Nisha’s instruction was clear and simple: go and look for Caucasian rugs. My search led me to the warehouse of Memet Bozbay, an affable Kurdish carpet trader, whom I had led to believe that I was a professional buyer. He pulled out heaps of Armenian, Kurdish and Kazak rugs, many characterised by bold colours, high piles, and unusual motifs. Gesturing to one of them he commented, “And here, again, you can see the typical Caucasian dragon motif.”

I scanned the carpet’s field expecting to find a flamboyant dragon spewing fire, but I couldn’t make out anything at all resembling a dragon or a serpent. In the centre of the carpet there was, however, an interesting form that appeared somewhat insect-like. “You mean this thing in the middle that looks like a cockroach?” I asked innocently. The dealer gave me a puzzled look and hesitated to respond—he must have been struggling to determine whether my question was sarcastic, or prompted by sheer cretinism.

This is how it started… Dragon, crab, or roast chicken?

This was one of those moments when my abject ignorance of the finer things in life was mercilessly exposed yet again, akin to the time when the wine-tasting instructor had said that a particular merlot displayed “aromas of currant and coffee, with complex flavours of cinnamon, plum, and cedar that finish with firm but mature tannins”, whereas I couldn’t help thinking that it tasted a bit like cough syrup.

After the awkward episode at the carpet dealer’s, it was high time to educate myself on the basics of carpet semiotics, with the help of a few books and the oracle of our times—the Internet. After some searching I discovered that the motif that had revealed my lack of erudition represented neither a cockroach nor a dragon, but the scarab beetle, a common motif in Caucasian and Persian tribal rugs, especially Qashqai rugs.

Encouraged by this discovery, I ventured into a dense forest of motifs and symbols that are found, with varying frequency, in tribal carpets and kilims from Anatolia, Persia and the Caucasus. Here are some of the most important ones.

Hands on Hips (elibelinde)

The hands-on-hips motif is Anatolian in origin and represents a mother goddess figure, sometimes depicted with a child in her womb. It is a symbol of motherhood, fertility, and abundance.

Hands-on-hips motif in an Anatolian kilim

Ram’s Horn

The ram’s horn symbolizes manhood, male fertility, strength and bravery. A weaver incorporating such a symbol into her carpet would wish for all these qualities in her future husband.

Ram's horn pattern in a Kazak rug

Fertility (bereket)

The bereket essentially combines the hands-on-hips and ram’s horn motifs, uniting male and female fecundity in an intricate pattern that suggests, ahem, the process of reproduction.

Double bereket motif

Boteh

The boteh is a symbol that has been used to decorate textiles in Persia at least since the Sassanid Dynasty (200–650 AD). The word itself may have meant bush, shrub, or simply a cluster of leaves. As a motif it has many interpretations. In some cases it is described as a seed symbolising life and renewal, often enclosing a mature plant within it, as if to suggest that the whole always exists within the part. Many believe it is the convergence of a stylised floral spray and a cypress tree, which is a Zoroastrian symbol of life and eternity, much like the tree of life elsewhere. Because of this association with Zoroastrian tradition, the boteh is sometimes referred to as the flame of Zoroaster—the eternal flame that burns continuously in Zoroastrian temples. The boteh is also the precursor of a much-loved Western pattern—paisley.

Boteh motifs

Running Water

Among carpet-weaving communities in Asia, as in many other cultures, water was associated with life, as well as with rituals of purification. It is often found as a border pattern.

Running water motifs

Tree of Life

The tree of life is a symbol common to many monotheistic religions. Echoing the story of the garden of Eden, it reminds us of man’s aspiration to become divine—its fruit is believed to bring immortality, and therefore it is forbidden. Mankind, unable to eat this fruit, must place all hope in life after death. Thus the tree of life becomes a symbol of the afterlife, of immortality, and of hope. In carpet design, the tree of life can appear in figurative form, such as in this Persian rug (left image), but also in more stylised interpretations, such as in this Obruk prayer kilim (right image).

