Land of Lime

My first morning back in Delhi, I set out to Pataudi House in Daryaganj. Even after the first pre-monsoon shower the previous day and many years of living in Delhi, I still have to get used to a Delhi summer day. The hot air hits one upon disembarking a plane or train. So do many odours, especially the smell of history. Delhi perhaps has more monuments and places of historical significance per square mile than any other city. But Delhi is more than the physical remains of this past. For the discerning, even the air is suffused with stories of the past.

Take Pataudi House, for instance. Pataudi is a small kingdom in the present day north Indian state of Haryana, which was ruled by Nawabs most recently under the British rule. The last two Nawabs of Pataudi were glorious cricketers. The father, Ifthikar Ali Khan Pataudi, played Test cricket for both England and India. The son, Mansur Ali Khan Pataudi, was a dashing cricketer, daring captain and generally, a romantic figure in Indian cricket. His incredible story of losing an eye in an accident and playing much of his cricket after this event is the lore of legends. So this tiny kingdom has prestige and fame disproportional to its size or political significance.

As I walk in the bylanes of Daryaganj in search of Pataudi House, I have no knowledge of its association with the state of Pataudi or its Nawabs. In the early twentieth century, all the major princely states of British India built palatial and majestic palaces in Lutyens Delhi. The size and grandeur of these palaces, invariably named after the states themselves, only matched the ego and vision of grandeur that the then king of the state entertained. Baroda House. Bikaner House. Hyderabad House. Examples are endless and all of them suggestive of the presence of entire subcontinent in the city of Delhi.

But I am in old Delhi, steps away from Jama Masjid and the Red Fort, religious and political centers of Islamic north India. This is densely populated and highly congested area. My goal is to find Farid publishing house and buy somewhat appropriately, books for Sepoy on the earliest Muslim invader of South Asia, Muhammad Bin Qasim, who is another young dashing historical hero. It isn’t clear to me whether I am looking for a big palace or an area which has been named after the state of Patuadi. As I walk around in the narrowest of bylanes and ask people directions, my questions still remained unanswered. Eventually I find the book store, buy the books I need and

I wish I could offer you a micro-history of Patuadi House. Let me blame Jet lag and Delhi summer as my excuses, since I found myself unable to ask even the elementary questions. Speaking of summers, I have often wondered what made any sane human being, especially some of the most powerful in human history, to choose to endure Delhi summers. Let me hazard an explanation. The questions of the historian in me had become casualties of Delhi summer. Does summer sap the energies of even the most radical of dissenters? Is that why Delhi has been the center of political power for a long time.

Let us think of rebels, ranging from medieval Sufi mystics to recent radical political activists who questioned political authority in Delhi. Did their radicalism manifest itself only during winter months?