No begging and no prostitution

“My parents said they would accept me on two conditions - no begging and no prostitution. Now I work with NGOs and community members to improve the lives of people like me and I have a good relationship with my family,” said Lavania. We were speaking outside the Koothandavar temple in Koovagam, a small village that attracts up to 200,000 visitors for its annual festival. Like Lavania, many who come to participate in re-enacting the story of the god Aravan, are hijra, sometimes called eunuchs or kinnars. In India they are recognised in law as a third gender. Most adopt female dress and behaviour and traditionally earn a living by collecting alms and giving musical performances at weddings, births and festivals. During the Mughal period some held high positions in court and would be called upon for advice on religious matters or to give blessings during important ceremonies. 

Lavania 

In the Mahabharata, a narbali, or human sacrifice was required to appease the goddess Kali before the start of a war. Aravan volunteered himself but did not wish to die a virgin. The gods Arjuna and Krishna are unable to find a wife for him as no woman wished to become a widow the day after her marriage. Krishna assumed the form of Mohini, a woman, and married Aravan.  The next day the groom was sacrificed to Kali and his body cut into 32 pieces. The goddess then blessed Arjun with victory and  Mohini grieved and followed the rituals of widowhood. The festival re-enacts this story. 

I met Lavania on the first day of the festival when thousands waited to enter the temple to take part in a ceremony that would see them “married” to Aravan. Many were hijra, but perhaps half were villagers including men, women and children. Devotees emerged from the temple wearing bangles and a thali (also known as a mangalsutra), the necklace worn by married women to ward off the evil eye. Outside the temple and in the village streets, crowds gathered to take part in various pooja (rituals) and to receive blessings from the hijra.  Small fires were started and the hijra circled the flames, clapping and chanting in a form of call and response. The villagers watched closely while clutching small gifts and financial donations to give in return for advice and blessings. 

Waiting to enter the temple to marry Aravan

Village craftsmen receiving blessings for a hijra guru

Other pooja involve animal sacrifice. A group of men arrived leading a young goat to the open ground outside the temple. A small crowd gathered around to watch a priest as he covered the goat with turmeric and said prayers over it. When the prayer was finished, one of the men stepped forward and slit the goat’s throat. It struggled for a moment and was then still, its blood spreading on the ground. I was assured that this was an honour for the goat who would be reincarnated as a higher being.

The conditions laid down by Lavania’s family may seem strange, but they reflect the lives of many of the community, who unable to secure employment, make a living by begging in the street or through prostitution. Very slowly this is changing, and Lavania is one of a growing number of hijra who now work in mainstream jobs. In Mumbai I met community members working in catering and as beauticians. One was a law student. The day before the festival began I met Suganiya who said: “I have a job, I work in an office.” She agreed to be photographed but asked: “Shall I change my sari first?” “No need,” I replied, “You look fine as you are.”

Suganiya

The first day of the festival was joyful and the mood celebratory. In the morning and early afternoon the craftsmen of four local villages continued their work on making an idol to represent Aravan. Each village makes different sections of the god which are then assembled and mounted on a wooden chassis. I watched the Koovagam artisans painting their section. One of the temple priests encouraged them to: “make it beautiful.” In the evening there were theatrical performances, concerts, a fair, fashion shows and a beauty contest. The crowds made it impossible for vehicles to reach the village and participants had to walk a few kilometres along a dusty road to get there. I spent some time watching a talent show. Hijra performers sang and danced to popular film songs, cheered on by an audience of thousands. Reporters from local radio and television stations filmed the activity and carried out interviews amongst the crowd. 

The second day was more emotional. The crowds grew bigger and the narrow village streets became harder to negotiate. Dozens of devotees pulled the idol, stopping every hundred metres or so, as people called on the priests to shower them with garlands, dropped from the pinnacle.  Parents surged forward to hand babies and small children up to the priests who gave blessings before carefully passing them back down. The road is uneven and when the idol rocked precariously from side to side, the crowds pressed back against houses to avoid being crushed. Hundreds of police officers were on duty to maintain order, the size of the crowd, their religious fervour and the extreme heat (it was 43 degrees and humid) making their work harder. Despite this, they remained calm, and the crowd co-operative. “There won’t be a lathi (baton) charge today,” said Vinodkumar, my guide and interpreter.

The idol being pulled through the village

Calling for blessings from the idol

“My husband must go to war, he is a great warrior"

Many people left the chaos of the street and took refuge on the rooftops. At one home the residents invited me to join them. Their roof was almost level with the head of the idol. Down below, the hijra continued to sing, dance and perform pooja.  One group circled a fire, clapping, alternately leaning towards and away from the flame and  singing a song about Aravan: “My husband must go to war, he is a great warrior, but I don’t want him to fight, I too have many qualities, he should stay at home with me.” Others threw pieces of coconut into a fire and said prayers over them. The villagers edged closer to the flames and when the chanting was finished, some leaped forward, hoping to pull pieces of coconut from the fire, believing they will bring prosperity and protection. Coconuts featured in another pooja. A hijra guru said prayers over a flame, then her followers aggressively hurled the fruit at the ground, in the belief that they were destroying negative energy. Again, the crowd tried to gather the pieces, the pushing and shoving causing several to fall to the ground. 

For a while I remained on the roof, photographing the activity below. Someone call out in English: “Hey camera man! Take my picture!” I looked for the source of the request and saw a hijra looking up, lips pursed and hands on hips. As I pointed the camera, others began calling out, posing, blowing kisses and making heart shapes. The crowd cheered. When I came down from the roof someone else called out with a different request. “Buy me an ice-cream,” said Ramiya, who sat in the shade rubbing her feet. “What flavour do you want? Come with me and choose,” I replied. “Any flavour will do. My feet are too sore to walk,” she said. A vendor was offering ice-cream on a stick for a few rupees. I bought two for Ramiya, who then posed for a portrait.

