Dear Lucknow,

To me, the mere mention of you evokes sensations, feelings of nostalgia, and a mood bordering on delight! You hold so many stories – both personal and historical. While years have passed since we last saw eachother, I still hear stories of your tehzeeb, listen to your sher shairi (poetry), and immediately step into my youth.

I look back fondly on my regular weekend visits from Allahbad to Lucknow when the gates would open into a large house owned by my grandparents, on Faizabad road. This trip was special to me because it meant that I would get dessert after each meal instead of fruit, and that I would be spoiled silly by the old folks. On special weekends, I had the opportunity to get to know you a little better through my visits to Hazratganj. Every year, my grandmother would insist I get new sets of clothes made from “Hollywood,” a textile store with a signature hunched old darzee (tailor). While I would be getting my measurements taken, my Nani would sit in a sofa chair in the shop while bolts of fabric were bought for her to choose from- all “vilayatee” (imported), she was assured! Within a week I would have a new wardrobe of skirts, blouses, pinafores, and a brand-new blazer jacket ready for me for the approaching winter.

I know these stories could easily be placed anywhere, but what makes it truly special is the sensory context. The darzi giving instructions in Urdu, the sound of azaan (the Islamic call to prayer) resounding outside in the evening, the sun slowly setting against a skyline of domes and minarets. You carry with you a seemingly permanent historicity of a Mughal’s court even as time throws you into the tides of modernity. The poetry, Kathak dancing, fine Mughlai food, Thumri, Khayal, Dadra, Ghazals, Qawalies, and Chikankari would not be what they were as art forms had they not found you, a place where these were nurtured.

When I meet you now, I have to discover you all over again in a game of hide and seek. Amidst the clouds of dust and crowds, I seek out the remains of an old darwaaza (gate), or an old library, reminding myself that beneath it all, it is still you. My hand embroidered Chikankari sarees serve as a portal to this romantic vision as well. The intricate stitches map motifs of an imaginary natural world, where the symmetry of flowers are enhanced. As an embroidery form, it evolved from the need for royalty to wear rich, embellished clothing that was still light enough to beat the punishing heat of the summer, and replaced the contrasting silks and brocades. I am grateful that this is one timeless marker of culture that ceases to be erased from the you, Lucknow.

This continuation of this craft a testament to how you hold onto the all the history that has made you what you are as a city. I am left wondering who the bearers of this knowledge will be moving forward? How will this craft stay relevant in a time when mass-produced factory-made clothing are considered signifiers of style? Will we forget that these otherworldly flowers of the embroidered motifs ever bloomed?

Oh Lucknow, I will never forget you and I will continue to love you for who you become as long as you’re in trusted hands of people who see your beauty.

With love,

Bulbul (Pritam Benjamin)