me for an answer. I found it difficult to choose.

As a child I didn't find the appeal of nature as novel. I used to think that since nature exists everywhere, like the plants in my garden and trees in my city, we need not seek it elsewhere. Only as I grow older, am I able to appreciate the grandeur of natural wonder. The intimidating peaks and the endless ocean tell a story that can only be found at that space at that point in time. It is not going to be the same the next time I visit it. The bluish green swathes of Ganga tell a perennial story and so do the waves crashing violently on the rocks at Kanyakumari. Nowadays, I am also able to enjoy it irrespective of scale. I could be sitting at my garden, or in the mountains in Kodaikanal or the Himalayas itself. It fulfils me. As with culture, I find it transformative. Seeing a work of art helps me connect with other humans, irrespective of the time they existed in. It becomes a common bridge of the things we felt. It is remarkable that we were able to create spaces and artefacts capable of evoking different emotions, and displaying our inner selves. That being said, art also dresses up as propaganda in multiple contexts. Art hides behind labour. Much of art dismisses itself from responsibilities. My travels have taught me these aspects as well. Reading into the context of where art is placed, its history, the influences, whom it is hidden from, how it is maintained - observing these characteristics tell the whole story. In these ways, both nature and culture, while we travelled around Kalimpong, led to moments of complete awe and surprise.

Our itinerary was interspersed with visits to cultural spaces as well as immersing ourselves in natural wonder. Most were serendipitous. The person who drove us around sightseeing, Sukhraj ji - was the most patient driver ever. He would never rush us to any touristy places but allow us to stop the car wherever we wanted. If we caught sight of some enormous clouds or a signboard to an old cave temple, we would stop by to stare at or peek in to visit. We spent the first day going to places near Kalimpong town. We first visited Deol park, a grassy park with long walkways and nice view points. At the highest part of the steep incline, there were spectacular views of the mountains on one side and the river on the other. Tall pines lined the grassy patches that were bathing themselves in the warm sun. If this was anywhere else, it would've been dismissed as a regular park, but the mountainous landscape with the temperate trees added flair to it. We dutifully began our shopping at a small stall inside; Kriti had spotted an ornately printed yellow mug and bought us a pair. We would continue with our obsession of ceramics for the days to come.

We visited many monasteries in and around Kalimpong. Some of them were locked, and most of them empty. Monasteries are peaceful and colourful spaces. I forget the name of each of them but remember what was special about each. All monastery complexes stood out with their gardens filled with bountiful roses. Brightly coloured roses of humongous sizes flaunted their beauty to the visitors, competing with the colourful paintings inside. The earthy tones of the vibrant colour shades of the paintings on the wall comforted me while not dulling the dark interiors.

In the Tharpa Choling monastery complex accompanied by a large museum and library, we found painted tapestries, engraved documents, photographs and possessions of the Rinpoche who founded it. In the museum was a driver's license. A ration card. A picture of a dashing young Dalai Lama at 17. A picture of him at age 4. Crafts made from wood and stone. Hats of different sizes. A monk showed us around the museum and asked us to write our feedback in the visitor's notebook. He told us to write in the language of our mother tongue. I wrote a few sentences with an unsteady hand. We skimmed through the racks of the library and found books about flora and fauna in Sikkim. There were historical and religious texts wrapped in coloured cloth and engraved on rectangular wooden blocks. In the modern book sections, we even found a copy of the Communist manifesto. Later, we sat down in the vacant hall of the monastery, and discussed the French Revolution. The smell of wood, old cloth, and incense soothed our effervescent minds.

An engraved printmaker, murals and colourful interiors of the monastery.

