Tag Archives: Mughal Emperor Humayan

Immortal grace

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The Thin Edge | Revisiting the restored, resplendent Humayun’s tomb

Humayun’s tomb / File picture

I have visited Humayun’s tomb several times, seeing it transform from its earlier decrepitude to the beautiful, sensitively restored monument-space it is today.

The tomb was one of my favourite old buildings even before the restoration — something about its clean lines, its proportions that manage to effortlessly mix intimacy with graceful grandeur, the restrained colour scheme of red sandstone interrupted by sparely deployed white marble, all of it has always nourished me more than the overwhelming, in-your-face beauty of many other Indian mausoleums and temples.

With the restoration now complete, the tomb itself and the ancillary buildings have also been given a context of green, well-tended gardens, which allow the other venerable monuments on the site — the trees and foliage — their own presence, their own visual Kabuki with the man-made masonry.

Recently, I went to see the tomb again, but this time with architect friends who were visiting the city. Like me, this couple had also visited earlier but they had not seen the finished restoration. Walking around the space with two pairs of somewhat differently-trained eyes was a lesson. Things I’d never noticed were pointed out: the exact alignment between the succeeding gateways; the ‘reveal’ as you cross the final threshold and can actually see the whole structure; and how different it was from what happens at, say, the Taj Mahal.

One of the friends spoke about how the white dome interacts with the sky, glowing sharply in the chiaroscuro of dawn and dusk, almost disappearing in muted top light, coming back into round vividity against dark clouds. Examined minutely were the almost invisible rain channels worked into the stone as well as the slope of the platform to coax away the monsoon water, none of which I’d noticed before. Explained was the way the sandstone slabs were placed with minimum mortar and the fact that they fronted a stuffing of lime and stone rubble.

To the east of the tomb stretched a tumult of trees, almost hiding the nearby gurdwara, with the railway line faint in the distance, while the north side had the view of the attendant water aqueducts and the lines of the water channels that must have inspired Louis Kahn and Luis Barragán in their design of the Salk Institute in California.  

The spring morning light changed around us as groups of youngsters pranced up and down the stairs and sashayed across the flagstone, moving in unspoken group-selfie choreography, freezing from time to time without tangible signal into Instagram-mudras. Inside the shadowy central chamber, boisterous groups of young men yelled and blew klaxon whistles, bathing in the amazing acoustics before guards chased them away. On the grounds, on the benches under the quartet of pilkhan trees, a couple sat in chaste-canoodle mode while schoolgirls prowled around politely, looking for victims to interview for their class assignment. The austere beauty of the building, the lush, basant authority of the trees and the celebratory clusters of young people together made a whole that transcended architecture, arbour and holiday ardour.    

The friends I accompanied are part of a loose movement of Indian architects drawing notice and accolades because of their alternative approach to building for our times.

This approach is defined by several things; a deep study of local grammar and traditions that inform any new design; a rigorous examination of the environmental impact of any new building, with innovative solutions to cooling and energy consumption becoming central to a project from the very beginning of conceptualization; an aim for genuine, non-grandiose beauty in the final design, all of this entirely subservient to who will use the building and how they will experience it in daily use. This movement is not confined just to India or to the subcontinent. A few days after my friends’ visit, came the welcome news that Diébédo Francis Kéré of Burkina Faso and Germany had won the Pritzker Prize, the most prestigious international recognition for architectural work.

This is not the place to detail Kéré’s work but what is important to note is that the architect has consistently built across some of the most deprived areas of Africa, working with local people, using the simplest local materials in the most inventive ways to produce buildings and projects which pair stunning design with amazing utility. Thus, a local school building may be made from compacted clay, with its ceiling and walls designed to cool the classrooms without any air-conditioning or glass cladding; a lighting scheme in another building may involve embedding into a ceiling traditional pots sliced into half; a Parliament building for Benin may echo a palaver tree under which people traditionally gather for meetings, while a proposed Parliament for Burkina Faso may be in the form of a ziggurat where the assembly is underground below a terraced public park, where the people are literally above the legislators. “I want people to take ownership over the parliament building,” Kéré has said and in that one sentence perhaps lies the core of his philosophy.

