Tranquebar

Danish forts, British bungalows, German missionaries, Portuguese trade… clearly, we are in India. We are, in fact, in Tranquebar. All the way to Tranquebar, on the three-hour drive south from Pondicherry — full of MGR on posters in varying stages of youth, middle age and immortality — I have been feeling the tug of the coast at my singing heart, and trying out experimentally (and a bit grandly) ‘O, when we came to Tran-que-bar’. Or I roll out the original place name, ‘Tharang-um-vadi’ and feel the meaning of ‘land of the singing waves’ in my mouth. Or I recite, Coro-man-del. Musicality reigns. And continues to do so when I stand on the balcony of what was once the British collector’s house in Tranquebar and recite its present name: The Bungalow on the Beach.

Like my other favourite names of Neemrana ‘non-hotels’, Glasshouse on the Ganges and Verandah in the Forest, Bungalow on the Beach evokes a clear-sighted joy of life, a freedom from fuss and splendour, something light and airy and breezy. When you have the Ganges, or a forest, or a beach, you can’t do better than to celebrate their presence and intrude as little as possible. The Bungalow speaks of this ethos. It is not a building constructed as some activity-laden resort for beach-hoppers, but a building that was there organically as part of this small port’s heritage and has now been lovingly restored from its state of dilapidation. If it had fat round columns then, it does so now. If it had very tall wooden doors then, it does so now. If it had ventilators, pillared portico, staircase, wooden rafters holding up the ceiling, it has them now, and in the same place and of the same dimensions. I can stand on the balcony and try to imagine without too much strain what the British collector may have thought as he stood here face to face with the sea. Very face to face, for even more delightful than any other element of beauty and grace and décor here is the reality that the bungalow is, in fact, right on the beach.

I hope he was easy-going, peace-loving and not too ambitious, this collector. Because by the time he took charge, his port-town with a history of maritime trade was giving way to the efficient bustle of the nearby port of Nagapattinam, which was now connected by a railway line. Tranquebar, as history tell us, ‘lost its importance’. So, possibilities are that the collector did spend some intoxicating evenings on this balcony, with this very sea shining liquid diamond under this very nearly full moon, and the breeze blowing in like a happy drunk friend who insists you get high too.

Even at night, he could have seen, like I can, the outlines of the Danish fort on his right, just a stone’s throw away. Maybe he had travelled around India, and appreciated how the sharp conical pinnacles lining the fort’s top were a unique feature in the Indian architectural landscape. If he looked right, he could see, like I can, a 14th-century stone temple being slowly eroded by the sea. If he took a turn around his balcony, or climbed up to the terrace to rise above his administrator’s worries, he could see the erstwhile Danish governor’s house and old churches built when the Danes were masters of this port, much before him. He could even see the top of the town gate and imagine the legend on it: ‘AD 1792’, with the Danish monarch’s coat of arms inscribed. I wonder how an Englishman felt surrounded by all this Danishness. Possibly proud — ha, we sent them packing. Possibly maudlin — of what use all this activity and planning and scheming and working and warring… when it comes to naught? Possibly just sleepy; that sea breeze can lull you like nothing can.

That sea breeze can also freshen you up like nothing can. Witness the guests at meal times: the shining eyes that scan the menu of the day, the eager hands that move to the cold beer, the tinkle of cutlery, and the laughter, as we all take a break from studying the curious phenomenon that is Tranquebar, what made it, what fed it and what kept it happy and tucked it into bed at night. ‘We’ constitutes a roughly 90 percent Danish presence. Danes researching the history of this part of their national heritage, Danes who run NGOs interested in conservation, Danes who wish to contribute to development work after the tsunami hit the region, Danes photographing for posterity, making a listing of cemeteries, writing reports. But also Danes enjoying themselves, as they clearly do at the bungalow.

What’s with all these Danes, you ask? In the early 17th century, the king of Denmark was interested in the profitable trade happening with and in ‘the East’. In Denmark, too, as in England and France, they set up an East India Company. They sent a fleet to Ceylon and India, which after many tribulations landed up at Tanjore and the leaders of which successfully negotiated with the ‘Nabob of Tanjore’ to let them establish a settlement on the coast in return for an annual tribute. The nabob granted them this area called Tharangamvadi, which name the Danes changed to Tranquebar. They built this small fort, called Dansborg, in 1620. They ruled under a governor, started a church establishment, paid Tanjore, and sometimes fought with him. At no time in the 1600s and 1700s was the settlement big enough or successful enough or imperial enough to be called a colony. It didn’t threaten the other European powers of the region, who let it be. After some 220 years of running it, Denmark sold it to the British in 1845. Leading to the presence of our collector and his house on the beach.

With the fascinating 17th-century buildings and its lovely seaside location, Tranquebar could have been a magnet not just for the Danes but for travellers in general. But, as many guests at the bungalow point out, there was simply no place to stay and people had to come on day trips from Pondicherry. All of which has changed now. The Neemrana bungalow has not only immensely facilitated the Denmark connection but also begun the process of putting Tranquebar on the heritage- and beauty-spot map on the east coast. Especially as there are now, not just one Neemrana property here, but three. And they remind us that even though Tharangamvadi became Tranquebar, it remained, after all, in Tamil Nadu.

