खुला बक्सा

उस दिन जब खोला हमने वो बक्सा
पुरानी चीज़ो को कम करने को था मन
निकला उस में से कुछ तुम्हारा सामान
सामान से जुडी थी यादें
और यादों में बसी थी तुम
जाने क्यों आखें हुई नम
और दिल गया थम

माँ तेरा वह बटुवा मिला

बटुवे में थी एक डायरी

जिसमें पाया तेरे हाथों से लिखे कुछ नाम 

तेरे बनाए हुए रिश्ते

जिन्हें भुला चुके हैं हम

खो गए बस तेरी तरह जाने कहाँ

सोचता हूँ फिर एक बार

कुछ तेरे उन डायरी में लिखे लोगों से जा मिलूं 

शायद मुझे तू वहीँ पे जा मिले

तुझसे मिलने को आज बहुत जी चाहता है

बटुवे में मिला एक छोटा सा आईना

शायद तुम उससे अपनी लाल बड़ी सी बिंदी

माथे पर ठीक किया करती थी

या अपना कॉम्पैक्ट निकालकर अपने को संवरती

आज वह आईना धुंधला सा गया है

ढूंढ़ता हूँ तुझे उसमें मैं

आईने के हर कोने से तुझे झाकते पाया

शायद मुझसे तू कुछ कहना चाहती हैं

तुझसे मिलने को आज बहुत जी चाहता है

बक्से के एक कोने में मिले एक प्लास्टिक का पैकेट

और उस में मिला एक छोटा डिब्बा 

डिब्बा पे लिखा था 'रवि सादी पत्ती'

