Having spent seven prime years of my life in Lucknow, the capital of Uttar Pradesh over half a century ago, I knew its every nook and corner. The city could spring no surprises, I boasted to my wife, her sister and her husband. But the city had other plans.
We exited Charbagh railway station on a cold January afternoon to be confronted with a sea of humanity, reinforced with vehicular traffic of every description. Braving the freezing winds, I craned my neck out of the Innova, loaned to us by my cousin Anil, in an effort to locate the landmarks I knew so well. But the city has completely changed. Gone are the colonial era Burlington Hotel and the nawabi Carlton Hotel with its sprawling lawns. Burlington is replaced by a number of shops while Carlton has given way to Sahara Mall. Even Hazratganj, once known for ‘ganjing’ (a leisurely evening stroll from its one end to the other) has transformed to the extent that strolling here has become hazardous to health. A number of old establishments including the Mayfair theatre have perished too. The good old Indian Coffee House, a graceful middle-aged lady fifty years ago, has undergone cosmetic surgery to become a modern, young coquette. Only the Vidhan Sabha and the General Post Office, the two iconic buildings built by the British, still stand unchanged in all their grandeur.
Like any old Indian city, Lucknow is dotted with innumerable monuments but the best known and most visited are the two Imambaras, the neighbouring Rumi Darwaza and the Residency.
Bara Imambara: You say Bara Imambara and Bhulbhulaiya automatically comes to mind. Bhulbhulaiya, a complex of interconnected passageways in which visitors can get lost unless accompanied by a guide, owes its existence to the necessity of distributing the immense weight of the roof, covering probably the world’s largest hall without the support of beams or pillars, measuring about 165ft long, 55 feet wide and 50 feet tall.
Nawab Asaf-ud-Daula ordered the construction of Imambara in 1780s to generate employment for his subjects and help them tide over the devastating famine raging across Awadh, which he ruled. The elite too were employed, their job being to demolish at night what the commoners had built during the day. (Nothing was given for free – no ‘revaris’ were distributed – our rulers since independence, please note). Not used to manual labour, the elite could only partially demolish what was built during the day. No wonder the construction of this magnificent monument took such a long time.
The Nawab once noticed a man sitting idle, periodically throwing water on a large stone wheel being pulled in a round rut by two bullocks. Every time the Nawab visited the site, he saw the same man throwing water on the same stone wheel pulled by the same two bullocks. The Nawab could ignore it no longer and asked the man why he was sitting idle and did he expect to be paid for doing nothing.
“Gustakhi maaf, huzoor, I am not sitting idle. I am working.” Replied the poor man.
“Working! Throwing water on that stone is work? Show me what does that achieve.”
Without a word the man picked a lump of what was in the rut and threw it at the wall opposite.
“Jaan ki maafi chahtaa hun huzoor, but could huzoor bring that lump back?”
The Nawab glared at the man, walked up to the wall and extended his little finger to take the lump off the wall. It did not budge. He tried again with all the five fingers. Same result. Now the Nawab used both hands. It wouldn’t budge. This time the Nawab used all his strength to pull the lump. It remained firmly stuck to the wall. The Nawab turned to the man and asked, “What devilish trick is this?”
“No trick huzoor. I am grinding a mixture of lime, wheat husk and urad dal. The longer it is ground, the stronger it is, as huzoor has just seen.”
Is it a wonder the Imambara has survived the ravages of time? Needless to say, the man was hugely rewarded.
How to cook nourishing food for the multitude of labour force was a major problem. An enterprising cook devised a simple method. He threw quantities of rice, mutton and condiments mixed with water in a huge cauldron, covered it with a lid, sealed the edges with kneaded flour to prevent steam from escaping (invention of the first rudimentary pressure cooker some 350 years ago?) and cooked the whole thing on open fire. Lo! A delicious wholesome meal was ready.
The Nawab tasted the broth his subjects were being fed and liked it so much that he ordered the cook to the royal kitchen and cook it only for him. The biryani was born. Today, the biryani and its various avatars are considered a delicacy all over the country.
Nawab Asaf-ud-Daula lies buried within the Imamabara. So also, its architect Kifayatullah.
