Sunday 24 February 2013

Lucknow (1), City of Nawabs: Uttar Pradesh Part 5

Imambaras, Gully Cricket and the Food of Nawabs

Morning in Lucknow


India
Uttar Pradesh
The evening's biryani and vegetable jalfrezi weighed heavily on Lynne's already delicate stomach so she heard the thunderstorm in the night and the dawn call to prayer from the mosque. I slept through both.

In the morning the air was fresh and clean, the sky clear and Lucknow was looking a far pleasanter prospect.

Lucknow, with 7 million inhabitants is the capital of the large and densely populated state of Uttar Pradesh

We enjoyed a leisurely breakfast before Sanjay arrived to show us the city.

The Bara Imambara

A short drive brought us to the outer gate of the Bara Imambara. An imambara is a hall used by Shia Muslims for the annual commemoration of the martyrdom of Hussein, the grandson of the Prophet; ‘bara’ just means ‘big’.

Outer gate, Bara Imambara, Lucknow

The Bara Imambara was built by Asaf-ud-Daula, Nawab of Awadh in 1784. As the Moghul Empire weakened, Awadh, in central Uttar Pradesh, was one of several statelets that achieved de facto independence. Sa'adat Khan set himself up as the first Nawab in 1722 and Asaf-ud-Daula, the fourth of the dynasty, moved the capital from Faizabad to Lucknow in 1775.

Inner gate, Bara Imambara, Lucknow

Awadh is noted for its fertility but drought in the early 1780s brought the danger of famine and the building of the Bara Imambara was a ‘workfare’ project for otherwise unemployed farmers and labourers. There is a story that the peasants were paid for building during the day while the nobles spent their nights dismantling their work to make the job last longer. There are many reasons for doubting this story, not least the feeling that even if Asaf-ud-Daula’s generosity was legendary, the same was not necessarily true of the rest of Awadh’s aristocracy.

The Bara Imambara, Lucknow

The Asafi Mosque

The outer and inner gates and the imambara are magnificent, between then the Asafi mosque may be even better.

The Asafi Mosque, Bara Imambara, Lucknow

The Tomb of Asaf-ud-Daula and the Labyrinth

The tomb of Asaf-ud-Daula is inside the imambara hall, allegedly the world’s largest unsupported brick roof.

Imambara hall and tomb of Asaf-ud-Daula, Bara Imambara, Lucknow

On that roof, which is easily reached by a set of stone stairs, is a labyrinth.

Rooftop labyrinth, Bara Imambara, Lucknow

Navigating with assurance, Sanjay led us through the twists and turns to emerge on the balcony of the hall where we amused ourselves with the acoustics which, like the Whispering Gallery at St Paul's, allow conversations over large distances in quiet voices.

On the balcony of the Imambara hall, Lucknow

Diving back into the labyrinth we re-emerged for the best views over the imambara complex and the city of Lucknow.

Looking over the Imambara complex and the city beyond

The Rumi Darwaza

Imambaras are an extreme example of the Number 9 Bus Phenomenon. I waited sixty-two years for the first to turn up and the second came along twenty minutes later. But first we had to pass under the Rumi Darwaza, one of the city gates. Also built in 1784 by Asaf-ud-Daula it is (very loosely) modelled on the 'Sublime Porte' in Istanbul and is regarded as one of the finest examples of Awadhi - as opposed to Moghul - architecture. The word 'Rumi' means 'Roman'. The Sublime Porte is actually Ottoman, but a thousand years earlier Istanbul had been the capital of the eastern Roman Empire, so anything from Istanbul must be Roman – obviously, duh.

The Rumi Darwaza, Lucknow

The Chhota Imambara

The second imambara, the Chhota Imambara (sometimes called the Husseinabad Imambara) is a little way down the road. It was built in 1838 by the ninth Nawab of Awadh, Muhammad Ali Shah as a tomb for himself and his mother.

The Chhota Imambara, Lucknow

It is a beautiful building, light and almost lacy, standing at the end of a long narrow pool. Supposed replicas of the Taj Mahal stand to right and left of the pool, housing the tombs of other family members, but they are not good replicas and the ensemble looks ill-matched.

