More than just Idli, Dosa and Coffee: Tracing South Indian Heritage in Calcutta’s Multiculturalism

There was a saying in the 70’s that anyone coming from Chennai by the morning train to Calcutta would land himself a job by the evening. If one were to link Calcutta’s identity to its communities, the obvious answer would be the Bengalis, Punjabis, Marwaris and Sindhis. However, the South Indian community is significantly etched in Calcutta’s diasporic identity. Lake Market, Ballygunge and the Rashbehari stretch has been considered a bastion for various South Indian communities in the city such as the Telugus, the Tamil and Kannadigas.

South Indians had a monopoly in accounting and secretarial jobs in Calcutta following the collapse of the British Raj. Banks and private firms would be brimming with South Indians. But where are the industries to hire them now?  Big industrial and business houses like Balmer Lawrie, Andrew Yule, Brooke Bond, Burma Shell and Imperial Tobacco once played host to several South Indian employees. However, the economic milieu within West Bengal has forced the communities to either return to their native states in the south, or move to other industrial and business hubs in the country.

The first two generations considered this place their home and even bought property here, but the younger generation does not share the same sentiments. I was born in a family with Tamil, Kannadiga, North Indian and Bengali roots that moved from West Bengal to Karnataka thus the languages and with it; a part of my identity changed and became a medley of Bengali, English, Tamil and Kannada. Calcutta is a big city with multicultural, multilingual communities— not that they do not interface with each other, but they also dwell within their cocooned existence. You have relatives, organisations and societies of your own community and at times you make your own bubble and stay inside it. However, in Calcutta, I grew up in mixed surroundings. I made friends in my neighbourhood who were mostly Punjabis and Bengalis and almost every time I paid a visit to their homes I was greeted with the fragrance of mustard oil simmering in a kadai or the aroma of copious dollops of butter on a paratha fresh off a tava. However, for almost 10 years, my Tamil neighbours, the Radhakrishnan’s had an indelible influence on my eating habits as well. At times when my parents were too caught up with work I would join the Radhakrishnan’s for lunch. I remember at first, it took some time to get used to the tangy flavour of rasam but soon I think I developed a fondness for the ‘poriyals’ and the Kuzhambu.

Now at home, I love starting the day with a south Indian breakfast, followed by a hearty Bengali meal with fish curry and rice and ending the day with a North Indian sabzi and roti. The odd montage of food habits at home pay homage to the distinctive blend in my family tree. While my comfort food on a dull and dreary rainy day will always comprise of ‘aaloo bhaath’ I have also found comfort in the simplicity of curd rice.

I fondly remember my mother taking me to an unassuming South Indian eatery called Komala Vilas in Calcutta. She would occasionally take me there after school to eat the thali and tell me stories about my ‘thatha’ (grandfather) who migrated from Tamil Nadu to West Bengal. People from Tamil Nadu came to West Bengal more prominently in the 1950s and 1960s, as the majority of Tamil Brahmins left Tamil Nadu en masse owing to the rising anti-Brahminism movement in the state. Some settled in Mumbai’s Matunga area, some in Delhi and many came to Calcutta. Since flights were impossibly expensive in those days, people thronged the city in trains. It would take three days for people to reach Howrah station from Madras Central. Calcutta was then seen as a land of opportunity by many Tamilians. Ramakrishna Lunch Home and Komala Vilas were among the first Tamil messes. The former was called Patima Hotel. ‘Patima’ means grandmother in Tamil. The Lake Market area, was once populated with more than two lakh Tamilians. Vocational training was given as much emphasis as providing shelter. When the British left, they left much of their business to their munshis, who were mostly Marwaris. While the Marwaris had business acumen, they lacked communication skills. South Indians may not have been comfortable with Hindi, but they had no problem with English.

In fact, the Calcutta South India Club situated in the heart of the city lies testament to Calcutta’s South Indian community. For several years it has been earmarked as a remarkably popular place for South Indian food and for various South Indian communities to celebrate their regional festivities. The South India Club became an institution. The Noble Laureate, Sir Chandrasekhara Venkata Raman (CV Raman) who used to stay in the club when he was in the city was the club’s first president (1926-28), and was followed by S. Radhakrishnan who took over from 1928 for a year, who later went on to become the second President of India.