Rumi Darwaza: The sixty feet tall Rumi Darwaza stands between the two Imambaras – Bara and Chota. This magnificent gateway was also built by Nawab Asaf-ud-Daula in 1784. I was told when I first came to Lucknow over sixty years ago, that it was called Rumi Darwaza because of its Roman architecture. Now it transpires that it was inspired by the Turkish and not the Roman architecture. But the fact remains that it is popularly known as “Rumi Darwaza’. It is said that it once served as an entrance to the Nawab’s palace which was demolished, along with many other palaces, by the British after the failed 1857 war of independence.
Chota Imambara: This Imambara, built by Nawab Mohammad Ali Shah, was completed in 1838 after 54 years of construction. Its interior is beautifully decorated with chandeliers and crystal glass lamps. This is why it is also called the Palace of Lights. Some old ‘tazias’ are also displayed in Chota Imambara.
Two white structures stand on either side of the main entrance to the Imambara resemble the famous Taj Mahal. The Nawab’s daughter Asiya Begum lies buried in the one on the right. The one on the left was built only to balance the landscape.
Shoes are not allowed in the main halls of the two Imambaras. Photography is allowed in Bara Imambara but videography is not. Both are prohibited in Chota Imambara. However, photographs can be taken from the doorways.
Satkhanda: Some distance from Chota Imambara stands a structure known as ‘satkhanda’. Its construction, inspired by the Qutub Minar and the Leaning Tower of Pisa, was started in 1837 by Nawab Mohammad Ali. The Nawab wanted ‘satkhanda’ to rival both. Unfortunately, the construction was halted with the Nawab’s death in 1842 and never resumed probably because of the ongoing turmoil of fighting the East India Company from taking over the State and the country.
Not far from Satkhanda is the Hussainabad Picture Gallery. Centuries old paintings of the nawabs and their families are on display here. They look like they have just been painted. The secret lies in the vegetable colours used to paint them. These colours never lose their sheen. Taking photographs is prohibited here also. The dilapidated building and an equally neglected ancient huge public bath in front of it are badly in need of repair and restoration.
The Residency: It was the official residence of the representative of the East India Company. Ostensibly, the Resident (as the Company’s representative was called) was an advisor to the ruler of Awadh. But it was the Resident who was the real ruler. The Nawab only put his seal on the edicts of the Resident.
The construction of the Residency was started by Nawab Asaf-ud-Daula in 1780 and ended in 1800 during the reign of Nawab Saadat Ali Khan. The native troops laid siege of the Residency during the first war of independence in 1857. The handful of white civilians, their families and a few hundred soldiers defending the Residency suffered huge casualties and massive damage to the Residency. Trapped for months, they were rescued only in November when General Outram marched in from Calcutta with reinforcements. The Residency stands today the way it looked after the siege. But not quite. The unkempt look I had witnessed fifty years ago is gone. The dirt roads have been paved, lawns groomed and the ruins spruced up. Entry to the basement, where poor sixteen-year-old Mary Palmer was killed by a freak shot during the siege, is prohibited. The reason? It had become a haven for the amorous young couples, according to the guard on duty.
The British, seeking vengeance, destroyed the palaces the Nawabs’ lived in. The well-known King George’s Medical College stands on the ground where Machli Mahal once stood.
Gomti River Front: It did not exist when I lived in Lucknow. Part of the riverbank has been developed into a park. Nice place for families to spend a leisurely evening. Entry is not free – once again to deter amorous young couples. But 5/- per person is too small a price to pay for a few hours of privacy.
Lucknow Cuisine: Lucknow is well known for its cuisine. When President Parvaiz Musharraf of Pakistan came to India to discuss Kashmir issue with the Indian prime Minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee, many chefs were called to cook their special dishes. Tunde from Lucknow was called too for his kebabs, which surprised me. I had known Tunde from the days when he was a nonentity selling his kebabs from a small vend near Dayanidhan Park in Lalbagh. His kebabs were good but not good enough to match Sakhawat’s. Sakhawat had a shop in a lane near Gymkhana Club. He had different fixed menu for each day of the week. His popularity was such that one could not get served without advance booking. Tunde was only second to him. Everybody in Lucknow knew of Sakhawat.
To introduce my companions to Sakhawat’s cuisine I asked the driver to take us to his shop. “Who is Sakhawat?” He asked. He asked many persons. Nobody had heard of Sakhawat. It fell upon me to find Sakhawat’s place. The were kebabs nowhere near what they were when the old man was alive. The once famous Sakhawat has gone in oblivion while Tunde has franchisees across the country.
Kuch bhi.....bas yunhi 