Passing on the baton- Fasting feasting and more

I am sure for each generation there comes a time, when they wonder about what they are passing on to the next generation. More likely to be when they start getting old enough to miss their younger days and not too old to forget those. Its very human to try to hold on things and traits familiar to one’s life. Change is unsettling and unknown. Most of us try to renounce the new ways as inferior and lacking in values ...at least till it is too late . I read somewhere in Readers’ Digest that when rock music came , the previous generation declared it death of the music . Some people still argue that email and e-chatting ruined the romance of an actual face to face tête-à-tête and handwritten letters. In our country for last three generations parents thought that they have lost the battle for morals and culture with the coming of Gramophone, cinema and TV soaps respectively. But each generation survived and flourished- defined their own values, culture and moral fabric in its own ways. I often feel that a lot was lost/missed in between the transition . But you can’t miss what you don’t know…so life goes on. Before I philosophize more on the issue I must tell you the context . I went to my hometown- lucknow last week . Like all people who are away from the towns they grew up in, whenever i go, I try to spot familiar things, sights, smells and sounds. It was rather interesting timing to visit this city .It is the time when one can witness the ganga –jamuni culture at its best. I reached there on Rakshabandhan day and will be returning again on the day of Janmashtami. Of course, the holy month of Ramadan is going on and half the city was fasting and waiting for Eid . These days are special for the city and they have always been so .
Though most Indian cities are now losing their old character – at least the very visible sights of it, Lucknow always celebrated festivals in style. Even when the new stuff is paving way for the old…it was the mix of the two I found in my town this time. Well, we might have new Barista and Café coffee day now….we still have our Royal café. But for some of us the change is unsettling . You can’t blame us. Those of us who left the city years back , now go back there and try to look for familiar sounds, sights and smells to renew our days . Alas, things change…and so do cities. An old shopkeeper in Hazratganj told me that the Mehfils which marked the hours after Iftar are gone . In very characteristic lehza he bitterly told that no one bothers about the usual chit chat unless they are in a TVchat show and getting paid to talk

.Thanks to the politicians iftar parties had long lost their pure social and religious meaning . The weight conscious youngsters no longer enjoy the famous nahari kulchas and other traditional stuff used to break the roza. Even the famous shops of Nazeerabad, Akbari gate and rest of old lucknow have lost the glitter and activities of iftaar . After two three hours of iftaar these shops are closed like regular days . One will still find the stalls of Kashmiri chai or huge makeshift shops selling seviyans but the ramzani raunak of our good old days is definitely lost. Even when the new generation goes for these products, they prefer taking it from the outlets in the malls rather than the old town. People no longer prefer the leisure and the joy of conversation at a shop anymore. A witty repartee or a clever remark from the shop owner …a couplet or two to answer a question from the panwallah , no longer interests the people. The customers look for business like efficiency and that’s all.
The point I am trying to reach is that while I find ( and feel happy to find) malls, multiplexes and known food chains wherever I go , I do feel a pang in my heart for the era that is lost. Its not only about eateries . I wonder who will remember the floral rakhis on rakshabandhan few years from now. These rakhis made from real flowers and customized as per the insistence of the sisters buying them, were visible at every florist shop of lucknow till 3-4 years back. I try telling myself that these things hardly matter. If we looked for those rakhis in our days the new generation has fancy gadgets and chocolates to find on this day .
But the sense of missing a part of my familiar world does not go easily . Everytime we have a family gathering my aunts and sisters end up talking about old family recipes and efforts made to make those perfect pickles, papad and other mouthwatering dishes meant for special occasions. I always loved the festival of janmashtami and the fast which comes with it . Being the foodie I am , the reason was the special dishes made up of dryfruits, coconut and other stuff. The vrat food which was “allowed” in a fast. The tradition is almost lost in my family. Even I do not care to make these delicacies in my home . The food we eat is mostly the same throughout the year . The joy of eating khichuri on a particular day and roasted green gram on other has given place to easier options. Of course, we have adopted many more dishes in our menu but the tradition of making a particular dish for a particular festival/day is not there anymore. May be the next generation will not miss these traditions- we have afterall not passed it on to them . For kids in my colony these “ minor” festivals are just school holidays and they feel happy about it by watching their favorite shows or playing computer games . It is in vain to feel sorry about old things which are going out of fashion. It is somewhat inevitable. Perhaps it is more important to hold on tightly with our values . I just hope that we are missing on just the most visible parts of legacy and not the most important ones. I mean as long as families enjoy happy times together , it hardly makes a difference whether it is in a family gathering eating traditional kheer or enjoying a TV show eating pizza.

