Tag Archives: india

A tailor in Bangalore (India) who knew how to be tactful

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My book, “Coracles and Crocodiles: 101 Tales of India”. is an anthology of some of the things I have experienced during three decades of of travelling in India. Here is a short excerpt from it:

DIPLOMATIC AMNESIA

Almost immediately after I first arrived in India (in late December 1993), and a few days before our Hindu wedding ceremony, my father-in-law recommended that I visit his tailor – Mr Krishnan – to get measured up for some new suits. One of these was to be a white ‘Prince Suit’, and the other two were western style formal suits in greyish materials. The Prince Suit, a traditional Indian design with a high neck collar, was to be worn at our wedding reception after the marriage ceremony. The other garments would be useful for the many formal occasions, which my father-in-law anticipated both in India and England. He loved such occasions.

When he worked in an upmarket tailoring shop in Bangalore’s Brigade Road, Mr Krishnan had made suits for my father-in-law. When I met him, he was semi-retired and worked from his home in a small, old-fashioned house on a short lane in a hollow several feet beneath the nearby busy Queen’s Road. He was a short, elderly gentleman – always very dignified and polite. He measured me up for the suits in his front room, which served as part of his workshop. After a couple of visits to try the suits whilst they were still being worked on, I picked up the finished garments. Each of the suits fitted perfectly – ‘precision-fit’ you could say quite truthfully. Despite being so accurately made, they were not in the least bit uncomfortable. Everybody admired them. I could understand why I had been sent to Mr Krishnan.

Our next trip to India was made 20 months later when our recently born daughter had had sufficient vaccinations to allow her to travel safely. During the interval between these two holidays, my dimensions had changed significantly because of my good appetite and happy marriage. Notably, my girth had increased greatly. Sadly, the suits that Mr Krishnan had so carefully crafted no longer fitted me.

We returned to see Mr Krishnan, who told us that in anticipation of my dimensions changing, he had left extra cloth within the garments for adjusting them. Without comment, he took my new measurements, and noted them down in a book. My wife, who had accompanied me, said to the tailor, mischievously:

“Just out of curiosity, Mr Krishnan, would you be able to look up Adam’s previous measurements to see how much he has changed.”

He put down his pencil, sighed, and said:

“I am very sorry, Madame, but I have unfortunately lost them.”

Mr Krishnan was not only a wonderful tailor, but also a perfect diplomat.

End of excerpt

You can enjoy more tales like this, and experience India without leaving home by buying a copy of the book from Amazon websites, e.g.:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/CORACLES-CROCODILES-101-TALES-INDIA/dp/B0DJZ6DMYB/

Sculptures hidden by the mist in Bangalore

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When we arrived in Bangalore in November 2025, our friend Harsh, an architect and curator who is based in Ahmedabad, sent us a message about his exhibition in Bangalore at a gallery, of whose existence we had been hitherto unaware. The privately owned gallery is called KAASH. It is housed in a beautifully restored old-style bungalow such as were built (mostly) between the 1860s and 1930s. They are a colonial ‘take’ on English country cottages. The gallery’s bungalow at number 2 Berlie Street is complete with perfect examples of ‘monkey tops’ (screens of closely spaced vertical wooden slats placed over porches and windows).  

The exhibition that Harsh had curated at KAASH was a collection of contemporarily designed devotional objects, mainly diyas (oil lamps used on Hindu ceremonies). There were also some almost abstract depictions of Devi created by Jayshree Poddar, and a few items of folk art from various countries in Africa. The artworks were tastefully displayed in rooms within the bungalow.

In the garden surrounding the building, we saw several sculptures. As the sun set, a worker moved around the garden spraying a fumigating smoke that created an eery mist. The sculptures were temporarily partially hidden, becoming rather like peaks partially concealed by low clouds. Gradually, they reappeared as the insecticidal smoke dispersed. Having seen the KAASH gallery, we decided that it would become a place we visit whenever we happen to be in Bangalore.

Somewhere snooty in Ooty (Ootacamund in south India)

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ABOUT TWENTY-FIVE years ago, we spent a short holiday in the southern hill station at Ootacamund (Udhagamandalam) in India’s Tamil Nadu state. Often called ‘Ooty’, the town is the home of one of India’s most prestigious colonial-style clubs, the Ootacamund Club, which was founded in 1841. It was there that my in-laws arranged for us to stay for a few nights. Our bedroom with a working wood fireplace was comfortable enough. It reminded me of rooms in old-fashioned hotels in which I had stayed in with my parents in the English countryside in the late 1950s.

