A hard day’s drive

When our flight was canceled we took a taxi as quickly as possible. The day’s drive was through the plains just before the land rises into the Himalayas, the hottest part of the country. The heat was already bad enough that the air conditioning in the car laboured to keep the temperature bearable. From Dehra Dun it is just a short while to Haridwar.

Haridwar was hosting the Kumbh Mela during this time. If I’d passed so close to it in a normal year I would have spent time photographing pilgrims, but this year I thought it prudent to avoid it. As our car sped past Haridwar we saw the tent cities that had been erected on both sides of the Ganga to accommodate pilgrims. It wasn’t a particularly holy day, so they were mostly empty. But there were people coming for a dip in the holy river anyway. Farmers had come here with their tractors, family in open trailers with mattresses and changes of clothes. Other groups had elected to come in minibuses, which normally hold about 15-25 people. Some walked. Others looked for taxis and autos. It was a hot day, notice how that family trying to flag down an auto stands in the shade of an enormous gate which welcomes travelers to the Mela. As our car sped by I had a pang that any photographer will feel at missing a wonderful opportunity for people watching.

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Soon after we moved off into narrow country roads. The continuous stream of traffic sped past many little villages, each with its little market square. Now and then we would pass a large walled off property. In these plains fired brick was the building material of choice. The heat hid the fact that it was still just around the middle of astronomical spring, so trees were still flowering and putting out new leaf buds. For a large part of the day we drove through the state of UP, where the local body elections were about to happen: the evidence was posters on walls, and large hoardings lining the roads. But most of the time we just drove past agricultural fields. This is India’s heartland, mostly farming.

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Then, in the golden hours of the day, we passed a country market. If we had more time I would certainly have stopped the car and walked along the margins of the market with my camera (the crowd without masks was too daunting to wade into). But I got a few shots with my phone as we speeded past this enormous, but completely unremarkable, market. So many human stories there, I thought, it only I could have stopped. India’s plains are like that: more stories per square kilometer than almost any other rural part of the planet.

Then the landscape began to change. The plain had segued into broken land, the mountains closer. We’d crossed from Uttar Pradesh to Uttarakhand: UP to UK. Before I knew it I realized that we had gained more than half a kilometer in altitude. We began to pass mixed forests of sal and pine, and rivers which originate in the mountains. I was glad to catch the story that you see above: ephemeral, but repeated endlessly across the globe. Even in a non-stop six hour journey in a taxi I was able to take an ambush photo! I call something an ambush photo if it is a photo of someone taking a selfie, or a photo of a photographer taking a portrait. Soon we were in Haldwani and had exchanged our airport-to-airport taxi for the car that we were to take for the next few days.

Our hotel in Almora had agreed to keep a late dinner for us, but we hadn’t eaten since we left the airport munching a couple of wraps. We stopped in Haldwani for a quick snack, and drove on. A climb, a brief stop next to Bhim Tal to take photos of the lights at night. “Crystal clear,” The Family said, a phrase I would remember in the next week of smoky air higher up. I love these night drives in the mountains, and now sitting in the seat next to the driver I could get to take shots which tell you something of the charm of passing through this liminal space: well-lit towns empty of people, streams of trucks beached next to the road for the night, cars parked outside houses blazing with light. I was dog-tired when we reached the hotel after 11 at night. The charming staff brought us hot food in our room, and I must have eaten something before sleeping, because when I woke the next morning there were used plates on the balcony.

Around Kanpur

I did a little bit of research on things to see in Kanpur since I planned to be there on work. Unfortunately work expanded to fill up my time, and I never used my research. So, in the hope that you will be luckier than me, here are the three places which I short-listed.

Bithoor is the center of the universe, according to some. The Brahmavart Ghat on the Ganga is believed to be the place where mankind was created by Brahma. When the British defeated the Marathas in the early part of the 19th century, the last Peshwa was banished to Bithoor. His adoptive son, Nana Saheb, was involved in the First War of Independence, in 1857. In retaliation, his palace and the temples of Bithoor were razed by the British general Havelock in July of that year. I am told that the ruins have been bought recently by someone who plans to build a resort there. If this happens, the forlorn but peaceful atmosphere of the ghats will definitely change.

Bhitargaon temple is usually dated to around 450 CE. The dating makes it the earliest known brick temple in the country, and the largest temple from the Gupta period. It was first listed by Alexander Cunningham, India’s first Archaeological Surveyor, in 1877, and the first photographs were taken in 1878. The structure is said to have collapsed in 1894 after being struck by lightning. An early 20th century restoration is now believed to be largely fanciful. It changed the shape of the entrance arch, did not use many of the bricks of the original structure, and there is a controversy about the shape of the shikhara in the reconstruction. As a result of these controversies, there has never been a complete restoration of the restoration. Although it is a bit far from Kanpur, it would be really interesting to visit this structure.

