Bilquis Jehan Khan: A Song of Hyderabad, Memories of a World Gone By

Summing up the book, the author Bilquis Jehan Khan writes:

" I have told my story so that those who never saw it (Hyderabad) then would have an idea of what it was in its heyday (pre-1948). It had a culture that no longer exists - it belongs to a time gone by (P.282)."

However, this book is beyond a 'nostalgic romance of the Hyderabad that was'. It is a recollection of Khan's life experiences spanning three continents and six countries and the kindness of people that makes the world a better place. Only someone like Bilquis Jehan Khan would find that despite her journey across the world -- the world is small and home is built with love and friendship, surpassing geographical boundaries.

As I read Khan's recollections of Hyderabad between 1930 and 1948, before her journey to Pakistan to join her husband, what impressed me most was the cosmopolitan nature of the city.

Perhaps, only in Hyderabad would a Muslim wedding trousseau consist of silk embroidered sarees, the staple of Parsi ladies (P.113); Only in Hyderabad would the festival of colors Holi, during the month of Basant, be celebrated with equal fervour by Hindus and Muslims (P.33) or a Christian priest would bring his troubled parishioners for healing blessings from a Sufi master (P.148). Further, Khan describes in detail the large number of Arab and African guards who served in the armed contingent of the Nizam and Muslim noblemen in the city, their special cuisine and customs (P.25). Khan herself, is married to Nasir, the son of a Muslim nobleman and a Scottish lady.

Khan describes the administration of jagirs (lands) by the Muslim noblemen. She writes:

"Our tenants who lived on the jagir were Hindus of the untouchable caste. My grandparents treated them well and looked after their interests. The Hindu servants were paid the same wages as the Muslim servants in Nasir Manzil (P.50)."

Khan's recollections are heartening especially in the present days of religious polarisation in Hyderabad and elsewhere in the country.

Khan notes a peculiar sense of camaraderie between the Muslim nobility and the Hindu employees.

Khan recollects one such incident between her grandmother and Malleyya, the chowkidar who happened to report to his duty, quite drunk. When asked "How would you answer to God on the Day of Judgment?", Malleyya, emboldened by his inebriated state replies, referring to the disparity in their class status: "Pasha, there are going to be so many more important people standing before God in front of me that He will not see little me to ask, 'Malleyya, why have you been drinking so much?' (P.52)."

I haven't read much about the experiences of Hyderabadis after the military action and accession of Hyderabad state to India in 1948. Khan notes the suddenness of the political changes and how unprepared the Nizam and his subjects were to meet the nascent democratic India. She shares her own feelings of being uprooted from her homeland Hyderabad.

In her words:

"We did not feel the immediate effects of the Partition at first, but in September 1948, the first year of my marriage, the Indian army marched in and took over the state (p.164)."

Her husband, who was an employee of the Nizam State railways had to find a job elsewhere. When he was posted to Karachi, Pakistan Bilquis Jehan Khan recounts: "My whole world collapsed. Hyderabad was my life and soul. How could I leave India and live in Pakistan? ... I decided to go to Karachi. I could foresee many trials and difficulties, but I believed that with my husband by my side I could bear anything (P.165)."

Just when Bilquis Jehan Khan and her family seem to find themselves at home in a new country, they get entangled in a political manhunt by the Prime Minister Zulfikar Ali Bhutto. Her son-in-law was arrested by the government on charges of conspiring with the leaders of Baloch who were rebelling against the government. For two long years, the family did not have much information about his whereabouts until his release in 1977, after the military coup by General Zia Ul Haq (P.243).

A Song of Hyderabad is a personal memoir, a political-social commentary in one. This book imparts a profound message to the reader: and that is to live with grace and dignity in the face of troubles.

I have always found peace at the many Sufi shrines in Hyderabad. Khan writes about her father who renounced his "surrender to the worldly life" at the age of 39 and became a Pir (spiritual master). The following lines about what it means to be a Sufi, struck me the most:

"The goal of the Sufi is to 'see the face of the Beloved (God)'. Among Sufis the basic means to that end is self-control. Meditation, the invoking of God's name, and self-discipline are important parts of Sufi practice, but unlike Hindus and Buddhists whose ascetism can take extreme forms, Muslims are forbidden to totally renounce this world. They believe that the greater challenge is to follow a spiritual path while living in the world and whilst being surrounded by its many temptations. A Sufi should renounce himself, not others (pp 143-144)."