For lunch, we stopped by the beautiful Cafe Kalimpong. I love mountain cafes because they overlook the clouds and a vast layered emptiness. The view keeps constantly shifting as the clouds move; you can stay at your table for hours and never be bored. We sipped on some first flush tea, and I munched on chicken. Their chocolate berliner was absolutely scrumptious. After our meal, we walked down the road to the nearby Kalimpong market - a bustling center lined with shops selling goods like clothing and spices. It was the evening, and the sun was almost setting. We entered a shop with shelves laced with ceramic cutlery. Some of the mugs and plates were flowing out of the cardboard boxes kept on the floor. It was crammed with no more than four customers and yet there was little space to breathe. Since I had travelled to Sikkim the year before, I had gotten my share of souvenirs for all my friends. It was Kriti's first time visiting. She launched on an impossible mission - to get different printed cups of similar size for all of her friends. As she made her choice between the slew of shapes and colours, I managed to find a small stool and sit next to the cardboard boxes surrounded by cutlery. She finished shopping and struck up a conversation with the owners. He was suggesting that we visit a place nearby if we were interested in history. For me, my day was done. However, we loved detours. A historical one, we'd be the first to sign up. Oblivious to our cab driver who was waiting for us in the market and was on a strict time schedule for returning, we walked towards the mystery place for a couple miles and discovered an incredible find.

A grand sight greeted us at the entrance. My eyes struggled to frame it in a moment. A sea of purple washed over the sky as we looked up to a flowering jacaranda tree blooming in its full glory. There were no leaves but only flowers. The purple facade extended around, enveloping the building below. The ground was strewn with purple flowers, and it felt like we had entered another world. We were visiting a church that the owner had suggested. The St. Theresa's Church was built in 1929 by Swiss Jesuit missionaries mimicking the style of a Buddhist Gompa. Shaped like the Gompa or central hall in a monastery, the square building follows the architectural style of the region. With double decked tilted roofs, rising above like a pagoda, the interiors of the church have wooden walls and flooring. The wooden panelling on the underside of the roof also followed traditional Buddhist reliefs, painted in similar primary hues. Imagery of Jesus, Mary or the apostles are drawn in the styles of Buddhist religious figurines. Jesus resembles Buddha himself, and Mary resembles a female figure like Tara. The apostles seem to be drawn in the likeliness of Buddhist monks, clad in a single wrapped cloth with shaved heads. The paintings inside and around the church depicted stories from the Bible, the styles representing the vibrant colours used in paintings within monasteries. The details were fascinating, and the paintings looked original and inventive. They didn't have an animated representation but stood on their own as unique pieces of art.

Paintings depicting Jesus, Mary, the apostles and stories of Resurrection.

Interior and Exterior of the Church, with elements inspired by local architectural styles and Buddhist motifs.

Overlapping of cultural styles is not new. It is a wonderous discovery every time, and the stories are fascinating nevertheless, but we can find instances of it dotted across every landscape. Colourful cultural gradients.

Similar to how in churches in Kanyakumari, Mother Mary is equated to the Goddess Kanyakumari Amman and how the first built churches and dargahs in Kerala followed local architectural styles, the Buddhist drawings in a catholic church show how local culture was assimilated to spread beliefs. This was an easy and foolproof method of incorporating people into a strange religion. It also shows the power of motifs and symbols in assisting beliefs. Art becomes a useful tool of familiarising communities with new values by merging their old values by creating something novel and dynamic to serve their purpose. I remember a story that I read in my History class, that when the Portuguese first reached the shore of Kerala, they were shocked to see Christians living in the foreign land. Syrian Orthodox christians had a different set of beliefs and questioned the European Catholics who the Pope was! I recently read another story (of historical fiction) where Christian fishermen in the villages of Tamil Nadu secretly went and worshipped the temple goddess to be safe at sea because they failed to believe that the sharks and dangerous fish would be afraid of Mother Mary since she's too kind. The goddess with her big scary eyes would scare away danger easier than the gentle Mary could.

These stories are evidence that culture is as amorphous as one could be. Even structured, centralized institutions ruling with an iron fist have to bend to whimsical fancies at times. Though their presence maybe felt as the same everywhere, individual preferences make subtle indents. Everyone can whip up something that's uniquely their own combination.

(to be continued)

----Swarna