Monday, 12 August 2019

Rokeya Sultana's 'An I for Buddha'


 “A picture lives by companionship, expanding and quickening in the eyes of the
sensitive observer. It dies by the same token. It is therefore a risky and unfeeling
act to send it out into the world. How often it must be permanently impaired
by the eyes of the vulgar and the cruelty of the impotent who would extend
their affliction universally!
” Mark Rothko (Tiger’s Eye, December 1947, vol. 1, no. 2, p. 44.)


Rokeya Sultana, or to give her full title Professor Rokeya Sultana, at the Department of Printmaking, Faculty of Fine Arts, University of Dhaka, Bangaldesh, is an artistic phenomenon, of that there can be no denial. From a Western perspective, Rokeya Sultana artwork’s have all the visual reminisces of  Odilon Redon, the French Symbolist painter, as well as the strange beauty of Marc Chagall, the French Russian artist, and the early, spiritual works, of the Russian - Wassily Kandinsky. Rokeya Sultana intimates Kandinsky and has leanings towards the deliriousness of colour which exploded with ‘Fauvism’, and a decidedly French Symbolist aesthetic (the poetry of Baudelaire and music of Claude Debussy) informing her works.

That colour alone can manipulate our senses is not a modern phenomenon. Kandinsky, in ‘Concerning the Spiritual in Art’ (Über das Geistige in der Kunst 1911 [Concerning the Spiritual in Art, English version 1914], writes…

 “There occurs a purely physical effect, i.e., the eye itself is charmed by the beauty and other qualities of the colour. The spectator experiences a feeling of satisfaction, of pleasure, like a gourmet who has a tasty morsel in his mouth. Or the eye is titillated, as is one's palate by a highly spiced dish.  It can also be calmed or cooled again, as one's finger can when it touches ice.”

Sultana presents a Western aesthetic albeit with distinctly Indian forms, gleaned from her stay (for her MA in Printmaking, 1983) at the renown Vishwa Bharati (communion of the world with Indian) University, in Shantiniketan, India, founded by Indian’s foremost creative -Rabindranath Tagore. Sultana shares her place in that alumni with Satyajit Ray, Amartya Sen and Indira Gandhi.

 There is both light and darkness in Sultana’s works as she becomes closer to Kandinsky’s notions of a spirituality in art, with her own adventurous colouration, and freestyle line work.

Michael Sadleir (aka Michael Thomas Harvey Sadler or M. T. H. Sadler), in his father’s publication ‘Rhythm’ (1912) had written in his article ‘After Gauguin’ suggesting that ‘An art intent on expressing the inner soul of persons and things will inevitably stray from the outer conventions of form and colour. That is to say, it will be definitely unnaturalistic, anti-materialist.’ Many years later Sadleir, as M.T.H. Sadler, in his introduction to a fresh edition of ‘Concerning the Spiritual in Art’ (1977), originally titled ‘The Art of Spiritual Harmony’, suggested that with the ‘Fauves’  Kandinsky  ‘…saw the liberation of colour, and the artist spent the rest of the decade absorbing and incorporating the implications of this freedom in his art.’

With Sultana, we see this ‘freedom’ of art. She incorporates images of the lotus bud and flower, along with other figurative elements, aquatic denizens, orchids. In a comparatively recent work ‘An I for Buddha’ (2010) the viewer’s eye is immediately drawn to the blue figure projected out of a background which is predominately red. Maurice Merleau-Ponty (in The Visible and the Invisible 1968, pp132) remarks that…

‘Claudel has a phrase saying that a certain blue of the sea is so blue that only blood would be more
red. The colour is yet a variant in another dimension of variation, that of its relations with the surroundings: this red is what it is only by connecting up from its place with other reds about it,
with which it forms a constellation, or with other colours it dominates or that dominate it, that it attracts or that attract it, that it repels or that repel it.’

The Claudel here is the French poet Paul Claudel.

Alternatively Kandisnsky expresses…..

