Sacrifice

- by Deepa Krishnan

The old man was kind to me as usual.

Salaam-alekum, I said, as we walked into his soap-recycling workshop in Dharavi. He smiled and waved us in. Behind us, his workers sliced the soap neatly into little bars.

Hurry, hurry, the old man said to them. I must go say my prayers.

There were two goats in the workshop - a big brown one, and a smaller cream coloured one. They followed him around.

First, I must feed these two, he said to me. And he brought out his store of wheat grain.

Wheat?, I asked. I thought it would be grass or leaves.

Ah, these are hand-fed goats, he said. No grass for them!

The goats ate greedily. I looked at their shiny pelts and felt sorry for them.

So, I said to him, tomorrow you will slit their necks, huh?

He nodded and said, yes, it is qurbani.

Qurbani, sacrifice, is the theme of Bakr-Id (in memory of the time when Ibrahim sacrificed his son at God's command, only to discover that instead of the son, a dead ram lay at the altar).

The ideal qurbani is therefore, when one selects the animal oneself, nourishes it and becomes familiar or even attached to it. Without that attachment, there is no real sacrifice, is there?

I knew this, but it didn't stop me from feeling sorry for the poor goats. Vegetarians like me can afford to feel this sort of sympathy. But as long as I don't get holier-than-thou about it, as long as I can understand someone else's point of view, it's ok, I guess.

I don't eat meat, I said to the old man. It was the perfect opening for him to ask me about myself. Who was I? What part of the country did I come from? Where did I live? We found ourselves settling into the well-understood rituals that govern social interaction.

I talked about my grandfather, and how he migrated to Bombay and found a job here. As I told my grandfather's story, the old man stood up and cleared a chair for me. Come, sit, he said, why are you standing? And thus, over a migrant's story, we made a connection.

Next time, I go there, I'll ask the old man about *his* story. I am looking forward to it.

The photos below are by the very talented Meena Kadri, who came with me on my Dharavi jaunt. Check out her flickr album if you have the time. What an amazing eye she has for form and colour.

Aerial view of recycling sheds (on the left). Trucks bring in raw material and take away finished goods.

Inside the soap factory: Worker slicing and packing soap. The raw material includes waste from large soap manufacturing factories. The final product is a small green slab.

More goats outside the workshop compound. No one will go hungry on Id.

There is an answer

- Posted by Deepa, a poem by Girish Sangameswaran

My cousin Girish wrote something about last November's attacks on Mumbai, and I thought I'd post it here on the anniversary of the attacks.

- Deepa

Violence in Mumbai, 26 Nov 08 onwards.
More than 100 killed, 300 injured.

The horrendous acts of violence
Laced with sweetness of religion
Garnished with mindsets of division
Are these acts of chaotic blindness or
Colossal stupor ?

Armed organizations with black heads
Black scarfs, black weapons
Blackness looming large
Black minds, black shouts of freedom, victory

Who are they, where do they come from,
Individual or collective consciousness ?
Remnants of the undesired or
Splinters of past hurts ?

There may be no quick answers to violence,
but surely a long term one,
When a child is told -
That the skin colour differs but when pinched hard,
one sees red blood
That the long hair is the one that’s rolled,
to be covered with a turban
That to kneel down or to join palms,
are both acts of surrender and prostration
That Pani, Neeru, Thani and Jal mean the same
That the Spirit is to be embraced and not the façade
That the visage changes but the expression is one,
And this expression is the language of the heart spoken through the eyes
Which is universal and belongs to the ONE who is common to all

There is an answer……………if we believe in one.

Mango-ginger? What's that?

by Janaki Krishnan

Yesterday, my daughter's maid rang me up.

"Amma" she said, "Deepa tayi has bought something that looks like ginger. But she has asked me to turn into a pickle. What shall I do? It's a little like ginger, a little like tumeric."

"Ah, it must be Manga inji (mango-ginger)," I said.

Pale coloured mango-ginger in the foreground. To its left is raw turmeric, yellow-orange in colour. To the right is regular ginger.

Mango-ginger, a member of the ginger family, is closely related to turmeric. It looks like ginger - knobbly on the outside, pale yellow on the inside. It combines the zing of ginger and the coolness of sweet, sour, raw mango. Aside from this, the mango-ginger's got nothing much to do with an actual mango.

So I told the maid, "To make the pickle, cut it into small pieces, add salt, red chilli powder. You can also add a little bit of lemon juice if you like. It's delicious, and can be had with curd rice. Wait and see, Deepa will eat twice the amount of curd rice that she usually does!"

