Humayum’s Tomb 1570

This is the tomb of the second Moghul Emperor Humayum and his story is the opposite of the Taj Mahal.

He was well liked but died young. He fell to his death from the stairs in his library and was buried in various locations until his wife,Hamid Bann Begum, who was devastated by his death, decided to build a wonderful mausoleum to him.

This is the first mausoleum built for a Moghul Emperor, the first to introduce the garden of heaven around it and the first to bring so much of Persian architecture to India. The architect was Mirak Mirza Ghiyas and his son, who completed the Mausoleum over a period of nine years and under the watchful eye of the Begum who apparently camped there to oversee the works.

Meticulous symmetry, the introduction of the char bagh, beautiful water gardens set in 30 acres representing the four rivers in heaven, red sandstone, coloured geometrical patterns, and perforated marble screens formed the surroundings for the final resting ground of the Emperor and members of his family.

One fact that struck me is that his barber was also buried there as he wielded some power being the one who approached the emperor with a razor which perhaps were a little crude in those days and needed a lot more skill for the perfect shave.

He had three sons like me, but also wives and daughters and grandchildren and by the size of some of the tombs we saw there the grandchildren died young.

A glimpse of what India was like

If you are curious like I am you will not want to miss this. Hurry Delhi-mates only a few days left of a beautiful and select exhibition all the way from the V&A which is being displayed at the National Museum of Modern Art and specifically Jaipur House until the 6th December. Indian Life and Landscape by Western Artists is well worth the visit. 94 watercolours,oil paintings,drawings and etchings by artists who visited India between the 18th and 20th century gives you a wonderful insight into what it was like and in some cases how little has changed. I loved George Chimey's view of a ruined tomb with bathers. The sepia shades were superb. The palace of Pirana Malwa by John Sell Cotman is a vision of colour and the Golden Temple in Amritsar by William Carpenter seems to be such a vibrant scene even in those days. I saw William Simpson's painted gateway to Sanchi at a time when it was being discovered and I realized what a difference there was to the Sanchi Gateway I visited in October.

And if you want something completely different go next door (on until the 30th Nov) and see Claudia Hakim's Signs of Skin, a Colombian artist who has chosen metal, chain mail, screws and metallic sheets as her medium. She is described as a weaver of dreams. She weaves the most life- like skins through the coldest metals and gives them depth and colour and substance in an unnerving quality of snakeful manipulation. A correlation perhaps between cold blooded reptiles and her favoured forged fancies ?  

A major heart stopping mezze moment.

Around my house there are some quiet side streets, a wonderful Sikh temple and an inter- religion seminary. I love to take Tara for a walks in the afternoons when the chanting starts at the temple and we walk around soaking in the sun, the peacocks jumping around and the kids playing.

My large slightly arthritic dog is very obedient and slow. The other day my mother -in- law and I set out on such an afternoon walk except that somewhere along the way Tara encountered a rather large burly Sikh on a motorbike who either dazzled by her beauty or a bit of a novice on his bike, ran into her, swerved and then fell off his bike. Our heart was in our mouth as she hit the bike, but much to our surprise and absolute relief she walked away a little dazed while the big Sikh was hauling himself and his bike off the ground. He mercifully decided not to sue us or send Guru Nanak’s worse curse on us and having dusted himself down went on his way. 

Oh my what a moment. Here is the one who singlehandedly unseated the whopping man.

Peaches from Parmesan or is that Cherries

Parmesan my lovely, loud and funky cook came to cook lunch for friends last week. After several hours of peeling and chopping, slicing and dicing he presented his buffet to us of butter chicken, an aromatic lamb with cinnamon and cloves, aloo gobi, stuffed aubergines and two types of rice, a plain one with cardamons and a pilau rice which he decorated beautifully with sprigs of parsley and glace cherries placed strategically on the top !
Tonight he made a pasta dish served in a cut crystal fruit bowl he found and then he went to the fridge looking for the cherries to decorate his dish. He looked appalled and turned to me and said incredulously “Gone?” Unperturbed he found the next best thing to glace cherries and homed in on the cherry tomatoes. He is a peach!

A visit to a Hospital in Delhi

My son had his pins removed from his right arm following a biking accident last May. We turned up at MAX SUPER HOSPITAL and super it was too. I am happy to say all went well -



Things we will remember from this day :


We were met and escorted everywhere.
The staff were delightful at all times.
There was little waiting time anywhere.
There was a SUBWAY in the main lobby of the hospital. My son,sadly, thought that was great.
After the operation he was given coconut milk to drink. He asked for more.
Hospital food was good. Another first.
I paid for the operation and care going in and on leaving I got a refund !


Now how extraordinary is that
Good health care, wonderful staff and a refund at the end of the day

HimSagar

I went to a show of classical and folk dances of Nepal and India.
The theme was “Cultural understanding for world peace and friendship”.


In “Mangalacharana” a dancer dedicates herself to the Almighty and begs forgiveness from Mother Earth for stamping on her. The dance was beautifully executed but I loved the idea of begging forgiveness for trampling on Mother Earth.


Should we not dedicate a day to being kind to her and walk on tip toe ?

The onset of a Delhi Winter ?

Yesterday morning we were sitting in the garden discussing "The Impressionist" the notable first novel of an Indian author called Hari Kunzru.
Last night we were lashed by terrible winds and driving rain. NO POWER

This morning the generators are still on and the world is wrapped in cotton wool stretching and struggling to break loose from its cocoon of white. Dew drops dangle and the earth once again assumes the power of Uhu glue sticking to the underfoot of your shoe as if determined to be lifted from its place on this "uth" This blog is for my friend Doreen. A sharing of Foggy days.