When we stayed at the club in 2000, it seemed to be quite a ‘snobby’ or ‘snooty’ place. We were travelling with our then five-year old daughter. Apart from our bedroom, there were only two parts of the club that she was permitted to enter. One was a lobby, and the other was a children’s dining room. The latter was depressing to say the least. Because we did not want to abandon our daughter, we saw little else of the inside of the club.  The rest of the club house could only be entered by adults wearing appropriate clothing. For men in 2000, this included a jacket, shirt, proper shoes (not trainers or sandals) and tie. It seemed crazy to enforce such rules as we were the only people staying in, or using, the club  during the off-season. I wonder if these rules have been relaxed at least a little since our visit.

It was not my first visit to Ooty. My wife and I had spent part of our honeymoon there after our marriage in Bangalore in January 1994. That time, my father-in-law had arranged for us to stay in the St Margarets guest house that belonged to the company in which he had worked, ITC. Our stay at St Margarets was not without small problems, but the place suited me much more than the hallowed Ooty Club.

Footpaths in the Painted City: a journey of discovery

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HERE IS A BOOK which I have found fascinating. It is “Footpaths in the Painted City” by Sadia Shephard. It was published in 2008. The American born author’s father was an American Protestant, and her mother a Muslim from Pakistan. Her mother’s mother, Nana, converted to Islam when she married in Pakistan. However, early in the book, Sadia reveals how she discovered that Nana was born Jewish in pre-independence India.

What made the book especially interesting is that Nana was born into a Beni Israel family. Nobody is sure of the origins of the Beni Israel Jews, who reside mainly in the western Indian state of Maharashtra. It is commonly said that they are the descendants of Jewish people who left Israel after the destruction of the Second Temple in Jerusalem, and made their way by land and sea to the western coast of the Indian Subcontinent. They have adhered to all the rituals followed by members of other Jewish communities for many centuries. Until some European traveller in India recognised their adherence to Jewish religious ways of life during the nineteenth century, it is said that the Beni Israel community were unaware that they were Jews.

In her book, Sadia tries to discover more about Nana’s life story and the Beni Israel community into which she was born. To do this, the author travelled to both Pakistan and India. Her account of her time in India, investigating what remains of the country’s Beni Israel communities is fascinating and gives the reader a good idea of what a young lady experienced while living on her own for several months in India.

I have greatly enjoyed reading this engaging and moving book, and can recommend it to anyone interested in Judaism in India, the Beni Israel community, family history, travel, and any combination of these.

A coffee house in the Indian city of Bangalore (Bengaluru)

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GOING THROUGH SOME old photographs today, I came across a few taken in the India Coffee House that used to be on Bangalore’s MG Road. Here is what I wrote about the place in my book “Coracles and Crocodiles: 101 Tales of India”:

“When I first visited Bangalore in 1994, there was a coffee house on Mahatma Gandhi (‘MG’) Road close to the now derelict Srungar Shopping Complex. This venerable, popular ‘hole in the wall’ was a branch of the Indian Coffee House (‘ICH’) chain. In both appearance and atmosphere, it reminded me of some of the older coffee houses I had seen Belgrade and Sarajevo in Yugoslavia (when it still existed).

At the ICH, customers sat at old wooden tables on wooden benches with hard, upright backrests. Old Coffee Board (‘ICB’) posters hung on the walls. The waiters were dressed in white jackets and trousers held up by extremely wide red and gold belts – like cummerbunds – with huge metal buckles that bore the logo of the ICB. These gentlemen wore white turbans with red and gold ribbons on their heads. In addition to (in my humble opinion) rather average quality, but low-priced South Indian filter coffee, a variety of snacks and cold drinks were also on the menu.

