Book Review: Delhi: 14 Historical Walks by Swapna Liddle

Picture Credit HERE

On December 11, 1911, Emperor George V of Britain announced the change of the capital of India, from Calcutta to Delhi. Immediately, architect Edwin Luytens, who had designed Hamstead Garden Suburb in London was called upon to build the new city. Luytens along with his associate, Herbert Baker did what he could best do, taking inspiration from the garden city of Hamstead Garden Suberb,  they sat to design the new city, which was already a collection of smaller cities in villages made through a period that started from Chandragupta II to 1803, when the British East India Company occupied Delhi. What he had on hand is a number of structures already built, which he would have to build around, leaving everything as it is, and yet, introducing the distinctive style of architecture borrowed from Europe and Britain.

Dr Swapna Liddle, author of Delhi: 14 Historical Walks, tells the full story, covering the entire period from 375 to 1803, and thereafter, in the most fascinating manner, taking the reader through 14 walks, that not only detail in brief the history of Delhi, during that time, but urge the reader to walk with her, through the famous monuments of that time, the gardens, cities, baulis (water storage tanks), memorable architectural buildings made during that period, mosques and much more. Yet, the book is not a history book, but one that brings alive the history of that time, as if the walker were to be actually passing through that time period, as h/she takes the enchanting walk. No speed, no hurry, just leisurely passing through time and reliving the past, as it were. If you already loved to walk, you will be excited, if you were not a walker, then, be sure you will become one. Although, I must say, for the extremely lazy, the graphic description of each walk is good enough to ‘walk the words’ with Liddle.
Each walk is drawn out and detailed carefully. As the chapter begins, there is a picture followed by a map of all the important points, leading up to the timings, tickets, facilities available on the spot, closest Metro Station, Parking etc, before the walk to each one begins. Relax! You might be holding the book in your hand, but the author does not leave you stumbling back and forth, trying to find, this highlighted point or that on that particular walk. The magic is, she walks with you and guides you through each one, hand-holding you to explore with her, the fine details of each walk. Absorb the easy to read historical background and the periods, emperors under which these structures were made.

My own experience of the book in Shahjahanabad – Oh did you say, you didn’t know what i was talking about? – for the uninitiated, it is Chandni Chawk, as it is called now, I had missed the Jain temples which are believed to have existed from the days of the Mahabharata, the name being derived from the rich Jains who live around the temples, dealing in silver and gold. I was amazed to see the beautiful temples, for, to me, it was always, Chandni Chawk for Parathawali gali, or Jama Masjid, and Kharim’s right opposite Gate # 1 as you descend from the Jama Masjid, the foundation of which was laid in 1605, and took 6 years to complete, and cost Rs 10,00,000 (Rupees Ten Lakh/ $ 1 million).

The romance with the much written about period of Delhi, The Mughal Period (1526 – 1803) almost 3 centuries add a lot to the architectural splendour of Delhi, the most beloved, to me is of course, Humayun’s Tomb.

“As you pass through the gate, you get your first glimpse of the magnificent Humayun’s Tomb...The entrance set into them lead into a total of 124 chambers. In one of them is the grave of Humayun and others house the many graves of family members...”

Awesome! Come let’s discover this and many more, with book in hand. Let’s walk Delhi: 14 Historical Walks by Swapna Liddle



PLEASE RESPECT

When you are visiting a mosque on this walk, please cover your head with a scarf and leave your leather shoes outside the mosque. In case, you wish to carry them with you, inside, please place the soles together, facing inward and not outward.

About the Author: Dr Swapna Liddle studies history and got her doctorate in 19th Century Delhi, Her interest in Delhi’s monuments started in a casual manner, but have now become a very strong passion to protect these architectural buildings in Delhi. For some time now, she has been leading Heritage Walks arranged by India Habitat Centre and INTACH.

Click here to follow her on Facebook Or follow INTACH Delhi Chapter Walks on Twitter


Publisher: Westland Ltd
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4322/ 3 Ansari Road, Daryaganj, New Delhi 110 002

Also read about Sufi Sarmad Shaheed HERE

She's come home to me!

                                                She's come home to me

                                     (Dedicated to the memory of my ‘intellectual mother’, my Chotomoni)

Many year before she left her mortal body, she had called me one day in Delhi, to tell me she was going to visit and stay with me here for two months. My partner and I were really happy and looking forward to her coming. 