‘…red, as is seen by the mind and not by the eye, exercises at once a definite and an indefinite impression on the soul, and produces spiritual harmony. I say "indefinite," because in itself it has no suggestion of warmth or cold, such attributes having to be imagined for it afterwards, as modifications of the original "redness." I say "definite," because the spiritual harmony exists without any need for such subsequent attributes of warmth or cold.’ (pp28 Kandinsky)

In the title ‘An I for Buddha’ Sultana reminds us how fragile the ego is, how the blossoming lotus, finally freed from the mundanity of its mud, is quickly subsumed into the fierceness of desire if we let it.

Kandinsky also relates (Concerning the Spiritual in Art) that “…the colour red may cause a spiritual vibration like flame, since red is the colour of flame. A warm red has a stimulating effect and can increase in intensity until it induces a painful sensation, perhaps also because of its resemblance to flowing blood.”

In other of Sultana’s works we see intimations of the female form, swirling, standing, dancing, mothering. At times a female form suckles, goes about her daily chores, rides buses. Sultana revels her care for the female in the forms she presents. Yet other aspects arise. Buddhism, joyful, yet sometimes foreboding, intermingling of colour and form reach out from canvases and paper to the unsuspecting viewer of Rokeya Sultana artwork’s.

At times her work is wholly abstract, as in her ‘Earth Water Air’ series of colourations, with contrasts of colours - red, the colour of the Bangladesh flag blood of martyrs, counter balanced by the Bangladeshi flag’s green field, amidst a reflective sea of blue ( ‘Earth Water Air 3’). Colours speak for themselves, such as a swirling haze of yellow, orange and red graced by a hint of spiritual blue (‘Earth Water Air 4’). At other times there maybe hints of the figurative (‘Relation 12’), where figures ‘walk’ on serene blue anchoring the viewer’s eye amidst what is otherwise a wash of muted colours, from white to yellow.

I have quoted extensively from Wassily Kandinsky, and his writings, in “Concerning the Spiritual in Art”, to draw parallels, or intimations, concerning Sultana’s use of colouration, and raised questions about its affect and effect, understanding and misunderstanding across our cultures.

Farida Zaman - Blue



I will be inspired only by the sensation that the season arouses in me: the icy purity of the sour blue sky will express the season just as well as the nuances of foliage.
Henri Matisse, 'Notes d'un peintre’ originally in La Grande Revue Paris, 25 December 1908.


Dr. (Professor) Farida Zaman, Professor and Chairman of the Department of Drawing and Painting, at the Faculty of Fine Arts, of the University of Dhaka, Bangladesh, is one of Bangladesh’s most significant artists. For well over three decades she has diligently reflected her homeland, her people and the complex interactions between them. Farida Zaman has been honoured multiple times at home and abroad, and continues to produce artworks which intrigue, delight and demonstrate the continuing inequality of the sexes in Bangladesh.

In exhibition catalogues, online, and in magazine and newspaper articles, much has already been written about Farida Zaman, and her innovative artworks. She has both championed the under trodden, and the role of women in her society. Dr. Zaman has frequently exhibited with other women, thereby adding to a broad spectrum of works by women for society, and thereby extending our insight into those differing worlds. Here, I have sought a fresh insight into the works of Dhaka artist Dr. (Professor) Farida Zaman, focussing upon her intense use of the colour blue in her works, trying to connect the dots, as it were.

Anyone familiar with Dr. (Professor) Farida Zaman’s oeuvre, may come to realise that for this artist blue becomes revealed as an evocative azure, an enthralling, beguiling blue, an amazingly rendered and poignantly placed colour which as a catalyst for reflections and triggers to our enlightenment.

For the knowledgeable, the enquirer, or the quester it may come as no surprise that blue, so familiar in Farida Zaman’s works, was a great favourite too of that great Bengali poet, Rabindranath Tagore (Rabīndranāth Ṭhākur). Tagore was a painter too, and produced somewhere in the region of 2,500 paintings and, it has been said, blue was his favourite colour, one which he poignantly expressed as ‘rup’ (form), ‘lavanya’ (loveliness), or ‘ananda’ (joy), and a colour which had been introduced (through the purple/blue Petrea flower), into Tagore’s place of learning, in Santiniketan, India.