Variants of the Tree of Life

Stars, Crosses, Dragons and Other Protective Symbols

Protective motifs have a special place in tribal rugs. They were used on the kilims to protect marriages, spouses, family members, children, houses and grain, animals and other possessions against the evil eye, against ill-will, against natural catastrophes and against dangerous animals. Many of these motifs share some fundamental features, such as the overall diamond shape and the hooked or crenellated perimeter, such that they tend to blend together and become almost indistinguishable. They include stars and crosses, stylised dragons and scorpions, evil-eye amulets, hooks, eight-pointed stars and burdock burrs.

Protective motifs galore. Which one is a scorpion?

It is important to remember, of course, that these traditional tribal motifs almost always appear in highly stylised forms that may be difficult to reconcile with their colourful names, or to distinguish from one another. Tribal motifs manifest themselves in such highly stylised imagery not only because of the restrictions imposed by Islamic tradition, which never favoured figurative art, but also because of the practical limitations of weaving and  knotting techniques, which often dictated simplification of forms and the portrayal of real-life shapes as geometric designs.

Moreover, it would be misleading to over-romanticise the symbolism of these motifs, in spite of the elaborate and lively stories that a crafty carpet salesman may offer when asked about them. Many of these motifs are very ancient and animistic in origin, pre-dating Islamic and Christian times. They may have articulated profound beliefs held by the tribal weavers who created them—meanings built around the most important concerns in their lives, such as birth and death, marriage and fertility, spiritual calling and the afterlife.

These meanings, however, may also have receded from consciousness as nomadic and tribal ways of life faded; the mythologies and folkloristic narratives associated with them are for the most part lost. What remain are time-honored, familiar patterns passed on from one weaving generation to the next. In some cases, the name of a motif, and its associated symbolism, may have been invented ex post facto to describe a form already well established in the carpet-making tradition.

For the modern lover of oriental rugs, these motifs constitute, above all, a rudimentary vocabulary used to describe, and to some extent to codify, the dizzying complexity and variety of designs found in tribal rugs woven across the ancient Silk Route. Indeed, so extensive is this vocabulary that I will have to devote another post just to cover border motifs… Stay tuned!

View the complete Carpet Motifs: A Beginner’s Guide article on The Arastan Journey.

"Wild Story" Gabbeh

Tribal carpets are almost the opposite of what one may visualize when they think of a carpet. They are abstract. They are spontaneous. They are naïve. They break rules. And most of all, they are personal expressions of the weavers, straight from the heart! Those from nomadic groups in particular are a fantastic potpourri of many diverse ethnicities, tribal lifestyles and indigenous customs.

There is no defined picture that the weaver is copying from… the picture is in the weaver’s heart, which slowly emerges and takes shape on warps strung around a makeshift loom, wefted and knotted in a colourful collage, one single row at a time! A small six by four foot carpet may have tens of thousands of knots and may take months (and sometimes years) to create. Patience and tenacity are two critical virtues each weaver had to be able to create such fantastic art! The end product is a visual story, full of icons and expressions. Flowers. Plants. Birds. Animals. Human figures. Mythical objects. Shamanistic symbols. While we all speculate and attribute the symbolism on each carpet to have a precise meaning, it really should be considered a mystery to which only the weaver knew the answer!

In pre-industrial times, each tribal weaving was a handmade work of art, created exclusively to give happiness and pride to the group who wove it. The weavers were almost always women, congregating to have a few hours of fun and swapping stories between their everyday household chores. Men helped with other pre-weaving tasks such as raising the sheep, shearing the wool, and making exotic dyes from flowers and plants to colour the wool.

Carpets were initially meant to serve as purely utilitarian objects in the nomadic tent, for example, to insulate the floor from the cold ground underneath, or as curtains to prevent chilly mountain air from getting into the tent. Over time, they also began to be woven into objects such as bags to carry clothes, grains, vessels and salt. As is natural with many such crafts, simple day-to-day weavings started to make way for beautiful works of art, some of which were woven to support sacred prayer rituals, or woven by young girls as a part of their cherished trousseau. Many of these objects became integral assets for the weavers’ families and were carefully treasured and preserved as heirlooms.