I left Ramona and followed the procession of the idol out of the village and into the fields. The rough ground made its progress even less stable and at one point the police became more rigorous, forcing the crowds to one side for their own safety. The idol would soon be destroyed - re-enacting the death of Aravan. Those who had married the god the previous day, broke their bangles and waited in line for a priest to cut the thali from their neck, leaving the ground covered with symbols of widowhood

“Hey camera man take my picture"

Broken bangles and discarded thalis

During the second day, some of the hijra changed their clothes, donning the white sari customary of Hindu widows. Shenpagavali wore a white sari and asked me to photograph her, before telling her story: “I am 72 years old and I come from Kanjipuram village. I lived with a man for fifty years but he died last year and now I am alone. There were 12 children in my family. After my father died I came out. My family accept me and some of them came to the festival with me. I make a living by collecting donations at local shops and by doing small jobs for an NGO. People don’t give me trouble. I do not drink, smoke or take part in sexual activities. I come to the festival every year to pray that next year will be better. I studied to grade 12 but left home at 12 years of age. My guru has 20 chelas (students), but I don’t have any followers.” I saw Shenpagavali again later that day. As I left the village for the final time, I looked back and saw her. She had changed back into colourful clothe and danced alone to the music being played in the temple grounds.

Shenpagavali 

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Urban Eats Phnom Penh: from hunger to food tours - Stories from Cambodia

“You can understand a lot about a culture from its food,” said Vanarith, expert in Khmer (Cambodian) cuisine and owner of the recently established Urban Eats street food tours in Phnom Penh. I asked him to explain. “You can learn a lot of facts from museums or from visiting monuments such as palaces and temples and that’s important, but by sitting down and eating with local people and hearing their stories, you can begin to understand their history, traditions and culture,” he said. 

“You can understand a lot about a culture from its food"

Just thinking about those noodles brings back the taste.

It was early morning in Phnom Penh and we were eating fried noodles in a small, family-run business, established more than 30 years ago and now run by the grown-up children of the owners. The cafe was an open fronted establishment, allowing customers to watch the early morning street activity, including a procession of Buddhist monks and groups of children on their way to school. Vanarith had collected me from my hotel for a morning street food tour adapted to my vegetarian requirements. I’d been a bit concerned that this might present a difficulty but he reassured me saying: “I can design a tour to accommodate different dietary needs. The morning tours are especially good for vegetarians and even vegans.”

Just thinking about those noodles brings back the taste. They were the culinary highlight of my tour, simple, honest and flavourful. I could have eaten a second plate but had to keep room for other treats. These included the local take on doughnuts - a thick, deep-fried savoury breadstick, as well as local fruits and fresh juice from a stall run by a Vietnamese family. The tour had begun with an iced-coffee in the Old Market (Psa Jas in Khmer) where a friendly woman was selling baguettes on a street corner. She laughed when I told her her they were as good as those sold in Paris. I wasn’t lying. 

Baguettes as good as those sold in Paris.

I asked Vanarith how he came to be working in tourism and specialising in food tours. He said: "When I was born, my family were living in the jungle with soldiers fighting the Khmer Rouge. (The communist Khmer Rouge had been ousted from power in 1979, but the remnant fought on for several years). I was always hungry. At three or four years of age I learned to cook simple dishes but there was never enough to eat. I remember begging the soldiers for rice. Later, when I was in an orphanage, I loved helping in the kitchen. I would chop vegetables and prepare herbs and was given extra food for doing this. When I lived in a hostel I cooked for my friends. I would ask them for fifty cents each and then prepare two or three dishes for them. I went to the market to buy the food and brought it back to wash, prepare and cook. I did everything except washing the dishes - I don’t like doing that.” 

Vanarith with the US Ambassador on an evening food tour

“We suffered very badly and were subjected to intense abuse.”

He explained how he came to be in an orphanage: "In 1999, we came to live in Phnom Penh. My parents left me and my three siblings in the care of a woman who turned out to be involved in drugs and prostitution. We suffered very badly and were subjected to intense abuse - both physical and mental. We were often beaten.” He continued: "One afternoon I was playing in the street with some friends. I had no shoes or t-shirt and only wore torn shorts. A woman approached me and asked if I would like to live in an orphanage. She said I would be given food, a place to sleep and that I’d go to school. Of course, I said ‘yes’ but first we had to ask the permission of the woman who was supposed to be looking after us. She agreed to us let us go but because of where we had been living we had to take a a blood test. Luckily we all tested negative. I was eight years old.”

At 17 he moved to a hostel, unsure of how to earn a living. “I had no qualifications, no degree, I had not been to college,” he said, “It was hard to find a job that would pay enough to live on. But I had learned English by taking some classes, listening to podcasts, using YouTube, watching movies and most importantly by talking to people. For a while I volunteered at the orphanage, helping to organise things and although I had no formal skills, I would  translate and teach a little English to the children.” He went on to work for an NGO where he further improved his language skills, before securing a job with a tour company and then working as a freelance guide for two years. During this time he acted as guide for some high profile clients including the US Ambassador and the vlogger behind Strictly Dumpling, a YouTube channel with more than four million subscribers. “In these jobs I learned about the travel industry and became experienced in interacting with tourists.  It’s this that gave me the confidence to start my own business,” said Vanarith. 

With Mike “Mikey” Xing Chen of Strictly Dumpling fame.

