<FONT COLOR="#FF0033"><B>Guest Article:</B></FONT> Rohit Malkani: The Emperor’s New Fountain

Rohit Malkani

Ambience Publicis

The debate on whether the big idea is dead continues with this article. Using a fictional incident to illustrate the point, the creative director of Ambience Publicis, Rohit Malkani, garners support for the Big I.

It was a distinctly gloomy day and Ustad Ahmad blinked as he looked up through his bedroom window at the dark, grey clouds that hung over Delhi.

Not a very good omen, he thought to himself, winding the last piece of fabric round his head into a turban. He had been waiting for one month for an audience with the Emperor, and now that it was finally here, he wished he were back home.

Allah had been good to him over the years – a loving wife, three beautiful children and a construction business that fetched him enough money to afford a lavish lifestyle. Yet the years of designing houses for worthless zamindars and petty courtiers had left him with a deep sense of incompleteness.

They would belch shamelessly while looking at a plan that he had slaved on for months, then ask him why he hadn’t considered erecting marble minarets at the gate. It sickened him to even offer an explanation. ‘The client knows best,’ he would sigh to himself.

But today was different, this was no ordinary client, this was the Emperor himself. One word from his regal lips would ensure that Ustad Ahmad would be showered with riches beyond imagination. The world would be at his feet, and his belching clients could then stick their inane requests where the ‘sun don’t shine’. He felt that his whole life had rushed past, gathering momentum for this one cataclysmic moment. Everything that he had done before this suddenly didn’t matter any more; this was his biggest idea yet.

Something the world had never seen and something he might never replicate again. He picked up the roll of parchment that lay on the table before him with trembling hands. It was his masterpiece and one that had taken months for him to put together, 52 revisions, he recalled, before he finally admitted to himself that he could not improve his plans any further.

It had all begun when his friend and strongest critic, Mir Quasim, told him that the Emperor had sent word far and wide for an exceptional architect.

One who could create a magnificent tribute to love. When Ustad Ahmad heard of the Emperor’s offer, he was elated. This was the moment he had waited for. Finally, the world would know his worth. The Emperor would embrace him fondly when he saw his plan; he would crown him Nadir-ul-Asr (Wonder of the Age).

Of course, it would have to be a big idea, something deserving of the Emperor, something that would be talked about for centuries to come. Not one of these gaudy constructions or trivial ideas that caught people’s fancy for a while, then disappeared like a ship in the night. As he slipped a fine silk shawl on top of his pyjama and kurta, Ustad Ahmad took a long, hard look at himself in front of the mirror. ‘Quite presentable even if I say so myself,’ he thought, and then saying one last quiet prayer, he set out of the house.

Though the ride to the palace was not long, Ustad Ahmad was glad to have the company of his servant, Sajid. The old faithful had accompanied him on horseback all the way from Lahore, carrying his bags and the precious plans everywhere. As Ustad Ahmad straddled his horse, a terrible thought struck him: ‘What if the Emperor didn’t like his idea?’ For the first time, he was faced with the possibility of failure. As the horse cantered slowly down the road, people stared at the handsome figure, but Ustad Ahmad was too lost in his thoughts to notice them.

The Emperor was a learned man and surely he would be able to tell the difference between a frivolous execution and an idea that could make the planets stop in their tracks. On the other hand, there was so much ugly, trivial work floating around nowadays, it made Ustad Ahmad cringe. Most people mistook a gaudy, florid exterior for great architecture, even bestowing showers of compliments and riches on its creator. A few years later, another fad would ‘rock the market’ and the building and its creator would be treated like a bowlful of cold ‘nihari’. Certainly, these lurid designs got people’s attention and even made some people very rich. But no one remembered a building for its festooned front or ornate pillars.

This didn’t mean that Ustad Ahmad didn’t like ornate work; in fact, he was a great admirer of the Persian masters who had perfected this art. But this was not the basis for judging great work. Was there an overwhelming idea or vision that held all those grandiose designs and festoons together? These thoughts and more clashed and tossed about in Ustad Ahmad’s head as he rode into the Emperor’s palace. Shaking himself out of the muddle, he dismounted from his horse and went over the presentation in his head once again. He was sure he could charm the royal pyjamas off the Emperor once he began – after all, this was no ordinary idea.

Shah Alam, the Emperor’s trusted lieutenant, greeted him in the central hall that led to the durbar. A man whose sense of aesthetics would make a eunuch look chic. Tall and lanky with gaunt cheeks and a wispy beard that shook lightly as he spoke, Shah Alam greeted him with a bow, ‘Welcome, Ustad Ahmad, our friend, Mir Quasim, has spoken highly of you. The Emperor will meet you soon – he is going through yet another presentation at the moment.’ Ustad Ahmad bowed graciously in return, ‘Oh! That’s not a problem. I shall be seated here on this couch till you call me.’ He could almost hear the squelch of oil in the man’s voice and it made him very uncomfortable. He was very glad to see Shah Alam retreat to the durbar.

He had barely seated himself on the couch when the durbar doors opened and a group of men stepped out. Two of them were obviously courtiers, conspicuous by their ornate kurtas and polished scabbards. Ustad Ahmad stood up politely as they walked towards him. He now recognised the other man as Aseem Sheikh, the renowned architect from Awadh. His unusually flamboyant sense of dressing was a big hit among the noblemen in Delhi. And his ‘showstopper’ creations were splattered across every tabloid.

Aseem Sheikh made an extravagant bow that went along with his fuchsia turban and kurta, ‘Ustad Ahmad, how wonderful to see you in Delhi, it must be a refreshing break from dreary Lahore.’

‘Well, it certainly is an interesting place,’ began Ustad Ahmad.

