A MAJOR ATTRACTION in Udaipur (Rajasthan, India) is its Lake Pichola. There are plenty of hotels and eateries close to the water. One of these is Jheels Ginger café. This small establishment is next to the waterside and has great views of the lake. Also it has a small bookshelf. On it, my wife found a book that aroused my interest.
An entry in the Canadian dictionary
The book, which was falling to pieces, was “Compact Dictionary of Canadian English” edited by Thomas Paikeday, and published 1976 in Toronto. It was the first Dictionary of English as used and spoken in Canada.
Thomas Paikeday was born in Thiruvananthapuram, India in 1926. He completed his studies at Madras Christian College (1958) and the University of Madras (1960). Then, he became a lecturer of English at the University of Delhi. In 1964, after studying in the USA at Boston College and the University of Michigan, he became a lexicographer.
Paikeday was a pioneer in the use of computers for collecting and analysing data for compiling dictionaries. He became highly respected amongst lexicographers, linguists, and other scholars. He died in 2019 at Oakville, Ontario, Canada.
It was strange discovering a dictionary of Canadian English lying discarded in a café in Udaipur. But given that it was in India that its editor was born, it seemed quite both appropriate and really amazing.
Recently, I published a book, “THE HITLER LOCK & OTHER TALES OF INDIA”, which is about some of my experiences of frequent visits to India over a period of thirty years. It consists of an introductory prologue and 101 short pieces of prose. To get some idea about what the book contains, here is one of them.
“IMPROPERLY DRESSED
In August 2008, we spent a few days at a beachside hotel just north of the city of Calicut (Kozhikode) in Kerala. Our accommodation was in the village of Kappad, where it is said that the Portuguese Vasco da Gama might have first set foot on Indian soil in 1498. Whether he did or did not, we had a good holiday in the area despite the occasional monsoon downpours.
One afternoon, while we were being driven through the countryside near Calicut, we spotted an isolated Hindu temple in the middle of a wooded area. It was surrounded by a fence and looked interesting from the car. We stopped, and found an open gate through which we entered the temple compound. The place was deserted – there was not a soul to be seen. Out of respect for Hindu traditions, we removed our footwear before wandering around. I took photographs of what was clearly quite an old temple.
We were on the point of leaving this holy place when we spotted a pandit entering. He walked towards us, not looking too pleased to see us. Speaking in Hindi or English – I cannot remember which – he said that I was not properly dressed to be in his temple. We apologised, and then he asked me to remove my shirt. I did as he requested, hoping that this would improve his mood. After I had taken off my shirt, he asked me to remove my trousers. To be charitable to him, I guess he would rather have had me wearing a lunghi or a dhoti instead of trousers. When he asked me to take off my trousers, we decided to leave the temple compound speedily.
Had I done as he had asked and put on traditional clothing of Kerala, the priest might have felt obliged to make us feel welcome in his temple. But it is likely that he knew full well that a westerner like me was unlikely to do what he wanted, and instead would leave his compound. His actions were a subtle way of getting us to leave without needing to sound impolite or unwelcoming.”
And here is another excerpt:
“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.”
If you enjoyed these, and want to read more, then please obtain a copy of my book, which is available in paperback and Kindle from Amazon sites such as
[For those who live in India, the paperback can be ordered here:
I HAVE NUMEROUS albums full of photographs that I have taken in India and many places in Europe over the years since about 1993. Before that date, for about 10 years, I used to take pictures on slide film, and have them processed into slides for projecting. I still have most of these, and each one is labelled. For some mysterious reason, when I began putting my photographic prints in albums, I hardly ever labelled them. Consequently, I have a vast collection of – dare I say it – interesting photographic prints taken at locations I can either not remember or can only vaguely recall.
Yesterday (5th August 2023), I chose to look at one of my albums randomly chosen from a box containing several of them. As I flicked through the pictures, I came across one showing an advertisement for an institution called Einstein College, somewhere in India. The location was easy to identify because the college’s address was in the city of Trivandrum (Thiruvananthapuram) in Kerala. Having looked on the Internet, I see that the college still exists.
Two other prints were stored close to the college photograph in the album. So, I guessed they might also have been taken in Trivandrum. One of them shows a building with geometrically decorated walls and numerous small roofs. At first, I thought it might be a temple, but then I wondered whether it was the palace-like museum in Trivandrum, which houses a fine collection of paintings by the Keralan artist Ravi Varma. I checked on the Internet, and discovered my picture shows apart of the museum’s exterior. The third print shows what looks like an enormous terracotta coloured ‘multi-storey’ pigeon coop. It is a cylindrical structure with some helical decorative features. The edifice bears a sign that reads “India Coffee House”. Using that clue, I found that is one of the three branches of the India Coffee House chain in Trivandrum.
