In search of myself...

It was almost eight when we reached Dharmastala - a town known for benevolence. It is located in one of the most scenic spots in the Western Ghats on the banks of the river Nethravathi. Interestingly, the administration here is run by Jains and the poojas are performed by Madhva priests. The Lingam is made from gold and there is no police force in the town. Tradition goes that the entire town is guarded by the deity ( Lord Manjunatheshwara ). Devotees believe that nothing could be taken possession of, by humans, in the sacred town. Not even stone. A massive dining facility run by the temple administration serves food to more than ten thousand devotees a day - free of cost! Besides just this, the administration also runs charitable educational institutions and hospitals. Mass weddings are conducted every year to aid families that can't afford marriages of their own. Coming back, we had a great darshan and my father was in tears for an untold reason. I perceived them to be tears of

We drove along for sometime, bathing in the sweet memories of Halebeedu till the Belur Channakeshava temple brought us to firm footing again. From the outside, it looked forlorn and dilapidated. Inside, it is immortal. The skies had started pouring and we rushed into the sanctum sanctorum filled with darkness owing to a power failure. There stood the lord, his form illuminated from a solitary oil lamp, in all splendor, tall and dark and handsome (which is precisely why he is called " Channa-Keshava "). A sight to behold indeed! The sculptures here are second to none. Pillars with confounding carvings of Gods and Goddesses were not new to me anymore. What surprised me was a vacant area, very much the size of a human palm, on one of the pillars. I learned from someone there that the spot was deliberately left vacant by the sculptor, " Amara Shilpi Jakanachari" , who openly challenged anyone to come forward and fill that spot with anything that he had failed to carve.

I pushed everyone aside to get a good glimpse of the art. From the word go, I began shooting pictures. This is where destiny showed its game. The batteries were totally drained out and I could click no more. I had to be content with the camera on my mobile for the rest of the time. As far as my ability with words extends, I shall try to explain what I saw. The plan is star-shaped for spatial economy. Maximum carvings on minimum built-up area is the intent. The lower portion of the outer walls had carvings of elephants, lions and horses. There are 1248 elephants carved and no two resemble each other. I have no words to explain the intricacies of the sculpture. Besides these, there are carvings of important incidents from Hindu mythology. Each sculpture seemed more enchanting than the previous. A carving of the dancing 'Mohini' (the lady incarnation of Lord Vishnu) spiked me up. The posture of has been depicted, incorporating the most trivial details. If one observed this picture

We drove further between what seemed an endless stretch of trees until we found inhabitation. We had reached my father's birthplace, a village called Salagame in Hassan district. This place is very close to the Master Control Facility (MCF), from where satellites launched from SHAR are controlled. After spending a few minutes there, we drove to Halebeedu ( pronounced ha-lay-bee-do) , one of the two homes of sculpture marvels in the south. I had heard people glorify this place like nothing else. My mom would force me into trying to recollect incidents on my previous trip to Halebeedu, when I was three years old. According to her, I had visited the place and should have remembered everything about it. I descended from the bus at one end of a long path with lawns on either side that led to a wet monument. People heading inside towards the monument looked anxious and those coming out looked spellbound. All this amused me, for I thought stone carvings were best found at Mahabalipuram an

My previous trip with a large number of relatives was during my thread ceremony in 1999. Those were some of my most pleasurable moments in life. I was eagerly looking forward to another. The boon was granted on the 30th of June, 2007. We started our journey westward from Bangalore on that chilly morning. We were 25 in all and I had jumped to catch the window seat in the last row, much to the displeasure of a herd of younger cousins. In such issues, I am smaller than the smallest kid. The digital camera was put to full use, for I clicked away to glory at everything interesting I saw, once we had reached the outskirts of Bangalore. There was nothing outside that I could draw my sight away from. I kept staring at those large mountain ranges silhouetted against thick, dark clouds, bearing life-giving water. The roads wore a lovely dark gray tint and the trees on either side had gone into their darkest shades of brown and green, thanks to the monsoon. It was a contrasting change, for Bang