The five-star reviews on the Urban Eats Facebook page suggest this confidence is well placed. I asked about his future plans. “Many of our recipes and ingredients came close to being lost during the Khmer Rouge period. Some chefs, are working hard to save this heritage, visiting villages, speaking to elders and recording the recipes. I’d like to be able to introduce some of my guests to these dishes," he said, before adding: “And I want to develop my business and be successful, but I haven’t forgotten how I started. Many people here lack basic things such as clean water. I’d like to help them and plan to donate a percentage of my profit for this purpose.” My own plans involve some more of those noodles.

With Cambodian chef, Chef Nak, who is leading the work to 
recover recipes lost during the Khmer Rouge period.

You can contact Vanarith through the Urban Eats Facebook page and follow him on Instagram. 

All pictures provided by Vanarith with the exception of the lady with the baguettes, which was taken by the author.

You might also like I Used To Steal Small Amounts Of Rice Just To Survive or I Was So Happy I Couldn’t Sleep

You can read more about the work to record and preserve Khmer cuisine here.

Hyderabad Art Deco

Bachelors Quarters, built in 1940 (photo credit - Nitya Gonnakuti)

"There may once have been a terrazzo floor here. They were common in buildings across the city but many have been lost now," said Nitya Gonnakuti as we entered the Bachelors Quarters building in Central Hyderabad. She has been documenting the city's art deco architecture since 2019 and shares her findings on a dedicated Instagram page. During my recent time in the city, and despite the extreme heat, she kindly showed me some of her favourite buildings.

Bachelors Quarters was built in 1940. Its central glazed stairwell, flat roof and open walkways show both art deco and streamline influences. It originally offered accommodation to poorer students from distant towns and villages who came to Hyderabad for more opportunities. Rents collected from the rooms were used to help fund scholarships for women. According to the Telangana Today newspaper, the building was commissioned by the Seventh Nizam of Hyderabad, but it has not been possible to find details of the architect responsible for its design. "This is a problem common to many of our art deco buildings. It is hard to find this kind of information or the date that they were built,” said Nitya. Today, it is used entirely for commercial purposes and houses several small business. Despite the absence of terrazzo, some original features remain, particularly the wooden doors and window fittings. Also original, is the Arabic inscription in the lobby which bears the Islamic date 1359, equating to 1940 in the Gregorian calendar.

Bachelors Quarters staircase

 A cultural hub for the Urdu language

Bachelors Quarters was not only a student hostel. It became a cultural hub for the preservation and celebration of the Urdu language. Publishers, newspapers and cultural organisations had offices there. In 1955, poet Suleiman Areeb began publishing Saba, an Urdu magazine, from room 17A. Areeb was politically active as a member of the Communist Party in the late 1940s and early 1950s. He was imprisoned twice, including on one occasion for reading a revolutionary poem in public. Saba became influential in popularising modern literary trends and ideas and drew many politicians and trade unionists to the poet's office. 

Poetry had a prominent role in the building. Mushaira - a gathering of poets to read their works in public - were held there. This art form was particularly prevalent in Hyderabad and it is likely that many of the performers passed through room 27 which housed a fine arts academy frequented by composers, artists and even comedians. From the late 1950s, Urdu began to decline in importance and this rich cultural scene started to fade away. Despite this Shugoofa, a monthly humorous Urdu language magazine was still being published from the building as recently as 2021. 

In 43 degrees of heat, dust and with the noise from the heavy traffic outside, it was hard to imagine the cultural and creative activity that once took place here. It was also difficult to photograph the long facade as it is practically impossible to find a break in the traffic for a clear shot. The extremely strong light and the width of the building was also a challenge. In 2007 proposals were brought forward to demolish Bachelors Quarters due to its then dilapidated condition. Fortunately, the threat receded and restoration took place in 2020, when each of the resident companies contributed to the cost. Despite its cultural and historical significance, it is not a protected building and remains vulnerable to “development” due to its city centre location. 

Nitya owns a successful branding and social media company. As we climbed the paan-stained spiral staircase, I asked her how she became interested in art deco. “Although I work in communications, I studied architecture and had to do an essay on a favourite building. I chose one that I found out was in this style and I wanted to know more," she said. 

Porthole with a palm tree, Moosa building

A porthole with a palm tree

The Moosa building is a short walk from Bachelors Quarters. According to the date on its tower’s facade, it was built in 1942. Despite the encroachment of signage from the ground floor commercial units, it remains a handsome building. Its balconies and roof terrace are reminiscent of the modernist buildings found in many European cities as well as in Melbourne, Tel-Aviv and even Asmara in Eritrea. It too was designed as a hostel, a function it still fulfils. 

Little is known about Moosa, for whom the building is named, but the friendly manager told us he had been an auctioneer. The tiny office contained an original 1940s wooden key-holding fixture, complete with numbers in an elegant typeface and the keys of unoccupied rooms. After some discussion, the manager agreed to let us see inside the upper floors and instructed an employee to give us access to all areas. 

Each room contains three to four beds and a few pieces of vintage, mismatched wooden furniture, including mirrors, desks, dressing tables and cabinets. Many of the tables had been overlaid with formica tops, presumably to protect the wood or possibly to hide damage. Each room has a fan and although they lack natural light, some have access to a balcony. Guests can stay here for a few hundred rupees per night.

Each cream-painted room door bears geometric motifs and art deco “waves” - although the latter are in pairs rather than adhering to the usual “rule of three”. Some original terrazzo flooring remains, including on the balconies. There is also a roof terrace, where laundry had been hung out to dry and where one resident slept under a canopy, taking refuge from the heat. Porthole windows are a classic art deco feature, but the Moosa building adds a local flourish, with an elegant palm tree and birds in flight on one of the landing windows. 