That flower, planted by Tagore’s friend W.W. Pearson, delighted Tagore’s senses; for that grand master of words had a colour perception difficulty, and perceived no red hue in purple, but perceived it as a deep blue. “Neel ronge aamar gabheer aanando” (Deep is my joy in the blue colour) Tagore would often say, he must, therefore, have been delighted at seeing those dark blue flowers blooming all around his house (Konark) in Santiniketan, which they still do until today. Farida Zaman may have seen them before collecting her Ph. D. (1995) from that very Visva Bharati University, in Santiniketan, which Tagore had initiated back in December 1901.

An enquiry into the colour blue’s entanglement with Farida Zaman would be remiss if we dismissed those shades of the stunning ultramarine (from the Latin Ultramarinus, literally beyond the seas) which sparked Yves Klein’s ‘International Klein Blue’, following Klein’s fascination with the philosopher Gaston Bachelard, who had written “First there is nothing, then deep nothing, and finally blue depth”.

We must also tilt our metaphorical, or art critical, hats to the lapis lazuli (Latin -lapis, stone, and Persian [lājevard], later Lazuli meaning blue), stealthily ground to make the glorious (ultramarine) blue of Giotto (Giotto di Bondone) and later of Titian. Lapis Lazuli has been mined in Afghanistan for over 6,000 years and its discovery had fuelled the use of that stunning, deep blue across Europe. 

Between 1901 and 1904, the Spanish artist Pablo Picasso had painted his way through a melancholic Blue Period. This was, effectively, a period when he produced a number of mute, almost monochromatic, paintings in shades of blue and blue-green which he had begun after the death of his Catalan friend, the writer and artist, Carles Casagemas i Coll, in Paris, February 1901.

Those paintings, however, drew nothing from ultramarine, nor Lapis Lazuli, but were developed from mixtures of Prussian blue, Navy and Cobalt blue and, according to Picasso’s biographer and friend Pierre Daix, the maestro Picasso had indicated that “It was thinking about Casagemas that got me started painting in blue.”

In 2012, Farida Zaman participated in the Bangladesh women artists’ association SHAKO exhibition, in tribute to Pablo Picasso's ‘Blue Period’.  For that exhibition, Dr. (Professor) Farida Zaman tendered ‘Sufia's Blue Heaven’ alongside paintings from Kanak Chanpa Chakma, Naima Haque, Rokeya Sultana, Azadi Parvin, Afsana Sharmin, Kuhu Plamondon, Nasreen Begum, Fareha Zeba, Sulekha Choudhury, Rebeka Sultana Moly and Farzana Islam Milky. It was an exhibition of paintings inspired by Pablo Picasso’s ‘Blue period’. Of her involvement with the ‘Picasso Workshop Art Camp’ at Athena (in Uttar Badda, Dhaka, Bangladesh), Professor Zaman was quoted (by Fayza Haq, in Bangladesh’s newspaper The Star), as saying “I wanted to use the blue in the context of Bangladeshi women. I was forced to use them as a guide.”

At this point it would be easy to address a dialectic regarding Farida Zaman, and that infamous Bengali blue, known world wide as Indigo blue. Dark Indigo blue is rendered from the species of the Indigofera (tintoria) plant (an evergreen shrub native to regions such as India and Bangladesh), which produces what has become known as ‘true indigo’ (which the Greeks had named indikon, or from India), and which has become deeply enmeshed into the psyche of Bangladesh.

Indigo, was a blue so beloved of royalty and aristocracy that it was a main item of international trade from the 16th to the 19th century. Kathinka Sinha Kerkhoff (in her book Colonising Plants in Bihar 1760-1950, p122) has indicated that all was not well in the production of this colour, and that “Indigo cultivation had since long been a source of contention between the English planters and 'the natives’. The resistance in 1860 was referred to as 'the Indigo Disturbances' by contemporaries, and was later on described by scholars as the 'Blue Mutiny’”. The Blue Mutiny was one of the first movements, in Bengal, where the local peasantry had combined to rise up the raising of rents, cheap prices and extra legal sanctions. This historical farmer’s revolt of 1859-60 (known as Neel Bidroho) slipped into the creative imagination to become reimagined in Dinabandhu Mitra’s play, Nil Darpan (or Mirror of Indigo, published in 1860, with the English translation being published as Nil Darpan, or The Indigo Planting Mirror, a drama translated from the Bengali by ‘A Native’ and published by C.H.Manuel, Calcutta Printing and Publishing Press, 1861).

