Byline Rajkotia

Cantt Commandment: Lucknow Cantt, more than Home

2009-06-15T08:47:00.001Z

If it’s harder than usual to explain your exact address to the local pizza guy for the fifth time this year, if all landmarks in your ‘colony’ begin and end at MB Club, when questions like “And, where do we turn from MB Club?” or “How far exactly do you live from MB Club?” are almost always asked, you must certainly be living in Lucknow Cantt.

Residents of the green haven are used to being envied for the trees, clean air, walking plaza and other facilities in their part of Lucknow, and sometimes it can get embarrassing. “Cantt? So lucky yaar!” has been the usual response in college, university and then work. Sometimes one would almost immediately expect to be badgered for a treat at the famous (now closed, please!) momo-corner in the canteen. But apart from all the perks and the calm surroundings of the cantt, there is another older world with its own special character that exists in and around the Cantt.

The old Bazaars of the Lucknow Cantonment-- Topkhaana, Regiment Bazaar, Laal Kurti and Sadar bazaar still have living relics from an ancient British past. Eighty- three old Gore Nawab, a barber who operates under a yellow tarpaulin in Regiment Bazaar was christened after his exclusive services to British soldiers and young officers pre-independence. He laments the loss of his fresh faced, pink customers of yore and says he has fewer customers these days because, “the young boys want long hairstyles, with creams and puffs which I refuse to give”.

The little sweet shop run by Ganesh and Dinesh Gupta in the same bazaar was established in 1885, their most popular mithai was a milky barfi the British soldiers loved. Families such as those of Jangat Khan that left for Pakistan are still remembered as if it was only yesterday. Old rickshaw pullers such as Manvir who were just little boys then, remember the red cavalry coats of the British soldiers who walked these lanes. The same coats gave “Laal Kurti” its name. While“Topkhaana”was once a garrison for cannons.

The Chacha Book Sellers in Sadar Bazaar and some old tailoring stores with boards that were painted in the 1940s, continue to attract a regular stream of customers, like Chappan Bhog which is a stone’s throw away. Chacha, who sits chewing his paan at his counter has known some of his customers who are now post-graduates, doctors and engineers as little nursery going children. He is known to give a free pen or notebook every once in a while to needy students. Though sadly, old Kunj Bihari’s samosas are now forgotten while little stores such as Goel’s under the over bridge struggle against the burgeoning population and pollution around them.

While there are mysteries surrounding the many mazaars, the allegedly haunted bungalows there is also the joy of living so close to nature and amidst wilderness. The tiny wooded areas that were once home to blue bulls, partridges, wandering wolves and the like are still home to peacocks, hare, porcupines, numerous birds, snakes, civet cats and sometimes jackals.

But most of all, living in the cantt, you cannot help but wonder about the century old houses that were silent witnesses to a steady change of guard.

Belatal's Weavers

2008-07-20T06:45:00.006Z

The daily rain that has filled the majestic lakes constructed by the Chandels in Mahoba does not fill Rekha Rani’s stomach or that of her family of six. They still eat a meal of dry chapattis and sometimes vegetables once a day. “We have not seen dal in three years”, says an embarrassed Rekha who has been unemployed like eight hundred other such families of weavers since the past five years in village Belatal in the interiors of Mahoba.

“The weavers of Belatal have no land, they have never had any occupation other than weaving khadi for the Gandhi Ashram that was shut down in 2001”, explains Abhishek Singh who’s NGO Arunoday Sansthan has helped the weaver-women form self help groups. “The Gandhi Asharam was reopened in 2005 after a long struggle and our petitioning to the boards in Lucknow and Mumbai, but it was shut down within nine months because the authorities claimed there was no market for the products”, says Abhishek.

This is ironic because tourist spot Khajuraho is only fifty kilometers from Mahoba. “We have heard they sell inferior quality cloth for as much as one hundred and sixty rupees a meter in Khajuraho shops”, says Manni Lal. The small gathering of women gasp in horror.

Every house in the village has a charkha or handloom to weave khaadi. Most charkhas are kept under little mud shelves made for pooja. The Belatal weavers are proud of their prowess in weaving and despite the gap between their last productions, they have maintained their looms and charkhas. “Such was the quality of their khadi that at an exhibition in Delhi, a local minister from Mahoba asked the organizers to show him the best khadi and on being shown Belatal khadi, he asked where it was from thinking it was from Rajasthan. He was shocked to learn that Belatal was a village in his own constituency Mahoba”, laughs Abhishek.

Unlike the other men of his village, Manni Lal chose not to migrate and has been fighting for the Ashram to be reopened since 2001. “Approximately five thousand families in eleven villages have been affected by the shutting down of this Asharam, only forty five families remain in Belatal”, claims Manni Lal who believes that if a project or a new opportunity for weaving is introduced in the area the migrants and their families will return.

Such migration has decreased in nearby Banda because of the national rural employment guarantee scheme, on being asked whether anyone in their village has benefited from the scheme Rekha Rani and Beti Bai bring out over one hundred and sixty job cards and place them before the gathering. Quietly, they flip open the pages of the cards, no sign of work. “It took us six months to get these cards, when we did get them the Pradhan gave us no work. He says there is none”, says an angry Beti Bai who has walked with other women to the block development officer’s house to demand work. Rekha Rani is the district head of the ‘Chingaari’ group of women and has been fighting for job cards since over six months for the group’s rights.

“Technically and in accordance with NREGA, the women should be getting sixty rupees a day if no employment is found for them within fifteen days of them demanding it but none of them have received this money”, adds Abhishek who has been helping the women write joint job applications for benefiting from the scheme. None of the women have been called to participate in the Bundelkhand special plantation drive either. “Four thousand saplings are being given to every gram panchayat to plant in the area, NREGA beneficiaries are supposed to be planting these trees yet the Pradhan says there is no employment for these women”, says another disheartened activist.

It begins to rain and the gathering disperses. Inside Rekha Rani’s house with its five foot high roof and damp interior, sits a loom which she keeps clean in the hope that one day, it might earn her just enough to feed her family two meals a day and maybe sometimes, a little dal. She hopes it might even bring her husband back from Surat. Manni Lal believes it will, so does Beti Bai.

NREGA Campaign 2008

2008-07-05T12:39:00.005Z

Intensive campaign to increase reach and effectiveness of

National Rural Employment Guarantee Scheme (NREGS) launched

5^th July 2008

(In the interim period between the end of the first phase of the PACS Programme and the start of the second phase (PACS Plus), the Management Consultants of the programme, in consultation with DFID-India, have launched an intensive campaign to increase the reach and effectiveness of the National Rural Employment Guarantee Scheme (NREGS). The campaign, to be rolled out in a phased manner across the six PACS Programme states, will run for a period of seven months, from June to December 2008. www.empowerpoor.org)

In Uttar Pradesh, the campaign seeks to touch 20 districts by empowering 140 Civil Society Organizations (CSOs) in central, eastern and Bundelkhand regions. Village awareness campaigns and village meetings will be conducted to gather testimonials of good and bad practices in the implementation of the scheme.

Over 350 testimonials of villagers who availed the scheme are expected to be collected from the state. “Written case studies with supporting photographs and video documentation of these individuals will be gathered and presented in district advocacy workshops before media and concerned officials for redressal,” said Poonam Mehta of Development Alternatives while explaining the features of the campaign.

A cluster level planning workshop for Civil Society Organizations (CSOs) of Central Uttar Pradesh was conducted at ICCMRT Indranagar, to acquaint participating CSO heads with the details of this campaign. CSO heads were trained in conceptualizing village awareness campaigns, preparing reports and mobilizing the community through a series of group activities.

BK Bhagwat Assistant Commissioner in charge of NREGA cell UP government was present for the workshop. Answering questions about the scheme, he also advised organization heads that, “It is important to read both schedules of the scheme and stay updated with circulars which are published online at the state rural development portal”. Giving participants the links of the website portals and helpline numbers, he assured the organizations full support from the government.

The campaign processes will culminate in state-level workshops for policymakers and the media, with the participation of top officials from relevant departments such as rural development, panchayati raj, and women and child development.

Sandeep Majhi, PROACT, further added that, NREGS Campaign 2008 would focus on following issues-

Discriminatory practices against women, such as unequal employment opportunities, unequal wages, lack of Creche facilities, and inequitable workload.

Exclusion of dalits, tribals, women, disabled and other marginalised groups and

Improper and corrupt practices, such as fraud in wage payments, use of contractors, failure to create a shelf of works, etc.

It is expected that over 1740 villages in UP will be touched through the campaign.

Another Day outside the Lucknow GPO

2008-01-30T11:27:00.000Z

The tik-tiking of keys is unmistakable. They sit close to a foot apart with yellowing little boards stating their area of expertise as either “Hindi” or “English”. On the pavement outside the General Post Office, sharing space with two barbers and one prosperous chai- wallah sit close to ten typists braving the local police, nagar nigam and sometimes, the weather.

Sitting cross-legged since 7:30 this morning is Kishan Kumar. His black Remington typewriter is as old as his profession, no less than thirty-three years. “This is a Remington 76, I bought it after I learnt how to type in the short course that was run by the Bhole Lal College in Wasiatganj”, he says while removing the cover to show well greased keys. “These letters tend to fade and so do the ones on my keys, but if you treat the typewriter gently it always cooperates!” he beams.

The cycle and ‘jhola’ standing by the wall right behind him are his constant companions. He travels from Gomtinagar to ‘his tree’ on the pavement with the forty kg typewriter daily. He points to a young man sitting with a shiny green typewriter adjacent to him, “That’s a Godrej typewriter. It weighs only a couple of kgs because it’s plastic!” But he isn’t keen on parting with his old Remington 76 for a lighter one. “We both have been in jail three times”, he laughs, remembering how the police and nagar nigam jailed him and his typewriter for encroachment. “But we don’t come in the way of the pedestrians and we help people write their letters and applications before they post them, we are not criminals!” he adds with sadness.

Pointing at the broad road Kishan says, “Earlier, there used to be a row of imli trees here and there was hardly any traffic. They cut the trees and expanded this road and now we have a pavement with these new trees.” He then cleans his spectacles and wipes the dust off his typewriter “I remember the old imli tree often…and there wasn’t so much dust too”, he says looking at the young tree behind him.

Carefully parking his rickshaw so it doesn’t affect Kishan’s business, Mohammad Islam says salaam to his typist friend. “Whatever he’s saying is true! There were many trees here earlier” and he crouches down before the Remington. He visits Kishan twice a day for a glass of tea before he richsaws around Lucknow, “I have been in Lucknow since I was 10. I am Lucknow’s and Lucknow is mine”, he laughs.

The old typist spends his day typing ‘complaints’ and other ‘letters’ for villagers. “Even though the computer has come to India, this is the villager’s computer!” he pats his Remington and continues, “ There are so many types of complaints these days, earlier it was only about the land now the villagers are also filing for divorce! But the format for writing a complaint has not changed much.”

Most of Kishan’s customers are illiterate and he often acts as a counselor to those who break into tears while relating their problems for him to type into formal grievances. Mohammad Islam is in awe of his friend, he has never needed Kishan’s expertise but knows he can always count on him. “I could have sat at the court too, but I like it here. I have been here for so many years and the court already has so many typists. Here I can get some peace of mind as well!” says Kishan whose sons don’t know typing but have their own little shops.

“Everyday on the footpath is an adventure for us, this morning the Governor was passing and we had to hide,” he muses, to which Islam laughs. Another day on the pavement outside the Lucknow GPO.

Lihaaf ki Baat

2007-12-14T06:25:00.000Z

Of the many sights announcing the onset of an Indian winter, one that is particularly heartwarming is the annual lihaaf or razaai sunning. It is no easy task maintaining these five kilo warmers.

Prahlad, whose quilt shop in Sadar bazaar is over forty years old says, “It is advisable to have your razaai aired and the cotton beaten every year because germs collect inside cotton very easily. Cotton also has a tendency to clot and the razaai becomes lumpy making it less effective if it isn’t beaten”.

Most lihaafs have a history, wedding presents and ‘first’ razaais are stored by many loyals. “This maroon velvet one is what was given to me for my wedding”, smiles octogenarian Nirmal Kaur running her hand over the once rich maroon quilt. But she is no longer loyal to her sixty year old favourite lihaaf, she has taken to using her bright new Jaipuri razaai over a Chinese blanket this winter. “Well it’s softer and not as heavy as my lihaaf! Though this new arrangement isn’t quite as warm.” Young Rizwana and her mother in law Hamida are in sadar bazaar looking for soft yet sturdy cloth for Rizwana’s year old daughter’s first lihaaf. “I think this one with red flowers will suit your purpose”, says Prahlad as Hamida inspects the cloth carefully.

At his ‘cotton center’, customers usually arrive with bundles of old quilts while others come to order new quilts. “A kilo of cotton costs anywhere between sixty and eighty rupees whereas the fiber is just fifty rupees a kilo. Besides, fiber is washable”, explains Prahlad. A fiber lihaaf sounds appealing to Rizwana but Hamida insists on a good old cotton one. “At least it will last!” she says.

Prahlad had also designed a handmade catalogue of various stitching styles for quilts. “The more ornate, floral or circular sort is Bengali silai while the one with squares is dibbedar silai and then the barfi design is called kishti silai”, he explains. “The most popular is the Bengali silai but few people have the time to choose or pay as much now. They prefer simple and fast products!” laughs Prahlad. His workers live around sadar bazaar and some come to his center to work. “We keep them on a monthly salary and then there are commissions too. They have only three months of work though”, he says.

Outside the cotton center sit Nazneen and Prem who are veterans of this winter tradition, they stuff close to four quilts a day quickly stitching double and single sized cotton and more recently “fiber” quilts. “It is easier to stitch through the fiber quilts, but it’s not the same thing”, says Nazneen as she calls out to the chotu in the tiny paan shop a couple of feet away.

“We used to put pieces of capoor into the shaneel razaais in the olden days. It used to help in keeping the germs out and giving a fresh scent too”, remembers Prem threading her finger sized needle with a thick brown thread. “Some of our old customers still ask us to put ittar and capoor into their lihaafs while we stuff them with cotton”, adds Nazneen who is smoothing out the cotton in the quilt with a short cane stick.

On asking both how long they’ve been making quilts since, both say “Umar beet gayi” and smile. Their own lihaafs are old and precious, “Mine has cotton in it, very very old cotton” says Prem. “Cotton is too expensive today, besides it takes four to five kilos of cotton to make a good lihaaf but you need at least six kilos or more of fiber for a lihaaf”, mutters Nazneen. She learnt the art from her mother and father who used to make quilts at home, her children don’t know how to stitch.

“The lihaafs that used to be made in Maulviganj were famous but their quality went down and now the shopkeepers only sell mattresses etc”, says Prahlad who is helping Baba, his old assistant weigh cotton. “This comes from Ganganagar, Harayana and Punjab and that comes from China”, he says pointing at the fiber. In place of the old wooden contraption which Prahlad calls a “behna” that used to beat cotton for as few as three quilts, sits a metal machine that beats out cotton worth over twenty. And this cotton beating green metal machine is made in India.

From Narhara

2007-12-01T12:32:00.000Z

Aslam had visited the primary school he lived next door to in the past ten years only once, to enroll his sons and daughter there. But that was till he became a member of the school management committee in his village, Narhara. “I come to the school for an hour everyday and I also see to it that the children don’t loiter about outside during class hours!” says Aslam, who presses oil for a living. He, Nathulal, Munni Devi and others were selected by the village to be part of this new committee of parents and guardians that intend to provide voluntary assistance to their local primary school.

Bringing the Pradhan, teachers, parents and guardians together was not easy. It involved no less than three to four meetings before a final ‘big meeting’. Anil, who is a twenty five year old post graduate from a village close by has been motivating the locals to participate in school management. “Many villagers were skeptical when I met them first. They used to say we have had enough of these programs and would turn away but we managed to convince them eventually!” he says with a grin.

Supporting Anil in his endeavours have been an equally young post graduate Anuj and veteran development worker Dinesh of Sarvodaya Asharam. For the past three months, they have been camping in a school in Sitapur, directing nine other motivators like Anil to form school management committees in villages around the area. “We are implementing a project that aims to involve local villagers in managing primary schools,” explains Anuj who with his team has worked on every Sunday and festival in the past few months. “We have only till December to see the results!” adds Dinesh.

The results are encouraging, not only are the children benefiting from the extra attention being paid but the committee members too, have found new confidence and awareness because of their new responsibilities.

Munnidevi is a widow with two children who study in the primary school. She has never participated in anything ‘important’ earlier and is one of the three female members in the group of seven. “I come and clean the classes every other day”, she quips. Mrs. Verma, the young primary school teacher looks after five different classes with approximately fifty children each and is assisted the school Shiksha Mitr. “It is a big help now that the parents are coming to school and volunteering to help in cleaning the classes or to cook the midday meal. Earlier, my voice used to go hoarse screaming at children and supervising the cooking!” she says.

Nathulal, the president of the committee talks about their progress, “We have had four meetings till now and have collected five hundred and ninety rupees from villagers as well. We have also requested the pradhan to build a toilet for the school as well”. Local contributions range from rupees ten to rupees fifty, two pink chart hang from the primary school walls, one states the aims of the committee and the other is a list of donors. Anuj points at the area in front of the school, “These furrows in the earth have been made by the members of the committee so that the children stand in straight lines during PT and their morning assembly. These are small innovations made by the locals”, he smiles.

The school management committees elsewhere have been actively involved in maintaining the school property by peeling weeds and wild grass, cleaning school toilets and repairing doors. “It has been observed that teachers are suddenly becoming more active because of the parents involvement and school visits. But it is explained, during the training period to the committee members that they are not to fight or argue, all disputes are to be settled amicably”, says Dinesh. The members understand this and ask the head master or mistress of each school in what way they can be of assistance before they begin work.

Before one leaves the little primary school at Narhara, Aslam, Nathulal and Munnidevi walk across to the small patch of land behind the school and Nathulal says, “We intend to clean this area and cultivate green vegetables here so that the children can eat an extra sabzi with their midday meal. They are all our children after all”.

