Anurag Dewan
As I returned from Lucknow (or its raspier and colloquial pronunciation of Lakhnau), a sinking feeling of discomforting changes afoot, made the heart sink and sigh at the sense of foreboding loss. ‘Progress’ was clearly taking its toll on the soul of an emotion, endearingly and simply, pronounced Lakhnau. I spoke to a dear friend, another torn soul whose eyes always rolled gently on the mention of Lakhnau, who gut-wrenchingly likened Lakhnau to a once-ravishingly beautiful lady, who is well past her youthful prime, but one, who still has an woman’s softness, genteelness and delicacy, that no longer appeals to new beholders, anymore! He laughed loudly with all the sadness inside and mused, “We are the faithful lovers of this now-shy lady, till the last day of our lives, and shall remain so, irrespective”.
There is an unsaid poignancy about the diminishment of the pedigreed, who still cling to the refined elegances, amidst the obvious ruins – my old Lakhnau of the wistful memories, dreams and imagination, gently fades into that oblivion of the soon-to-be-unseen. Timeless waters of the Gomti river snakes through the city, that once nurtured a syncretic, generous and harmonious metaphor called the Ganga-Jamuni tehzeeb, today it flows silently, forgotten and trapped in harsh concrete and steel, much like the city itself. If the noble ‘Idea of India’ that personified unity-in-diversity truly deserved a befitting capital to bear its heart, unquestionably, it could only be the Lakhnau, of the times gone by.
The civilisational contribution of Lucknow in Nehru’s quest for, ‘when the soul of a nation long suppressed finds utterances’, would be in its unmatched eloquence of its taksali zubaan that would seamlessly blend the multiculturality of a Shia, Sunni, Brahmin, Kayasth, Sikh, Rajput, Punjabi, Anglo-Indian etc. all quintessentially, unquestionably and uniquely, Lakhnauis. All diversities remained indistinguishable from each other in the serene aabo hawa (air of the times that be) of tehzeeb (mannerism), nafasat (sophistication), adab (respect), nazaqat (style) and tameez (courtesy). The city afforded the most compelling rebuttal to the ‘two-nation’ theory with its lofty assimilation of the finest graces and instincts of India’s diversities – the land of poets, dreamers, hawkers, horsemen, traders and even sometimes debauched rulers was always at peace with each other. As only a hoarding in Lucknow’s magnificent Charbagh railway station could welcome you with, ‘Muskaraye, aap Lakhnau mein hain’ (Smile, for you are in Lucknow)! Lakhnou is essentially a ‘sound’ that could be recognised by eyes shut, as only here could one say, ‘aap ke paaon ke neeche dil hai, ek zarra, aapko zehmat hogi’ (literally, my heart lies under your feet, please consider gently, and I regret the trouble to you) – such nuances could never be said in a Kanpur, Hyderabad or even a Aligarh! Quaint monuments that once resonated and came alive to the sounds of thumris and khayals, courtesans dancing to Kathak, shair-o-shairis and housed the most intricate handwork chikankari like mukaish, kamdani, badla, sequin work, are now struggling for relevance in ‘modernity’.
A new Lucknow (not Lakhnau) is on the horizon, with cold tall buildings and a retinue of templatized restaurants, bulging malls, branded promises and a completely alien ‘mein’ (as opposed to a softer, hum) and ‘tum’ (in contrast to a tender, aap), is gaining currency. Soulless and gaudy monstrosities of glass and steel dwarf the sublime intricacies of the odd minaret that still peeks through the covered façades of more construction sites, that promises even more destruction to come – a invariable, if useless reminder of the bygone Lakhnau, that is reeling under the onslaught of ‘progress’. Boorish invasion of the political sensibilities as opposed to the cultural temper have taken over, everyone is inexplicably angrier, for reasons that mostly exist outside of the city’s boundaries. Sadly, the typically calmer pastel colours of traditional Oudhi weaves like lemon-yellow or mehndi-green are giving way to the more suggestive insistences of bright saffron or the dark green! The beards have got longer and the burkhas more covering, just as the bhagwa tilaks (forehead markings) and red maulis (religious wrist threads) have become more assertively visible – the ‘celebration of differences’ in the land of inclusivity, is fast becoming the norm. Faces of fear or intimidation are rife, with side glances and suspicious whispers replacing the revelries of joint-tafris (aimless wandering) and loud patangbazi (kite-flying) of yore – Lakhnau is seceding to Lucknow, and the beautiful lady knows that the writing is on the wall. Hopeless lovers of the mystique of Lakhnau are feeling helpless, as they see the sure withering of the idyll that once prided itself with expressions like ‘aapki inayat, aapka karam, maula ka ehsaan’!
Linguistically also, there was no old Lakhnau or new Lucknow, but there are two distinct domains now, the rapidly growing Lucknow and the fast fading aura of Lakhnau. Two contrasting sensibilities are at play, both melting pots – one of the finest breeding and deliberate integration, and the other of the inanimate newness that harbours no romance, only divides and exclusivism. The now laboured breath of Lakhnau that was once considered eternal, is in a sad neglect, much like the burial sites of its illustrious poets, Mir Babar Ali Anees, Mirza Salaamat Ali Dabeer, Mir Taqi Mir and countless others. Importantly Lakhnau was Lakhnau not owing to any one singular identity or its essentialities of Nawabiyat, but owing to the fertile and enriched soil that also gave a Cliff Richard, Brij Narayan Chakbast, Amritlal Nagar, Dr Rosie Llewellyn-Rose etc.
Mir’s surreal lines about his own penury are now also apt for my Lakhnau, ‘Sirhane ‘Mir’ ke ahista bolo, abhi tak rote-rote so gaya’ (Speak softly at the bedside of Mir, He has just fallen asleep crying). As I waited on the last day for the lady to somehow reach out to me on her own and ask me to stay back, she never did, for she knew the journey of the supposed eternal Lakhnau, had no future. What did finally well-up tears in my eyes was at the airport was when the unknown cab driver still insisted warmly, ‘Janaab, aap aglee baar aieyega, toh zaroor miliyeyga’ (Sir, when you come the next time, please do meet – while translating the same in English, I realised, just how insufficient and poor the English language is to capture the emotion). New Lucknow is not necessarily bad, for it is perhaps even required in parts – it is just that when the new replaces the old, it does so, heartlessly and ruthlessly. Lakhnau too needs to survive, not just for itself and all the extraordinary decency and finesse that it inspires, but for that larger ‘Idea of India’ to survive, eternally. I will keep going back, searching and praying for my Lakhnau, even as I know that it is a lost cause.
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