With them the seed of wisdom did I sow, And with mine own hand wrought to make it grow And this was all the harvest that I’d reaped, “I came like water and like wind I go” – The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

 Dreams unravel our consciousness but they are also discreet. Light, love, romance, darkness, wisdom and serendipity are a colourful combination of the experiences we undergo in our waking lives and those we wish to undergo in our sleeping lives. Such are dreams; a link between what we know, wish to know or might unknowingly know. When they are in a state of real transformation, they might be vague in their actuality but they also induce a romantic notion simply because of the courage required to undergo that transformation.

 Field Marshall Kaiser Shamsher Jung Bahadur Rana’s, ‘Garden of Dreams’ is one such transformation and this is an unravelling of a vintage from a vantage. Nestled near the tourist hub of Thamel, the walled ‘Garden of Dreams’ in the adjacent Kaiser Mahal bears testimony to Field Marshall Rana’s enduring legacy. The sprawling oasis of his garden stands apart as a rare, calm delight in a bustling metropolis allowing us perhaps, to momentarily forget about the everyday grind in this mundane urban life and to dream.

Much of the architectural arrangement of this garden is styled in a quintessential Edwardian fashion which is in contrast with its rather informal and natural arrangement of plants and is more consistent with the garden designs prevalent in the 1st quarter of the 20th century. Although its overarching architecture is predominantly European, it also includes subtle, improvised aspects of many other cultures, i.e. the oriental moon gate, an amphitheatre, a Japanese styled seating area, a rotunda, a hybrid of Laxmi and Nike and a very Hindu portrait of Radha-Krishna on a stained glass window in the main building of the garden enclosure.

Strolling along the paved pathways, discovering the garden from various vintage, vantage points leads us to the ensemble of pavilions, which make up a significant proportion of the garden’s architecture. These neo-classical pavilions are unique as they represent the six cyclical seasons of Nepal, aptly named Grishma (Summer), Barkha (Monsoon), Sharad (Early Winter), Hemanta (Winter), Shishir (Early Spring) and Basanta (Spring) but now only three remain although their structural remains can still be seen. The central fountain pool is the focal point of this enclosure, reflecting the silent façade of the spring pavilion nearby. Many of the original designs and plantings still remain in place and it will look otherworldly when decked up with propane flames on the stone lotuses by eventide. This pool is merely one reflection that exemplifies its creator’s romantic nature, which is evident from all over the garden’s landscape.

For the garden’s financial upkeep and income, Basanta Cafe will be housed in the renovated Spring Pavilion. This restoration of the garden from a private realm to a recreational venue for the general public, also include some new and interesting features whose contemporary vintage is blended into its historic ambience. A number of water bodies and fountains have been added to the only original pond, and a new open-air theatre has been created for cultural performances and public or private events that now can be hosted for a fee.

Moving back to the new architectural aspects, there is a clever and innovative “hidden garden” between two high and almost parallel walls which converge over a series of stepped waterfalls into a seemingly endless perspective. This imaginative use of a hitherto empty but well-shaded space is pleasing to the senses not only for its cool air on hot days, but also because the sound of the cascading water masks the jarring street noise from outside. The most intriguing aspect in this garden is a fusion of the Hindu goddess of wealth, Laxmi and the Greek goddess of triumph and victory, Nike, in the form of a single statue and it leads us to a delightful anecdote. Laxmi’s disposition is symbolized by coins flowing from one hand and a lotus of purity in the other while the rest of the statue is conceived from the bust of Nike located at the Louvre in Paris. This is probably the most ingenious symbolism and synergy of east and west and also happens to further elaborate Kaiser Shamsher’s infamous win in a gambling game against his father, which gave him the financial motive to design the garden of his dreams.

Last but not the least is the Sufi inscription of Omar Khayyam in the inner wall of the Basanta Pavilion. The romanticism of this garden raises many intriguing questions about the conceiver. Its architectural fusion speaks about his well-read, well-traveled persona but also about his probable dream of gelling all world cultures into a single green space or a definitive symbolic paradigm. Perhaps, there was more to him than books, learning and travel.