Buddh Bazaar

2007-11-23T04:39:00.001Z

It is not unusual to find yourself helplessly stranded in the middle of Mahanagar on a Wednesday afternoon or evening. You will either be wondering aloud why you forgot it’s Buddh Bazaar today or you will be sitting on your haunches haggling with the chinhat tea-cup and saucer selling man who looks suitably surprised when you show him the chip on his twelve rupees a dozen china cups which are glazed a caramel brown.

“We don’t come every week,” says an indignant young Samiyah from Indranagar but her mother Arshia is a Buddh Bazaar veteran. “You have to know how to deal with these shopkeepers, they are very clever. The minute you like something they multiply the price by five!” says the mother, trudging off to buy Samiyah a denim jacket.

The long stretch of the bazaar seems to get longer by the week. Traffic is closed on one of the roads where potters and bangle sellers vie for space. It is on one of these roads Bihari the tea seller shares quick words with his customers, a lump of tobacco strategically tucked in a corner of his mouth. “I only sell to the shopkeepers!” announces the most popular young man at the bazaar. He flits about in all four directions with his brass tea carrier and basket of kulads, stopping only to offer a free kulad to an occasional Hawaldar sahib.

While the sweater, jacket, purse and shoe sellers have their shops at the best spots, the cloth bag and plastic flower sellers are pushed onto the dividers. Arjun and his wife Mamta have been selling bright plastic flowers from the divider for over seven years, “Yeh toh 12 maah ka product hai,” quips Arjun who sports a trendy Lee cap he bought at the bazaar while Mamta busies herself arranging the fluorescent, orange, red, pink and yellow bouquets. “We used to sell Delhi-flowers first, now we sell China-flowers. See the China flowers have more petals and the combinations are brighter”, beams Arjun who makes an average of seven hundred rupees on a good Buddh market day.

But one gets used to hearing about Chinese products here. Next to Arjun and Mamta is the omniscient toy seller, he has a new toy this week. A hairy brown mouse with wheels and a chaabi. “This is from Cheen, the mice I used to sell earlier were plastic ones for ten rupees each. This one is for seven rupees and it has hair”, he squeaks with delight. An on looking father immediately buys two.

Mohammad Idries has been selling sweaters at this bazaar for over twenty five years. “This bazaar was nothing! There were only four other shops including Sharma babu’s and Khan’s. Even the quality wasn’t so fancy, now women and men want shiny clothes for daily wear too”, he yawns. Looking out of his makeshift shop he calls for Bihari, before he continues “I now get my sweaters from Ludhiana too.” On asking if anyone from the Buddh Bazaar has managed to set up a permanent shop he shakes his gray head and frowns, “Not enough profits!”

By the roadside you will find the occasional enterprising young man who will be hawking glucose bottles filled with seven colourful blue fry and one water weed for the flexible price of fifteen to thirty rupees for the same bottle. Or maybe you will meet the old woman who’s spectacles are tied behind her head in order to reduce the chances of them falling down while she polishes shoes she can barely see. Sitting by her father might be a little girl like Rampyari who is chiseling a sil-bhatta busily, her chin tucked between her knees as she sits on her haunches. Her father sells new green marble chaklas for making rotis, “One fifty rupees madam, new piece” he says in English.

And on another divider stands young Arvind Singh. He is selling bags which are hanging from the telephone pole and a quarter of the length of the divider’s entire fence. “I am a potter! I sell bags only during this season”, he says quickly and without provocation. “I also sell my products in Barabanki” he adds before telling one what he does for the rest of the week. “Well, on Wednesdays we are here in Mahanagar, Thursdays Aminabad, Fridays Barananki, Saturdays Sadar, Sundays Nakkhas and Mondays there is no bazaar while on Tuesdays we are in Alambagh!” He then resumes his calls for customers, his “Tees rupyaih ka ek” merging with the clamor of “Dus ke chaar”, “ Woolen bhi, garam bhi”, “Samosa, pakora, chai…”, “Ice cream” and others.

Aur aap sun rahein hai Radio Sheetal!

2007-11-02T15:50:00.001Z

10:00 a.m., another bright morning at the Sahbaghi Shiksha Kendra on Sitapur Road. It is the first day of a five day workshop to train radio jockeys. They will be learning the basics of mass communication, audience research, scriptwriting, voice modulation and how to make a program that makes their audience go “waah-waah” as their guru Manish of Dynamic Tarang puts it. In the next five days, they will be recording fifteen minute broadcasts in a makeshift studio at the Kendra where mattresses are used to cover the doors for soundproofing and magazines are kept under microphone bases to reduce static.

A little nervous, all forty students wait for the class to begin. They come from three districts, Rae Bareli, Barabanki and Hardoi. Most have never seen microphones in their lives, others have never been away from home. They come from villages that don’t have schools or basic medical facilities. Some are veteran development project facilitators and field workers and each has a story to tell.

Like twenty four year old Apala Mishra from Rae Bareli who financed her education by tutoring little girls since she was in eighth grade. “My father couldn’t afford to send me to high school or college, he’s a poor farmer and we have little land. I give tuition to around twenty young girls so I can pay for my expenses”, she says. The workshop to her is an opportunity to showcase her singing and make some money as a community radio jockey. Fifty year old Rudrapal Gupta ‘Saras’ introduces himself as a poet. He is also a teacher at a primary school in Hardoi and he’s managed to have two of his anthologies published at the local press. “I never quote anyone but myself!” he claims.

“My name is Ankit Srivastav, I am from district Barabanki!” sings a tall young man, Anthony style. He has been nicknamed Big B by his new friends. “I can mimic any actor, villain and comedian, but Amitabh Bachan is my favourite!” he quips during their tea break. Sanjay Sharma sings at weddings for a living, he has a couplet for every occasion but he can’t help but express disappointment when asked about his village, “Nobody encourages talents such as singing where I come from. At least in the big city each child is encouraged even by his neighbor!”

The workshop has been oraganized by PATH, Population Services International (PSI) and the Dynamic Tarang team. All forty students will be trained to become community radio jockeys or CRJs to help spread awareness about the essentials of the PATH funded “Sure start project” which intends to promote the basic elements of newborn and maternal healthcare. Ajay Patel of PSI says, “They will become resource persons for information in villages while building their own careers and becoming good ambassadors for development”.

Ram Leela actors, anganwadi workers, girl scouts, wedding singers, teacher, graduate students, nukkad directors and writers, they introduce themselves with eloquent fervour which leaves the organizers stumped. “If this is how you are before the training, I don’t know what we’ll be seeing after the next five days!” says an excited Shilpa Nair, from PATH.

Promptly divided into groups of ten, the CRJs are escorted to nearby villages Sarni and Nandgaon to practice audience research. At Nandgaon, housewife Saraswati from Rae Bareli talks to an anganwadi worker with new confidence, her notepad and pen in hand “Do women in the village listen to the radio much? What time do they listen to the radio? What is the biggest problem your village faces?” The worker answers all her questions which she diligently notes and proceeds to some houses to meet the village women. Others follow suit and fan through the village, talking to surprised villagers about their tastes in music, movies and their knowledge of good health and family practices.

Over the next five days, Manish and his team guide them through a crash course in the basics of scriptwriting and make them practice impromptu talk shows and interviews. “What we are trying to do here is to light their latent creative energies,” says Manish who manages to involve all forty in the various exercises he sets for them.

On the last day of the workshop they analyze the voice and content quality of each of the four programs recorded. They are given assignments and scripts to write for when they go back to their villages. “The group will meet again in December to record programs which will be aired January onwards”, explains Manish who while parting with the group encourages them to be as creative as they like.

While leaving for their villages, the poet ‘Saras’, Apala, Saraswati, Sanjay, Ankit and the others feel responsible, confident and enthusiastic. They have forged new friendships and learnt new skills. The organizers hope they will ignite their fellow villagers with the same fervor of newfound awareness. ‘This’, pointing at a microphone Manish smiles, ‘is power’.

Dr. Madhukar Kapoor

2007-09-30T17:10:00.000Z

The register says 59 patients came today. The last was Rakesh Kumar who didn’t know what to do first, touch Doctor Sahib’s feet or show him his pulse. It’s Dr. Madhukar Kapoor’s last Saturday at the cardiology department in Balrampur Hospital. He’s smiling when tells Rakesh “I’m not going forever!” and turns around to tell the others who are watching him from the door, “There’s only one date you can be sure of as a government servant, the date of your retirement. You don’t know when you will be promoted or transferred, but you know from the date which you join, when you will retire.”

He tells Rakesh to continue his prescribed dosage for another week and to smile. Kumar can’t help but wipe a tear, everyone’s hearts are heavy here today and Jagdish, Dr. Kapoor’s peon is having a hard time trying to keep everyone out. Before he shuts the door as the doctor finally leaves his office, Jagdish surveys the empty chamber, “It’s very hard to see old doctors retire, especially ones as popular as Doctor Sahib.” His popularity is evident, a crowd of comprising close to a hundred people has gathered right outside the cardiology department. “This is the first time a government doctor has been given a farewell by his patients,” says Salim, an old patient of the doctor’s.

As one steps out of the department, an air of melancholy touches one. Octogenarians Badri Prasad Shukla and Yashoda Devi are sitting opposite the little stage that has been built for Dr. Kapoor’s farewell. Yashoda Devi has come from Pratapgarh with her son Captain Pramod to wish her doctor farewell, as the feeble old lady climbs the stage to garland Dr. Kapoor she breaks into tears and blesses him with all her heart. Badri Prasad ji says, “I have been his patient for twenty five years and he has saved my life” before he completes his sentence another patient Uma Shanker pitches in, “He has saved my life twice!” and then he points to a lady sitting in another corner, “that’s my wife Urmila Devi and that’s my son Manoj, they too had heart attacks and doctor sahib saved them!”

Manoj is sitting at Dr. Kapoor’s feet and the doctor is visibly moved and embarrassed by all the attention, he talks quietly to each patient as he hugs them.Uma Shanker continues loudly, in a husky voice “I went to doctor sahib in Barabanki, when he was posted there, I still have the prescription he wrote me!” and this was no less than four years ago. But he lightens up when he remembers, “When I used to get medicines from the counter, the compounders used to tease us because all three of us, my wife, my son and I had suffered heart attacks!” Numerous supporters and well wishers crowd around the doctor bidding him adieu, while others petition to the government to give him a two year extension.

Ashish, Dr. Kapoor’s son is overwhelmed with the affection of the people, he stands between the patients watching his father who’s eyes are now red from far. “My retirement does not mean I’m retiring from you, this is my karam bhoomi, I will come three days a week for two hours to give free consultations, this is my promise.” The crowd cheers him and he continues, “ I am only leaving the hospital, not my patients hearts”. Saying this, he shakes hands with the doctors who have gathered to invite him to Vigyan Bhavan, for his official farewell.

Even as he walks away from the cardiology department, his patients follow him. Ajrunisha watches him walk past as her sister Zeenat remembers vividly the day she was brought here. “Ajrunisha was dying, we took her to the emergency ward and they sent us here. Doctor sahib admitted her immediately and saved my sister’s life”. Zeenat too was treated by the doctor, both sisters who are observing their rozaas felt that it was “important to be here today, for our doctor”. Ajrunisha breaks down and says, “Doctor sahib dil se dekhte the mareezon ko… mohabbat se,” and showers blessings upon him with a heavy heart.

But it is the young intern Dr. Shahnawaz who claims that, “My master is Dr. MK Kapoor, I have learnt everything from him… everything I am is because of him”. He remembers how the doctor taught him to “follow his heart” while making tough decisions. “There was a patient in front me, he was dying and I had just passed out of my MBBS and joined here, I turned to Doctor Sahib but he just stood next to me and said do whatever you think is right, don’t worry I’m here,” reminisces the young man. He adds “The patient survived and I learnt one of the most important lessons in medicine and life from Dr. Kapoor that day, to trust myself and my instinct no matter what is happening around me.” He quickly catches up with the doctor and the patients watch as their doctor waves out to them one last time, reminding them to be strong in their hearts.

In the Express-- http://www.expressindia.com/latest-news/Goodbye-Dr-Madhukar/222798/

Surfin' Shravasti

2007-09-22T10:39:00.000Z

The drive from Lucknow to Shravasti is scattered with peaceful sights for the weary traveler. This town, located near the Rapti river in northeastern Uttar Pradesh is of religious significance not only to Buddhists but to Jains as well. The Buddha is said to have spent 24 monsoons in Shravasti while the 'Sobhanath' temple is believed to be the birthplace of Jain Tirthankar 'Sambhavanath'.

Being 150 km from Lucknow, Shravasti has a steady stream of pilgrims through the year. The Lotus Nikko Hotel is a ten minute walk from “Sahet Mahet”. This twin name is applied to two distinct groups of remains, Sahet and Mahet. Raj Pratap, who has been serving as a guard and often guide at the site since for over ten years elaborates, “Sahet is the site of the famous Buddhist monastery known as Jetavana Vihar, which lay outside the limits of the Shravasti city. While Mahet situated at about 500 m from here and it denotes the actual ancient city .” The ruins at Sahet consist mainly of plinths and foundations of monasteries and stupas, all Buddhist.

Buddhists pilgrims from Sri Lanka, Burma, Thailand, Korea and other South East Asian countries visit the age-old stupas, majestic monasteries and several temples near the village of Sahet-Mahet. Nemo Wong and his wife Kieko and their friends are about to end their pilgrimage, “ The tour takes us to all the places of significance to our religion around India, we will end our pilgrimage at Kushinagar” they beam.

The heavy scent of incense comes from under the Anandabodhi tree. “It said to be an offspring of the original Bodhi tree and was planted here by Buddha’s disciple Anand,” explains Raj Pratap. It is awe inspiring to stand in the shade of this sacred tree that has been an eternal witness to the vicissitudes of history. The numerous flags around the tree have been hung by “international pilgrims” he says. “The two main attractions here are the Pakki Kuti and the Kachchi Kuti and it is in Sahet, that Anathpindak, a wealthy merchant, constructed the Jetavana Vihar,” continues the guide who shoos away a platoon of monkeys vying for tidbits thrown by the pilgrims

At Shravasti, the huge “World Peace Bell” or what is commonly known as the “Shanti Ghanti” is another attraction. This bell was donated by the Japanese. The motive was to convey the message of humanity of the Buddha through the bell's toll. The local villagers however visit it every Tuesday and Thursday and consider it no less than a temple. A five foot long log, clasped with iron chains is used to ring this bell!

Apart from the Thai, Sri Lankan, Burmese, Chinese and Korean Buddhist Temples, Aunglimal’s cave is worth a visit for a three sixty degree view of Shravasti! Today a great rampart of earth and brick surrounds this city which has a rich historical and spiritual significance. During excavations in Sahet-Mahet, many ancient idols and inscriptions have been found. They are now kept in museums at Mathura and Lucknow.

It is common to find yourself being blessed by smiling monks clad in orange and maroon, they’re from all over the world.. Thai, Sri Lankan, Korean, Japanese and Indian. Shravasti is a melting pot for Buddhists from all over the world a weekend visit can be most refreshing and often, enlightening.

Short Putt!

2007-08-29T05:23:00.000Z

Everyday between 5:30 and 8:00 p.m., standing behind the counter at the kiwi sport’s wear store on Gokhlae marg will be Ashok Bambi, chatting up one of his satisfied customers. You will find him there, laughing his hearty laugh as he bustles about finding his customer a golf club, tees, balls and anything that might have caught the golfer’s fancy. “He sells golf clubs at one third their price, it’s tough to find that kind of bargain anywhere”, muses Eshanvir who is looking for the perfect putter, a surprise birthday gift for his father. Bambi pulls out five putters and lists the merits of each, adding information about the previous owner.

The store sells second hand golf equipment which is imported from the US. “Americans generally play golf twice a week and for six months a year because of the climate. Their clubs are in really good condition and it’s easy to sell them at one third their original price”, says Ashok. He is quick to add that his cousin, Raja who is a single handicap golfer and in the US was the driving force behind his interest and this enterprise, afterall Bambi wasn’t always a golfer.

“I was the captain the state cricket team in 1982,” he states matter of factly. The first cricketer from UP to score a century in the Ranjii Trophy, he has also played a season of cricket for Middlesex, England and is one of the few coaches in UP to have a second level certificate in coaching from the BCCI. “I was trained in Bangalore by the legendary Frank Tyson”, says this middle order batsman who used to play two or three down. He laughs while calling himself a “ Good club level bowler” and continues about his favourite game, cricket.

“I grew up in Narhai and enjoyed the privilege of playing cricket with fourteen to eighteen year olds whilst I was eight! In college I was spotted by some senior players and within two months was selected for the Lucknow 11,” reminisces this accomplished cricketer. He claims that it used to be tougher to get into the UP cricket team than it was to get into the IAS or IPS. “It was rigorous, I remember the trials!” he laughs. Bambi has coached the UP Ranjii team for four years and been on the selection board for seven years. “There is so much talent in UP and it is finally being tapped, earlier, the national team had boys from Delhi, Bombay, Chennai and other big towns. But today Kaif, Raina and others have done us proud”, he adds on a serious note. Eagerly citing an article he read in the papers a few days ago he says “The person to watch out for is Praveen Kumar, he’s going to beat them all to it!”

It was Ashok Bambi who introduced the cricket helmet and Aussie cloth to India. “I worked on making helmets for over eight months! And after selling them for a while got bored and decided to continue with the family business of garments” he laughs when he remembers how t-shirts weren’t used in cricket till 1979. “We played in full sleeves terracotta or cotton shirts and pants! I felt the need to introduce something lighter and more casual, then we started manufacturing Aussie cloth t-shirts” he says.