Beautiful red Luri Gabbeh, with long botehs

Contrary to modern city or village weaving, nomadic rugs were typically woven in or around the tent on simple makeshift looms. Seasonal migrations often created the need to dismantle a loom containing a partly woven rug at the beginning of a journey… at the end of which, the loom would be reassembled to resume and complete the weaving. These makeshift weaving facilities created very endearing uneven nuances in tribal rugs… rather than being considered as “imperfections”, they are considered highly desirable due to the authenticity these features convey in nomadic carpets.

Dyes are another intriguing and much debated topic among rug collectors… but it is probably safe to say that no one really knows! What we do know is that colours were originally made from natural sources such as flowers, roots, tree bark, and even insects! For example, blue came from indigo, red from madder, yellow from weld, and a deep bright pink cochineal came from insects. Many other colour variations exist, too numerous to list comprehensively. One interesting example is green… so abundant in nature, yet impossible to produce from a single natural source! Historically, it was obtained by dyeing the wool yellow and overdyeing it with blue, resulting in the magical green that is much sought after in old rugs! During the mid to late 19th century, the onset of chemical substances started to offer more choices in colours. By the early 20th century, these dyes were more easily available. While one can never really tell, 19th century rugs are more likely to have natural dyes and maybe some chemical dyes… the converse is probably true for 20th century rugs, which probably primarily contain chemical dyes and maybe some natural colours.

One of the most interesting groups of tribal carpets are the Gabbehs. The term “gabbeh” is a Farsi word, literally translating to “unclipped”. Gabbehs are woven by nomadic tribes from the Zagros mountain chain of southwestern Persia. The high altitude sheep from these areas yield rich quality wool with a strong lanolin content, which is what gives these rugs the shine and gloss seen in top quality gabbehs. The iconography of these rugs is simple, naive, and surprisingly “modern”. Gabbehs are woven by a number of tribes in this region, the most prolific of which are the Qashqai, followed in smaller numbers by the Luri and Bakhtiari groups.

Peacock Border Luri

It has become almost impossible to find gabbehs that are spontaneously woven. Most that are made available for sale appear to be rigid copies of cartoons the dealers are using to get new gabbehs made in controlled village workshops in not just Iran, but in India and Afghanistan as well. The collection currently on sale at Arastan has been consigned for a limited time from a private collector who has passionately collected these rugs over the past two decades. The collector considers them all to be “remarkably impure yet remarkably attractive”. These are all “younger” gabbehs from the 20th century, almost all containing abundant bright colours (including some that have portions of completely undyed wool). All these rugs have been woven with top quality high mountain wool. Each rug is a little piece of art… visually stunning and mysterious! We hope you will come and see this collection… and that the simplicity and boldness of these carpets will make you happy and put a smile on your face… just like it does for us!

View the complete Tribal Carpets article on The Arastan Journey.

Rustam Usmanov and his wife

I travelled to Rishtan to see the ceramists who did the platters for me last year. It was bitterly cold and Rustam and his wife were very gracious, kept us warm (don’t miss their gorgeous home slippers!) and well fed while we worked on my order. The shavla – porridge version of plov – we had for lunch was delicious and Zahid and I tucked in. We couldn’t say no when Alisher invited us to lunch later so had to eat again! Tough job this!! I am amazed by how much time and effort Rustam and Alisher make for me. They are world renowned ceramists who earn very well doing exhibitions in the US, Europe and Japan and my orders pale in comparison.

Alisher Nazarov and his brother

The discussion at lunch moved to the size of the Indian market and the buying power of the middle class, all quite surprising to them and Alisher in particular seemed fascinated. Having heard what I would be paid doing what I used to do, Zahid went into parent mode and told me quite firmly that I should go back to senior management! To him the idea of starting your own business with all the associated risks when you can earn a very good income leaving the risks to others seemed absurd. I guess it does but although I have been very lucky with the bosses I have had, to be your own boss is very different and addictive once you get a taste of it.