The pickle after it was made. Unlike other pickles which require to be stored or put away for a while, this one can be eaten immediately after preparation.

Mango ginger can also be used to make a chutney along with urad dal (black gram or black lentil), red chillies, hing (asafoetida), grated coconut and a bit of jaggery. This chutney is eaten with dosas, idlies and even rice.
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The Gujarati word for mango-ginger is "amba harad". My Gujarati neighbour cuts it into small bits, adds salt and lemon to make a simple pickle to be eaten with chapatti. Sometimes, she also adds slices of raw turmeric to this pickle. A Parsi friend cuts it into thin strips and uses it in salad. Another lady we know dices it into little cubes, along with similarly diced cubes of carrot and cucumber. She adds coriander, lemon and a little salt to make a fresh and delicious salad.
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Mango-ginger has excellent medicinal properties and finds extensive use in the indigenous system of medicine. It is an appetizer, aphrodisiac, laxative and an antipyretic as it cools down the body in case of a fever. It is effecive against bronchitis, asthma, hiccough and inflammation due to injures.
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It's too bad that this spice is relatively unheard of. When you get a chance, please try some of the pickle... there's hardly anyone I know who doesn't like it!

With inputs and edits by Aishwarya

The Oldest Synagogue in Mumbai

- By Deepa Krishnan

I went to Bhendi Bazaar recently with Freni, walking through the areas surrounding Minara Masjid. We were looking for Shaar Harahamim, the oldest Jewish synagogue in the city.

It was Ramzan, and everywhere there were interesting stalls selling all sorts of things.

This is seviyan, right? Is it for kheer?

I was starving, and it was lunch time...then I realised everyone around me was fasting! Normally, I can't stand being hungry, it gives me a migraine...but when I thought about everyone else I saw, and realised they would all not eat until the evening iftar, it gave me the backbone to walk further.

In all my 40 years, I have never been to this side of the city, so everything was new and interesting to me. I photographed an old building, Dawoodbhoy Fazalbhoy School (the Trust provides scholarships for Muslims to study abroad). I wondered who the Fazalbhoy family was, and what their history is...perhaps they are one of the early trading families that came to the city of Bombay under the British. Or maybe someone in shipping? Are they Memons? This is the sort of history I'm always curious about, so if any of you know, then do post a comment!

Dawoodbhoy Fazalbhoy School

Eventually, we found ourselves on Samuel Street. I spotted a bhelwala, and gave up on starving myself. So munching sukha-bhel, Freni and I strolled on, chatting, peering through side lanes, looking at old homes, small trading shops, enjoying the bazaar buzz that is very typical of old Bombay. I'm addicted to this sort of thing, and Freni is so wonderful to walk with...sigh...everyone should have a friend like that!

After about 30 minutes, we finally came to a little door, painted blue, with the sign we were looking for - the Star of David!

Shaar Harahamin, The Gate of Mercy. In Marathi, it is Dayeche Dwar.

Entry to the synagogue is through a still smaller side door, the sort that you have to bend to enter.

Exterior view of synagogue with smaller side-door. On the higher floor is the ladies gallery.

We went inside, and found the old caretaker, who gave us a wonderful tour of the place in Marathi. This is a Bene-Israeli synagogue.

Freni chatting with the caretaker.

The Bene Israel are the oldest Jewish community in India. Their ancestors were shipwrecked and washed ashore the Konkan coast, south of Bombay. The survivors - seven men and seven women - buried their dead in a site near the village Nawgaon, which later became the Bene Israel cemetery.

The survivors were offered shelter by the local inhabitants and decided to settle permanently in the Konkan villages. They adopted Hindu names similar to their Biblical first names, but became known by their “-kar” surnames, which indicated the village in which they lived in, or sometimes, their occupation. So for me, the most fascinating thing about the synagogue were the name boards!!

What an interesting collection of first names and surnames! Moses Talegawkar, from Talegaon of course!

The synagogue itself is very quaint. I loved the old mezzuzah that was affixed to the doorway, and the beautifully carved door that housed the Torah. The furniture is all old wood, and the benches are solid, with no nails. I tried to move a bench, but it was too heavy. The gallery for women is separate, on the first floor, and there are steps on the outside that you can use to go upstairs. The caretaker told us some interesting tales, and explained his daily routine. I found it very interesting that the lamps in this synagogue are lit with coconut oil. And he showed us how he makes the lamps and places the wicks.