A good friend of Suneil Gavaskar’s, Ashok has named his elder son after him and his younger one after Suneil’s son “Rohan”. “Both my sons play cricket too, not professionally though”, he laughs when he says that none of them took to golf. “There are around 250 golfers in Lucknow, I noticed the trend and set up this shop two years back,” says Ashok who took to golf in 1999. He believes that in the next ten years golf will be an extremely popular sport in India. Today, Kiwi sports is increasing it’s customer base across North India, all it took was an observation, some good advice and a passion for sports.

While Eshanvir settles for a “No compromise” putter and leaves the store beaming at his “steal”, Bambi promises not to breathe a word about the buy to the young customer’s father and smiling to himself he welcomes his next customer.

This Independence Day

2007-08-10T15:16:00.001Z

It is a rainy day in Barabanki, but everyone seems busier than usual at the Gandhi Gram Udyog which sits nestled in a grove of neem and banana trees. A stream of a familiar green colour is flowing in the drain that runs outside the various departments in the Udyog. Following the trail, one reaches a dark room, heavy with the acrid smell of dye. Two men, Brajesh and Sunderlal are busy at their table dyeing yards of khaadi with the familiar green colour. “We make over five thousand national flags a year,” says Sunderlal matter of factly, while wiping the sweat off his brow with his angocha, gingerly avoiding the dye on his hands from leaving a stain on his face. The rest of his and Brajesh’s bodies are a riot of colours from the dyeing process. They, alongwith over two hundred others have worked at the Udyog in Barabanki since 1980.

Peeping into the dark room is Dudhnath, “He is our chief designer” Chaggu ji, a head of one of the many departments at the Udyog and one’s guide says. Dressed in a plain khaadi kurta and
pajama, the diminutive and shy Dudhnath shows us his designs. “I was trained in Bombay”, he smiles. The intricately designed traditional motifs are spaced out on tracing paper. Spreading his charts out on a glass table with two tube lights under it he looks at Chaggu ji for approval. “It is his duty to see that the proportions of the charkha in the center of the flag are perfect”, says the friendly Chaggu. Folding his hands before a picture of Goddess Saraswati, Dudhnath gets back to work, reminding the supervisor that one of the tubelights is fused.

Back in the dark dyeing room, Sunderlal and Brajesh continue explaining their role in the making of the Tiranga. “We press the white cloth in this wooden frame and let the ink soak in, one has to be extremely careful”says Brajesh, demonstrating on a piece of white khaadi. Sunderlal who continues dyeing the khaadi adds, “The flags cannot have a defect, it’s easier to dye and print motifs on bedcovers and saris”! Brajesh nods his head, he says that nothing can pass the watchful eye of Mataprasad Sharma ji, who checks all the flags.

Mataprasad ji is busy overseeing the washing and drying of khaadi in the next department. Extremely proud of his “big machines”, which “fall sick every two years” he points out at a large roller being manually turned by two other men, “We use a binder for making the cotton stronger and after dipping it in the binder we roll it into thaans”.

Mataprasad ji is one of the most enthusiastic workers at the Udyog, he lives with his family on the campus and insists that nobody celebrates Independence Day the way the workers here do. “We have three special days every year, one is Independence Day, the other Gandhi Jayanti and the last Republic Day. This year we will march five kilometers with the national flag and sing vande mataram! Then we will collect under the national flag and mantri ji will deliver a speech, after which everyone will get mithai” his face lights up while relating the details of their plan. A day in the life of these workers begins as early as 5:00 a.m., after an hour of mandatory shramdaan, in which they weed the gardens or clean the departments they proceed for the 9:00 a.m. assembly. “After singing vande matram together, we sit at our charkhas for an hour”, smiles Chaggu guiding one to the next department.

“This here is an important department! And that is Ramkripal, he has been working here for seven years” Chaggu points at a harried young man with spots of green paint all over him. “I mix the colours here,” Ramkripal says while picking up blue cans of dry paint powder. “First, I put the powder in this can and then slowly add kerosene, the fixer, glycerin and finally urea. Then I switch on the highpowered machine!” he says in an officious tone, everyone else in the room looks at him with respect as he demonstrates the entire procedure, concentrating on the compositions “The most important thing is, you must add the kerosene slowly, otherwise everything will go wrong!” two young students from a nearby high school observe him carefully as he turns his “highpowered machine” in the can, churning out a consistent paste of white colour.

Guiding one back to the center head office, Chaggu ji continues “We start making the national flags two months in advance before Independence Day and Republic Day. The stitching is done by local women, khaadi is made in the surrounding villages and everything else is done here”, he concludes with a smile.

When one asks Mataprasad ji who is walking alongside us, which teaching of the Mahatama’s he finds most significant personally and especially on the eve of Independence Day, he says “I like Gandhi ji’s charkha. While I work on it for an hour every morning, it teaches me two things one is to control my anger and frustration whenever the yarn breaks and the second to never give up, because each time the thread breaks you have to attach it and start spinning all over again.” He believes that these are the two qualities that helped Mahatma Gandhi win us independence.

But to Ramkripal Independence Day isn’t just another day, “All these colours I make go into making our flag every year. I feel the spirit of freedom while mixing the colours here for the flag that waves in Lucknow.” Mataprasad ji, Ramkripal, Suderlal and Brajesh may have never seen the Vidhan Sabha but it is from their labour that the Tiranga we salute flutters…in freedom.

Bismillah...

2007-08-03T17:13:00.001Z

In the Newsline--

http://cities.expressindia.com/archivefullstory.php?newsid=249319&creation_date=2007-08-05

On walking up the stairs to Kalbe Abed Plaza, Chowk and asking a bystander where one might find Hashim Akhtar Naqvi, the bystander’s face immediately lights up. “Hashim bhai!” he beams and without much ado guides you to Iqbal Manzil. “Is this the house of the famous calligrapher, Hashim Akhtar Naqvi?” one asks, nodding his head the guide confirms the obvious and takes you into a courtyard with pomegranate trees and henna bushes.

Just back from office, Mr. Naqi smiles as his wife Shehna points at a large creeper painted on the purple wall, “He painted that creeper and he shaded that wall too”. The large leaves of the creeper look life like while the tri-shaded wall, which is in lemon, green and yellow lights up their dining room. “It needs a touch up”, says Hashim modestly.

This architect, who studied architecture at the government college of arts and crafts Lucknow is listed in the Limca Book of Records for writing a single verse from The Koran “Bismillah-ir-Rehman-ir-Rahim”over five thousand times in different designs. “No two designs have been repeated,” he says with a sparkle in his eye, “Many people ask me how I remember whether I’ve made a design before or not. I have no answer to that question, when I sit down to write it is a form of prayer to me”.

Hashim Akhtar Naqvi was inspired by the calligraphy of his father, the Late Hasan Akhtar, who died when Hashim was barely two years old. In school, Hashim was fond of writing names in English and Hindi in different styles, “I started writing in Urdu much later” he laughs, remembering how his friends would coax him to write their ‘notes of love’ because his of his beautiful handwriting.

A painting of his most innovative design, a house designed in such a way that each letter of the Bismillah inscription forms a part of it, is mounted on one of his walls. There is another painting of a tree with 170 leaves, each of which is different from the other reads as Bismillah. “I was reading The Koran one day and thought of writing the verse 786 times, since the Arabic equivalent of Bismillah is 786”, he adds.

His first exhibition was in 1986 and he has had three since, “It is difficult to find sponsors for my work but it is Shamsi & Sons who have always encouraged me to continue with my passion for calligraphy” he says. In 1989 Hashim was awarded the first prize for “Innovative Calligraphy” at the All India competition of calligraphy organized by the Jammu and Kashmir Academy of Arts in Srinagar. He has received no official recognition from the state or the Urdu Academies at Lucknow so far. Hashim believes that such an art has no future in the era of graphic design. But with glee he adds, “I have been invited to Iran to exhibit my works this year!”

But Shehna quickly quips“Very few people in our own neighborhood know he is a calligrapher”. Shehna is an extremely creative lady herself, “She is known to make dolls from vegetables” laughs her husband. Their daughters, Mansha, Kisa and Eema enjoy art as a hobby while Naqi’s mother’s hand made dolls are on exhibit at a museum in Delhi.

Hashim is also credited for making efforts to ‘Indianise’ Bismillah’s inscription, “I have written Bishmillah in every regional language and some foreign scripts such as Chinese and Hebrew as well” he muses. While out of the 113 Bismillah inscriptions used by the Dar-ul-Quran publishers, Bombay for their “Al Quran” 52 designs used are Naqi’s.

As he gathers his designs and puts them back into their shelf, he softly says that the verse means “In the name of God the merciful and compassionate” and so is his art.

Raj Kumar Mahmudabad

2007-07-20T13:15:00.000Z

If you happen to be at the city station wazirganj, the dry little lane that snakes right will lead you to the gates of the grand Iqbal Manzil. A palace built in 1928 by Sir Mohammad Ali Mohammad Khan, the first Vice Chancellor of the Aligarh Muslim University. As you drive into the Mahal, the chatter of young children surprises you, as do the peeping smiling faces from the old windows of what appear to be classrooms. “The ground floor of the Mahal is used for a school run by the Raj Kumar Mahmudabad”, explains his personal assistant, ushering one into the director’s cabin.

A warm smile lighting up his face, Raj Kumar Amir Naqi Khan the grandson of Sir Mohd. Ali Mohd. Khan welcomes you to his home. With quick and agile steps, he ascends the staircase to his chambers. While walking across the wide, open-air second floor which seems to be a courtyard of sorts, he mentions, “This was a tennis court for the ladies.” Motioning left and right with a swerve of his arm he adds with a chuckle, “This area around the court used to be covered with purdahs so the ball wouldn’t fall to the other side”. He pauses before a little platform, “and that was for the band”.

Following the kind faced and charming Raj Kumar Mahmudabad through a hall lined with black and white pictures that capture some of the most important moments in Indian history, we enter his living room. An air of antiquity shrouds his chambers as we settle down before a fireplace which he says is still “in working condition”. The sweltering heat outside seems a distant memory within the cool environs of these walls.

The Prince is a celebrated connoisseur on Mughal cuisine, “We organized our first Mughal food festival back in 1992 and have had twelve such festivals since” he says. He credits his elegant wife Kunwarrani Kulsum Begum, a culinary consultant at the Maurya Sheraton hotel Delhi with the idea, “She belongs to the Hyderabad family and we often argue and defend our own cuisines as the best!” he laughs.

The kitchen of Iqbal Palace, the bawarchikhana, was known for its unique “riddle” dinners. “My father, Mahraj Kumar Mohd. Mahmoud Hasan Khan was particularly fond of puzzling our guests with these dinners. What appeared to be an egg would generally be a mithai made of saffron and khoya”, he remembers with a twinkle in his eye. This tradition continues and with new innovations such as the heavenly “Hari-manbhari” green kheer, which the Raj Kumar describes as “Something that delights even Hari or God”. This rich concoction of pistachios, khoya and other secret ingredients is one of his newest recipes. “Our cook was recently awarded at a ceremony at the Gomti Hotel”, he adds. Carrying on with a vivid description of Lab-e-maashook, or “lips of the beloved”, an old creation from the kitchens of the palace the Raj Kumar almost leaves one with the taste of this kheer. It consists of bits of almond, khoya and beetroot for the lip-red colour. “Originally, rubies were used as they soothed the nerves”, he smiles.

A typical day in the life of an erstwhile Nawab would begin with a breakfast at the palace with his begum. Breakfast consisted of a menu as diverse as puris, parathas, kliageena and tarkari better known as bhujia and sabzi. Lunch and dinner were far more elaborate with Qurma, chicken, fish, kababs, pulao, tarkari and tarkari salan or vegetable curry, roti, sheermal, pickle and muraba being the necessary basics along with desserts. At around 5:00 p.m., sharbats would be served. “For daawats, a variety of qurmas, kababs, pulaos and the rest were prepared”, explains the Prince. At any given time, the palace usually had fifteen to twenty guests that dined with the Nawab. Kababs such as the shaami, gola, pateeli, koftai-mulla-ajami, ghutvan, nargissi and zamin-dost kabab which was cooked inside the earth amongst many others were cooked. Most of these kababs simply melted in the mouth. “There were special chickens, fed on saffron, chameli, pineapple and other foods just to add aroma to their flesh when cooked”!

A bawarchikhana generally had fifteen different bawarchis, each one entrusted with different duty and skill, a particular bawarchi would make kababs, another dissect the meat, a third make sharbats and so on.“A hakeem was in charge of the kitchens, everything including the tobacco for the Nawab’s hookah was prepared under his guidance.” The hakeem would prepare the next day’s menu and send the list to the Begum for corrections.

The Raj Kumar remembers the aroma of his father’s hookah which wafted through these very rooms years ago. “Seasonal fruits such a pomegranate, were mashed into the tobacco for the aroma and the smoke passed through a brew of milk and keora, not water. This sucked away the nicotine… it was heavenly” he trails off.

We walk to a musty chamber, the door of which he throws open and beams, “We are renovating this area for heritage tourism. We intend to invite exclusive guests every winter to enjoy with us authentic Mughal food”. As we walk down the stairs to the classrooms, he reminisces how he grew up playing in these rooms. The fishbone design on the pillars and the tiny chandeliers hang from the roof like they did seventy nine years ago.

The story in the Newsline--- http://cities.expressindia.com/fullstory.php?newsid=247034

Savitri Devi..of the slums

2007-06-08T09:02:00.000Z

At 12:00 p.m. everyday, if you happen to turn left from the Rahimnagar Chauraha, it is hard to miss the group of little children running towards a particular shanty. “Namaste Madam ji!” each one says as you descend the slope into the slum these sixty families call home. It is time for school at this “basti”, where no mother comes to drop off her little one, none of the students have school bags and often not even pencils and notebooks. But what they do have is an urge to sit in class.

Outside the school stands Savitri Devi and her daughters sixteen year old Mona and the fifteen year old Komal. Smiling and folding their hands in a namaste they invite visitors to participate in their classes. “We have thirty children present today,” says Savitri as her daughters begin class with a small prayer. The class is decorated with strings of tiny colourful flags. The cane chappar-walls have small paintings of the Mickey Mouse series character Goofy, posters with A,B,C and a crayon drawing of the Indian flag. While in a small cage lying in a corner of the room is a white rabbit called Chun-Mun. Pointing at a rusty old board hanging outside the door, Savitri says “Because of this board we have had visitors to our basti, people see the school and come to meet us”.

Savitri, though informally educated she has pledged to educate all the women and children in her basti. “I want my daughters to be able to put their problems and their issues forward, they should have the confidence to talk to anyone,” says this forty year old mother whose sons work for a caterer. Her daughters Komal and Mona are avid sports girls, “I used to watch Mona play hockey at Karamad girls and my elder sister Soni was a very good kabbadi player, no one could beat her!”, gushes Komal. Soni is now married with two children but Komal and Mona have taken it upon themselves to use hockey as a stepping stone towards a better life. “Look at Sania Mirza!” pitches in Mona who reads news from a second hand newspaper that her mother occasionally gets from the principal of a school opposite the basti. “I have always taught my children that knowledge never decreases by sharing, but I wish adults would understand that too”, says Savitri who has faced opposition from many of the residents at the basti regarding the school. “They threatened to break the roof and I challenged them to just try,” she remembers.

It is not uncommon to see some women attending these classes as well, Alisha Begum is having her name added to the list as she settles down to study. “When I wanted to have my eyes checked and get these spectacles, I had to take Savitri with me to the doctor. I felt shy because I couldn’t read the alphabets on the chart. Tomorrow I can get lost in the city because I can’t read directions and I don’t like to ask people to read for me!” she says as the women sitting around her concur. Savitri, who’s husband died due to a respiratory problem during last year’s monsoon remembers how each family spent three days without food sitting on the roofs of their shanties covering themselves with plastic sheets to protect themselves against the rain. “The day after my husband died, I had to distribute rations donated by an organization to everyone in this basti. It took all the strength I had in me, but I did it”, Savitri says.

Komal and Mona dream of being selected in their school hockey team, something they have strived for over three years “If I make it this time, I will get a six hundred rupee scholarship and then I can try out for the state team”, beams Komal. Mona is looking forward to wearing her very own hockey team kit and playing for her country is her only dream. Their mother wants them to learn “computer”, because it’s the call of the day. She seeks advice on her daughters futures and their “service” prospects from “kind visitors”.

Sitting at her little shop next to the school, where she has stocked two rupee notebooks and 50 paise pencils which her son bought from Aminabad, Savitri calls Mamta, an eight year old girl washing her hands after cooking food to attend school. The girl joins the class and Savitri looks around for other children that might be bunking class, “If they study and learn something, no one can take advantage of them,” she says before settling down to eat her only meal during the day.

Of Coppery Wealth

2007-05-27T04:37:00.001Z

My first..in months!

http://cities.expressindia.com/fullstory.php?newsid=238170

Phulwari

2007-05-19T08:46:00.001Z

Predictably, the railway crossing is shut and the perfect drive from the city to the village suddenly seems like any drive through the city after all. Except of course, for the ultra pink pipe shaped papads hanging perilously from the roof of a tumbledown paan shop, a bullock cart parked next to you, a bunch of punctual milkmen somehow managing to slide under the poles and the dying engine of a vikram. The papads do look less delectable than the butter bhuttas with extra lemon but the express train chugs past before one can make eye contact with the little boy running about selling snacks.

It’s a smooth drive all the way to Phulwari, you may even spot the occasional herd of blue bulls feasting in the fields that line the Sultanpur road. You will also cross two bazaars and the ‘Gajaria’ farm before reaching village Khurdai and asking the most seemingly intelligent onlooker where the “Phoolon wala farm” is. All fingers point straight down the road. The drive to destination “Phulwari” is especially exciting for anyone who loves their plants. This nursery nestled in the outskirts of Lucknow, is a haven for those who enjoy variety and quality in their flora.

As you drive into the gates of the nursery, which is also called ‘Mansarovar’, rows of poplar and eucalyptus trees welcome you .The greenhouse to your left looks inviting with its rows of neatly potted plants, each one of them ready to be carried away while the farmhouse opposite it looks straight out of the movies. Sixty eight year old Jagdish Hansraj smiles saying, “Any problems finding the way?” not today one beams! His better half, Sharda is busy supervising the cleaning up of the nursery. “It’s not easy looking after over five hundred plants!” she laughs, nodding her head in disapproval as one of the gardeners attempts to align her pots of gerberas.