While Calcutta may be characterised by its ‘Babu culture’, the various communities immortalise its multicultural heritage. The community once bore its flagship in Lake Market, Ballygunge and Rashbehari areas. In Sarat Bose Road; Ashok Stores boasts of a modest signboard on the wall outside with the shop name written in Bengali and English in old fonts. Its unpainted exterior and an absolute disregard for display and decoration looks like the stereotypical neighbourhood store from a few decades ago. The shop was a lifeline for the south Indian communities in the city, who lived mainly in this area. It sold — and still sells — all food products used in cooking in all the southern states. Now many from these communities have left Calcutta, but that has not made a difference to this shop. Now more than South Indians, others buy South Indian products. Papads, in a wide range, including a tapioca variety, are one of the best-selling items, along with coffee (of course, there has to be coffee). The most bewildering range, however, is of the spices and ready-mix masalas. With the regular sambar and rasam mixes and lemon rice and puliyogare rice are garlic rice powder, ghee dhal powder and a karela powder. It is a small garden of earthly delights, waiting to unlock its sharp, distinct flavours, promising glimpses into ways of life that lie outside the everyday and the familiar, yet next to us.

For a long time, especially between 1994 and 2012 familiarity came in the form of kosha mangsho and aaloo makha, but over time beetroot poriyal and curd rice have become unequivocally comforting for me. After spending a decade in Bangalore, I have recently made Calcutta my home again but the emotion of feeling like a stranger in a strange land lingers ever so often when I am home. However, I may seek refuge in knowing that Calcutta still plays host to a few of these bastions from the community.

Revisiting Calcutta’s Multiculturalism Through Neighbourhoods and Archaic Buildings

Even after my departure from this city, when people ask me about the place I grew up in, I think of 3 adjectives; chaotic, sultry and archaic. It’s no surprise that the youth of Calcutta have felt the need to flee from this state of disarray. Plagued by poverty, hunger, class division and ruins of corporate offices which once bore its flagship in the city; Calcutta has witnessed decline, just as much as it has witnessed moments of growth. Everyone who has fled the city, probably enjoys a comparatively better lifestyle that is found outside this state itself. But they will also tell you that it is a city with soul and heart. If you like your cities clean, manicured, organized and modern, then Calcutta is not for you. What has breathed life into the city’s foundation has been its diversity and multiculturalism. One can trace Calcutta’s heritage through streets, buildings and structures that stand even today. They tell us about communities that lived, communities that are fading away, and communities that have been forgotten. As I am now a resident to the IT hub of India, there are days where my mind will wander, thinking about cobbled streets, the red bricked buildings and the colour yellow bolting past me on roads. Having spent a large part of my life in this mesmerizing city, I am going to walk you through a few places that encapsulate Calcutta’s thriving multicultural heritage.

St. John’s Church and St. Paul’s Cathedral

St. Paul’s Cathedral in Kolkata

St John’s Church in Kolkata

Calcutta’s predictable hotspot for tourists is the Victoria Memorial, however if one must link the city’s high culture to the origin of its colonial past then St John’s Church and St. Paul’s Cathedral is always the best place to start.

St. John’s Church plays host to the city’s memory of the East India Company. Built in 1787 by James Agg, the church serves as a rich repository of historic monuments. Warren Hastings was among the prime members of the church, and even laid the foundation stone of the structure. Moreover, the founder of Calcutta, Job Charnock, is buried in the compound. St. John’s Church pays homage to European statesmen and Governor Generals as discreetly as one could imagine. Sure, Victoria Memorial has its grandeur, white marble statues and beautifully paved gardens; but tucked away behind the stone church, lies answers to Calcutta’s colonial chaos and culture. With monuments paying tribute to British soldiers who lost their lives in the Black Hole Tragedy, to a mausoleum honouring the memory of Job Charnock. St. John’s Church played host to the EIC’s powerful and elite.

St. Paul’s Cathedral, with a more grand facade is Kolkata’s largest church and the first Anglican cathedral to be built in Asia. The church provided more space for the growing European population in Calcutta. Designed in Gothic Revival style, the cathedral echoes European grandiosity and extravagance. Even during the time of its proposition, before its completion; there were debates centred around the construction of the cathedral being too expensive. The central spire rises to a height of 201 feet (61 m), and the tower on which it stands is square in shape and patterned on the lines of the 12th-century Canterbury Cathedral in England. Moreover, the consecration ceremony, was marked with Queen Victoria sending ten pieces of silver-gilt plates for the cathedral. Even to this day, as one walks through the high-arched corridors; in a cold and damp corner lies black and white pictures documenting the tour of the Prince of Wales, King Edward VII, who visited the cathedral in 1875. Britain’s regality still remains intact with high and steep arches, stained glass windows and a roof in the shape of a shallow curve arching over iron trusses decorated with Gothic tracery.

