Latest news with #Kapaleeshwarar
The Hindu
3 days ago
- The Hindu
Author Prajwal Parajuly goes in search of God and gets distracted by a rooster
The Kapaleeshwarar temple, which I refer to as Kapali because locals call it that, isn't the most beautiful temple in the world. But I feel more at peace here than I do at any other place of worship. Kapali is one of my stops on every trip to Chennai. I only have to step into traffic-clogged Mylapore, with its bylanes of chaos and colour, to be swept up in holy frenzy. I spot from the alleys, amidst a tangle of wires, the temple's multi-hued entrance-tower reach for the sky. Before I make my way in, I leave behind competing fragrances from oleander, chrysanthemum and jasmine garlands, and release my flip-flops into a sea of footwear. I know I don't frequent Kapali just for the carvings, intricate and bursting with stories, or for the offerings, to eat fistfuls of which I sometimes queue twice. There's something more. I was brought up in a Hindu family, next to a Protestant church and went to a Bahai school, followed by a school whose leanings were Buddhist. There was, therefore, some serious confusion growing up. At Sunday school, which we went to because the pastor was our closest neighbour in the Himalayan town of Gangtok, we were taught there was only one God. But then I'd go home to my cobweb-addled family altar with its many-limbed gods and goddesses and wonder if the Sunday school teacher was lying. How disapproving the family priest was when he discovered that my parents allowed — even encouraged — us to go to church. Added to this mix was a lot of Buddhist talk, simplistically distilled into something about life being suffering. When a plethora of religions is foisted on you as a kid, you become a lifelong spirituality enthusiast. So, yes, I walk the Camino de Santiago, the 900-kilometre Catholic pilgrimage across Spain, and hike up to the Paro Taksang in Bhutan. I regret not having done the Kumano Kodo while in Japan. I have contemplated fasting for Ramadan but am nervous it will be seen as gimmicky. I want to go on a Kailash-Mansarovar trip because it looks soul-cleansing. Do I attempt these pilgrimages for absolution? I still don't know. I understand that a majority of these spiritual experiences entail copious hiking and have often wondered if I crave them because there's walking involved. Unfortunately, I seldom find this quest for spirituality fulfilled in famous places of worship. It evaded me all three times at the Jagannath temple in Puri and in the crowds of the Somnath in Gujarat. I frantically hunted for it at the Santiago de Compostela as I did at the Vatican. I am envious of you if you feel a certain energy at dargahs and mosques. I want to be you when you claim a calm descends on you at the Pashupatinath temple in Kathmandu. I tried feeling at one with God at the Kamakhya in Guwahati but failed. Neither the Meenakshi temple at Madurai nor the Padmanabhaswamy temple in Thiruvananthapuram did much. When I didn't find spirituality, whatever that means, at the Golden Temple — what wretched human isn't moved by the Golden Temple? — I abandoned rustling up a relationship with God via man-made structures. That is why my being in thrall of Kapali from the get-go astounded me. I am certain I don't frequent the temple for the aesthetics. Like many houses of worship, it has history, but it's not history I am here for. Nor the quiet, which you will only find if your visit coincides with the sun being at its zenith on a working day. The temple is laidback. You can wear what you want. No priest solicits you for donations or looks at you with desperation. No one asks for your caste, your sub-caste, your sub-sub-sub-caste and your gotra. (Many proud South Indians are quick to point out the South-North dichotomy here and claim that this is normal at most South Indian temples, but I don't feel as positive in all these other temples as I do at Kapali, so Kapali wins). I like the hilarious rooster that catwalks down the stage at the most opportune moments. And the cat that tries to unsuccessfully bully the rooster. I like the white vibuthi a priest plasters on my forehead. I like the rose-and-vilva-leaf garland I am offered. I like the concerts even if I understand nothing. I like my circumambulations, if I can call shuffling from one bare foot to another on the temple's scorching floors that. Every time I come here, my mind stills. Every time I am here, I feel grateful. The older I get, the more jaded I become with organised religion — all organised religions. So much evil happens in the name of God, so much polarisation. I am happy (and stunned) that a temple — this bastion of organised religion — helps alleviate the cynicism somewhat. I have decided to embrace that for now and not allow any form of overthinking to get in the way of Kapali and me. Prajwal Parajuly is the author of The Gurkha's Daughter and Land Where I Flee. He loves idli, loathes naan, and is indifferent to coffee. He teaches Creative Writing at Krea University and oscillates between New York City and Sri City.
