Poornima Manco

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tourist

Appeasing the palate at the Palace

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“You must try the haleem”, my friend had urged, and after a few unsuccessful forays into local restaurants, where the waiters looked at me askance, I had finally struck gold. It was in the sumptuous surroundings of the Falaknuma Palace, that I finally got to sample the rich, wheat, barley, lentils and meat stew.

It had been a bit of a tussle getting my husband to agree to this rather expensive lunch. Unless you are resident in the hotel, the only way to gain entry is to book a meal at either of it’s two restaurants. Boy, were we glad we had! A visit to Hyderabad, India, could not be complete without visiting one of the finest palaces the state of Telengana boasted of.

Falak-numa or Mirror of the Sky in Urdu, was the grand residence of the Nizam of Hyderabad up until the 1950’s, when it was closed up, and left untouched till a lease agreement with Taj hotels, and a major restoration by them, breathed new life into this elegant old building. The original owner, the erstwhile Prime Minister of Hyderabad, had built the palace for his own use. In the process, he ran out of funds, and ended up selling the palace to the then Nizam, Mehboob Ali Pasha.

As the present Nizam dwelled in Turkey, we were getting to savour a slice of royal living. With the haleem and its accompanying victuals safely lodged in our stomachs, we waddled obligingly to the foyer, where a man built like an ox waited for us.

“Myself, bodyguard of Nizam”, he introduced himself proudly. “Today, guide.”

For those in our party who only spoke English, the rest of the tour was largely unintelligible. Our guide had an interesting way with the English language, which consisted of spouting random words together in the hope that they would translate into something meaningful. Case in point: “Building scorpion. This-tail. That stained glass.” A shame, as his Urdu tour was so much more enlightening.

Unable to take photos inside, we chose instead to take away impressions. From the beautiful mirrored ballroom, to the famed dining hall that can seat a 100 guests, to the impressive carved walnut roof of the library, the scorpion shaped palace left us feeling steeped in the history and culture of a bygone era. Our guide’s parting shot was a bit of Urdu poetry, loosely translating as: “There is the sky, and there is the palace that mirrors the sky. It is only the fortunate that get to see the latter before they are returned to the former”

Feeling like I was about to return to the former, I politely declined the offer of a second helping of biryani at another friend’s that evening.

“You ate what? Haleem is only consumed during Ramadan, when the Muslims eat before daybreak. It sustains them the entire day!”

No wonder I felt like I’d swallowed a palace!

Needless to say, Falaknuma lodged itself inside of me, in more ways than one.

Burp.

falaknuma

His- story?

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Walking up the 380 uneven stone steps of the Golconda fort in Hyderabad, I heard frequent complaints from my eleven year old, who insisted on pausing every ten minutes. I pointed out all the old folk, who’d made the journey up, and were now returning.

One toothless old lady passed us by, and I said, “Look- just look at her. She must be at least seventy!”

“And she has no teeth”, added my husband.

“Well, she doesn’t exactly walk on her teeth”, daughter reparteed grumpily.

Fair point.

The sweltering heat of the afternoon sun was receding somewhat, and a cooler breeze started to reach us as we climbed higher. It had been an afternoon filled with sightseeing. We had seen the rather magnificent Qutub Shahi tombs, and then made our way back through the narrow streets of the old city towards the fort.

The history of the fort is interesting. Shepherd’s Hill or “Golla Konda” as it’s known in Telegu, was christened thus because of a shepherd boy who came across an idol. A mud fort was constructed around the holy spot by the then ruler. Over the years, and under the generous administration of the Qutub Shahi kings, this was expanded into a massive granite fort. However, when the fort was conquered by the Mughal ruler Aurangzeb, he saw fit to destroy the impressive structure, leaving little but rubble behind. It was the remnants of this structure that we were picking our way through, amongst several hundred other tourists.

As we climbed and paused, and took photos I couldn’t help but notice the litter that was casually thrown about. There were plastic bags caught in bushes, empty water bottles carelessly strewn, ice cream wrappers discarded cavalierly. Amongst History there was muck.

Litter can be picked.

But what of the graffiti I saw every corner that I turned? A loved B, and declared it on the wall for the world to see. Names scrawled, pictures drawn, defacing monuments that should be respected, preserved, restored even.

This got me wondering about the nature of graffiti.

Was I looking at this all wrong?

I have seen graffiti on bridges in Budapest. Wild, wonderful art, full of colour and mayhem. An expression of youth and of irreverence. And Banksy, the elusive street artist and activist, who even as I write this, is making waves with his art on the walls of Gaza. Why admire this and denigrate the other?

Rather than ascribing all these random scribblings on the walls of Golconda as markings of ignorance, I tried looking at it differently. Was this not just another attempt by man to make a mark, however trivial, however insignificant it may seem? If Ravi loved Savitha, he wanted not just to shout it from roof tops, but he wanted the multitudes who visited the fort, to see his love, and register, even if it was for a brief moment, his existence.

Some make forts. Some reduce them to rubble. Others make political statements on that rubble. While others still, just draw a heart and write that they love someone.

Thousands of years later, if this planet still exists, perhaps someone somewhere will try and make sense of it all, just as historians try and make sense of the early man cave paintings. I wonder which message will resonate the loudest then.