The Chhota Imambara and its mosque

As we walked towards the imambara a mongoose ran across our path, swiftly followed by a second one. Photographs? No chance, they are far too quick for me.

Besides the Nawab's tomb….

The tomb of Muhammad Ali Shah, Chhota Imambara, Lucknow

… the imambara contains his crown, his throne….

The throne of Muhammad Ali Shah, Chhota Imambara, Lucknow

…and any number of chandeliers - he was quite taken by them and built up a fine collection, mostly imported from Belgium. There is also a painted European style portrait. On it, he is labelled ‘King of Oudh’, the title by which the British, with the Anglophone's usual assured handling of foreign languages, knew the Nawabs of Awadh.

Several chandeliers, Chhota Imambara, Lucknow

The River Gomti and the Laundry

A Nawab must have clean clothes, so we drove to the banks of the River Gomti to inspect the city's laundries. Dirty clothes lie in piles….

Piles of dirty clothes by the River Gomti, Lucknow

…. while the dhobi wallahs stand up to their thighs in the river slapping clothing against stones.

Dhobi Wallahs in the River Gomti, Lucknow

Further over some of the clean washing had been hung up to dry while the rest was laid out on the litter-strewn grass. We never cease to wonder how it is that clothes washed in dirty water and dried on dusty ground can be clean, yet somehow the whites gleam and coloureds glow.

Washing drying on the dusty, litter-strewn ground, River Gomti, Lucknow

Gully Circket by the Laundry

There is open ground around the dhobi area and this being India every space was filled with lads playing 'gully’ cricket. Half a dozen games seemed to be going on, their outfields overlapping in a cheerful confusion of fielders.

Gully cricket by the River Gomti, Lucknow

Lucknow Market

Satisfied with our inspection we next went to the market.

Nimish

At the entrance a man with a barrow was selling what looked like cream sprinkled with pistachios and coated with silver leaf. Sanjay called it ‘butter cream’ and suggested we should try it. Very soon we had a disposable bowl of pressed leaves, a wooden spoon and a dollop of butter cream. With an already upset stomach Lynne approached it warily, but it was sweet and lovely and slipped down so easily that we had no problem finishing the bowl.

Selling nimish, Lucknow market

[In Rick Stein's India, shown on television a few months later, he called it nimish and bought his from the same vendor - or at least one on the same spot. I am indebted to his website for the ingredients which, beneath the pistachios and silver leaf, are double cream, icing sugar, rose water and saffron. The silver has no culinary purpose, but the food of Lucknow is the food of Nawabs so it must look opulent.],

Eating nimish, Lucknow market

The Many and Various Market Stalls

We walked on through the narrow streets of the market....

Lucknow market

...passing shops selling wool, perfume,...

Perfume shop, Lucknow market

...kites...

Kite shop, Lucknow market

..and dozens of other things banal and exotic.

Selling water pipes, Lucknow market

We watched a man printing a border pattern on a piece of cloth, hand stamping it with a wooden block. With apparent ease he was, time after time, banging the block down in precisely the right spot to make the pattern smooth and continuous.

Hand stamping a pattern, Lucknow market

We marvelled at his skill and also, though for different reasons, at the electrics. Fires in Indian markets are regularly reported in the press - and looking at the wiring no one should be surprised.

A tangle of wires, Lucknow market

Shami Kebabs

Eventually we reached the shami kebab stall in the centre of the market. We think of kebabs, and skewers come immediately to mind, but no skewers are involved with these patties of minced lamb.

I had been unimpressed so far with the food on this trip. All Indian cooking uses spices in great quantity and variety, but with less skilful chefs everything blurs together to produce a monotonous bludgeon of flavour. When spicing is skilfully done the spices trip tidily across the palate and introduce themselves one by one. So it was with the shami kebabs. They would have been perfect if only the meat had any texture, but it was so soft you could almost suck it through a straw. [The stall is a Lucknow institution and Rick Stein ate here too. He filmed the preparation of the kebabs and has a recipe on his website. He also tells how shami kebabs were, allegedly, invented for a toothless Nawab, hence the texture.]

