From Lucknow to Calcutta, he gave the winds a story to tell.
The thing about culture is that it travels. Over history, it has mostly been through traders, sometimes through colonizers, and often through kings and nawabs. Just like India absorbed countless British customs over time, it also saw its own cultural gems move from one region to another. When Wajid Ali Shah, the exiled Nawab of Lucknow, came to Calcutta, he didn’t come empty-handed. Everyone knows that’s how Awadhi biryani landed in the City of Joy. But his influence didn’t stop at food. Shah brought with him a deep love for kite flying, a royal pastime that soon found new life in the skies of Bengal. Under his patronage, what was once a personal passion turned into a local craze. Today, kite flying is a familiar joy across Kolkata, especially among children. But few know the fascinating story of how it took off here.
So this is the story of a king without a throne, who gave Calcutta a new cultural high.
Born on July 30, 1822, Wajid Ali Shah was a man of contradictions: an aesthete on the throne, a ruler more drawn to ghazals than governance. When he took over as the eleventh Nawab of Awadh in 1847, the kingdom was already being pulled apart by colonial interests. But inside his palace in Lucknow, time stood still. The air resonated with the music of sitars, the beats of Kathak dancers, and verses penned under his poetic name, “Akhtar.”
While British officials branded him an ineffective ruler, accusing him of indulgence and political naiveté, modern historians such as Rosie Llewellyn-Jones have pushed back against that image. Wajid Ali Shah, they argue, was deeply invested in judicial and administrative reforms, but the colonial appetite for annexation needed a scapegoat. And so, in 1856, using the Doctrine of Lapse and charges of misrule as pretext, the East India Company annexed Awadh and sent him into exile.
He arrived in Calcutta with a broken heart but a full entourage. In Metiabruz, he built a cultural refuge, miniature palaces like Murassa Manzil and Asad Manzil, and a life that mirrored the old Lucknow court. Here, kites took on new meaning thanks to him.
In 19th-century Lucknow, kite flying (or patang baazi) was an elegant duel in the sky, or more precisely, a coded language of challenge and artistry. Under Wajid Ali Shah, this tradition flourished enormously. The patangs were small marvels: their bamboo frames light but sturdy, the paper often handmade, and the manjha (string) coated with powdered glass for mid-air combat.
These battles were public events during festivals like Basant Panchami and Makar Sankranti, and they carried poetic flair. Some kites were inscribed with verses, others with witty taunts. To cut an opponent’s kite with one’s own was to win honor; to retrieve a falling kite was a prize in itself.
Nawab Wajid Ali Shah, ex-King of Awadh, in old age. Picture taken in Garden Reach, Calcutta pic.twitter.com/AADEG96VMX
— نکھل کمار (@niksez) September 6, 2014
Nawab Wajid Ali Shah in Garden Reach, Calcutta.
The Nawab didn’t treat kite flying as idle amusement; rather, it was an extension of his artistic soul. For him, the sky was an open canvas, with the kites being metaphors for liberation. At a time when colonial control was tightening its grip, watching a kite rise was an act of rebellion, which the Nawab would carry with him across state lines and into exile.
When Wajid Ali Shah disembarked from the steamer General McLeod in Calcutta on May 13, 1856, he was met not with pomp but uncertainty. Stripped of his kingdom, he was allowed a generous pension, yet kept under surveillance. Still, he wasted no time in reviving the world he had lost.
Metiabruz became his new court, with music, dance, poetry, and culinary delights. Here, the Nawab resumed his favorite pastime, but now it took on even deeper meaning. Grand kite-flying competitions became regular affairs. Legend has it that he tied coins to his kites, rewarding anyone who could retrieve one with double the prize. Whether fact or fable, the stories capture his flair and his yearning to give back joy.
#Picture | Azadari procession in Calcutta #India during Wajid Ali Shah era! pic.twitter.com/dkyxULvw7f
— Syed Abbas (@SyedAbbasHs) September 17, 2014
(Credit: Syed Abbas)
The skies over the Hooghly transformed with it. Vibrant patangs danced in the humid Calcutta air, mimicking the twirls of Kathak dancers, their strings tugged not only by hand but by memory. The Nawab had lost his land, but in the sky, he found a space that no empire could annex.
What began as a royal hobby in Metiabruz quickly found eager imitators across the city. Curious Bengalis (noblemen, traders, and children alike) took to their rooftops, learning the tricks of the manjha and the thrill of shouting “Woh kaata!” as a rival kite spiraled down.
Many artisans who had followed Wajid Ali Shah from Lucknow set up shop in Calcutta, especially in the bylanes of Metiabruz. They handcrafted kites using traditional Awadhi methods, but soon local influences crept in. The Bengali twist meant brighter colors, more elaborate motifs, and lighter frames better suited to Calcutta’s wind patterns.
As the years passed, kite flying became a popular community event, especially during festivals like Vishwakarma Puja. Competitions offered prize money, encouraging even more participation. The art of kite-making grew into a cottage industry, providing a livelihood to thousands, particularly women who stitched kites from home.
By the turn of the 20th century, what had once been a Nawabi nostalgia had rooted itself in Bengal’s cultural soil.
Fast forward to today, and Calcutta’s skyline still flutters with the legacy of a forgotten king. On festive days, particularly during Vishwakarma Puja and Independence Day, children and teenagers fill rooftops, kites in hand, most unaware of the royal origins behind their playful tradition.
In Metiabruz, the kite-making tradition continues. Small workshops (many run by women) produce thousands of kites each season. While modern versions often use plastic and synthetic threads, the essence remains. According to cultural historian Shaikh Sohailuddin Siddiqui, who leads heritage tours in the area, “Wajid Ali Shah didn’t just bring kites to Calcutta. He gave the city a way to look up.”
Annual kite festivals now dot the city’s cultural calendar. Though few reference the Nawab directly, his influence is evident in the joy of kite-flying and the taste of Kolkata Biryani.
Wajid Ali Shah arrived in Calcutta as a fallen ruler, but he didn’t arrive empty-handed. He gave Calcutta a way to rise above.