I will cherish this book and its message.

The Nocturnal Court: The Life of a Prince of Hyderabad

The Nocturnal Court: The Life of a Prince of Hyderabad by Sidq Jaisi

My rating: 5 of 5 stars



This book is a serendipitous offshoot of research for the author’s other book “Memoirs of a City”, or so he claims. Serendipity or not, this is a wonderful book.

Narendra Luther does history aficionados a favour by translating Sidq Jaisi’s memoir of his life and times in Hyderabad written in Urdu into English. Sidq Jaisi’s reminiscences lie at the intersection of history and literature and offer a glimpse of the high-culture of the Nizams during their twilight years.

Luther draws parallels between the decadence of the Lucknow court in Wajid Ali Shah’s era and Prince Muazzam Jah’s revelries in his Hill Fort residence in a delightful introduction to the translated work (Pages. xix - lx). He remarks that there is no other account of the Hyderabad court and therein lies the book’s significance (p. xxii).

Sidq Jaisi’s seemingly personal memoirs throw light on the ideas of work, time and what it meant to be a gentleman in Hyderabad in the 1930s. For instance the ‘mushairas’ or sittings in the Prince’s court were where one had the luxury to “waste” time. Work was not gentlemanly and leisure was the sport to be indulged in. Time was squandered and the ultimate barometer of style and sophistication was to not hurry but to work things out at leisure (P.7).

Half way through the book, I felt absolutely helpless and despondent as I read about the sheltered lifestyle of Prince Muazzam Jah, completely impervious to the forces of change overwriting the destinies of aristocratic and feudal orders in the twenty years before India’s independence in 1947.

In the introductory chapter Narendra Luther discusses the tensions between the son (Prince Muazzam Jah) and the father (Nizam Mir Osman Ali Khan). As one reads Sidq’s memoir one can’t help but feel the difference of temperaments between an extravagantly rich Mir Osman Ali Khan indifferent to this wealth, abstemious in his personal life but grandly generous in his public contributions and Prince Muazzam Jah, wallowing in decadence buttressed by his coterie of obsequious sycophants. The differences between the father and son extended to politics too. Apparently, Prince Muazzam Jah wrote to his father insisting on the merger of Hyderabad with India (P. li).

Sidq Jaisi remarks: “The book is a mirror in which the ruler and his ministers, the nobles and the notables are reflected in their true colours. Nobody is unduly praised, but neither is anyone spared” (P. lxi). True to his words, Jaisi portrays the typical courtier at the Prince’s court, through the characters Ummak Jung and Dhimmauk Jung: Obsequious sycophants buttressing the artificial cocoon of the Prince’s existence while the country kept pace with grand historical changes. Despite Jaisi’s praise for the refinement of the Prince (P.13), I could not reconcile this ‘refinement’ with the heights of sycophancy of the courtiers and the Prince’s (deliberate?) ignorance.

Jaisi describes his two initial nights in the Prince’s nocturnal court in the year 1936. He observes: “The principal function of a courtier was to ensure that the Prince never felt bored or become melancholy. It was not an easy job (P.23).” He adds, “Honorary courtiership implied that no financial benefit was expected from the Prince (P.34).” They had the additional responsibility to shadow the Prince in all his waking hours. Jaisi in his essential humorous style remarks: “I prayed to God to save me from such proximity (to the Prince) (P.17).”

Despite the veneer of sophistication and opulence, Hyderabad was hollowing out at its core. The degeneracy was a reflection of the society at that time, rankled by feudalism and illiteracy. Employment at the royal court was a definite means of income. Sidq Jaisi portrays this in touching words:
“The worth of his (Prince Muazzam Jah’s) courtiers was judged by their ability to indulge in obscenities. He used to abuse others and exulted in being abused in turn. The sort of things uttered in his court are too disgraceful to be mentioned. The tragedy of the degenerate nobility of the Deccan was encapsulated in the fact that the goons who shared his company and his cup were spinning around in cars while men of letters like Fani and Yagna Changezi were living in misery (P.32).”