If you are anywhere near Bhendi Bazaar, I would recommend going to this synagogue, for a glimpse of an interesting community that has played an important role in Bombay's history. On the Mumbai Magic Jewish Heritage Tour, my guides have been taking people to this synagogue. But I wanted to see it for myself, and I'm glad I did!

A feast, a feast!! (and a glorious saree)

Last week, Mom and I went to Matunga to buy a saree.

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Not any old saree, but an ombudu-gajam, that Queen of Sarees, all of nine yards long, the ultimate, definitive, TamBram garment.

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We got there a little early, and the saree shop hadn't opened yet. So in keeping with our TamBram roots, we decided to have coffee at Manis Lunch Home. As we went in, both Mom and I stopped in our tracks - there was this giant 10 foot poster outside:

Mani's Lunch Home - Invitation to the Onam Feast on Sep 2

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Talk about authentic food! This is about as good as it gets!

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I wanted to go eat there today, but the morning was manic, so I was stuck at my desk. I have to be content instead, with posting a picture of *another* feast I went to yesterday.
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Palakkad Wedding Meal - and this is only the first course!!

My cousin Ravi got married at Bangalore, and this is the photo of the main muhurtham meal. Very similar to the Onam sadya, in fact, most of the items listed in the menu above were served. We all ate until we burst.
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As for the ombodu-gajam saree, here is mom, looking resplendent in it! I don't know how to drape this saree, so I have promised myself I am going to learn it. I want to look like this some day!
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Mom and Dad with Aishwarya.

The ombudu-gajam is from Lakshmi Silks, another venerable Matunga institution. My grandmother used to buy there, and so does my mom. My sister and I have been sensibly following in their footsteps. The South Cottons at Lakshmi Silks are fantastic.

By the way, if you overhear a conversation between two TamBram women in Matunga, it will likely go something like this:

"Nalla irrukey! Enga vaanginai podavai?". This saree looks good! Where did you buy it?

"Iyengaaru-kadai daan, vera engai!" (this said with a smile). At Iyengaar's shop, where else!

If you are part of the inner coterie, then you'll know that 'Iyengaar' refers to the owner of Lakshmi Silks, a man responsible for much female happiness in the Matunga area.
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Lakshmi Silks is a tiny shop near the kabutarkhana in Matunga Market. Business is done the old fashioned way. You leave footwear outside, step into a small airconditioned area. You sit on the floor, on mats. You explain what you are looking for. Soon, the sarees emerge, silk and cotton, exquisite Kancheevarams, beautiful Mangalagiris, checked Chettinaads...your head reels with pleasure. You take your time. You examine everything.
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Perhaps it is that arresting maroon that calls out to you, the one with the temple motif and the glorious golden pallu. Or perhaps it is that beautfiful mango yellow, the one with the green and gold border. Eventually, you make a selection. You fork out money, watch as the precious saree is wrapped...and then you walk out, clutching your bundle of silken happiness, plotting when to wear it.

Ah, Matunga, Matunga! Long may your shops thrive!

An emotional Independence Day

I watched a re-run of the movie Gandhi last night on TV. There were many emotional moments during the movie, as I watched the story of India's struggle for independence. I could not stay unmoved as I watched the brutal lathi charges, the bravery and countless sacrifices. I rejoiced at the smallest victories, I cried at the losses, I despaired at the Partition.

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When the movie was over, I went to bed thinking - This story is my legacy. This is what I have inherited. These are my heroes, ordinary men and women, born of the same soil as I am.

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Right now, outside my house, they are playing the usual Independence day songs...ae mere pyaare vatan...saare jahan se acchha...apni azaadi ko hum...It should be cliched and cheesy, but instead, today, it gives me goosebumps.

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I remember the movie I watched, and the zeal of the men and women who died to give us India.

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But I believe you don't die, unless every memory of you is erased from the hearts and minds of your countrymen.

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Let's remember then, the heroes and the leaders, the ordinary men and women, who gave me the right to stand up and say, "I am Indian, and I am free!"

You know it's the monsoon when...(3)

...everything's covered in blue!

Motorbike parked in Sion - it was covered last evening to protect it from rain at night.
.Goods Tempo with blue tarpaulin lashed down.

Slum colony in Bandra
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Make-shift blue roof at cinema complex

Verandah cover to protect the daily washing

This morning I saw a pav-wallah on a cycle, his bread was covered with a blue sheet. The temples have blue coverings. Shop awnings are blue. I saw an apartment block where the whole terrace was covered in blue. In Dharavi, there is a street where 4-5 shops do nothing but sell these blue sheets.