Through lapis lazuli; through indigo; through the growing of Bangladesh flax and its delicate light blue flower; through the stunning blue of the Bay of Bengal, being the mirror of the sky, we can debate the predominance of blue within Farida Zaman’s motherland, and its influence, over decades, on that artist’s creative work.

Bangladesh (formerly East Bengal) is a ‘riverine’ country, with at least 700 rivers and tributaries seeping into its land. One long river bisects the country. It enters the country and is known as the Brahmaputra, easing its way out of India. That river flows south. Slowly it becomes the Jammna, then the Padma and eventually, as it draws towards the famous mangrove forest (Sunderban, said to be the largest in the world), it forms the Ganges Delta and eventually the Bay of Bengal. Due to the plethora of water seeping its way through the country, in autumn, misty mornings in Bangladesh become blue, following the masking blue of the evenings and having taken over from the luminous blue skies of Bangladesh’s summer.

The audience gets a sense of this, within just a few seconds of film director Anwar Chowdhury’s film documentary ‘Joler Shilpamonjory' or ‘Waterworks’ (2006-2007)as a boat is propelled down Bangladesh’s River Meghna.

Within Chowdhury’s film, Farida Zaman returns to the land of her birth (Sachiakhali in the Chandpur district within the Chittagong Division of Bangladesh). We are shown that scene where the blueness of the sky reaches to touch its mirror in the sea. The difference between sky and sea are all but indistinguishable, save for an essence of pinkness developing within what we recognise to be clouds. Two crafts come into view. The scene is still cast over with blue. The blue eventually dissolves to reveal the artist (Farida Zaman) sitting in a fishing craft relaying her biographical story, speaking of fisherfolk, of casting nets, of how those memories become painted onto canvases, or work with water on paper. The sky and the river are both blue, broken only by the boatman’s shirt of pink and the sky gradually becoming roseate in its dawning. Skilfully the blue ebbs away to reveal Farida Zaman speaking “I am told that I was born in Chandpur”. She gazes towards the changing colour of the horizon, as if reflecting on her past.

In the synopsis for the film ‘Waterworks’, you can read how Farida Zaman “…describes how her childhood memories of boats, fishing nets, fishes, fishermen, water dots and other subjects (are) reflected into her painting canvas.” It give an insight into the importance  the concept of ‘the motherland’ on this artist.

In 2010, Farida Zaman presented a predominantly blue acrylic painting centring on a young woman, dressed in an orange sari. The character has a bird in her hand and is titled ‘Sufia in Joy-1’. The exhibition is ‘Rooted Creativity (2)’, the second gala exhibition held at the Bengal Gallery of Fine Arts, in Dhaka. Interviewed by Fayza Haq, Dr. (Professor) Zaman explained “My pictures are spun around a girl called Sufia. I've brought in boats and water which play such an important part of our lives. Fishing nets are suggested then actually brought in.”

In many of Faridah Zaman’s latter paintings, ‘Sufia’ is rendered in green, or orange, at times her black hair become blue, recalling Charles Baudelaire’s poem ‘Her Hair’ (La Chevelure, 1857).

Blue tresses, like a shadow-stretching tent, 
You shed the blue of heavens round and far. 
Along its downy fringes as I went 
I reeled half-drunken to confuse the scent 
Of oil of coconuts, with musk and tar.

From Her Hair, Poems of Baudelaire (Roy Campbell trans, New York: Pantheon Books, 1952)

The name ‘Sufia’ is possibly Arabic in origin, and suggests a person who follows the Islamic spiritual religion, Sufism. Someone called Sufia has a clean, or pure, heart.

