In place of a turban, a safari hat crowns the Maharaja’s head. As if weary of pearls and emeralds, the Maharani—seated beside him—wears a glowing smile instead.The striking black-and-white photo of Indore’s royal couple in their minimalist chic—he in sunglasses and a blazer, coolly gazing out of his car; she, beautiful and jacket-shrouded, glancing shyly at the camera—was taken in 1933 by a German architect who understood their flair for understatement.By then, Berlin-based Eckart Muthesius spent over three years building the style-forward, young duo a sleek palace without a dome, a “temple of avant-garde” that was India’s—perhaps Asia’s—first centrally air-conditioned home.Even as external affairs minister S Jaishankar recently flew to Germany to strengthen diplomatic ties, an exhibition in Mumbai is showcasing a much older dialogue between the two nations, albeit in the realm of architecture.Sepia images on the green walls of the Kamalnayan Bajaj Gallery in Byculla’s Dr Bhau Daji Lad Museum trace the century-old friendship between Yeshwant Rao Holkar II of Indore, his wife Sanyogita, and Muthesius—a bond that gave India one of its earliest modernist buildings: Manik Bagh.Commissioned amid the global economic crisis of 1930 by the slim, English-educated Maharaja who met like-minded Muthesius in Oxford in the 1920s, “Manik Bagh was far ahead of its time,” says Raffael Dedo Gadebusch, head of the Asian Art Museum in Berlin who curated the showcase. Built long before Le Corbusier’s Chandigarh, “the palace was a so-called Gesamtkunstwerk,” says Gadebusch, the curator of the current exhibition, using the German term for a ‘total work of art’. “It was a synthesis of architecture, arts, and design like hardly any other building in that period,” he adds, comparing the palace—with its sleek lines and pitched roof—to The Bauhaus, the groundbreaking steel-and-glass art school designed by architect Walter Gropius in 1926.Art Deco buildings were just beginning to bloom along Mumbai’s Marine Drive in 1933 when the palace—designed in the International Style—was dubbed by the media a “fairy tale palace of modernism”. With just nine bedrooms and twenty-four rooms in all, “..this really was a family home rather than a Maharaja’s palace,” wrote Shivaji Rao “Richard” Holkar, the Maharaja’s son from his third marriage, in the run-up to the 2019 Paris exhibition on his father titled ‘Modern Maharajah’.Sent to England at the behest of the British at the age of 12, Yeshwant Holkar II returned to India at age 17 to ascend the throne. By the time he turned 22, he commissioned Muthesius to create his vision of a modernist palace—an Art Deco and Bauhaus-inspired fantasy called Manik Bagh. Muthesius, the son of renowned architect Hermann Muthesius, grew up in a country home frequented by intellectual luminaries such as Albert Einstein. His love of detail came from his mother, a singer and self-taught interior designer.Alongside little-known watercolours, drawings, and design studies by Muthesius, the show features 50 rare vintage photographs by Muthesius, German photographer Emil Leitner, and American visual artist Man Ray, who famously captured the royal couple between moments of affection. Sourced from collections loaned by art patrons Taimur Hassan and Prahlad Bubbar, the images highlight curated objects from the palace, crafted by avant-garde designers who shared Muthesius’s minimalist vision.The use of already produced furniture—like the tubular steel chaise longue by Le Corbusier, red armchairs by brothers Wassili and Hans Luckhardt, and pieces by London’s PEL company—reflected the jazz-music-loving Maharaja’s admiration for the democratic ideals embedded in modernist design. “He was consciously moving away from colonial aesthetics,” points out Gadebusch, who believes the Kamalnayan Bajaj gallery, with its original Art Deco tiles, harmonizes beautifully with the abstract-patterned carpets designed by Ivan da Silva Bruhns, the French-Brazilian visionary known for his innovations in Art Deco textiles.In a picture titled ‘The Machine Room’, the palace’s sophisticated air-conditioning unit, manufactured by Borsig in Berlin, looks like a grungy installation—an echo of the 1920s, when machines commanded their own aesthetic category. “Technically, it was a marvel,” says Gadebusch, about the palace whose water faucets, staircase banisters, light fixtures, and retractable awnings were all produced in Germany as per Muthesius’ strict specifications. Instead of wallpaper, the walls were painted with pigments mixed with glass or metal particles. Doors and windows employed steel frames and thick tinted glass—unprecedented in Asian architecture. Lighting elements, such