The unfinished Memorial

Speaking recently at a literary festival on the grounds of Kolkata’s magnificent Victoria Memorial, built in white Makrana marble between 1906 and 1921, I was struck by the incongruity of my situation. I was speaking of my new book, An Era of Darkness: the British Empire in India, in the shadow of an edifice dedicated to the very empire I was decrying, and named in memory of Queen Victoria (1819–1901), the first British Queen (and, later Empress) of India.

The Memorial was built to commemorate and celebrate the British Empire. Viceroy Lord Curzon had declared the need for “a building, stately, spacious, monumental and grand, to which every newcomer in Calcutta will turn, to which all the resident population, European and Native, will flock, where all classes will learn the lessons of history, and see revived before their eyes the marvels of the past.”

In keeping with his vision, the Memorial is now a museum and tourist destination. Its 25 galleries feature decorous portraits of Victoria and Prince Albert, and paintings illustrating their lives, a collection of watercolours of Indian scenes by Victorian artists Thomas and William Daniell, and a 19th century oil painting of the state entry of Edward VII, then Prince of Wales, into Jaipur in 1876. Elsewhere, there are arms and suits of armour, some rare antiquarian books and assorted colonial memorabilia, not all of it memorable.

I do not particularly object to all of it, but I find it grossly inadequate. As a museum, the Memorial is mediocre. Except for the Daniells, its paintings are mainly copies; the originals hang in London. The few originals are largely undistinguished, and are there only because they exalt the Raj. As a depiction of the British Empire, the Memorial omits the harsh realities of colonial rule. It does not even fully convey the pomp and splendour of the Raj. The most impressive thing about the Memorial is the building itself.

And, of course, as with everything else the British built in India, from the railways to Rashtrapati Bhavan, the Indians paid for it. The “princes and people of India”, the official website of the Memorial explains, “responded generously to Curzon's appeal for funds”. The total cost of construction—Rs 1.05 crore in 1906—was entirely derived from their “voluntary” subscriptions. Indians paid for their own oppression, and even for the conquest of far-off peoples. (Our ancestors even largely financed the British participation in WW I.)

So, isn’t it time Indians finally got their money’s worth for the Memorial? Take Curzon’s declared purpose and reverse its intent. The Memorial should be converted into a national museum to British colonialism—its exactions and cruelties, its loot and expropriation, its atrocities and racism.

One gallery should show how India, one of the world’s richest countries with 27 per cent of global GDP in 1700, was reduced to one of the world’s poorest when the British left. Another might be devoted to the Revolt of 1857 and the horrific reprisals that ensued; one more should depict the Jallianwala Bagh massacre. A third should show how the railways were built for the profit of the British and reveal the racism with which they were run. Oil paintings, instead of showing dainty British aristocrats or princes haughtily surveying their spoils, might portray Mangal Pandey being blown from the mouth of a British cannon, or Lala Lajpat Rai being beaten on the head by a red-faced British policeman.

There is much our young people need to learn about the colonial past, and the Victoria Memorial is the perfect place to teach it to them. This magnificent monument to the monstrosity of imperial rule is crying out for a worthwhile purpose. Let us, for the first time in a century, put it to use for the nation. If we start now, the new exhibits can be ready to be unveiled in time for the building’s centenary in 2021.