Of Nawabs, Kebabs and Me
There is definitely a lot to write about the sights and sounds of Lucknow, the town traditionally known for its cultured Nawabs, mouth-watering kebabs, exquisite chikan and of course the warm hospitality.
But I am a little disappointed. I was hoping my camera would share some of my burden in capturing the decadent splendor and a serene, sleepy city vibrating with life in pockets like Aminabad. But unfortunately, the first day here, I left my camera behind in my hotel room and day 2 was just too hectic for me to be able to even wield it on unsuspecting people and sights.
So here I am, at 6 am on a Tuesday morning with exactly 10 people in the Amausi airport, struggling to keep my eyes open and waiting for the Sahara staff to arrive – I don’t know if this is a first but I was the first person into the airport. I was here at 5.30 am, exactly 2 hours before the flight time and was welcomed by 3 very amused police officers at the entrance. They wanted to know what time my flight was and I said 7.00 am – Air Sahara. They gave me a wide grin as they asked me, with typical Lucknovi hospitality, that I should just relax “aap aaram Karen…ab tho staff bhi koi nahi aaye hain”, they told me. As I entered the airport the gravity of what they had just spoken dawned on me. The airport was empty – and when I say empty I mean empty – a lot of us probably don’t even know what that word means anymore but let me tell you, experiencing it did me wonders. The policemen switched on the fans and lights for me asking me to make myself comfortable which I did. I waited for close to an hour like this, all alone with the 3 policemen checking on me once in a while, one even assuring me that people will arrive soon. People started streaming in by around 6 for a 7 am flight – not bad I thought because by then I had realized that this airport is just not like any other ones I had been to (excluding the varanasi airport which was composed of space just enough to construct a 1 BHK flat in Mumbai) – this is Lucknow where people are known more for their graceful style than for pace and frenzy. And slowly and surely the crowd built up, the staff arrived and the place started resembling an airport. And then the staff took some time to settle down. Meanwhile a lady sitting next to me beckoned me with a ‘Beta, kahan jaa rahe ho’, as if the place had a million gates and a zillion flights. ‘I am going to Delhi’, I answered. ‘Oh by Sahara’, she ventured. I managed a nod. And then there was some chit chat, of chai walas and why they are yet to make their presence felt in the airport. Then they announced that check-in procedures had begun. I keep writing, after all its just one flight leaving which also was yet to arrive from Delhi airport, why stand in queues when it could be avoided. But apparently the Indian penchant for making queues has not escaped the Lucknow populace.
Even as I write this, the 3 passengers who have already arrived at the airport apart from me (yes the count is till 3, I am wondering where everyone else is or if at all there are more passengers) have formed a neat queue in front of the “Check-In Baggage X-Ray counter”, the “staff” there yet to arrive. I turned around to give it one amused look and here I am back to writing.
It really is fun to capture things as they happen. I remember Pico Iyers words on how he has to strive to actually capture the color, the mood, the essence of every single minute he spends traveling and how words have to take on hues and meanings of their own – though I wonder how me with my limited skills can even remotely paint the pictures that will always form in my mind when someone says Lucknow.
Oh! Now there is a power cut now!!! Hehehhe
I arrive in Lucknow on a very hot (Delhi was at 46 and Lucknow at 45 when I arrived) and dusty Sunday evening. As the pilot announces that we will be landing in Lucknow shortly, I peep out, waiting to have my first glance of the city I have heard so much about. And what do I see, but open lands. I was to come to know much later that Amausi where the airport is located is actually in a different district outside Lucknow city limits. And then I kept waiting for the airport terminal to appear, which I finally saw to be a red and cream building in a very traditional mould with minaret like structures appearing out of nowhere, a very discernible pseudo-traditional building (I don’t know if that’s even a technical term but it kind of describes what I want to say). Coming in I was greeted by the Green and Red Channels (did not know this was an international airport!) though no one was actually manning these very important posts.