Waking up with cuckoo’s song

I woke up suddenly when I heard the recognizable sweet sound almost in my dreams . There was a distinct aroma of familiarity in the room. It was still early in the morning and the last hints of winters were enveloping the place. I could not make out what was different for quite a few seconds. Then suddenly it dawned on me that I was in my parents’ house at Lucknow. The sound was of course from the koel sitting on the mango tree and announcing the arrival of spring. Now things were becoming clearer to me. Why the bed was feeling so comfortable last night. Why there were no bugging alarms in the morning and why the breeze bore a faint smell of bela- carefully planted by mom outside my window. Its intoxicating smell in the summer months was my constant companion in my college days . Oh,There is nothing like your childhood home to sleep in and wake up into.Even the old wall clock looks like a long lost friend .
Yesterday was a ‘diamond day’ for me. There is nothing like your own town to go shopping and of course there is no better companion that your own sister for such an expedition. I had the luxury of both yesterday. I was home after almost a year and that too only for two days. There was so much to squeeze in those 48 hours of blissful existence. No wonder , more than the shopping my mind was engrossed in the sounds and sights of my beloved Lucknow. I was delighted to find that even my driver took time to stop and comment on small things like the flowering of mango trees or the blood red semal flowers decorating the streets(this for a change was nature’s not CM’s initiative !) One of the surest signs of coming of spring (month of phalgun) is this erupting of the Semal (Silk Cotton tree) into flowers. Bereft of leaves, the flowering Semul plays host to a large variety of birds, bees and flies who congregate to enjoy the nectar. The same tree decorates Delhi roads also…but I wonder if anyone notices. But why blame Delhi, even Lucknow is changing fast before my own eyes. Everyone I met in the city this time , complained about the extensive stone work that is going on at each nook and corner with giant size statues of political leaders enhancing the so called beauty of the city. (There were also huge posters announcing this beautification and also giving thanks to the CM –supposedly from common people, for her thoughtful initiatives.)
Most of Lucknowites like me try to ignore these and carry on with their daily lives- kind of living in a dream world of what the city used to be. Some signs of those days are still there . May be just in some crumpling walls of aminabad kothis and few sepia photographs hanging on these walls . The old world charm and the magic of old days are perhaps outdated. What is the worth of a place where a quick repartee is valued more than a new Merc? Or where style and not speed was the hallmark of success. The old world is replaced suitably by the new one. The fast and furious world of selfish ambitions and insensitive power is here for good. But for non residents like me some places and some institutions are so much part of our Lucknow that it is difficult to imagine the city without them and their old ways. My favorite bookstore took exactly 10 seconds in giving me the title I was looking for on Meer Taqi ‘Meer’ and the person also told me about three related books . In contrast , the fancy New Delhi bookstores could not even understand which ‘Meer’ I am talking about. One even suggested I may like to look into the section selling self-development books and another(disappointingly OUP-the publisher of the title I was looking for ) thought I am asking for Titu meer!! These are comforst for which each one of us crave for a home- comfort of being understood, comfort of familiarity and comfort of the existence of the world as it should be .
During this journey I was reading a heartwarming book ‘Diddi-My mother’s Voice’ by Ira Pande. It is a collection of stories and articles by famous Hindi Writer Gaura Pant ‘Shivani’ . The book was echoing my sentiments about the old days and the magical world of childhood.Its so fascinating to travel through someone’s life- almost as if one is living another life. This book and my being in Lucknow reminded me once again that “Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies that matters,—mothers and fathers don't die…… Tomorrow, or even the day after tomorrow if you're busy havingfun,/Is plenty of time to say, /"I'm sorry, mother." “ and yes the other part of this poem is also true that “To be grown up is to sit at the table/ with people who have died,/who neither listen nor speak;/Who do not drink their tea, /though they always said/ Tea was such a comfort ."