After meeting several ikat masters in Margilan, I decided to head back to Tashkent hoping that the mountain pass would stay open long enough to get through. A five hour journey took eight hours due to the sleet and snow. No sign of snow chains and no salting so all a bit precarious, although not as bad as it would have been 10 years ago on the higher, narrower road. I am fascinated by how trade was done and wars fought in this terrain: summer must have been a busy time! A few hours of sleep, packing, six vendor meetings (Grand Orzu staff were not impressed by the bazaar I had opened in the restaurant) and off to the airport for a flight back to Delhi. A night at Delhi airport (absolutely fascinating) and the first flight to Bangalore so I could make it in time for my daughter’s performance at school. Call it working mother’s guilt but so worth the effort.

Anaheeta had left two days before me and had the most harrowing experience when exiting. Her mistake, she packed the duplicate customs declaration form we completed when we arrived into her suitcase and checked it in. She also forgot about the emergency money she had hidden away in her handbag while filling a new form. They hassled her until an Indian Doctor helped her and she managed to make the flight. When I went through, I mentally cursed every customs official I could see. It made no difference to anyone but made me feel better. Be warned, the police and custom officials are extremely corrupt and do all you can to avoid them. Unlike in Kazakhstan, they will not take the US Dollars from your wallet but will make you so miserable, you wish they would just take the money.

I had a lovely Uzbek couple sitting next to me on the plane and managed with actions and them repeating sentences slowly in Uzbek and me in English to understand the following. He is an orthopedic surgeon and she a paediatrician from Bukhara. They met while at medical college. They have three grown up children (ages duly noted) and were on their way to Apollo Hospital in Delhi as she needs a stent (she pointed to her neck). She asked about my age and told me she would have put me at 35. I said thank you and then showed her my recently acquired reading glasses! I told them about my unhappy experience trying to buy suzanis in Bukhara because the artisans had not returned yet and traders had no interest in the handicraft (just selling as much of it as possible to Turkey and swearing at the villagers who do the work for stealing their threads). They wrote down names and numbers of artisans I must meet in Bukhara and invited me to stay with them. She even promised to teach me how to make my favourite Uzbek dish, chuchvara. (I couldn’t bear to tell her that all I cook is tea and toast!) I managed to complete their forms with what they indicated to me. Not bad what an open mind and lots of gesticulating can do!

View the complete Fergana Valley: Ceramic, Ikat and Shavla article on The Arastan Journey.

Rustam at Aktepa Yunus-Abad

I met Rustam Abdukamilov this morning. He claims to be a Zoroastrian, a scholar of the Avesta book and language, and a teacher of Zoroastrian history in public schools around Tashkent. Rustam is 53 years old, frugally dressed and wears a blue baseball cap with an Asho Farohar (the ubiquitous winged angel) printed on it. His English is fairly good, I suspect better written than spoken. But when he talks of Ahura Mazda, he is eloquent. Not in a flashy, oratorical way, but in a simple, deeply felt, intellectual manner. From what I understood, his father was a storyteller, a kind of bard who would recite the poetry of Ferdowsi’s epic Shahnameh in public gatherings. Watching his father, he too memorized the 60,000-odd verses that chronicles the legends and histories of Iranian (Aryan) kings in Persian. It was through these texts that ideas about Zoroastrianism were revealed to Rustam and his family. Subsequently, Rustam undertook the study of Zoroastrianism, now completing an online PhD from Spenta University in California. Right from pre soviet to soviet times, the Abukamilov family remained ‘hidden Zoroastrians’. Even, today the State does not recognize Zoroastrianism as a religion but allows the study of Avesta language as part of the history curriculum.

