Sunday, February 18, 2001		Tourism

Heritage route to preservation
By Amar Chandel

IF at all white elephants existed, they would be fascinating to look at but almost impossible to maintain. Something similar is true of old palatial buildings as well. If you are a casual visitor, you find them charming and intriguing. Try maintaining them and you have to change your opinion. The upkeep of a newly built structure of the same size will be far easier than that of a building which is more than, say, 50 years old.

Rajasthan, as we all know, is dotted with forts and palaces of rare beauty and antiquity. Large buildings were taken over by the government when the princely order was abolished. Despite all the resources at its command, the upkeep of these buildings has always been pathetic. Even buildings of great architectural importance are crumbling.

In such a scenario, the fate of medium-sized forts and places still in private hands can well be imagined. Paucity of funds and lack of technical expertise turned them quickly into ruins. After all, how can a person of ordinary means look after a building whose annual whitewashing and paint bill alone comes to more than Rs 10 lakh! The result was that many of the exquisite medieval structures were abandoned and the owners shifted to tiny modern flats in the cities. Such locked buildings can be seen by the dozens in almost every Rajasthani town.

Then, about 10 years ago, the Tourism Department of the Indian Government started a novel "heritage hotel" scheme. Under it, the owners of such old forts, palaces, castles, aristocratic homes or havelis were encouraged to renovate and convert these into heritage hotels. This was the time when foreign tourists had discovered the exotic Rajasthan and were coming here in droves. Government accommodation was scarce and involving the private sector was essential. The tourists wanted to experience the legendary Rajputana hospitality whereas the few government run hotels were only offering them "red-tape facilities". So, the scheme was basically borne out of economic necessity rather than any exalted motive.

Wherever be the reasons, this was one scheme which proved to be quite a success. Suddenly, the erstwhile royalty transformed itself into hoteliers. Many of the 22 princely states and innumerable thikanas or seats of residence of aristocracy were converted into heritage hotels. Dilapidated buildings were done up in traditional style and the vilified princes became some kind of brand ambassadors. Today, out of about 70 classified heritage hotels in the country, as many as 43 are in Rajasthan.

Hospitality and sophistication had been in their genes. They took to the new profession quite naturally. Initially, there was some hesitation in attending on the visitors. But as profits started pouring in, attitudes changed. Traditional graciousness got transformed into paid-for hospitality. As one of them confided: "Hosting and attending parties has been our life-time occupation. Now instead of feeding acquaintances and relatives for free, we do it for paid guests".

That was the unique selling point of these unusual hotels. Even when you were paying for various services, you were treated more like a personal guest. Ambience and grandeur of the bygone era were an added bonus.

The fascination for royalty was already there. The Europeans and Americans lapped up the taste of authentic Rajputana cuisine and lifestyle. The effect was electrifying. Today, someone in Punjab may not have heard of Neemrana or Samode but these are household names in Sweden and Switzerland.

The scheme did not revive the buildings alone. It provided many employment avenues. Family retainers whose ancestors had served these royal portals continued to get employment. Local art and craft flourished again. Folk dances, music and handicrafts of the state saw a revival. Many household items thrown into the backyard as useless were lapped up by the adoring visitors as "antique pieces". In short, the whole economy looked up.

Today, there are more than a hundred such buildings all over Rajasthan, where you can live in medieval splendour. Among the best known are Lake Palace, Udaipur, and Umaid Bhavan, Jodhpur, run by professional hotel chains. Lake Palace has won world acclaim through films like James Bond flick Octopussy, but it was an outstanding building ever since Rana Jagat Singh II developed it in the 1730s as a pleasure palace. This is what Col James Todd said about the stunning palace: "The apartments are decorated with historical paintings in water colours, almost meriting the term fresco from their deep absorption in the wall, though the darker tints haven blended with and in part obscured the more delicate shades from atmospheric causes."

Umaid Bhavan Palace was the largest private residence in the world. Today, you can stay in one of its 95 rooms open for tourists. It is perhaps the only palace to have paintings from the Ramayana painted by a Polish artist. Built at the height of the art-deco period, it rivals Rashtrapati Bhavan in size and dimensions.