S from my office was waiting for me at the arrival gate, I had met him in 2003 last, when I had traveled to Gorakhpur and he was a very staid, typically north Indian looking bloke with moustache and all. Imagine my surprise then when I see blond, cropped hair and some snazzy dressing. And all I had to show for the 4 year gap was a bunch of grey hair and a few extra pounds. He certainly reiterated one point to me, the same point as is made by the Saas-Bahus of the world everyday on our television sets, that the world today is all about getting younger and hipper – I wonder when I will start feeling the need to hide my age (ha, a certain person chided me as being rude recently because I asked his friend how old he had become on his birthday and no amount of hey I am anyways at least a couple of years older than him seemed to convince him of the ‘okay-ness’ of the whole situation). Well, so much for age.
Then we sped towards the city in a non-ac cab, though the cabman insisted on switching on the ac I refused because I had developed a slight sore throat and was wary of getting a cold. The warm breeze hit my face and I realized I was in India’s heartland, where summer was peaking and the heat wave claiming lives by the dozen everyday.
What hit my eyes instantly were hoardings and banners for coaching classes claiming to give “100% results” in IAS or IIT exams with tiny, very badly photographed (don’t passport size photos always do that to us – I have never heard or seen a person who actually looks even as good as himself or herself in a passport size photo) boys who had been coached in the institute and were now top rankers in these entrance exams. I wondered about Abhishek Rai (Abhishek by the way is a very common name in these parts – I met one in every one of my four groups) and his future, coming from a sleepy town like Lucknow and being catapulted into say an IIT Mumbai or an IIT Delhi.
I arrive at the hotel – it was a decent one, nothing great and definitely nothing Lucknowi about it to merit much mention in this space.
Moving on, since I had traveled the whole day from Chennai changing flights, getting quite some time at the Delhi airport to see a pretentious and obese family insist on getting serviced before me by sheer muscularity and rudeness (one of the kids, a boy of maybe 12 who looked like he was Bappi Lahiri’s son actually pushed me aside at the check-in counter – a very quick apology by the airline staff saved the day for him for I am never in my best moods when encountered by people who show utter disregard for people around them, and had recently requested a spoilt rich kid to keep her chappals firmly on the ground at the waiting area in the airport) I was too fatigued and just ordered some food and went to sleep, preparing myself for the grueling week ahead. I was already beginning to feel depressed (eating alone always does that to me).
After a decent breakfast at the hotel buffet next morning, I decided to get to the office to check mails and to check on people who are mere names to me through my quantitative projects – it is always nice to add faces to them. S told me that a cycle rikshaw would transport me to the office for Rs. 15 and I thought it was a very novel idea – I hired one promptly. Little did I know that the guy was either a novice or pretending to be one and almost took me to Faizabad when all I had wanted was to go to Faizabad Road. After numerous phone calls to S and after being rudely judged by a mehendi blond man owning a pharmacy (me actually committing the crime of asking him for directions and he looking at me like I was the scum of the earth) I reached office. I offered everyone some Krishna Sweets Mysore Pak which I had hurriedly bought at the Chennai airport just to let Lucknow have a taste of Chennai – and I am glad to report that it was a hit. A wanted to know if he could finish it by himself and if he really needed to share it with the rest of the office! I will gloss over the work bit and come straight to the lunch – which was simple yet absolutely delicious – rotis, arhar dal and a mix veg. subzi, salad (of which I obviously did not take any), followed by a bowl of curd and dusheri – the most amazing mangoes which were the sweetest I had ever tasted (you will be advised to note here that I actually hate mangoes and politely refuse them whenever offered). And then off to the venue.
What a place it was – cheap cloth stores in the basement selling spiderman suits for kids and tight black t-shirts with gold embossing for blonded and streaked young men, the rest of the building occupied by classes (what else), all promising to ensure that you are the top ranker in CPMT, IIT-JEE and other such. A board proclaiming to teach you Englis (transliterated from what was written in devanagari) pan-stained and spit covered corners welcomed me as I climbed up the three flights. A, who heads our field here did warn me of such issues but I didn’t mind them as much. I had seen the Ganges suffer worse when I had traversed through Varanasi a few years back – I knew what not to expect!