Aktepa Yunus-Abad

Rustam claims there are 33 fire temples in and around Tashkent, most dating back to the 2^nd century BC. We visited two: Ming Urik and Aktepa Yunus-Abad. Both mounds and dips of earth which some archeologists believe to be the sites of ancient Zoroastrian temples. During the journey to these sights, Rustam spoke at length about Ahura Mazda. The Avestan meanings, wisdom, creation, the universe, good versus evil, what it means to be a mazdayasni…. I asked him what he thought about Parsis not permitting conversions. He quoted from the Gathas of Zarathustra: Yasnas 30.2 and 45.1. I won’t paraphrase it here but it’s enough to say that in those passages (translated by C. Bartholomae), Zarathustra invites all people, men and women (narém, narem), from near and far, to come to him. Rustam put this question to me: Wasn’t King Vistasp a convert too? Didn’t the Zoroastrians of the ancient world belong to some other religion or cult before they became Zoroastrian?

At the Kolchin Home

I asked to meet a Zoroastrian family. Rustam obliged by taking me to Stanislav Kolchin and his mother Lena Kolchin. In their humble apartment, they received me with tea, sweets and biscuits. Stanislav is a handsome young man who converted from the Russian Orthodox Church to Zoroastrianism a few years ago. He converted because he felt there were gaps in the theology of the church which Zoroastrianism made whole. He considers himself Zoroastrian because, at a philosophical level, it appeals to him. It makes sense to him.

Never once in my life as a Zoroastrian have I contemplated its philosophy, mainly because I simply don’t know it. I suspect many Parsis feel this way. We know all the practices, the rituals, the prayers, the few basic tenets but what do we really understand theologically? Do we even know what our prayers mean? That’s why I was so stunned by Stanislav and how much he knew. Not just Avestan texts, he has read Mary Boyce, the Rig Veda, the Ramayanana. He quoted from Nietzsche, talked about the God Indra, Varuna, Yama. He told me that Zoroastrianism was in many ways more ‘native’ to Indo-European people. That the Russian word vedat (meaning knowledge) comes from the word veda which has Proto-Indo-European roots. Proto-Indo-European??? I don’t think I even know what that means! Stanislav, like 34 others from Tashkent, has had his navjote done. A mobed (Zoroastrian priest) from Mumbai and another from Sweden performed the ceremonies. It appears, the Tashkent Zoroastrians know the kusti prayers but know nothing of the kusti itself. As a matter of fact, they have no ritual. No temple. No priest. No special place for the dead (although there are several ancient dakhma’s (towers of silence) all over Uzbekistan). They have nothing but faith. Not born into their religion, they have consciously, with deep understanding, chosen it.

Anaheeta

You know, we can argue their eligibility till the cows come home. Don’t we all know how good Parsis are at that? How can they be Zoroastrians… they are just fire worshippers… where is their temple… does it have a wall facing the south, what do they do with their dead… these are questions we can keep asking. The truth is, they’re not waiting for our approval. Whether we consider them Zoroastrian or not is of no concern to them. What matters is that they feel wholly accepted by Ahura Mazda, the highest wisdom. Who cares what we think?

View the complete The Tashkent Zoroastrians article on The Arastan Journey.

Goods heading to Chorsu Bazaar

We’ve spent the last two days in Bukhara, a complete contrast to the glaze and glamour of Samarkand. I’d say, Bukhara is the face behind the façade. The mud-brick behind the coloured tiles. It’s earthy, small, more old world… cobbled streets, domed bazaars, a mosque here, a mausoleum there and a stunning minaret towering above it all.

Samanid Mausoleum

Samanid Mausoleum

I took off for the day with a local guide, while Nisha and Zahid met with the coppersmith, local artists, etc. All tiled out by Samarkand, the fascinating brickwork of the Ismail Samani Mausoleum caught my attention. 18 different designs using bare brick. Take a look at the photographs to see what I am talking about… just beautiful, in a down to earth way.

Next stop: The Hamam. Kunjak Hammom is a ladies only bathhouse. Knock on the black elm door and the lady in-charge lets you in through a narrow corridor that emerges into a central space suffused in warm light. This is the cozy meeting place, carpeted, lined with small wooden lockers to keep your belongings, the charpoy awaits you with a hot pot of chai, once you’re done… I liked it already. Was all set to send my guide packing when the hammom lady invited me into the inner chambers to take a look.