If the Prince’s court was such a den of debauchery and decadency why did men of letters such as Fani and Jaisi want to be admitted into it? Jaisi’s memoir reads like a treatise on human frailities. He remarks, everyone in the Prince’s court were seduced by the richness and the company of the nobility. They wanted to be part of this high society. But they forgot that this “Society requires wealth and ease of circumstances and he (they) did not have them (P.5).”

This book is a must read for all who love Hyderabad. For those who critique the virtues of the present democracy, this book serves as a caveat that behind the splendour of the nostalgic past lie shadows of excess and misery. One has to learn from the past and let it go but cannot revisit it.






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Hyderabad: A City of Hope by Malvika Singh

Hyderabad: A City of Hope by Malvika Singh

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


This book by Malvika Singh is a collection of impressions about Hyderabad. The selections fall under two themes broadly: Romantic nostalgia for the Hyderabad that was - the architectural splendor evident in both Qutubshahi and Asafjahi buildings; high culture of the Nizams reflected in the literary works and culinary masterpieces - or calm resignation to the changes wrought in Hyderabad by time.

Even cities fall prey to ravages of time and the reader experiences a feeling of helplessness as some contributors describe how Hyderabad's synergistic Hindu-Muslim culture has been replaced by the garb of cosmpolitanism and ruthless capitalist competition. The result: several high rise buildings encroaching historically valuable sites, loss of vintage buildings such as the Diwan Deodi, Lakkadkot and the Basheerbagh palace.

However, there are also articles by authors who through their optimistic portrayal argue that all is not lost. It is inevitable that tradition gives way to modernity. We see traditional burkha clad women making a niche for themselves in tech-savvy Hyderabad. The old, feudal, princely ways were outdated and had to go. Change, some contributors say, has definitely been for the better as the extractive relation of Hyderabad with its hinterland areas has been replaced by a dynamic, competitive creed.

After reading the book, one can't but wish and hope that the 'mithaas' (sweetness) of Deccani Urdu and the hospitality of Hyderabadis remains untouched with time. This book is an enjoyable read for anyone curious about the soul of Hyderabad.



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Hyderabad and Delhi: My two favorite cities

I identify myself as a Hyderabadi having spent a major part of my adult life in this city. I love Hyderabad.
I am fascinated by the layers of history one encounters through the old city. Hyderabad is so very much like Delhi, a city whose seams seem to be bursting by the constant inflow of people writing their own stories and leaving their imprints.

For instance, right beside the Charminar of the Qutubshahis is Nizamia General Hospital built by the Asafjahi Nizam. A few hundred yards further is the Mecca Masjid. Its construction was initiated by the Qutubshahis but completed by Aurangazeb after his Deccan victory, inadvertently incurring the curse that bad luck follows anyone who completes the construction of the mosque.

The destinies of Hyderabad and Delhi have been intertwined. Their kings fought battles against each other and beside each other at several points in time.

Aurangazeb the last of the great Mughals and Tanashah the last Qutubshahi king rest in their tombs in Kuldabad, rivals in life but neighbors in death. Their tombs lie in the same tomb complex. Kuldabad is also the final resting place of the first Asafjahi ruler Nizam-ul-mulk, Aurangazeb’s loyal general, who laid the foundation for modern Hyderabad after the end of the Qutubshahi dynasty.

My trips to Delhi were only for work until...last year around this time, Vishnu and I made an exclusive 'touristy' trip. We booked our stay in a hotel beside Khan Market, opposite Sujan Singh Park. Sujan Singh Park, house to Delhi’s celebrated biographer, the eccentric Khushwant Singh whose opening line about Delhi was:

“I return to Delhi as I return to my mistress Bhagmati when I have had my fill of whoring in foreign lands…”
Singh, Khushwant. Delhi: A Novel. Delhi: Penguin Publishers ltd, 1990.

I read it as Khushwant Singh’s complaint about Delhi’s seductive snare that drew in warriors from far lands North West of Delhi: From Muhammad Ghur to the five dynasties of the Delhi Sultanate, Babur and his Mughal dynasty upended by the British. Just like the legendary curse of Hyderabad’s Mecca Masjid, it is said that whoever builds a city in Delhi doesn’t stay in it for too long.

I like to believe in the romance of it all...
Delhi deserting Shahjahan (after he built Shahjahanabad) and to prove its fickle mindedness once again,
Delhi ousting the British after they built their grand offices on Raisina Hill.