Istanbul:
Last summer I read Orhan Pamuk's memoir in prose- Istanbul. I can't quite exactly recall what stirred me- his memoir is an eco-rich conditioner- but, it must have been the chapters on Bosphorous that took me to Istanbul months later. Bosphorous is our Jehlum: ancient, sad and a whirlpool of activities on its banks. If you take a ferry across Bosphorous, you will see a milieu of the city- rooftops, even trees, woollen capped mid-aged Turks sipping Cay, women drying clothes on small portico's that seem to be hanging from outer walls- house after house. A hawker sells chestnuts on his pushcart, children ram into a rust replete leftover hatch- a makeshift goal post. The urge was to walk on its banks, to seep into its air- to give an ear to stories Bosphorous holds in its bosom- of conquests, murders, history and deceit- like Jhelum does- quietly, gracefully carving its way out of the city.
Though being an ancient city, Istanbul is much more than just the sum of its monuments. If Byzantine churches and Ottomon mosques have your fill, then Beyogla's nightclubs and chic boutiques will leave you in a drool. If prayer calls from many of its tapering minarets bear reminiscence of age-old faith, then the scenes on streets of Takism square- of couples joined together, walking under a umbrella- hit you with a dart of romance. To put in short, Istanbul is a seductive metropolis.
The city was cold, grey and veiled under the sauntering breath of winter when I reached. I'd my booking in a hotel near Sultanehmet. Browsing through few travel blogs was helpful. I was at the right place. The window of my room opened to Bosphorous- where seagulls leaped. The iconic Blue Mosque, Hagia Sophia and Topkapi palace were at a walking distance. I went around Sultanehmet, walking in short strides. It was winter, but there was a buzz in its streets. A tram passes through- passengers in long coats and high boots take their places at stations. There is a hairless old man reading Hurriyet- Turkeys leading newspaper, some young girls flip through novels- the ones you usually pick for a train or bus journey- easy reads; short stories perhaps. A young man in a swanky leather jacket carries a bouquet- Valentine's day it was. The effulgence in his stride said he was going to propose to someone. It was the climate of gold, his infinite eyes carried her. When the tram stopped, with a bell toll, she stepped out. My eyes were fixed on them. He spoke in an invisible springtime, she left the winter forlorn. They hugged and carried on walking along the long street- scaling skins, throbbing hearts. The Istanbul street lights deafening the darkness.
Next morning was spent on exploring Hagia Sophia. Built in 5th century A.D, consecrated as a church in 537, converted into a mosque by Mehmet the Conqueror in 1453 and declared a museum by Attaturk in 1935- the archaic structure surpasses others in grandeur, architectural form, religious importance and extraordinary beauty. As you enter the main building and look up- a brilliant 9th century mosaic of Virgin Mary and Christ child immediately leave you under a spell. As you look sideways, over to the left, the apse depicts the archangels Gabriel and Michael; today only fragments remain. Upstair galleries are accessed through a stone ramp. A green marble marks the spot where the empress once stood. The marble door towards right, separated the private chambers of emperors and meeting place for Church members. As I left through the Bronze gate dating from 2nd century B.C, the 10th century mosaic of Constantine the Great almost took my breath. Through centuries the emperor watches its visitors- some in veneration, some stupefied. His gaze follows them right till the bronze door.
Topkapi Palace- with its sprawling gardens and opulent pavilions, built by Sultan Mehmet in 1453 shortly after con-questing the then Constantipole, doesn't fare badly either. Here the prodigal sultans, the beautiful courtiers and overjoyed eunuchs lived together in mirth from 14th till 19th century. The sprawling Harem inside the palace, gives a fascinating glimpse into those times.
Istanbul's colorful and chaotic Grand Bazaar is certainly one place you don't want to miss. Weathering the test of times, in this age of mega malls, the labyrinthine form of the market leaves one in a turn. For me the reasons were understandable, when I peeped through a doorway to discover a hidden han- a narrow lane way landed me up in Kitaplar- a book haven. Here I picked up the first publication (1957) copy of Boris Pasternak's Doctor Zhivago. I've the newer version, the vintage collection, but the yellow'y frail pages- smelling peculiarly copy made my day. In fact the entire trip. Somethings even master card cannot buy.
It is advisable to travel in Istanbul by a Tram or metro. For two reasons; one, the cities traffic is unforgiving and two its taxi drivers can con you easily. I took a Tram to the other side of Bosphorous- to Taksim square. By now it was afternoon. But still cold and murky. I took a walk from Beyoglu street to Taksim square, in between stopping over for a cup of strong Turkish coffee in a Bistro owned by a film buff. The walls carried posters of movies from Henry Fonda to Kevin Costner. Nejat as he told me his name later, was a construction engineer, who left his profession and pursued this love of treating his guests to Turkish coffee and interesting anecdotes.
There must be very few places in world as rich in food as Turkey. Many Istanbul restaurants serve scrumptious, savory kebabs that leave a lasting taste. I found Firin Kebabs- made of tender mutton especially delectable.
Later that evening, back in my hotel, which over looked the cobblestone pathways of Sultanehmet, dimly lit by the flickering street lights under a cold evening breeze, with an over turned Oscar Wilde poetry book, Jazz- who worked in the Hotel I stayed, strummed guitar. An aspiring lead singer, Jazz sang some country songs. John Denver. While his friend Ika from Georgia played few folk songs. I treated the party with my dose of Ghalib. A cultural mix reverberated till late night in this quiet street. The symphony must be like the world. It must embrace everything.
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