Bending through the threshold of another small doorway, we entered… a nether world. Instantly, the heat envelops you. It comes from everywhere, radiating from the stone floor into the walls. The space is bare, stony grey… a domed chamber surrounded by 4 ante chambers radiating out through brick archways. In the very centre is a hexagonal raised stone platform dimly spot lit by a light shaft. That’s where you can pray she informed me. Just as I was trying to conjure up that image, it hit me.

Like a roomful of damp clothes in the monsoon. The smell was insidious, all around and clawing. It was awful. Of course, the hammom lady had no inkling of my rising discomfort, leading me further into the sanctum sanctorum where the bathing occurs under a low tap. This place is a veritable furnace. Now I am in a cold sweat. I try to distract myself by pulling out the camera. But I can’t see a thing, the lens has fogged up. Claustrophobia time folks! Take deep breaths I tell myself. It’s good for the sinuses. Through all this, the lady keeps giving me the spiel… in hammom, you like Amir’s wife… no worries… no thinking… only wishing. How much time you like… 2 hours, 3 hours, full day? How you like… herbal massage, stone therapy… This was not going the way I had imagined. I could not see myself being flattened on a stone slab, scrubbed down under a rusted tap in a room that hadn’t been aired since the 16^th century.

Without another word, I took heel. Raced out the corridors, zoomed under doorways and out into the open. All of a sudden, -1 degree centigrade and grey skies didn’t seem so bad at all.

View the complete Bukhara in a Cold Sweat article on The Arastan Journey.

Ossuary, Afrosiyob Museum

The pre-Islamic history of this region is rich with the stories of fire worshippers. Now, Zoroastrians are loosely regarded as fire worshippers but clearly, not all fire worshippers are Zoroastrians. That being said, some interesting artifacts and historical accounts associated with Zoroastrianism have survived and symbolism associated with fire worship has been carried forward into Islamic architecture and design.

At the Afrosiyob Museum, built around the excavations of Marakanda (ancient Samarkand), I was shown terracotta ossuaries (containers for the bones of dead people) from the 6-7^th century. Etched onto some were Zoroastrian fire altars tended to by two mobeds (Zoroastrian priests) with nose and mouth covered, similar to the way they dress today. Incidentally, ‘mobed’ is an old Persian word meaning wise counselor. I also saw some coinage from that period bearing this very symbol. But this is no surprise. Zoroastrianism was the dominant religion throughout Central Asia for many centuries. In his memoirs, the Chinese traveller Xuanzang describes the strange way in which Zoroastrians dispose of their dead (I haven’t read it but this is what I was told). There is also an amazing excavation of a fresco from the home of a Soghdian nobleman at the museum. It’s of a wedding procession. There, among the numerous members of the party, is a mobed herding 4 geese… whatever the symbolism of that maybe!

Now, here’s another interesting bit. While I was busy photographing anything my guide showed me with the letter Z in it, he drew my attention to a tiny terracotta figurine of a woman. Not any woman but the goddess of fertility and water: Ardvisura Anahita! I have always been told that my name means goddess of water.  Hah! what fun, I come all the way to Uzbekistan to confirm it. I have to mention here, that a Parsi scholar on Zoroastrianism and my guide (who is a pre-Islamic historian) both told me that the word ‘Anahita’ by itself means spotless in Avestan. I am pleased to be either or both.

Coming back to Zoroastrianism, the 8^th century Hazrat-Hizr Mosque in Samarkand, considered the oldest in Central Asia, is built over a Zoroastrian temple. Same story with Magoki-Attori Mosque in Bukhara. It took the invading Arabs roughly 200 years to systematically replace one religion with another, ideologically and physically. While they were successful in Islamising their conquered lands, the influence of Zoroastrianism was not entirely erased.

