Lucknow is a city in contradiction with itself. In fact, it would be deluding to call it “a city”. The Queen of the Oudh is actually three cities in a perpetual dynamic equilibrium with each other - forever in transition, yet always constant. Picturesque and mostly peaceful, the city, inspite of bursting at its seams with an ever-overflowing populace and being perpetually clamorous, still retains an old-world spaciousness and a disarming laidback demeanor.
Situated on the banks of the river Gomti, a tributary of the mighty Ganges, Lucknow has an “atmosphere” all of its own - one which appeals to the romantic in each one of us. It wouldn’t be frivolous to attribute it’s origin to the Gomti. The river lazily meanders along as its snakes its way through the city, bisecting it into two turbulent halves. Or maybe it’s the glorious past which the city enjoyed - steeped in valour and sacrifice, art and culture, character and sophistication - which tugs at your heartstrings and endears one to step back into the grandeur and magnificence that was once Lucknow.
In colour and variety its majestic edifices, some dull grey with moss, some green with grass and some blazing gold, yield place to none. Be it the Imambaras, mosques and havelis, with their rich and intricate architecture, or even the buildings of the Raj era - stately and colonial, they all stand apart in their pristine glory.
But then, Lucknow is hardly about buildings and monuments anyway. Neither is it about Nawabs and Governors. It was, and in most parts still is, about dignity and etiquette, manners and courtesy, tehzeeb and nazakat. Though time and “modern” culture has worn much of the sheen off this bastion of refinement yet the remnants are hardly rare. From the humble rickshaw puller on the streets to the shop-owners in Aminabad and Chowk, they strive to keep the elegance intact.
With development, all the usual suspects of a bustling metropolis have emerged on the landscape of the city and provide due succor to a population determined to keep up with time at the cost of everything else. But then this is the story of modern India et al so let’s not get there. Instead, let’s embark on a journey to a city which was considered the seat of art, culture, learning and social refinement not so long ago.
Lucknow - A Mouthful of History
The city is said to have derived its name from Lakshman, the younger brother of Lord Rama, who purportedly founded the city around the spot now known as Lakshman Tila. Yet another story traces its origin to an architect named Lakhna who was employed by the Muslim rulers of Jaunpur to build medieval Lucknow.
Ironically, Lucknow came into prominence with the disintegration of the Mughal Empire. Until then, it had been a province of the Mughal Empire, ruled by governors appointed by the Mughal kings, called Nawabs. During the reign of Mohammad Shah, a Persian aristocrat from Naishapur, Burhan-ul-Mulk Mohammad Amin Saadat Ali Khan rose to power and influence at Delhi for rendering meritorious services to the Emperor. In 1732, the Emperor appointed him the Governor of Awadh (or Oudh as the Brits pronounced it!) and he became the founder of a line of rulers known to history as Nawab-Wazirs. His nephew and successor, Nawab Safdar Jung, the second Nawab went on to become the wazir of the entire Mughal Empire.
The first two Nawabs had their capital at Faizabad, north of Lucknow and closer to Ayodhya. It was the third Nawab, Asaf-ud-Daula who, transferred the capital to Lucknow in 1775, and is regarded as the designer and builder of modern Lucknow. He was best known for his generosity and kindness, which is summed up in the saying, Jisko na de Allah, usko de Asaf-ud-Daula literally meaning that Asaf-ud-Daula gives to those whom even God deprives.
He is most famous for building Lucknow’s best known landmark, the Bara Imambara, which was initiated as a food-for-work programme to provide relief to the people during a particularly long famine, in 1784. Those who helped build it were paid wages and given food from a community kitchen. It is said that when the famine showed no signs of abating, the Nawab’s soldiers used to break down at night whatever was made during the day, and so the work was prolonged till the famine got over. It was then that this piece-de-résistance was completed. He also built the Rumi Darwaza and the Bibiapur Kothi. During his reign, the fame and luxury of Awadh reached its peak.
The British annexed the province in 1856, on the ambiguous grounds of misgovernance and deported the last Nawab of Awadh, Wajid Ali Shah, to Calcutta. A year later, the Revolt of 1857 broke out and the flames spread to Lucknow, where the atmosphere was already charged. The sepoys besieged the residence of the Governor, the British Residency and for six months, brought the mighty Empire literally to its knees. Pitched battles were fought in parks and gardens and almost all buildings became scenes of sieges. For months the city was ruthlessly battered. Scarred walls and ruins scattered over the city bear mute testimony to the pitched battle that ensued here. The conclusive battle was fought at Sikanderbagh, the summer house of Nawab Wajid Ali Shah, on the banks of the river Gomti where the valiant sepoys were finally beaten.
After the war, the city subsequently became the capital of the state. With the influx of government offices and the establishment of a large military centre and the development of cultural and educational institutions, among them Asia’s first college for women, the Isabella Thoburn college, Lucknow grew rapidly and recovered most of what it had seen being torn away.
Lucknow - Welcome to the Circus
The most unmistakable aspect of Lucknow are the people. Primarily because they are everywhere - hanging out of buses, queued in front of cinemas, jostling on the sidewalks - they are just all over the place. And they are uproariously funny - right from the rickshaw puller taking an almost stationary turn, even in the face of blaring horns and possessed motorcyclists, who appears to be caught in a time warp to the speed demons themselves, who seem to be possessed with a suicidal desire to emulate the Kamikaze bombers, snaking their way in and out of traffic thereby ensuring that chaos is maintained both in the universe and on the streets; from the old timers who huddle in pockets at dawn and dusk to lament the passing away of a city and a culture that they sorely miss only to knocked out of their reverie by the deafening sound of yet another jing-bang horn, to the slick heeled who celebrate the coming of age of yet another majorly middle class Indian city by making sure they are seen in some mall and multiplex on any given day. Then there are the wannabes and the road-romeos who keep abreast with every fashion trend from Hawaii to Havana and wear it all at the same time. But the most nauseating are the ministers and their cohorts and their uncles and their nephews and their cousins and so on and so forth who make it a point to painstakingly delineate the entire connection at every plausible opportunity and then demand for some favour for the same effort. They park their cars in the middle of the road, on a train they don’t let anyone else board; they jump every traffic light, they always look to pick up a fight; for they know a minister, they know a minister, ye ye ye ye they know a minister! Well this is the circus that Lucknow has become of late. But patches of sanity can still be found in most places of the city - where people still say pehle aap and remind one of the time when tehzeeb and nazakat were synonymous with the city. How long they remain that way, is a wondrous million dollar question.
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