Stones And Stoned – Marijuana And Mahabalipuram

“Ours is a highly popular hotel among foreigners.”

Delivered as a last ditch attempt his statement struck me as a bolt from blue. Unheard of, unread anywhere, his well-rehearsed winning pitch overpowered me and as my mind gave up its resistances it watched itself caught in the snare of a voyeur.

---

“Want rooms?” The tout latched on to me as soon as I alighted from the bus at Mahabalipuram (at present called Mamallapuram).

“Sea facing! Very cheap!” and blurted out a ridiculously low amount.

I was tempted. I must confess but not wanting to repeat my Agra experience dismissed him derisively.

That was in the early 90s. We were a bunch of friends, rookies in college, and picking up an assortment of two-wheelers rode all the way from Delhi to Agra. Looking for accommodation that would be little on the low side we had checked into this particular hotel promised by the agent not just to be singularly affordable, but also, amongst others, a reinvigorating round-the-clock view of the Taj Mahal.

Checking into the dingy room after completing the payment formalities even though we hadn’t entered the precincts with any high hopes but running over the dust laden walls, dilapidated houses and dishevelled streets when our eyes finally settled on the meagre curve of the glistening marble dome and the spire in the backdrop of the rumbling sky, even after discounting the hard-sell, it was not even one percent of the term tantalising.

Mahabalipuram – Mamallapuram – Hooked

Rains of the night before had turned the pothole filled main road into a tarmac of cesspools – it’s one nook occupied by the bus stand. Filled with sweating bodies seeking reprieve from the singeing equatorial sun, the shed, impenetrable by the fiery light overhead in the sky looked like a gouged eye socket hunkering for respite.

From the centre of the town, roughly coterminous with where I stood, major monuments were within 10-minute walking distance.

“With a few non-descript places to stay,” I had found out while devouring the Lonely Planet guide, “that’s where I had wanted to put up.”

“Ours is a highly popular hotel among foreigners.”

Delivered as a last ditch attempt, his statement struck me as a bolt from blue. Unheard of, unread anywhere, his well-rehearsed winning pitch overpowered me and as my mind gave up its resistances it watched itself caught in the snare of a voyeur.

Taking a seat by his side in an auto-rickshaw – which he lost no time in hailing – its grunt amplified by the narrow cemented alley weaving through outer walls of the houses, it bared a world far removed from the splendorous temple architecture, which represented the first stage in the development of the monolithic Dravidian style with its signature tall Gopurams (Gateways). Majority of the population derived their livelihood from fishing and were poor.

“The road,” breaking the awkward silence, forestalled by the lack of ability to speak each other’s mother tongue – that is Tamil for him and Hindi in my case – he informs, “is a short-cut.”

Another approach from the main market side is littered up with restaurants and kiosks enticing the foreign visitors with souvenirs and flapping cotton pyjamas and tops, they prefer to flutter around in the oppressing heat. Indian travellers, who opt for a day trip from Chennai, 60km seldom stay overnight, and hence do not count much for the town’s sustenance.

Mahabalipuram – Mamallapuram – Dazed

Even otherwise, Mahabalipuram is at best a one-day town – max two, if you really want to stretch it. But if you have other interests, local life or sculptures, for example, or if you desire to explore India’s “high” like many who lodge here, then lodgings in the cheap seaside fishing village is what you should get.

I find it strange that most of the spots in India that have turned out to be high-decibel locations are also places where grass, marijuana, hash or pot, call it by any name, are easily available. Khajuraho, Goa, Dharamshala, Pushkar, Manali, Mahabalipuram.

Entering the hotel sultry in a tang of weed and beer and whiskey and rum, the tout unhinges himself and leaves me with the Tamil manager who is fluent in English, German and French. While he jots down my particulars the gilded certificates of recommendations by Lonely Planet and others hanging on the wall recently white-washed at the opposite end of his tiny reception draw me towards them and answering in monosyllables chuckle that I had made a choice I won’t regret.

The hotel dons a neat look. Its sparse ambiance impart it a charm better than what I had expected at the price. Though a bit haphazard in construction – perhaps it was a house hastily converted into a hotel to cash on the Mahabalipuram craze – it felt cosy. And homely.

