Bom Bahai Dairies 4- Richie Rich

Congratulation to Team India for winning the T-20 World Cup.

Yes, Sir. This is such a wonderful news but I was wondering last night that if these players are already so rich after playing the IPL, now they will become richer. What about two hundred years ago when there was no cricket, who were the richest people in India?

If you are talking about the nineteenth century, India had fabulously rich people. Among them were the Kings of Indian principalities and then there were the bankers and traders.

Sir, when I was in school, I had read a poem about the Tatas and their wealth. It seems that, even two hundred years ago, they were among the richest families in the country.

Vicky, I think you are mixing things up. The poem that you have on your mind was surely not about the Tatas. Even I cannot recollect it clearly now. It was a poem by Walter de la Mare. In the nineteenth century, the Parsis were definitely among the richest people in this country but the honour of being the richest family in the nineteenth century goes to the Sassoons.

Oh Sassoons…I know about the dock with that name. Sometimes I go there very early in the morning to pick up the best catch of prawns and fish at the most reasonable price.

Vicky, the Sassoons were much more than the docks.

I am sure, Sir, the life of the Sassoons and Tatas in the bed of luxury would be fun.

Since you want to live such a royal lifestyle, let me show you around the city some of the things associated with the family of Sassoons. Let me take you on a heritage walk and for enjoying this tour turn, you into the Baghdadi Jew, David Sassoon, the man who started this vast and magnificent empire.

Ah ha… I am David, David of Baghdad and David of Bombay. This will be fun.

David Sassoon and his sons Elias David, Albert Abdallah David, and Sassoon David
Picture courtesy: Internet  

The story begins with you, David, the dynasty’s founding father, escaping the oppressive Ottoman Baghdad in the late 1820s, you arrived at Bombay via Iran. Luck favoured you, David, since Bombay was the fast-growing commercial jewel in the crown of western India. You started your business by trading in textiles before diversifying into various interests. You aligned yourself closely with British imperial interests which gave you many concessions and advantages. Then came your big winner-  trade in opium.

You mean, I was a drug runner. That’s not good business, Sir.

No David, it was not seen like that. The British were importing tea, silk and many things from China and the balance of trade was highly in favour of the latter. This was when the British traders started shipping opium to China which led to the First Opium War of 1839-42. The Britain quashed China’s effort to stem the flow of the powerful narcotic into the country and over the following decades, you were amongst the dominant players in the export of opium from India to China. Opium profits were ploughed into other interests. One competitor put it: “Silver and gold, silks, gums and spices, opium and cotton, wool and wheat — whatever moves over sea or land feels the hand or bears the mark of Sassoon & Co.” Everything you touched turned to gold, David, and you became the Lord of Bombay.

Sir, now that I am the richest man, please show me some of my palaces and gardens.

Surely David. Let us first go to see your magnificent house or, should I say, palace Sans Souci. It is said that in 1859, this place hosted over 500 guests celebrating Britain’s decision to assert a more direct form of control over its prized imperial possession. Your house today has become the Masina Hospital, run by a charitable trust which has kept the place well, ready to welcome you home.

Do you know, David, the vast tracts of lands outside your house were given by your successors to the people of Bombay and on it stands the zoological park, now called Veermata Jijabai Udyaan.  I happened to walk into the zoo the other day and two things caught my attention. Firstly, on its lawns stands the famous Kala Ghoda or the Black Horse. We have all heard about the Kala Ghoda Festival but have always wondered about the horse.  This is the equestrian bronze statue of King Albert Edward VII and was donated by your son Abdullah who changed his name to Albert Sassoon in commemoration of the King’s visit to the city as Prince of Wales in 1875.

And the second was the Royal Bengal Tiger who gave me the chance to click the perfect picture that brightened up my day. 

After seeing the tiger in your garden, I remembered the poem you were talking about… it is called Tartary which read like this:

If I were the Lord of Tartary
Myself and me alone,
My bed would be of ivory,
Of beaten gold my throne;
And in my court should peacocks flaunt,
And in my forests tigers haunt,
And in my pools great fishes slant
Their fins athwart the sun….

Yes, you’re right Sir. The poem indeed was Tartary and not Tata Re... ha ha!

In the same area stands the Victoria and Albert Museum which was thrown open to public in 1857. This museum is now known by the name of Bhau Daji Lad Museum after the first Indian Sheriff of Mumbai. Near the entrance of the zoo is the Victoria Garden where the famous David Sassoon Clock Tower stands tall reminding the people of the city about you.