As the groups were nearing an end the next day, the moderator asked me if I had done any shopping and when I replied in the negative he looked at me most incredulously. Immediately a friend was called up and a store was asked to remain open till I went there to shop. Aminabad was like the Commercial Street in Bangalore, full of little shops, all selling the same thing and it being extremely difficult to judge whom to trust and what to buy. I didn’t know what to say or do – just went along and bought a few things.
And then came the sweetest moment – someone from the office was standing in front of the hotel, waiting to give me a pack of sweets from Chappan Bhog, the best Mithai Shop in Lucknow – with compliments from everyone in office - I was too thrilled for words!
Spent the entire night working because I was scared I would be unable to get up at 4 and rush to the airport. And here I am, waiting for my flight to arrive, and to take me to Delhi.
It was drizzling slightly when I stepped out to take the bus to the flight – just before I stepped into the aircraft, I looked up at the grey skies, droplets of water caressing my face and I smiled – I might not have seen Lucknow, nor really explored the markets or the old city or made any mandatory Chikan purchases, but I experienced something in its rustic settings, a sense of old world charm which I had only read about in books or seen in movies. This was the thread that ran through everything – the act of traveling on a cycle rickshaw even as the faster vehicles (largely two-wheelers) passed you by and looking at people enjoying chat at the Royal Park, two girls gossiping as they sat huddled together in a cycle rickshaw, people lazily walking by and even two and four wheelers being driven at a slower pace as if there was no hurry, as if everything was happening as per one big clock and no one really needed to strive to keep time or to keep pace with the world around. It seemed like I was and everyone else was in one long, idyll dream – a midsummer daydream. And most of all I had experienced the one thing that always makes any place unique - the people and in this case their unique trait - hospitality, done with unsurpassed grace. Take for example the moderator asking his friend to keep his store open, he as well as the store keeper made me feel so comfortable about the whole thing - I hardly felt like I was imposing. Only in a land where 'ada' and nazakat' are common parlance can such grace and beauty exist in every little gesture.
But I am a little disappointed. I was hoping my camera would share some of my burden in capturing the decadent splendor and a serene, sleepy city vibrating with life in pockets like Aminabad. But unfortunately, the first day here, I left my camera behind in my hotel room and day 2 was just too hectic for me to be able to even wield it on unsuspecting people and sights.
So here I am, at 6 am on a Tuesday morning with exactly 10 people in the Amausi airport, struggling to keep my eyes open and waiting for the Sahara staff to arrive – I don’t know if this is a first but I was the first person into the airport. I was here at 5.30 am, exactly 2 hours before the flight time and was welcomed by 3 very amused police officers at the entrance. They wanted to know what time my flight was and I said 7.00 am – Air Sahara. They gave me a wide grin as they asked me, with typical Lucknovi hospitality, that I should just relax “aap aaram Karen…ab tho staff bhi koi nahi aaye hain”, they told me. As I entered the airport the gravity of what they had just spoken dawned on me. The airport was empty – and when I say empty I mean empty – a lot of us probably don’t even know what that word means anymore but let me tell you, experiencing it did me wonders. The policemen switched on the fans and lights for me asking me to make myself comfortable which I did. I waited for close to an hour like this, all alone with the 3 policemen checking on me once in a while, one even assuring me that people will arrive soon. People started streaming in by around 6 for a 7 am flight – not bad I thought because by then I had realized that this airport is just not like any other ones I had been to (excluding the varanasi airport which was composed of space just enough to construct a 1 BHK flat in Mumbai) – this is Lucknow where people are known more for their graceful style than for pace and frenzy. And slowly and surely the crowd built up, the staff arrived and the place started resembling an airport. And then the staff took some time to settle down. Meanwhile a lady sitting next to me beckoned me with a ‘Beta, kahan jaa rahe ho’, as if the place had a million gates and a zillion flights. ‘I am going to Delhi’, I answered. ‘Oh by Sahara’, she ventured. I managed a nod. And then there was some chit chat, of chai walas and why they are yet to make their presence felt in the airport. Then they announced that check-in procedures had begun. I keep writing, after all its just one flight leaving which also was yet to arrive from Delhi airport, why stand in queues when it could be avoided. But apparently the Indian penchant for making queues has not escaped the Lucknow populace.