A quick walk around the nursery with Sharda, who lovingly points at each plant tracing it’s origins “Those are my adeniums, they’ve come all the way from Kalimpong”. The wooden benches housing the pots are a riot of bright pink tropical flowers. “Who says you can’t have flowers in summer?” Jagdish wonders as he admires a thumbergia creeper with tiny orange and blue flowers. Sitting next to a line of bonsais, he says “Now this here is a pomegranate bonsai and that is Brazilian rain tree”. Each looks more exotic than the other, however what catches one’s eye are the fuchsias. They look magical with their fairy like velvety flowers, drooping like bell dresses in shades of purple, red, pink and fuchsias. “Those are from Kashmir, you must look at the purple and red fuchsia”, says Sharda, walking towards the farmhouse. Sitting pretty on a wooden table is her favourite fuchsia. Another interesting little shrub growing in the garden is a “Rose Tree”, one of the special plants offered at the Phulwari.

“I wanted to make Phulwari a one stop shop in gardening,” says Jagdish, who is considered a pioneer and visionary amongst floriculturists. He is known to bring something unique to every flower show, one of the few who make an effort to travel across the country to collect new varieties.

While walking through the nursery and the rows of large pots filled with lotuses, he laments the lack of an organized flower culture in Lucknow, “In South India, flowers are a part of life, the man of the house buys jasmine and offers half at the temple and brings back half for his wife. The entire business of selling and buying flowers is an organized and an all year round affair, people aren’t averse to buying and experimenting with new varieties.” He says that but in Lucknow there are few people who want a plant that costs more than twenty five rupees.

Settling at the table under a lime tree, he continues “Lucknow’s plant business is in a poor state, there is no concrete market or designated space to sell plants, in stead they are reduced to selling by the roadside and that too on a temporary basis”. Kaiser, their five year old black Labrador barks as Sharda returns with special atta biscuits and talks about their four daughters, “ Our eldest, Anita is a teacher at Muscat, Deepa is currently helping us with the nursery while she is posted as a professor at a central university here, while Neelu and Parul are married and working.”

Life at a farm after the years spent in the middle of city, running the “Mansarovar Study Circle”, is a welcome change. The Hansrajs spend their days tending to the individual needs of every plant in their nursery and running a poultry farm, with their daughters visiting every week the farm is abuzz with activity, especially in summer when Sharda makes ice-cream for the village market. As one leaves the farm with a pomegranate bonsai the warm couple wave goodbye while Kaiser bounds after white herons in a field full of gladioli.

Raza Library

2007-03-01T12:26:00.000Z

Just when you begin wondering aloud whether this muddy and squelchy excuse for a road is the ‘only way’ to a heritage site which houses over 17,000 rare manuscripts, 80,000 printed books, 5000 miniature paintings and so much more… you are confronted by it’s scholastic silence and without completing your question, you shut up.

It is right in the heart of Rampur, you can’t miss the Rampur Raza Library which stands in all its magnificence in the Rampur Fort. Nawab Faizullah Khan who ruled the state from 1774 to 1794, established this library with his personal collection at the Tosha Khana in the fort. But it was Nawab Hamid Ali Khan who constructed ‘Hamid Manzil’ an Indo-European style palace in Rampur fort which has housed the Raza library since 1957.

Hamid Manzil, which was constructed by a one Mr. Wright, has interiors that are said to match those of Buckingham Palace. “These chandeliers, which are around a century old, have never had a fused bulb”, says Zubair Ahmad who’s face lights up as he shows you precious manuscripts that lie open in glass cases. Zubair has worked at the library for over eleven years and has volunteered to guide one around the library. With pride he points at the canopies that line the pillars, “All gold. This was the darbar hall where the Nawab invited his foreign guests and that was where his throne stood”, he says while standing right in front of a painting of the grand Nawab Faizullah Khan.

The Arabaic, Persian, Urdu, Turkish , Pushto, Hindi etc manuscripts stare at you in silence, challenging you to read only their labels and admire the craftsmanship of each calligrapher and artist. In of the cases the gold borders of an 1860 AD nikaah nama catches your eye. It declares a mehar of twenty lakh for Jahan Ara Begum’s wedding with Qasim Ali Khan Bahadur in Lucknow. A blown up photograph of the Bhagwad Gita in Arabic which the library stores is on display as well. There are seventh and eight century AD Korans written on parchment paper in early kufic script. The unique “Shahrul Kafia of Raiz ud-Din” which bears notes by Emperor Shah Jahan in his own hand as well as the signature and seal of Aurangzeb lies amongst the many treasures in the library.

“Many Turkish and other foreign scholars visit the library for research work. There is a hostel for them in Rang Mahal,” hurries Zubair who is constantly checking his watch as the library closes at 5 p.m. “We’re open every day of the week from 10 to 5 except on Fridays”, he says before explaining what each of the Greek figures that surround us signify. “This here is bravery,” he points at a soldier trudging forth in white marble. “Each figure is made of one single slab of marble and has no joints”, he declares. We bid the line of miniature portraits of the Rampur Nawabs farewell as we leave the Darbar Hall and proceed to the restoration laboratory, a proposition that Zubair is most excited about.

While ascending the stairs to ‘the laboratory’, one expects stacks of brown withering books lying about and gnomes with large spectacles at work, but the laboratory has three neat desks with cheerful young workers carefully poring over what seems like some extremely delicate specimen. “This is a Diwan –i-Hafis which is over a century old”, says Lalit Pathak. A statement you’re used to hearing when you’re at the library where nothing except the latest editions of the TIME and other magazines in the general reading room are new.

“These pages have been eaten away by the strong animal fat based binding substance. I’m using acetate to wipe the last traces of it away,” says Pathak. Quickly he produces ‘before and after’ pictures of a much damaged Koran that he restored. “Once I restored it for the Nawab, it was buried in the graveyard,” he remembers. The bottles of chemicals that line the neat shelf are all new, not a speck of dust anywhere. Zubair, who ushers around the lab says “This painting here, look again”. Looking through a magnifying glass it all becomes clear. The tall painting of what looked like a Mughal plant is full of over a thousand verses from the Koran, beautifully fitted in each corner of its stalk, leaf and tendril.

The restoration laboratory was developed by Dr. WH Siddiqui the Director of Rampur Raza Library. A distinguished archaeologist, art historian, epigraphist and numismatist the unassuming and smiling gentleman has been restoring and computerizing the library since he joined in 1993. “Have you seen the restoration laboratory?” he questions before anything else. Satisfied with the positive affirmation, he continues “Only people who are proficient in Persian, Arabic and Urdu can do justice to the translation of these texts”.

While leaving the library one remembers reading what a scholar once said of the library, “…I have also seen the libraries of Egypt, Syria, Turkey and Europe. And I can say that this library is richer than any one”. The richness rubs off on you and suddenly the muddy and squelchy road lined with meat shops seems like a faraway memory.

Kuch Gadbad Hai!

2007-02-02T14:09:00.000Z

In the heart of bustling Aminabad sits a market that found its beginnings from Bade Miyan’s chaadar on which he’d sell everything from pins to bangles, all for a paltry dhaiye annas. Gadbad jhala, home to over a 107 shops is Lucknow’s oldest bangle market, “It’s been here since 1922. The sheer number of people who visited the area for the monkey shows led to its notorious christening!” claims Mohammad Ahmed who runs five bangle shops in the sparkling bauble market.

The new gadbad jhala as we know it, replaced a disorganized glass bangle selling market with a pucca market with shop numbers. “There was a school here initially and on bazaar days we’d come and lay our goods on the floor like the pioneer, Bade Miyan. Wooden planks replaced the floor market and now it’s these cement stalls that the Nagar Palika built”, says Mohammad Ahmed, sitting in a spotless white kurta pajama on a small stool at the very end of the market. Behind him is a well that was covered up when it dried, “This well as old as the market!” he laughs.

The stores at gadbad jhala sell everything from wigs to Umrao Jaan jewelry. Cheap fake kundan jewelry that shines under the glare of 200 W bulbs. So blinding is the light and the heat that it takes at least five minutes to get accustomed to the surroundings and understand which lane you’re in!

Gayatri Shukla is scouring the market with her daughter Naina for purple bangles, “Look at the variety! There must be ten types of purple bangles here” her husband Naresh grumbles. But Naina immediately places on the counter a georgette mauve kurta, asking for bangles with kangans a la carte the latest Bollywood hit Vivah. The bangle man immediately procures the correct match from the stacks of bangles. Naresh is amused and Naina satisfied, they file out of the shop looking for bindis in the next shop while the bangle man continues business.

He’s covered in cheap shiny sparkle powder, “It’s all from the bangles!”he laughs. ‘Sardar’ as he is fondly called, has sold bangles here for over forty years and knows his customers by name. He jokes with the women and helps them choose the usual dozen glass bangles for every occasion. Alambagh wali Pooja is here for cut glass bangles, “My mother likes the older designs, I of course prefer the metal ones with beads… these last longer”! she quips. Sardar hands Pooja a 2X8 size of bangles, “There are generally five sizes of bangles. They start from 2X4 to 2X14, all in even numbers”. He’s one of the few bangle sellers who has kept his exclusive bangle selling identity, “The others have started selling all kinds of women’s items, I only know about bangles!”

Next to Sardar’s shop is the sindoor daan seller, these wooden hand made sindoor daans and the packets of batna, ittar as well as cheap lipstick are all for welcoming the new bahu. “For nikaahs and engagements, we make traditional baskets that go in the sunnat or shagun”, says a harried Suresh. It’s the wedding season and his shop is abuzz with activity. In fact, the only other shop with a madder rush is the sitara shop. Colourful sitaras and gottas line the walls of the shop, burqa clad women jostle around looking for sequins to add to their dupattas. “This is a poor man’s and a karigar’s shop! You’ll find everything under the sun to decorate your suits, saris and burqas with here”, says Rahim.

It’s only the bangle stall owners who’re complaining about quality at Gadbad jhala. They are unimpressed by how bangles have now become a ‘fancy’ item. “They last only seven days! And cost thirty rupees… the quality is nothing compared to what we used to sell twenty years ago. Those bangles were washed with real gold water and stayed in tact for months. Red, blue and green were the only colours we sold!” says Mukhtar, whose dusty shelves house the now unpopular Jaipuri bangles. “These plastic ones are popular too, but our best sellers are the nag bangles with colourful stones,” he adds.

Gadbad jhala has something for every woman. The eclectic, heavy and one of a kind Firozabadi glass kada for the bohemian woman, sparkly and delicate bright bijli bangles for a marriage and the simple kareli green bangle that sell at ten rupees. Visiting the jhala is not for the weak at heart. Clutch your bag to your chest, fight for a discount, also watch out for the twenty year old fans that line the centre lane for ventilation! Carry a tissue along to wipe off that sweat, don’t forget to carry your outfit along for the perfect colour match and look out for the ‘Made in China’ golden bangles. They’re a huge hit at the Gadbad jhala.

Curio Corner

2007-01-28T06:01:00.000Z

A thick cloud of incense beckons you towards the corner shop, the hare-rama hare-krishna chant rings in your ears as you tap the backs of wooden benches standing in a neat row overlooking a manicured garden in Carlton Hotel Lucknow. The man behind the counter smiles warmly, he expects you to know what you want…but you are awed by the sheer variety. Onyx bangles, jade Buddhas, wooden necklaces with amulets bearing obscure designs and inscriptions… numerous silver earrings, that trace their history back to over forty years, an eighty year old silk blouse for a young girl, the gramophone, large silver rings which sit in blue velvet all stare back at you.

Rajnigandha jewelers are more than just another corner shop, with a 150 year old heritage that traces its origins back to a shop in Chowk, the Kapoor brothers are proud of being collectors and sellers of indigenous arts and crafts amongst many a old bric- a- brac. “We’ve had this shop at Carlton for over 35 years now. Our shop in Chowk, Gaya Prasad Gauri Shankar is 150 years old,” says Manoj Kapoor, one of the four brothers who own the little haunt where you can find anything from a Tibetan meditation bowl to a pair of kundan ear rings.

“My grandfather, Gaya Prasad was very fond of coins, he learnt all about them from magazines and books and even in that era, he realized the worth of antique currency,” remembers Sanjay Kapoor. The brothers relate a story about the case of ‘many coins’, “Years ago, we had over five different people and jewelers come to us to sell coins, all these coins belonged a certain age, eventually we traced the origins of this sudden coin selling spree to a village near Lucknow where a man had found a buried treasure under hit hut, now this man was slowly selling handfuls of his treasure!” says Manoj, who carries in his left pocket a silver box for elaichi and in his right, another for sweet silver supari. “Making the customer family is what matters in our business, with a reputation as old as ours, we have served Rajbaras for years!” adds Manoj.

“We have to visit interiors of villages and meet tribals to purchase our goods, this is where we need to preempt the worth of each item,” says Sanjay. Manoj remembers how a goldsmith “ruthlessly” melted an old Rolex for gold, “I explained the worth of a Rolex and compared it to the small amount of gold he extracted! But this is how we lose precious antiques!”

Ardent collectors of currency, their collection of Indian notes includes a precious two and a half rupee note, a one rupee note from 1917, “Re 1” from 1935. “All these hundred rupee, one rupee and other notes are popular buys, but the Awadh five coin collection is our bestseller! It contains coins from all five Nawabs eras, one from Mohammad Ali, Wajad Ali, Gazad-ul-Haider and others” says Manoj, pulling out a brass bowl full of coins from Arabia, France, England and Awadh. Other bestsellers include paandaans and tambacoo daans.

“School children often visit us for a coin every now and then… it’s a popular hobby since so many years now”, adds Sanjay, pouring out a piping hot cup of “masala chai”. While Manoj points to a shallow and dark looking bowl, “That’s made of three metals, it has Arabic inscriptions on it and was used by people who have nightmares and feel afraid of the paranormal. You fill water in it and keep it overnight, and drink from it the next day”.

The brothers enjoy entertaining their tourist customers, “tourists visiting the shop are often interested in learning more about Lucknow and frankly, Lucknow isn’t really a tourist spot! We aren’t on the tourist map really…but the cultural and historical significance of the city attract people from around the world,” says Manoj.

In walks a Roamanian lady, sporting a kundan pendant and rings she bought from the shop yesterday, she explains through signs what she’d like to see today and Sanjay pulls out Indian paintings while Manoj dusts two old clowns, setting one on his counter, “All you do is put a coin in his mouth and pull his hand down, he swallows it and it stays in that round belly till you need it again!” he laughs, as the many artifacts from village interiors of India sit silently in their shelves, only to travel to the many corners of the world once they’re bought.

http://cities.expressindia.com/fullstory.php?newsid=219528

Home for 8

2006-11-23T10:21:00.000Z

In the heart of Hazratganj, near Lawrence Terrace, is nestled a haven for the old. At the cottages of Dorothy Croswaite or DC home, live eight senior citizens who have found companionship, love and comfort in their new “home”. Since 1939, DC home has served as an old age home for Anglo Indians. “According to the constitution an Anglo Indian is only someone who can prove to have European blood from their father’s side” explains Mr. Lewis, President Dorothy Croswaite. He holds an honorary position at the home which provides services to it’s inmates free of cost.

At the gate stands Miss Barbara Williams in a grey jersey over her blue dress. She wears her mobile phone around her neck with its number pasted at the back, flashing a wide smile she shows you the number saying, “Oh, I tend to forget!” and offers you a seat in her parlor. The cottage is warm and there are photographs of her roommate’s sister and relatives, “My roommate Mrs. Robertson lost her sister this March, and so she moved into my cottage”, says Barbara. Miss Williams was a stenographer and lived at the YWCA, her father was a doctor in the army. “I lived on Canning road in the cantt, I wonder what its called now… I’d like it very much if I could see my old house again, but I read somewhere that the names have all changed!” she says.

Mrs. Robertson is readying herself for the Lamartinere girl’s concert, “We’ve been invited you see, and we’re waiting for the car to pick us up”, explains Mrs. Robertson. Her sister, Ms. Hickey was a matron at Lamartinere girls, the pictures show a luminous smile and a lady standing by a flowering bush, “She loved plants… all these are her’s. She had two lovebirds who fought like mad, we’d have feathers all over the place. I gave them away when she passed away,” says Mrs. Robertson who taught at a school in Lalbagh. She visits her “Punjabi friends” at Lalabagh every now and then. Miss Williams can’t read too well anymore but used to love her Mills and boons, she still has four lying on a desk. “Oh we spend our time watching Bold and Beautiful between 1-3 o’clock, I used to love watching Dynasty… but that’s all over now!” says Mrs. Robertson, with an eye on the gardener as he waters her sister’s precious potted mauve hibiscus.

Peeping from the parlor door is George Günter; he smiles and goes very pink as he introduces one to his elder sister Sheila. “Georgie, is going to the concert today, I can’t go, I hurt my leg”, says Sheila, a little lady with a wide smile and twinkling eyes. She sits knitting herself a multicolored sleeveless jersey, in a big cane chair with her green walker parked faithfully close by her. George sits on the chair next to her, their two room cottage smells of fresh paint, a small shelf has pictures of Jesus Christ and a rosary while a dusty wind chime hangs at the doorway. “Christmas is around the corner! And I told my doctor I want to be walking around by the end of the month and I miss going to church too…” she says. George the smiling optimist adds, “And the doctor also said she’d be running in one month’s time if she eats her medicine!” They are regulars at playing the Times Tambola and Sheila won a perfume bottle last year, “This year I’ll send Georgie so he can win something”! Her brother brings a neatly folded question paper and asks who the new actor in Dhoom 2 is? He ticks Hrithick Roshan after much confabulation with his sister. The brother and sister duo had German parents, “My parents were first cousins and my father waited seven years to marry my mother!” laughs Sheila who constantly touches her short brown hair while talking about the places where she lived. “Ranchi and Calcutta, I loved Calcutta! And then I was at Bihar serving as a health assistant. My mother is 94 and still very energetic! She lives with my sister in Lamartinere, she hurt her hip too this year and is feeling better now though”.