Led by the boy climbing two flights of constricted steep stairs, I make way carefully skirting foreigners, squatting on the floor in the narrow passage overlooking a courtyard, wearing bare minimum to beat the oppressive heat and humidity, their backs against the doors, both men and women, some still in daze at 3 in the evening.

Mahabalipuram – Mamallapuram – Waves

They greet me with a smile and a slow nod of head as I tread carefully on the slippery floor to my room on the first floor. Watching their attire, a motley blend of gaudily coloured lungi (sarong), shorts, vests and unbuttoned shirts, make me conscious of what I wear and felt, as if I was a man who, not long ago, has landed from Mars.

“I shouldn’t have come,” I brood sitting inside my Spartan accommodation while taking stock of my place. Perhaps I was overwhelmed and do not take the thought further. Diverting my attention towards the sea, I was glad that I could not only hear the Bay of Bengal’s roaring waves and watch it embracing the sky from the roof-top dining area, but, and it came as a consolation, that the beach was hardly 50 metres away from the back door.

A hurried cup of tea, after which, I make my haste towards the coast. Hundreds of wooden boats moored at the shore. Hundreds were out in the sea, having set off early in the morning for fishing’s never-ending grind, and will return when the sun, the sea and the sky basking in each other’s arms, would spread a deceitful romantic aura silhouetting their skiffs in an orangish-red glow. Amongst a few fishermen who did not venture out engaged in a laborious task of mending their nylon nets.

On my right at the far end a stone and mud embankment jut out into the sea. Breaking the waves to prevent the lashing ocean currents from eating into the foundation of the AD 8th century Shore Temple, which along with the Kailashnath Temple at Kanchipuram, occupy the pinnacle of the architectural aspirations of the Pallavas, a c. 8th century dynasty of prolific temple builders in South India, their realm roughly coterminous with the present Tamil Nadu.

Mahabalipuram – Mamallapuram – Stones

Situated on the mouth of the now bone-dry Palar River where it pours into the Bay of Bengal, Mahabalipuram, during the Pallava reign, was an important trading centre and a seaport from where the ships, apart from engaging in robust trade with Southeast Asia, also exported much of the Hindu and Buddhist influences – Kalaraipayattu, a traditional martial art from Kerala that blossomed into karate in the far east, for example – in the region.

Commerce brought them riches, which bought them leisure, and as the eyes of the ambitious Pallavas fell on the vast expanse of low-lying granite hills it whetted their creativity and ignited their passion and found expression in free-standing rock architecture.

Cleaving their first independent rock temples, apart from gouging others into the hills, the Pallava artisans, chiselling from top to bottom, carved what now counts as the masterpieces of world architecture and a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Shore Temple, Panch Rath Temple and Arjuna’s Penance are among the notable rock-hewn edifices. Measuring 27m x 9m Arjuna’s Penance is the world’s largest bas-relief. In its effort to showcase the creation it features gods, demi-gods, men, beasts and birds, including a meditating cat worshipped by rats at its feet. Panch Rath – five chariots in English – is a group of monolithic temples, each one of them cleaved in a different style.

Various cave shrines that include Mahisasurmardini and Varaha temples occupy the hillock close to the bus stand. A lighthouse at the top provides a splendid view of the countryside but photography, since it is located in the vicinity of Kalpakkam nuclear plant, is not permitted.

Mahabalipuram – Mamallapuram – Stoned

Walking on the ridge past the Krishna’s Butterball, a precariously perched monolithic granite sphere that God knows why does not tumble down; a raucous laughter and gay conversation lead me towards a clump of trees at its foot. As I get closer tiptoeing shards of beer, whiskey and rum bottles, a strong waft of marijuana hits me. The language is accented and in English.

Later, talking to one of the uniformed ASI guards, Nagendra, he is at pains to explain. “Every time I smell something fishy, I drive them out. But every other moment they return.” He speaks with a mien that is both hurt and amused.

“It’s a large area that I can’t be present everywhere.”

As I leave thanking him for the cold drink – he turned out from my home town and insisted on hospitality – he adds, “You won’t believe! They stay here like this for months together.”

Photos: Anand Jha