HYDERABAD IS FAMOUS for its biryanis. One restaurant that is well-known and highly rated is Shadab, which is not far from the Char Minar in the centre of the old city. We have visited it on previous visits to Hyderabad and thought highly of its biryanis. Today, in late January 2025, we ate a mutton biryani. It was certainly very good, but not nearly as excellent as one we ate in Surat last year and another we ate at Berhampore (West Bengal) a few days ago. However, the best biryani I have eaten to date was a Moplah style biryani served at Paragon in Calicut (Kerala). Blending Arabic and Keralan flavours, this biryani, which we ate more than 20 years ago, was memorably fragrant and tasty: a symphony of flavours.
WATER STORAGE TANKS and wells are subject to changes in the water level. In small wells such as are commonly found in England, a bucket and winch system allows the water gatherer to reach the water in the well. In India where water tanks and wells can be quite large, occupying a substantial area of ground, another system is used to allow users to get to whatever level the water has reached. The walls of the sides of the tank/reservoir/well are lined with a series of staircases, which are used to reach the water. Often the sets of steps lining the walls of the so-called stepwells are arranged in attractive geometric patterns.
At the Toorji stepwell
Since first seeing a (disused) beautiful stepwell in the ruins of the medieval city of Vijayanagara at Hampi in Karnataka thirty years ago, I have been fascinated by stepwells. I have seen many while travelling around Gujarat, and was pleased to find one near our guest house in Jodhpur (Rajasthan). It’s name is Toorji ka Jhalra Bavdi.
The Toorji stepwell was built in about 1740. Its construction was ordered by the Queen Consort of Maharaja Abhay Singh. Back in those days, ladies of the royal family often commissioned the building of water tanks and wells. The Toorji stepwell was used mostly by women, who traditionally did household chores including the fetching and carrying of water.
Toorji stepwell is constructed with the rose red sandstone of Jodhpur. It is decorated with carvings of various sizes. Nowadays, as with so many interesting places all over the world, it is a popular location for taking ‘selfies’ and for posing for photographs. Despite this, it is a stepwell worth seeing and is a remarkably tranquil spot surrounded by a maze of narrow, busy streets and lanes.
AT THE TOP OF a short but hazardous flight of stairs, one reaches the compound of an extremely interesting mosque in Ajmer (Rajasthan, India). It is the Adhai Din Ka Jhonpra mosque, whose name means ‘Two and a half day hut’. To what the two and a half day refers is not certain.
The building was originally constructed as a Jain temple in 660 AD. In about 1190, the temple was destroyed by the Afghan leader Muhammad of Ghor. He built the mosque on the site of the former temple using carved stonework plundered from Hindu and Jain temples. The resulting edifice, although shaped like a mosque, contains many architectural features and decorative motifs that you would expect to find in 12th century (and earlier) Hindu and Jain temples.
The mosque and its ccompound is very popular with visitors. I noticed that I was the only European amongst several hundred visitors. The site is a much desired place to be photographed. There are many photographers carrying Nikon SLR cameras, all touting for business. And there is no shortage of people wanting to pose for photos. The photographers seemed to have plenty of customers despite the fact that most people carry mobile phones.
Although the nearby dargah (a Sufi shrine) attracts most tourists, the Adhai Din Ka Jhonpra is well worth visiting.
FOR VARIOUS REASONS, we hired an autorickshaw to give us a first glimpse of Rajasthan’s Pink City: Jaipur. Although the Pink City is the oldest part of Jaipur, its main thoroughfares were laid out centuries ago in a grid pattern typical of modern cities. A complex warren of narrow streets and courtyards lead off from the main roads. We have yet to explore these byways.
The city is so-named because its buildings are all painted with various shades of pink paint. Apparently, this has been done since the structures were first built in order to hide the inferior quality of the stones used in their construction.