Had I labelled these photographs, I would not have needed to do any detective work to identify them and their locations. Sadly, many of my unlabelled prints do not have obvious clues that can help me identify them, and most likely they will remain a mystery. The moral of this story is that it pays to be methodical and systematic occasionally.
Fort Kochi (Fort Cochin) is the picturesque, historic part of Kochi – a port on the coast of Kerala in southwest India. Occupied at various different times by the Portuguese, Dutch, and British, this small urban area at the northern tip of an island contains many buildings that recall the town’s former foreign occupiers.
Essentially, the historic town centre consists of a few short streets and some open spaces. Fort Kochi is built on flat terrain, and is a paradise for walkers even in the hot, humid weather that prevails most of the year. As a consequence, the large number of autorickshaw (‘auto’) drivers often seems to outstrip customer demand.
From dawn to after dusk, auto drivers cruise around the town in their empty vehicles, looking for customers. We usually spend at least a week in Fort Kochi every year, especially when the excellent Kochi-Muziris international art biennale is in progress. So, individual auto drivers get to know us as we stroll around. They stop and ask us if we need a ride. We tell them that we are walking. So, when they next see us, optimistically they invite us to take a ride. When we turn them down, they say to us in an understanding way:
“Walking, walking! – always walking.”
Other auto drivers, who either do not recognise us or are trying to tempt other tourists into their cabs, say:
“See my Ferrari. Come and take a ride in my Ferrari.”
This always amuses me because to describe an auto as a Ferrari is rather like describing a pigeon as an eagle.
On the subject of Ferraris, there are some in India. One of them, an eye-catchingly bright yellow, belongs to, or is driven by, a young man who is the late teenaged son of a wealthy family in Bangalore. Because this is not a type of vehicle that could be safely parked in most parts of the city, he can only use it to drive to and from the exclusive Bangalore Club, where he can park it in an area well policed by security guards. At his home, he parks it in the safe compound containing his residence. Given the density of traffic and the daring driving in Bangalore, it is amazing that he feels safe enough to flaunt his precious car on the roads between his home and the Club.
KAYAL ISLAND RETREAT is a small but tastefully luxurious resort on the east coast of the long thin Kakkathuruthu Island in the backwaters of Kerala, not far from Alappuzha (Aleppey). Our friend who owns it kindly invited us to spend an afternoon there. During our stay, we were taken on a delightful boat trip through the peaceful backwaters. After that, the resort’s manager took us on a walk through the rustic tropical landscape from the resort to a nearby small ferry landing stage on the west side of the island. We followed him along a winding path that threaded its way between small farmhouses, fields, fish farms, ponds, and reed beds.
All along the path, there was a series of concrete poles that supported overhead electricity cables. On almost every one of them there was red painted graffiti. Many of the poles were daubed with the initials ‘DYFI’, which stands for the Democratic Youth Federation of India, which is affiliated to the CPI(M) – the Communist Party of India (Marxist). Some of the poles also had depictions of the head of Che Guevara and five-pointed red stars or the letters ‘CPIM’. One pole had “Viva Revolution” on it and some others were daubed with the names of countries including Mexico and Bolivia, At least one house along our route had a large hammer and sickle painted on it. With the exception of the country names, all of these manifestations of Communism are frequently seen all over Kerala, which at times has been ruled by Communist governments,
At the small ferry landing stage, we watched some women and schoolchildren disembark from the ferry – a small boat with an outboard motor. Overlooking the simple wooden landing stage, there was a tall metal pole with the letters BJP on top of it. The pole supported two cords from which BJP flags were fluttering. The BJP (Bharatiya Janata Party) is currently in power as the Government of India.
I asked our guide how the locals tended to vote on the island. He believed that most of them would probably vote for the Communists or some other Socialist party, rather than for the BJP. As we walked along in the hot humid air, I mused upon the contrast between the wealthy holiday makers enjoying our friend’s resort and the relatively poor inhabitants of the island with leftward leaning political sympathies, who might, in theory at least, be antipathetic to the idea of outsiders relaxing luxuriously on their island whilst they slog away in the hot sun. Whatever they believe, the resort does bring additional employment opportunities close to their homes – almost all the staff are from the island.