Old and New China Town

Tiretta Bazaar-Old China Town

Chinese immigrants have been in Calcutta since 1778. Yang Tai Chow was the first known Chinese to arrive on the banks of the Hooghly. He later gathered a group of Chinese and decided to stay on in the area of Khidderpore, where he opened a sugar mill in the city. Yang’s venture will forever be immortalised in Bengali language, as the Bengali word for sugar, Chini is derived from Mandarin. Tong Achi, as Yang Chow was locally called, established the first Chinese community in Calcutta.

Now, one can see the Chinese community settle in parts of the mainland city, such as Teriti Bazaar and Tangra, commonly known as Old China Town and New China Town respectively. Old China Town centred was located in Colootola Street and Dr. Sun Yat Sen Road, and New China Town on the outskirts of Calcutta, since the Second World War. It was famous for tanneries, run exclusively by local Chinese. Today these are only remnants of history, marked by temples to Kwan Tai, and Confucius. The community once possessed everything they needed – from mahjong clubs, Chinese grocery stores, and schools, to printing presses and hawkers selling dim sums, noodles and soup. The community made a notable impression among Calcuttans. Their entrepreneural spirit can still be seen today in the form of hair salons, and numerous Chinese restaurants. Calcutta’s inhabitants have usually viewed the local Chinese in terms of stereotypes, preferring Chinese restaurants – as opposed to those run by Indians – for authentic flair, even though it may be far from authenticity found in Canton.

The 1962 war changed the course of history for Chinese presence in India. In the 10 years following the war, 3,000 Indian Chinese remained interned from 1965-66 at Deoli Camp (in the Rajasthan desert) and prisons – if they had not opted for deportation to Communist China. The community felt their movements and employment opportunities were greatly affected. Government jobs were now out of bounds and the community felt they ought to reside in Calcutta and move away from hill stations like Darjeeling, Shillong and Markum (now sensitive border areas). The Chinese Indian diaspora in Calcutta now consider the city their home, but the community is slowly fading away from West Bengal, as millennials and GenZ seek better employment elsewhere in the country, or other countries such as Australia and Canada. The dwindling numbers in Chinese learning schools are a testament of the very fact. But even as the nation faces unease at its borders with China, the Chinese Indian diaspora have adopted the city and the state as their own land, and still keep their identity intact. The community has contributed to the identity of Calcutta’s rich history and even as numbers continue to dwindle in Tangra, the Hakka people will forever be immortalized in the city’s demography.

The Great Eastern Hotel

The Great Eastern Hotel. Now known as the Lalit Great Eastern Hotel

This colonial era hotel established in 1840 witnessed the city at the height of occupation by the East India Company. Back then it was known as the Auckland Hotel named after George Eden, the 1st Earl of Auckland. The hotel was the first to have and Indian on its board of directors in 1859. Located in B.B.D. Bagh, it sits eloquently in the middle of a crowded street. I have never entered the Great Eastern, but as a young child when I would accompany my mother in running errands, I would often daydream about the opulence and elegance of the hotel and wonder if the hallways were ever graced with the chatter of stuffy old British men, swirling their scotch glasses complaining about unbearable Indian summers. That’s as far as my imagination ever went. But I assume that the interiors and the hospitality of the hotel is incomparable to my own fantasies as it has housed world leaders like Nikita Khrushchev, Nikolai Bulganin, Ho Chi Minh and even Queen Elizabeth II. I’m sure that anyone who enters will be a few thousands poorer, but for anyone obsessed with a city’s heritage and colonial past like I am, the Great Eastern is a great window to experience quintessential British lifestyle in the 1800’s and 1900’s.

Nahoum’s Bakery

Nahoum’s Bakery

Nahoum’s would not necessarily classify as a ‘building’, although all Calcuttan’s view it as a cornerstone of the Jewish community in the city. I know it’s very stereotypical, and that there is also a synagogue present in the city, but Nahoum’s will forever be etched as a nostalgic experience for people who have left the city.

For over a 100 years, this jewish bakery has stood the test of time and quite literally so. The bakery has made no major changes to its layout or decor, and to this day it continues to use a wooden cash drawer. The founder, Nahoum Israel Mordecao started the bakery in 1902. He sought refuge in Calcutta as there were around 4,000-6,000 Jews immigrating to India during the first half of the 20th century. Nahoum’s has made very little change to its dessert menu, and it is this element which has lent so much soul and fondness to traditions which I know personally, that families carry with them, to this day. Families can be seen choosing what to box in from the glass window displays, probably in the afternoon after Sunday mass, on Friday’s during Shabbat or during the Christmas holiday season. For anyone visiting Calcutta and wondering how our white skinned counterparts used to live their lives on the daily, Nahoum’s is definitely a time machine that could satisfy that curiosity.