But even more fascinating hotels are those run by erstwhile royal families themselves. The largest chain is operated by Maharana Arvind Singh of Udaipur, which has 18 hotels in Udaipur, Kumbhalgarh, Ranakpur, Jodhpur, Jaisalmer, Bikaner, Gajner and Jaipur. (Lake Palace Hotel is also part of this chain.)

Shiv Niwas Palace, Udaipur, is the flagship of this flotilla. It is perhaps the most exclusive palace hotel in India. Its original ornamentation is preserved and very well maintained by the head of the clan himself. In high-end room, everything from beds to sofas is made of silver. It was converted into a hotel in 1982. It was built at the turn of the century as an adjunct to the royal residence, Shambhu Niwas.

Overlooking Lake Pichola, it had two of its artisans sent to London to study and create in its interiors the fine art of frescos and glass mosaic design.

Then there are isolated properties like those at Navalgarh, Samode and Mandawa, etc, which put up a homely and authentic display of Rajput culture.

At Samode Palace, 45 km from Jaipur, narrow flights of stairs, open courtyards with jharokhas overlooking them, large rooms fitted with furnishings suited to the personality of each room, greet you. The richness of the painted Durbar Hall is mind-boggling. Traditional Rajasthani dancers greet visitors on arrival. Puppet shows are a daily attraction. While the swimming pool is ultra-modern, the turrets surrounding it are centuries old.

Castle Mandawa, 168 km from Jaipur, was built in 1755. It is approached through two gateways mounted with cannons. The drawing room is still retained the way it has been since decades. Many of the 57 rooms have their original paintings. While you dine in the back lawns, a queue of dancers — women with their faces covered — carrying mashaals move around you doing a slow grind. The long white mustaches of the lead dancer glisten in the moonlight. The ambience is wonderful. The local cuisine with a lot of ghee and mirch has also found many converts.

But things are not rosy all the way. The heritage hotels are only oases of excellence. The foreigners may be fascinated by the hotels but the quintessential Indian babus are not. As one of the owners confided, the palace owners can do up the campus all right, but to provide cleanliness and roads is the government's job. While the tourism department may help out the entrepreneurs, other departments continue to be as abrasive as ever.

One heritage property owner says he went to the local Deputy Commissioner with the grievance that the road leading to the site was in a pathetic condition. The classic reply was that something could be done if you get a few foreigners to complain about this in writing! Another one found it even more difficult to convince the all-powerful bureaucracy. This officer shot back that since you people make money from your hotels, why don't you make the entire road yourself (mind you, it is a public road, running to some 16 km. Traversing it today is as difficult as going on African car safari.) Then there are high taxes to be paid.

A heritage resort had a harrowing time recently. The sanitation personnel of the town went on a flash strike and threw dead dogs on the main streets of the town. The foreign tourists did not get to know about the goings-on as long as they were confined to their air-conditioned rooms. But taking them for an outing became impossible because of the unbearable stench.

Due to infrastructure difficulties, many of the heritage properties just about break even while others are on the verge of closure. Insiders reveal that in some, rooms can be had for even one-fifth of the advertised tariff.

At Mandawa, the erstwhile ruling family has developed a unique project a few km away from the Mandawa Castle. It is an authentic Rajasthani village amidst sand dunes. Mud plastered huts give you the feel of real India, although inside there are all modern amenities. But manager Desh Deepak Pandya is despondent that even when only one or two rooms are occupied, he has to run huge generators because the local electricity supply is notoriously erratic. The expenses are prohibitive. Same is the case with water supply.

Similarly, inadequate phone service makes sure that bookings cannot be duly confirmed and cancellation information does not reach the hotels in time. The real massacre happens when planes are diverted because of fog etc. in Delhi while hoteliers wait patiently for the booked tourists. Like vegetables, hotel accommodation is a perishable commodity.

Those in authority have to learn the sociology and psychology of the tourist. He is on a trip, literally as well as figuratively, and wants to spend a hassle-free time. Above all, he wants a sense of security and good value for money. India, unfortunately, is yet to learn to present an agreeable face. It still treats them as some kind of intruders, little realising the kind of welcome extended by other destinations like Thailand. To do this is not the job of the tourism department and the private sector alone. The other departments of the government also have to chip in, by shedding the high-handedness that marks their dealing with the common citizens. The motto of Padharo Mahare Desh (Welcome to my country) ought not to be an empty slogan!