Awara (wanderer) in Turkey

I stood there wondering what it was that this lady was trying to say. She was waving the leaf in front my eyes, talking to me in rapid Turkish, sometimes pausing and then spacing out her words in a failed effort to make me understand. She once touched her head scarf, and then the leaf again before shooting off in Turkish. Finally she walked up to the tree, extended her hands, and carefully plucked two fruits. She offered me one, and when I hesitated, put it carefully into her mouth, chewing it slowly, before offering me again. Now this gesture, I understood. 

I put the tiny fruit into my mouth, and as I bit into it, the sweetest of juices oozed out and filling my mouth. My face must have registered a look of pleasure, for she quickly moved to pluck me another. And then another. I soon joined in. She showed me how to pick the ripest fruit; the idea was to look for those ones which looked like they’d bust open if left any longer. These ones were also whiter than the others, almost translucent. Wordlessly, we plucked more fruits, ate them one after the other, smiled gleefully at each other like children until the bus honked at a distance, and it was time for me to leave. I thanked her in English, and on an impulse hugged her. I was in Turkey on an assignment, and this was my second hug in one day. 

The carvings on one of the four gateways

After landing in Istanbul, my job had taken me to Sivas, a region in central Turkey. From Sivas city I had further travelled to a small eastern Anatolian mountain town of Divriği. The bus journey took close to three hours, and we drove through winding roads cut along a curving river, with mountains that changed from lush green to pale brown. Sitting where I was in the bus, it looked like the river was following me, and not the other way around. Or maybe the setting had woken up the inner romantic. Divrigi’s hidden tourist attraction is the Great Mosque and Hospital complex. Even though it is a UNESCO protected heritage site, it does not figure in most people’s Turkey travel map, because though well connected, it is a long drive to this place and there aren't many other places along the way that you can stop and visit.  The travel video here at 19:00 mins. 

When the road curved for one last time, before coming to a stop, at the foot of a hill, I caught my first glimpse of this mud brown monument. The Great Mosque and Hospital of Divrigi is a longish and magnificent structure, and was built in the beginning of the 11^th Century by the then ruler, Emir Ahmet Shah. The mosque and its adjoining hospital, was once the principal building of his empire. A closer look revealed the many wonders of this building. It has four glorious entrances and each gateway has elaborate and exclusive stone carvings, all made from a single block of stone. I remember thinking that it could be poetry written in stone, so many hundred years ago. The hospital apparently specialised in the treatment of the mentally ill. They had small canals all around the insides of the building and in the silence of the inner complex, the tickling of water through those channels must have reverberated - ancient form of therapy using the sounds of flowing water. It had also functioned as a medrese or a school for religious and primary education.

The seat of the Imam, the carpets, the chandeliers and your truly inside the mosque

The adjacent mosque was carpeted in red and blue, and for travellers on a budget who will only look at Turkish carpets from a distance and from across store windows, the first touch of that soft woollen fabric against bare feet, will remain as the most memorable experience. The insides of the mosque were bare but for this carpet, a few chandeliers and a mimbar - the seat of the Imam. If the carvings on the doorway had astounded me, the tall teak wood mimbar with its intricate designs fascinated me. Respectfully, I ran my hands over it. Mixed emotions – It could be here that the history of a secular and profound religion was shaped. I sat there for a while, taking in the silence and the deep sense of the past. When I stepped out much later, I met the lady who gave me my first hug. 

The friendliest souls ever

She was sitting at the foot of the mountain, with her daughter, watching two young boys at play. When I walked out, our eyes met and she smiled. I smiled back. She spoke to me in Turkish, and I indicated apologetically that I did not understand. She decided to continue the conversation anyway. She pointed to my ring indicating if I was married, and I nodded my yes. She wanted to know if I had come with my husband. I shook my head again. No, I was alone. If she thought it was inappropriate, her face did not show it. I surprised myself when I reached for my purse to show her my wedding photograph. They ‘ohh’ed and ‘aah’ed at the wedding picture, and I felt happy that we had shared a private moment. They pointed to a small house across the street, indicating that it was theirs, and asked me to come in for Çay (Turkish tea). I was taken aback. Yes, we had spoken, and I had shown them my wedding picture, but I was still a stranger – one who did not speak their language! Of course, the boys understood a little English, and would translate certain words to their grandmother. Even then, I wasn’t sure if there was enough time, so I refused. We continued this non-verbal communication until it was time for me to leave, and then she hugged me saying, ‘Allah korusun’ or God Bless and I hugged her back. 

They taught me to pick the ripest - my first taste of mulberry.

yes i'd love another glass of tea

A short walking distance from the Great mosque is a well preserved Divrigi home built in the traditional manner using wood. Outside this house were two big trees, laden with tiny white fruits. Young children from the neighbouring houses along with their purdah clad mothers had come to harvest them and though the fruits looked vaguely familiar, I was positive that I hadn’t seen them before. Later, when I boarded my bus, leaf and fruit in hand; my fellow Turkish travellers explained that it was the white Mulberry. So I’m guessing, by toughing her scarf, she was trying to tell me about the silkworms. 

During my travels through interior Turkey I felt welcome at every street corner. Random people will stop for a chat with you – sometimes in whatever broken English they can manage, at other times using hand gestures. It always begins with a simple question, ‘Where from?’ To which I soon learnt to reply, ‘Hindi-sthan’, the Turkish name for India. They would smile in recognition and one bold guy broke into a song, ‘awara hoon…’ from the Raj Kapoor’s 1951 classic movie ‘Awara’. Others asked more questions, invited me home; treated me to many cups of Turkish tea. Hospitality comes easily to them, and their culture, like ours, believes in the ‘Atithi devo bhava’ concept, though I am sure they have something appropriate in Turkish for that. 

Turkish dishes and their Malabari counterparts

A walk through Grand Bazaar in Sultanhmet and the Egyptian Spice Bazaar near Bosphorus reiterated these connections. Turks fancy the yellow metal, and the many gold shops that lined the market, reminded me of Kerala’s city specific gold markets. As I bit into a pista filled Turkish Delight, I remembered its country cousin, the Kozhikodan Halwa. The Turkish Pilav and the Indian pulao share the same parent. Their one bite wonder, midye dolma or mussels stuffed with rice, was just another version of the Malabari kadukka nirachathu.

Even though I have travelled alone before, never have I felt comfortable enough to share personal details with strangers. Never have I seen similarities that stretched beyond borders and dated back centuries. And never again will I be able to sing that song without fondly remembering Turkey. 

“āwārāhoon, yā gardish mein hoon, āsmān ka tārā hoon”


PS: On the last day of the Sivas conference I was given a chance to speak about my experience in Turkey. This is a video recording of the same.