Now let me get back to your business and history David. You developed his textile operations into a profitable triangular trade: Indian yarn and opium were carried to China, where you bought goods which were sold in Britain, from where the Lancashire cotton products were imported into India. Later, when the import of American cotton to England stopped during the American Civil War, David started exporting cotton from India. Later, you started textile mills in Bombay. At its peak, you David owned seventeen textile mills and employed almost forty percent of labour force employed in the mills in the city.

You and your family were philanthropists and builders, David, and they contributed greatly to the cities of Bombay and Pune. Sassoon Dock was a truly remarkable creation. This was the first time in India where the railway lines entered the dock area and made it easier to move goods coming into the country and being exported. Now the dock is used mostly by fishing folks and the walls have beautiful murals including one of a Koli fisherwoman, resting after a hectic morning work and, of course, there is this vintage watchmaker's shop at the entrance of the dock.

Want to see more... the Bank of India on MG Road, Knesset Eliyahoo Synagogue at Colaba and then there are many schools, hospitals and synagogues spread all over. It would be wrong on my part not to mention that the Sassoons were among the largest contributors to the construction of Gateway of India. You and your family were more British than the British themselves.

Vicky, it is time for you to come back to becoming who you are for now we will see the statue of David Sassoon himself at the David Sassoon Library and Reading Room.

If I were Lord of Tartary,

I’d wear a robe of beads,

White, and gold, and green they’d be

And small and thick as seeds;

And ere should wane the morning star,

I’d don my robe and scimitar.

And zebras seven should draw my car

Through Tartary’s dark glades.

SS & Vicky

What Cheese

The Village

How much further is Prakash’s house?

Sir, it is another two kilometres. You just have to walk straight up this hill and when you see a fully built up house with a big bell on the roof, you would have reached your destination.

Why can we not drive in our car?

The road is narrow and after about five hundred metres, there is a narrower bridge over a stream. There is no way any motorable vehicle can pass over without breaking the bridge and falling down in the cold water gushing below.

The Bridge

Karen, I told you many times not to plan for any holiday in India especially in the hills. Bloody floods have inundated the routes leading to our hotel and we are now stuck. One of my schoolmates lives in this Mangalpur district. He was a son of a farmer and while we were preparing for the competitive examinations, he was happy packing his bags to go back to the hills to tend to his father’s farm. We used to share the same desk and had our names etched on the wooden desks in almost every class we studied. Over the years, he did keep sending me letters but I replied infrequently. My work kept me so busy that his letters went below the pile of other urgent and important matters. Who knew a day would come when I would need to go to his house for shelter?

Karen smiled at her husband as he struggled to walk up the hilly terrain. She was much fitter than him for she would do her daily exercise and jogging while he stayed up late in the night at work expanding his business from a small garage to one that spread across to almost all corners of the globe. But, once every year, Steve would take a month-long break and they would venture to one of the many exotic locations they had on their so-called bucket list which kept expanding each year in proportion to the success he had at work. This year, they had meticulously planned for a trek to Kedarnath via the Valley of Flowers. Mother nature had other plans and while they were enjoying the beauty of the hills and the valley, there was a cloudburst and they were informed that their hotel on the banks of the river was badly affected. Some said that a portion of it had been washed away by the fury of the water. With no place to go to, they had decided that it would be best to find shelter in Prakash’s house for a few days by which time things would get better and then they could return home, far away at Maryland, US of A.

Nature Blooming

After almost two hours of exhausting walk, they finally got the first look at the house with the bell on top. It was a simple, small house. The two weary souls walked up to the main entrance and looked for the bell to ring, but there was none. A hairy dog started rushing towards them while barking aloud but as soon as he reached the place the visitors stood, he started going in rounds with his tail wagging. A wooden door swung open and an elderly man with glasses came out. He adjusted his glasses once to make sure what he was seeing was not an illusion….Shiv, my friend…and he rushed towards his friend and wrapped his hands around him and broke down. After a while he looked at the other visitor and said…Kiran, you look the same. It is so nice to see the two of you.

The moment Karen and Steve entered the house, two young men came forward and bent down to touch their feet. These are my two sons….Sanjiv and Rajiv…said Prakash… and this is my wife Manju…pointing to a lady standing beside him with her hands folded in namaskar. The two visitors wanted to take a bath after their harrowing time in the torrential rains and the walk up the hill. They were shown a simple bathroom in one corner of the courtyard of the house and water was heated with the help of an induction rod, which brought back memories of childhood spent in Delhi winters for the visitors. They were offered a set of clothes each to change as Manju immediately took to cleaning the soiled clothes with a bar soap, brush and a wooden contraption that appeared like a miniature cricket bat. Steve wondered if women’s cricketers in India have not got their rightful share of glory as compared to the men despite it having been played in every home over generations.