The Afghan War Memorial

The Afghan War Memorial

About two years ago, during a class that I had opted for as a part of my Master’s Degree requirement, my professor started talking about whether there was any evidence to prove that Afghans had settled in Calcutta, or whether it was a tribe that belonged to the North West Frontier Province, calling themselves Kabuliwallas who gave themselves an Afghan identity. I will never know the real answer, nor has my online search pointed to any concrete evidence, but it has been haunting me ever since. The closest thing that I can find to rationally explain the existence of Afghan people in Calcutta is the Anglo-Afghan War fought between 1839 to 1842. In north Calcutta, the towering Afghan War Memorial was constructed in 1842 and predates the Dum Dum Ordnance Factory. The Dum Dum Ordnance Factory was set up in 1846, following the defeat of the British in the Afghan War, when the British East India Company decided to set up the first ammunition factory in India. According to locals the dhum dhum sound of the testing guns gave Dum Dum its name, but historians differ as the reference of the name Dum Dum can be found far beyond the days of the Dum Dum Ordnance Factory.

Calcutta’s rich multicultural past will forever be immortalized by its many structures and buildings. The rich history that I have been exposed to and have come to know of fondly, is something that will forever be dear to my heart. Even now, when I drive past Bangalore’s blue chip banks, flashy facades and towering buildings; I long for places that transport me to a different era, and I daydream about people long gone and how they would have lived. I keep searching for portals to travel back in time to. Well, monuments, archaic buildings, old bakeries and monoliths have served as portals for me, and I hope that for anyone trying to get a glimpse of Calcutta, they make time for portals such as these to understand Calcutta’s heart and soul, that once bore its flagship here.

A Yercaud that’s yet to be discovered.

Tucked away in Salem district, Yercaud is a hill station that reminds one of Ooty. A smaller, quainter, quieter version of Ooty, although the number of tourists aren’t as much in Yercaud, tourism is gradually picking up pace.

I was lucky enough to stay in a heritage resort that allowed me to dig deeper into the colonial history of this hill station. Staying at a coffee plantation, now turned into a heritage resort, was a thrilling experience altogether. The lounge in the resort has been turned into a museum. With artifacts like a water pump, an ancient gun powder box and old pictures of the estate, gave me a sense of the grandiose lifestyle during the British Raj. I saw pictures of elaborate estate weddings, picnics, and locals carrying their white superiors on a palanquin around the estate. It immediately transported me to the 1800’s. I learned that way back in 1857, a thirteen year old british girl called Charlotte decided to climb the Shevaroyan hills. She eventually settled down and gave birth to twin girls. One of them was named Henrietta Charlotte, who later came to be known as Henrietta Charlotte Rosario after her marriage. This woman ran the entire estate, even after the death of her beloved husband, Leonard Rosario. It is said that her descendants were the last known british settlers to leave the Shevaroys.

An old picture of a woman being carried around the estate

My budding curiosity lead me to venture outside the resort. Quite coincidentally, I decided to visit the Holy Trinity Church, not knowing the kind of information I was about to gather. At around 12 in the afternoon, my cab stopped in front of a rusty old iron gate. You could tell from the brown patches of grass inside that maintenance was minimal. All I could see were old, elaborate, Victorian tombstones and graves. It is my belief when something is untouched it carries with it not just history, but a feeling that can be linked to the past. That is exactly how I felt. I felt somehow connected to a time where this quaint little hill station had some semblence of British colonialism. A few of the epitaphs were difficult to comprehend as they had worn out, although you could partially read a few words on the graves.

In the distance, I could see an old man plucking dead weeds from the ground, making place for new plants, in hopes to renew this already morose turf. He was kind enough to show me around, and welcome me in to the church. By his way of speaking he sounded like an Anglo-Indian. He had lived here all his life and is responsible for taking care of this church. He vehemently explained how the C.S.I (Church of South India) was trying to take over this Anglican Church. He said he’s trying to preserve it, so that it doesn’t get bought off by the C.S.I. He has hopes of keeping the historical identity of the church alive.

As I looked around from one gravestone to another, I discovered one thing in common. These were all Britishers who died here. Could it be possible that Henrietta Charlotte Rosario was buried here too? I immdediately decided to head inside the church, to see if my curiosity could be put to rest. And rested, I was. In the corner of the wall, I saw a memorial in the name of “Leonard Rosario.” Henrietta Charlotte’s beloved husband. I’d like to believe that they loved each other deeply, just by reading the epitaph. Especially, since I recently found out that there’s a path called “Leonard’s Lane” in the estate.