After our elderly Bihari driver, Ganesh, had driven us along the straight main roads of the Pink City as well as some of the twisty, narrow lanes leading off them, he took us to see two factories. At one, we were shown men at work making the silver settings for precious stones. At the other, we were shown the way block printing on fabrics is carried out by hand.
At both factories, after we had been shown how the goods were prepared, we were (not surprisingly) invited to make purchases. We bought a few small objects. After leaving each factory, Ganesh asked us how much we had spent. This was not idle curiosity. He told us that he received 1% of whatever his passengers had spent. He told us that the factories, which sell their goods at wholesale prices, give him a much smaller commission than retail outlets.
I am glad that Ganesh took us to the factories rather than the retailers because it was interesting to watch the manufacturers at work.
JEWELLERS STREET RUNS in a north/south direction. In the morning, the sun shines on the west side of the street and in the afternoon, on the east side. As its name suggests, the street is lined with many shops selling jewellery.
Jewellery breaks sometimes, but it can often be repaired. K is a jewellery repairer. In the morning he sits working in the shade on the pavement on the east side of the street, outside a particular shop. In the afternoon, you will find him outside a shop close to a silver and hold plating shop on the west side of the street.
K squats bare-footed alongside his trays of tools and materials, and mends a wide variety of jewellery. When re-threading necklaces and bracelets, he uses his toes to hold one end of the thread. We visit this friendly, highly skilled man whenever we are in Bangalore, usually with items if jewellery that have broken since our last visit to the city.
I HAVE VISITED BANGALORE regularly over the past 31 years. Each time, I have been impressed by the city’s numerous well-stocked bookshops. Many of them are now located along the short Church Street, which runs parallel to a stretch of the much longer MG Road. At the last count, I found 9 bookshops along Church Street, which is less than half a mile in length.
Bookworm
One of these shops that impresses me most is called Bookworm. Its location has changed several times since I first found it in 1994. Now, it is housed in a former mansion set back from Church Street and reached by a tree shaded pathway. It contains many rooms, each of which has walls lined with bookshelves filled with books from floor to ceiling. Much of the floorspace in these rooms is covered by piles of books. The books range from the latest releases to out of print and secondhand volumes. Recently, a small room has been added to display rare antiquarian editions. Despite this, there are many old and interesting books within the other rooms.
Bookworm is an ideal place for browsing if you have plenty of time on your hands. If you are pressed for time or know what you are looking for, the helpful staff will either know where to find what you are seeking, or will search for you.
When you have selected what you wish to purchase, some of the newer titles are subject to a discount at the cash desk. The older books and secondhand editions are priced very reasonably.
Although there are other superbly stocked bookstores in Church Street, notably Blossom Book House, Bookworm is my favourite. It is truly a magnet for bookworms.
AN ICON IS a person or symbol worthy of veneration. These days ‘iconic’ has come to mean “widely known and acknowledged especially for distinctive excellence”. Thus, for example, the Taj Mahal and the Gateway of India are now described as being iconic.
Today, we visited a pavement shoe-repairer (‘cobbler’ or ‘mochi’) in Bangalore. All over India, one can find these useful street side artisans. Often, they work from small open fronted huts, which contain their tools and materials as well as footwear that is either waiting to be repaired or already fixed. One could say that the mochis are iconic features of the streets of India.
Apart from being iconic, many mochis adorn their huts with icons. These icons always include at least one picture of BR Ambedkar (1891-1956). He not only drafted the Constitution of India but also fought for the political rights and social freedom of the Dalits (once known as the ‘untouchables’).
Traditionally and still today, mochis are almost always from Dalit communities. This is why mochis have images (icons) of Ambedkar on their huts. The mochi we visited today on St Marks Road had not only some images of Ambedkar but also one of a Mr Haris, the local member of the Karnataka legislative assembly. And this is not all. Within his hut, the mochi had an image of Shrinatji, who is the God Krishna represented as a young child. This was garlanded with flowers as was one of the pictures of Ambedkar hanging beside it.