Jajmau is an important archaeological site. Recent finds in this region include some of the oldest pottery in the country. Having been to similar sites in the past, I would bet even money that the digs would not be interesting to ordinary people like me. Apparently the Kanpur museum has some of the artefacts which were found here. I could have visited the museum, if I had the time. But since the days were very nice, and the open air more inviting, I could have visited the mazar of Hazrat Makhdoom Shah Ala in Jajmau. This is supposed to have been built in 1358 by Feroze Shah Tughlaq. One reads that it is a protected monument, but the relevant section from the Archaeological Survey of India’s website is currently under construction.

What I did see, by forcing my taxi to stop at the roadside, were beautiful bird-watching sites by the Ganga. Immediately after crossing the new Ganga bridge across the Kanpur bypass, at the edge of Unnao district, the road cuts through wetlands (picture above). There is the beginning of “development” at places along the road. This is still too little to impact the environment. In the ten minutes or so, which the impatient driver gave me, I saw a flock of cormorants, some coots, and a fast-moving pair of ducks taking off from a pond. Nawabganj Bird Sanctuary is about an hour’s drive away, but it seems that in winter one need not go that far for good birding.

Raiders of the lost truck

The story of these capable monkeys developed off the Grand Trunk Road, near Unnao in Uttar Pradesh

Mono culture

In a little room near the so-called Picture Gallery in Lucknow I saw this man labouring away at a piece of cloth which would be used once half a year later during a Shia muslim procession called the Chup Tazia. This ceremony has its origins in the later nawabi era of Lucknow, but has spread through India and Pakistan. This silent procession which marks the end of the mourning period of Muharram for Shias has been the cause of strife between Shia and Sunni muslims. The administration of Lucknow takes this very seriously, as you can see from this newspaper article from last year.

So does this man, cooped up in a small room. Is it faith which drives him and others, or is it livelihood? Is there even a difference?

Awadhi Vegetarian Food

During last week’s visit to Lucknow we tried out the two kababs which are special to Awadhi food: the Kakori kabab, named after the village of Kakori a few kilometers from Lucknow, and the Galawati kabab, whose name suggests that it is melted so that you don’t have to chew on it. We tried these two and the shami kabab in all the places which we ate in. After this extensive comparative tasting, we came to the conclusion that street food can be quite nice, but for the subtle craft of spicing one needs to go to some of the more refined kitchens in the city. These were the expected flavourful delights.

What was quite unexpected were two excellent vegetarian dishes we found. One was a kofta with khubani (apricots). Khubani is an important part of Hyderabadi food, and it is not hard to imagine that it entered modern Indian cooking through Hyderabad’s and Awadh’s borrowing from Mughal food. The aromatic gravy with nuts and spices which came with the kofta was clearly related to the spicing of the galawati kabab. So it was not hard to imagine that this was a reasonably authentic dish, or an invention by a cook who was well-versed in the style and technique of Awadhi food.

The other vegetarian dish gives me more to think about. This was a dish with paneer and a paste of figs cooked in a rich curry with aromatic spices and nuts. The curry was again something one could well accept in any Awadhi food. The spare use of the fig paste could have been derived from a Mughal kitchen, and I’m willing to think of it as genuinely Awadhi ingredient. It is the paneer which I am conflicted about. Awadhi food contains a lot of hung yogurt, cream and ghee. Is paneer an authentic ingredient in this kitchen? By the 19th century paneer and chhana had definitely entered the Indian kitchen.

Wikipedia asserts that paneer was known in India in the first century AD on the basis of the following sentences from this paper “People during the Kusana and Saka Satavahana periods (AD 75–300) used to consume a solid mass, whose description seems to the [sic] earliest reference to the present day paneer. The solid mass was obtained from an admixture of heated milk and curd”. This description fits the process for making yogurt. Harold McGee’s famous book describes yogurt, buttermilk and soured creams as being recorded during this historical period in large parts of the world, but gives a later date to the emergence of various kinds of cheese. I think the last word has not been said about the widespread introduction of paneer into Indian kitchens. It is possible that the Mughal kitchen had access to it, and the Awadhi cooks inherited paneer as an ingredient; but the dish that I ate felt more modern.

One of the important components of Awadhi food are the rotis. The layered shirmal roti was hard to find, but the one which we eventually found was lovely and soft, although more infused with ghee than we would tolerate every day. We never managed to find a baqar khani roti, apparently you have to order these in advance. But we found a couple of parathas which seemed to be made in the same style as the shirmal roti. While the roomali roti of Delhi has become common fare even in the heart of Awadh, the art of Awadhi roti is alive.

The late Mughal and early Company years are very intensely studied by historians. I hope someone, somewhere, is thinking of writing a history of food during this time.