Shami kebabs, Lucknow market

The Qaiser Bagh, Nawabs Tombs and Impromptu Cricket

After our break in the laundry and the market it was time to return to the Nawabs.

Asaf-ud-Daula's father had made the fateful decision to accept a 'British Resident' in Awadh. The East India Company's resident first offered protection, then advice and then more advice until gradually, after many years, he became the true ruler - while always deferring to the Nawab in public. The frustration this caused came to boiling point in 1857, a date which will feature in the next post.

Asaf-ud-Daula, died in 1797, and was succeeded by his son Wazir Ali Khan. Wazir Ali Khan proved to be too independently minded for British tastes and was removed from power in 1798, the pretext being that he was not actually the son of Asaf-ud-Daula. The pretext may actually have been true, Asaf-ud-Daula preferred the company of young men and there are doubts that his marriage was ever consummated.

Asaf-ud-Daula's brother was crowned Sa'adat Ali Khan II by Sir Peter Shore, the East India Company's Governor General of India, and became the Wazir Nawab of Awadh, or King of Oudh, if you prefer.

Tomb of Sa'adat Ali Khan II, Lucknow

Although compliant to British desires, he was regarded as a good ruler and an indefatigable builder, being responsible for most of the buildings between the Qaiser Bagh and Dilkusha (see next post). He and his queen are buried in twin tombs in the Qaiser Bagh built by their son, Ghazi-ud-din.

Disinterested guardian, tomb of Sa'adat Ali Khan II, Lucknow

The Qaiser Bagh is a pleasant garden, but the tombs have a sad and neglected air, their guardians showing no inclination to open them up for visitors. Like any green space in an Indian city the Qaiser Bagh was hosting any number of impromptu games of cricket. Centre picture, in front of the tomb of the queen, players cluster round after a batsman has been out, while on the right the fielder in another game is about to throw the ball in and on the left two fielders in yet another game move in as the ball is bowled.

Three games of cricket outside the tomb of Sa'adat Ali Khan's queen

Sa'adat Ali Khan died at the age of 48 and was succeeded by his son Ghazi-ud-din who ruled for thirteen years before being succeeded by his son, Nasir-ud-din. The new monarch was more interested in wine, women and astrology than government and was murdered in 1827. The widow of Ghazi-ud-din tried to put a man called Muna Jan on the throne, but was opposed by the rest of the Awadh royal family and, perhaps more importantly, the British.

A palace used to sit just over the road from the tomb of Sa'adat Ali Khan. Only a library and wedding hall remain, and it was in this hall that the British kidnapped the widow and Muna Jan.

Wedding hall, scene of the 1827 kidnapping

Instead, Muhammad Ali Shah, a brother of Ghazi-ud-din, was put on the throne. He was an able ruler though he died only five years later. He did, though, have time to build himself a fine tomb, the Chhota Imambara, which we had seen earlier in the morning.

Lunch in Coffee Day and an Afternoon Walk

It had been a long morning by the time Sanjay dropped us back at the hotel, his day's work over. We did not linger in the hotel but walked up to the Coffee Day café at the end of the street. Offering air-conditioning, comfortable chairs and reasonable coffee, it was a good place for a lunchtime snack. It was also, we discovered the place to see and by seen for a predominantly well-off youthful clientele.

Lynne's chocolate brownie was probably better than my chicken sandwich which was under spiced (and this in India!), but the young staff were helpful and friendly and it proved a pleasant place to sit and wile away an hour.

We took a walk in the afternoon, starting with St Joseph's Catholic cathedral. It is certainly a striking building but after giving it due and careful consideration I came to the conclusion it is dire.

St Joseph, Cathedral, Lucknow

There is always plenty to see walking about any Indian city. At one point we found ourselves engulfed by a horde of children leaving a posh school. All with immaculate uniforms they set off home on foot or bicycle, in parental cars or crammed into crowded tuk-tuks. And wherever we went there were always dozens of bicycle rickshaw drivers keen to offer us a lift.