as the lamps above the Maharani’s bed and the wall fixture in the Maharaja’s library, were so stark and abstract that, as Gadebusch notes, “they seem to anticipate the minimalism movement of the late 1960s.” This subtle aesthetic even extended to a train Muthesius designed later for the Maharaja, standing in sharp contrast to the ostentatious railcars associated with Indian royalty.When the initial plans and furnishings were unveiled in Berlin in the early 1930s, art critics celebrated it as a “fairy tale palace of modernism”. Later, the palace evolved to blend beauty and utility, featuring innovations such as clear and darkly tinted glass panes set in metal frames to regulate natural light, India’s first air-conditioning system, cubist para vents, pictorial carpets, and vibrantly coloured walls. The circulatory verandas facing the inner courtyard were a thoughtful nod to India’s tropical climate. “My father put his foot down on only one major design element,” wrote Richard Holkar. “Muthesius wanted a flat roof, in line with the modernist idiom of Le Corbusier, but my father insisted it wouldn’t withstand the monsoon. Muthesius relented, designing a sloped roof covered with custom-made green ceramic tiles.International acclaim followed its completion in 1933. The palace became a showcase for modernist masterpieces, and Muthesius was appointed ‘Chief Master Builder’ of Indore. In 1934, he curated an exhibition at Bombay’s Town Hall (now the Asiatic Society of Mumbai), bringing Manik Bagh’s bold aesthetic to the heart of India’s art scene. Even Romanian sculptor Constantin Brancusi became involved, travelling to Indore in 1937 to design a ‘Temple of Love and Peace’ for the royal family. That year, after the sudden death of the young Maharani in a Swiss clinic at age 23, the temple was reimagined as a memorial. Among the standout vintage prints at the exhibition, you will find Brancusi’s iconic ‘Bird in Space’—a sculpture that the Maharaja bought in black marble, white marble, and bronze—soaring in the Maharaja’s living room. A dedicated section showcases other unrealised projects, including a sleek lakeside villa and houseboat in Kashmir.Though Manik Bagh faded from public consciousness following World War II—when Muthesius returned to Germany and Indore merged with the Indian state in 1947—the palace briefly resurfaced in 1970, when French journalist Robert Descharnes stumbled upon it, astonished by its preservation. Some years later, the Indian govt abolished the privileges of the Maharaja families and revoked the state’s obligation to pay them maintenance. As a result, furniture, carpets, and lighting fixtures from their residences found their way—often via circuitous routes—back to Europe. In 1980, Sotheby’s auctioned off many of these items, including rugs and a striking aluminium and chrome bed with built-in glass bookshelves. Among the bidders was designer Yves Saint Laurent, who also sought a pair of distinctive floor lamps.Stripped of his power and forced to adjust to a new socio-political landscape after independence, the Maharaja of Indore married twice more before passing away in Mumbai at age 53. His children and heirs, Usha Devi and Richard Holkar, preserved his legacy. However, after the abolition of privy purses and royal titles in 1976, they were required to hand over Manik Bagh Palace to the govt. Its eclectic European furnishings were sold at auctions and replaced with utilitarian Godrej cupboards now filled with bureaucratic files. Unironically, the former home of a couple who once enjoyed tax-free govt stipends now serves as the headquarters of the central GST and excise commissioner. When the Maharaja’s Mumbai-based grandson, Yeshwant Holkar, visited Manik Bagh last year to invite the commissioner to an exhibition, he found the palace in a state “not befitting of its history or importance.”“It’s important that govt officials are made aware of its heritage so that any renovations are sensitive to its legacy,” says Holkar, who believes the palace could thrive as a museum or a design institute. “Given its global reputation as a modernist icon, the govt could do far more with it.”According to Gadebusch, Manik Bagh remains largely unknown to the Indian public outside design and architecture circles. Yet, it is a remarkable example of Indian patronage of Western design and architecture during the Great Depression. Few are aware of Muthesius’s pivotal role in creating what is arguably India’s most avant-garde residence. “On one hand, it’s saddening to see it fall short of its potential. On the other hand, there’s real hope. Much can still be restored,” says Yeshwant Holkar. “The ball is in the govt’s court.” In