और था सुपारी काटने वाला चमचमाता हुआ औज़ार 

तूने माँ पान खाना तो छोड़ दिया था अर्सो पहले

पर तम्बाकू चूने के साथ मुँह में खैनी रखना कभी न छोड़ा

डॉक्टर के कितनी बार मना करने पर भी

मैं तेरा एक डिब्बा ख़तम होने से पहले दूसरा ले आता था

अब ना पान है ना ज़र्दे की महक

ना आज तू है ना तेरी वह चहक

तुझसे मिलने को आज बहुत जी चाहता है

बक्से से तेरी कुछ साड़ियां भी निकली माँ

वह साड़ियां जो तुम्हें पसंद थी

उनमें वह सफ़ेद साडी भी थी माँ

जिसमें लाल काला बड़ा बॉर्डर था

और बॉर्डर पे बने सुन्दर डिज़ाइन

मिला तेरा वह खादी का चद्दर और वूल का मफलर भी

आज भी तेरे प्यार की गर्माहट को महसूस कर पाया इनमें

तुझसे मिलने को आज बहुत जी चाहता है

कुछ नये मोज़े मिले जो कभी न पहने तूने

समेट कर रखती थी तुम हर चीज़

यह सोच के कि किसी बड़े दिन  पहनोगी शायद

क्यों करती थी तुम ऐसा

पहन लिया होता तो आज ना मिलती तुम

न तेरी याद सताती मुझे

न तेरी याद रुलाती मुझे

मैं भी अक्सर नई चीज़ें संभाल के रख देता हूँ अर्सो तक

शायद मुझमें तू छिपी हुई है आज भी कहीं 

तुझसे मिलने को आज बहुत जी चाहता है

मिले कुछ नोट और कुछ सिक्के

सिक्के थे पांच दस पच्चीस वाले

जो अब चलते नहीं हैं

नोट थे पांच रूपए वाले

एक बार सोचा की रख दूँ इन्हें संभाल के

तेरी दी हुई आखरी बक्शीश समझके

पर फिर सोचा की कहीं इन नोटों पर कल कोई रोक लगा देगा

तो वे फ़िज़ूल कागज़ के टुकड़े बनके रह जायेंगे 

और सच पूछो तो

तुझे याद करने के लिए मुझे इन चीज़ों की ज़रुरत पड़े अगर

तो लानत है मुझपे 

यादों में तुझे ढूंढ लेता हूँ अक्सर

कभी भी कहीं भी

आज तुझसे मिलके जी नाच उठा है

ढूंढती होगी तुम मुझे कहीं

ढूंढता हूँ तुझे मैं आज भी यहीं

शायद कुछ तुझसे कहना चाहता हूँ

शायद कुछ माफ़ी मांगना चाहता हूँ

कुछ खुशियां बांटनी थी तुझसे

कुछ ज़ख्म दिखाने थे तुझे

सब कहूँगा सब सुनूंगा फिर कभी

आज बस इतना ही

बक्से को अब बंद करता हूँ

मिलती रहना तुम

कभी भी कहीं भी

SS

In Search of History

It was the end of October, a few days after Durga Pujo. The Pandals all stood empty- bare, barren. Ma Durga had been immersed in the Ganges. Only the bamboo structures remained. Perhaps the organizers had Kali Pujo in mind which was round the corner. There was a feeling of hollowness, of emptiness everywhere. At times in the forlorn lanes, which only a few days back had been teeming with people as they jostled their way to get a look of the Mother Goddess, the criss-cross of the bamboos looked grotesque. The city seemed desolate, almost lifeless , one reason being, I surmised, that many leave the city soon after the festivities get over, in search of something new .

I was coming to Kolkata, once my home, after more than seven years. My mother’s ashes had been collected and immersed by me, just a little over a month. I could identify with the mood only too well.

The Homecoming

Every time I came to Kolkata earlier (though I still prefer Calcutta), it was to visit my mother. I remember her standing at the door of our house as I walked in through the gate with my bags and my little one in tow. This is where I came every summer and winter, the only difference being that it would be for two weeks in summer against only a week in winter. Our vacations were always spent here until a few years back when her health failed and she came to live with us. From the clothes that we would change into, to the towels in the stand and the slippers to be worn indoors, everything would be in place. Not to mention my favourite dishes all spread out in the next few days along with the grandchild’s favourite chutneys and sweets. Even if I did not open my suitcase for the a few days, nothing would go amiss.  The toothbrushes and night suits would also be kept ready for us. That was my mother- painstaking, caring, immaculate. Every time we left she would wipe away her tears and wait patiently for our next visit. This was the first time I was coming to Kolkata when I had nowhere to go to.

I was apprehensive about how I would go about doing the rounds of the Banks and LIC offices, a routine which invariably follows in the aftermath of the death of a family member. I was not really looking forward to any of it but had to go about it. During the next four –five days that I spent in this city I was deeply touched by the warmth and hospitality shown by friends and family, many of whom I had not even been in touch with for quite some time. An aunt and uncle completely took me by surprise by arranging for lunch on both the days I visited the bank near their house. I was truly overwhelmed by their sensitivity for they had carefully chosen and prepared things in a way my mother would cook for me. Dishes like thor chhenchki, mochar ghonto, chochori, shukto, shak bhaja and the tiny mourala machh bhaja were on their way out and with the passing away of the last remnants of our earlier generation these recipes would belong to the annals of culinary history. The day we were leaving the city, a cousin packed huge amounts of sweets for us, despite our vigorous protests, insisting that we can never get such stuff in Mumbai. In a way it is true. Only this city can churn out sweetmeats and saris in such varieties and at such prices which are unthinkable elsewhere.

Since there was not much time in hand, one early morning we decided to go to the Dakshineshwar Kali Temple. Two reasons went behind this-my husband had never been there and it was also a place my mother liked going to. Though the new Skywalk was all eager to have us set foot on it, we were not allowed to by the authorities since Mamata Didi was yet to inaugurate it. This temple, on the banks of the Hooghly, dedicated to Ma Kali or Bhavatarini, was built by Rani Rashmoni . This is where the priest Gadadhar Chattopadhyay worshipped Mother Kali with all the innocence and adulation of a child. Gadadhar came to be known later by the name of Paramhansa Sri Ramakrishna. You can see the room he lived in for thirty years, the cluster of trees called Panchavati where he practiced Vedanta sadhana and attained samadhi, the tiny room which was his wife Ma Sarada’s abode. It was at this very temple that some of the greatest men of his time came to visit him. To even think that this place was once frequented by the likes of Keshav Chandra Sen, Girish Ghosh and Vidyasagar. There is a peace and serenity here that is unusual in most Hindu temples. Across the river is the Belur Math, the headquarters of the Ramakrishna Math and Mission, started by his favourite disciple, Narendranath Datta or more popularly known as Swami Vivekananda. The bathing ghats where Ramakrishna had met his spiritual gurus Tota Puri and Bharavi Brahmani still stand.