Time of India
20-06-2025
- Lifestyle
- Time of India
From temple trail to office desk: Unique yoga trends reshaping city's wellness culture
From underwater postures to heritage-themed yoga experiences, here are five unique yoga trends gaining traction in the city: Long known for its deep-rooted connection to spiritual disciplines, Chennai is now seeing a creative transformation in its yoga practices. Blending tradition with innovation, these emerging yoga trends are not only rejuvenating the body but also redefining the wellness culture of the city. From underwater postures to heritage-themed yoga experiences, here are five unique yoga trends gaining traction in the city: Sundown rooftop yoga with Carnatic fusion This type of yoga is set against the city's twilight sky. Rooftop yoga is now paired with live Carnatic music fusions performed by young artistes. These sessions on terrace gardens and coworking rooftops offer a perfect escape from Chennai's traffic chaos, with sound and motion creating a sensory detox. Underwater yoga on ECR Imagine holding your breath in sync with your breathwork – quite literally. A handful of coastal resorts along the East Coast Road (ECR) now offer underwater yoga classes in specially designed pools. This innovative trend combines pranayama and asanas with the calming resistance of water, improving lung capacity and focus. Temple trail yoga This trend invites practitioners on a journey through Chennai's rich spiritual tapestry. by Taboola by Taboola Sponsored Links Sponsored Links Promoted Links Promoted Links You May Like Esse novo alarme com câmera é quase gratuito em Piraquara (consulte o preço) Alarmes Undo Led by heritage yogis, temple trail yoga involves early morning sessions at historical temples like Kapaleeshwarar and Parthasarathy, where the architecture and spiritual ambiance intensify the meditative experience. Office desk yoga for corporate wellness Companies in Chennai's IT hubs like Guindy and OMR are introducing desk yoga during work hours. Instructors conduct 15–20 minute sessions involving neck rolls, wrist stretches, and desk-side breathing techniques. The reason why it's needed is that it reduces stress, eye strain, and physical fatigue among deskbound professionals without interrupting workflow. Eco-yoga in urban forests As part of the urban greening wave, a few NGOs and eco-groups in the city have introduced eco-yoga - community yoga events in reclaimed forest pockets like Semmozhi Poonga and Nageswara Rao Park. These sessions include mud grounding, barefoot walking, and forest breathing, promoting harmony with nature. One step to a healthier you—join Times Health+ Yoga and feel the change
The Hindu
28-05-2025
- The Hindu
Author Prajwal Parajuly on why chutney, not idli, is his go-to dish
To survive the many splendours of Sri City, where I live part of the year, one must get away every so often. Weekending in Chennai is the easiest option. For several of my colleagues, Chennai means concerts. For others, it means stocking up on miso and pesto. For yet others, it means brunch at Pumpkin Tales and cocktails at MadCo. What would Chennai mean to me? I had enjoyed the whimsy of Tulika Books and the gastronomic wonder that was Avartana. I had jumped rope at the Madras Club and had twice eaten the cloud pudding at Kappa Chakka Kandhari. I had also had a bit of a spiritual awakening watching a rooster sashay down a ramp at the Kapaleeshwarar temple. All delightful experiences, no doubt, but mere footnotes to the one thing that would bring me back to Chennai again and again: the humble idli chutney. The array of chutneys at Murugan Idli, to be specific. I didn't know what a preoccupation these chutneys would become when I first made my way to the GN Road outlet at T Nagar. An innocuous idli was plonked on my banana leaf, on top which the waiter ladled out a generous portion of sambhar. There they were in white, green, and two varieties of orange — a quartet of chutneys so flavourful that the idli seemed like an afterthought. There was just the right hint of piquancy, and what was that I tasted? It was sesame, its lavish use genius. I went to Murugan again for dinner and returned for lunch the next day. It is now almost always my first stop when I get into Chennai. What is it about Murugan? It is unassuming. But that can be said for any number of Chennai eateries. The service is indifferent on a good day and infuriating on most days. No one will go to any of the outlets for the ambience either. If I am not going for the vibes or the service, why would I submit myself to a meal — sometimes two meals — a day? It's because I am a chutney addict through and through. Nothing else matters — not the crisp rava dosa nor the sambhar. Neither the fluffy idli nor the inoffensive uttapam. I eat the chutneys — dollops and dollops of them — like they are the main course and the idli, the accompaniment. How I love making snaky rivulets on the banana leaf with my fingers, mixing and matching one, two, three or four chutneys with a smidgen of idli, and guiding the concoction to my mouth as it drips down my elbow, yellowing my shirt, and filling my gluttonous heart with unbridled joy. I'd soon realise that few topics polarise Chennai more than Murugan Idli. For each foodie who unequivocally declares the restaurant as her favourite, there's the one who froths at his mouth recounting its circumspect hygiene. 'Went … a month ago, and it was ghastly,' pronounces my editor, not one to mince words. There are those for whom the lack of consistency jars. 'I'll only go to the one across from the Armenian church,' my colleague Kaveri once declared. My sister points out that in a city brimming with excellent food, Murugan is middling, but she also forks and knifes her dosa, so her opinion doesn't count. Eating Circles any day, some say. There are then the Sangeetha militants. No self-respecting Sangeetha loyalist will out himself as a Murugan fan. Sure, not every Murugan is created equal. I'll set foot in the Besant Nagar location only for takeaway chutneys and nothing else. Not one dosa I have eaten there has come out warm. Plus, in a neighborhood with Native Tiffins and Vishranti — the idli at the former is so well fermented that it renders the chutney useless — a lack-lustre Murugan is just wrath-inducing. I've given the outlet three (three!) chances, and I fully sympathise with those who are unconvinced of Murugan's greatness because it's the one location that can't get anything right. That doesn't mean I will not judge these Murugan haters for dismissing my beloved chain altogether. I shall judge them almost as severely as I do those food writers who describe the idli as a rice cake, the dosa as a crepe and — the biggest horror — the chutney as a kind of pickle. Friends joke that I am responsible for quadrupling Murugan's profits. But they are wrong. Idli is cheap food. I feel awful that the fourth, fifth and sixth free chutney helpings likely cost more than the 23 rupees per idli that I am charged. To circumvent this guilt, I invariably order a rava masala onion dosa, eating which requires … another few ladles of chutney. I return to Sri City with more chutney than blood in my veins. Prajwal Parajuly is the author of The Gurkha's Daughter and Land Where I Flee. He loves idli, loathes naan, and is indifferent to coffee. He teaches Creative Writing at Krea University and oscillates between New York City and Sri City.
