The Walled Dreams

Year 2014, and I take a walk around the dark forbidding walls of a fort that has been standing here from ages ago. Shaniwar wada, an old fort built by the peshwas, a silent, imposing, brooding structure standing like an old grandfather amidst the hustle-bustle of the fresh, young city, looking down upon it, like it is an errant grand-child. I ran my fingertips over the patched, fraying walls and thought of a time, long back in history, when people were living in it, calling it their home. How would they have felt if they had known that someday in the future their home would be run-over and teeming with random people clicking pictures of it or scribbling their names on its walls or stray dogs peeing on its doorways. A time bygone, when every morning people would wake up at the crack of dawn and sweep the pillared hallways and dust the furniture, the women would sit together to prepare food and gossip, young girls with tinkling ankletsΒ would prance about, giggling. A complete household, very similar to ours yet so different. A different age altogether with people having different dreams, aspirations and hopes.

How many expecting mothers had taken a walk through these paths.What were her dreams like? Walking through the garden slowly running her hands over her protruding tummy. Does she have a smile on her face, happy and content or was she fearful about the child’s future, and the approaching war.How many young, flippant girls had pressed their backs against the cold stone walls and stood on tiptoe to kiss their lovers in the moonlit night. Was it even allowed at that age? Was she caught and forced to marry someone of her caste or was she lucky enough to marry him? And so many old ladies, supported by their young grand-daughters must have taken Β rest under the huge banyan tree.

The dark alleys and small rooms are almost spooky and if you try to listen you can hear the wailing ghost of the young peshwa who was tragically murdered near the walls of his own home by his own relatives. He probably still haunts these dark alleyways in search of his murderers and traitors. Fact or fiction, you can believe in anything inside those walls.

A sigh and a throb in my heart. I turn around and walk out of those huge iron doors studded with huge iron nails.

048_1
NO travelogue of mine is complete without the picture of a lamp-post πŸ™‚
049_1
Roaming the winding streets of old Pune
050_1
Entering the Fort
052_1
The sign post is self-explanatory
055_1
Gutar-goo
059_1
Spooky Staircases
062_1
How many young, flippant girls would have pressed their backs against the cold stone walls and stood on tiptoe to kiss their lovers in the moonlit night
064_1
Bound discrimination
067_1
Walking the mile
073_1
Pillars of Time
105_1
Un-locked
110_1
A window of opportunity
111_1
Breaking into the hallowed world through the frayed window
115_1
A walk down the memory lane
Advertisements

10 Comments

  1. What beautiful photographs! And the perfect captions too; I especially liked this one: “Breaking into the hallowed world through the frayed window”. πŸ™‚

  2. Beautiful – there is so much story telling in those photos, and I cannot explain – how much I’d love to walk around and taking photos of such a place.

    1. Thank you so much Abhra. Truly, every column and every broken pane has a story of its own, of a time gone by. πŸ™‚ Brings you the shivers, just thinking about it! πŸ™‚

  3. I love the contrast of white and brown shades in the last photo. And your descriptions certainly make me feel like I’m there.

  4. Brilliant Clicks!! I loved the colors! And was awestruck by the pic titled – un-locked. I have stayed in Pune for over 4 years, but never had a chance to visiit Shaniwar Wada… 😦 πŸ˜›

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s