Calcutta-Kolkata/ West Bengal-Bangla- or whatever they may decide to re-christen her next- will always be my home, a place close to my heart. ..my safe haven.  After an interlude of seven years, the city looked smarter, cleaner and spunkier to me with all its flyovers, malls, ever increasing high rises, fancy streetlights, chic restaurants, broader and better roads, but as many old timers pointed out the city was but a shadow of its former glory, a bare bamboo structure devoid of its much acclaimed accomplishments. Another thing that stood out like eyesores to me were the huge cutouts of Didi, posing  in every nook and corner, which in other states may be very common, but not a familiar one to the Calcuttans of yore.

On the last evening, as I walked into Park Street in search of the mouthwatering Hot Kathi Rolls and the much loved Chelo Kebab of Peter Cat , the bright, decorative, festive lights of Durga Puja, which during the day looked like hideous skeletal remains from the past, the LED bulbs forming eerie shapes, both human and floral, against wooden frames, glowed in all their colourful hues. The city was once again gearing up for the Festival of Lights. The mood was definitely changing.

On our way back, in the narrow lanes of Kalighat, the bare, naked idols of the Goddess Kali, were getting their first coat of paint. In the next few days these unknown artists would bring to life this long line of clay and hay idols with their master strokes, only to have them immersed at the end of the festivity.

The countdown had begun.

Echoes from the Past

I needed to move on.

I missed my daughter and a much desired change from the familiar scenes and chores took me to her in Hyderabad.

While we are busy wiping out, whitewashing and re-calligraphing names, the voiceless stones have interesting tales to narrate. From the broken ramparts of the Shepherd’s Hill (Golla-konda) or Round Hill (Gol-konda) you get the best view of the city of Hyderabad, built by Muhammad Quli Qutb Shah, on the banks of the river Musi. Golkonda was built as a small mud fort on a granite hill under the Kakatiyas but it was rebuilt and expanded as a proper formidable fort over a period of sixty two years under the Qutb Shahi rulers. Here you hear the tales of secret passageways and underground tunnels. Our guide tells us that in the times of the Qutb Shahi rulers an underground passage led the Baadshahs and  Begums to the Charminar and the Laad Bazar , famous for its bangles. When a king died he would be secretly taken and laid to rest at the Qutb Shahi tombs through an underground route. The enemies would never get to know about the passing of a King. Tunnels and secret passages connected the main gate to the highest point in the citadel.

About the city of Hyderabad, the legend says that the Baadshah fell in love with a courtesan Bhagmati. So deeply was he in love that he named the new capital of his empire after her. It got the name of Bhagnagar or Bhagyanagar . Later, the lady love converted to Islam and she was given the name of Hayder Mahal or Hyder Bibi. The city was renamed as Hyderabad. There are other references about the origin of the name, one being that of Baghnagar (City of Gardens) and another that it was named Bagh Nagar( City of the Lion) after Caliph Ali Ibn Abi Talib, nicknamed  Hayder or Lion for his acts of bravery. I personally prefer the romantic tale and if Hyderabad becomes Bhagyanagar probably the nautch girl can still have the last laugh.

