Dr. Madhukar Kapoor

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

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!

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

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...

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

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

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

My first..in months!

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

Phulwari

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

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!

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

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

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...

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!

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!

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

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

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.