Now, I was sure that Henrietta’s grave was here. I bolted out of the church and searched for her grave. And I found it. Looking at her grave, I visualized this woman walking around the estate with her husband, ordering locals to carry her around to find the pefect picnic spot, filling in audits about the plantations and hosting elaborate tea parties.

This hunt of mine was more than just getting to know Henrietta, it was a way to peak into the times and lives of the British who settled here to escape the sultry summers of Madras. After stumbling upon the grave, I ventured out to the right wing of the graveyard. In a row I came across very odd surnames of the people that were buried there. Their surnames sounded German. I was puzzled at first, and later very confused. Another mystery, a curiosity that had to be answered. Luckily, the old man was just five metres away from me. So, I walked up to him and asked him about the graves. He said that those were the graves of German soldiers who were prisoners of the War. I wasn’t expecting that kind of information at all. I was satisfied with the additional information that I gathered.

I looked at Yercaud differently now when I left it, than when I reached the hill station. Still to, I bet there are several windows that are yet to be opened for inquisitive people such as myself. A gateway that can somehow give us a better insight into the past and its inhabitants. Yercaud will always be one of my favourite places to visit, because there’s so much yet to be discovered.

The fire still burns in Bangalore: Tracing the origins of the Parsi community in the city.

Growing up in Calcutta, one is exposed to many minorities, including one such community known as the Parsis. The Parsis are primarily known to be one of the most peaceful and enterprising communities here, in India. Their influence can be felt and seen in Maharashtra where the community has a major stronghold. Leading many businesses big and small , right from the Tata’s and Godrej’s to establishing their very own brand of soda called “Pallonji’s” their impression does not go unnoticed.

Bangalore’s rising reputation as the IT capital of India has welcomed all kinds of communities both near and afar. From Bengalis, Sindhi’s, Punjabi’s, Assamese, Tibetan’s, Goan’s etc.

Now, with a population of 700 comprising 280 families, the Parsi community began settling in Bangalore more than 85 years ago.

When I delved deeper into finding out the origins of the Parsi community in Bangalore, Fardoon Karkaria, the current priest of the Parsee Fire Temple in the city, says that the community first migrated in the 1920’s with just a dozen families; a pleasant climate attracted more numbers in the following decades. In the beginning a Parsi businessman first had hopes of setting up a steel plant around Bangalore but seeing that it did not amount to any success, he left the city.

As time progressed, a family that got its ancestoral name from the Gulf of Aden in England, made a notable impression in the city, and on the Parsi families to follow. The Late Sir Hormusji Adenwalla who owned hundreds of acres of land in and around Bangalore, managed these vast estates. He was known to be a staunch Zoroastrian during his time and contributed a lot to the Bangalore Parsee Zoroastrian Anjuman (BPZA).

Likewise, the Late Seth Dinshaw Cawasji, the founder of our Dar-E-Mehar. Before coming to  Bangalore in 1924, he was a resident of Khandala and Bombay. His coming to Bangalore coincided with the move of the local residents to establish a Dar-E-Mehar in Bangalore. Seth D. Cawasji came forward with a donation of Rs.25,000/- towards the construction of the Dar-E-Mehar. His philanthropy extended to other deserving institutions of our city also; namely The Bowring & Lady Curzon Hospital and Vani Vilas Hospital for which he donated generous amounts of Rs.15,000/- each. His business venture which he started in Mysore State in 1924 is still going strong after 50 years bringing credit to the Zoroastrian Community of Bangalore and many a Parsi found employment in his firm during those difficult times in the years 1935-40.

Like the Late Seth Dinshaw Cawasji, there are many in the community that own businesses owing to their natural entrepreneural and enterprising skill sets. Bangalore has witnessed an astronomical growth in the past 20 years and with its gradual fast paced life could there be a termination of Parsi migration in Bangalore, as it is grapples towards rapid change, making it less of a green a haven for families to settle down? Or will it be a catalyst for families in the community to make a deeper impression in the city as employment seems favourable with times changing for Bangalore?

The exchange between Navajo culture and the fashion industry

Off late, there has been an inculcation of boho chic fashion in the industry. From Urban Outfitters, to Free People, the brands that have embodied a so called tribal and primeval look for their numerous garments. Many clothes have incorporated a blend of the 70’s, with tasseled bags, tie and dye crop tops, acid washed jeans etc with a pinch of tribal chic thrown in.

The Navajo tribe is well known for weaving rugs as well as their silver jewellery. Silversmithing is an important art in their culture and till date it is very well renowned.