The forlorn Chhattar Manzil

I read in a little brochure put out by the Archaelogical Survey of India that the Chhattar Manzil complex grew around the nucleus of a palace built by General Claude Martin for himself. This was sold to Nawab Saadat Ali Khan, who and whose successors built more around it to house themselves and their families. The same brochure tells me that the two connected buildings I see before me when I walk in through the gate marked CDRI are Chhattar Manzil and Farhat Bakhsh. The building with the minaret and round dome above it is the Chhattar Manzil, and to its left, as you face north, is Kothi Farhat Bakhsh. It was not clear to us whether we were trespassing, so we did not explore further.

In 1951 this complex was given to the Council for Scientific and Industrial Research, which established the Central Drug Research Institute in this building. This prestigious institute outgrew the premises and moved out in 2012 when its new campus was ready. When we strolled in through one gate and out through another, the building seems to have been lying neglected for years. A rusty sign over a door proclaims a toilet. We see broken windows which clearly let in the rain. The derelict garden is host to a large number of butterflies. As we watch them, we hear a band of babblers quarrelling in the trees. It is a quiet Sunday morning in the busy heart of Lucknow.

The imposing complex needs care. It served as a residence of the Nawabs until Wazir Ali Shah moved to his new palace in Qaiserbagh. The building still looks imposing, and it is clear that it can be renovated. A little work on the web led me to this feel-good news item about the state government’s plans to restore the complex and set up a museum and a library on the premises. The intention is good, and one hopes that the work begins soon.

The Lucknow Residency

A palace complex which may have belonged to the sons of the Nawab of Lucknow was given over for the use of the British Resident of Lucknow in 1800. The buildings are made of lakhauri brick and lime mortar, and still show signs of external decoration. In 1856 the last Nawab of Awadh, Wajid Ali Shah, was deposed by the British East India Company and exiled to Kolkata. The next year, the residency came under siege during the War of Independence. Although the siege was eventually lifted, Lucknow was abandoned until the end of the War.

The Residency was left as a memorial to the war, and never reoccupied. Even today one can see the marks of cannonball and shot in the brick and plaster. The Archaeological Survey of India has had the complex in its care since 1920. In recent years there have been archaeological digs at one end of the site. Some of the artifacts which have been recovered are on display in the museum on the grounds. The extensive grounds are now well-manicured gardens. There are more lovers than tourists in the gardens: history has a way of forgetting wars.

The architecture of Awadh

Most of the great heritage structures in India are made of stone and some of them have an iron frame within. But in Avadhi architecture, brick and mortar has been shaped into impressive structures.

Vipul Varshney (2012)

Lucknow is full of grand architecture: the Rumi darwaza, once the entrance to the city, Chhattar Manzil, initially built for the Wazir, but eventually the residence of the Nawab, Sikandar Bagh, once Wazir Ali Shah’s summer residence, but now remembered as the spot where the Company massacred 2200 Indian soldiers, the immense Qaiser bagh complex, still impressive. However, the defining piece of architecture from Nawabi Lucknow is the Bara Imambara. It was built during the time of Asaf-ud-Daulah, the Nawab who moved the capital of Awadh from Faizabad to Lucknow in 1775.

The Bara Imambara impresses. As I entered through the Naubatkhana with its huge fish symbols, I was prepared for marvels. They are there, but they reveal themselves slowly. You enter a gate, skirt a large garden and enter a second gate. After this there is a long walk to the Imambara.

From a distance the Imambara looks beaten down by rain. As you approach you can make out a line of windows across the top. These are the external windows in the famous maze: the bhool bhulaiya. On the right is the Asafi mosque: its grand minarets and domes the colour of the surkhi which is the mortar binding the lakhauri bricks together.

Off to the left is the Shahi Baoli: a three story structure above the well which was dry on the day we saw it. We heard a guide telling his group that the well fills up when the Gomti river overflows. Since the baoli is within a few hundred meters of the river, it is possible that the level of the river water has something to do with the well. From the entrance about 50 steps leads down to a gate to the well, locked against visitors. We skirt the steps and walk straight into the second level above the well. This baoli is impressive in the abstract geometry of the repeated arches, and its interaction with the light, not in architectural decorations.

As we turn to go we see the Asafi masjid framed in the entranceway to the baoli. This is a mellow view: the stark lines of the mosque filtered through intervening greenery. It strikes me then that the Bara Imambara is a statement about state power: the architect, Kifayatullah, is conscious of the distances that one would have to walk from one part of the complex to the other. Only worshippers are allowed into the mosque, so we walk up to the main attraction.

The characteristics of Awadhi architecture are the absence of iron and beams, the use of vaulted ceilings, multiple entrances on facades, parapets on roofs. All of these are present in front of us. Below the impressive facade is a kiosk selling water, other bottled drinks, and packets of snacks. It has been a very humid day, and we have used up all our water. We stock up, and as The Family drinks her cola, I look up at the blank arches of the bhool bhulayia right above us. The maze is supposed to have 489 identical doorways, and utilizes the differences in the heights of various rooms below it for part of its effect.