FORT KOCHI IN Kerala was occupied by three European powers: first by Portugal, then ny the Netherlands, and then by the British until 1947. It was whilst the British were in charge that a small jail was built on what is now Tower Road. Next to a police station and close to a string of roadside seafood restaurants, there is a gate that leads into the Jail of the Freedom Struggle. This prison was built by the British at a forgotten date during the 19th century. One clue to its age is that some of its roof tiles can be dated to 1865. The prison has a row of eight cells, each equipped with a 6 foot long concrete bed.
The prison, which might have been used as a transit establishment for prisoners waiting to be taken elsewhere, is said to have held leading freedom fighters such as Mohammed Rehman, Accamma Cherian, and K J Herschel, A K Gopalan, E M S Namboothiripad, and Abdurahiman Sahib. However, this is not known for certain. The prison, which had become disused and dilapidated, was restored in 2009, and opened as a museum.
In February 2023, we visited Fort Kochi to explore the 2022 Kochi Muziris Art Biennale. Unconnected with this major event, we visited an exhibition of artworks being displayed in the former prison. This included both paintings and sculptures. What made it an usual exhibition is that the exhibits are all contained within the cells behind strong iron doors with vertical bars. The doors that once prevented the prisoners from leaving the cells now prevent visitors from entering them.
THE COCHIN CLUB’S main, long, single-storey building is a lovely example of British colonial architecture. The club, located near the sea in a large well-maintained garden was officially recorded as having been established in 1914, but might have been in existence before that.
Originally established as “The English Club”, its members were mainly the British elite of Kochi and European tea planters. Some individuals, high level Indians, might have also been welcome. The Club’s Presidents all had British surnames until at least 1969. However, there was one exception – Honourable Justice P Govindan Nair who was President 1963-64. After 1969, the Presidents had Indian surnames.
Today, the Club is a tranquil spot. Usually, there are more crows and egrets than humans in its compound. The Club has five spacious, bedrooms, which can be hired. Their occupants are almost the only people using the Club. There are plenty of staff members, but few people for them to serve.
The Club has a splendid bar with windows overlooking the sea in one direction and the garden in the other. But it is a bar with a difference. Instead of shelves being lined with bottles of booze, they are used to display cups and other prize trophies. And this might be a clue as to why the Club is so often so empty.
The Club does not have a liquor licence. Therefore, it cannot sell alcoholic drinks. The cost of buying an annual licence is so prohibitively high in Kerala that the Club might not be able to break even. The availability of alcohol is one of the factors that brings life to the exclusive clubs of India.
On special occasions such as Diwali and Christmas and Onam, the Club buys a costly 24 hour licence. The rest of the time, the Club is ‘dry’. However, food and soft drinks are available in the bar. The South Indian filter coffee served there is the best we have found in Fort Kochi (Fort Cochin).
Largely because liquor is not available and because there are few members (about 500), this charming Club has acquired a certain unintended (undesired?) tranquillity.
ASPINWALL HOUSE IN Fort Kochi is the epicentre and largest exhibition space of the Kochi Muziris Art Biennale. We have attended this event four times to date – 2014, 2016, 2018, and 2022. Outside the main entrance to Aspinwall House, there is a list of those companies, organisations, and individuals, who have donated money to the Biennale. The current (2022/23) list has the following heading “Principle supporters”. Is this wording an undetected typographical error, or is it intentional, or is it a Freudian slip? I ask this question because the sentiments expressed in many of the exhibits question the consequences of the activities of some of the donors.
Far too many of the exhibits in Aspinwall House are more like well-made documentaries than what has until recently been regarded as art. The documentary exhibits are mostly well put together with superb still photography and cinematography, and quite a few of them are highly informative – akin to, for example, National Geographic productions.
The majority of the documentary-like exhibits have elements of political protest, often leftward leaning. Now, I have no objection to political protest in art, but I wonder whether some of these exhibits have strayed too far from what used to be considered art, and have become more documentary than artistic. In the past, to mention but a few, artists such as Picasso, George Grosz, Otto Dix, Joan Miró, Subhi Tagore, Diego Riviera, and currently William Kentridge, have made artworks with political content. These artists and some of their contemporaries produced artworks which are not purely political or polemic, but can also be enjoyed as purely visual experiences; knowing the message is not important to the impact the works make on the viewer, but can add to that. Much of what is on display at Aspinwall House during the current Biennale simply thrusts political messages at the viewer. There is little else to appreciate but often depressing messages and images.