The eight Sultans of the Qutb Shahi dynasty ruled their empire from Golkonda, a 5km circular granite fort with an outer wall having a 7km circumference, till they shifted their base to a new city called Hyderabad to solve their water shortage problems. The Fort is an exquisite engineering and architectural marvel with excellent acoustics, reservoirs and plumbing lines that allowed for great ventilation, hot baths for the Begums and an unbelievable surveillance-cum-communication system. The Fort was invincible till a betrayal by an insider led to the gates being opened to the Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb who had been laying siege around this impregnable citadel for months.

When the Mughal Empire was collapsing, their viceroy to the Deccan Suba declared his independence and a new dynasty of the Nizams of Hyderabad came to rule the city. It was under the Qutb Shahi dynasty and the Nizams that the name and fame of Hyderabad spread far and wide. It was known for its riches and splendor to the western world. The neighbouring Kollur mines of Golkanda were famous for their diamonds and emeralds. Its vaults once contained the priceless Koh-i-noor, Hope and Daria-i-Noor diamonds which are now part of Britain and Iran’s Crown Jewels.

Every stone in every monument and every artefact housed in the city’s museums breathes history.

It is up to us to ignore or acknowledge.

In Memoriam

History cannot be erased or wiped out. It is very much an integral part of who we are and what we have. The chapters can be taken out of the syllabus, some parts of it can be intentionally omitted, roads and stations can be renamed but essentially it remains in our culture, art and people. It can be buried for centuries under the sands of time, invisible to many, only to resurface in full grandeur.

My next halt was at Patan, a town about 125 km from Ahmedabad. An impromptu trip to this little known town unraveled a little known wonder.

The Archaelogical Survey of India , after decades of excavation since 1958, has  recently unearthed the Rani Ki Vav, a subterranean seven storeyed stepwell  built in the 11th Century AD by Queen Udayamati in memory of her husband  King Bhimadeva I of the Solanki dynasty . We have heard of monuments being erected in the memory of Queens or mistresses but this was a memorial to a husband. Interestingly, the image of this architectural masterpiece appears on one side of the new hundred rupee note released by RBI.

The stepwell, 64m long 24m wide and 27m deep, had been buried for nearly a thousand years due to flooding of the river Saraswati, which has also long since disappeared. In 2014 it acquired the tag of a World Heritage site from UNESCO. ASI archaeologists have painstakingly unearthed and discovered this thousand year old stepwell through careful excavation, de-silting and restoration work.  The entire structure is made of sandstone with exquisite carvings and sculptures of the Hindu pantheon of Gods and Goddesses- Indra, Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva , their consorts, the Dasavatars,  Laxmi, Parvati, Ganesha, Kartik, Kuber- along with demons and Rishis, Apsaras and Vishkanyas. Stepped corridors lead through pillared pavilions or terraces to the underground reservoir. Rainwater still collects in this well or vav and you can actually see it. The descent into the vav is a journey to another ethereal world beyond the ordinary. It can truly be assigned the title of Queen of Stepwells.

  

Before leaving Patan we had to see another of its wonder- the double Ikat handloom silk sari called Patola. It is a dying art today. Kumarapal, the ruler of Patan, needed to wear a new vastra for his Puja every day. In order to ensure that every dhoti was freshly woven he relocated 700 hundred families of weavers with the common family name of Salvi from Maharashtra to Patan. After 900 years only one of the 700 Salvi families is still in this trade. Rohitbhai Kantilal Salvi and Bharatbhai Kantilal Salvi along with their nephew Rahul, son of Shilpaguru Vinayakbhai Kantilal Salvi , their eldest brother, have still held on to this family trade. A double Ikat sari costs anything between Rs. 1.5 lakhs to Rs. 20 lakhs and a double Ikat handkerchief can cost a whopping 15K!! The Salvis still use natural dyes unlike other Patola weavers and a sari takes anywhere between four to six months to be hand woven. When you compare the geometric patterns and animal motifs on the saris with the carvings and sculptures on the temples and vavs in the area, you realize where the weavers get their inspiration from.