A few minutes drive from Humayun’s tomb brings you to the tin-sheet canyons that enclose the biggest heist of urban commons in the history of independent India. Here, at the Central Vista, the most pompously authoritarian, most ecologically damaging, most backward-looking glass and concrete office blocks, the prime minister’s mansion and the fortress-like new Parliament building are being constructed for a huge amount of public money at a time of grim scarcity. This area, for decades one of the few places where even the poorest of the city could walk in greenery, will now become a high-security showpiece for the bloated egos of those in power. In a city full of beautiful mausoleums, these future tombs for those ruling over us today will not stand any test or comparison. But meanwhile, whether in Kutch or Koudougou, in Dakar or Dhaka, human ingenuity, generosity and aesthetic grace will continue to produce architecture that re-affirms life and joy.

source: http://www.telegraphindia.com / The Telegraph Online / by Ruchir Joshi / March 22nd, 2022

Great dynasties of the world: The Mughals

INDIA :

Ian Sansom on a clan whose empire became synonymous with India

Shah Jahan, who built the Taj Mahal. / Photograph: dbimages/Alamy
Shah Jahan, who built the Taj Mahal. / Photograph: dbimages/Alamy

In the month of Ramadan of the year 899,” writes the great Babur (1483-1530) in his autobiography, The Baburnama, “and in the 12th year of my age, I became ruler in the country of Fergana.” Babur – his name means “tiger” – inherited the tiny kingdom of Fergana, in what is now Uzbekistan, from his father. The family was descended from Genghis Khan and Tamerlane the Great; Babur the boy-king became the first of the Mughal emperors, a family of Turko-Mongol rulers who, according to the historian Abraham Eraly, “so decisively stamped their personalities on India that the Mughal Empire became, in the public perception, synonymous with India.”

Babur established his empire through conquest, successfully invading India in 1526. His son, Humayun (1508-1556), who succeeded him, came close to losing everything that his father had achieved. It wasn’t until the rule of Akbar (1542-1605), Humayun’s son, that the Mughal Empire was consolidated. Akbar, like Margaret Thatcher, slept only four hours a night. When he was awake, which was most of the time, he set about expanding the Mughal territories abroad and reforming the government at home. He ended the tax imposed on non-Muslims. He invited Jesuit missionaries into his court. And he formed his own religion. Above all, he knew how to make friends as well as enemies. According to his court historian, Abul Fazl, “His majesty forms matrimonial alliances with princes of Hindustan and of other countries; and secures by these ties of harmony the peace of the world.”

Jahangir (1569-1627) succeeded his father, Akbar, in 1605. He preferred to drink and carouse rather than to rule, and his wife, Nur Jahan, took on the responsibility of the state. The fifth Mughal emperor, Shah Jahan (1592-1666), was more like his grandfather Akbar and his great-great-grandfather Babur: a schemer, a man of grand plans and ideas. When his wife, Mumtaz, died in 1631, Shah Jahan was grief-stricken, so much so that, according to one observer, he “gave up the practice of plucking out grey hair from his beard”. He also decided to build his wife a memorial. The English travel writer Peter Mundy described the construction: “The building is begun and goes on with excessive labour and cost, prosecuted with extraordinary dilligence, Gold silver esteemed common Mettal, and Marble but as ordinarie stones.” According to Rudyard Kipling, the place was “the embodiment of all things pure, all things holy, and all things unhappy”. It was the Taj Mahal.

Shah Jahan’s rule ended with a war of succession between his sons, in which Aurangzeb (1618-1707) emerged triumphant. Having killed his brothers, he imprisoned his father. After Aurangzeb the decline of the Mughals began. In 1738, India was invaded by the forces of Nadir Shah, ruler of Iran. Territories were divided. Then the British East India Company moved in.

The last of the long line of Mughal emperors was Bahadur Shah II, known as Zafar. “Personally, he was one of the most talented, tolerant and likeable of his dynasty,” writes William Dalrymple in The Last Mughal  (2006). The first emperor, Babur, had been a warrior. Zafar was an aesthete – a poet and an architect. Alas, empires tend not to survive under aesthetes. “While the British progressively took over more and more of the Mughal Emperor’s power,” writes Dalrymple, “the court busied itself in the obsessive pursuit of the most cleverly turned ghazal, the most perfect Urdu couplet.”

Zafar died in exile in Rangoon in 1862. His courtiers were hanged and much of Mughal Delhi was destroyed. “The death of the ex-King may be said to have had no effect on the Mahomedan part of the populace,” wrote the British commissioner at the time, “except for a few fanatics who watch and pray for the final triumph of Islam.”

source: http://www.theguardian.com / The Guardian – International Edition / Home> Family> Great Dynasties of the World / by Ian Sansom / July 16th, 2019