Last week Karnataka's political drama beguiled us all! The elements of the drama were bizarre, and the characters were taken to refuge from one place to another.
By chance, we checked in the same hotel - in Hyderabad - where the puppetish characters were rehearsing their next scene. My husband and I were delighted by the fact that we might witness people moving in and out with black briefcases. Nevertheless, we couldn't see any of it as, by the time we reached the hotel, they were deported back to Karnataka.
However, my zest to explore the antiques of the city of Nizams kept me going. When I started digging into the history of 'Hyderabad', I found out that the city of Hyderabad was born out of love - the love of gusty Muslim prince, Muhammad Quli Qutab for a young Hindu courtesan Bhagmati. He was so enamoured of her beauty and voice that he would ride to the village of Chichalam across the river Musi, to meet her beloved. When his father Sultan Ibrahim heard about his alliance with a Hindu girl, he was devastated, but later relented and constructed the Purana Pul - a massive stone bridge so that his son can reach to his beloved easily.
After ascending the throne, prince defied all the traditions and married Bhagmati. In 1951, he laid the foundation of a new city which he named 'Bhagnagar' after his beloved queen. And, Bhagmati embraced Islam and changed her name to Hyder Mahal and Bhagnagar was renamed Hyderabad after that.
Isn't this Hindu-Muslim love saga a motivational tale in this much-polarised phase of our country? Do name and religion are over and above the humanity? Or the politicians are juggling 'casteism', 'religionism', 'states' like tangerines in their hands to lure the floating voter.
Anyhow, me and my little bub, far too innocent to understand all this, started to explore the next day and landed at THE FALAKNUMA PALACE. (also called as 'the mirror of the sky' and now, The Taj Falaknuma). The majestic building took our breath away. One-thirty-four years old pristine-white palace still stands taller than the palace of Versailles. Then why after more than a century we are failing to construct sturdy flyover bridges or buildings which keep collapsing now and then?
Regardless of technology and delicate machinery probably sincere intention is missing!
Though we left the palace after a couple of hours, the grandeur and opulence travelled along.
Before retiring to bed, I narrated the story of CHARMINAR to my bub, that the King of Hyderabad nearly 527 years ago, knelt and prayed to ALLAH to end the epidemic - plague. Miraculously after a few days, the disease ebbed.
To celebrate the end of plague and to thank the almighty he erected the majestic structure at the very point where he knelt. The grand edifice - a melody set in concrete - is still trying hard to sing a rhapsody of its past.
The story ended, and we went to the see the alluring beauty the next day. It was around nine in the evening - a month of Ramzan - Lad Bazar effervesced with the food and ITTAR. My bub and I swarmed through the burka-clad women, men and children to reach near the CHARMINAR.
Alas! All the sprightliness faded as we approached near the CHARMINAR - it was crowded with all sort of peddlers - selling Chinese goods around the inspired piece of architecture. The structure was not even cordoned off. One of the MINAR was covered with the grubby green cloth - trying to hide its falling grace. I looked at the monument with bleary eyes!
Every time I see our golden heritage - abandoned, fragmented and ripped - I feel robbed!
Sometime back I visited one the oldest fort of India, Ranthambore Fort. An approximately 1300years old fort was in shambles - walls scribbled with chalks - women washing clothes is 1300 old HAMAM, after being declared as world UNESCO site.
Corroding TAJ MAHAL is a familiar story.
My little bub asked, 'So mom where did the KING kneel exactly?'
I looked around - the chaos in and around the ailing MINAR turned me deaf and dumb. I snapped, 'It's late now - let's go back to the hotel. '
But are we late to save our heritage? I thought. And, then I thought - one or two black briefcases could save our splendid allegorical monuments.
But would anyone like to woo these monuments? That is a question of concern.