There was no question of returning empty handed after seeing the weaving process. So, finally, I settled for its paler cousin, the more popular single Ikat weave sari which, though more reasonably priced, is not regarded by the Salvis as their patented traditional Patola . A thousand year old craft is on the verge of becoming extinct as other Salvi members have moved on to newer and more lucrative professions. The art might be dying but it remains very much a part of the history of Patan, once the capital of Gujarat, and ruled by the Chavdas and Solankis.

Master Craftsmen Rohit & Bharat Bhai  with Double Ikat Loom

Now back home, I am happy to have a little bit of history as part of my wardrobe!

DS

A Mouthful of Mumbai

The authors of this blog Sens and Sensibilities share, apart from their last name, an ardent love for food. I am sure it is evident from the older posts that they love to try out the local cuisines of different places and are quite adventurous as far as their tummies are concerned. While D heads the kitchen department and can magically cook up almost anything (including a storm), M stays, as far as she possibly can, from the culinary area but loves her Swiggy and Zomato. S, as usual, balances things out for he can both cook and pull them both up to try out new eating joints. 

It all began when S read a blog on 37 essential places to eat in Mumbai. The three of them decided to try some of these places during the next three months. What follows here is an account of their mouthwatering trail across the city and beyond…for your taste buds only.

For Bengalis, their bhakti goes hand in hand with food.It is natural that their first stop should be, post a visit to the Siddhivinayak Temple, to one such eatery. It began one fine morning when they went out to thank Mumbai’s presiding deity for all the goodness He had showered on them. Darshan at this temple is best done by 8am. They finished theirs by about 7am and almost entered their regular joint nearby for a round of sambar-vada. On a sudden impulse they decided to go on a long drive instead and landed up in Olympia at Colaba. This is a traditional restaurant which was taken over by the present day owners after the original ones moved elsewhere in 1948 post the partition. The marble topped round tables and old glass windows make this small old joint a delightful place to sit and just talk to each other. Keema Bhurji and Keema Ghotala with bun maska made for the perfect breakfast. An Irani Chai, with all its sweetness is a must have. The caramel custard is also not to be missed. Such food at such affordable prices makes this a must eating place in this city.

Next they decided to pay a visit to apna old Parsi baba at Sodabottleopenerwala at BKC. The food is absolutely delicious. The prawn berry pulao, lived up to its fame. The Toblerone mousse is essential irrespective of how full you may be. A book of limericks, interesting graffiti on the wall and foot tapping music, create an ideal set up for an enjoyable evening with family and friends. 

The Parsi bug had got to the trio. By the next weekend they landed once again at Fort before another legendary place called Britannia where the Parsi owners running the place have not changed anything, even the tables and chairs, since the last century when the place first began. Berry pulao with chicken cutlet and bombil fry sipped with a Raspberry cola is something you have to experience to believe. M swears that the caramel custard they had here was the best she had had! And stomach being full is such a relative term...there is always room for mousse! You might find the old Parsi gentleman coming to your table to ask you about the food, a big fat cat may be sleeping on the payment counter or a cow passing by is fed regularly by the lazy owners as she walks past the door. Nothing seems to have changed…the walls, the furniture, the people….yet if you come in post 12 noon, a 30-45 minute wait is normal.

If you believe that we Bongs only have the NV category of food, then you are mistaken. Gluttony knows no barriers. The trio had not seen Babulnath Mandir since they had landed in Mumbai over 17 years ago. They went to this huge Shiva Temple at Babulnath and then walked across to a typical swadisht Gujju joint called Soam’s. Enjoy paanki, chilla, kicha and wonderful mouth-watering starters of cheese and corn not to miss their paper thin desi ghee jalebi with rabri on top. They felt converted.

The conversion was not for long since very soon they longed for the real Mughlai taste and reached the gates of Noor Muhhamadi Hotel on Mohhamad Ali Road. This eighty year old restaurant serves some of the most authentic kebabs and mughlai food. They started with Chicken Hakkimi which is kebabs in flavoured curd…never had they had such a thing before. Absolutely divine! Next was the Noor Muhammadi special of Nali Nihari and mutton chaap. They didn’t go overboard there knowing the limitations of their tummies to accept all these on one day so drove off to Rustom’s on Marine Drive where they still serve, for no more than eighty bucks, a huge chunk of ice-cream placed between two thin wafers. D said she was having this stuff after more than 40 years and again time, place, people and food stood still…kal bhi aaj bhi.