An ugly, abandoned and unfinished structure stands at the rear of the hostel. It conceals a large art deco villa, adjacent to the Moosa building and visible only from its rear balcony. It is in poor shape and in the process of being reclaimed by nature. There were signs that it is still occupied and despite its condition, there are hints of how elegant it must once have been. Its future must be uncertain given its condition and prime location.

Staircase window, Moosa building

Door with deco motif, Moosa building

Architectural influencers

Despite the dearth of documentation for many buildings, two architects are known to have influenced the acceptance of art deco in Hyderabad. Mohammed Fayazuddin (1903-77), studied at London's prestigious Architectural Association before returning to India in 1934 and beginning an illustrious career. In 1944 he produced a masterplan for Greater Hyderabad. He would go on to design the art deco influenced State Bank of Hyderabad on Abids in the city centre, and also the Ravindran Bharathi, a major cultural centre completed in 1961. Fayazuddin was a highly cultured man and enjoyed playing the sitar. Perhaps he played at Bachelors Quarters.

Karl Malte von Heinz (1904-71) was a German architect connected to the Bauhaus. He fled the Nazi regime in the 1930s seeking refuge in India and settling in Hyderabad where he designed a mansion in the Banjara Hills for the Raja of Wanaparti. He would go on to work for Robert Tor Russell the architect responsible for Connaught Place in Delhi. Heinz also worked for Russell on the Pataudi Palace in Haryana. It is likely that if either Fayazuddin or Heinz had been responsible for Bachelors Quarters, it would be known, but the design demonstrates influences they would have been familiar with.

Villa, Jeera Colony

Villa, Jeera Colony

“Om" in Hindi script, Jeera colony.

An art deco Hindu temple

Our final stop was in Jeera Colony, a neighbourhood in the Secunderabad part of the city. "This area was established in the 1930s. The original residents included affluent Gujarati, Marwari and Telugu families. The plots were allocated on a leasehold basis which means the residents do not own the land and permission to carry out works on the properties involves an expensive bureaucratic process. This has led to some of them falling into disrepair,” said Nitya.  This arrangement also brings other risks. As the leases approach their end, residents may choose to leave, making the buildings vulnerable to demolition, changing the character of the area, dispersing a century old community and erasing its history.

For the moment several art deco villas remain in Jeera’s quieter streets. Many have retained their original balconies, glazed stairwells, decorative iron gates and railings. There is even the occasional porthole, one of which bears the word “om” in Hindi script. This is an example of “Indo-Deco” - where local symbols, motifs and other design elements are amalgamated with art deco style. “Om” is a word chanted during meditation, to help energise the mind and the body. Perhaps the original owners had the inscription included to bring positive energy to their home.

Before we returned to the city centre, we made a stop at the Arya Samaj Mandir on Rashtrapathi Road. This Hindu temple has the date 1947 inscribed above its main entrance. Arya Samaj was founded in 1875 as a Hindu reform movement, so it is appropriate that the temple should be built in a style contemporary to its date of construction. The striking pink exterior, decorated with Hindu motifs was a fitting finale to our tour, and the possibility of seeing inside at some point, a reason to return to the city.

Arya Samaj Mandir, built in 1947.

Photo credit - image of Bachelors Quarters facade - courtesy of Nitya Gonnakuti. All other photos by the author.

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Behind the courtyard door - Budapest's buildings tell tales

During lockdown I remained sane by trying to learn a new language and by travelling vicariously on the internet. One of the sites I most enjoyed took me into the lobbies, courtyards and walkways of Budapest's historical buildings. It told the stories of former residents and of events that had taken place there. Budapest is a city I had visited several times before, but had never seen in this way. Last week, I spent half a day with Vincent Baumgartner, the photographer behind Buildings Tell Tales, exploring some of the buildings featured on this Facebook group.

"She is a curious person. If a courtyard door was open, she'd go in..."

When we met at 9am, Vincent had already been on the streets for a couple of hours, exploring and taking photographs. "I wake up early and go out with my camera to catch the light at its best," he said. I asked how the project had started and how he became interested in architecture. "As a child I would go out walking with my mum. She is a curious person. If a courtyard door was open, she'd go in and I would go with her. She remains curious and we still explore together now," he said, "It must have started there." Some of his earlier explorations took place in Switzerland where he was born to an Hungarian mother and a Swiss father. Despite this, from an early age he was familiar with, and took a close interest in Hungary and Hungarian culture. He explained, "We often came here during the summer, and when I was nineteen, I came to Budapest intending to stay for one year, but ended up staying for five. During that time I completed my BA and also took part in a study programme for diaspora Hungarians, learning more about our culture and history." 

He returned to Switzerland to complete his Masters Degree, and worked there for a year, before his curiosity about different countries and cultures led him to spend a year in Iran. In 2018 he returned to Budapest. "Despite being born in Switzerland, I was starting to feel homesick for Hungary, so I came back, found work and settled here," he said. He currently works in communications for an international organisation.

While walking in the city, he began noticing names and dates carved into brick walls. "My curiosity was aroused and I began photographing this historical graffiti, using old telephone directories and other documents to research the details. I discovered that many of the marks had been made by on-duty police officers in the first few decades of the twentieth century, and that others had been made by famous people," he said. One such famous person was the psychiatrist and psychoanalyst Léopold Szondi. Vincent continued, "I discovered a piece of graffiti seemingly written by him. I photographed it and sent it to the Szondi Foundation who confirmed that it was his handwriting." These findings not only led to him establishing the Instagram page Bricks of Budapest, but also to addressing a conference in Cologne.

"Almost everything I posted provoked comments and messages..."

