Tag: Awadh Boy’s Panorama

Categories
Musings

By the Banks of the Beautiful Gomti…

Prithvijeet Sinha muses…with his narrative and his camera

The chronology of monuments and historical continuum in Lucknow are affixed to the Nawabi realm, tales of opulence and benevolence or narratives that pivot around the First War of Independence in 1857 and its enduring imprints. All of these features mark the city. But they can also become dog-eared markers and signifiers that can prevent one from looking at modern marvels.

That being said, the most serene corner of Lucknow has yet to complete a full decade of its existence but has already become an indispensable part of the cityscape buoyed by nature and beautiful landscaping. For if mortal hands gave shape to beautiful, everlasting monuments of Awadh, modern visions have given the city the Gomti Riverfront Park.

Situated at the heart of the city just before unveiling the expanse of Gomti Nagar and intersected by Hazratganj and Cantonment on its primary stretch, it complements the River Gomti’s function as the city’s lifeline with remarkable fervour. It is easily accessible and is a personification of the natural beauty that Lucknow exemplifies for millions. In fact, in the current day and age, it serves as a common unifier for those many faces who visit it for leisure or as regular joggers, walkers and wanderers.

It has consistently maintained its pruned gardens, verdant slopes leading to its open avenues and the trees and plants cover this stretch. It’s not just about the idea of exemplary maintenance, the river is near some classical monuments facing it such as the Ambedkar Park, the majestic La Martiniere Boys College and the gorgeous Dilkusha Bridge. All this is already set in motion as rolling fountains, little dome-shaped pavilions serving as seating spaces and the red stone walls on its upper reaches welcome the visitor.

On a deeply personal level, Gomti Riverfront Park has something that leaves one swooning. It’s about the way the gardens are spread out, the song of the sparrows that can often be spotted here on some rare occasions and how the gulmohars shed their red flowers, leaving footprints of earthly vermilion as one takes a reprieve and beholds mynas with miles of yellow eyeline perched atop navy-blue lamps navigating left and right.

On many mornings in monsoon, I have been saved by the protection of the trees here and tasted the rain on my tongue. I have watched sprinklers rise like a spray of rejuvenation on the grass as a pretty wooden seat or those painted in green look on. I have seen joggers initiating a tryst with good health here, cyclists enjoy the joy evinced by these stretches and others practicing yoga to the soundtrack of birdsongs and rustling winds. I have felt myself breaking free from mundane rhythms and anxieties while traversing its meaningful miles and have composed many pivotal poems inspired by its imagery hence solidifying my omnibus of individuality in conjunction with the cityscape.

The Riverfront Park gives silence and tranquil charms in droves and moves far away from the urban bustle so that the green cover and unrestricted steps stretching all the way to the fabled Dilkusha Bridge dispenses with the conventional crowds and makes one experience true serenity.

There are many landmarks like Bibiapur Mansion, Vilayati Bagh a little far ahead. So, history wraps it all around but never to smother its unique identity. Marking the riverfront as a hub of activity and interior space for soaking nature’s humble bounties, this park has so much to offer all at once.  It marks the chronology of water and its neighbourhood of riches in the heart of Lucknow.

Prithvijeet Sinha  is an MPhil from the University of Lucknow, having launched his prolific writing career by self-publishing on the worldwide community Wattpad since 2015 and on his WordPress blog An Awadh Boy’s Panorama. Besides that, his works have been published in several journals and anthologies. 

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International

Categories
Essay

Where No One Wins or Loses a War…From Lucknow with Love

Narratives and photographs by Prithvijeet Sinha

Talking about Vilayati Bagh as being an isolated cousin among the many gardens and monuments of Lucknow would be feasible given its elusive nature. I say elusive because it is nestled in the lush environs of the cantonment area and forested canopy that lies ahead of Dilkusha Palace which is one of the city’s many frequently visited wonders. Within this canopy lies Vilayati Bagh, “Vilayati”(foreign) referring in no small terms to not only a colonial past but also the stark fact that it is home to three tombs of erstwhile British officers who perished in the high noons of 1857’s First War of Independence. It was only a year ago that I, myself, had the opportunity to go there for the very first time. But that March morning changed everything. I have been there twice already to revel in its tranquility.

Its history is quite like other gardens and leisure spots of Awadh. It was built in the earlier parts of 19th Century by Ghazi Ud-Din Haider[1], the Nawab of Awadh, as a gift for his beloved European consort. During the revolt of 1857, it fell prey to shellings and other bombardments. But like most of Lucknow’s quintessential monuments, the spirit of renaissance did not elude it for long. In the present day, it is still tucked away in its quiet corner, slumbering and awakening for discerning eyes (and minds) who go there to capture crucial echoes of its unique identity.

Flanked by the Gomti close by and a cemetery in the middle of a spacious compound, the property begins its enchanting passage as one takes a straight drive (or walk) from Dilkusha Palace, approaches Kendriya Vidyalaya and then continues to move ahead to encounter a railway crossing, opposite which lies the cantonment granary, quarters and the grand and haunting Bibiapur Kothi. Taking a left turn from that location brings one to the verdure of old, huge trees, a moderately spacious road and pleasant sounds of cicadas and birds. In this pithy journey to Vilayati Bagh, the feeling of time-traveling to a gracious era of architectural elegance comes into sight the moment we reach its immediate premises. A beautiful Sufi dargah bathed in impressive green lies on the left and a few moderate homes of those who probably maintain this compound meet us.