They then headed for Nizam’s city which is a paradise for food lovers…Paradise incidentally is possibly the country’s, if not the world’s, biggest restaurant where 1400 people can sit together and enjoy the food at their original centre in Secunderabad. A biriyani here is mandatory and the helping is so huge that three people with normal appetite can best finish one such plate, not to forget a couple of plates of delicious mutton seekh kebabs and chicken tikka to start with.  Also, in this city of nawabs, they enjoyed Breakfast at Chutneys as much as they had enjoyed Paradise. The Babai and Gongura idli with many freshly grounded varieties of chutneys is simply heavenly. You could have Pesarettu or Rava masala dosa but they liked steamed dosa more. The filter coffee here is among the best but let us warn you if you reach this place later than 8am, a waiting period of 15-20 minutes in the morning, and longer during the day, is something you can be sure of. The next two years for M are going to be just another day in Paradise!

After so much biriyani, they returned home to do penance at one of Mumbai’s famous joint where Raj Kapoor loved to go and, people say, even now Mukeshbhai Ambani drops in once in a while with Nitaben…Madras Café at Matunga. They reached there at 8am in the morning and found a huge crowd waiting outside as if free langar was being served. No it wasn’t so, it was people from well to do homes all decked up in their best clothes and jewellery waiting for their turn to find a place on the benches to be shared with others. Funnily the place is very tiny and you hardly get space enough to squeeze your body between the benches and the tables and psssst…there’s no loo here, just a hand wash basin no bigger than a pot in which you cook rice in a home. But the food was absolutely fabulous…butter idli, rasam vada and raagi masala dose topped with Kappi which was a great way to start a wonderful Sunday.

By now Durga Puja was round the corner. This is the biggest festival for the Bongs and something they wait for the whole year and go berserk for the 4-5 days when Ma Durga comes home. She draws them to the pandals where they at best offer a Pushanjali but the moment some semblance of obeisance is done, the Bongo-santan declares an all-out war on the  food stalls put up at the venue. The list is long but the favourites are chicken roll, mughlai parota, kosha mangsho with parota, ghughni, vegetable and mochar chop, beguni, fish and mutton cutlets…they will be seen eating voraciously as the sweat drips from their foreheads and oil stains leave their mark on their silk sarees and designer kurtas. Nothing is left for tomorrow. They even stand in long queues to eat the bhog of khichudi, labda, tomato chutney and payesh. The longer the queue, the more you savour…it is like a prize they have won after much struggle. In most homes they do not cook at home these 4 days and gorge on bhog prasad and fried stuff they lovingly call teley bhaaja. Yeh nahin to kuchh nahin.  To give you an idea of our religious fervour for food of course, D&S had deep fried bhetki at midnight while pandal hopping…Gods must surely be happy seeing Bongs eat well.

There was a time when a phrase called Bhookha Bangali was used to describe this breed of men and women. Possibly this arose after the Great Bengal Famine of 1940s when over 4 million lost their lives to starvation and sickness. But after reading this piece, the readers will surely vouch that this tag is a misnomer today. Bongs eat all tasty stuff but also suffer from stomach upsets most frequently. Ask a Bong and he will rattle names of all medicines for indigestion. They possibly have the maximum quantity of Gelusil and Digene… they drink it by litres and not pints…surely the pharma companies who manufacture them will swear by the Bongs who ensure their continued prosperity. Despite all the food Bongs eat, they have never had very many strong men after Monotosh Roy, the Mr. Universe from our Sonar Bangla. They are reasonably well read and know the benefits of eating vegetables and healthy food but they won’t because the Bhadralok knows Gods are pleased when their disciples are happy and the disciples are happy when their stomachs are full after eating teley bhaja. For Bengalis, truly their bhakti goes hand in hand with food.