This project sparked his interest in what might be behind those bricks and he began entering courtyards and taking pictures with his phone. Keen to share his findings with a wider audience, he launched the Buildings Tell Tales Facebook page in 2019 and soon began attracting a positive response. "The page quickly got traction and from the beginning, almost everything I posted provoked comments and messages from current or former residents, including people who had left Hungary," he said. Today the page has more than 34,000 followers, about half of them in Hungary and significant numbers in the USA, United Kingdom, Israel, France and Switzerland. "During lockdown I began to take my photography more seriously. I bought some equipment and took some classes. I wanted to better record my findings and to produce aesthetically pleasing pictures," he said. He has been so successful in this aim, that two Budapest local authorities have now granted him access to the buildings in their area of jurisdiction. 

Our walk focused on the city's seventh and eighth districts, once home to a large Jewish community. The huge external doors and sometimes austere exteriors of the apartment buildings can conceal stained glass, terrazzo surfaces, art nouveau tiles and elegant balconies or walkways. Others open to neglect, decay and empty apartments, some of them waiting for the wreckers' ball. Writers, artists, musicians, scientists, labourers and craftsmen once lived in these apartments and all must have had stories.

The level of grandeur denoted the social class of those who originally lived there, although many of the grandest are now in a poor state of repair. One apartment building is said to have housed a bordello that counted European royalty amongst its clients. Its stairwells are now dark, the decorative metalwork rusting and the plaster cladding crumbling. The same building has special historical significance as the wall of the wartime Budapest Ghetto stood in its rear courtyard. The original wall was demolished in 2006, but a portion has since been rebuilt as a monument.

A photographic studio in the attic

Other buildings are well maintained with evidence of repair work and clean courtyards free of litter. In Kiraly Utca, the inhabitants of one apartment block had undertaken historical research focusing on the story of former resident photographer Pal Kis. He worked from a converted attic room, where the ceiling and one wall were constructed entirely of glass to admit natural light. As well as running a successful business, he worked as photographer for the Opera House. During the latter part of the Second World War, Kis was one of many Jewish men taken for forced labour, but he managed to escape and return to Budapest. He was arrested again and deported on the last train to leave the city before the Russian encirclement. He died in the Buchenwald concentration camp in January 1945. While performing forced labour he maintained a secret diary, parts of which are preserved at Yad Vashem in Jerusalem. Kis' story is posted on information panels in the courtyard of his former home. 

The Kiraly Utca building's residents are clearly interested in its history, while elsewhere people greeted us and one asked for the details of the Facebook group as she wanted to know more about the project. "People are used to me now," said Vincent, "Often when they see me setting up my tripod, they will stop and talk." He has also attracted a significant amount of media attention, including from Hungarian state television, local and national newspapers  and overseas publications.

Since 2018, he has amassed a huge body of both photographic and written documentation on Budapest and I asked about future plans for sharing and developing his work. "I started a website last year and would like to further expand my project by obtaining a guide qualification so that I can lead tours of some of the buildings. I have also had a few exhibitions of my work. My next show will be in the Institute Français in September this year," he said. I asked him if he would consider producing a book, "Yes, that's possible too," he replied. 

You can follow Vincent's work on Facebook at Buildings Tell Tales  and on Instagram at Bricks of Budapest and Buildings Tell Tales

You can find the Buildings Tell Tales website here.

His next exhibition opens at Cafe Le Troquet in the Institute Français from September 7th. More details will be announced beforehand on the above links.

Photographs in this blog provided by courtesy of StudioSB

The Mushroom - Arne Jacobsen's Modernist Petrol Station

I went to Copenhagen to look for a mushroom, but not of the edible variety. The paddehatten (Danish for mushroom) is a petrol station, built in 1937 and designed by Arne Jacobsen, arguably Denmark's most influential architect and designer. It stands close to the harbour in Skovshoved, a small fishing settlement, a short train ride from the centre of the city.

It took about thirty minutes to walk from there from the station along a footpath parallel to the sea. The walk took me past the Bellavista Housing Estate (built in 1934) and the Bellevue Theatre (1936), both designed by Jacobsen. The estate is designed so that each apartment has a small balcony and an unimpeded view of the sea. The block's exterior is painted white, making it extremely photogenic in the summer when it contrasts with the clear blue sky. Unfortunately, I was there on a grey December day when the sky was full of clouds and a bitterly cold wind blew in from the sea, cutting though my coat, scarf and hat. I hate the cold but Skovshoved's residents are made of stern stuff. Despite the sub-zero temperature dozens of people were taking a dip in the sea. A well-wrapped up woman walking her long-haired dachsund stopped to talk and said, "the swimmers are here every day regardless of the weather," before admitting, "I swim too, but only in the summer."

Skovshoved Petrol Station

Bellavista Estate

The petrol station was originally intended as a prototype for a series of Texaco filling stations, but the other branches were never built. It was constructed to a simple, functional design using reinforced concrete and features a flat roof. At first glance, the canopy appears to be the only design flourish, but the white Meissner ceramic tiles on the exterior and the red clock show attention to detail. The clock is not an original feature and occupies space that was initially allocated to the Texaco logo. The canopy is illuminated at night, making motorists and passers-by aware of its presence. The light reflects on the underside, acting as a huge lamp. There is a small cafe inside the petrol station and although I was tempted by the ice-cream, I decided that hot chocolate was a more sensible option for early December. A small selection of snacks were available and I had a very acceptable cheese pastry. The building is protected with a Class A listing, and was extensively restored in 2022.

Jacobsen originally wanted to become a painter but his mother persuaded him to opt for architecture, believing it to be a more secure profession. While still a student, he attended the 1925 Exposition Internationale des Arts Décoratifs et Industriels Moderne in Paris, where he won a silver medal for a chair design. It was at the Exposition that he first encountered the work of Le Corbusier, and from where he went on to meet Mies van Der Rohe and Walter Gropius, all of whom influenced his later work. He was responsible for the design of several public buildings in Denmark, including city and town halls, educational facilities and the National Bank of Denmark in Copenhagen which was completed shortly before his death in 1971. Perhaps his best known work was for the still extant SAS Royal (now Radisson) Hotel in Copenhagen, built in 1960. Not only did he design the building, but also the furniture, fittings, items for sale in the souvenir shop and even the buses that ferried guests to and from the airport.

