Museum In Zoo, Tehzeeb In Traffic: Lucknow Quirks A Delhiite Fell For

Jab chhod chalein Lucknow nagri
Kahein haal ke hum par kya guzri...

Wajid Ali Shah, the last king of Awadh, is said to have hummed these lines when the British forced him to leave Lucknow, a city he ruled and loved, for his new address in exile - Metiabruz in Kolkata.

This piece, however, is not about leaving Lucknow, but about arriving there. After several unsuccessful plans over the past decade, I was finally in the city of Nawabs and Kebabs. This blog is about the many quirks of the lovely city that caught this traveller's eye. None of them, I assume, would surprise those who know Lucknow. But for me, they were nothing less than magical. They say, 'Muskuraiye aap Lucknow mein hai'. I hope my words would be taken in the same spirit.

Tehzeeb and Traffic

Traffic in Lucknow, mildly put, is pure chaos (and I say this as a Delhi resident). The mutual trust on display on the city's roads is quite fascinating - why else would a biker swerve right in front of a four-wheeler without so much as glancing over his shoulder, let alone flash the indicator. The Lucknowi tehzeeb we have heard of is seen nowhere more than the city's roads. On one occasion, in the crowded lanes of Aminabad, I saw two scooters collide head-on. For a Delhi-NCR resident, this is a prelude to a slang match that would quickly turn into a fight. That did not happen. One of the parties smiled and said, "kya kar rahe hain?" The reply was something about chewing a paan and not braking on time. And then they went their ways. A Lucknow resident may not find this noteworthy at all, but for someone from Delhi, where road rage is the norm, the tehzeeb-traffic cocktail is heady to say the least.

Museum In the Zoo

Among the stops we had planned for the trip was the UP State Museum in Lucknow. Accordingly, we booked an Uber ride, typing "State Museum" as the destination. The cab dropped us outside the gates of Wajid Ali Shah Zoological Garden. Muttering abuses for Google Maps for messing up coordinates, I walked to the zoo's ticket counter and asked where the museum was. The reply was, "But have you bought the tickets?" Convinced that the attendant had not heard me, I said, "I don't want zoo tickets, I want to go to the museum, could you please guide me?" The attendant looked up, then said, "The museum is inside the zoo." I was speechless. I like both museums and zoos, but never had I imagined the both together. This peaceful coexistence of human history and the animal kingdom was bewildering to me. Over the next two hours at the museum, I could not put the thought out of my head. The museum done, I thought we might as well pay a visit to the museum's animal neighbours. Summer is here, and the tigers and lions were in no mood to entertain visitors, especially those who set out to visit the museum and landed in the zoo.

A white tiger, however, was busy. As if the day was not exciting enough, I spotted the white tiger chewing on grass. I had read that carnivores, too, eat plants and grass for gut health, but to actually see a white tiger chew on grass in a zoo, which also has a museum, was something.

Reel Bhulaiya

Getting lost in the Bhool Bhulaiaya in Bada Imambara and running around helplessly was my childhood nightmare. We happened to visit the monument on a Friday, when it is open for just two hours. The crowd, and the reelmakers, convinced me that I am not getting lost, and even if I did, I won't be alone. The guide taking us around tried to create the effect by explaining how, at every intersection, one way is correct, and the other three are wrong. But not many people were listening. The reelmakers were at work, walking, dancing, jumping and pretending to be lost. We went round and round, up and down, till it was time to go out. It was the guide's payback time. He had swallowed the insult of an inattentive audience. Now, he seized the moment. He told everyone to find the way out on their own, and that he would help only after they had failed. Those like us were in no mood for reels or games, but we played along. Eventually, after multiple failures and pleadings, the guide led us out, a smug smile on his face. Rescued, the reelmakers were back at work. I wondered if Asaf ud Daula, the Lucknow nawab who built Bada Imambara, was watching.

Sewa Chikan, One And Only

If you have been to Agra, there is an 8/10 chance that you have bought petha from Panchi Petha, but there is a 9/10 chance that you do not know if it is the original Panchi Petha outlet. In Lucknow, this holds true for Sewa Chikan. Sewa stands for Self Employed Women's Association and specialises in clothes with the fabled Chikankari embroidery. Set up more than three decades ago, there is only one outlet that Sewa runs in Lucknow. But you will find a Sewa Chikan board at every intersection. Sometimes, 'w' is replaced by 'v' and an extra 'a' is added. Each claims it is the 'real' one. What's more, every time you take a rickshaw or auto-rickshaw, you are asked if you would like to make a stop at the 'real' Sewa Chikan. Worried over missing the 'a's and 'v's, we headed to the Aminabad market for our chikankari exploration.

Kebabs, Biryani and The Missing Potato

A few steps from the Chikan stalls in Aminabad and you reach a Tunday Kababi outlet. Its melt-in-mouth Galawati kebabs, best enjoyed with Mughlai Paratha, take you on a journey of gastronomical bliss. But the real food find on my Lucknow trip, thanks to friend and Lucknowite Ashutosh's suggestion, was Naimat Khana. Tucked away in a quiet neighbourhood, this place offers authentic, home-cooked Awadhi cuisine. But what's not on the menu is the engaging conversations the hosts bring to the table, about art, culture, history and how Lucknow is evolving. The ambience is not of a restaurant, but that of a family friend's home.

Coming to the food, the biryani was like no biryani I have eaten before - there was nothing artificial about it. The Kolkata Biryani lover in me tried looking for the aalu (potato) for a bit, before realising that the tuber caught Wajid Ali Shah's fancy only after he was exiled to Bengal. Lovers of Kolkata biryani may just find their loyalties questioned if they tried the Naimat Khana offering.

To sum it up, my first trip to Lucknow was one of delights and discoveries. On my last evening in the city, I came across an illuminated "I LOVE Lucknow" sign by the roadside. A snag had impeded power supply to "Luck" and only "Now" was lit up. If you have been planning to visit this lovely city, it's a hint for you: "Now".

Saikat Kumar Bose is Deputy News Editor at NDTV

Disclaimer: These are the personal opinions of the author.