The Sufi mystic saint Semnani (1280-1386), when reiterating the seven mystical veils (centres of personal progress from egoism to a divine centring), suggested that the second veil was ‘blue light’, which was an indication of the soul. He did not speak of an orange veil, but pointed to a ‘red light’ veil which indicated heart and a ‘yellow light’, that of spirit. In the the Sufi fable ‘The Conference of Birds’ also known as the Mantiq Ut-tair, by the twelfth century Persian poet Farid ud-Din Attar, the ocean is asked why it is so blue. The response …..

“ I am troubled because I am separated from my friend. Because of my insufficiency
I am not worthy of him, so I put on a garment of blue as a sign of the remorse I feel. In my distress the beaches of my lips are dried up, and because of the fire of my love I am in a turmoil. Could I find but a single drop of the celestial water of Kausar, I should be in possession of the gate of eternal life. Lacking this drop I shall die from desire with the thousand others who perish on the way.”

The water filled, ’riverine’, land from which Farida Zaman hails; her ever closeness to the sea, water, and endless skies give some credence to the notion of her blue artworks stemming from her environment and her fond attachment to those enduring, hard working, female figures like ‘Sufia’. Those industrious women are the backbone of any society, Bangladesh included. The blue in Farida Zaman’s paintings is not just emotive, but the byproduct of practical observation. Her blue is historical (maybe a tad nostalgic too) as well as being societal and, at times, controversial in what continues to be a male dominated South Asian society.

Farida Zaman’s ‘Sufia’ is seen in the artist’s works as far back as 2006, (in a catalogue for her solo painting exhibition ‘My Country, My Love’, shown at the Bengal Gallery of Fine Arts, Dhaka). The character ‘Sufia’, the embodiment of the Bangladesh woman, is named in ‘Sufia’, ’Sufia’s Dream’ and ‘Sufia with her Bird - 1’ though, in essence ‘Sufia’ is all the female characters within that catalogue and many more throughout the artist’s oeuvre, with or without blue.

Farida Zaman’s ‘Fish and Net’ (2009) demonstrates the artist’s skill in colour usage, with fish rendered in hues of yellow and orange/red against an ultramarine background of water, and a threatening mass of dark blue/black spreading from above. Another ‘Sufia with Bird’ (2009)  weaves various blues with green and dashes of red. The girl wears a white sari to match the white of the bird, while ‘Rain’ (2010, but included within her 2013 exhibition catalogue ‘Bound to the Soil) sparkles with blue, both the deeper blue of the rain bespeckled water and the lighter blue of the rain itself. Of course the blueness is offset by flecks of yellow, some turning green, and just a hint of red giving the blue its blueness. In that same (2013) catalogue ‘Marshy Land’ 3 (2012) and 6 (2012), though in a more abstract form, render the blueness of water as it seeps into otherwise dry land.

From 2006, through to more current times, Farida Zaman has portrayed her central character, Sufia, from ‘Midnight Dream’ (2006), to ‘Sufia with her Bird - 1 (2006), ‘Sufia with Bird’ (already mentioned, 2009) ’Peace’ (2010), ‘Love’ (2010) and through to ‘Sufia’ in 2015. One non-Sufia painting ‘My Beautiful Country’ (2017), renders a mere glimpse of that artist’s country in a splendid (predominantly blue) semi-abstract work. There are, of course, many other works where artist Farida Zaman delights in her use of blue. I have mentioned but a few, from her oeuvre.

Red, green and gold are the official colours of the country of Bangladesh. They are the colours of its nationalism, the colours of the proud flag fought so courageous for. And yet the aforementioned blue has its place of mention too. Blue is the colour of indigo which Bangladesh people grew, fought and died for. Blue is the morning and the evening of that riverine country; the summer sky, the simple flax colour and of Farida Zaman.

Sunday, 11 August 2019

Where is the Cat - a brief review

Last evening, my hard working spouse (literally) drove me to see ‘Where is the Cat’ at Petaling Jaya’s PJ Live Arts. That oft used venue is ensconced within The Square at Jaya One. On route we discovered that we had left our tickets at home. Dear spouse u-turned, and headed back home to collect them, whilst making a deft telephone call (using the onboard loud speaker system to avoid cries of illegal use of handphone whilst driving) and was notified that extra tickets would be provided for us at the main door. Technology is wonderful isn’t it? Another u-turn, and deja vu ramped up a notch.

