Travel Diaries

Discovering the Past

Anyone who loves getting lost in time and living out stories in their heads, has an eternal love for museums and exhibitions of literature and art. The United Kingdom, is the perfect stomping ground for people who want to disappear somewhere in the folds of time, with its numerous galleries and museums and exhibitions sponsored by various Lords and Ladies and rich persons. Each person has their own specific set of things that they enjoy learning more about. For me, its war and politics, human rights, theatre, poetry, and history. That's one of the main reasons why I enjoyed my time in the United Kingdom. Their love for documentation and presentation of the past and the vision they have for the future, is an aspect that I found immensely captivating. 

I enjoyed looking at artefacts through the giant glass cases that protected them. I had a favourite mental game where I would observe the given object closely to find places that betrayed the age of the object. Frayed book spines, or chips in the china, or old dirt and stains on the carpeting formed due to the action of air and light and heat upon it. Walking through the aisles and rows of objects, I would lose myself in the world of my imaginings. Museums are a happy escape in that respect. Especially museums that house paintings. In the British Library there was a room that housed the "Sir John Ritblat Gallery", where all the treasures of the British Library were put on display. Old religious texts, paintings and works of literature from across the world had been carefully collected, curated and presented for interested viewers. Moving around the massive room, I saw old editions of Shakespearean plays, beautifully decorated Torahs, Bibles, Qurans, Bhagavad Gitas and even several Buddhist texts. 

The one exhibit that caught my eye were the Miniature Paintings that were so typically Mughal. Being an Indian and having studied that period extensively I was overcome with a mixture of feelings. I was struck by the beauty and simplicity of the paintings. The medium chosen in terms of colours, materials and the subject of the very painting itself, merely enhanced the beauty of the paintings. But I was also overcome by a slight amount of shock. They belong in India! was my first thought, as  I gazed deeply into the eyes of the Maharani  in the painting. I had that same awful feeling months earlier, when I had gone to see Windsor Castle. Upon entering the Castle there is a kind of anti-room with clothing, weaponry and other artefacts from the various colonies of the British Empire. My heart nearly jumped out of my mouth, when I saw "MYSORE" clearly printed under one of the attires and sword. It had come from the Tipu Sultan era. I saw gifts from various Rajput and Mughal rulers too. The swords, the old curved and exquisitely embroidered Rajput shoes, beautiful Sherwanis and turbans. All of it sent me into a tizzy. I remember remarking with a dumbstruck look to my friends, whom were mostly European, "Im from Mysore. This is my heritage!". They were so taken aback. I explained to them as much as I could about each artefact and clothing item from various parts of India. When we left the castle, I showed them a photo I had of a typical Mysore Turban. I happened to have a photo of my father wearing one, and it looked very similar to the one inside the castle. I will never forget the look on their faces. It was a mixture of shock and sympathy. They were probably wondering how the colonies had managed to remain so close to the UK! 

I suppose that is the beauty and mystery of human interaction. There are so many reasons that motivate us, in our decisions to remain close to one another, or to drift apart. Seeing all these objects in various museums, gave me the opportunity to dream out different scenarios, of human interactions. We interact with our things too. It led me to think of all the things I own; books, clothes, old toys, shoes, gadgets. Dying without my things... just the thought of that left me feeling uneasy. What would happen to them when I die? Where would they end up? Hopefully not as scrap! Would they be discarded as quickly as the memory of me? Or would they be cherished? Perhaps I'm the sort that attaches to much importance to people and things. Everything that I come into contact with, leaves an impact on me because I feel more deeply than most. I find it challenging to get rid of things I own. I feel gutted at the very thought of losing something. Its nice to comfort yourself with the thought that one day, you, your life and your things will be a source of anthropological value; that your life will some how some day matter. In the museum of other's minds and experiences.