Take for example the twin inverted triangle, symbol of Zarathustra, set into large monuments all over Uzbekistan. Now here’s the issue: How do we know this is a Zoroastrian symbol at all? I tried contacting a couple of authorities but have not received any conclusive answers. But for what it’s worth, here’s what I saw and heard. Samarkand’s Gur e Amir (Timur’s mausoleum), Shah-i Zinda (avenue of mausoleums), Bukhara’s Minar e Kholon (big minaret), and several buildings in Khiva, all have this symbol embedded into a few prominent walls. How come? It is thought the presence of this tile pattern is an indication that Persian slave labour (therefore, Zoroastrian) was used for the construction. Here’s what my guide said it symbolized: the balance of a good, honest and charitable life – the major tenets of Zoroastrian belief, expressed through Good Thoughts, Good Words and Good Deeds. The triangles represent good thoughts and good words whilst the narrow bar in the centre represents good deeds.

I have no way of verifying the authenticity of this reading, just like I have no way of knowing if the Zoroastrians I will be meeting in Tashkent over the weekend are old time Zoroastrians or as my guide said, ‘new Zoroastrians’. If you go by the strict definition of Zoroastrianism as Parsis practice it in India, there is no such thing as a new Zoroastrian. The only way you can be a Zoroastrian is if both your parents are. The Uzbeks I have spoken to (and I consulted many) seriously doubt that Zoroastrianism has survived in Uzbekistan. My scholar friend in Mumbai is of the same opinion. He believes Zoroastrianism is today a designer religion… it is fashionable to be Zoroastrian and a convenient ticket to the US visa office. But I am not going to be so cynical or judgmental. I don’t have the knowledge or the will to find out who these Zoroastrians really are. I confess wanting to sort of discover my past when I first heard there were Zoroastrians here. But over the last few days and after a lot of conversations with scholars (at museums and with guides who are qualified historians), I realize my naivety. These are not my roots. Nor are they my far away cousins. At best, we share Nowruz, a handful of symbols, a belief in the world’s first monotheist religion shared by the people of Greater Persia for over four centuries. And hey! I think that’s good enough, wouldn’t you say!

View the complete In Search of Zoroastrianism article on The Arastan Journey.

Happy Women's Day!

Happy Holi in India and Happy Women’s Day in Uzbekistan. Since yesterday, men have been greeting women everywhere for Women’s Day which is a national holiday here. Men wish their wives, mothers and daughters, buy them flowers and take them out for a meal or bring a cake home. It is a real celebration of womanhood and so nice to see. One of the good things left behind by the Communist state. Oh, and they do celebrate ‘Men’s Day’ or ‘Army Day’ but not to the same degree.

There are many tour groups coming from India to Uzbekistan. Unfortunately the majority are hordes of 45-50 young and middle-aged men being given a freebie as a dealer incentive by mostly pharmaceutical and cement companies. Their behaviour is the talk of the town as they come with a single-minded purpose – to drink and to womanise. From the airport they tell the guide on the bus not to explain about the history or culture of Uzbekistan as India is full of it. Just tell them where the ladkis and nighclubs are. Most carry their Johnny Walker with them as whisky is expensive. They eat only in Indian restaurants after which the guide is asked to leave them to it at the night club.

Here are a couple of stories we have been told. Once, having left them to their devices, the guide received a desperate call as the police had raided the bar and demanded passports which had been left with the hotel. The guide had to ‘borrow’ them (hotels hold the passports for the duration of stay so they can check rooms for lost property before releasing them) and when he showed up, this is what he saw: policemen having a beer while 40 Indian men faced the wall, legs apart with hands behind their back, each separated by a bar girl, all in one row. Another incident was one sub-group coming to Bukhara and on arrival saying ‘this is a big old village’ with no bars and women. Take us back instantly. This meant a 9 hour trek back to Tashkent.

Completely mortifying for me trying to do quite the opposite. Anaheeta and I were aghast when we are told these stories. We cannot deny it nor apologise for the desperate behaviour of some. But what a terrible impression to leave with those who think of Hindustan with nostalgia for the ties that once were. If it is any consolation at all (for me it isn’t), the farmers coming from a neighbouring country, again as dealer incentives offered by fertilizer companies, are known to bathe outside the bath tub causing leakages in rooms below and even worse, “settle themselves” in public, an unheard of practice in Uzbekistan.