Simon, our go-to Waze instructor, guided us through mazes of Malaysian streets to shave a few seconds off our arrival time and, despite the complexity of the route and the various u-turns, we arrived before time. Time enough to grab some water to quench thirst during the ninety minutes of performance.

I admit to trepidations. Virtually untrained young persons, let loose on a stage for 90 minutes was not my idea of fun but, maybe, a tad closer to one of Dante’s outer rings of hell. My spouse, who is an educator of several decades standing, was positively drooling with anticipation. I, not so much. And then it started.

I also admit to having to place my scepticism, negativity and propensity to a short attention span to one side. I had nothing to do for the next 90 minutes, except exist. My Samsung life saver was switched off. The theatre darkened. I listened, watched and was quickly captivated by the boundless energy and enthusiasm generated by a small troupe of 14 year olds (I only became aware of their ages after the event). Such was the professionalism engendered by the young actors that I could hardly believe that they were Waldorf schoolchildren (Class 8).

Boundless energy pranced across, and around, the stage. There was a sense of city. Bustling. Vibrant. Yet there was also an undercurrent too, of potential disconnect, as an elderly mother looses her cat. Pandemonium ensues as said elderly mother, perhaps touched by an elderly mental fatigue, goes off in search of her one, solitary, companion. The perceived loss of the ‘mother' promoted the young actors to seek, to call and to worry about the ‘aunty’. Aunty, perhaps, represented all mothers and all attachments which John Bowlby suggested are prone to become insecure. The performance was exhilarating, even more so when you consider the ages involved and their short experience as actors.

As an individual who has only been able to absorb scant snatches of languages other than English, and who continues to struggle with that too, I did find the multi-lingual aspect of the ‘play’ (English, Malay, Mandarin, Tamil, Hokkien, Cantonese, Teochew, and Hainanese) a tad disconcerting, not to mention confusing. My spouse, bless her, did try to keep me informed, but gave up at Tamil (from which I knew only one word - the one for cat- Punai).

I did struggle following the plot, not to mention wondering what the significance of no 226 in the Perry index of Aesop's Fables (The Tortoise and the Hare) was, gave up, and accepted the whole as a dance experience. That worked for me. I’ll not give away the ending but, there again, I’m not too sure what it was anyway.

Bravo to the cast, teachers, director et al who helped bring this performance to fruition.

‘Where is the Cat’ was adapted from Singaporean writer Kuo Pao Kun’s 1988 ‘Mama Looking For Her Cat’.

Thursday, 5 July 2018

The Forgotten Cities of Delhi by Rana Safvi - A Review


All 322 pages, plus half-gatefold card covers of Rana Safvi’s book ’The Forgotten Cities of Delhi’ reached me, from India, in just four days (two of which were weekend). Harpers Collins Publishers India had, indeed, done me proud to rush off this astounding book to arrive, in Malaysia, so quickly. A diminutive motorcycle courier had stopped by our electronic gate. He had thrust a small ‘Aramex’ parcel at my wife, who just happened two be in the front garden at the time. ‘It is for you,’ she called as the young motorcyclist rode off. For me? But I rarely receive parcels. Then, as my wife handed over the white paper parcel with the legend ‘HarperCollinsPublishersIndia’ at the bottom, the thought struck me, ’The Forgotten Cities of Delhi’ had arrived. Wonderful, now to perchance to read.

India, but especially its capital - Delhi, keeps drawing me back. I had first set foot in India in 1996. It was a trip to see the sea, in Goa, and to ease myself gently into that ancient land full of mystery and mysteries which, at first glance may appear ‘full-on’ and a little daunting. Goa, as it turned out, was just what the doctor ordered.

I have visited many places in India since. My first visit to Delhi was in 1998, as part of a ‘Golden Triangle’ tour starting at Delhi, then visiting the glory of Taj Mahal, outside of Agra, and the wonderful Hawa Mahal or ‘Palace of the Winds’ (Amber Fort et al) in Jaipur.  It was then time to return to Delhi, for a day, before flying back to Britain. When the time came to go, I wished that I could stay on, like William Dalrymple, for a whole year in Delhi (as recounted in his ‘City of Djinns’, 1993).