As for the abundance of photography it is mostly superb. Since the invention of photography, it has been used highly creatively by some photographers. Examples of these include Julia Margaret Cameron, Charles Dodgson, László Moholy-Nagy, Ansel Adams, and Alfred Stieglitz. Artists like these were competent photographers who exploited the camera to create original images that would have been difficult if not impossible to produce with other artistic materials. In contrast, many of the beautiful photographic works in the current Biennale seem to be aiming at documentary or archival accuracy rather than creative images – works of ‘pure’ art.
Having blasted at what I did not like about the Biennale, I must point out that there are many artworks that satisfied me purely visually. Some of them are in Aspinwall House, but many of them are elsewhere, notably in the Durbar Hall in Ernakulam. The works that impacted me positively because of their purely aesthetic 7characteristics might also be conveying political sentiments, but the nature of these did not impede my immediate, visceral rather than cerebral enjoyment of them.
Returning to the predominantly documentary exhibits, those that made most impact on me were housed in the TKM warehouse complex in Mattancherry. Some of the works there are not only political or polemical, but also highly creative and artistic (in the old sense of the word).
As for the odd use of “principle” on the list of donors mentioned above, I found this not only careless but ironic. Many of the artworks in the current Biennale question the principles of some of the donors, who funded the show.
Having read this, you can call me ‘old-fashioned’ or ‘politically incorrect ‘ if that makes you feel better. I might well be both, but I was brought up by my artistic parents to appreciate the works of both old masters and contemporary artists equally, be they works by Piero della Francesca or JMW Turner or Brancusi or Barbara Hepworth or Rachel Whitehead or Anish Kapoor.
Visit the Kochi Muziris Art Biennale if you can before it ends in early March 2023, and judge it for yourself. Almost all of the exhibits are housed in heritage buildings, which are alone worth seeing. I look forward to the next show in 2024/25.
SOME YEARS AGO, I bought a book in the antique shop on Princess Street in Fort Kochi. It is a modern reproduction of a book published in about 1910. Its subject matter, mostly in English, is a detailed description of the benefits of living in Cochin. Its intended audience was Gujarati speaking people thinking of settling in the area. It was aimed at Hindus, Moslems, Jains, and Parsis.
A few days ago (in February 2023), I purchased a recently published book by Bony Thomas called “Kochiites”. It describes the many different communities that have settled in Kochi. One brief chapter is about the small group of Dawoodi Bohri, Shia Moslems, who live south of the historic centre of Kochi. Another is about the Hindu and Jain Gujaratis (and Kutchis), whose communal activities are centred along the 1 mile long Gujarati Road. As my wife has roots in Kutch and the rest of Gujarat and we enjoy visiting those parts, we decided to take a stroll along Gujarati Road, which is in the Mattancherry District of Fort Kochi. It was Sunday morning.
Gujarati Road runs in a north south direction. We began our exploration at the Jain temple and moved southwards. At the Jain temple, we were not the only tourists. My wife was the only visitor who could speak in Gujarati with the lady who showed us around the spotlessly clean Mandir. Its interior has a beautiful inlaid multicoloured floor and the inside of the main dome was a replica of the kind of domes with concentric ridges that one sees in mediaeval Hindu and Jain temples, as well as in mosques constructed during that period. Photography was not permitted within the temple.
Our next port of call was the shop of Chamanlal H Mithalwala. For many generations, this shop, owned by Gujaratis, has been selling Gujarati sweets and farsan (savoury snacks). We were able to buy some freshly made dhokla. However, we were told that khandvi always runs out in the early morning on a Sunday, soon after it has been made. The owner is Kutchi, as are many of the folk who live near Gujarati Road.
The Sri Jalaram Dham, a Hindu temple frequented by Gujaratis and financed by them, is almost opposite the sweet shop. Built quite recently (2012), it is not particularly noteworthy architecturally. It contains several brightly coloured idols and a small tulsi tree grows outside. The priest (pandit) told us he came from Rajkot, and almost all of the worshippers are Kutchis.
Just to the south of the Jalaram Dham, we reached the Sri Cochin Gujarati Vidyalaya, a Gujarati school in which most of the teaching is done in English. Founded in 1920, it has about 3000 pupils and covers education from lower kindergarten to college entry.