View the complete Happy Women and Mortifying Men article on The Arastan Journey.

Nisha on the hunt

It keeps getting better and better. Today was all about mad buying, incessant rain, a delightful spell of snow, a clean toilet (!), stunning mountains views and a godforsaken village outside Urgut.

After two nights in Shahkrisabz with intermittent electricity and NO HEATING (read: no hot water!), we were ready to leave for Urgut. The regular route via a mountain pass was closed, undone by a harsh winter. We headed out by another road in heavy rain. All of a happy sudden, snow began to fall. It was beautiful to see rolling meadows of green get powdered with a delicate white… the donkey’s saddle bags and the shepherd’s shoulder collecting their final load of snow before spring sends the winter packing.

We came. We saw. We conquered.

As luck would have it, when we reached Urgut’s famous Sunday ‘Bozaar’, the snow had let up. But the ground was terribly slushy and the market packed. Trolleys overflowing with buns, loaves and nons, prams (yes, prams!) with steaming samosas buried under at least 5 blankets, vessels with boiling beetroot in a dark treacle, fresh juices, gyros… we walked right past all this to the very end. In fact, the market ended in a slushy open field where under temporary shelters and crude tables about 50 men and women waited with sacks full of handicraft. The minute they realised that we were their customers, we got mobbed (much like last time!) It was something to be experienced! I have never ever seen something like this, not even in India! Madaam! Devushka! Antiqua! Old design! Very old! Too old! suzani! silk! Nisha and I were literally assaulted. We were tugged, yanked, pieces of handicraft flew past every seccond, one nudged my chin, someone grabbed her shoulder… it was utter mayhem. I’ve never felt so in demand in my entire life! In a few seconds, they knew our names… then it became, Anaeeeeta, beautiful, loook, Anaeeta, Shahrukh Khan, Bobby, Taj Mahal… Neesha, how much dollaa, no new, very old, you buy…it was non-stop. Fabrics kept flashing before us and we had to decide or they would not leave. I found myself saying: that one! Yes! that one No! there were wall hangings, bed covers, small cushion covers, tribal accessories, clothes, tassels, costumes, caps… women furiously pulled things out of their pockets, blouses, purses, little tin boxes… bold floral patterns in stunning palettes of mustard and purple, black, brown and rust, and every other combination you can imagine and even not! Not everything was fabulous, but to tell the good ones from the ordinary was almost impossible.  Then came the haggling. That’s when I came into my own! I love it.  She says 30, I say 5. They all exclaim. Oh! maaadaam! Anaeeeeta, CAATAASTROFEEE!  With an emphatic NO! I walk away. They follow, in hot pursuit. I am unmoved. The scene repeats, over and over again. Some, in desperation, succumb. Others persist. Like the lady who sold me the coral and silver earrings. I declare, even with her I prevailed. Haggling is my thing!!! Eeeehaaaa! Felt like AnaTimur, raider of the Urgut bozaar…

So impressed was the local bozaar lady with our marauding ways, she invited us to her village home where she pulled out more. And boy! Did she have it all! No lunch for the wicked. By the way, it may not have been snowing but it was bloody cold. Like really finger-numbing, eye-watering, toe-deadening cold. We spent two hours there, pillaged her collection and left for Samarkand victorious.

Entering Samarkand was like driving into an open-air museum… the tallest structures here are the stunning mosques, mausoleums and museums the world comes to see. The Registan from my car window was breathtaking. Just breathtaking. Imagine how at the end of a days journey, a weary, cold traveller on the silk road would have felt being greeted by this awe-inspiring, most magnificent of structures. There doesn’t exist in my world anything more beautiful.

Tomorrow, I’m leaving craft behind and dedicating my day to Samarkand. Can’t wait.

View the complete Mobbed in Urgut and Stunned by Samarkand article on The Arastan Journey.