The stories of Danish administration of this territory evoke hilarious pictures of befuddled Danes wrestling with Tamil social complexities. A low-caste group refuses to work on the fort bastions because an upper-caste group stopped them from using a palanquin in a marriage celebration. The Danes must intervene. Brahmins stop cooperating because a low-caste oil presser is not only using a parasol but has also taken to wearing red shoes! The Danes must stop this. All castes walk out of the fort because a man from the (low) Sellappa caste has been given the high post of commercial agent by the finance minister. This is not to be tolerated. (The well-connected Sellappa man wriggles out of the crisis, and for good measure gets his own back by, guess what, buying a palanquin for himself!) At the best of times there may have been 200-300 Danes in Tranquebar but there were some 2,000 Indians. So, it is fitting that I also get to stay in the wonderfully Tamil, Naik House. (Naik is a popular surname from Tranquebar’s history; the King of Tanjore was Raghunath Nayak and there are records of merchants called Naik.)

 I enter Naik House with confidence. I’m confident because before coming to Tranquebar I have met architect Ajit Kaujalgi, who is responsible for the recent restoration work done on the buildings of Tranquebar — and who is the convener of INTACH, Pondicherry — and we’ve shared an epiphanic moment. We have utterly and completely agreed, in one voice and breath, that all one needs in life is a courtyard, open to the skies, with a tree in it. So I know Naik House will be a pleasure. It surpasses my confidence.

Just two minutes from the Bungalow on the Beach, I enter Goldsmith Street. (The names of Tranquebar Streets are English translations from Danish times, such that you have the main gateway leading in to King’s Street, and a parallel Queen’s Street too.) I enter a door, vaguely expecting a room, and find an open courtyard instead. Light pours in, making the air glow, on the white pebbles that have been spread in the centre of the courtyard. The whole is surrounded by pillars slim and graceful as a swan’s neck, entirely different from the Danish and British architecture where pillars are as rotund as the burghers and aristocrats of the East India Company. Wood glows all around. There’s a door leading outwards. I open to find a verandah with more slim pillars, coconut trees, some sand, the most comfortable chair in the world, and practically at my undeserving feet, the sea. Over my head is a red tiled roof, which slopes silently till the end and, when it thinks no one is looking, curves just that little bit.

Right next to the famous Gate entrance of Tranquebar is another of these restoration showpieces — the newly opened Gate House. Among various old pillared Danish buildings — now used as schools, training centres, and a spiritual centre — stands this little Tamil gem. Here the interior décor has some sumptuous and lavish wooden furniture, atmospheric old faded photographs, carved pillars and delicious use of colours. If you take the two rooms on the first floor, you can have the entire floor with centre area and balcony to yourself.

For a place with practically no ‘tourist activity’, Tranquebar keeps me quite busy. I can sip tea and read in the uncomplicated beauty of my room at Naik House with the roar and proximity of the sea and the most beautiful azaan I have heard in a long time. I can sink in my four-poster bed at the bungalow and marvel at the splendid 10-foot-high wooden doors. I can walk down the beach and watch fishermen at work, their children at play, their boats at rest. I can explore the fortress and imagine its brass guns looking out at the sea. I can investigate church cemeteries or stroll among vivid kolams in front of the freshly washed houses every morning. I can also feel fairly at home doing all this because the Neemrana Group here has tried to make its presence a part of local life. They employ locals and buy their goods and fish locally. They enlarge their drainage work so that the whole street benefits, not just their hotel. And they had done their bit with donations and repair work after the tsunami struck.

I realise that what with trading ships, and oil-pressers who wore red shoes, and sealed letters that went from Tranquebar to England, and the Kings of Denmark and Tanjore as interested parties… my story actually includes ships and shoes and sealing wax and, um, kings. I need cabbages. Those delightful smiling souls at the Bungalow on the Beach never once fed me cabbages, bless them. But I need cabbages to finish my story. Perhaps that’s the fig leaf I’ll use for revisiting Tranquebar soon.

The information
Getting there: The easiest way to get to Tranquebar is to drive down from Chennai, on the smooth East Coast Road, via Pondicherry a.k.a. Puducheri. The town is located at a distance of 280km from Chennai and 120km from Puducheri. The journey from Chennai should take you between five to six hours.

Where to stay: Neemrana Hotels now has three properties in Tranquebar, all heritage houses expertly restored by INTACH Pondicherry. The earliest to open — in late 2004, and then near-destroyed by the tsunami later in the year, only to be re-restored and re-opened — is The Bungalow on the Beach. The hotel has eight rooms, some sea facing and all air-conditioned. Tariff: Rs 4,000-5,000. A swimming pool is coming up this year. Breakfast is Rs 150 and meals Rs 350. Book in advance, as it’s proving very popular. The second is Gate House, an elegant property with air conditioning, and also with a pool coming up, a three-minute walk from the beach. Tariff: Rs 3,000 per room. Finally, Naik House, right on the beach, has three rooms with air conditioning. Tariff: Rs 2,000 for the en suite double rooms; one room, with bath not attached: Rs 1,000.

A budget option is Tamil Nadu tourism’s Hotel Tamil Nadu, which is run by the local Neemrana management and offers simple AC rooms for Rs 600 and dormitories for Rs 150. They serve relatively cheap, hygienic food to non-guests as well.

 Contact: Neemrana Hotels’ reservation offices: 011-41825001; 022-24322495, 080-41144724/25; www.neemranahotels.com