place of a turban, a safari hat crowns the Maharaja’s head. As if weary of pearls and emeralds, the Maharani—seated beside him—wears a glowing smile instead.The striking black-and-white photo of Indore’s royal couple in their minimalist chic—he in sunglasses and a blazer, coolly gazing out of his car; she, beautiful and jacket-shrouded, glancing shyly at the camera—was taken in 1933 by a German architect who understood their flair for understatement.By then, Berlin-based Eckart Muthesius spent over three years building the style-forward, young duo a sleek palace without a dome, a “temple of avant-garde” that was India’s—perhaps Asia’s—first centrally air-conditioned home.Even as external affairs minister S Jaishankar recently flew to Germany to strengthen diplomatic ties, an exhibition in Mumbai is showcasing a much older dialogue between the two nations, albeit in the realm of architecture.Sepia images on the green walls of the Kamalnayan Bajaj Gallery in Byculla’s Dr Bhau Daji Lad Museum trace the century-old friendship between Yeshwant Rao Holkar II of Indore, his wife Sanyogita, and Muthesius—a bond that gave India one of its earliest modernist buildings: Manik Bagh.Commissioned amid the global economic crisis of 1930 by the slim, English-educated Maharaja who met like-minded Muthesius in Oxford in the 1920s, “Manik Bagh was far ahead of its time,” says Raffael Dedo Gadebusch, head of the Asian Art Museum in Berlin who curated the showcase. Built long before Le Corbusier’s Chandigarh, “the palace was a so-called Gesamtkunstwerk,” says Gadebusch, the curator of the current exhibition, using the German term for a ‘total work of art’. “It was a synthesis of architecture, arts, and design like hardly any other building in that period,” he adds, comparing the palace—with its sleek lines and pitched roof—to The Bauhaus, the groundbreaking steel-and-glass art school designed by architect Walter Gropius in 1926.Art Deco buildings were just beginning to bloom along Mumbai’s Marine Drive in 1933 when the palace—designed in the International Style—was dubbed by the media a “fairy tale palace of modernism”. With just nine bedrooms and twenty-four rooms in all, “..this really was a family home rather than a Maharaja’s palace,” wrote Shivaji Rao “Richard” Holkar, the Maharaja’s son from his third marriage, in the run-up to the 2019 Paris exhibition on his father titled ‘Modern Maharajah’.Sent to England at the behest of the British at the age of 12, Yeshwant Holkar II returned to India at age 17 to ascend the throne. By the time he turned 22, he commissioned Muthesius to create his vision of a modernist palace—an Art Deco and Bauhaus-inspired fantasy called Manik Bagh. Muthesius, the son of renowned architect Hermann Muthesius, grew up in a country home frequented by intellectual luminaries such as Albert Einstein. His love of detail came from his mother, a singer and self-taught interior designer.Alongside little-known watercolours, drawings, and design studies by Muthesius, the show features 50 rare vintage photographs by Muthesius, German photographer Emil Leitner, and American visual artist Man Ray, who famously captured the royal couple between moments of affection. Sourced from collections loaned by art patrons Taimur Hassan and Prahlad Bubbar, the images highlight curated objects from the palace, crafted by avant-garde designers who shared Muthesius’s minimalist vision.The use of already produced furniture—like the tubular steel chaise longue by Le Corbusier, red armchairs by brothers Wassili and Hans Luckhardt, and pieces by London’s PEL company—reflected the jazz-music-loving Maharaja’s admiration for the democratic ideals embedded in modernist design. “He was consciously moving away from colonial aesthetics,” points out Gadebusch, who believes the Kamalnayan Bajaj gallery, with its original Art Deco tiles, harmonizes beautifully with the abstract-patterned carpets designed by Ivan da Silva Bruhns, the French-Brazilian visionary known for his innovations in Art Deco textiles.In a picture titled ‘The Machine Room’, the palace’s sophisticated air-conditioning unit, manufactured by Borsig in Berlin, looks like a grungy installation—an echo of the 1920s, when machines commanded their own aesthetic category. “Technically, it was a marvel,” says Gadebusch, about the palace whose water faucets, staircase banisters, light fixtures, and retractable awnings were all produced in Germany as per Muthesius’ strict specifications. Instead of wallpaper, the walls were painted with pigments mixed with glass or metal particles. Doors and windows employed steel frames and thick tinted glass—unprecedented in Asian architecture. Lighting elements, such