Then the real journey begins. A sophisticated sense of the building blocks of this elusive garden are elucidated by its brown- yellow, almost auburn walls. The lakhauri[2] paint and plaster give it luster on a sunny day. These ramparts retain their history of age, war and past reckonings. Yet it’s the sun that designs their colour schemes in the most sublime shades.  Archeological Survey of India has restored its lost glory in recent years and the result is there for all to see.

The boundary walls have a sturdy presence and are enclosed by arrow-shaped iron structures painted in pleasant brown. As one explores the interiors of the garden compound, little monoliths, corrugated outer flanks that look like barracks emerge, the exposed bricks red and pink in their sublimity of skin tones. A Y-shaped drain also flanks them. There is an aura of extraordinary peace all around. This isn’t meant to be a tourist spot. This is the one for aesthetes and true aficionados of history. The mind wanders and is arrested by trees whose branches are shaped like pitchforks.

A dargah (miniature Sufi shrine) greets one at the outer end of the compound while a majestic gulmohar tree seems to appear like a tall fellow wearing red scarves. Arches and domes subsist in this sturdy network of walls.

The saga of Vilayati Bagh is one of beauty but the starkness of its melancholy is evident in the cemeteries that lie in a little distance from the main gateway. They belong to fallen English soldiers Henry P. Garvey, Captain W. Helley Hutchinson and Sergeant S. Newman. These tombs are made in the image of a wide basin, crypts depicting that no one side can win or lose a war. Everybody has formidable stakes, and the dead don’t preach the gospel of victory or sombre defeat. Flanking these resting places are miniature pavilions with domes; they are surrounded by white rectangles made from cloth supported by twigs — sobering symbols of lives lost and the unpredictable designations of mortality.

Despite this unique mixture of melancholy and beauty, sobriety reigns. Of course, the obvious euphoria of discovery overrides every other emotion. Lucknow is a city that lives and breathes in such possibilities where a monument or elusive corner of its expanse can prompt an awakening for its discerning residents. Going further than the limitations imposed by acquired knowledge is always a source of deeper reckoning. This garden that houses nature and ghosts of mortality in its inner sanctum gives me another reason to keep my curiosity intact.

[1] Ghazi-ud-Din Haidar Shah (1769-1827), The first King of Oudh and the last Nawab Wazir of Oudh. He started a line of kingship which ended with the exile of Wajid Ali Shah(1822-1887).

[2] Traditional natural ingredients, often dyes or pastes from plants, used for coating buildings in Lucknow

Prithvijeet Sinha  is an MPhil from the University of Lucknow, having launched his prolific writing career by self-publishing on the worldwide community Wattpad since 2015 and on his WordPress blog An Awadh Boy’s Panorama. Besides that, his works have been published in several journals and anthologies. 

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International

Categories
Poetry

A Grandmother’s Lament

By Prithvijeet Sinha

Paintings by Amrita Shergill ((1913-1941)
A solitary Om circled her ablutions,
holding the pain of those post war years in her ribs,
when she was young and on her way to the bed chamber,
praying for lesser contractions of torment,
consummating a war-torn union with her eyes to the ceiling.

Broken bangles, shattered pots,
leaking vessels of the Shergill women,
severed heads of cows and crows
and approaching stilts of vultures upon the river's bank --
She escaped all that with her wedding procession,
for the countryside's doomsday was two weeks later.

Telegraphs of the carnage reach her,
from those zigzagging pole wires and squinting birds in the balcony,
her memory drawing palms towards the heads of brides and grooms,
now asking for eternal peace and her elderly wisdom.
Another marital procession seeking her ancient presence,
in the arterial vista of generations.

**

She was young once,
when her tongue limned the outline of his shoulders
and his fingers caressed the very essence of her body.
The idea of existence,
of sandalwood aromas reeling with sweat and smells of new beginnings,
all garnered few towns away from her own, 
where intimacy took beastly garbs to snap hymens
and midnight guards broke their sacred words,
to ransack humanity.

"Blessed be the union of these two souls,
prosper and progress as pilgrims on this eternal road,
in faith and in fidelity,
draw strength and make amends the first time around in brewing conflict's way, "
Her words comforting a small town that always lay outside the epicenter of her heyday.

**

Her town burned,
looted and pillaged,
sacked to become refuge of wandering ghosts
and a blot on nostalgia's subtle arc.

She remembers swings swaying past the rainbow,
the fairs bedecked with children's hoots
and parental vigils of joy
and the day before a prognosis of bloodshed doused the fire of youth.

She remembers.
The lament of her 'long ago' gone
with the last smoke of the past,
her failing memory
and the joy of the town congregating for a couple's future.

She remembers.

Prithvijeet Sinha has prolific published credits that encompass poetry, musings on the city, cinema, anthologies, journals of national and international repertoire, as well as a blog, An Awadh Boy’s Panorama, from which these poems have been republished. His life-force resides in writing, in the art of self-expression.

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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL. 

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International