Within the school’s compound, there is a Hindu temple – about 140 years old. Its ceiling is decorated with larger than life bas-relief lotus flowers. We spoke with a trustee of the temple, who showed us some of the original idols and explained that in the area there are about 200 Gujarati families. Of these, 48 are Kutchi Bhatias, about 100 are other Hindu Gujaratis, and the rest are Jain. The temple is Shaivite. Our informant told us about another temple, which is Vaishnav and is frequented by the local Kutchi Bhatias. This interested us because my wife’s mother was a Kutchi Bhatia.
As can be seen all over Gujarat, there is a chabutra (dovecote) next to the temple. There is another one at the Jain temple, mentioned above
We continued south along Gujarati Road, passing the Gujarati Bhavan (which we did not enter) and several wonderful fruit and vegetable stalls.
Near the fruit and veg shops, which are located near the southern end of Gujarati Road, there is yet another temple – the Shri Navneeta Krishna Mandir. This is the Vaishnav temple used by many of the Kutchi Bhatias. The main temple was locked up, but behind it there was a lot of activity. This was centred around the mandir’s gaushala (cow shelter), where cows are provided with a pleasant home.
Worshippers were feeding the cows and calves. They were also placing cloths on the cows before handing them to the priest who was standing amongst the congregation. We were asked to touch one of these cloths before it was handed to the priest. The congregants took it in turns to touch the priest’s feet, and receive a blessing.
Near to the temple, there is a large housing compound, all of whose residents are Kutchi Bhatias. One sweet couple invited us into their ground floor flat, saying to us: “Welcome to our home. As guests, you are gods.” We chatted with them both in English and Gujarati. They gave us lovely cups of chhaas (buttermilk, a typical Kutchi drink). They offered to cook us lunch, but we declined because we had to get somewhere else. This charming couple, Deepika and Harish, did not want us to leave. When we did eventually go, I felt that we had been in the company of genuinely warm-hearted loving people.
Before setting off for Gujarati Road, I was worried that it might offer little of interest. How wrong I was! Although I have only briefly summarised our experiences, we saw many interesting places and met many friendly people. Over the years I have been falling in love with Gujarat and Kutch. This small outpost of people from that part of India in Kerala has only increased my affection for Kutch and Gujarat.
[NB Kutch, which is now a large district in the State of Gujarat, was an independent kingdom until 1947. Even today, no self-respecting Kutchi likes to be called a Gujarati!]
I VISITED INDIA at least 50 times over the last 29 years. It was not until this trip (2022-2023) that I began noticing letter boxes of historic interest. I spotted three of interest in Bangalore, and now I have found one outside the post office in Fort Kochi in Kerala.
Painted green with some gold coloured details it is hexagonal with a decorative top. Between the words “Post” and “Office”, there is a British royal cipher with the lion and unicorn. Beneath this is a V and a R entwined, a logo I have seen on Victorian letter boxes in the UK.
The old letter box, now sealed up so that nothing can be put in it, stands close to the verandah at the front of the post office. Within the verandah, there is a panel giving some information about postal services in the former Kingdoms of Cochin and Travancore
Postal services began in the Kingdom of Cochin in about 1864. It was known as the Anchal Service. The letter box described above might have been an Anchal post box originally, although it is unlikely.
The post office outside which stands the historic letter box is on Ridsdale Road opposite the east end of the church of St Francis (Church of South India), and was constructed in May 1928. At that time, Fort Kochi was in the Kingdom of Cochin. In 1949, it and its neighbour, The Kingdom of Travancore, were integrated into India and merged to form the State of Thiru-Kochi. In 1956, this state was renamed Kerala and its postal service became incorporated into the Indian Post system.
Interestingly, the post box outside the Fort Kochi post office bears the intertwined V and R. The information panel has a drawing of an anchal letter box. Similar in shape to the Victorian post box, the one in the drawing bears a different logo and the words “Travancore Anchal” and something in Malayalam script. If I am not mistaken, Cochin, unlike Travancore, became a British Protectorate. In which case it might well have become part of the British Indian postal system. This could explain why the historic letter box in Fort Kochi has a British logo instead of that used in the Anchal system. There might also have been Anchal boxes in the Kingdom of Cochin, but I am uncertain about that.
Today, letters are posted in a simple red cylindrical letter box not far from the historic one. The Victorian letter box is one of a huge number of interesting historic survivals that can be seen whilst wandering around Fort Kochi.
yamey 