George and Sheila spend their evenings flipping between ZEE TV and Sony TV, “we watch all the Hindi serials between 8:30 and 11:30. Kasauti, Saas bhi kabhi bahu thi, Kum Kum, ek ladki… all of them! That fellow in Kasauti is so wicked I tell you…” she carries on as George interrupts saying he likes Kum Kum the most and “Mummy likes Kahani Ghar Ghar ki”. He leaves with Mrs. Robertson and Miss Williams for Lamartinere while Sheila talks about how she is prone to crazy cravings, “One day at hospital, I wanted boiled eggs! And I ate boiled eggs all day” she laughs. Evidently in pain because of her leg she is particular about eating her medicine and calcium.

Miss. Myrtle Newman, the most elegant and eldest of the 8, has also spent 11 years at the home. She spends her time, “Meditating and being one with God”, her charm is such that you mistake her for the youngest of all the inmates. “I’m from Chennai, I was a personal secretary for the Board of Directors at prestigious business houses. One can’t work while at the home here, so I decided to have a look at the other side” says Miss. Myrtle. With a passion for music, she was a member of the Lucknow Christian choir, “I left this year but it’s been good fun…I studied music at Madras and was part of the Madras choir under the famous Handleman and even learnt how to read music and play the piano.” A nature lover, she spends her hours walking around the home and reading. “I have a passion for classical music, Beethoven, Mozart…Chopin…I still have cassettes”! says Myrtle.

Each inmate at the DC Home looks forward to December, it is during the Christmas season that children from schools such as Lamartinere boys and girls, Loreto, St. Theresa and St. Francis visit the home and celebrate Christmas. “The children bring us little gifts, lunches, jams, cakes… so much! They sing and dance with us, we have games… It’s all a lot of fun, I enjoy myself thoroughly in their company! And it is good that the children learn about old age as well…” feels Myrtle. Sheila misses her walks in and around Lucknow, “The streets are so busy, my two accidents this year make me feel so unsafe, I remember the time when we went Christmas shopping in Aminabad… I’m too scared now”! Mrs. Robertson remembers her sister’s poinsettias, the festive red Christmas flowers that adorned the little crib they made for Christmas every year. “The flowers died some days after my sister passed away… some remain, but I really need to take care of them” she says.

The common TV room with particular time slots for each cottage is a favorite part of the home, “Our lives here are busy in their own way” says Miss Williams. Other inmates Mrs. Wilson, Mr. Gnomes and Mr. John Perry spend their hours resting and reading or watching television. Mr. Lewis the President hopes to find a young Anglo Indian to take over charge from him, and a doctor for weekly visits to the home “No one has the time anymore, I understand… Eighty five year old aunty Molly, (Mrs. Molly Daniels) is the treasurer of the home, her entire life revolves around these cottages. My wife and her often drop in during the mornings and spend their day here at the home.” A home for those who don’t have a family member to take care of them or keep them, a place where the old find security and each other for company. A home that provides all 8 shelter and love.

Lahore to Lucknow...

2006-11-16T16:56:00.000Z

The street is one of the busiest in Lucknow, where lunch hour and evening traffic jams are a given. You often notice the sign board, “AN John Hairdressers” in red, wondering how old the place really is… “1952”, says the gentleman behind the counter.

If you’re searching for a gray haired Anglo Indian hairdresser, there is no such man. Instead there is Amar Nath Bhardwaj’s nephew Suresh Kumar Attri, who laughs when you ask him, “Are you AN John?”

The Attris belonged to Kangra, their grandfather a vaid, would often ask Suresh’s father, Purshotaram to accompany him while he went to pick herbs, “My father was a free spirit, he’d ride about on his mare and was never interested in working. It was my uncle, Amar nath who had gone to London and to Paris to learn hairdressing”. It was on Suresh’s grandfather’s request that his uncle taught Purshotaram the business. “Uncle John was very fair and pink complexioned, he looked so European that his classmates began to call him John instead of Amar Nath!”says Suresh, who used to visit his uncle every summer vacation to learn the art of hairdressing.

After the course in London, Amar Nath set up a salon in Lahore. Suresh reads a passage from a Xeroxed page of Pran Neville’s “Lahore, A Sentimental Journey”.

“After a short stroll on the High Court lawns, we resume our tonga ride along the Mall. On our left we pass the shops of the famous hairdresser AN John, the optician Kirpa Ram, father of the well-known eye specialist Dr. Daulat Ram…My cousins show surprise that AN John a sahib, should be working as a barber. I explain that AN John is not an European. His name is Amar Nath; he learnt the art of hairdressing in England and added John to his name to attract European clients.”

“A regular customer, a sardarji, who works in ICICI Bank gave this to me,” Suresh says. An old customer, Dr. Manoj Singh reminisces his first haircut at AN John, “The salon wasn’t where it is today, it used to be at Royal Hotel, and I don’t remember the experience as much as the time when I walked into the salon”. Suresh quips that in 1952, his father had been working at his salon in Dehradoon when a prominent MLA asked him to come down to the capital instead. “We began to operate from Royal Hotel, but one of our customers of Kohli photographers, told us he was selling his old shop and moving into main Hazratganj, that is when we decided to shift here”.

The customers at AN John include Ms. Wilson a seventy year old lady who once owned Playway Academy, “She’s now at DC Home, an old age home but she still comes for her haircuts!” Others are Mrs. Ballard, the ex vice principal of Lamartinere Girls, Rani Kasbandha and the gentlemen are retired bureaucrats and ministers. “We are famous for our haircuts and hair coloring as well as eye makeup.There is a beauty parlor that my wife Meera runs upstairs”. Suresh’s brother intends to open another branch in Aliganj as well.

“Uncle John wasn’t an easy tutor! He used to rap us on our knuckles for each mistake made while cutting hair or trimming. I used to learn hairdressing from his salon on Park Street in Calcutta. After partition he had opened a salon in Shimla on Mall Road and subsequently moved to Park Street”, says Suresh. “ I wanted a break from haircutting and decided to join the restaurant business, I spent a year in Mumbai but nothing worked for me…and here I am”, he smiles.

Suresh’s daughter Anushree and son Siddhartha are uninterested in the business, “ My daughter wants to sit for her CAT this year and my son is still in 8^th grade, my wife and I will continue to work here as long as we can,” declares Mr. Attari. The nomad hairdressers have found their home in Lucknow, AN John continues to style the beautiful people of Lucknow…

Giddy Up Lucknow!

2006-11-11T14:20:00.001Z

The gentle thoroughbred standing in stable number 3 at the Lucknow Race Club is “Strides of Success”, a living legend. Of the ten races he’s run, he has won eight. In adjoining stables stand Royal Challenge, Magical Strides and Mad Minute. It’s that time of the year again. The races have begun.

The Lucknow Race Club is abuzz with activity. It’s gearing up for the most prestigious race this season, “The Army Commander’s Cup”. Strides of Success will be making history if he wins this race, “The only horse to win it twice” says his owner Kumail with a gleam in his eye. A love for horses runs strong in Kumail Yawar Hasan’s blood, “My mother is happiest when I’m working with horses. She doesn’t mind my erratic traveling because it’s all for a good cause”, says the proud owner of six thoroughbreds, which include Strides of Success. “He doesn’t even trot when he enters the track, its always a gallop,” says Kumail’s cousin Razaa who’s horse Royal Challenge is competing with Kumail’s Strides of Success and Magical Strides.

“This is going to be a long season, it began in October and will carry on till the first week of April”, declares Captain PS Thappa, the state manager. He is overlooking the arrangements for the Sunday race. Pottering around is the one eyed Ram Chandar Yadav, the longest serving employee at the Club. For forty years he has seen jockeys sit lined up on an old wooden bench, new horses in the stables, the mad rush at the bookies and the crowd at the stands. “I don’t remember names of horses or men who rode them, I’m just an uneducated man who has watched all the races in this club. I don’t bet!”, laughs the old man who remembers the days when the Club regularly hosted teams from Calcutta, Delhi, Jaipur and other cities. “There were female riders too, but never from Lucknow” he says.

Adjacent to the race track is an old mazaar, “This is Bade Mama ki mazaar, all the horses must do salaam at the mazaar before the race, this has been a tradition for over a hundred years”, says Ram Chandar who recollects how Balkrishnan, a young jockey died in a race the day the horses didn’t do their customary salaam.

The longest course in the country and the only one where races are run anti clockwise, this club comprises a Meeting Hall, Clock Tower, Scales Room, Jockey’s Room, Totalizator Building, Book Maker’s stalls and a Starter’s Bunglow. The Club was founded in 1883 and the first Civil Service Cup Race was run in February 1883. “A majority of the owners were Europeans, but a few Indians like HH Maharajah Kishore Singh, Nawab Khoorshaid Mirza and Kumar IC Singh took part in the races”, says Kumail who’s family has been involved with the Lucknow Race Club for over three generations.

“This season we’ll be seeing more thoroughbreds, we have about fourteen competing in all, we have even increased the track length from 1000 to 1200 metres as the thoroughbreds need longer distances”, says Captain Thappa. “There are two kinds of races held at a Race Club, the blue ribbon and the white ribbon. Blue ribbon races are sponsored events while the white are regular races. Each season has about 22-25 Sundays hence those many races,” says Brig. SK Khajuria President of the Lucknow Race Fund and Sub-Area Commander.

“The regular races are for local horses, taunga pullers, who fall in the pony category”, explains Captain Thappa.

“At last Sunday’s race, this mare overthrew a jockey and escaped. She almost ran into a train and was found in La martinere!” says a groom, showing a black mare with injuries. “She was lucky to survive… these injuries are nothing”, says another. The grooms have to be very alert at all times because locals often come to steal horse shoes. “The horse shoe of a black horse is considered most rare and is sold for large sums, people try to come and steal these shoes for black magic. Some even come and take away earth from the stables, we have to make sure no one comes anywhere near the horses”, says Rafiq, while feeding his master’s thoroughbreds a mixture of jawar and chana.

Every groom shares a special relationship with his ward, fifty eight year old Shyam Lal calls Strides of Success “My best friend”, and Strides seems to agree as he nibbles his groom’s arm. “This horse transforms on the track, he senses the excitement of a race…” says his owner Kumail.

18 year old Hashim Ali Khan has come specially from Bangalore to ride Strides for this race. The jockey weighs only fifty nine kgs and talks of racing in Delhi, “ After Lucknow, Delhi Race Club is my next destination” he grins. Hashim and Strides of Success’s arch rival for the Cup? Magical Strides and his jockey Mohammad Ismail.

“We will be seeing more races this season, since it’s much longer. Races to look forward to are President’s Cup, the VN Misra IPS Cup, the Kingfisher’s Cup, HT Cup, Vijay Mallaya’s Signature Cup and the Taj Cup amongst others”, says Kumail. The races are held every Sunday, generally between 11:00 a.m. and 4:30 p.m.

Smile Please!

2006-10-29T16:30:00.000Z

In Sector 8 Vikas Nagar, house number 212, “Gharaunda”, is home to eighteen little boys who have progressed from being homeless street kids on the railway station to being students at the local Rani Laxmi Bai school. It has all happened under the loving care of Shachi Singh and her NGO “Ehsaas”. These children have finally found a home where they can sleep, eat and study without the fear of being exploited or locked up behind bars. More than a home, these children have found love. “Everyone can survive, it’s not too difficult, but what a child needs most is love”, says the gentle woman whom they all call “Didi ji”.

Seven year old Aman is one of these children, he’s just come back from school and sits down on the floor with his didi ji to tell her all about the day, “All the teachers were present today! And Rohit and I played on the swings too! Didi ji when are you putting a swing in the park?” he babbles away as she keeps answering his questions. “Aman was on the railway station, his father doesn’t want him back, he’s remarried,” says Shachi who remembers how he used to live in a make believe world, “He picked up the phone and had an imaginary conversation with his father once. There was a time when he used to tell the other boys about how much his father loves him and how soon he’ll be coming to take him back. All that’s changed now”. Aman busies himself with drawing, while other little children trickle in. Each with a more painful history than the first. Relating a story brings tears to Shachi’s eyes, “I can’t help it, in this field, you cry everyday”.

It was while visiting relatives in old Kaiserbagh, the then eleven year old Shachi heard a voice that continues to haunt her, “I remember his voice, he was crying and the sobs were unbearable. He was asking someone, bachon ko kaam kyun karna hota hai? Mai kaam pe nahin jaaoonga! And he kept howling, I never saw his face, it was too dark”, after a minute of silence she says, “I still haven’t found the answer”. Shachi had always been a sensitive child, teaching the milkman’s son, the neighbor’s servant and anyone she could find who needed help. “I have been teaching children since I was in the 7^th grade, I’d divide them into groups according to age and it was through trial and error that I learnt”, says this lady who decided this was her true calling. “A woman cannot afford to be fickle, no one takes you for granted if you know what you want to do, my parents always encouraged me and after marriage so does my husband, nothing has changed”.

She began working “in the field” on a project to teach children at the railway station, “The first day, I caught one child and told him I’d hold classes here on the platform. The news traveled and I gathered students by asking each one to bring another, eventually our group was teaching children regularly on the platform”. Shachi was disillusioned when the group of workers scattered as the resources ran dry, “It dawned on me that this sort of work finds takers only till there’s money, short term benefits. I couldn’t accept this”, she says. It was then that Ehsaas was formed in 2001. “I was given a room right next to the railway station where I taught these children the basics, how to sit, eat, talk, personal hygine, everything! The girls were the most miserable… exploited, sick and each worse than the other. The children had drug problems and even though they were street smart, they wanted love”, she says. Soon experts started coming in to help teach kids about children’s rights and diseases etc. “We had almost 400 children coming to us from surrounding areas as well” Shachi remembers. “The other day, one of my boys called me on Diwali, he’s in Hyderabad now. He even has a job,” she smiles.

The children at Gharaunda are all between the ages of 6 to 18, a double storeyed house right opposite a park in Vikas Nagar, “I wanted these children to learn to live with people they will meet everyday, to play with other children and feel as normal as they can. This is their home not an institution.” There are three bedrooms for the boys, divided according to their age. “For winter this year, we need mattresses and winter uniforms…I have faith in God that something will come about, it always does”, she hopes. The children sleep on daris and wear clothes that have been handed down by Shachi’s friends, friends of friends and so on. “Help is always needed, if someone can be a mentor to these children, help them with studies and love them…even if that someone comes once a week, it will be such a help”.

On the door outside Gharaundaa is a little message written by a twelve year old Deepak, each line a different colour reads-

“Pal, pal se banta hai ehasaas

Ehasaas se banta hai vishvaas

Vishwaas se bante hain Rishte

Rishton se bante hain kuch khaas..jaise aap”. The message was a surprise for his didiji on her birthday..

Sehri Saunter

2006-10-08T16:15:00.000Z

3:30 a.m., a clear beep and blue flash announces a sms, “Are you ready? I’m waiting!” Quickly I throw off the quilt, brush my teeth dialing Vaidehi’s number (she’s brushing her teeth too) and try responding to Shirin Ma’am’s sms only to realize it costs 1 rupee and not the 56 paise on my phone. Quietly, I try to wake up only my mother before I leave but predictably, both my parents wake up to wish me luck. It’s 3:40 a.m. and the long drive from Lucknow cantonment to Vishal Khand sure is spooky, the trucks guzzle past as my driver and I muse how beautiful Lucknow looks at this hour. We cross Ambedkar Park as I breathe in the heady champa air and wonder what this saunter will be like.

“We ought to do a Sehri Saunter! It’ll be fun, Kulchaa- Nihari at Akbaari gate at 4:30 a.m. will be quite an experience,” said Shirin ma’am, our features editor who took the responsibility of taking her two interns, nineteen year old Vaidehi Kapur and twenty year old me to the heart of Lucknow. Yes, the three ladies who make RP3 visited Nazirabad and Chowk to experience ‘Sehri’ firsthand. “My father always said that to experience a city you’ve got to see the sunrise and sunset there”, ma’am had shared. Vaidehi and I were excited at the prospect of it all. We expected some sort of carnival! But Rozaa Iftaar and Sehri are two entirely different experiences. 4:00 a.m. I reach ma’am’s house, Rusty, her Labrador is excited she didn’t have to wake her mistress up for once! She bounds up to me and is surprised that her saunter has to wait as ma’am orders her back into the house. “All set?” Yes ma’am!

After picking up Vaidehi, we arrive in Nazirabad at 4:30 a.m... the streets are empty and look strangely similar to the streets of Srinagar in winter. Empty. Dark. Groups of men sitting together sipping tea. Pink tea! The twelve year enterprise called “Siraj ki mashoor Kashmiri chai” is definitely the most popular hang out. Men who look like they just woke up are sipping tea from small tea cups with black checks and white saucers. As we step out of the car, it is obvious that we are the only women on the street, the men wonder why? “We work for a newspaper, we wanted to write about Sehri…” we explain. They understand and relax as we continue to ask questions.“This thella is my Siraj chacha’s, its been about twelve years since we’re selling Kashmiri tea”, says Zubeid who quickly serves his customers the 2 rupee tea. Other fare includes the special flat samosas for 2 rupees, Malai kheer in diya shaped kulaads and shahi tukdas for five rupees each. The most expensive item being Malai at 10 rupees a gram. “All these rates are subsidized during Ramzaan”, says Siraj. The men around the thella are generally students, “I’m studying in Mumtaz college and he’s my guest,” says a young man named Rizwaan, offering tea to his friend Taukir. Rizwan is from Azamgarh, “We stay at the masjid and come and eat here at Sehri” he explains. I notice the stray dogs loitering around and looking content, they’re surprised to see us too!