Ah Love, could thou and I with fate conspire To grasp this sorry scheme of things entire. Would not we shatter it to bits- and then Re-mould it nearer to the heart’s desire! Ah, Moon of my delight, who know’st no wane The moon of heaven is rising once again How oft hereafter rising shall she look Through this same garden after me- in vain! – The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

The question is: can you comprehend musical sound? Is it reflected by the relentless pursuit of memorabilia and concerts, recognition and repetition of guitar notes or the alphabetical summary of chords? Are those really the parameters that gauge its understanding? Is its meaning confined to acoustic or electronic sounds? Is it about being able to recognize musicians by their Christian names? Is it about crashing gigs and sharing musical notes? Is the definition of sound confined to music or is there more to it than we care to admit?

Isn’t it really all about what sound does to us rather than what we do to it? When we receive more than we can give, we are overwhelmed by this imbalance. A looming, holistic shadow falls on us and we play and dance in its shade. For us to enjoy anything, it must overwhelm us. One beep, one twinge can turn us upside down and inside out. It takes one sound to break the silence. The presence as well as the absence of sound is overwhelming. So can we fathom its depth?

Sound permeates and transfuses through all matter – tangible and intangible – holding and releasing us in every moment. The smile it brings to our tired, weary lips is cosmic, moving from one heart to another. It transcends from the known to the unknown and vice versa in a relentless pursuit of its muse. It finds you without seeking.

Art is a song about the separation of the levels of consciousness and not of its attainment. If it was absolute, it would be speechless, indescribable, unpronounced and complete. There’d be no need for artists, art critics, littérateurs or collectors. Art is not a medium but a perpetual disconnect between the unknown and us. When parallels become one, when you can’t tell where art ends and the artist begins; that level of eternal freedom is a timeless drop in a euphoric vortex of all that is known and unknown. The distance between the artist and eternity is what keeps us creative. Artists fan their passion; indulge in their muse, perform a ritualistic song and dance to appease their art. They inculcate immense joy and pain, striking at the periphery of creation and imagination. Watching an artist at work is an art in itself. Their subtle discoveries are a joyful pain and a painful joy.

Art slowly devours us in its womb of magical lights and stratospheric delights. Its gift is sacrosanct and it resonates all around and within us. With the advent of technology, the medium of artistic expression chosen by us has a bearing over the influence it has over its audience but it does not undermine the energy of art in itself. Art in its primitive manifestation or its high-tech affluence remains an integral part of our evolution, and a wider or lesser audience does not deter its resonance. It remains a launch pad to another alternative reality. It disguises its secrets and remains a mystery. The most onerous art for any artist is to unleash his/her private pain and joy, and transform it into public imagination. The line separating the private and the public is thin and elusive, and its harmonious equilibrium creates meaningful Art. This gap between what we know and what we strive to know is a universe in itself. It is a space that elucidates creativity, transforming our lives into a semblance of meaning and worthiness.

Artists and musicians have consistently tickled this space, which is why they’re able to “create”. You cannot create something that is already known. Passion is one of many mystical intangibles that exist in this space. Understanding of the inner universe and the outer universe will remain incomplete and it must remain so, for us to experience spiritual and mystical experiences – incompletion is the key to creation.

Passion by itself is incontrovertibly without description. It has its own meaning and the performance of art is an attempt to decipher its meaning or at least, get close to it. It remains a mystery and keeps the artist and the audience craving for more. Passion is free but the passionate one is bound by it and its many manifestations. Passion is a floating, snarling energy omnipresent and omniscience. It exists in a dot as well as the mysterious vastness of the universe. The obscurity of passion is its attractiveness and this meager attempt on my behalf to conjure some kind of meaning is almost laughable. An absolute, universal description of passion and a complete translation of its meaning would cease the existence of art. Such is the supremacy of its presence. Tiptoeing and dancing on the edge of every line drawn on paper and following its contours to wherever it may lead us, is the closest we can get to heaven on earth. Dance of the virtuoso in sonic waves, immersed in the instrument’s primal trance and following the sound to its ephemeral highs and lows is a musical epiphany. For those who understand artistic expressions, life exists between absolute meaning and absolute meaninglessness in a state of endearing limbo…

…An extract from a yet-to-be published book