Jaipur: Walled/ Pink City
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Mathura Walon Ki Haveli
Ashish Mehta, August 20, 2025: The Times of India
During its golden days, Mathura Walon Ki Haveli — nestled in the heart of Jaipur’s Walled City — was not just a building, but a House of Song, where the strains of riyaz began before the crack of dawn and continued deep into the night, filling each of its many rooms with mellifluous harmony. Today, the 19th Century mansion, which has produced stalwarts of Hindustani classical music, stares at an uncertain future, hidden under layers of flaking paint and a crumbling facade, a place torn by the fight between artistry and livelihood worries — where the latter is clearly winning.
For more than 100 years, the haveli, behind the bustling Ghat Gate, has been a sacred seat of the gurushishya tradition, a musical sanctuary that has shaped some of India’s finest classical voices — including Padma Shris Ahmed Hussain and Mohammed Hussain, the ghazal maestros whose voices bridged classical purity with mass appeal.
The haveli’s legacy began when Ustaad Jamal Baksh Khan and Chain Mohammed, along with their families, were brought to Jaipur by Sawai Ram Singh II from their native Vrindavan in 1890. They were gifted Mathura Walon Ki Haveli with one condition: it should remain a centre of music. The passion for music among the families, however, has been overshadowed by the need to focus on livelihood. “This haveli was our gurukul, our temple,” says Mohammed Hussain, now in his 70s. “We didn’t choose music. We were born into it, moulded by it.”
In the 1950s, a typical day in the haveli started long before the crack of dawn, when children, some as young as five, were woken up for riyaz — the rigorous practice that defines classical training. Music was not considered a profession; it was a discipline, a path toward spiritual excellence.
“Our father, Ustad Afzal Hussain Khan, used to say, ‘Never become a copycat in music. The way a child starts walking on his own, a musician should also start singing in his own way’,” recalls Ahmed Hussain. The duo moved from Mathura Walon Ki Haveli in 1965, when their father got a house near Ramgad Mode in the Walled City. “Even when we sleep at night, memories of the haveli come as a flashback,” says Ahmed Hussain.
Today, the haveli is home to over 150 families, its once spacious rooms now cramped and subdivided. Satellite dishes sprout from delicately carved balconies, and the music room where taans once soared is now a modest madrassa. For many young artistes, music remains a passion but no longer a fulltime pursuit. Financial hardship, lack of institutional support, and the rising cost of living have turned dreams into compromises.
Azmat Hussain, a young vocalist and winner of Sa Re Ga Ma Pa Li’l Champs, trained here. “ Kismat ki bhi baat hai (It’s a matter of luck),” he says, acknowledging the challenges faced by the current generation. “I don’t think we have the atmosphere our elders had in the haveli. There is no dedicated space left for riyaz.”
A new generation of musicians, such as keyboardist Rehbar Hussain and vocalist Mohammed Qasim, continue to carry the torch, but do so while walking a tightrope between art and survival. “We’re working on our own terms, but true riyaz is missing,” Rehbar admits. Private tuition, digital platforms, and commercial gigs now replace the immersive, lifelong mentorship that the haveli once offered.
Despite its historical and cultural significance, Mathura Walon Ki Haveli is not a protected heritage site. “This place is not just our home. It’s a cultural landmark,” says Rehman, a singer who performs in India and abroad. “But nobody from the govt has come here to ask what we need. We’re preserving an entire tradition on our own.”
Artistes here don’t want charity, just an opportunity. Mohammed Qasim, a young singer, believes the foundation still exists: “The talent is there. The fire is there. We just need the right platform and guidance.”