Navajos came to the southwest from Alaska with their own weaving traditions. The Navajos made extremely fine utilitarian blankets that were collected by the Ute tribe and Plain Indians. These Chief’s Blankets, could only be utilised by chiefs or very wealthy individuals. The First Phase Chief’s Blankets have only horizontal stripes, Second Phase feature red rectangular designs, and Third Phase feature red diamonds and partial diamond patterns.

The completion of the railroads dramatically changed Navajo weaving. Cheap blankets were imported, so Navajo weavers shifted their focus to weaving rugs for an increasingly non-Native audience. Some early European-American settlers moved in and set up trading posts, often buying these rugs by the pound and selling them back east by the bale.

By the 1960s, American Indian-like attire was a donned by hippies around Haight-Ashbury in San Francisco. By 1968, a year associated with Red Power and American Indian activism, encouraged fashion-savvy hippies (and those who sought to emulate them) to “play an Indian princess with a flutter of feathers in a long sleeve demi-shirt tied by a tribal knot.” And there was the ultimate nonconformist, Dennis Hopper’s character in “Easy Rider,” dressed in buckskin.

In the 1980s, Southwestern or Santa Fe style inspired both interior design magazines and the fashion industry. Right from the color schemes to the  rough-hewn designs and geometric patterns found on blankets and Navajo rugs, they made their way onto couches and coats. And soon enough by the the early 1990s, outside of the region, such fashions were considered passé. We could always claim that style is cyclical, we might also get to the crux of the matter and dig deeper to look at the past history to explain why this particular style has re-emerged in recent times.

In 1980, people were in the mood to celebrate the American West — the uniqueness and independent spirit. But recent trends, however inculcating similar designs and patterns, have been treading cautiously in terms of labelling themselves Southwestern or Santa Fe. Instead, high-end retailers like Proenza Schouler and more affordable stores like Urban Outfitters now use “tribal” or “Navajo” or even “nouveau Navajo” to label their products. As a result, it caused an upheaval among the Navajo Nation. Urban Outfitters was charged on the grounds of cultural inappropriation.

We can trace it back to the colonisation age when the colonisers dressed as American Indians, American colonists made a statement: We are something other than English — we are Americans.

A few centuries later, such behavior continued. In the 1960s and 1970s, with the country at war and its citizens at loggerheads with one another— and deeply critical of their government — hippies and other free spirits drew inspiration from the American Indian Movement and let their clothing  speak for themselves as well as the movement. Their discontent with the government at that time were expressed not only by shouting slogans and marching out on the streets. Hence, Amanda Brooks’ invocation of Joni Mitchell as a counterculture style icon.

Today, protesters spill out into public spaces and question our current economic and political system.  They haven’t necessarily adopted American Indian-inspired clothing while doing it — even if it is sold at the stores frequented by some young protesters — but more than one commentator has noted the protesters’ retro style and “tribal” behavior, from drumming to camping out.

We might question what the appropriation of such designs mean for the average member of the Navajo Nation, where the per capita income hovered around $6,000 in 2005 and upwards of 43 percent of Navajos live below the poverty line. And, what does it say about the ways in which Americans (and Italians and the French) seemingly want to celebrate global tribalism by buying Navajo style without really thinking about what it means — and has meant — to be an American Indian? We must wonder, do they even know who the Navajo are? Where they live? Do designers care about Navajo? Should they?

Certainly, the Navajo Nation, which asked for the cease-and-desist order, thinks it deserves a little more respect.

Navajos are not strangers to the marketplace. Since the 1880s, Navajo-made products and goods have been valued by American consumers and found their way into American department stores, American homes and even onto American bodies (concha belts, bracelets, etc.). After decades of artisans being underpaid, the Navajo Nation took charge of its own labelling and trademarked the term “Navajo” in 2008 to make it stand for, among other things, quality production in the sovereign Navajo Nation.

The Navajo people are not a style, a trend or an adjective. They are a nation. Navajos, caught in the ebb and flow of the American economic system, have struggled to protect their rich cultural heritage, to not forget the torment and torture that was handed down to them and even to capitalize on it for decades. In that sense, they have shown their ability to hold on to Navajo traditions, such as weaving, while trying to prosper in an American world that has a history of devaluing American Indian culture while profiting from its products. Given such a history, the best way to be fashionable this season might just be to buy real Navajo jewellery, rings or textiles from the Navajo Nation, for this is who they really are.