During the British occupation of India, admission to most coffee houses was restricted to European clients. In the late 1890s, the idea of establishing an ICH chain of coffee houses for Indian customers began to be considered. In 1936, the ICB opened the first ICH in Bombay’s Churchgate area. By the 1940s, there were at least 50 branches all over what was then British India. In the mid-1950s, the ICHs were closed by the Coffee Board. The Communist leader AK Gopalan (1904-1977) and the Coffee Board workers managed to get the Board to hand over the ICH outlets to them, and they formed a series of Indian Coffee Workers’ Co-operatives. The cooperative in Bangalore was formed in August 1957. There are now several branches in the city. The MG Road branch, which opened in 1959, closed in 2009 … “

DISCOVER more about this and many other things I have experienced in India by reading my book, which is available from Amazon:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/CORACLES…/dp/B0DJZ6DMYB

Your comments about this introduction to a new book about India would be very welcome

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I am at present writing a book about my recent travels in India. I would be most grateful if you would read through this draft of my opening paragraph, and send me your observations about it. Would you want to read further? The paragraph is beneath this photograph taken in Jaipur.

Early one morning in February 2025, our British Airways Boeing 777 jet began moving away from the oddly designed, apparently ‘eco-friendly’, Terminal Two at Bangalore’s International Airport. As the aeroplane taxied smoothly towards the runway, I watched the parched airport terrain and its assortment of buildings, some painted with red and white checkerboard patterns, slipping past. Then with a certain suddenness heralded by an increase in the noise of our jet engines, we accelerated along the runway. Soon, we became detached from the soil of India. As the aircraft rose higher and higher, random memories flashed through my mind. These included eating laal maas on a rooftop in Jaisalmer; a distraught restaurant owner in Jodhpur; a Dutch cemetery on the Coromandel Coast; hawkers wandering up and down a railway carriage in West Bengal; riding through Bangalore in a Jesus autorickshaw; blessing a newly married couple in Pondicherry; tasting homemade nolen gur in Murshidabad; attending an aarti on the Ganges; eating ravioli in Auroville; the ghost of Tipu Sultan; and much more. After flying over the west coast of India, all these experiences and a whole host of others that we had enjoyed during our 88 day stay in India (between November 2024 and February 2025) became, like the Indian coastline over which we flew, distant memories which I hope will remain etched permanently in my mind. In the pages of this book, I will revive these and a whole host of other reminiscences and explore them in detail. I want my readers to enjoy and understand what we experienced during our almost three month long stay in India.

A book about the Gujaratis by Salil Tripathi

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WITH ABOUT SIX hundred and forty pages of text, this book published in 2024 covers a lot of ground. Much of what Tripathi writes about Gujarat and the Gujaratis is fascinating. However, the author’s definition of who is a Gujarati may differ from that of many others. His definition of a Gujarati is anyone whose mother tongue is Gujarati. Thus, he includes groups such as the Parsis, the Bohras, and the Khojas. None of those groups, all of whom have Gujarati as their mother tongue, would usually describe themselves as Gujaratis, even if they reside in Gujarat. Although Kachchhis generally speak Kachchhi amongst themselves, most speak Gujarati as well, but most of them would disagree with Tripathi’s calling them ‘Gujaratis’. By using his definition of a Gujarati, the author was able to include many people, who would not have described themselves as Gujarati, in his book.

 

The book is a mine of information about people that the author describes as being Gujaratis. Much of this information is fascinating, but there were occasional passages that I  felt should have been shortened or omitted. Although Tripathi deals a lot with some of the sadder aspects of life in Gujarat, he also injects humour into his text. However,  he notes that Gujaratis are proud of Mahatma Gandhi, a Gujarati, but in recent years, they seem to be forgetting what he stood for.

 

I am glad that I read this book, but would advise those planning to read it that it is more of an encyclopaedia than a portrait of the Gujaratis. Tripathi covers a great deal, but I felt that at the end of it, my understanding of the soul of Gujarat and its people had only increased by a small amount.

Gone forever: a wonderful bookshop in Bangalore (Bengaluru)

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HERE IS A BRIEF excerpt from my book “CORACLES AND CROCODILES: 101 TALES OF INDIA”. It comes from a chapter on the booksellers in Bangalore (Bengaluru), and is about a remarkable bookshop that, sadly, no longer exists. Here is the extract from my book:

“Premier, one of the most fantastic bookshops that has ever existed, is also no more. It closed some years ago when its owner, Mr Shanbag, retired. I felt almost as if I had suffered a bereavement when I arrived where the shop used to be located on the short stretch of Museum Road between MG Road and Church Street, and found that it was no longer there. I still mourn its passing.