‘Interesting… what a quaint phrase!’ squealed Aseem Sheikh, going into peals of laughter. ‘Anyway, all the best for your presentation. I am sure the Emperor will look forward to seeing some good old solid creative work.’ So saying, he sashayed down the hall to the exit.

Entering the durbar for the first time, Ustad Ahmad was awestruck by its beauty. The magnificent chandeliers, the ornate stairway that led to the imperial throne and the rich Persian carpets that covered almost the entire floor. With trembling hands, he placed the box that contained building material samples on a table near the throne. But the large roll of parchment he refused to unravel till the Emperor himself entered. He didn’t have to wait long; the Emperor soon emerged from his chambers followed by a small entourage of servants and ministers. He looked sombre and frail, thought Ustad Ahmad, as he bowed low before the Emperor with profound respect.

Shah Alam made the customary introduction, ‘Jahanpanah, may I present Ustad Ahmad, the accomplished architect who has come all the way from Lahore?’ Ustad Ahmad looked closely at the Emperor for any sign of recognition, but there was none.

Nonetheless, the Emperor nodded politely, asking him to proceed. Ustad Ahmad began with a treatise on love and how few men are fortunate enough to find it. He could tell the Emperor was moved – his plan was working perfectly. ‘No matter which corner of the world people are from, Jahanpanah, this monument must stand as a symbol of eternal love and…’

‘Yes, we know that, can we see your idea now?’ interrupted Shah Alam, his nasal voice rudely cutting through the presentation. Ustad Ahmad paused for a minute, his flow of thought interrupted, ‘Er, certainly… Jahanpanah, rolled up in my hands is a plan for the most magnificent mausoleum the world has ever seen.’

‘Mausoleum?’ inquired the Emperor quizzically. ‘A resting place or sepulchre, Jahanpanah,’ smiled Shah Alam sarcastically, ‘not very original.’

‘Oh, but this is no ordinary mausoleum, Jahanpanah,’ said Ustad Ahmad excitedly, unfurling the 12 feet of parchment with a flourish. ‘It will be made of the purest white marble; its beauty will be almost supernatural, transcending culture and history for centuries to come. It will speak with a voice of its own to visitors from all over the world of feelings that are common to all humanity.’

The Emperor made a strange grunt and Shah Alam whispered something in his ear. Undeterred, Ustad Ahmad proceeded to describe his masterpiece. ‘Each element in the architectural design stands on its own and perfectly integrates with the main structure. It uses principles of self-replicating geometry of architectural elements.’ ‘Yes, yes, but where are the fountains?’ quipped Shah Alam.

‘Fountains?’ said Ustad Ahmad, bewildered.

‘Yes, have you not considered dancing fountains that spray water in myriad colours?’ Shah Alam persisted.

‘No. I must admit I have not. How can fountains speak of eternal love?’ questioned Ustad Alam. ‘But everyone is using fountains nowadays, people love them and they look quite stunning,’ observed the Emperor. Ustad Ahmad felt his heart sink. ‘Jahanpanah, every piece of marble will speak to the visitors that will throng the mausoleum. The four tall minarets that corner the majestic dome in the centre will be a beacon – a metaphor for pure, unadulterated love.’

‘Yes, but marble is old fashioned. Aseem Sheikh presented us with a most impressive idea, a magnificent structure made from glass with dancing fountains all around,’ deliberated Shah Alam.

‘With due apologies, sire,’ persisted Ustad Ahmad, ‘but you are unable to see the largeness of the idea. Imagine, if you will, the splendid sight of this mausoleum in the moonlight, like a lyrical love song.’

‘And how long will this ‘splendid’ project take?’ sneered Shah Alam. Ustad Ahmad paused, ‘At least 15 years, Your Majesty.’ ‘Fifteen?’ blurted the Emperor, sitting straight on his throne. ‘This is preposterous, Jahanpanah,’ said Shah Alam, looking triumphantly at Ustad Ahmad.

‘All great ideas need time, Jahanpanah,’ pleaded Ustad Ahmad. ‘Stay with the central beauty of the idea and see into the future, it will be worth every gem stone, every drop of sweat.’

‘But I don’t have the time. Who knows when I will die!’ chided the Emperor. ‘Allah forbid that, Your Majesty, but this idea will immortalise your love,’ begged Ustad Ahmad passionately.

Shah Alam butted in again, ‘Honestly, Jahanpanah, the very idea is ludicrous. Aseem Sheikh promised us he would have his glass marvel ready in a year, with workers working round the clock. Must we bear this any more?’

The Emperor nodded in agreement. ‘He’s right, Ustad Ahmad, thank you for your big ideas, but we honestly don’t have the time.’

Ustad Ahmad felt the earth open up below his feet; his magnificent plan was suddenly crumbling into unrecognisable pieces. His legs felt weak beneath him, his heart seemed to beat like a maniacal beast inside his chest.

Summoning up all his strength to recover from the defeat, he quietly rolled up the large parchment and bowed slowly before the Emperor. ‘As you wish, Jahanpanah, may Allah grant you a long life!’ Shah Alam stepped down to escort him out of the durbar as he retreated softly to the exit. Once they were at the large, ornate, silver doors, Shah Alam smiled condescendingly at him, ‘Ustad Ahmad, if you are open to the idea, I could speak to Aseem Sheikh to allow you to partner him on his project.’

Ustad Ahmad stopped and turned to him slowly, ‘That will not be necessary, sire, the world has already lost its biggest idea ever.’ So saying, he placed the crumpled parchment in his hands and strode out of the durbar hall.

(The writer is a creative director with Ambience Publicis, Mumbai. You can write to him at rohit.malkani@publicisindia.com)

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