However, back where she stayed in Kolkata, discussions began at her home about how she could be sent to Delhi. Her husband had got so used to having her around, serving his every need, her son had not outgrown the umbilical cord connection, her own home needed her for each and every thing – what was going to be cooked each day, how much and for how many people – the list went on and on. Needless to say, the discussion of her coming to Delhi ended, only when she decided not to come at all.

Next, I decided to spend a year in Kolkata in my newly acquired home. My flat was only a forty-five minute taxi distance from hers. I pleaded with her to come and stay a week with me, with her husband, my meshamoshai. But then, once again the question arose, as to how she could go, because her husband refused to come along and her young toddler grandson, I was told by her, asked every day, before he went to Kindergarten, whether, she his granny would be home when he returned from school…

The plan to come stay with me was dropped yet again!

I was furious! Women, I told her, always put themselves aside to put men first and then complain that they don’t get heard. My Chotomoni, only smiled. After all, it was her gentleness which was most used against her. 

I never asked her again. I knew she would feel guilty both ways, to refuse me or to listen to her family only. I did not want her to suffer the fragmentation of an undecided mind. I let it go and instead increased my visits to hers.

Until, last year, on 16^th May, 2014, she left her body. I was not at her bedside at that moment, but when I went back to her house after a few days, her photo greeted me with the enigmatic smile that was typically hers. I wept uncontrollably. She had not set foot in the house, that was mine and she would never do so, now.

On the 6^th this month, May, 2015, we completed the one year death formalities by Hindu rituals at Kolkata.

On the 16^th evening, I called my brother, her son in Kolkata and talked to him, consoling him. On the 17^th I woke with a dream vivid as real life. 

In my dream, I was preparing to eat a breakfast of what used to be my maternal grandfather’s favourite dinner. Doodh rooti  is what it is called. Chappatis torn to small pieces and thrown into milk, with a dash of sugar, was in our family pure joy, learnt from habits passed down the generations. 

I saw, my partner returning home with Chotomoni beside her. I was overjoyed. Helping her to sit on a chair, I hurried to give her my bowl of doodh rooti, which she accepted and was stirring the spoon in the bowl, before taking a bite, when she looked at me and said clearly –

“Wear diamonds around your neck.”

I was a little stunned, both from the fact that I was not given to such showbiz, nor felt I could do so because diamonds are so expensive, but my partner interpreted the dream to mean, that in her accepting the doodh rooti, she has indicated that she has accepted what I have had to offer her and in return she has blessed me with the diamonds, to symbolize, a sparkling white and pure clarity of life and path ahead.

No wonder, then, to keep the magic of the moment alive in me, I quickly placed the Chrystals around my neck.

She has come home to me, my Chotomoni. I am wearing her around my neck.

On the isle side in a printed border white silk sari, Chotomoni, Dr Pratima Konar seen here with her friend and room mate with whom she lived over seven years in London, doing her Ph.D. This picture was taken when they were visiting Holland. She wrote at the back of the photo taken in the 60s, Mira Dasgupta and Pratima on boat in Europe.

The English Papers IV - Being single; Being Mum

Try as you might, it is only by imitation that one learns style and presentation.

Jill Cadman and Fiona

I watched Fiona intently, without being offensive and I remember her busy English home may have not had everything in place, because, really she had a lot of stuff in her head to do, as a lady working with the government, but there was always that thing about style she maintained in her day to day life. Indeed, she was soft spoken and met my eyes, when she talked, rather infrequently making sure I was being addressed, but not rudely stared at. Polite and perfect with her diction, her relationship with her daughter, who had just become a mother and lives close by too, reflects the same spirit of respect and non-interference, although she is a great support to her, naturally.

“I like the way; you are so respectful of her.” I said.

“Oh yes, I would always be that with her.”

Quite naturally, Jessica, her daughter displays the same respect for her little baby who is only 6 months old.

“I can’t have her picture published, because, she has to permit me to do so. She will have to grow up to decide for herself.” She said, when I asked for a picture of her baby.

In an age of Facebook, where the boundaries between personal and public is dimming out fast, it is important to draw the lines somewhere and not go the whole hog and tell it all to the world.

Again, this is a show of respect, no matter what the age of the human is.

Fiona comes from a line of single mothers. Interestingly, her grandmother, mother, she herself and her daughter are all single mothers. Like my mother, who chose to be a single mother, despite my father being alive, the women in Fiona’s line too, made the same choice. This fact, this points out to one thing for sure – parenthood, is a choice we make ourselves and how we are going to fulfill the role is again a personal choice. This choice undermines social norms to place the individual’s personal choice above all, no matter what the price may be that one must pay for this bold decision.