The men have just finished saying their namaaz and are enjoying their last cup of tea before they begin their rozaa. Next to Siraj’s thella is another one that sells omelets and bread. The brothers who own it try to communicate with us, but one is dumb and the other deaf. The one who’s deaf tries to tell us their names while the one who’s dumb tries to ask for a phone number. We write down the office phone number which is quickly circulated around. The pile of egg shells in a pail attached to their thella are a sign of the breakfast-business being good today.

Ramzaan means assured sale of popular food like kulchaas and nihaaris in small shops, kheer and tea at others. We walk down the lane and the stray dogs follow us to the chauraha, another little shop has a crowd that is equally taken aback to see the three of us walking towards them. Some stay put while others make themselves scarce. Tea seller ‘Ayodhya’ is making a last pot full of tea, his business is definitely good and he stays up for all the rozedaars to finish sehri before he packs up and goes home. The shops look eerie and looking through the darkness Vaidehi and I stand still watching three men on the footsteps of one of the shops, sleeping on each others feet. Below them is a clogged drain and rolling off the steps would mean falling into it or onto the road. We are waiting for Vishal sir, our photographer to come. We promised the shopkeepers and the crowd that the photographer would be coming, losing credibility here does not seem feasible!

Finally there’s an azaan and we cover our heads, walking up to a small shop that is selling biryaani and kulchaa niharis. “Haji Sahib ki biryaani”, ghosht is for 11 rupees, pai 9 and goodaa 8. No one is eating now, everyone is cleaning up their tables and utensils. Business is over for the day. Vishal sir arrives, clicks pictures which everyone wants to be in! The perfect goodbye to the rozedaars. Next stop, Chowk.

During the drive to Chowk, this intern shivers as she sees a pile of garbage burning in a corner… all this darkness and desolateness is disconcerting but we aren’t alone. As we pass the chota imambara, we stop at the well lit little restaurant. Ashfaq is selling lacchas, tea, samosas, mithai, sabzi, curd. His shop looks rich but he isn’t too happy with his business, “It could be better!” We saunter off to the Akbari gate lane and walk down… a ragpicker and his daughter rushing past tell us the kulchaa nihari shops at Akbari gate are all closed and we’re late. We begin our walk back, I get spooked by the man sitting outside on a chair saying “Jai ram” to all passers by.

At the crossing sits an old man with a mountain of leaves, “Are those datun?” questions Ma’am he laughs and says “Kathal leaves for goats”. At 5:00 a.m. this part of the world sure does look different. Small corner shops with little boys for waiters are cleaning up after the rozedaars have left, “Kulchaas for four rupees and nihaari for seven”. An inexpensive way to seal your day.

We weren’t brave enough to chew meat at that hour but the pink tea was delicious. Our Sehri saunter ends at 5:30 as we slip back into familiar surroundings and me into my bed.

Nine days and one month

2006-09-29T14:30:00.000Z

At 24 claysquare, Sadar Bazaar, the Ahmad girls sit together with their grandmother waiting for the Azaan. Twelve year old Saher and twenty year old Bushra Ahmad have washed up and are about to offer namaaz. Their young brother Aamir rushes out of the house with his white cap and a casserole full of pakoris his mother made, he is off to the masjid and will contribute the piping hot pakoris to the piles of snacks that other namaazis will open their fast with. His mother Asia says, “Don’t forget the casserole and don’t eat too fast!!”In Telibagh, the Agarwal children have just returned from a cricket match, it is nine year old Varun’s birthday and his little cousins Rachit, Tripti and older brother sixteen year Anubhav are washing up before they sit with their parents for pooja. Varun doesn’t mind that there’s no birthday cake today, he understands the importance of the Navrata. His nanima is proud of her grandchildren, “These little boys may be naughtiness personified but they keep their two vratas too and even though they have to wake up an hour earlier for pooja, they never grumble”. The boys bua, Neelam, smiles when Rachit asks if its ok to eat a banana.

The nine days and nights of Navratra are observed in most Hindu families across Lucknow, just like the month long rozaas in the Muslim families. Little children sharing special navarata food in school is a common affair, “ I keep my rozaas so my friend Sayali doesn’t eat her tiffin when she’s with me but waits till school gets over and eats on the tempo ride home. She keeps two navratras and her mother packs a tiffin of the special aloo sabzi and kuttu ki poori for me, so that I can eat it after Rozaa aftaar”, says Saher. Bushra who studies in Integral university offers namaaz in the special room for girls on campus.

In Nazirabad, the crowd gathers in the masjid and those who are left, stand outside, together they bow their heads to one call, in praise of one. Soon after they open their rozaa with the many snacks available on thelaas or in the masjid. Pakoris, dahi baddas, dates, water, biryani, a special channa dal ‘kichdaa’ which is served in kulaads is all available for the rozdaars. “When we were little children at Alambagh, my brothers and sisters and friends would all run to the masjid at Seheri and Aftaar, the maulvi ji used to give us a little of everything, papads, pakoras, dahi-phulki…everything!” remembers sixty year Hamida Bano. It is common for families to contribute food for those who keep rozaas at the masjid or to serve them water, dates and other delicious fare from small thelaas or at their own houses. Every morning in Sardari kheda, little boys rise early to run through the street beckoning the rozdaars to wake up as its time for sehri.

“We don’t expect our children or any other member of the family to observe navratas, personally my husband and I have been observing fasts for all nine days since the past 27 years. My bahus share the responsibilities of making the special food on these days,” says Varun’s dadima, Gyandevi. Her daughter Neelam remembers having she read an article that said abstaining from cereal for a short period is good for the digestive system, “Navratas can be a time for detoxifying your mind and body, but only if you abstain from the rich stuff!!” she laughs.

Aamir returns from the masjid, fortunately with the casserole. He sits down with the family waiting for his father to return from work before they tuck into an elaborately prepared meal of kababs, biryani, sheer mal, mixed sabzi, dahi baddas and Aamir’s favourite ‘ Pink city’ Kashmiri tea. Saher and Bushra help their mother with the rotis and Aamir serves his dadima. The Ahmad children look forward to Eid when they can invite all their friends over, “Ammi makes six types of saviyaan! And special pulao for my friends that don’t eat biryaani, everyone loves coming home for Eid,” says Bushra. Aamir is looking forward to Diwali, “ Firecrackers! I’ll keep some for Eid too, it’s a lot of fun on both days and especially since there are holidays in school!!”

The Agarwals and Ahmads finally settle down to their evening meals and Nazirabad, is still abuzz. The chicken biryani and tunde kababs are selling faster than they can be made, “This is the best season for us!!” laughs Jamil who is frying kababs at Aminabad’s tunde kabab. “A lot of people pack food and take it home for their families who are also observing rozaas, so we need to be extra fast in cooking, and feeding anyone who’s keeping rozaas is a blessing in itself!” says Sameer who’s kulfi is already sold out. The shops are being re-fuelled with extra clothes as people are busy shopping off the shelves, “I need to change the clothes on my mannequins everyday, what could be better!” says Nabi who has observed the rise in the number of little girls who want to buy lehengas. “Either for Diwali or Eid, everyone wants fancy but traditional clothes, we have to prepare ourselves with extra stocks around this season!”

Families come together in celebrations and festive fasting. Every year the two festivals bring colour, warmth and happiness in the lives of the lakhs of Lucknavis, keeping the spirit of Awadh and it’s beautiful culture alive.

Punjabi Choolha

2006-09-13T10:28:00.000Z

Two years ago, the lady who used to sell piping hot sarson ka saag and makke di roti from a cart, stopped standing alongside the numerous florists and juice carts at Bhootnaath market. Jasmine Kaur and her husband Ashok finally found a roof under which they could operate their “Punjabi Choolha”. This little eatery serves over four hundred paraunthas, tandoori rotis, rice, kaddi, rajma, chola and seasonal sabzis. “We sell sarson ka saag and makke di roti from Diwali to Dusshera, it’s everyone’s favourite and so is our kaddi and the paraunthas,” says Jasmine who is fondly called “Aunty ji” by her customers whom she calls her children. On asking how many paraunthas she makes a day, she admonishes you saying “Does a mother count the rotis she makes for her children? Let them eat!!”

Five feet tall, with a cherubic smile a long gray braid and is the sweet old Punjabi aunty ji. Ashok, her husband and Saurabh their son all work with the ten helpers she’s employed. Jeetesh, a twenty three old worker who is from sitapur stands with her as she joins her hands and prays before the small statue of Lakshmiji that is balanced on her table where she rolls out her mouthwatering paraunthas. After a quick prayer, she kisses her “chakkla”, the round wooden base on which she makes her round rotis and begins her day. A lady standing with her order asks auntyji, “Does keeping two chakklas help make the paraunthas tastier?” Aunty, visibly amused laughs loud saying, “No! I keep two because otherwise my back and neck hurt while cooking, sometimes I have to stand for over four hours! Especially in the evenings”. The secret of her delicious paraunthas she says lies in the love and attitude with which she cooks these ghee delights. “100% vegetarian food is what we cook, those who don’t eat onions can enjoy our special paraunthas too!” the feisty fifty year old quips.

Young Deepak, who has been a loyal customer for three and half years says, “nothing has changed, not even aunty! I love my aloo paraunthas”. Most of the customers have been regulars since Punjabi choolha was only a cart kitchen. “Whenever my wife goes away for the summer holidays, and I am alone at home for a month, I come and eat here. And other days too, whenever mood bantaa hai”, laughs Suresh a local businessman. Ashok and Jasmine both thank Bhootnath babaji for giving them the space to operate. “We started our business by selling makke di roti and sarson ka saag at the Lucknow mahotsav in 2002. The food was an instant hit, especially with the boys of BBD college,” remembers Aunty ji. She gives credit to these students who suggested that they start a shop in Indranagar. “We used to live in LDA, I’ve done my Bed and taught in maharishi vidya mandir, we gave up all that and immersed ourselves in this business”, she says.

Many people have tried to ape the Punjabi Choolha, often using the same name to sell their food. “But it was never the same, and they all had to shut their shops in the end”, says Deepak. “No one can match her charm and the taste of her Punjabi food,” states another regular customer RK Jauhari, a district village industry officer. He thinks the food at Punjabi dhaba is more homelike than the one cooked at home!

Jasmine serves all her customers personally, if she’s not making paraunthas, she flits about her little restaurant checking if everyone is well fed, “My customers are my children, every mother likes to take care of her child’s needs”. Tears come to her eyes as she says, “I too have served my responsibility as a mother, my children have always had their requirements fulfilled. Now they are settling down and I have another responsibility, my country”. Passionate about the welfare of villagers and issues like family planning and education for them, she remembers, “ These men who work for me now, were all smokers, drinkers, ate tobacco and played cards. I convinced them to change their ways and today they are teetotalers, but I hear so much about their village life and this only reaffirms my stand to make a difference”.

This mother stands tall in her resolve to change the few people that she can. All those who visit her enjoy her company and conversation as much as they enjoy the paneer paraunthas and green raita, and before they leave Punjabi Choolha, they never forget to smile as they eat a piece of brown gud which lies in a large steel bowl.

Mohammad Kalam

2006-09-10T12:09:00.000Z

Mohammad Kalam, they expected him to take his father’s place behind the bar at Mohamed Bagh Club as a third generation “Aabdaar” (water-bearer) but he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life filling glasses. “Daddy”, as he is fondly called by neighbors and the residents of Topkhaana Bazaar in the cantt is a man who decided to do “something different”.

His grandfather ‘Jumman Sardar’ came to Lucknow with a battalion of British soldiers from Rangoon, “My grandfather worked as a bartender in the MB club and my father Mohammad Aslam who was called ‘Aabdaar Kallu’ followed his footsteps,” says Kalam, who was expected to do the same. “I worked for five years as a bartender in the MB club but my spirit wasn’t in the job, and I was miserable. It was then I decided to leave the bar and one of my father’s patrons General BL Kapoor introduced me the world of electricals. I began to work in the AMC MESS as an electrician,” he remembers. Kalam’s father, worked as an aabdaar for sixty years at the club, his patrons included late Mr. Naresh Kumar DGP and Mr. Jaswant Singh Sarna amongst others. “There were only two other clubs in Lucknow, the Awadh Gymkhana and Lucknow Club,” says Kalam who insists he’s forgotten how to make the cocktails that his father was an expert at. “My father never consumed a drop of alcohol ever, but every night he’d bring back boti and seekh kababs for my mother and me”, he fondly recalls a childhood spent in Topkhaana bazaar, as a student of the Kendriya Vidyalaya and later Harish Chand college in Sadar.

But ‘Aabdar Kallu’, Kalam’s father was not happy with his career switch and Kalam was told to leave the house. “After being turned out of my house, my wife Anwari Begum and I tried to never look back. I decided I’d show everyone that a change from a traditional occupation is possible. And it was never easy, we went for days without food, my older son would sleep wrapped in sack cloth”, he adds how his father taught him that anything was possible with “ Mehnat, neeyat and imaandaari.” These three rules and a burning desire to prove his mettle made him continuously upgrade his skills and business acumen.

Kalam had begun to work with his father after passing his intermediate, “I was a student of biology and my classmates and friends are doctors. But I don’t regret leaving my studies.” Today he is the number one retailer for GE countrywide and Bajaj, “I kept expanding my small businesses, as an electrician I saw the scope of public address systems and arranging sound and lights for events” he says. A keen observer of market trends, he saw potential in organizing the DJ and music for parties, “My youngest son, Javed who is twenty years old takes care of the music and dance floor arrangement at parties while my older sons Aftab and Parvez take care of my shop.” But it is his daughter Shaheen he is most proud of, “She’s done her BA and Bed and is teaching in school now, my daughter is the first person in my family to go to college” the proud father of four successful children gives credit to his wife Anwari Begum with whom he takes a one hour morning walk everyday. “My life behind the bar would have never allowed me this freedom and lifestyle, I don’t regret any decision I took, I wasn’t destined to be my father’s waaris at the club”, he says.

The enterprising almost-aabdaar is very fond of plants. With over two hundred potted plants in his house, his wife is fed up with his botanical fetish. “He loves flowers and that too in pots, he treats them like children and I cant get rid of even one of them”, quips Daddy’s Begum. In the neighborhood, a widow whose daughter was recently married says, “Daddy arranged the lights and music for my daughter’s wedding for free. If anyone has a problem we always go to him for a solution, he is like a father figure to everyone in Topkhaana bazaar.”

Fifty six year old Kalam enjoys his paan and wishes his father “Aabdaar Kallu” would have been a part of this success, “Abba is the reason I dared to try and dream. Had I not been disowned my ambitions would have never been ignited this way, but his blessings must be with me.”

http://cities.expressindia.com/fullstory.php?newsid=200727

Regiment Bazaar

2006-08-25T12:15:00.001Z

Huddled a kilometer away from the Army Public School in Lucknow cantonment, is “The Regiment Bazaar”, recently rechristened as the “V C Bazaar”, the “Veterinary Corps Bazaar”. The name is attributed to the regiments that were based in the area. A little further is “Topkhaana Bazaar” which is now called “RA Bazaar”, or the “Royal Artillery Bazaar”, home to the royal gunners. Another little settlement on the Rae Bareilley road is referred to as “Laal Kurti”, deriving its name from the red cavalry uniform of the British soldiers that resided there.

The cantt bazaars are home to some of the oldest shops in Lucknow, “We’ve been living here since 1885, we’ve seen regiments come and go but it’s the British ones we remember the most,” says Ganesh Gupta. His brother Dinesh and he own the local sweethouse in regiment bazaar. “This lane used to be called Johari lane and was lined with neat shops, there was a cycle shop here, some goldsmiths there and right opposite our shop was where the barber ‘Bauu’, Qasim Ali used to have his shop”, points Dinesh. The lane now is lined with houses, Bittu, a housewife feeding her cows says, “the old people have all re-settled now. Jangat Khan, who had a shop around this corner left with his family for Pakistan. Lalla Madan Lal, has been here since the British times, his ration shop is more than sixty years old.”

Remembering the days when the British soldiers would come to their sweetshop, “We used to have three servants who would attend to the shop. One sold milk. The other sold sweets and the third would guard the shop, the soldiers were a rowdy bunch, they never paid for what they ate!” laughs Ganesh, who was in school at the time. His father Mahadevi Lal and great grandfather were the most famous halwayyis in the area. “The British soldiers were extremely fond of our dudhiyaa barfi, that was a very milky and sweet mithai, we’d sell kilos everyday!” remembers the halwayyi. It’s been five years since the Guptas decided that a sweetshop wasn’t enough. “We started our PCO, it’s the only one in the bazaar. People don’t buy sweets everyday! The dudhiyaa barfi isn’t even made anymore”, Dinesh replies.

Around the corner Manvir Singh, the local rickshaw puller is drinking his third cup of tea. With his worn out green cap, titled to the left, the sixty six year old cheerfully remembers how colorful these streets once were, “The Britishers would walk down here and always create some chaos, I was a little boy at the time and my father was a hawaldar in the Police.” He pulls out his ration card to show a picture of himself clean shaved. “The most popular shop here other than the Gupta sweethouse is the barber’s, Gore-Nawab urf Usmaan Ali.” His brother Bauu urf Qasim Ali, was famous for shaving the British soldiers beards at 4:00 a.m. while they were half asleep. He did it with such precision that the sleepy British soldier wouldn't even notice he was done!

Gore Nawab, who is eighty years old, sits in his yellow tarpaulin roof with two ancient wooden chairs, a basin that is fifty five years old. “Earlier, the troops would come to have their hair cut and for a shave at 4:00 a.m. before their parade, but these days, the soldiers come after their parade at 6:30 a.m.”, states the barber who earned his ‘Gore Nawab’ title because he shaved the British soldiers. “I had to shift from the salon as we didn’t have enough money to pay the rent, I don’t have many customers these days… young men prefer long hair and styles that I don’t know or want to give!” he exclaims.

Looking at the empty lane, Gore Nawab, says, “Iss 70 saal ki yojana ke hum bhaagi hain…” He sits waiting for customers that don’t come anymore, staring at a lane that isn’t crowded with red cavalry jackets and boisterous soldiers eating fresh barfis from the Gupta sweethouse.