With a simple white kurta pyjama and a shawl to wrap around, Steve felt nice and cozy as did Karen in her silky salwar kameez and shawl. They were very tired and the hosts in no time had got dinner ready for them. There was but one problem… almost everyone in the village wanted to shake hands with Prakashji’s friend from Ummrika. After a while, Prakash asked the visitors to start eating and the later arrivals to the house looked at them with a sense of amusement and bemusement. Karen and Steve retired early and were given a room which, possibly, was the master bedroom of the house. Manju insisted on them having the best room while they shifted to the main hall on beddings placed on folding cots.

The bed and pillows were not usual feather filled ones that the visitors were used to but then, in this hour of calamity, they felt a sense of gratitude that they had a roof to sleep under and a family to take care of them. Steve was rolling and pitching when Karen spoke… I too can’t sleep. It is not that I am missing my luxurious bed and blankets but thinking about your friend. I am amazed at the simplicity of the entire family and despite living the way they are, they all seem contented and happy. I am sure they have their share of troubles and difficulties but the warmth and genuineness in the way they welcomed us and took us in makes me wonder about our family and lives.

You know Karen, Prakash was among the brightest boys in the class and if he had appeared in any of the competitive exams, there was no way he would not have reached the IIT. Who knows where fate may have taken him from there? But, he was determined to becoming a teacher and return to his native village. We used to meet at least once a month when he was studying in Delhi University and I was at IIT, Delhi. I tried to motivate him into dreaming and doing more with his potential. Later I even sent  him the famous book, ‘Who Moved My Cheese”, and also some key snippets like Change happens, Anticipate change, Adapt to change, Enjoy Change. He kept the book and, in his reply, said…Change has to Happen and we can make it Happen. It is only when you change the lives of others that you Enjoy Change. I told him that he was a fool and lived in a world of make-believe. He always wished me well and never complained that I moved from Delhi to Bangalore and then to the United States. 

Do you know, Karen, why he has a bell on top of his house? I asked Prakash about it when you were talking to Manju in the kitchen. He said that bell rings twice in a day. The first time it is manually rung at 10am to tell the children in the village to come to the terrace where Prakash helps the young boys and girls with their studies. The children are given a simple yet healthy meal at the end of the session that lasts two hours. The second time it rings at 1pm to announce to the same children to rush to the school that starts at 1.30pm. He is now the headmaster of the village school and in this village everyone below forty years has done matriculation. A vast majority of people below thirty have done their higher secondary and the most of the younger ones have also graduated. Prakash’s father had left him large tracts of land, a vast majority of which he sold off and created an education fund for the children of this village. This, Karen, is possibly among the only fully literate village in the country and all because of one man who, I thought, had stopped looking for ‘cheese’, but the ‘cheez’ he was dreaming and achieving was much more lasting and life changing for the people of his village.

Steve, you must contribute to Prakash’s foundation. What good is our money? Our two children got all the luxury of the world and look what happened to them… one is now in a rehab recovering from years of drug abuse and the second one hates us for not having given him enough time and attention when he was young. He is a rebel and plays games on his mobile and Playstation day and night. Look at Manju’s sons. Sanjiv is a veterinarian and tends to the animals in their small farm and all the other animals belonging to the villagers. They call him Daaktar Saab in this area. The second son, followed his father, and is a teacher in the secondary school in the district. He is called Master Saab. They also have a daughter, Nandini. She is studying nursing at Delhi.

The School

Karen, I did offer to contribute but Prakash refused. He says, his corpus earns him enough interest to support the children in their higher studies. Some of the children have done well in life and they have been adding to the fund as part of their giving back to the village and Masterji. The little tarpaulin covered school in the village now has a proper building. He has created a world of his own out of nowhere. While my search for ‘cheese’ and more ‘cheese’ made me invest time and money into projects that gave me such high monetary returns that today we can afford almost anything…..I changed many times the way to do more business and earn more money and live in style. I gathered so much cheese which was much more cheese than I ever imagined when I started this quest for glory and richness. Prakash has said that I can contribute to his project by coming here anytime and teaching the children. They need some people with new ideas and ways of teaching.

That is good. I don’t mind coming with you as well, at least, once a year.

Karen, today after seeing Prakash and his family, I agree to what he said to me then when I had gifted him the book and wish to share my learnings now:

What is the cheez you seek?

How much cheez do no need to feel full and satiated?