An Excellant Gosht Mughlai at the Royal Café

In the evening we went to the Royal Café, a restaurant not far away in Hazratganj that had been recommended by Sanjay. It was a good choice. Lynne was not up to eating but watched as I ordered Gosht Mughlai (Mughal style mutton - ie goat). Apart from the shami kebab (which was only a snack) I had not eaten a really good meal since the garlic chicken in Delhi over a week before, nor had I eaten any meat; these facts may or may not be connected. As with the shami kebabs the spicing was expertly done but the big chunks of tender, flavoursome meat meant this also had texture. It was as good as the garlic chicken, which made it the joint best meal of the trip so far.

Having done so well with the main course, I ventured a dessert. Lynne described it as an upside down trifle. I would describe as a delight, and anyway I am not sure whether a trifle actually has an upside.

Upside down trifle? Royal Café, Lucknow
I have no excuse for the demonic grin.

And Finally...

Lucknow has its share of persistent beggars, but on the way back Lynne dropped a 2 rupee coin into the cup of an old man who was sitting quietly and patiently in hope rather than expectation. He looked up, smiled and said, 'Thank you, very kind.'

We passed a toy shop selling games, action figures and model vehicles. What drew out eye was not the stock but the soldier making a purchase, a sub-machine gun slung over his shoulder.


Saturday 23 February 2013

Allahabad (2), Some Foot-slogging: Uttar Pradesh Part 4

The Kumbh Mela (Again), a Villge Walk and Driving to Lucknow

21-Feb-2013

The Kumbh Mela Revisited

Driving There


India
Uttar Pradesh
Mohammed was as good as his word, shortly after breakfast a car and driver arrived to take us for another run at the Kumbh Mela.

We bumped back over the field, but this time turned right towards the main road; without Seema to talk us through the roadblocks we had to take the official route. It took ten or fifteen minutes to reach the edge of Allahabad where city-bound traffic heads up over a flyover and Kumbh traffic filters left on a single lane threaded through the piers of the flyover towards the riverside suburb of Sangam.

Our Uttar Pradesh journey took us from Varanasi to Allahabad, Lucknow and Agra

A lot of traffic wanted to get down that single lane, and the usual Indian drivers’ response is to generate more lanes. A single lane can easily accommodate two cars and a third can be made by co-opting the dusty verge. As we arrived a fourth lane was being created, causing several stallholders to hurriedly re-locate their pitches.

Four lanes of traffic worked well enough until they came to squeeze between the concrete piers. The gaps allowed one, perhaps two smaller cars to pass at a time. The traffic locked solid. Every driver knows that to solve this problem they must edge forward while leaning on the horn.

Inch by hard-won, cacophonous inch we shoved and jostled our way through. On the other side sanity returned and we set off for Sangam only to find our way barred by a policeman. Without Seema to smooth the way we had to do as directed and ended up in a car park within sight of the flyover.

Before we left the car the driver wanted to give us his mobile phone number, but although our phone was happy to show a welcome message from India Telecom, it refused to make or take any calls or texts so there was no point. I am not sure what we would have talked about anyway as we had no words of any language in common. Instead we synchronised watches and, by turning hands and pointing, agreed a time to return.

The Walking Part

With no real plan, we decided to follow the general drift of the crowd. We did this for an hour.

Garlands for sale on the walk to the Kumbh Mela, Allahabad

We became absorbed in the colourful, good natured crowd, strolling along in sunshine that was warm but gentle enough for it to be ideal walking weather. Our companions were all sorts and conditions of people of all ages, united in their pilgrimage. Some were laden down and obviously planning to stay for some time. We saw food, cooking equipment and mats to sit on all bundled up in a sheet and carried on peoples’ heads.

Passing a temple and a fort on the way to the Kumbh Mela, Allahabad

We passed through tented areas lined with stalls, some on trolleys, some laid out on the ground, and small business sections with makeshift banks and police stations, a temple and a fort dating back to the raj.