as the lamps above the Maharani’s bed and the wall fixture in the Maharaja’s library, were so stark and abstract that, as Gadebusch notes, “they seem to anticipate the minimalism movement of the late 1960s.” This subtle aesthetic even extended to a train Muthesius designed later for the Maharaja, standing in sharp contrast to the ostentatious railcars associated with Indian royalty.When the initial plans and furnishings were unveiled in Berlin in the early 1930s, art critics celebrated it as a “fairy tale palace of modernism”. Later, the palace evolved to blend beauty and utility, featuring innovations such as clear and darkly tinted glass panes set in metal frames to regulate natural light, India’s first air-conditioning system, cubist para vents, pictorial carpets, and vibrantly coloured walls. The circulatory verandas facing the inner courtyard were a thoughtful nod to India’s tropical climate. “My father put his foot down on only one major design element,” wrote Richard Holkar. “Muthesius wanted a flat roof, in line with the modernist idiom of Le Corbusier, but my father insisted it wouldn’t withstand the monsoon. Muthesius relented, designing a sloped roof covered with custom-made green ceramic tiles.International acclaim followed its completion in 1933. The palace became a showcase for modernist masterpieces, and Muthesius was appointed ‘Chief Master Builder’ of Indore. In 1934, he curated an exhibition at Bombay’s Town Hall (now the Asiatic Society of Mumbai), bringing Manik Bagh’s bold aesthetic to the heart of India’s art scene. Even Romanian sculptor Constantin Brancusi became involved, travelling to Indore in 1937 to design a ‘Temple of Love and Peace’ for the royal family. That year, after the sudden death of the young Maharani in a Swiss clinic at age 23, the temple was reimagined as a memorial. Among the standout vintage prints at the exhibition, you will find Brancusi’s iconic ‘Bird in Space’—a sculpture that the Maharaja bought in black marble, white marble, and bronze—soaring in the Maharaja’s living room. A dedicated section showcases other unrealised projects, including a sleek lakeside villa and houseboat in Kashmir.Though Manik Bagh faded from public consciousness following World War II—when Muthesius returned to Germany and Indore merged with the Indian state in 1947—the palace briefly resurfaced in 1970, when French journalist Robert Descharnes stumbled upon it, astonished by its preservation. Some years later, the Indian govt abolished the privileges of the Maharaja families and revoked the state’s obligation to pay them maintenance. As a result, furniture, carpets, and lighting fixtures from their residences found their way—often via circuitous routes—back to Europe. In 1980, Sotheby’s auctioned off many of these items, including rugs and a striking aluminium and chrome bed with built-in glass bookshelves. Among the bidders was designer Yves Saint Laurent, who also sought a pair of distinctive floor lamps.Stripped of his power and forced to adjust to a new socio-political landscape after independence, the Maharaja of Indore married twice more before passing away in Mumbai at age 53. His children and heirs, Usha Devi and Richard Holkar, preserved his legacy. However, after the abolition of privy purses and royal titles in 1976, they were required to hand over Manik Bagh Palace to the govt. Its eclectic European furnishings were sold at auctions and replaced with utilitarian Godrej cupboards now filled with bureaucratic files. Unironically, the former home of a couple who once enjoyed tax-free govt stipends now serves as the headquarters of the central GST and excise commissioner. When the Maharaja’s Mumbai-based grandson, Yeshwant Holkar, visited Manik Bagh last year to invite the commissioner to an exhibition, he found the palace in a state “not befitting of its history or importance.”“It’s important that govt officials are made aware of its heritage so that any renovations are sensitive to its legacy,” says Holkar, who believes the palace could thrive as a museum or a design institute. “Given its global reputation as a modernist icon, the govt could do far more with it.”According to Gadebusch, Manik Bagh remains largely unknown to the Indian public outside design and architecture circles. Yet, it is a remarkable example of Indian patronage of Western design and architecture during the Great Depression. Few are aware of Muthesius’s pivotal role in creating what is arguably India’s most avant-garde residence. “On one hand, it’s saddening to see it fall short of its potential. On the other hand, there’s real hope. Much can still be restored,” says Yeshwant Holkar. “The ball is in the govt’s court.”