Will the cheez you seek give you happiness and peace after you have found it?

Is the cheez you seek and how you adapt to change is for your own self or more?

Morning in the hills

When the two weary travelers went off to sleep is not known but they were woken up by the loud bell ringing. Steve opened his eyes and looked at the watch and it was 10am. He woke up Karen and went to the living room where the entire Prakash family was waiting…. No, not the entire family as Prakash  himself was not there. He had gone to the terrace to attend to the morning class for children. Others sat down at the table for the breakfast….all were waiting for their guests to wake up and eat together. Keren and Steve felt quite embarrassed but just smiled as Manju served them piping hot paranthas with fresh curd. She said in fluent English, “These are paneer paranthas, I mean cheese filled paranthas. Hope you like them.”

SS

Photo courtesy: Mukesh Kumar

 

 

 

Going Down the Travelled Road

“Often a star
was waiting for you to notice it. A wave rolled toward you
out of the distant path, or as you walked
under an open window, a violin
yielded itself to your hearing. All this was mission.”- Rainer Maria Rilke                                                                                                          

Doors and windows hold a special fascination for me. I think, at first glance, like its inhabitants they too lend a city, a town or a home its character. Just imagine stepping into this concrete jungle we call Mumbai and all you can see around you is a sea of towering 4D-rectangles whose sides are etched with endless smaller rectangles, the innumerable rows and columns of windows. A mosaic in geometric shapes, lit or unlit, depending upon the time of the day. Unplanned, uncouth, unstoppable- devoid of any beauty or architectural planning- they seem to be just springing up and growing by the day.

Somehow, I always feel that windows or doors can say a lot about the place, the home or the person who lives there. In Mumbai, the most precious commodity is space and that kind of justifies the uses to which a window is put to in this city- to dry clothes, to store odds and ends, to nurture plants, to dry pickles and papads, and even extend and convert them into puja niches or study spaces. Or, for some lucky ones, to just enjoy the sea-view or the rains!

We have always heard the saying that when one door closes, another opens. But, as Alexander Graham Bell put it, “We often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us.”

An open door can stand for invitation, welcome, opportunity, a reason to explore or simply a sign of carelessness. Similarly, a closed door can stand for closure, seclusion, privacy, mystery, departure, safety or can be a sign to stay away.

A window can be our link with the outside world; it lets in the sun and shuts out the storm. It is our corner where we can sit, relax, introspect, dream or just watch the day go by. It is our source of life as it brings in the fresh air, sustains us and our plants, invigorates our minds, gives wings to our imagination, be our means of communication, lends the room its character, gives the room its view.

As Ingmar Berman put it, “I’m very, very lazy. I like to sit in a chair and look out the window and do nothing.”

I like doing the same too but, for today, let me just step out of my favourite corner by the window and do a visual tour of some other doors and windows, some well-known and some lesser known, that I have come across during my travels to other towns.

 Epitome of Simplicity: A door in Hridaykunj, Mahatma Gandhi and Kasturba Gandhi’s home in Sabarmati Ashram from 1918-1930. It was from here that the famous Dandi March began on 12^th March 1930.

In Memoriam: A small window on the landing platform from where steps descend through five storeys to a step-well or vav in Adalaj, near Ahmedabad. This step well was built by Ruda, wife of Vaghela chief Virasimha, in memory of her husband.

Nakashi : Engraving on a niche at the Jama Masjid, Ahmedabad . This yellow sandstone mosque was built in 1424 during the reign of Ahmed Shah I.

The Prisoner’s View: The Bridge of Sighs connected the dungeons with the trial room in the Doge’s Palace, Venice. As the convicts were taken across the enclosed limestone bridge this was their last view of Venice through the two small rectangular windows with stone grilles. Lord Byron made it famous in the lines, “I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs; a palace and a prison on each hand.”

O my Luve’s like a red, red rose: The Great West Window in St. Giles Cathedral, Edinburgh,is dedicated to Robert Burns, Scotland’s greatest poet. In keeping with the thematic content of Burns’ poetry, the lower panels are in vivid green to depict the natural world, the middle panels with human figures depict human unity and the top portion depicts a sun with a heart like love blossoming into a rose.

I am the Gate: Porta Sancta or the Holy door, St. Peter’s Basilica, Vatican. The brass panels, made by Vico Consorti, replaced the original wooden ones in 1949. This door is opened by the Pope in the beginning of the Holy Year, once in 25 years. It was last opened to the pilgrims in the year 2000. It represents Jesus, the Good Shepherd. It is also known as the Door of the Great Pardon.