Even as I write this, the 3 passengers who have already arrived at the airport apart from me (yes the count is till 3, I am wondering where everyone else is or if at all there are more passengers) have formed a neat queue in front of the “Check-In Baggage X-Ray counter”, the “staff” there yet to arrive. I turned around to give it one amused look and here I am back to writing.
It really is fun to capture things as they happen. I remember Pico Iyers words on how he has to strive to actually capture the color, the mood, the essence of every single minute he spends traveling and how words have to take on hues and meanings of their own – though I wonder how me with my limited skills can even remotely paint the pictures that will always form in my mind when someone says Lucknow.
Oh! Now there is a power cut now!!! Hehehhe
I arrive in Lucknow on a very hot (Delhi was at 46 and Lucknow at 45 when I arrived) and dusty Sunday evening. As the pilot announces that we will be landing in Lucknow shortly, I peep out, waiting to have my first glance of the city I have heard so much about. And what do I see, but open lands. I was to come to know much later that Amausi where the airport is located is actually in a different district outside Lucknow city limits. And then I kept waiting for the airport terminal to appear, which I finally saw to be a red and cream building in a very traditional mould with minaret like structures appearing out of nowhere, a very discernible pseudo-traditional building (I don’t know if that’s even a technical term but it kind of describes what I want to say). Coming in I was greeted by the Green and Red Channels (did not know this was an international airport!) though no one was actually manning these very important posts.
S from my office was waiting for me at the arrival gate, I had met him in 2003 last, when I had traveled to Gorakhpur and he was a very staid, typically north Indian looking bloke with moustache and all. Imagine my surprise then when I see blond, cropped hair and some snazzy dressing. And all I had to show for the 4 year gap was a bunch of grey hair and a few extra pounds. He certainly reiterated one point to me, the same point as is made by the Saas-Bahus of the world everyday on our television sets, that the world today is all about getting younger and hipper – I wonder when I will start feeling the need to hide my age (ha, a certain person chided me as being rude recently because I asked his friend how old he had become on his birthday and no amount of hey I am anyways at least a couple of years older than him seemed to convince him of the ‘okay-ness’ of the whole situation). Well, so much for age.
Then we sped towards the city in a non-ac cab, though the cabman insisted on switching on the ac I refused because I had developed a slight sore throat and was wary of getting a cold. The warm breeze hit my face and I realized I was in India’s heartland, where summer was peaking and the heat wave claiming lives by the dozen everyday.
What hit my eyes instantly were hoardings and banners for coaching classes claiming to give “100% results” in IAS or IIT exams with tiny, very badly photographed (don’t passport size photos always do that to us – I have never heard or seen a person who actually looks even as good as himself or herself in a passport size photo) boys who had been coached in the institute and were now top rankers in these entrance exams. I wondered about Abhishek Rai (Abhishek by the way is a very common name in these parts – I met one in every one of my four groups) and his future, coming from a sleepy town like Lucknow and being catapulted into say an IIT Mumbai or an IIT Delhi.
I arrive at the hotel – it was a decent one, nothing great and definitely nothing Lucknowi about it to merit much mention in this space.
Moving on, since I had traveled the whole day from Chennai changing flights, getting quite some time at the Delhi airport to see a pretentious and obese family insist on getting serviced before me by sheer muscularity and rudeness (one of the kids, a boy of maybe 12 who looked like he was Bappi Lahiri’s son actually pushed me aside at the check-in counter – a very quick apology by the airline staff saved the day for him for I am never in my best moods when encountered by people who show utter disregard for people around them, and had recently requested a spoilt rich kid to keep her chappals firmly on the ground at the waiting area in the airport) I was too fatigued and just ordered some food and went to sleep, preparing myself for the grueling week ahead. I was already beginning to feel depressed (eating alone always does that to me).
