Meet the social media influencers who are preserving India’s history and culture by evoking nostalgia

It’s not just travelling down memory lane, but the lack of travel and wanderlust that played in a part in inspiring the uptick of interest in aesthetically curated pages that revive history. The pandemic provided many of us with an opportunity to rediscover our hometowns and surrounds, keeping the spark of discovery alive—or even igniting it for the first time. Shah initially started his Instagram page, Sikkawala (which translates to “the coin man”), as a way to document his pre-2020 travel, but it quickly turned into a platform to celebrate lesser-known local heritage sites and buildings. “The best way to travel is domestic tourism,” Delhi-based Shah says. “India as a country is so rich with heritage; why would you neglect it?”

Shah’s interest in history began when he started collecting commemorative and Mughal-era coins when he was five years old, which continued through his teenage years. During the pandemic, he further indulged that interest by exploring Delhi and surrounding areas, such as the city of Meerut in western Uttar Pradesh, where he stumbled across many sites he was completely unaware existed. One example is the 18th-century palace occupied by Begum Samru, a woman known as India’s only Catholic leader, who ruled the principality of Sardhana after the death of her husband, a European mercenary. The palace, which is now a functioning seminary, contains unique features including a hammam, and an execution room directly adjacent to the main chamber. Perhaps because it functions as a seminary rather than a marketed historical site for tourists, its historical relevance remains relatively unknown, even for a history buff like Shah. “It was such an interesting and unexpected encounter because people don’t know or talk about it,” he says. “But it’s good to know your own local history outside what history books teach you.” 

Soon after creating his page, Shah began giving guided heritage tours at the weekend, sharing the little-known stories of monuments and sites he’d discovered. “I get a lot of feedback, from people who never enjoyed history classes, that they like it when they see history from the perspective of a normal person, from someone living in the 18th or 19th century, who wasn’t necessarily a well-known historical figure.” 

Another example is the tomb of Emperor Akbar, the foster brother of the most celebrated Mughal-era ruler, which was turned into a summer house in the 19th century by a Brit who had bought it. He eventually turned it into a bed and breakfast—Delhi’s first—and rented rooms to other Brits.

It’s not just in buildings that unusual stories can be found: traditional customs and crafts, and particularly those whose practice is declining, are also important souvenirs of times past. Umar recently shared footage of artisans known as bone carvers, who carve artwork out of bones. He also discovered stucco work—it’s “nothing like any other stucco work I’ve seen before”—on an imambara, or congregation hall for Shia Muslims, in Khairabad, a town 70km outside Lucknow. The monument was built for a nawab, or nobleman, by his tailor, known as Makka Darzi. “It’s dilapidated though,” says Umar of the structure and its distinctive stucco work. “It falls off if no one takes care of it.” 

Another craft Umar hopes to protect through his work is chikankari, an elegant form of embroidery for which Lucknow is renowned. Umar made a video breaking down the processes involved in making it, from cutting the fabric to block making to block printing, right through to embroidery. The feedback he received was largely of surprise reactions and from people who expressed they would no longer bargain down the prices of these pieces. “It’s interesting how they [the Instagram posts] change people’s perspective,” Umar observes. “They realise that how much time, art, effort and [how many] hands were involved in making a piece of work.” 

What both men provide is a reminder to slow down and appreciate the craft, skill and time required to create things that last, in stark contrast to the majority of social media content, which is fleeting and often frazzling. Umar asks: “If you see something that really fast, flashy, and changing every second, how can you focus on the actual object of the post? In that space [social media], if you get to see something that is slow-paced, that makes you stop and actually click on the caption and read it, then you might actually get some value out of it.” 

Shah similarly believes that people seek accounts like his—that cultivate retrospective nostalgia—in reaction to stressful lifestyles and “things being generally messed up” in the world. “A lot of things that people are romanticising right now are very anti-capitalistic. And given a choice”—if it weren’t necessary to earn money to live—“humans tend to choose things which are more anti-capitalist.” 

Shah’s biggest takeaway from starting his page has been the realisation that he can serve as a voice for lost histories, and sharing these stories and memories can help forge connections. He recalls a time he once posted about a small estate in Faruknagar, an hour away from Delhi, which had belonged to a nawab from Balochistan, a region which today is split between Pakistan, Iran and Afghanistan. Balochi people on Instagram messaged to thank him for sharing their stories, and for revealing the layered and diverse history that spans present-day South Asia. “History, whether in a good way or bad way, makes people connect,” Shah reflects. “We’re carrying the same legacies, the same kind of stories.”

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