 

Rock the Boat: A Tribute to Radio Caroline

If you’re well acquainted with the movie “Pirate Radio” then congratulations, you know what this blog post is about. If not, then I’m about to educate you on the one radio station that rocked the whole of U.K by defying the government.

During the 60’s and 70’s, BBC had a monopoly of radio channels running under its supervision, which made it difficult for independent radio stations to function on their own terms. For most of Radio Caroline’s early life, it was unlicensed by the government. Unlicensed radio channels were called Pirate Radios, although they were never actually considered illegal until the Marine Offences Act in 1967.

 

The Background

It was the brainchild of Ronan O’Reily, an Irish music manager and businessman who was tired of the BBC’s monopoly and of the record companies manipulative restrictions on broadcasting. As a result, he bought five ships that would broadcast pop rock music along with uncensored versions of songs. It started its first welcome broadcast by playing Not Fade Away by The Rolling Stones. They had  transmitters on their ships, and in no time their broadcasts became popular among the British youth.

Inevitably, the BBC probed an inquiry with the authorities and it published The Marine Offences Act which then, seemed like the downfall of Radio Caroline. Soon, Radio Caroline was under government supervision but due to popular demand, they were granted rights to be an independent radio station.

Having happened in the 60’s and 70’s, where it was all about living in the spirit of rock and roll, about expressing how you felt. It was raw, it was true, it was all about fighting for something you believed in. Having said all of that, Radio Caroline was a pioneer for independence in the radio industry. They stood against monopoly and firmly believed in delivering what people wanted to listen to instead of morphing the mindset of people through filtering and censoring what kind of music youngsters should listen to.

This article is  for the kids who truly believe in something, the rare birds and misfits who want to stand out in their gray world and fight on.

 

 

To the man who brought Mondegar to life and much more

If you’ve been to Mondegar’s in Bombay there’s no doubt that you know or have heard of Mario Miranda. The man who brought life onto walls, wine bottles, newspapers etc.

Mario João Carlos do Rosario de Brito Miranda was born in Daman on 2nd May. He was raised by Goan Catholics parents. As a young boy, he would draw on the walls of his home and on the blank pages of his diary and would often get into trouble in school for drawing caricatures of catholic priests. Miranda’s early drawings were vignettes of Goan village life, which can be seen in his work, even today.

A little known fact is that he studied in St. Joseph’s Boy High School, here in Bangalore and later, studied at St. Xavier’s College Bombay, while he delved in IAS for a bit, he studied architecture on being requested to do so, by his parents. His journey of being an architect was short lived and he dropped out of college. Which only propelled him to make postcards for his friends and draw for them, which earned him extra pocket money.

Miranda realizing that his side gig could perhaps be realized into something concrete, started working for The Illustrated Weekly of India, where his known cartoons would feature in Femina and Economic Times.

But Miranda’s growth didn’t stop there, he was offered the Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian Scholarship, which enabled him to travel to and stay a year in Portugal and this time in Portugal, according to Miranda, helped him broaden his horizons. After a year in Portugal, Miranda travelled to London and spent five years there, learning and working for newspapers and even worked in television animation, at Independent Television.

A huge turning point and perhaps the most pivotal moment of his creative spurt was meeting Sir Ronald Searle, whom Miranda considered his mentor.

After five years in England, Miranda returned to Mumbai and was offered back his old job with the Times of India, where he worked with noted cartoonist, R.K Laxman (Mind = Blown)

He was awarded the Padma Sri in 1988, the Padma Bhushan in 2002 and All India Cartoonists’s Association, Bangalore, honoured him with a lifetime achievement award. This sin’t even the best part, The King of Spain, Juan Carlos, conferred on Mario the highest civilian honour of “Cross of the Order of Isabel the Catholic” which was presented to him on 11 November 2009. Mario Miranda was posthumously awarded the Padma Vibhushan, the second highest civilian award in the Republic of India, by the President on 4 April 2012.

Mario and Mondegar

Miranda’s cartoons grace the walls of one of South Mumbai’s most famous hotspots, in Colaba.

Cafe Mondegar was started in 1932 by Kirani Zoroastrians (Parsi settlers in India) as an Irani Cafe. The current building (Metro House), then housed a hotel called Apollo Hotel and the café was started in the reception area of the hotel. By mid 20th century, the café introduced a jukebox, (the first in Bombay) and was later converted into a restaurant. By the 1990s, Cafe Mondegar was refurbished, Miranda’s murals were painted on the walls and ceilings, and the restaurant was converted into a bar. The Café is owned by the Yazdegardi family.

Rusi Yazdegardi (owner) asked Miranda to draw murals on two opposite walls. Both walls have different themes. Whilst one wall is dedicated to Life in Mumbai, the other wall is dedicated to the Atmosphere in the Café.