The iconic mochi polished my well-worn leather sandals while I sat beside his hut covered in icons
IN AUGUST 1947, India and Pakistan became independent sovereign nations. Following this, vast numbers of Sikhs and Hindus fled from Pakistan to India, and many Muslims fled in the opposite direction. This mass migration of people was accompanied by unbelievably horrific incidents of violence; many lost their lives on both sides of the frontier. Meanwhile, in much of India, daily life for many went on without incident. A yearly publication was published in Bombay from 1919 until 1979. It was called “Times of India Annual”, but between 1942 and 1948, it was called “Indian Annual”. The 1948 issue of “Indian Annual” was published by the Times of India soon after Independence was achieved in 1947. I have a copy of this beautifully illustrated issue. In common with many magazines, it is amply supplied with advertisements. Studying these was interesting because although some of them seem to have recognised that India was independent of both the British Empire and separate from Pakistan, others have not taken this into account.
I imagine that many of the readers of the 1948 Indian Annual were Indians. The magazine includes advertisements for many products used by Indians. Many of these commercials depict faces or people. Some of them show people with faces that look Indian. These include the adverts for Firestone tyres, the India Tea Marketing Expansion Board, Cyclax (beauty products), Tata Steel, Saba Radio Company, and Himanlal Manchand (jewellers). Others feature people with faces that are unmistakably (white) European, for example: Ovaltine, Terra Trading Corporation (modern Czechoslovak glassware), Argoflex (cameras), Rogers (soft drinks), Yardley (beauty products), Rendells products (feminine hygiene), and Virol (a health product). Either these companies that used European faces were recycling pre-existing company advertising material or not sensitive to the fact that India was then independent, or both. Another possibility is that these companies were appealing to the spending abilities of the many European people who were to continue living in India until well into the 1970s. For even after Independence, there were institutions (e.g., some clubs and schools) in India that for many years were only for Europeans, but excluded Indians.
Several of the advertisements in the 1948 publication listed the cities where they had branches. Some of these listings ignored the fact that India and Pakistan were no longer parts of one country. Ovaltine was distributed by a company that had branches in Bombay, Calcutta, Karachi (Pakistan), and Madras. The mechanical and construction engineers Garlic &Co had branches in Indian cities and also in Lahore. And Modern Trading Company listed offices in Bombay, New Delhi, Karachi (Pakistan), Calcutta, and Lahore (Pakistan). Another advertisement, that for the Chicago Telephone & Radio Co. Ltd, includes listings of offices both in India and Pakistan. The Rootes Group, which manufactured cars like the Humber, the Hillman, and the Sunbeam Talbot, list their (I quote) “Distributors in India” as being in towns such as Karachi, Lahore, Peshawar, and Rawalpindi. Had the advertiser not realised that these towns were now no longer in India, but in Pakistan? In all the cases I have mentioned in this paragraph, the advertising agencies seemed to have ignored the fact that what had once been (greater) India was now India and Pakistan. Given what was happening in the way of the misery caused by the partition of India at the time the Annual was published, it seems odd or even insensitive that the advertisements display no sign that the Subcontinent had been divided.
After Independence, Jawaharlal Nehru wanted to move India into what he perceived as the ‘modern era’. Some of the advertisements reflect this both in their design and the products they were promoting. The advert for Godrej shows some tubular household furniture of a design that many would have considered avant-garde in 1948. An advertisement for Indian-made Panama cigarettes is reminiscent of the Italian Futurist style. Likewise, for the Tata steel advertisement. This has futurist features but also veers towards the Soviet Socialist Realism style.