Three cups of tea and bony knees

Red- black sweat- dust shirt

Dry green cap

Pointing East

Steel bowl

Half a litre of boiled milk

4 slices of Gomti bread

3 tablets of yeast

Old oil in black pan

Refry the samosa

Stage fright

The Halwaayi is in haste

Blackwashed white hair

Toothless

White wiry beard

All ribs

Slowly riding

Never smiling

Settling dry green cap

Manvir turns his rickshaw left

2 slices and a tablet less

Kaptain died

He lies flat on the road, only an eyeless cat face

His pretty white socks red

Ganesh fries a fried samosa

Frightened of the flash light

The second photograph in his sixty year life

Quickly asking how it tastes

Gore Nawab wears a shirt

Covers his ribs

As he gives the poet a double shave

“Salaam… I’ll wait for Sunday”

Saunter spent smiling.

Dr. Irshaad Ali

2006-08-19T05:48:00.000Z

Chief consultant pediatrician at the Balrampur Hospital, a 12 handicapper at golf, shayir and Sufi music enthusiast, Dr. Irshad Ali is all this and more. Having completed his MBBS from Kanpur medical college he joined the Pradesh Medical Service, “My first posting was at Malhipur, in Baihiraich. We lived in a kacchaa house, which was initially Raja Pyagpur’s stables, I was the only gazetted officer in that area,” he reminisces. It was this seven year stay at Malhipur which was the most exciting part of his career, “While eating dinner, we’d raise our legs to allow a snake to slither from under us,” laughs Dr. Irashad’s wife, Nahid. They were married while he was posted at Malhipur “Any other lady would have runaway! Nahid has been my uncomplaining companion through thick and thin,” he says.

“Snakebites were the most common occurrence in the area, I remember how a villager would come running to inform me of a victim, and I’d run back with him and usually I’d administer the anti venom shot in the middle of the field! It had to be done quickly and it was a junoon I had, that I must save every patient”, he says. It was in Malhipur that Dr. Ali’s son Arish was born. “I was an idealist when I joined the service, and the patients treated me like God. An old man once brought his dying son, saying all three children before this one had died under similar circumstances and at this age….” The doctor diagnosed it as pneumonia and rushed the child in his jeep to Baihiraich, 33 km from Malhipur, “We didn’t even have oxygen at public health centres in those days, but the child survived the journey. Whenever the child traveled to the city, his father would bring him to touch my feet before he left, this was the faith that parents and patients put in doctors,” smiles Dr. Ali.

It was his posting at Kanpur, during which he was “introduced” to the golf. “My friend Shiraz used to play and asked me to come along, I just walked with him and observed closely,” he recalls. But it was in the Mauri Bagh Club in Lucknow that he hit his first shot and took the game up, now a passionate player and owner of a Callaway set, Dr. Irshaad plays his nine holes daily. But it was also in Kanpur when he performed a surgery that saved a child with 80% burns, “We couldn’t find his vein and I decided to operate on his sub-clavian vein, something I’d only read of. The operation was successful and I can’t forget the child’s face, when he smiled, just white teeth and a black charred face.” His colleagues always warned him about the hazards of getting too involved with his young patients, but he attributes the success of his three children to the blessings that came from the parents of those whom he saved. “ Ghar se masjid hai bahut door, chalo yun kar lein, kissi rote huye bacche ko hasaaya jaaye”, recites the poet Doctor.

“What golf does for my body, music does for my soul”, states this fan of Tiger Woods and Amir Khusro. Listening to Abida Parveen sing Khusro’s “Babul”, he attributes his love for shayari to his childhood when he grew up in Maulviganj, “At the tea shop would sit poets and singers, everyone had something beautiful to say and these friends still visit me at hospital. They joke that I suffer from a disease they gave me”, laughs Dr. Ali. His days now, are spent relaxing to the ambient Sufi music and in attending Nashishths, which are small gatherings for shayari. “All it takes to be happy in life is a passion, any kind of passion”, prescribes Dr. Irshaad Ali.

In the Exptess: - http://cities.expressindia.com/archivefullstory.php?newsid=197541&creation_date=2006-08-20

The Gatekeepers...

2006-08-11T17:58:00.000Z

“They entered school in pigtails holding their parent’s hands and left fourteen years later with braids and big books in their arms. Today they are mothers and come to drop off their little ones here”, says Gia Ullah, gatekeeper at Lamartinere Girls College for twenty three years. He recognizes ex-students, their sisters and now their daughters who study in the school. Outside St. Paul’s School stands a familiar figure in his army fatigues, “Bahadur Bhaiyaa”. He’s been standing guard at the blue gate since 1984. “I feel like a child with the students, time somehow stops in school. Nervous parents, tearful first timers and the rowdy boys… I’ve dealt with them all for 22 years now!” he smiles, sitting comfortably on his ancient wooden stool.

But in Colvin Taluqdar, since 1937, has served a personage “Ram Sujitji”, the ninety two year old has been part of Colvin history for almost 7 decades. “He can’t hear too well and he talks only when he wants to, but he’s still on the pay roll and sits where he used to since the day he joined the school,” says Ram Dayal, his son who works in the school library. “All the old boys remember him and ask after him whenever they visit, he’s still the sports in charge”, states another guard. “Every independence day, since 1937, Ram Sujitji has been tying the knot in the tricolor. He does it so perfectly that with one tug the flag unfurls”, states the school bursar. Adding that, he retired in 1997, but was reinstated within a few months because the school authorities wanted him to teach the class 4 employees how to lay sports tracks etc. “Ram Sujitji knows the measurements of every court, track, field by heart,” says the bursar about his oldest employee.

Gia Ullah belongs to Malliahabad and has three daughters. The eldest is working as a teacher while the other two are in college and school. “After being a part of Lamartinere all these years, I have realized that education matters and all three daughters are testament to the fact!” Gia says proudly. He remembers how he had gone to drop of his brother who was traveling to Saudi Arabia at the airport and they had missed the flight. “While we were sitting helpless, a lady came up to us and asked me if I knew her. She was an ex-student, and on hearing our plight, she helped get my brother on the next flight…” remembers Gia. Ram Sujitji’s three sons are working, one in the railways, another in a bank and Ram Dayal his youngest in the school library. Bahadur has two children, both in school, “International armies and foreign companies now require Gorkhaa soldiers and an educated one is a bigger asset, I’m educating both my sons so they can qualify for an international job”.

These aging gatekeepers have their own worries, “School teachers retire when they are 60 years old, but for us 55 is retirement age”, mentions Gia. Though, Bahadur, from St. Paul’s isn’t too worried, “There are always jobs for security personnel but I don’t think anything will match the joy of being loved by so many children”. On being asked how children have changed over the years, Gia said “They haven’t changed at all! Still the same girls who are sweet, silly and then become serious. But they always respect us.” While Bahadur felt that, “The children do improve, there are better results and extra curriculars. But there was something about the older students, they had time more time to be naughty and themselves! This lot is too burdened, school and then tuition, they deserve some freedom”.

When old students come back to find their childhoods in some corner of their school, they often find a face from the past. He is usually a little weathered but he’s still there, smiling or frowning like he did when they were in school. The school gatekeeper, the peon, and the canteen man. They are synonymous with school memories and the only constant in an increasing flux of children and routines.

In the express :- http://cities.expressindia.com/fullstory.php?newsid=196668

Amritlal and Bilasso...

2006-08-06T08:25:00.000Z

They have been walking through life for almost a century, and for 85% of it, they’ve held each others hands. Meet Amritlal, 94 and his wife Bilasso 88. Shriveled and small she sits with her glasses balanced on a cloud of white hair, red sindoor smeared in the parting and red bindi firmly set between two wispy brows. He can’t hear too well and sits right by her, in his pink checked shirt, grinning as she answers questions. “The marriage wasn’t very elaborate, he was 15 and I was 9, I got a doll and some clothes as a wedding present,” reminisces Bilasso.

“Ahead of Unnao is a village called Fatehpur, a little ahead of Fatehpur is Chaurani, that’s where I was born. My parents were farmers and we were three sisters and a brother,” says Bilasso. “Baba”, as he is fondly called by his neighbors, was born and raised in Lucknow Cantonment. “I used to stay in Khurram lal’s house, and work in the canteen when the British were here”, he remembers. But it wasn’t until he was 23 that he started working with his father in the canteen. It’s been thirty odd years since he retired. “The British looked like pahadis, they were so white with small eyes and pink cheeks,” she remembers.

Bilasso claims that she was duped into marrying him- “I came to Lucknow for a wedding and someone told us of the groom’s friend, a boy who had a tutor and had a bright future,” her parents didn’t think twice and married her off to the young scholar. “He used to study and not talk to me, but he always promised to take me to meet my parents…” recalls the old lady who’s right foot was amputated due to severe burns when she was thirty five. Bilasso is prone to epileptic fits, and was severely burnt in one such accident while cooking in a chulha. “Those were the days he learnt to cook and take care of our five children,” she chuckles at the painful memory. “Baba still doesn’t let me sweep the floor and always shoos me away from the stove,” she says.

Amritlal and Bilasso live alone, in a two room cottage; their prized possessions include a small color TV set, a calendar with pictures of Hindu Goddesses, Bilasso’s wooden walking stick which baba painted green and her favorite red saris. “My daughter in law and son gave me this one last Holi. We don’t live together by choice. It’s nice to be independent. The grandchildren come and visit everyday, they live only a few blocks away”, she comments. Their son, Gopal, lives with his family in a cottage nearby. His children deliver home cooked food twice a day to their grandparents. Amritlal and Bilasso are great grandparents too. “That small girl, is my great grand daughter Golu, she’s as naughty as her great grandmother was when she first came home!” laughs Baba who has watched his wife grow up and fall in love with him. The couple’s three daughters live around Lucknow, and the family meets every year for each festival. “I’am proud of my grandparents and their conviction to live independently, there is such a huge generation gap between all of us yet we learn to accept each other with love and respect”, says Rinku, their 26 year old grand daughter who is the principal of a school in Alambagh.

The independent and romantic Amritlal enjoys his walk down Subhash road, stopping at the crossings for a rest on the benches. He delights in reading the Urdu newspaper and drinking his pouch of desi alcohol, much to Bilasso’s chagrin. Occasionally he brings back a flower for her, which he plucks on his walk to fro his son’s house or sometimes the local bar. “I don’t like his beard, it doesn’t suit him!” quibbles Bilasso, who believes that all it takes to stay in love is, “A lot of laughter, some fights, faith, a few surprises and each other.”

In The Express--

http://cities.expressindia.com/fullstory.php?newsid=195633

Lucknow's Gasolinas

2006-07-30T07:55:00.000Z

And I'am happy with the article for Once!!!!

http://cities.expressindia.com/fullstory.php?newsid=194745

College and coffee friendly Lucknow..

2006-07-26T12:46:00.000Z

So what does a college going hosteler do on weekends? In gomtinagar, “We catch a movie at Wave, a bite at Pizza Hut or Mc Donald’s, a stroll through patrakar puram in the evening and a coffee at the new Café Coffee day there,” chirps Shriya Sengupta a third year student of journalism at Amity. It was never better for the college crowd in Lucknow, coffee shops, restaurants with special concessions, eighty rupee morning movie shows and malls…is this really Lucknow?

Mr. Anwar Rizvi, a forty year old entrepreneur, fondly remembers how as a student at LU, his gang would hang out at “The India Coffee House”. But for a cup of coffee, a frappe, a sundae, a grilled sandwich, some granitas or maybe just an iced tea, all you need to do is step into a Reliance World. “I often browse the net as I have an account at R world, and sip my caramel cold coffee from the Java Green which is conveniently located inside the R world itself,” says Hemendra Dhar another student. Lucknow can now boast of a rampant coffee, lounge and mall culture. A boon to college goers, who can enjoy a movie at PVR or Wave and a coffee at their local café.

In fact this summer, most guests at Ashika Agarwal’s house find themselves being taken to Saharaganj instead of the Imambaras. “Saharaganj has everything! Every time my relatives come over from Allahbad, Jhansi etc they want to spend an afternoon at Saharaganj. It’s so convenient for us as hosts too, initially we had to plan the same old Lucknow tour, but now we can step into Saharaganj and enjoy everything in one place”, explains nineteen year old Ashika who spent her summer vacation entertaining guests and relatives. Gearing up to leave for her university at Allahbad, she laments the dearth of coffee shops and movie theatres in her “university town”, expressing jealousy when her best friend Bushra says, “You’ll miss Pirates of the Caribbean then, wont you?” Bushra, a student at Integral University, is one of the lucky Lucknowites who enjoy all four weekends every month.

Mint and Ultraviolet are two favorite weekend haunts for the college crowd, “Cappuccino blast has great junk jewelry and the exhibitions are a great place to pick up eclectic stuff for your room while sipping a cool strawberry shake”, laughs Harshita who is a regular at the coffee shop in Mall Avenue. While Cappuccino blast and ultraviolet are located in Mall Avenue, Mint in Arif Castles is a popular hangout for the music and food loving Lucknavis. “I just love the ambience here, perfect for a get together. While I was a student at NIFT Mumbai, we’d pay through our noses to party over the weekends, but in Lucknow it’s affordable to eat out and entertain,” says Preeti a freelance anchor who visits Mint at least twice a month.

Café coffee day Kapurthala, is another space for the college crowd, “I like the location, and like Hazratganj, this one is next to the Universal bookstore too and one just needs to hop across and browse through some books, or sit over a hot chocolate fudge with your best friends”, suggests Madiha, digging into a sizzling brownie fudge. Her friends lounge around on the sofa talking about everything under the sun: the broadcast bill, Shashi Tharoor’s canidature and Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean. A scene straight out of a Delhi college dream, “We have it all here now. PVR, Wave, Saharaganj, coffee shops, even the college courses…it isn’t boring being a college student in Lucknow anymore”, declares Fatima, biting into Madiha’s sizzling chocolate fudge.

I refuse to acknowledge what was published in the Indian Express as my work

The Chaval and Phool waali galli...

2006-07-15T07:38:00.000Z

The Chaval and phool walli galli…

Near bhola nath dharamshaala, Chowk, was a board that said “Army men not allowed beyond this point”. Why? Because ahead of that point lay the notorious “Chaval wali galli”, famous not for basmati but for the “Kothas”, brothels for the “aam admi”. But in a lane adjacent to the chaval wali galli is the fragrant “Phool wali galli”, home to Lucknow’s flower sellers for over a century. “We would stare at our toes as we walked down this lane, before we turned left for the phool wali galli”, says Hamida Bano, a sixty six year old resident of Lucknow who remembers buying seharas from the phool wali galli. “The kotha waalis would throw money down at the singers or performers who would cross the chaval wali galli, this place looks incomplete without the colorful curtains and music”, remembers Hamida.

Lucknow’s phool waali galli is a narrow passage with shops built four feet above the ground. It is here that the flower weavers make flower jewelry for Muslim weddings, forty kg seharas that cover the groom from head to head to toe and garlands for temples as well as flower sheets or chadars for mazaars. “We’ve been here for over three generations, initially our forefathers used to weave only seharas and make flower garlands etc. but now we decorate cars and mandaps as well,” explains Rajesh, a flower weaver. Displaying an album full of “samples”, he points to an intricate jaimala which cost six thousand rupees.

The galli was always famous for the “phool mandi”, where one could purchase chandni, gulab, bela, juhi and marigolds on wholesale prices. These flowers would come from baghs outside Lucknow. The mandi has now been relocated to the nimboo park and talks are on for further re-location to Gomtinagar. “There used to be no foot space here! Now it looks more desolate than ever….those were colorful and fragrant days when we girls used to come here to buy seharas and gajras. The flower weavers were a naughty lot, they would give extra flowers on some occasions too”, remembers Hamida.

Two little boys, Kaleem 9 and Ahmad 12, call out to customers asking if they’d like roses or bela this morning, while their nimble fingers make delicate garlands for the mazaars and temples of Lucknow. “We get flowers early in the morning and keep them wrapped up, we have to hurry up and make these garlands so that the Gods and Goddesses can enjoy fresh flowers!” says Kaleem. The boy learnt how to weave flowers when he was six, from his uncle and now he quickly makes basketfuls within an hour. “I love decorating big bright cars for weddings,” says Ahmad smiling as he shows a photograph of himself sitting on the bonnet of a decorated Scorpio.

The phool and chaval wali gallis of Lucknow are no longer what they used to be, once buzzing with merchants and women and flowers they are somehow emptier without the phool mandi and the old women who peeped from behind golden curtains. But Awadh remembers the days when these streets were filled with music and laughter and the fragrance of nightflowers.

In the express---

http://cities.expressindia.com/fullstory.php?newsid=193043

Talaab Tales

2006-07-09T04:55:00.000Z

Talaab Tales

Three kilometers away from the hamlet of Khurdai, in village Maran Mau is a pond that dates its origins to the Mughal period. “The Shahi Talaab”, is where over four generations of farmers as little children have learnt to swim and dive. Every summer the skinny brown boys who take their cattle out to graze, like their fathers did, in the surrounding fields, find solace in enjoying mid afternoon and early evening swims in this talaab. “There are seven wells under this pond and it is about thirty feet deep, the water level can be observed by the number of steps it covers”, explains forty six year old Sageer, a mechanic whose family has lived in Maran Mau for over three generations. “When we were little children, we used to start running from that mango tree and dive into the water, I learnt to swim here and so did my sons and little daughter”, says Sageer pointing at a nearby mango tree.

Walking up to the talaab’s edge he elucidates why the talaab is divided into three zones. “The area on the right which is a little covered by bamboo foliage and the wall is meant for women, the central portion without stairs and a slope is meant for cattle whereas this area to the extreme left is meant for men and boys.” Standing on the edge of the stairs is a group of four friends, the tallest Sohail, a fifteen year old who works as labor, takes lead and jumps of the highest stair with a loud splash, the other two, Arvind and Virendra who say they are twelve years old and don’t go to school, jump into the talaab with their clothes on, leaving only dusty blue slippers near the stairs. The youngest boy, Mahendra, who works for Sageer and goes to school screams a lyric of a popular song and jumps in after them, “Look at me! I am swimming backwards!!” everyone laughs at the little boy.

