A couple of weeks back when my interweb was screwed up for a pretty long time (resulting in some extremely panicked calls between Gujarat and Haryana, and fighting with a very harrowed Punjabi employee of Idea), I decided to actually get myself off my bed earlier than usual on a Sunday, and go around Baroda. The plan was to visit a palace in the vicinity called the Lakshmi Vilas Palace (Luckshmi, yeah that’s how the British named it), which is apparently what Baroda is famous for. You’ll soon find out why I’ve specifically mentioned “apparently”.
The first indication of this came from the first person I asked for directions. The security guard for the apartment I stay in happens to be a Gujarati, and very proud of it. And like most proud regionalists, he frowns upon people not speaking in the native tongue. I suppose if there was going to be a recruitment drive for a newly formed Gujarati Navnirman Sena (che) he would be at the forefront of it. Anyway he seemed to have no idea about any palace in Baroda, so I plodded on and decided to take an auto instead. And wonder of wonders he hadn’t heard of any palace either! (“Palace? You mean the park?”, “No the big royal palace that Baroda’s famous for.”, “Never heard of it, do you know where it is?”, “If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking you now would I?!”)
So finally I get to the place (using the nearby market as a reference), and all I’m met with are high walls with rusted steel bars on the outside and thorny bushes adding to the derelict effect. Looking in through the bars didn’t help either. I was starting to think that this palace didn’t exist in the first place, and that all that I’d seen photos of were just a figment of a jobless Barodian architect’s vivid imagination.
I was nearly ready to head back when I decided to give it one last shot and asked for directions from a wizened old guard. After receiving directions and assurances that it was real, I walked on inside the forbidding compound. The sounds of the city started to cease as I walked inside and soon the only sounds were that of my own footsteps and of birds chirping. And then I caught sight of it. The palace.
Nothing I had seen before remotely came to this. All I could see were a complex mix of towers from which archers kept a watchful eye around, filigreed windows and balconies where the ladies of the court would look outside upon the world, without being looked at, multiple arches everywhere with an eclectic mix of Rajasthani, Mughal and in some places Venetian influences. And the fact that I was the only human being witnessing it only added to the exclusivity. 170 rooms of opulence built nearly two hundred years ago. A feast for one’s eyes, and I couldn’t wait to see what was inside.
The palace is still the residence of the Gaekwad royal family, so obviously I couldn’t just barge in, say hello and join them for lunch. I was shown the darbar room (or what would be called the royal court), with its Belgian chandeliers, stained glass paintings with Hindu Gods and Goddesses, exquisite Murano mosaic work from Italy, sculptures by Fellucci and the royal seat of a person of great power. The armoury contained a plethora of weapons, from the various types of swords, shields, axes, maces, things that you’ve probably only read about in the epics, to a contraption that looked like a deformed hand pump, but actually shot bladed chakras in quick succession, sharp enough to sever an enemy’s head. A walk through the corridors took one back to a time of luxury, of appreciating the finer things in life, when the arts flourished under royal patronage and one didn’t need to parade their abilities in front of the entire nation like a guinea pig in a cage.
And yet even as I left , it was with sadness and a bit of melancholy, for as you, my reader might have noted, finding this gem of architecture and beauty in such a state of abandonment in the midst of all this mediocrity. And the fact that nearly nobody in Baroda even knows about this place, even the people who’ve lived here for years! It just goes to show our attitude for anything of our own. When it’s something from outside, we tend to laud it, praise it, and show how much better it is compared to the average product made in India. But when we do make something good, when we do something better than the average, better yet, something exquisite and beautiful, it’s given the cold shoulder for no apparent reason. And then we wonder why the best talent of our country is forced to look outside the country, not because of a lack of opportunities, but just for appreciation from a fellow human being, something that we assume is a sign of weakness for some unknown reason. The incongruity!
Honestly, I was a bit hesitant to read the post because it seemed like a long drawn account, almost like a travel blog write-up!
ReplyDeleteAmazingly, you managed to pull me in a few words into the read! I like your style of writing and it is very rare to come across an author who uses such extensive vocabulary in a personal blog.
I'd have preferred if the title was more catchy (so that more readers feel like reading it).
Anyways, a nice read and a good blog, you earned yourself a regular reader - better keep the posts coming! :D