The list is long but MSD are determined to tick mark every one of the eateries, here there and everywhere. 

MS & SS

Sound of Music

The other day got a Whats-app forward which made me sit up and remember a genius and his creation.

Noni Gopal Bose was a freedom fighter from Bengal who had been imprisoned many a times before fleeing the US in 1920s to avoid political persecution. He married Charlotte, an American of French-German lineage, and was in the business of importing coconut fibre doormats from India. During the World War II, there were restrictions put on the imports and business had almost come to a standstill.  His son Amar, who was only 13 years old, suggested that they start a radio repairing shop to supplement the earnings. Amar impressed his father with his talent who took a loan of $10,000 to send his son to the best college, the MIT. Amar passed out of MIT with PhD in Electrical Engineering. He became an Assistant Professor at MIT and continued teaching there for 45 years.

As a lover of classical music Amar bought an expensive stereo which was to create high quality sound. Disappointed with his purchase, Amar set upon his research into this topic of quality sound. In early 1962 he invented a new type of stereo which made use of multiple speakers and in 1964 founded his own company Bose Corporation that specialized in audio equipment and by the early seventies the name was synonymous with the best quality acoustics and his company became a market leader in audio components market. When he died in 2013, Amar Bose had hundreds of patents in his name and his company remained among the best names in audio industry. Each of his creations was a piece of art and the world loved it. 

My daughter, too, had a Bose Wave audio for which we paid a bomb but the system unfortunately never really worked well. Often the CD player would give trouble and at times the speaker. Blame it on the dust pollution of the city we live in or the proximity of our house to a salty creek...our bad luck that we never could enjoy the system enough. It still finds an important place in her room but like the Grandpa’s Clock needs servicing very often.  

Wish Mr. Bose were around and I would have told him, “Dada, cholchhe na!” (Dada it’s not working!)

My mind also went back a couple of weeks ago, when I was on my personal visit to Hyderabad, where for the first time I was able to see the beauty of the city beyond the office and Banjara Hills landscape. My visit to Golconda Fort reminded me of Mr. Bose…

Golconda or Gol konda (Round shaped hill) or Golla konda (Shepherd’s Hill) was first built by the Kakatiyas. It was under the Bahamini Sultanate in the latter half of 14^th century that Golkonda rose to prominence. Sultan Quli Qutb-ul –Mulk (1487-1543) was sent as a governor by the Bahamani King and he soon established his own independent government in 1538 establishing the Qutb Shahi Dynasty. In the next 62 years , the mud fort was expanded into a massive fortification and remained the capital till it was shifted to Hyderabad in 1590.

You enter this magnificent fort through Fateh Darwaza or Victory Gate so called after Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb's victory after a 8 month siege of the Golkonda Fort.

We were asked by our guide to clap as we stood below the imposing portico at the entrance and we realized how late Mr. Bose was in his inventions. The clap at the entrance can be heard in Bala Hisar pavilion, almost a kilometer away!

The whole fort has many such places where such astonishing acoustics can be experienced. The architects, six hundred centuries ago, mastered the art of sound and blended materials, known for their sound reflection properties , along with other materials that went into building the walls.

In Hindi there is a saying,”Deewaron ke bhi kaan hotey hain,” which translates to ‘the walls too have ears.’ If one were to stand close to one of the walls in the inner chambers and speak very softly, almost like whispering, a person with his ear to the diagonally opposite wall about ten metres away can distinctly hear the words spoken. This was used by the rulers to overhear palace intrigues and take pre-emptive action to quell any discontentment.

There are many more fascinating tales about Golconda Fort but to me none so intriguing and awe inspiring as the advancement in sound technology they had achieved and that works after six hundred years, never to be serviced, never to be repaired. 

Every clap here echoes, every clap here reverberates and every clap here is well deserving of those who created it.

Dada, shuncho tumi ki? (Dada, are you listening?)

Incredible India!

SS