After a decent breakfast at the hotel buffet next morning, I decided to get to the office to check mails and to check on people who are mere names to me through my quantitative projects – it is always nice to add faces to them. S told me that a cycle rikshaw would transport me to the office for Rs. 15 and I thought it was a very novel idea – I hired one promptly. Little did I know that the guy was either a novice or pretending to be one and almost took me to Faizabad when all I had wanted was to go to Faizabad Road. After numerous phone calls to S and after being rudely judged by a mehendi blond man owning a pharmacy (me actually committing the crime of asking him for directions and he looking at me like I was the scum of the earth) I reached office. I offered everyone some Krishna Sweets Mysore Pak which I had hurriedly bought at the Chennai airport just to let Lucknow have a taste of Chennai – and I am glad to report that it was a hit. A wanted to know if he could finish it by himself and if he really needed to share it with the rest of the office! I will gloss over the work bit and come straight to the lunch – which was simple yet absolutely delicious – rotis, arhar dal and a mix veg. subzi, salad (of which I obviously did not take any), followed by a bowl of curd and dusheri – the most amazing mangoes which were the sweetest I had ever tasted (you will be advised to note here that I actually hate mangoes and politely refuse them whenever offered). And then off to the venue.
What a place it was – cheap cloth stores in the basement selling spiderman suits for kids and tight black t-shirts with gold embossing for blonded and streaked young men, the rest of the building occupied by classes (what else), all promising to ensure that you are the top ranker in CPMT, IIT-JEE and other such. A board proclaiming to teach you Englis (transliterated from what was written in devanagari) pan-stained and spit covered corners welcomed me as I climbed up the three flights. A, who heads our field here did warn me of such issues but I didn’t mind them as much. I had seen the Ganges suffer worse when I had traversed through Varanasi a few years back – I knew what not to expect!
As the groups were nearing an end the next day, the moderator asked me if I had done any shopping and when I replied in the negative he looked at me most incredulously. Immediately a friend was called up and a store was asked to remain open till I went there to shop. Aminabad was like the Commercial Street in Bangalore, full of little shops, all selling the same thing and it being extremely difficult to judge whom to trust and what to buy. I didn’t know what to say or do – just went along and bought a few things.
And then came the sweetest moment – someone from the office was standing in front of the hotel, waiting to give me a pack of sweets from Chappan Bhog, the best Mithai Shop in Lucknow – with compliments from everyone in office - I was too thrilled for words!
Spent the entire night working because I was scared I would be unable to get up at 4 and rush to the airport. And here I am, waiting for my flight to arrive, and to take me to Delhi.
It was drizzling slightly when I stepped out to take the bus to the flight – just before I stepped into the aircraft, I looked up at the grey skies, droplets of water caressing my face and I smiled – I might not have seen Lucknow, nor really explored the markets or the old city or made any mandatory Chikan purchases, but I experienced something in its rustic settings, a sense of old world charm which I had only read about in books or seen in movies. This was the thread that ran through everything – the act of traveling on a cycle rickshaw even as the faster vehicles (largely two-wheelers) passed you by and looking at people enjoying chat at the Royal Park, two girls gossiping as they sat huddled together in a cycle rickshaw, people lazily walking by and even two and four wheelers being driven at a slower pace as if there was no hurry, as if everything was happening as per one big clock and no one really needed to strive to keep time or to keep pace with the world around. It seemed like I was and everyone else was in one long, idyll dream – a midsummer daydream. And most of all I had experienced the one thing that always makes any place unique - the people and in this case their unique trait - hospitality, done with unsurpassed grace. Take for example the moderator asking his friend to keep his store open, he as well as the store keeper made me feel so comfortable about the whole thing - I hardly felt like I was imposing. Only in a land where 'ada' and nazakat' are common parlance can such grace and beauty exist in every little gesture.
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