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.

Punjabi Choolha

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

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

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

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...

“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...

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