Enchanting Empresses : Two Parallel Asian Traditions of Entertainers

Victoria Hemming was born at Lucknow to parents of European descent: her mother was an Armenian jew and her father English. Victoria was a trained dancer of Kathak thanks to her Lucknow connection and was well versed in Urdu poetry and singing too. Around 1870 she married a certain William Robert Yeoward, who was an Armenian Jew working as an engineer in a dry ice  factory at Azamgadh near Benares. In 1870, she gave birth to a daughter named Angelina. Victoria was however destined to be far off from the secured life of a housewife. Her marriage did not last long due to Victoria’s love for dance and music and her relations with a Muslim friend named Khurshed. So after the divorce, she moved to Benares with Angelina and Khurshed, only to be deserted by her lover soon afterwards. Unable to go back to her parental or marital home, she chose the time tested profession of women fallen to misery and became a Tawaif at Baneras, which was still a centre of power and culture in 1880s. She took a new name of Malka jaan and as there was already two celebrated Tawaifs of that name at Lucknow and Agra, soon she came to be known as Badi Malka jaan. As the strongholds of Mughal empire were broken under British repression following the mutiny, the centre of power was shifting and like other women of her trade, Malka jaan too around 1883, shifted her base to Calcutta. She came here with her daughter Angelina now known as Gauhar. Gauhar also joined her mother’s profession and grew up to become the iconic Gauhar jaan of Kolkata. A woman of legendary beauty and intelligence, she was a skilled dancer, singer and was known for her repartee and poetry too. She was in the words of a historian, “the most famous, most charismatic and perhaps the wealthiest female singer/dancer at the turn of the century”. Gauhar Jan lived a very wealthy life, and she also donated generously to a number of causes. Numerous legends are associated with her. In Calcutta, she used to ride in a buggy driven by four horses, threw a party spending 20,000 rupees when her cat produced a litter of kittens, and donated only half the promised amount to Gandhiji’s ‘Swaraj fund’ when he did not keep the promise of attending the ‘fund raising’ concert and deputed a representative instead. But the glory was not everlasting for Gauhar Jaan; with the grey hair the times also turned grey for her. The lady who was also the first recorded singer of India , was soon left with little means for survival. It must be around second decade of 20th century when she started giving tuitions for wannabe singers and tawaifs. One of her student was beautiful Jardan Bai who later on moved to the newly established Cinema industry at Bombay and become a known side actress cum singer of 1940s . Later an entire generation was charmed by the gorgeous daughter of this Jardan bai - Nargis. After a successful career of film, actress Nargis even served as a member of Parliament and much like Gauhar Jaan and Malka Jaan, was associated with a number of charities. It was an unbroken chain of four women entertainers and a dramatic story of their rise(and fall) with the changes in the society . All this came to my mind as I was reading the book Memoir of a Geisha by Arthur Golden and the book made me think of a similar system back home at Lucknow. The book per se is nothing much except for the information it gave me about the things associated with the geisha.
The comparison came naturally to me. Like the Geisha in Kyoto, the world of tawaif in Lucknow is as complex and hierarchal as the society of which it is a part. In those days when even most women of good families owned nothing in terms of property in their names, these women were among the highest tax payers. Britons with their shrewd sense of business while controlling the activities of these women by legislation and otherwise did not hesitate in imposing tax on them. These tawaifs at the time of annexation of Awadh owned considerable income from the landed properties mostly received as gifts from their benefactors. Much like the Geisha of Kyoto and their okiyas these tawaifs functioned from Kothas (loosely translate as salons /pleasure houses) owned by Chaudharains who were veteran tawaifs of their own times. In a departure to the general belief these women (geisha and tawaifs ) were not prostitutes. Abdul Halim Sharar considered tawaifs as the channel through which the morals, manners and distinctiveness of Lucknow culture and society was sustained. They were not only preserver and performers of the high culture of the court but also actively shaped the developments in Hindustani music and Kathak dance style. They commanded great respect in the courts and in society and association with them bestowed prestige on those who were invited to their salons for cultural soirees. Even the young sons of nobility were sent to them for instruction in etiquettes, the art of conversation and polite manners, and appreciation of Urdu literature. They were the artists and entertainers for noble society- till the British arrived on the scene and change the society and its fabric forever. ( Much like as fate of geisha after Japan lost the war with Americans) Many of the tawaifs could not find the patrons to survive and turned to prostitution. Some other chose a life of anonymity and poverty.
Contrary to the conventional perspective of this profession historian Veena Talwar in a famous essay on the life of these courtesans argued that these women, even today are independent and consciously involved in the covert subversion of a male dominated world; they celebrate their womanhood in the privacy of their apartments by resisting and inverting the rules of gender of the larger society of which they are a part.
In the book of Arthur Golden, I found a vivid description of the rigorous training of a geisha and a great deal has been said and written (e.g in Mirza Ruswa’s novel Umrao Zaan Ada) about the education and training of the tawaifs. Besides the dancing and singing , poetry and playing instruments , calligraphy and conversation – both sets of entertainers of Japan and India are skilled in the art of Nakhra- pretense, which they have to master in order to spare no opportunity of coaxing money out of their admirers . These well practiced ploys,,- some learned, some invented, some even improvised were so much a part of their lives that even their Bollywood avatars cannot but copy those. The spontaneity of these ploys to attract attention made several otherwise worldly men lose a fortune in a moment . This may sound more like self enrichment than style but in a society which has virtually denied women control over wealth and property, perhaps it was a kind of countercultural way of life.
I try not to judge them with my contemporary morality and values. I visualize them ( much like the Witch of Portobello) as women who faced the life with courage and managed to sail through the current of society and horrors of their past lives – sometimes with relative happiness and sometimes with a resigned disinterest .