Since Mario only drew in black and white and on canvas, initially all the drawings were made on canvas. Those drawings were later rendered on the restaurant walls and colors were filled in with the help of students from Sir J.J Institute of Art and under Miranda’s supervision.

In a time where cartoons and caricatures have little to no recognition in print, and where carricaturists are switching over to digital animation, Mario Miranda is still one person who is able to turn heads around and make them stop and stare, even if it is for a moment. He has breathed life into concrete, bricks and mortar with nothing but a brush stroke.

His rendition of Goan fisher women, coastal life and encapsulating the quirks of the agricultural workers will forever be etched in our minds with nothing but fondness. It reminds us that amidst concrete buildings, and shrill sounds of drills penetrating through mortar, it is important to pause and appreciate the hues of green, the echoes of the earth and the simplicity and serendipity of an agrestic life. One that we have removed ourselves from, and one where we, and generations before us might never be able to reside in.

What two months of Yoga taught me

I am not a gym rat, nor am I a fitness freak. But I’ve always craved Kendall Jenner’s figure. I love to eat, and I’ m definitely not someone who likes to count calories. Wait, I have never counted calories.

But, two months ago I decided to give Yoga a try. I enrolled myself to this place where my sister goes to. It’s a nice haven in the middle of the city, which was rather unusual. My notion about Yoga was completely wrong before I started the classes. I thought it was all about flexibility and being able to bend like a pretzel. Wrong. My first class was intense and believe it or not, I could feel the difference after just an hour of stretches.

My first week got me a little displaced. There were times where I would just space out at work and just think about class. The second and third week was intense. It really tested the capabilities of my body and mind. Slowly, over a couple of weeks I could feel the difference in my outlook towards things, I felt a lot calmer about situations and no matter how bad my day was I always took a deep breath and cleared my mind.

This week, my aim was to touch the ground with my palms, while doing a forward bend without actually bending my knees. And no doubt, I was able to do that. The stretches make you feel good, energetic, light and happy.

I learned that people do not focus on their breathing, which is very important. If we don’t concentrate on our breathing, not enough oxygen reaches the brain. Moreover, I learned how different muscles work, why it is part of our culture to eat with our hands (It heightens the senses, which enables you to really experience and enjoy the food) and how much of an impact yoga actually has on your physical and mental well being.

I was always so concerned on finding a way to be fit and healthy. Lifting weights and doing 80 squats is definitely not my way of reaching a weight or fitness goal, but breathing and keeping my mind uncluttered has its benefits. And for anyone who looks down on fist bumps, bro nods and stomach crunches I would definitely recommend oodles of poses and an abundance of stretches.

The first ever tile making factory in India and the colonial connection to my Bangalore home: Basel Mission Works

Right in the heart of a concrete jungle called Bangalore, a relatively admirable sized colonial bungalow sits among corporate offices and blue chip banks. M.G road was one of the few places that had an avenue of trees and archaic houses. In a parallel universe of course, these old bungalows would still exist. However, in a world filled with corporate giants grappling for prime property it’s no wonder that these architectural marvels have been sold for a 7 figure sum.

I happen to reside in this colonial marvel. There isn’t one day that goes by without a 10 minute glance at the columns or the foundation stone.

When I first moved in, I was certain there was a lot of work to do. The plants had to be cropped, the oxidized red flooring had to be changed, the high beams needed sweeping and the roof had to be re-tiled. But none of this really mattered to me, because what I found in the old out house in the backyard made me stop and think. I found a pile of red tiles with “Basel Mission Tile Works- 1865” engraved on it. It was like my own little portal to history.

With a bit of research I found out that the Basel Mission tile factory was established by a German missionary named Plebot in 1860. Basel Mission was the first ever tile making factory in India. They found large deposits of clay by the banks of the Gurupura and Nethravathi rivers. The factory was located near Morgan’s Gate, a suburb in the city of Mangalore. 

A systematic exploration of shipwrecks that had been carried out in Goa waters in 1997, led to the exploration off St George’s Reef that brought light to the remains of a shipwreck at a depth of 15 m, containing various types of terracotta artifacts intended for house construction. ‘Basel Mission Tile Works 1865’  impressed on bricks, roof and floor tiles. Studies show that the company was active in manufacturing terracotta and exported it to Africa, Australia, Borneo, Sumatra, and other countries. It has been renamed ‘Comtrust’, and is still producing terracotta using the same technique.

Here are a few pictures of my 17th Century house and the terracotta tiles.