From the outside, Premier could have been mistaken for a newsagent. A rack of magazines stood by the shop’s entrance. When you stepped inside, you felt as if you had entered a book-lover’s Aladdin’s Cave.  Mr Shanbag, who was related to the founder of Strand Bookstall in Bombay, used to sit by the entrance, hidden behind the piles of books and bits of paper cluttering up his tiny desk. The rectangular shop’s walls were lined with books stacked one upon each other, from floor to ceiling. A central divider was covered in books. Two narrow corridors ran along the length of the shop allowing customers and staff to penetrate the dingy depths of the establishment. Deep inside the shop there was a narrow, book-lined passageway connecting the two main corridors. This was so narrow that most adults, and obese children, needed to progress sideways along this claustrophobic book lined chasm.

In most bookshops, customers can pick a book from a shelf, browse it, and then replace it if necessary. This was not the case at Premier.  Only the foolhardy or a newcomer to the shop would attempt to take a book from the tall, precariously stacked piles on Premier’s bookshelves. A 19th century French composer, Alkan, was killed when he was crushed by books collapsing on him in his library. A possible injury awaited any customer who attempted to withdraw a book from Premier’s hazardously stacked shelves. One could say that the books were stacked perilously. One careless move would initiate an avalanche of literature – both fiction and non-fiction. This often happened. Shanbag would raise an eyebrow, and then he or one of his assistants would restore ‘order’ in the shelves.

You may well wonder how customers ever managed to browse in Premier. It was simple. All that was necessary was to ask Shanbag or one of his helpers to retrieve the book for you. If you were unable to see the book that you desired amongst the huge number of volumes stacked in the shop, Shanbag would be able to tell you instantly whether he had it in stock, without resorting to a computer or any form of catalogue. He knew exactly what he had in his shop, and where a book was located if he stocked it. And when you had made your selection, he would prepare a bill, and then knock 20% off the final total if you paid in cash.

A remarkable thing about Shanbag was his great understanding of his regular customers’ reading habits. He could remember what each customer had bought previously …”

You can find out more about Premier as well as many aspects of life in India in my book/Kindle, which is available from Amazon stores such as: https://www.amazon.co.uk/CORACLES-CROCODILES-101-TALES-INDIA/dp/B0DJZ6DMYB/

An artist from India in a park in London

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THE SERPENTINE NORTH (Sackler) Gallery (in London’s Hyde Park) is hosting a wonderful exhibition until 27 July 2025. It is displaying paintings and drawings created by Arpita Singh (née Dutta), who was born in Baranagar (now in West Bengal, India) in 1937. Between 1954 and 1959, she studied for a Diploma in Fine Arts at the Delhi Polytechnic in New Delhi. In 1962, she married the artist Paramjit Singh, and they live in New Delhi.

The works on display at the Serpentine were created from 1971 onwards. All of them were both intriguing and enjoyable to see. Even without knowing what the artist intended, I got the feeling that, apart from some abstract works, the images Singh creates are full of messages, stories, symbolism, allusions to feminism, and social comment. Though full of meanings, Singh’s works are subtle – their messages, which are left for the viewer to interpret, are not ‘full on’, but add to the visual enjoyment of the images. Her colourful paintings often lack the conventional European way of depicting perspective. In many of the paintings and drawings, the elements of the composition seem to be floating on the canvas or paper. Some of the pictures look like collages, but on closer examination what appeared to have been stuck on was in fact painted on the artwork.

The colourful artworks on display at the Serpentine are well worth seeing. It is a special show not only because it is her first solo exhibition outside India but also because Singh’s work is so satisfying to see.

Overcharging by Uber taxi cabs in Chennai

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WHENEVER WE HAVE HIRED Uber cabs in Bangalore, Bombay, Calcutta, and Hyderabad, we have always paid the amount quoted on the Uber app when making the booking: no more and no less. During a recent visit to Chennai (Madras) in January 2025, we ordered several Uber cabs, and each time experienced the same thing.

The first Uber cab we ordered arrived, and the driver asked us how much we had been quoted. When we told him, he said he would take us only if we paid an amount he mentioned, which was greatly in excess of the fare quoted on the app. On subsequent occasions, we ordered Uber cabs using the app and each time the driver telephoned us before he arrived. Each driver wanted to know the price of the fare on the app. And each time we told the driver the amount, he replied that he would only pick us up if we agreed to pay the higher fare he quoted. We were most surprised by this, but a friend in Chennai seemed to think that there was nothing unusual about what we were experiencing.

I suppose the Uber drivers in Chennai are charging a surcharge to cover what the Uber company deducts from them as a commission.