Finally, we come to a very interesting advert, that for the Bombay based Himanlal Manchand jewellers. It depicts Indian warriors on horses and is covered with crests of various rulers of Princely States and that of the Governor of Bombay, which is accompanied by the words:
“By appointment to H.E. Rt. Hon’ble Sir John Colville, Governor of Bombay”
Sir John Colville (1894-1954) was appointed Governor of Bombay in March 1943. He held this post even after India became independent, and was replaced by Raja Maharaj Singh in early January 1948. The jewellers were also by appointment to the princely rulers of Baroda, Jodhpur, Cooch-Behar, Jubbal, Jaipur, Indore, Palanpur, and Dewas. These maharajahs had been the rulers of ‘semi-autonomous’ (vassal) states within the British Empire. All of those listed became incorporated into the India which came into existence in August 1947. Their rulers were recognised officially by the Indian government until 1971. Between 1947 and 1971, these and other rulers of princely states received a privy purse from the Indian government. In 1971, Prime Minister Indira Gandhi put an end to the majority of these payments and de-recognised their titles and put an end to all of their royal privileges. So, in 1948 when Himanlal Manchand placed their full page coloured advertisement in 1948, they were entitled to show off their appointments to Indian royalty. The advertisements alone make the 1948 Indian Annual an interesting curiosity. The articles in the magazine along with many of its fine illustrations make it into a real treasure of great historical interest. While writing this piece, I discovered that the 1949 issue can be read online (https://archive.org/details/dli.venugopal.824/page/n91/mode/2up) . Skimming through this, I noticed that some companies still depicted European faces in their adverts and others included cities in Pakistan in the lists of their branches. This was despite the fact that since October 1947 Pakistan had been fighting a war over Kashmir. This only ended on the 1st of January 1949.
DURING MY TEENAGE years, I had the idea that later I might train to become an architect. I enjoyed drawing, and read books about twentieth century architects such as Frank Lloyd Wright, Mies van der Rohe, Walter Gropius, and Le Corbusier. When the Bauhaus exhibition was held at the Royal Academy in London (September to October 1968), I visited it three times. My enthusiasm for becoming an architect ended after lunch one day when walking from the Highgate School dining hall back to the classrooms. Suddenly, I thought that instead of designing great buildings such as those created by the architects, whom I had read about, I might end up designing extensions and garages for people’s houses. This fleeting thought made me give up the idea of becoming an architect. However, since then, I have continued to enjoy looking at, and reading about, architecture.
One of the 20th century architects who intrigues me much is Le Corbusier. I have seen many of his creations in France and a few in the Indian city of Ahmedabad. But I have never been to Chandigarh in the Punjab. It was to be the new capital of the Indian Punjab. The old capital, Lahore, found itself in Pakistan after 1947. This was a new city that Le Corbusier helped to design in the 1950s – both the layout and many of its buildings. Last year, I acquired a copy of a magazine called “Times of India Annual”. I have the 1955 edition. Although much of Chandigarh was already built by 1955, it was far from completed. The magazine contains an illustrated article by the British Modernist architect Edwin Maxwell Fry (1899-1987).
The article is illustrated with photographs that show both the novel designs employed for residences as well as some of the larger buildings including the Punjab Engineering College, the High Court, and a school. Several of Le Corbusier’s major projects such as the Palace of Assembly and his Open Hand Monument are not illustrated because they had not been completed by 1955. The Secretariat Building designed by Le Corbusier was complete when the article was published, but has not been included amongst its illustrations. The pictures tend to concentrate on the designs for dwellings that were economical without seeming mechanical or inhuman.
Having a great interest in Le Corbusier and Chandigarh, I was excited to find an article written by Fry, one of the city’s planners, at a time when the place was still in its infancy. For three years, he and his wife Jane Drew (1911-1996) worked with Le Corbusier on the planning of Chandigarh. Knowing that, I thought it would be interesting to see what Fry wrote in the magazine. Sadly, Fry’s article’s content is rather anodyne and self-congratulatory. Nevertheless, I am pleased that I have the magazine because apart from Fry’s article, it contains a wealth of other material – both written and illustrative.
yamey 