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The Southernmost tip of India - not something one dreams of travelling to every now and then. But then, being brought up in a family that has led a nomadic life - or rather - being from an Air Force background - this wasn't much of a surprise.
So, when a day trip to Kanyakumari - which is barely 100kms from Trivandrum is planned - I wasn't excited - but surely looking forward to the trip - as any other.
Vivekananda Rock
I had been to Kanyakumari some time back - well - that is 16 years back - if you can call that some time.
And all I could remember of that trip - was Vivekananda Rock.
That is all I knew was Kanyakumari.
That is what I still know of Kanyakumari.
Even though the trip comprised of much more than Vivekananda Rock, it is Vivekanda rock and the sea-side breeze of the place that has still stuck with me after the journey.
The newly constructed Thiruvalluvar Statue and the town-side shops of Kanyakumari are an added bonus. But it was the Vivekananda Rock that had me stumped.
Padmanabhapuram Palace, Suchindram Temple et al
The Padmanabhapuram Palace although not in Kanyakumari is a must see for anybody going to Kanyakumari.
So too is the Suchindram Temple.
Though I must caution anybody planning a visit to the temple to be prudent in deciding the itinerary for their journey. For all the effort, you may find the temple closed because you didn't know the temple timings - and be satisfied with the photograph of the temple entrance. :D
The Padmanabhapuram Palace - is in India - though many may think otherwise. And if you were to believe all the hogwash of the guides in the Palace, nothing like this has been been built - ever before in India - leading one all the more to doubt its origins.
A Final Word
Those who are visiting Kerala/Tamil Nadu for the first time are advised to play it easy on their cameras. For you wouldn't wish to post photographs on blogs just because multiple shots of the same mountain had been taken at multiple instances of time.
Those who are visiting Kerala/Tamil Nadu for the first time are advised to play it easy on their cameras. For you wouldn't wish to post photographs on blogs just because multiple shots of the same mountain had been taken at multiple instances of time.
And this - was taken - specifically for Jazzonomics.
And if my esteemed readers don't mind, will be posted at the end of all posts henceforth.
Insults or complaints or bricks
Stilled the frogs determination
To display his heart's elation.
But one night a nightingale
In the moonlight cold and pale
Perched upon the sumac tree
Casting forth her melody
Dumbstruck sat the gaping frog
And the whole admiring bog
Stared towards the sumac, rapt,
And, when she had ended, clapped.
Ducks had swum and herons waded
To her as she serenaded
And a solitary loon
Wept, beneath the summer moon.
Toads and teals and tiddlers, captured
By her voice, cheered on, enraptured:
“Bravo!” “Too divine!” “Encore!”
So the nightingale once more,
Quite unused to such applause,
Sang till dawn without a pause.
Next night when the Nightingale
Shook her head and twitched her tail,
Closed an eye and fluffed a wing
And had cleared her throat to sing
She was startled by a croak.
“Sorry – was that you who spoke?”
She enquired when the frog
Hopped towards her from the bog.
“Yes,” the frog replied. “You see,
I'm the frog who owns this tree
In this bog I've long been known
For my splendid baritone
And, of course, I wield my pen
For Bog Trumpet now and then”
“Did you… did you like my song?”
“Not too bad – but far too long.
The technique was fine of course,
But it lacked a certain force”.
“Oh!” the nightingale confessed.
Greatly flattered and impressed
That a critic of such note
Had discussed her art and throat:
“I don't think the song's divine.
But – oh, well – at least it's mine”.
“That's not much to boast about”.
Said the heartless frog. “Without
Proper training such as I-
And few others can supply.
You'll remain a mere beginner.
But with me you'll be a winner”
“Dearest frog”, the nightingale
Breathed: “This is a fairy tale –
And you are Mozart in disguise
Come to earth before my eyes”.
“Well I charge a modest fee.”
“Oh!” “But it won't hurt, you'll see”
Now the nightingale inspired,
Flushed with confidence, and fired
With both art and adoration,
Sang – and was a huge sensation.
Animals for miles around
Flocked towards the magic sound,
And the frog with great precision
Counted heads and charged admission.
Though next morning it was raining,
He began her vocal training.
“But I can't sing in this weather”
“Come my dear – we'll sing together.
Just put on your scarf and sash,
Koo-oh-ah! ko-ash! ko-ash!”
So the frog and nightingale
Journeyed up and down the scale
For six hours, till she was shivering
and her voice was hoarse and quivering.
Though subdued and sleep deprived,
In the night her throat revived,
And the sumac tree was bowed,
With a breathless, titled crowd:
Owl of Sandwich, Duck of Kent,
Mallard and Milady Trent,
Martin Cardinal Mephisto,
And the Coot of Monte Cristo,
Ladies with tiaras glittering
In the interval sat twittering –
And the frog observed them glitter
With a joy both sweet and bitter.
Every day the frog who'd sold her
Songs for silver tried to scold her:
“You must practice even longer
Till your voice, like mine grows stronger.
In the second song last night
You got nervous in mid-flight.
And, my dear, lay on more trills:
Audiences enjoy such frills.
You must make your public happier:
Give them something sharper snappier.
We must aim for better billings.
You still owe me sixty shillings.”
Day by day the nightingale
Grew more sorrowful and pale.
Night on night her tired song
Zipped and trilled and bounced along,
Till the birds and beasts grew tired
At a voice so uninspired
And the ticket office gross
Crashed, and she grew more morose -
For her ears were now addicted
To applause quite unrestricted,
And to sing into the night
All alone gave no delight.
Now the frog puffed up with rage.
“Brainless bird – you're on the stage –
Use your wits and follow fashion.
Puff your lungs out with your passion.”
Trembling, terrified to fail,
Blind with tears, the nightingale
Heard him out in silence, tried,
Puffed up, burst a vein, and died.
Said the frog: “I tried to teach her,
But she was a stupid creature –
Far too nervous, far too tense.
Far too prone to influence.
Well, poor bird – she should have known
That your song must be your own.
That's why I sing with panache:
“Koo-oh-ah! ko-ash! ko-ash!”
And the foghorn of the frog
Blared unrivalled through the bog.