Kasturi Kannadada Nammooru
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(Sachin wrote about Bombay in his blog and invited his readers to write about their cities and so.....)
"Kasturi kannadada nammooru" is a line from a song from an old Kannada movie. It refers to Mysore, the "home of Kannada", and Kannada itself is compared to the exquisite, aromatic (and rare?) Kasturi, or Musk. And Mysore is my home.
Chamundi hills as seen from across the kukkarahalli tank in Mysore
Having said that, the lines that really remind me of Mysore nowadays are those from the American serial of the 80s,'Cheers'.
"Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name
And they are always glad you came"
Because that is exactly what I feel when I go to Mysore. Mysore is not a town. It is and has been for a long time, a city. It was after all the capital of the princely state of the same name, the home of the Kings of Mysore, the home of the first University in what is now Karnataka, and the cultural capital of the state. But it has retained one characteristic of a small town: In Mysore, people know each other. Once when visiting Delhi, to prove the point to a friend, I had posted a letter with just my father's name and the pin code written on it and and it had reached him.
The moment I arrive on the railway platform in Bangalore central station I recognize a few Mysoreans. Throughout my stay, I meet people who have known me from childhood, and who make me feel as if seeing me was the best thing that happenend to them in recent days. The morning after I arrive, I go to the neighbouring Kukkarahalli tank for a walk. My parents warn me not to take too long, standing around talking to everyone I meet. And sure enough, I meet my old doctor, a friend's mother, my father's friend...., who greet me with 'Anu....! I knew it was you, even from that distance....when did you come..?" On the way back, I go to the Kannan shop on the next road, to be greeted with the warmest smile and "How are you, how is your son?" In the evening as I walk to a music concert the girl who sells flowers under the tree in the corner, calls out across the street "akka..chennaagideera?"(Sister, are you doing well?). In the concert hall, by the time the artists arrive, my jaws are aching due to all the smiles.
Early morning at kukkarahalli tank
I have a strong feeling that the Yellow pages have no use in Mysore. The paediatrician is your cousin. The dentist is the sweet and gentle young lady just round the corner. Have to get the compound repaired? Call your old friend, he got some work done just the other day and said they did an excellent job. Want to buy a new fridge? Another friend offers to take you to the new big showroom, her old student works there and will even get you a discount...... That is Mysore for you.
The interesting thing is that it was my anonymity in a new country that appealed to me most when I first went to live in Singapore. I could wear any weird dress and cut my hair any length. I could sit all alone in a cafe and sip my tea and read my book. I once walked from the mall to my house with my eyes closed and my six year old son leading me by the hand, just because he wanted to know how it worked. I would have felt rather awkward doing that in Mysore. Yet it is to bask in the warmth of familiarity that I wish to return to Mysore again and again.
Migratory birds on the island in the middle of the tank
I leave it to the tourist and the weekend visitor to describe the popular sights of the city. But when I close my eyes and think of Mysore what comes to mind is this: The smell of Jasmine and the peaceful summer evenings of my childhood; The sound of rain water on the coconut fronds and the "Oh why cant we bottle it?" smell of the earth; The lovely contrast of red gulmohars against the rain filled dark grey clouds; the most glorious colours of the sky as I walk towards the sunset from Kuvempunagar; the bright translucent yellow of the hundreds of fallen flowers on swimming pool road, as the rays of the setting sun streaks through them; The first glimpse of the Chamundi hills in the distance as the train approaches Mysore which brings a lump to my throat - well, that is my Mysore.
(Sachin wrote about Bombay in his blog and invited his readers to write about their cities and so.....)
"Kasturi kannadada nammooru" is a line from a song from an old Kannada movie. It refers to Mysore, the "home of Kannada", and Kannada itself is compared to the exquisite, aromatic (and rare?) Kasturi, or Musk. And Mysore is my home.
Chamundi hills as seen from across the kukkarahalli tank in MysoreHaving said that, the lines that really remind me of Mysore nowadays are those from the American serial of the 80s,'Cheers'.
"Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name
And they are always glad you came"
Because that is exactly what I feel when I go to Mysore. Mysore is not a town. It is and has been for a long time, a city. It was after all the capital of the princely state of the same name, the home of the Kings of Mysore, the home of the first University in what is now Karnataka, and the cultural capital of the state. But it has retained one characteristic of a small town: In Mysore, people know each other. Once when visiting Delhi, to prove the point to a friend, I had posted a letter with just my father's name and the pin code written on it and and it had reached him.
The moment I arrive on the railway platform in Bangalore central station I recognize a few Mysoreans. Throughout my stay, I meet people who have known me from childhood, and who make me feel as if seeing me was the best thing that happenend to them in recent days. The morning after I arrive, I go to the neighbouring Kukkarahalli tank for a walk. My parents warn me not to take too long, standing around talking to everyone I meet. And sure enough, I meet my old doctor, a friend's mother, my father's friend...., who greet me with 'Anu....! I knew it was you, even from that distance....when did you come..?" On the way back, I go to the Kannan shop on the next road, to be greeted with the warmest smile and "How are you, how is your son?" In the evening as I walk to a music concert the girl who sells flowers under the tree in the corner, calls out across the street "akka..chennaagideera?"(Sister, are you doing well?). In the concert hall, by the time the artists arrive, my jaws are aching due to all the smiles.
Early morning at kukkarahalli tankI have a strong feeling that the Yellow pages have no use in Mysore. The paediatrician is your cousin. The dentist is the sweet and gentle young lady just round the corner. Have to get the compound repaired? Call your old friend, he got some work done just the other day and said they did an excellent job. Want to buy a new fridge? Another friend offers to take you to the new big showroom, her old student works there and will even get you a discount...... That is Mysore for you.
The interesting thing is that it was my anonymity in a new country that appealed to me most when I first went to live in Singapore. I could wear any weird dress and cut my hair any length. I could sit all alone in a cafe and sip my tea and read my book. I once walked from the mall to my house with my eyes closed and my six year old son leading me by the hand, just because he wanted to know how it worked. I would have felt rather awkward doing that in Mysore. Yet it is to bask in the warmth of familiarity that I wish to return to Mysore again and again.
Migratory birds on the island in the middle of the tankI leave it to the tourist and the weekend visitor to describe the popular sights of the city. But when I close my eyes and think of Mysore what comes to mind is this: The smell of Jasmine and the peaceful summer evenings of my childhood; The sound of rain water on the coconut fronds and the "Oh why cant we bottle it?" smell of the earth; The lovely contrast of red gulmohars against the rain filled dark grey clouds; the most glorious colours of the sky as I walk towards the sunset from Kuvempunagar; the bright translucent yellow of the hundreds of fallen flowers on swimming pool road, as the rays of the setting sun streaks through them; The first glimpse of the Chamundi hills in the distance as the train approaches Mysore which brings a lump to my throat - well, that is my Mysore.
Labels: Mysore
posted by Anu @ 6:29 AM
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