The Gates of Paradise: This ten panelled gilded bronze door, sculpted by Lorenzo Ghiberti in mid-15^th century, depicting scenes from the Old Testament is one of the three doors to the octagonal Baptistery of St. John or San Giovanni, located opposite the Duomo in Florence. Now the original pair of doors, post restoration, is displayed in the Museo dell’Opera del Duomo and a replica adorns the east entrance to the baptistery.

Welcome to the Abode of God: Sculptures of Ganga and Yamuna on either side along with dwarpalas at the doorjamb of the entrance to the remains of a 6th-7th century AD Shiva temple at Malhar, Chhattisgarh and also a 11th century AD Vishnu temple at Janjgir, Chhattisgarh.

Home Sweet Home: A beautifully decorated and bright entrance to a house on a street in Edinburgh.

Jewel in the Crown: Standing atop a volcanic rock and dominating the city’s skyline is the Edinburgh Castle which has a long history during which it has served as a fortress, a royal residence, a military garrison, a royal treasury and a prison. At its entrance, two of Scotland’s mighty heroes, William Wallace and Robert the Bruce, stand guard. It houses one of the oldest buildings of Britain, Saint Margaret’s Chapel, and the Crown Jewels of Scotland.

The Great Wall of India: Kumbhalgarh, a 15^th century fort built by Rana Kumbha of Mewar, has the second longest perimeter wall of 36 km, after the Great Wall of China, which incidentally is 21,196 km (honestly, no comparison). The architectural credit goes to Mandan. The fort is situated on the Aravalli range at a height of 3600 ft near Udaipur, Rajasthan.It houses many Hindu and Jain temples apart from the royal palaces. It is also the birthplace of Maharana Pratap. The fort has seven fortified gates with names as varied as Aerat Pol, Ram Pol, Hanuman Pol, Halla Pol, Vijay Pol. The main entrance is Ram Pol, and what strikes the visitors is that it is in the shape of the gigantic feet of an elephant.

Hey, how old are you? Inside the Westminster Abbey, in a vestibule leading to the Chapter House, is a small wooden door which has been scientifically dated to about 1050 AD. This is the oldest door in Britain. It was probably a part of the original church of King Edward who died in 1066 AD (canonized by the Pope as St. Edward the Confessor in 1161) and later reduced in size and re-used in the present Abbey.

The Kaleidoscope: Nestled among the lush green forests in the Aravalli range, on the eastern bank of  Lake Pichola, is the Udaipur Palace, a symbol of power and pride for the Mewar dynasty. The palace was started in the mid-16^th century under Udai Singh II when they shifted their capital from Chittorgarh to Udaipur. The beauty of this palace is breath-taking and each mahal has its distinct style and décor. But what caught my attention were the doors and windows in it. They come in so many shapes, colours and sizes that you are left completely dazzled.

The dwarf’s door: An interesting feature is the size of the doors inside the Udaipur palace.You have to bend low to enter. Why would the mighty rulers of Mewar choose to make them so small and narrow? Narrow passages, winding staircases with small entry and exit doors would slow down the enemies allowing those inside the palace to get time to fight back.

My favourite : While walking on the streets of Rome, I loved this window and so clicked it!

Welcome to the Vatican Museum: As you approach the entrance door to the Vatican Museum and you look up, who are they looking at you from above the arch? They are none other than Michelangelo and Raphael sitting beside the coat of arms of Pope Pius XI, who had commissioned the structure on formation of the State of Vatican in 1930s.They epitomize Renaissance sculpture and painting as they sit there with their tools of art.

Is that Diagon Alley?  Victoria Street is a picturesque, winding, cobblestone lane that connects the Grassmarket with Lawnmarket in the Old Town of Edinburgh. Its steep slope and a graceful curve adds to its beauty. The street is lined with the old stone buildings with their brightly coloured facades and glass paneled doors and windows. They house shops selling interesting artefacts from food, wine to magic props and souvenirs. This street is supposed to be the inspiration for J.K.Rowling’s Diagon Alley, the fictional shopping area for the wizards in the Harry Potter series.

The Lost Abbey: As you step out of the Palace of Holyroodhouse to explore the gardens of the royal residence, you cannot miss the ruins of an Abbey (Holy +rood meaning Holy+ Cross) built in the 12^th century and home to the royals for many centuries. Its vaults still house the remains of many a king and queen. The skeletal frame of this once magnificent structure still holds the ground, not ready to let go of its once renowned grandeur. The body may have long gone but the soul still remains as we look up at the empty outlines of the abbey’s magnificent doors and windows.

DS