Sundays have a special place in every person’s heart. The only thing that comes close to occupying the mind of an Indian may be a cricket victory or a Bollywood blockbuster, closely followed by the Water/Electricity/Ration/Petrol/House Rent/Fee/Sabzi bills. For the many housewives of this country the second most craved thing after diamond/gold/kanjeevaram saree is a family outing on a Sunday. But this post is not about Sundays. This post is not about any such family either.
Many homes have a debate about the Sunday Outing which sometimes exacerbates the room temperature more than the tyranny at the equator. The kids make a big sacrifice of leaving their evening cricket match with friends and are made to dress up as if the idea is to enrol them for some beauty pageant. Maybe it is these small things that constitute the family bond. But this post is not about family bonding either.
Some families love to go out to gardens and spread garbage there. They take their home sheet, spread it and get the feel of a picnic. While relishing savouries like Chana Chor garam or popcorn, they take it as one of the duties stated in the Directive Principles of State policy rested on their shoulders, to spread garbage at the hangout spot. Others simply choose to go for a movie where, if any of the member (mostly men) doesn't like cinema per se,atleast peaceful sleep wont be denied except for purchase of cold drinks and pop corns during interval. For some families, the idea of a hangout is to go out and eat. That’s it!! But as you may have rightly guessed by now, this write up is not about the places where family hangs out on holidays either.
Before I play too much on the edge with the patience of the readers and the skills of this writer to express my opinions properly, let us try coming to the point. One of the favourite spots for a Sunday trip for families to spread garbage is the historical monuments that bless many cities of our country. Yes, this is the story of one such monument. This is my story- once shining with pride, now whining without prejudice structure, a body with some pieces of flesh left on it but sans the rib cage. I am the “Unchi Dukaan, No more Pakwaan” Kila.
Well how times change, and those who said that change is always for the good deserve a punch from either Rocky Balboa(Even Sunny Deol’s dhai kilo ka haath would suffice).
Let’s rewind a few centuries to get a hang of what I’m talking about:
FLASHBACK in Eastman Colour:
I don’t want to bask too much in the vainglory, but the glory back then was indeed magnificent. I was at my prime, with my edifice rock solid to guard the royal family. I saw the bravest of warriors in my lifetime who were never afraid to fight to protect the cause of their mighty motherland. The essence of royalty was evident in their demeanor as well as in the respect in the eyes of their subjects. I witnessed true blue blood instead of the desperation to bleed blue. I witnessed the strongest of men and the most gorgeous of women. In retrospect, it seems like staying with a different species altogether.
I was given prime importance and even a single chink in my walls was attended to with due diligence. Blood was sacrificed for a cause which was much bigger than just smearing names of lovers on my walls (or are they using just red ink these days??), not that romance was an alien concept then. To put it in a box-of-cookies-without-any-nuts( pardon the eccentricity of the writer, I shall have him fired soon), Life was indeed beautiful then.
CUT TO PRESENT TIME IN BLACK AND WHITE:
After seeing generations pass through and such turbulent changes in the political/social and economic setup, I wonder what else is left for me to see. What is this democracy and egalitarianism farce anyway, cant people have respect for their innate
nature of being ruled??Anyhow, anything said here should not be held against me as I’m strictly apolitical and if that isn’t sufficient for my defence then buy the theory that I’m very old and hence crazy. The only one to beat me as far as age is concerned is my very good friend since those times, Mr.A.K.Hungal.
My importance in the life of people around me has come crashing down over years like my wall on the southern end did in 1436 in a brutal war. My importance has been reduced to the mercy and the mood of the skinny and the fake accent guide who cooks up stories about me which leaves me in splits at times( as if the ones on my walls aren’t enough). Fancy the one where the broken pieces of the wall on the eastern half of the front gate hav
e been attributed to the vandalization caused by the attack in 1442 when the reality is that the strong breeze did the final rites of the already dead wall in 2001. ASI is too busy to notice, maybe still excavating Mohenjo-Daro and Harappa ruins as they find a mention quickly in the history books.
The purpose of people’s visits to my premise couldn’t be more diverse than the agenda of Capitalists and Communists. Just the invisible hand of having a good time is the common thread. Parents bring their kids so that they can understand the cultural heritage of the country as well as the richness of the history that our country has to offer, much to the bewilderment of the kids who somehow just can’t relate to the mystic beauty of the ruins. The Artillery section is the only one where I have seen sparkling eyes of boys who get excited on seeing all the weapons. I can see it in their eyes that they start dreaming about themselves battling it out in those costumes fighting the mighty enemy and emerging victorious to conquer kingdoms. Since people aren’t charged much to visit us because of our supposed importance t
o the country’s heritage, they throng in large numbers and needless to say the larger the visitors, the more employment generation for the cleaners.
I’ve witnessed some of the finest artists this country has ever been blessed with. The artists with their scintillating carvings and paintings have adorned my anatomy over years. The modern day, however, seems to have a clear deficiency of quality artists and thus they are substituted by obsessive lovers who decide to engrave their immortal love on my walls. Although I never asked for it myself, but I have been made part of millions of love stories like Ramu loves Kamala, Pokiri Loves Missamma, Anjaana loves Anjaani and lyrical masterpieces like “Hogi Pyar Ki jeet”. The word spellbound has a new found meaning in my existence now.
The generosity of the lovers does not end here. They take the onus proactively to show me how deeply and madly they are in love with each other with highly innovative ways of Public Display of Affection. One of the first lessons of marketing does talk about understanding the Target Group and then going all out to acquire them and retain them. Well, atleast on weekdays, these lovers are my main audience ( or am I the audience to their escapades, whatever !!). The acquisition and now the compelled retention is proving a tough cookie to digest.
The peculiarity of people who visit does not end here. One such wonderful yet slightly amusing category is of the foreign tourists. They are astonished at anything and everything. I’m not sure it’s the novelty factor or the fact that our guides are wonderful raconteurs, but they leave my premise as if they have just reinvented the wheel. The only sad part about their visits is the illustrations and anecdotes they narrate of all the places they have visited and start comparing me with my competitors. Why wouldn’t a neglected fort like me be disheartened to know that some fort in Rajasthan is so majestic or is still without a sign of ageing? Adding oregano to injury isn’t basic manners, now is it???
Time is an illusion and the mirage does seem to show uncanny things which might not even exist. Even though I’m left in ruins, I live with the pride of being the carrier of preserving the last remains of a kingdom and maybe a civilization for that matter. I’ve been a silent spectator to the rise and fall of generations. I don’t expect one to respect heritage and preserve it, maybe its too much for ask for. The only
courtesy that would be sane to expect is that people would not at least ruin the sanctity of the place that once was a symbol of pride and glory. After all, I may be your last hope of a Time Machine to relive that era.