I reluctantly left the warmth of the cafe and walked away from the coast road, to Skovshoved, a former fishing village established in the thirteenth century. Whole families were employed in fishing - the men going to sea for the catch and the women walking eleven kilometres to Copenhagen's markets, carrying the fish on their backs. The lady with the dachshund said that there are few fishermen living here now, but on Strandvejen, one of the main thoroughfares, several of their thatched roof houses have survived. On the same street, the Skovshoved Hotel stands on the site of an earlier inn, destroyed by fire in 1765 but rebuilt the following year. At different times, it has housed a cinema and a post office, but today is a popular seaside hotel. It also has a cosy restaurant, where I was enticed in for a hot drink and stayed for lunch - mushrooms on toast. 

Former fisherman's cottage, Skovshoved

Come just as you are - a postcard from Ada in Margate

In 1939, Margate could boast 240 hotels, 1300 boarding houses and 5000 other properties taking in paying guests. Visitors could also take advantage of the Winter Gardens, opened in 1911, the Lido (1927), two small tidal pools (1937) and the magnificent art deco Dreamland leisure complex, completed in 1920. This together with numerous cinemas, restaurants and other places of entertainment, led to the town being referred to as "Merry Margate". 

Day-trippers and holiday makers flocked to the seaside resort and many of them would have sent postcards to friends and family, reporting on their holiday activities, the weather and their lodgings. These postcards occasionally turn up online, in vintage stores or in charity shops, and give a glimpse of life at the time they were sent. Some cards were designed to promote a specific resort, usually featuring images from the town, carefully selected to tempt more people to come. Others took a more humorous approach, such as the slightly saucy cards (although very tame by today's standards) produced by Donald McGill and others. The card I purchased on a recent Margate trip falls some way between the two, depicting a woman in her nightclothes reading a note,  inviting her to "come just as you are" with "To Margate" emblazoned across the image.

The rear of the card bears a short message: "Have not seen Mr and Mrs S. since we arrived, they are far too busy, hotel packed, they sat down yesterday (220) people so we were lucky to get fixed up here at all, lovely weather. With love from Ada." Ada does not tell us where she was staying, but it must have been a large hotel to be able to seat so many people. She also omitted to date the card and the postmark on the rear is illegible. The halfpenny stamp on the back bears the image of King George V, who reigned from 1910-1936, which means it was sent during Margate's merriest period. There are no clues about the identity of the card's designer.

Ada's message is addressed to a Mr. Brown at Anderton's Hotel in Fleet Street, London. Anderton's no longer exists, having been demolished in 1939, but the hotel and its site had a long and interesting history. The Horn Tavern stood there in the fifteenth century and over time is said to have been popular with both the legal profession and Cornish tin miners. A new six floor hotel was built in 1880, with a red brick facade and retail properties on the ground floor. A 1931 photograph on the Historic England website, shows it to have been a handsome building, flanked by the Methodist Recorder newspaper on one side and large commercial premises on the other. Prolific architects Herbert Ford and Robert Hesketh were responsible for the building's design. They are thought to have worked on approximately 400 buildings during their working lives including residential and commercial properties.

Anderton's was more than just a hotel and many groups and societies would meet on its premises, including the Professional Photographer's Association, which had its first meeting there on 28th March 1901. In 2001, a commemorative plaque was mounted on the site of Anderton's, to mark the centenary of that meeting. The hotel also had a Masonic Hall, a 1922 photograph of which appears on the Historic England website. In 1920, the hotel hosted a gathering of twelve trade unions, who two years later would amalgamate as the Transport and General Workers' Union (TGWU). 

The hotel closed its doors in January 1939, ahead of its demolition. On January 29th, the New York Times was moved to write: "Fleet Street landmark goes: Anderton's a link to Shakespeare's Day, to be replaced by office building...a gloomy structure, some things not certain." Things don't change very much do they?

Most of Margate's hotels and boarding houses closed during the Second World War and for many years the town deteriorated, its glory days seemingly in the past. More recently, there has been a revival with a handful of boutique hotels, new high quality restaurants,  the Margate Bookshop and Turner Contemporary, the David Chipperfield designed gallery overlooking the sea. The many independent shops include Ramsay and Williams ice-cream bar and gallery where vintage posters, books and other collectibles are sold alongside interesting ice-cream flavours including ginger and marmalade. It's one of my first stops on any visit to Margate and it's where I found Ada's card to Mr. Brown.

Sleepless in Churu - Maharaja Ganga Singh

Seven years ago, I spent two nights in a room where every surface was covered with brightly coloured murals. Rather than sleeping, I lay in bed staring at them for much of the night. The works of art covered the walls and ceiling of Maharaja Ganga Singh's windowless room in Malji Ka Kamra, in Churu, Rajasthan, a once neglected haveli, lovingly restored as a hotel. The haveli was built in 1920 by Malji Kothari, a Jain merchant, and used by the Maharaja whenever he visited the town. It was also the setting for many important gatherings involving royalty, prominent merchants and British officers. 

I didn't think much more about the Maharaja until recently, when doing research for another writing project, I discovered that Sir William Orpen's 1919 painting of him is exhibited in the  National Portrait Gallery in London. The gallery caption referred to his distinguished military career, but Ganga Singh was also an accomplished linguist, reformer and politician. 

Maharaja Ganga Singh of Bikaner, by Sir William Orpen, 1919.