Oddly, in the women’s quarter is a mazaar of “Syed Ali Baba”, it is said that he was the caretaker of the pond. Bathing her four year old son in the water is Sumitra, watching from the stairs is her father in law Ram Swarup who says, “He is my only grandson, the doctors say his mental illness is incurable, and he cant even walk, but we bring him here every Thursday to bathe.” The child smiles sweetly as his mother distributes Prasad to everyone, the little boys who dive line up for their share. Sageer enlightens us on the medicinal properties of pond water, “People with skin diseases and rashes come to get cured with this water, pond water helps cure those diseases and every Thursday, patients with ailments such as arthritis and mental or muscular disorders come here to bathe and offer Prasad at the mazaar”. Soon enough, a line of believers, women with little children, old men and young boys descend upon the Shahi Talaab to cure themselves. Ram Swarup says, “It’s cheaper than visiting doctors, my grandson responds well to these baths and is always happy to come and spend a evening here.”

The Shahi talaab acts as a community pond for fish rearing as well, the poorest villagers can avail from free fish here! According to the locals, the pond is incomplete because the gentleman who was making it died soon after the construction of one half of the pond. The other end has a slab or two for washer men. “This pond has been part of our lives for as long as I can remember”, says Sageer, staring at a black snake bird dive for a silver fish as everyone silently watches the ripples subside.

This is the crap they published in the indian express:--- i strongly recommend you AVOID it.

http://cities.expressindia.com/fullstory.php?newsid=191909

Mahesh the one armed milkman and his German grit…

2006-07-02T05:48:00.000Z

He cycles 44 km back and forth from Maran Mau village to distribute milk in Lucknow everyday, plays a bansuri which he made for himself, writes poetry and eats a ball of surreptitious looking leaves which cost five rupees. But there’s something about this five foot three inch 26 year old bachelor, his dirty red cap which he wears turned backwards, disheveled hair, unshaved face, piercing black eyes and the stump which is all that he has for a right arm, make Mahesh the milkman more, than just another dairy hand.

In an accident in 1993, Mahesh Kumar Gautam’s right fore-arm was sliced away in a fodder cutting machine, all that remains is a stump till above the elbow, he survived in

spite of the immense blood loss. “Time stopped for one hour, the other laborers didn’t know what to do, then Pappu unwound the blades and tied the remains of my arm with his towel and rushed me to the hospital”, he says, shivering in the memory of the pain and the recuperation that followed. After months of nursing, he was reduced to lifting handfuls of hay at the farm.

His mother, fondly called “Neta” because of her vociferous ways, thought it was all over for her youngest son, “What can a mother do when she sees her brightest son disintegrate?”. But inspiration was only a story away, Mahesh’s employer, Late Brigadier Pritpal Singh could not stand a young man wasting away. Mahesh lights up as he remembers him, “He is the reason why I can look the world in the face today, I had wasted away because I thought I was a lesser man, just one arm. What work could I do? But I did have a little spirit, to continue working and earn for myself, Sahib noticed this”.

Mahesh who had passed his 8^th standard had dreamt of joining the armed forces one day, had always been in awe of his “Badde Sahib”. Brig Singh took it upon himself to change this man’s helplessness and insisted he work like a young lad and not a “cripple”. He was made to clean the cow sheds, feed the cows, cut fodder-again, and face his fears. Today as he travels the distance between the village and the city he has an air of confidence and purpose in him. Today he is just like any other bachelor from the village, “I make friends on the road and take my time cycling back and forth between the village. Sometimes I stop at the tea stalls and play my bansuri, they often serve me free tea and love to hear my poetry”.

He remembers how a local village lad had inspired him to play the bansuri, “Bajrang used to play the bansuri and I was always in awe of him because the school girls and the girls from the local tailor’s workshop used to be friends with”, he laughs. “I taught myself how to play and make my own bansuris, my mother doesn’t like bansuris because she doesn’t like my Romeo image in the village! So I hide the bansuri in my friend’s house every evening before I return home.” Smiling he plays with the bansuri and looks around at his admirers, a group of young children who want to learn how to play the bansuri from “Bansi walle bhaiyaa”.

“Badde Sahib related to me a story about an angrezi pilot, he had lost his leg in the war and he continued to fly for the army, he played sports and even climbed mountains.” The angrezi pilot Mahesh innocently remembers is the famous German pilot, Hans Ulrich Rudel, who flew 2,530 combat missions which is a world record, being shot and force landed (often behind enemy lines) 32 times yet somehow always managing to escape capture despite Stalin himself putting a 100,000 rouble bounty on his head. He went on to become the most decorated soldier in Germany and wrote two books “In spite of Everything” and “Memoirs of a Stuka pilot”. As Mahesh sits on his cycle playing his bansuri, people stand and watch this one-armed fighter trudge through life with the grit of a German pilot who once said, “"Lost are only those, who give up themselves".

In The Express:- http://cities.expressindia.com/fullstory.php?newsid=190868

The Sri Ravidas Row...

2006-06-24T11:04:00.000Z

Nestled between a row of 8 cobbler shops, under the Aliganj bridge is the oldest Sri Ravidas Mandir of Lucknow. Built in 1924, with money collected by cobblers, this temple is one of the three such temples in Lucknow. “There are two other temples built in memory of Sri Ravidas, one is in Aliganj and another on Kanpur road. We have lived here for over three generations,” explains Bajnath Pratap owner of the Gautam shoe house which is adjacent to the temple. His father was one of the first cobblers to set up a shop in the locality, the eight shops pay a rent of 250 rupees a month, which is used in the upkeep of the temple. “This isn’t enough, but we do pay a thousand rupees each during the Ravidas Jayanti in February”, says Guptaji the local halwai. Pointing to the room behind his shop he smiles saying, “This is where I was born and we have lived here since my great grand father’s time, the temple has been a part of our lives forever. My sweets have been the prasad for eighty years.”

Sitting outside the temple is Baba Tikaidas, an eighty-eight year old pujari who has spent his entire life managing the temple, his wife Parvati explains animatedly,“ my husband has been here since he was a fat and muscular young man!he has spent his entire life here. We know no other life, our world begins and ends in this row.” The withered pujari with sparkling eyes talks of his temple and Sri Ravidas as the rest listen, “Ravidasji was a mystic saint, like Kabirdas and Guru Nanak. He belonged to a family of cobblers and used to tan animal hide and make shoes but spent time in the company of sadhus and other spiritualists. Forty of his verses have been used in the Guru Granth Sahib as well.” Relating a story about how Bhagat Ravidas offered two paisa to a pundit who was visiting the Ganges. The Pundit offered the two paise to the Ganges who in return offered a bangle…. He wanders off singing a couplet before he completes the story. The crowd of cobblers returns to their shoemaking, one lingers offering to help do the darshan in the temple.

The inner sanctum has an idol of Sri Ravidas raising his hand in blessing, the age of the building is palpable as one can see the age of the arches and the Hanuman idols in the walls, and they are falling apart now. Parvati the pujari’s wife points to the rows of cycles standing inside the temple premises, “There is a boys hostel upstairs and the boys park their cycles here. We’ve requested them to park outside but who listens?” The cobwebs on the light bulb inside the temple have been there a long while too, “The young boys come and clean these sometimes, its tough to do it ourselves. This temple has seen better days though.” Guptaji mentions how MLAs and even a mayor once used to frequent the temple and promise measures to ensure upkeep, “The shopkeepers are keen on rebuilding part of the temple, by buying five bags of cement and some money, as a dakshinaa to Sri Ravidas’s memory.” The saint and his temple, have initiated in the people who live in the “Sri Ravidas row”, a determination to join hands and celebrate his teachings of equality and harmony.

In the express Newsline---

http://cities.expressindia.com/fullstory.php?newsid=189731

Kalidas, "Kaanch Wallah"--re-done!

2006-06-18T05:16:00.000Z

So the editor says he wants more direct quotes and more about the man...here's what I put together before the 3'o clock deadline! This glass guy is then three articles in one man!

August 1947- catastrophic events overtake everyday lives. The Chaudhary family residing in Karachi has to leave at very short notice taking what it can, bringing along with them a camphor wood box. It was in the summer of ’64, that Kalidas Chaudhary, the youngest son, set out to sell the old box in the lanes of Nakkhas. Those were hard times for the family. Every possession no matter how dear was a saleable commodity- the old box was sold for 500 rupees to an old shopkeeper, who offered 800 rupees if Kalidas could bring another box of the same kind. A dumbstruck and excited Kalidas took the money back to his unbelieving mother, “You must have stolen the money, I don’t believe you!” After a little coaxing she accompanied him to the shopkeeper who explained the value of the box.

Encouraged by his success with the old box, Kalidas began to spend time in the lanes of Nakkhas and Chowk searching for other such goods. “Every Sunday I would walk the lanes and haggle with sellers for anything that caught my eye, a china cup, an old glass vase, lamps”, lifting a dusty oil lamp he explains how the servants of the Nawabs would sell broken lamps to corner shops and merchants in the area. His ability to spot something unique in a trove of old junk is what made Kalidas the man he is today. A chikan seller by trade, his hobby soon became a profitable passion and he began to visit the old aristocracy- Nawabs, Rajahs and Taluqdars. The families began to know and trust him as their “Kaanch Wallah”, the man who could repair their chandeliers or “Jhaad”, replace their “Fanoos” the glass lamps and whenever required help the nobility sell off some of their old glass ware and china, anonymity was assured.

“English merchants and representatives of Danish and Belgian chandelier companies used to visit the Nawabs of Lucknow with catalogues. These companies had special centers in Madras, Calcutta and Bombay”, explains the glass man of Lucknow. Green and turquoise chandeliers were a favorite with the Nawabs, which were made and delivered on special order. “I often go to the havelis of the Nawabs during Moharram when all the chandeliers need to be covered with black cloth, and then again on Eid when the chandeliers have to be sparkling clean”. His paan daan lies close by and he fixes himself a paan, “My collection of lamps has been my pride for many years, they call me Kaanch Wallah because of my obsession with Jhaad and Fanoos!” The fifty eight year old carefully examines one of his chandeliers, the white crystal drops need to be replaced. “Most of my customers today either come to have their chandeliers repaired or to pick up an occasional Fanoos, I also arrange for other glass items like hookah bases and china cups.” But it is now the “nouveau riche” who are hankering after these symbols of aristocracy.

Kalidas’s interactions with the royalty of Lucknow and surrounding areas lead to his becoming familiar with the ambience and traditional customs of the aristocracy. Today he is an authority on Awadh interiors and has decorated the sets of Umrao Jaan, Gadar, TV serials Phool aur Kaante and Jaan-e-Alam. Currently he is working on the Manisha Koirala starrer, “Anwar”. Sitting in his unassuming backyard he points out to the doorway, “This entire area was an old palace, the broken entrance there, elephants used to pass through it. It was called the Machli Darwaza, we have lived here since the partition days.” In his “office”, he has a poster of Rekha as Umrao Jaan, looking at the poster he says, “Look at the lamp in the picture, and the paan daan, I arranged those!” He fondly remembers recreating the ambience of old Lucknow in Bollywood movies, “I remember a time when Lucknow looked like that, the extravagance was real. The sparkling glass told a story, each chandelier has a history. It has seen and lit an era that is vanishing.” It is ironic that the old aristocratic chandelier finds itself adorning false ceilings in concrete jungles of India’s metropolitan cities.

In the express---

http://cities.expressindia.com/fullstory.php?newsid=188511

Kalidas, "Kaanch Wallah"

2006-06-17T06:24:00.000Z

August 1947- catastrophic events overtake everyday lives. A business family residing in Karachi has to leave at very short notice taking what it can. The Chaudhary family brought along with them a camphor wood box, and it was in the summer of ’64, that Kalidas Chaudhary, an eighteen year old, set out to sell the old box in the lanes of Nakkhas. Those were hard times for the family. Rebuilding lives was harsh and unkind.

Every possession no matter how dear or associated with memories was a saleable commodity- and thus the old camphor box one day found itself being examined by an old shopkeeper. The offer was princely sum of 500 rupees. Kalidas took the money back to his unbelieving mother who suspected that something was amiss, “You must have stolen the money, I don’t believe you!” After a little coaxing she accompanied him to the shopkeeper who offered 800 rupees if they would sell him similar box. Encouraged by his success with the old camphor box, Kalidas began to spend time in the lanes of Nakkhas and Chowk searching for other such saleable goods. His hobby soon became a passion and he began to visit the old aristocracy- Nawabs, Rajahs and Taluqdars. The families began to know and trust him as their “Kaanch Wallah”, the man who could repair their chandeliers or “Jhaad”, replace their “Fanoos” the glass lamps and whenever required help the nobility sell off some of their old glass ware and china, anonymity was assured.

Lest you bemoan the fate of the aristocracy there was a time when English merchants and representatives of Danish and Belgian chandelier companies would visit the Nawabs of Lucknow with catalogues. “These companies had special centers in Madras, Calcutta and Bombay”, explains the glass man of Lucknow. Green and turquoise chandeliers were a favorite with the Nawabs, which were made and delivered on special order. Times have changed, it is now the “nouveau riche” who are hankering after these symbols of aristocracy. Kalidas’s interactions with the royalty of Lucknow and surrounding areas lead to his becoming familiar with the ambience and traditional customs of the aristocracy. He was soon interested in interior decorating and has become an authority on Awadh interiors for over two decades, having decorated the sets of Umrao Jaan (the old and new version), Gadar, TV serials Phool aur Kaante and Jaan-e-Alam.

“Kaanch Wallah” is known across the country by the lovers and collectors of glass ware. His customers regard him as the “Man to visit when you break things like your grandmother’s paan-daan, an old hookah base, an old china cup or want to replace or buy a Jhaad or Fanoos”. His hobby of collecting wares which catch his eye has enabled him to meet some of the oldest families of the state. He fondly remembers recreating the ambience of old Lucknow in Bollywood movies, “I remember a time when Lucknow looked like that, the extravagance was real. The sparkling glass told a story, each chandelier has a history. It has seen and lit and era that is vanishing.” It is ironic that the old aristocratic chandelier finds itself adorning false ceilings in concrete jungles of India’s metropolitan cities. The times have changed.

In the Indian Express---

http://cities.expressindia.com/fullstory.php?newsid=188511

Do dreams come true?

2006-06-17T06:16:00.000Z

Do dreams come true?

He used to cross the children everyday, thirty of them kicking out in the air, learning a Korean martial art in the middle of Alambagh. Raju Bharti Taekwondo Academy, this was the ground where Safeena Khan nurtured a dream. Mohammad Ahmad, a poultry farmer, decided twelve years ago that he wanted his youngest daughter to learn this art. His daughter Safeena wasn’t too sure, everyone was bigger and stronger than her and there were only two other girls in a class of thirty.

She wasn’t the only one who wasn’t too sure, the neighbors and relatives made it a point to tell her that sports won’t take her too far. An eight year old girl couldn’t care less, especially when she won her first gold medal. Her mother Suraiyya carefully brings out stacks of certificates, school, state and national level. There are sixteen gold medals, two silvers and 3 bronzes, but Safeena holds one bronze out- “I won this last year, national championship 2005, they gave me a scholarship worth fifty thousand.” 5 feet 2 inches tall, tanned and could easily pass as a thirteen year old boy but Safeena is twenty and is Uttar Pradesh’s number one taekwondo player in the pin weight category. In the twelve years she’s practiced taekwondo, it’s been the dream of a gold at the nationals that’s kept her going. All of old sardari kheda knows her as “Gudiya”, the girl who can “fight back and kick”.

The fifth house opposite the choti masjid is a four room structure for a family of seven. This where she grew up, with her three sisters and two brothers. A typical day in Safeena’s life begins with waking up at 4:30 a.m., reaching the academy as 5 and training children till 7:30. She leaves for college at 11 and is back at 5 to take the 5:30 p.m. class. In between all this, Safeena does housework and runs errands for the family. Working as a coach at the academy earns her fifteen hundred rupees a month. This is what she uses to pay for a BA degree from Mahila College and a computer course from Ftech. “I want to work in the forces. I want to walk down this alley in uniform. I keep filling in the forms and waiting for call letters, but Taekwondo isn’t even recognized as a sport in our state services. Sometimes I wish I’d spent twelve years on Judo instead…but I didn’t know, didn’t have a choice.”

Waseema, a nine year old girl from the same locality is learning taekwondo from Safeena, “I want to go to different championships across India, Gudiya appa has been everywhere!” and its true, Gudiya has represented Uttar Pradesh every year since she started practicing taekwondo. The competitions have taken her to Assam, Bangalore, Chandigarh, Delhi, places which are dots on a map most people can’t even read in her neighborhood. “I used to share a cycle with my two brothers till I won the Patiala scholarship and bought this second hand scooty, life is easier now. My younger brother Abrar is a gold medalist in Taekwondo, I taught him!” she grins as Abrar shows his medal.

But will these medals and certificates amount to something? So far no, “Whenever I go to an office to apply for a post they keep my certificates aside, Taekwondo isn’t recognized in Uttar Pradesh. They have a quota for kho kho and kabaddi but not taekwondo.” But challenges are not new to Safeena, bearing the taunts of the neighbors was never easy. People quizzed her father and mother, how could they let a young daughter practice a martial art with boys? How could they allow her to travel to unknown cities? Was it right to allow a girl so much freedom?

Gudiya dreams of the day when she’ll be able to make them all eat their words and show the community why she spent so much time learning taekwondo, why she did her BA and why she dared to dream. Will talent and the desire to achieve get her a job? “Do they have a reservation for me?” questions this girl of steel, she might as well have asked, “Do dreams come true”.

Shinjini Singh

The story in Newsline, The Indian Express--

http://cities.expressindia.com/archivefullstory.php?newsid=187261&creation_date=2006-06-11