Fiona makes the breakfast and dinner; a single, working woman would do in urban India too. It is simple, quickly made and does not require time to cook it up and place it on the table. A quick bowl of porridge with a toast, butter as you please, honey and a cuppa, is just right to start the day with. At dinner, time she spends with herself is with a glass(es) of wine and some soft music playing in the background. She reads a lot, both at work and off it and her single room with bath, drawing-cum-dining room and a kitchen flat in London is a haven of books, not so much novels. She is a serious reader from a very intellectually engaging time, the sixties.

On my way back to India, I spent time with her alone for two days when we went to Oxford. Really, Oxford cannot be covered in a day, or a month, or a life time. But the little town can be admired for its rich history. Our guide that day, a lovely lady, who said her brain was melting underneath the heat of the May sun, gave us a list of people who had passed out of different colleges in Oxford. Pity, she forgot Dr Amartya Sen, Nobel Laureate, perhaps because his name was a true tongue twister and preferred to talk about names she could remember. I was proud to hear Dr Manmohan Singh’s name but not so happy about her saying that Indira Gandhi, the once Prime Minister of India, passed out of here and Sonia Gandhi her daughter in law, also passed out of here. Indeed, I had raised my hand to rectify the mistake by saying that Indira Gandhi attempted to pass out of here but regrettably did not and her daughter in law we know was studying the English language somewhere here but are not quite sure she succeeded in her Exams, but we are certain that she was a waitress in one of the Cafe here where she met and then married India Gandhi’s son, Rajiv Gandhi. Well, better sense took over and I sheepishly put my hand down, remembering quite clearly what my English Headmistress, Miss Thompson, always told us, when in England, do as the English do - maintain a tight upper lip.

“I will always think of you when I am at Oxford.” She wrote, and I agreed we had a lovely time, walking the streets of Oxford, hopping on and hopping off the Oxford sight-seeing bus, many times over. Yet, the real feel of Oxford is not yet in my blood and perhaps that will only happen when we can both go once again, not like two friends walking its hallowed streets, where many a stalwart walked but as a  family, with Jessica and her pretty baby with us.

When I look back, I think of all the little things Fiona did for me, someone, whom she had met the first time in her life and I feel once again, it is a way, a style of presentation of who she is, that I will always remember her by.

Like all the people I met, who were a part of Jill’s life, I know, Fiona had heard of me a lot and so there was a bonding spun around a common friend, our own dear, dear Jill. But, now, a warm friendship has kindled in our hearts too, separate and yet, strongly, bound by our common love for Jill.

Isn’t it lovely, how love grows? 

 

Goodbye England!

Goodbye England!

Across the seven seas

You influenced my thoughts

Even as a little girl in school.

Slightly built,

The prim and proper Head Mistress, Miss Thompson

Taught me first what discipline means

To human life

That strives to achieve goals

Within a lifetime,

Begotten, only once, in His image.

(Although, I have changed my mind since)

The little fables from her England

Stayed with me, until

I caught the wind to arrive

To her homeland.

And oh! What beauty

Steeped in history, culture

Music and dance, sweet England is!

And laughter smiles on every lip

Despite a moody sky!

Dear, dear England

It is hard to say goodbye!

But this life I chose

To be among people

Who find a way to laugh

Despite the empty basket of food.

Where there is abundance

Not in coins

That jingles in pockets.

I wanted to know a path

That goes beyond the material

And control coexists with chaos.

My spirit had longed

For a land whose peoples

Would be hospitable and willing to share

Even the bare minimum they had.

I wanted to know a hot and humid

Weather that burns the skin

Causing emotions to erupt without control

I wanted a land that promises me

Life, after life

Rebirth and Enlightenment.

Hence, goodbye England!

Across the seven seas

I take with me

Memories of your cheerful and chatty people

Your green stretches of desolate land

Which speak volumes in their silence;

Your flowers that play gaily on canvas

To paint pictures I will treasure

For the rest of my days.

And if we meet not again

Know this; I have taken you in my heart

As I have left behind

A little bit of my self in yours.

In your children, who will grow up to be you!

Live on! Thrive, England!

©Julia Dutta, May 2014

This poem is dedicated to the memory of my aunt, Dr Pratima Konar who left her body on 16th May, 2014.