Ganga Singh ruled the former princely state of Bikaner from 1888-1943. He became Maharaja at eight years of age, when his brother died without leaving a male heir. The young royal studied at Mayo College in Ajmer - sometimes referred to as the Eton of India - where he received a western education. He was a talented student, excelling in English, speaking the language flawlessly and always winning first prize in this subject. In later life he liked to tell jokes and anecdotes while speaking in a Cockney accent. At fourteen, he left the college to study under a tutor who helped him develop riding and shooting skills and an understanding of the British system of government. In his free time, he enjoyed sports including cricket and roller skating.

 

The Maharaja replaced a British appointed regent in 1898, assuming full duties at the age of eighteen. Almost immediately he was met with a crisis as famine, cholera and smallpox struck his subjects. Thousands died and many others fled to the more verdant Punjab. Ganga Singh's response was to modernise his state, borrowing money to finance nine irrigation projects, two railway lines and three roads, as well as medical relief centres and the provision of interest free loans to farmers. These projects also provided much needed employment for his subjects. In 1927 his public works programme culminated in the opening of the Ganga Canal. This involved the conversion of one thousand kilometres of desert into green fields, enabling five hundred new villages to be established on previously uninhabitable land. 

His reputation as a reformer was further enhanced by his establishing a representative assembly in 1913, a High Court system in 1922 and a series of financial benefits for his employees including life insurance. He also set up a savings bank for ordinary citizens, outlawed child marriage, introduced prison reforms and established several institutions including educational facilities for women. His commitment to education was recognised in 2003 when the University of Bikaner changed its name to Maharaja Ganga Singh University. 

The Maharaja also had a distinguished military career. He founded the Bikaner Camel Corps, a force of five hundred men, that became known as the Ganga Risala. After he offered their service to the British, the Corps saw action in China during the Boxer Rebellion of 1900 and in Somaliland in 1902-1904. They also served in the First World War, and in 1915, routed Turkish forces at Suez in Egypt. Ganga Singh was much admired by the British and became a member of the Imperial War Cabinet. In 1919 he was a signatory of the Treaty of Versailles and from 1924 he represented India at the League of Nations. During this period, the movement for Indian independence gained momentum.  The Maharaja, although on good terms with the colonial authorities, also desired greater autonomy, but feared the end of the Princely State system in an independent India ruled by the Congress Party. He preferred a federal approach, combining independence with the retention of his princely powers. He failed to gain support for this approach and  after Independence, Bikaner and the other states were absorbed into a unified India.

 

The Maharaja’s military status and contribution was immortalised by Sir James Guthrie in another painting held by the National Portrait Gallery - Statesmen of World War One. In an imagined scene, Ganga Singh appears with the Prime Ministers of Australia, Canada, New Zealand, Newfoundland and South Africa. The then British Prime Minister, Lloyd George is also present, as are others who at one time or another fulfilled that role - Arthur Balfour, Winston Churchill, Andrew Bonar Law and Herbert Asquith. Back in Churu, his image appears on the exterior walls of the Parekh haveli, built in 1925. The murals show him using various forms of transport including a Rolls Royce and a horse drawn carriage. 

 

The Maharajas were famed for their lavish lifestyle and for entertaining. Ganga Singh was no exception, always well turned out, he took particular care with his facial hair. One courtier is quoted as saying: "Every day after a bath, for at least ten minutes, he set his moustache with a very fine elastic netting." Furthermore, after getting dressed, he would, "...go to the room where his shoes were all in a row, and he would pick up a long pointer like you have in school. He would just touch one of the shoes with it and that pair would be polished and brushed." Despite his love of stylish clothes and liberal approach to social matters, he held conservative attitudes about family. His wives never appeared in public without wearing full purdah and no photographs of them exist.

 

Ganga Singh also served opulent dinners. In his controversial book, Passion India: The Story of the Spanish Princess of Kapurthala, Javer Moro claims that when asked for the recipe of a particular dish, the Maharaja said: “Prepare a whole camel, skinned and cleaned, put a goat inside it, and inside the goat a turkey and inside the turkey a chicken. Stuff the chicken with a grouse and inside that put a quail and finally inside that a sparrow. Then season it well, place the camel in a hole in the ground, and roast it.” Clearly, camels played a significant part in the Maharaja’s life, both on the battlefield and on the dining table. Moro's book is a fictionalised version of the diaries of Anita Delgado. The Maharaja of Kapurthala fell in love with her when he saw her dancing in a Madrid café. She travelled back to India with him, changed her name to Prem Kaur and became his fifth wife. 

Ganga Singh did not live to see Independence. In his role as a full General of the British Army, he offered to go to the front in 1939 at the outbreak of the Second World War. He was rejected due to his age, but did see active service in the Middle East in 1941. Within a year, he had returned home, diagnosed with a terminal cancer to which he succumbed on the second of February, 1943. He is still remembered for his reforms and achievements, not only in Bikaner, but also in London's National Portrait Gallery.

"This peacock tattoo will take me to heaven" - The Gadia Lohar of Rajasthan

My first encounter with the Gadia Lohar was short and unexpected. On the road from Delhi to Churu in Rajasthan, camera in hand, I got out of the car, to stretch my legs. A man working at the side of the road jumped up and ran towards me, shrieking, whooping and shaking his ample belly from side to side. My driver, Naresh, horrified, told me to get back into the car. It was my first time in India, so I did as I was told and we drove off. “What was that about,” I asked him. He replied, “He has some problem sir,” and left it at that. He later explained that the man was a Gadia Lohar, a nomadic blacksmith. Lohar is the Hindi word for blacksmith, and gadia means cart - their means of travel, and their home while on the road.