The Bada Imambara is as impressive as I’d expected. The roof of the central hall is entirely without any support. This is even more impressive when you realize that there is no iron in the cantilevered roof: the 49.7 m by 16.6 m span is made entirely of lakhauri bricks, held together with mortar. A little search led to a paper on the material used written by some members of the Civil Engineering department of the nearby Indian Institute of Technology, Kanpur. The tomb of Asaf-ud-Daula lies under this impressive roof. This is flanked by two halls: the China hall is square at ground level, becomes octagonal higher up, then is sixteen sided at top, the roof of the India hall is segmented like an orange (although the word watermelon is used in various writings).

All that remained was a guided tour of the maze, and a demonstration of the impressive acoustics of the whispering gallery above the India room.

The Chhota Imambara under renovation

The Chhota Imambara dates from 1838, ie, the reign of Nawab Muhammad Ali Shah. The graves of the Nawab and his mother are inside the Imambara. You pass through a large gate before coming to the Imambara complex. Unlike the Rumi Darwaza, this gate is not in great repair, so you can actually see how lakhauri bricks and lime mortar were used to build these enormous arches. I took the photo above so that I could study the technique without putting a crick in my neck. The construction is really impressive.

As one enters the complex through the Naubatkhana, the hamaam lies to the left. This is a beautiful space with lovely blue and rose coloured walls, elegant tiles and windows with green glass which let in a lovely modulated light. The CFL bulb hanging above the bath was wholly unnecessary during the day. The hamam does not seem to be in use today.

One of the most elegant parts of this complex is the Jawab opposite the grave of Muhammad Ali Shah’s daughter, Zeenat Algiya. It was attractive in the half-light of the monsoon, when I took the photo above. It remained attractive when the clouds blew away and the evening sun came out to play on the white exterior.

The Chhota Imambara belongs to the Husainabad Trust, which has now started on a well-meaning exercise to renovate the main structure. We saw the arches above the lovely carved wooden doors being renovated. The older construction was of lakhauri brick and mortar, as you can see in the photo alongside. The structure of this arch is similar to that of the large arch in the photo on top.

Unfortunately, these lovely old arches are being replaced by modern ones in reinforced cement, like the one on the left. The new arches are not ugly, they are quite nice and modern; but they efface the history of the structure. I hope that the detailed plans of the old structure remain in some architect’s studies. In future if the Trust wishes to return to a historically more accurate restoration they would come in useful.

The Imambara contains elegant pieces of Arabic calligraphy in the form of birds. However, what left us stunned was the gaudy collection of lamps. I’ve never seen so many lamps and chandeliers, apparently all from Belgium, collected into such a small space. The effect is overwhelming. The Family asked a caretaker whether they are all lit sometime. We were told that they are lit during Muharram. We were invited to come and join the queue to devotees who flock to see this marvel. It must be, indeed.

Life around Rumi Darwaza

Rumi Darwaza was built in the time of the first Nawab of Lucknow, Asaf ud Daulah. The monumental structure of lakhauri brick and surkhi mortar was the entrance to the Nawabi capital city, the gate to the fabled hospitality of Awadh. The arch is topped by an octagonal cupola which was originally meant to contain lights. Around the exterior of the arch one can still see the pipes which made up an immense fountain. If this ever worked, then the underlying hydraulics would have been wonderful indeed, so I’m surprised to find no references to it at all. One can see a gallery half way up the interior, and I read that there is a staircase to access it. I did not search for the stairs. I walked through the gate, which now is a conduit for a constant stream of extremely variable traffic.

On the outside of the gate is a busy road, in process of being widened. At the corner of every road which feeds into it is a taxi stand. The variety of taxis and rickshaws was incredibly large. If you ever need to count how many different kinds of vehicles can be made into taxis, just come to one of these cross roads. I’m sure it will be hard to exceed any count made here.

One of the most interesting things about the area is the food. Lucknow is reputed to be a place for refined food: kababs which melt before they pass your lips, slow-cooked biryani, figs and apricots in curries, multiply-layered roti. But around this gate I found carts which were full of simpler puri, kachori, and alu tikki, all doing good business at lunch time. Interspersed with them were the carts where you could get grilled corn: bhutta. In the middle of the day they did not seem to attract customers, but the fact that there were several carts meant that later in the day their popularity would rise.

There are no tourists outside the Rumi Darwaza, they stay on the Lucknow side of the gate, where the Bada Imambara lies. In spite of the fact that there are interesting buildings on the outside, like the Picture Gallery and the Chhota Imambara, this seems to be the domain of the locals.