I recall standing (literally) at a crossroads, staring up into the orderliness of Lutyen’s (New) Delhi, remembering photos of my father there. He had stood, not to attention as a lowly British sergeant erect in his uniform, but as a man, taking a casual stance, sans his military hat, in the city that he loved. The era in which the photograph was taken, was at a time (1930s) before my father had heard of his recall to the British Army, which was to pull him away from Delhi, away from his billet at the Red Fort, and away from the New Delhi Police and his application to serve with them. Despite over a decade in India, once wrenched apart from that city and that sub-continent, my father never did return. In 1998, I stood at that crossroads in his stead.

My second engagement with the glory which is Delhi, was with thanks to the Sahitya Akademi (National Academy of Letters), requesting me to read some of my poetry at the ‘Commonwealth Literary Meet’, in the October of 2010. It was a wonderful time and a further opportunity for me to wander the vastness and antiquity, of Delhi’s cities.

Rana Safvi and Harper Collins India have given me another excuse to return, this time through Rana Safvi’s writing and myriad photos by Syed Mohammad Qasim which grace the book ‘The Forgotten Cities of Delhi’, the second part of Rana Savi’s ‘Where Stones Speak’ trilogy. Delhi calls to me time after time. Delhi is where Allen Ginsberg, after sightseeing for a week, met the indomitable Kushwant Singh for ‘literary tea’ (‘Indian Journals’, 1962-1963) in a great meeting of minds that I wish that I had been party to, and Delhi is where I shall, inevitably, return one day.

‘The Forgotten Cities of Delhi’, is certainly a book that I wished that I’d had when wandering that city during my 2010 visit. Safvi’s work is painstakingly precise in its accounting of the various Delhis, and all-encompassing in its scope to include not just Delhi’s past cities, but also its individual mosques (such as the ‘Mohammad Wali Masjid’, discovered in Siri (also known as Dar-ul-Khilafat or seat of the Caliph). ‘Mohammad Wali Masjid was once a treasured mosque, but had been used for many years to store fodder not for the soul, but for cattle, unfortunately it has that in common with many of the ‘finds’ by Rana Safvi’s and Syed Mohammad Qasim. Safvi’s book reveals not just past glories, but intriguingly romantic structures promising to become present day wonders.

In conjunction with Syed Mohammad Qasim’s affirming photography, Safvi leads the viewer/reader into an astounding history of India’s capital (National Capital Territory of Delhi). Together, writer and photographer make known the beauties of ancient architectures such as the Tomb of Sultan Ghiyasuddin Tughlaq (founder of India’s Tughluq dynasty, died 1325 A.D.), and the quiet serenity of Lal Bangla (now adjacent to Delhi Golf Course) at Sundar Nagar, comprising of the mausoleums of Lal Kunwar (the mother of Shah Alam II), and Shah Alam II’s daughter Begum Jaan. Section six of ‘The Forgotten Cities of Delhi’ unveils the sixth citadel of Dehli - Dinpanah/Shergarth (p181), now Pragati Maidan. Author and photographer show the ruins of a ‘Hammam’ (a traditional Mughal ‘Turkish Bath’) adjacent to the Sher Mandal and within the Purana Qila (or Old Fort). Those Hammam remains are a touching site, situated near to the marvellous Sher Mandal, and within that ancient Indian fortress of Purana Qila, and a poignant reminder of much of India’s northern heritage.

If you are visiting Delhi, or are a confirmed Indiaphile, ‘The Forgotten Cities of Delhi’ by Rana Safvi and profusely illustrated with photographs by Syed Mohammad Qasim, is a must have. Short of actually having Ms Safvi accompanying you on a series of marvellous adventures in and around India’s northern city of Delhi, and its present day capital, the book will guide you. True it will be no substitute for the edifying scholar herself, or for Dev Anand from Vijay Anand’s film adaption of R.K.Narayan’s ‘The Guide’, but in place of these the book will carry you into myriad adventures as you witness, for yourself, and come to love Delhi’s ‘forgotten’, but now remembered, cities.

Martin Bradley 5th July 2018