Gadia Lohar woman winding the bellows, Pachewar

The five vows of the Gadia Lohar

Until 1568, the Gadia Lohar were a settled people, producing weapons for the Maharana of Mewar's army. In that year, Maharana Pratap Singh was defeated by the invading Mughals at the Battle of Chittorgarh and was forced to flee. In a show of loyalty, the Gadia Lohar also left, vowing not to return until Chittorgarh was retaken. They also vowed not to live in a house, sleep in a bed or draw water from a well and began to live the life of itinerant workers. Pratap Singh never did retake the city and they remained nomadic, traveling from place to place on their bullock carts in search of work. In 1955, Pandit Nehru visited Chittorgarh and in a filmed ceremony, released them from their vows. Despite this, many Gadia Lohar are still not settled and live in makeshift camps, at risk of being moved on with little or no notice.

Rajasthan has many diversions and I forgot about the man at the side of the road, until during one of the covid lockdowns, I discovered the Netflix documentary India's Forgotten People. Deana Uppal, a reality TV contestant turned actress and filmmaker, curious about the Gadia Lohar, befriended a group camped near Jaipur. Her film shows their problems, traditions and way of life. It also exemplifies the widespread discrimination they face. In Jaipur, when she asks about meeting them, she is warned that the Gadia Lohar are dangerous criminals and should be avoided. She later discusses their plight with officials, who although polite, fail to address any of the issues she raises with them.  

"It is hard to make a living from this work"

More recently, I met Gadia Lohar communities in Rajasthan, in Deboli and near Pachewar. The Deboli group were camped on rough ground in the centre of the city. A couple were working at the entrance to the camp, the woman winding the bellows while her husband did the hot work, heating the metal. They then worked together, wielding hammers to mould the red-hot items into shape. They toiled without protective gear, in thirty-five degrees of heat, inhaling the thick smoke from their small furnace. They make tools, knives and other kitchen implements for sale in the street, but cannot compete with the cheap, mass produced items available in the markets. An elderly man, one half of a married couple who came to speak to me said, "We are skilled but these days it is hard to make a living from this work. Our ancestors produced weapons but today people don't want the things we make." 

He put on his best turban for a photograph, Deboli

The Deboli group had an additional problem. They claim to have lived in this location for many years but admitted that it is an unofficial settlement. The authorities want to develop  the site and have told them to leave. He also said, "Some people have already gone to the new place, but it is not big enough for all of us and there is not enough money to build houses for everyone." Those that remained were living in tents, some large enough to accommodate an extended family and their cart. One resident proudly showed me his family's gadia, “It is fifty years old,” he said as he pointed out the brightly coloured, hand-painted decorative patterns on its sides.  

Before I left, I photographed the elderly man and his wife, but not before, at his insistence, he put on his best turban, replacing the gamcha (workers' scarf) he had been wearing when I arrived. His wife pulled her dupatta (scarf used to cover head and shoulders) further forward on her forehead and pointed out her bhanvaria (nose ring) and tattooed earlobes to me. Once ready they stood side by side, very formal, him extremely tall and her, petite. I also took individual portraits of them.

Gadia Lohar woman in Deboli, wearing the bhanvaria (nose ring) and traditional jewellery

"This peacock tattoo will take me to heaven"

I met Shankar Gadhia Lohar at a tea stall in Pachewar, a village of about nine thousand people, one hundred kilometres from Jaipur. He invited me to his settlement where he lives with his extended family, just a few kilometres away. Shankar makes kitchen utensils and small ornamental items which he then sells at the side of the road. I bought a colander from him for 50 rupees (about 50 pence), which came in useful when I visited a Bhand community on the opposite side of the road. 

Shankar is not the only craftsman in the family. His older brother, Hanuman, is an accomplished metalworker whose work has attracted awards and media attention. He has a workshop on Pachewar's main street where visitors are offered tea and snacks, but where there was no pressure to buy. His wife and daughter-in-law work with him and at the time of my visit, his children were quietly doing their homework after school. Hanuman concentrates on producing art works and I came away with two small pieces - a camel and a snake. 

One of the older women in the settlement had facial tattoos. I asked if they had a meaning. "No, no, they are just for fashion," said one of the younger men. On hearing this, the woman, who until that point had been silent, became very animated and contradicted him. "They protect us against misfortune," she said, "and this peacock tattoo will take me to heaven." She also explained that the jewellery Gadhia Lohar women wear, acts as a deterrent to the evil eye. When she finished speaking, Shankar introduced her to me as his mother.

Hanuman, Gadia Lohar artisan, Pachewar

"I used to work as a day labourer to pay for my schooling"

While Shankar's mother was speaking, Sangram Singh Gadia Lohar arrived. We drank tea together and he spoke about his efforts to secure educational opportunities for his community. He said, “I used to work as a day labourer to pay for my schooling. I completed higher secondary education and then worked for an organisation that trains people in community development. I started an open-air school for our children, but it is difficult to get regular attendance as most of the parents are uneducated and do not understand why school is important.” He also spoke about the difficulties of finding somewhere to settle, and said, “I have worked very hard to persuade the authorities to give small parcels of land so that we can build our own houses. The problem is that although we are told we can build on the land, we do not receive documentation. This means we can be moved on at short notice.” 

Sangram said, “Our traditional way of life is no longer sustainable. The young people need to be educated, to develop new skills, or to adapt our traditional craft in the way Hanuman and Shankar have.” While he was speaking a small boy came out of one of the tents. After playing with a tyre for a few minutes, he opened his father’s toolbox, took out a hammer and began hitting a charpoy (day bed), imitating the adults working nearby. I asked his father if the boy will go to school. He smiled and said, “I don’t know.”

"Will he go to school?" I asked.

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