At the Kumbh Mela, Allahabad

Eventually we reached the river. Looking at our watches we realised we could stay for ten minutes before starting the long trek back.

Bathing in the Ganges at the Kumbh Mela, Allahabad

We wandered round, soaking up as much of the atmosphere as was possible in the time, then set off towards the car.

Starting the long walk back, Kumbh Mela, Allahabad

Driving Back

The driver was waiting. Back at the flyover the congestion was as bad leaving as it had been arriving and we soon found ourselves solidly jammed between concrete piers. To our right was a handcart piled high with fruit, its pilot resting against the pier breathing heavily. To our left a bevy of sari clad matrons sat in a trailer behind a large green tractor. Nobody was moving, the air was loud with the sound of horns and thick with the fumes of diesel, particularly around the unfortunate man with the cart.

Then our driver did something remarkable, and I am still not sure how he did it. He reversed out of the traffic jam. It was obviously impossible, but somehow his determined application of the horn prised open a small space and he just backed out. We returned to the car park and set off again on a slightly different trajectory. Amazingly we slipped through with relative ease and came out on the main road only thirty metres down from the earlier impenetrable jam. We could still see the green tractor and the bright colours of the women’s saris; they had not moved an inch.

The remainder of our return trip was reasonably swift and we arrived in time for lunch. We had been out for just over four hours and spent ten minutes at the kumbh. It should have felt like a wasted morning, but strangely it did not. Our experience was similar to those of many ordinary kumbh-goers and it somehow felt right and appropriate.

Idling Away the Rest of the Day

We paid off the driver, had lunch and enjoyed a rare afternoon of inactivity, sitting outside our 'Swiss cottage' and reading until the sun forced us to read inside.

A relaxing read outside our 'Swiss Cottage'

At dusk we walked down to the Ganges.

The sun sets over the Ganges, Near Allahabad

I became involved in a deep and serious discussion with these two, though I cannot remember what it was about.

Serious discussions beside the Ganges

22-Feb-2013

A Village Walk

The next morning we walked to the village that lined the road to the highway.

Maybe we arrived on dung cake day - or perhaps every day is dung cake day. Buffalo dung is the main fuel for cooking and it has to be collected, patted into appropriately sized cakes and set out in the sun to dry. Outside every house a woman was engaged in this activity. The girl in the picture had been working alongside her mother until we arrived, but she stopped to pose for a picture. When we passed again at the end of our walk she was sitting on the wall eating a bowl of rice with her fingers. I like to think she washed her hands in between.

Taking a break from the dung cakes, Village near Allahabad

The camp, filled largely with middle class Indians but with a good sprinkling of foreigners, had been nearby for over a month, but we caused so much interest it was clear that few, if any, of our fellow campers had bothered to investigate the lives of their temporary neighbours.

A young man invited is into the village temple and exercised his limited English showing us round. It was very basic, but if it lacked the grandeur of the great temples we had visited, no one could question the devotion and piety of those we saw there.

In the village temple

Leaving the temple, we continued up the street. Any child nothard at work on dung cakes insisted that we take their photograph.

A girl who really needed to be photographed, Village near Allahabad

A man dragged us into the courtyard of his home, sat us down and called his wife and many children to come and greet his unusual visitors. Language difficulties meant the conversation was stilted, but we smiled, said what a fine collection of sons and daughters he had and generally tried to exude goodwill.

Lynne with our host, his wife and two of his children

Outside we met a lad who assured us his brother was Sachin Tendulkar. He did not fool me, and I thought of telling him I was Ian Botham, but he was probably too young to have heard of Ian Botham.

Is this Sachin Tendulkar? No

We took more photographs…..

Plenty of material for dung cakes, Village near Allahabad

….. and were invited in for a another sit down by a man with fewer children, but with a bent and aged grandmother who emerged from the deepest recesses of the house to have a good look at us. She did not seem very impressed.

A child we had photographed on our way up grabbed us again on our return and insisted we photograph her friend and little sister (or brother?) too.

We have seen this girl before!

We were a novelty and everybody who could spare a moment from their dung cakes came to have a look. It was all very friendly, many hands were shaken and much goodwill expressed all round and we returned to the camp with the warm glow of knowing the world is filled with nice people who want nothing more than to get along with each other.

The village street

A Longer Ganges Walk

In the afternoon we took another walk, strolling for a mile our two beside the Ganges. We met a man taking his camel for an airing..

Walking a camel beside the Ganges, Near Allahabad

...and a group of women carrying sacks of rice on their heads. I do not know where they were going but they arrived from the distance before us and disappeared into the distance behind. It was a long carry for heavy bags.

Carrying rice beside the Ganges, Near Allahabad

Litter is the curse of India. The detritus of the Kumbh, decaying garlands and the presssed leaf cups used to hold candles offered to the sacred river, will soon decay; plastic bags are another matter. And then there is the other pollution, industrial and human; pollution that cannot be seen but can sometimes be smelt.

Beside the Ganges, Near Allahabad

The secular authorities know there is a problem, the religious authorities recognise it too, but little is done. Swami Chidanand Saraswati wrote of the Holy Ganges in the Times of India 'it is time to pay back and protect and preserve her precious and pristine waters.' The waters may be precious but it is many decades since they were pristine. Action needs to be taken urgently.

We met this pair on their bicycle who demanded I take their picture, and a rather pleasing picture it is too. It is a shame they could only see it on the scratched and battered screen on my aged camera.

Beside the Ganges, near Allahabad

Dinner was another unimaginative vegetarian buffet, memorable only for causing Lynne to make the short journey to the toilet several times during the night. I slept well - except when something jumped on me. It then went under Lynne's bed and scrabbled out the door of the tent. I shuddered and hoped it was not a rat. There had been a little rain and the beast left a muddy footprint in the doorway of the tent. It was definitely no rat, you might think it was a dog, I prefer to believe it was a leopard.

Obviously a leopard. Surely.

23-Feb-2013

Driving from Allahabad to Lucknow

In the morning another driver turned up to take us the 200 kilometres to Lucknow. Indian roads do not make for fast travelling and it took all day, but that mattered little - there is always something to see, and we are usually moving slowly enough to see it.

On the road to Allahabad

We stopped at 11.30 at an open fronted tea shop packed with customers. Traditional Indian tea is made with condensed milk and is strong and sweet. Provided you do not think of it as being tea, it makes a surprisingly refreshing drink on a warm day. As in most street tea stalls the tea came in earthenware cups, the ultimate recyclable material; throw it on the floor when it is no more use and it returns to the dust from which it was made.

 
A very Indian cup of tea, Teahouse between Allahabad and Lucknow

Later we came across a working party cutting down a tree. The traffic had been stopped by men with red flags but this being India the cars and motorcycles behind him had spread over both sides of the road and were starting to colonise the verges as well.

The massed ranks ready to charge. On the road from Allahabad to Lucknow

After much sawing and pausing and pondering and sawing again, the tree crashed to the ground as the sawyers dashed for safety.

The tree crashes and the sawyers run, On the road from Allahabad to Lucknow

I had watched from the middle of the road so I was in prime position to observe the cavalry charge as three lanes of traffic each way headed for each other down a two lane road.

To the accompaniment of blaring horns the tide swept around me and battle commenced. Our car pulled up, I stepped inside and we joined in.

We reached Lucknow in the late afternoon as drizzle started to fall. The city of 6 million people is the capital of Uttar Pradesh; it is also the birthplace of Cliff Richard, though other important events took place there which will feature in the next two posts.

We checked into our hotel in Hazratganj, the city’s main shopping area and had time for a stroll before darkness fell. Our first impressions were not very positive, which may have had something to do with the weather. Many of the rather dowdy shops had security guards outside, some with aged firearms, others with lathis. There were beggars, too, several of them quite persistent, though the lathi wielding guards were quick to chase them away.

Hazratganj, Lucknow

We dined at the nearest restaurant to the hotel. It was a ‘family vegetarian’ restaurant which meant another day without meat and beer. It was, we realised too late, a perverse choice. It also did little for Lynne’s stomach problem.