Keep your eyes open and you'll see bright blue just about everywhere!

You know it's the monsoon when... (2)

... the horses are suddenly excited because of the cool weather.

Dawn riding at the Mahalakshmi Race Course

Riding in the summer was hot and sweaty even at 6:30 am.

After the first showers, during the riding class, our instructor said "Aaj ghode fresh hain... mausam thanda hai na."

Indeed they were up to more tricks than usual... (prancing around, tossing their heads.. and the more badmaash ones bucking and almost throwing off their riders).

As for me, I enjoyed the cool, almost cold breeze at dawn.

You know it's the monsoon when...

...the sea is a sullen brooding brown even when the sky is bright blue.

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The tip of Malabar Hill, where the curving Backbay begins

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The rest of the curve - Backbay Reclamation

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Photos from the Club floor of the Trident, Nariman Point. What an amazing view!

I visit the Wholesale Market at Vashi

- By Deepa Krishnan

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Ever since the wholesale market moved from Byculla to Vashi, I've been wanting to go there. On a recent trip to New Bombay, my friend Satyen took me to see what is officially called The Mumbai Agricultural Produce Market.

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Exterior view - one small section of the market.

Even before we went in, I realised I was going to see a big market, but as we kept driving along, I realised that this market was literally endless! Nothing had prepared me for the sheer scale of what I saw.

The agricultural produce market covers all of 170 acres (hah! and I had originally believed I could explore it on foot!). There are a staggering 3700 godowns, 1500 commercial blocks, 4 large auction halls, 2 giant warehouses, and 5 large wholesale market yards. Apart from this, there are big processing centres - a vapour heat treatment plant, ripening facilities, cold storage facilities, an export facilitation centre and so on.

To me, it was like seeing a vast new exciting trading town, where trucks trundled in with every conceivable type of agricultural produce from the country. I could see hundreds of farmers, in their white Gandhi-topis. There were many women too, in their traditional Maharashtrian sarees. There were literally thousands of workers, transporting bags of produce. It was only much later, when I saw the website of the market committee, that I discovered that this is Asia's largest regulated market for agricultural produce.

As we drove around, Satyen pointed out to me that there is not one market, but five different markets. Market I is dedicated to spices and condiments, sugar, jaggery and dry fruits. Market II is where trading in foodgrains (rice, wheat) and pulses takes place. Then there's the popular "kanda-batata markit" - The Onion and Potato Market, which was the earliest to be set up. Other than these, there are two more markets, the Fruit Market and the Vegetable Market. For a "city girl" like me, it was like getting a glimpse into an alien world.

After the first few minutes of driving around, I gave up trying to grasp it all, and just enjoyed the atmosphere of the place. At the vegetable and fruit markets, I couldn't resist getting out of the car and clicking a few photographs.

Gujarati housewives at the wholesale vegetable market

The first thing I noticed were some enterprising housewives, who had come to buy their weekly store of vegetables at wholesale prices. Satyen explained that some housing societies had formed groups, so that they could come here to this market and purchase in bulk for their needs.

Weighing scales on truck

I walked around to the backside of a truck to see what was happening. Jackfruit was being unloaded from the truck. Before the unloading, it was being weighed in a basket. This is a regulated market - that means that the weighing instruments are provided by the market, and there are fixed rates for the people doing the unloading.

Green chillies inside the vegetable market

The chillies come from Andhra Pradesh and Karnataka. These men were waiting with their stock of chillies, looking for buyers.

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Old man in 'Gandhi-topi' examining brinjals from Bangalore.

I think he was a retail shopkeeper who had come to the market to buy his stock, because behind him were all the other vegetables that he had purchased, tied in plastic bags.

Several women were in the market, haggling over prices.

Some of them looked like local shop-keepers to me, while others looked like they were buying for their own use.

Mango crates amidst hay in the fruit market

This man had purchased two crates of mangoes, and paid someone to carry it to his truck. The 'hamaali' or labour rate per 'peti' (box) is Rs 2.5.

Mini-truck leaving the market

This smaller truck was loaded with gunny sacks of various vegetables, and was leaving the market to go into the city. The 'hamaali' for one gunny sack is Rs 5.

Vegetable seller leaving the market with small amount of stock.
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Mid-sized trader leaving with his stock
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Over 12000 tonnes of agri-commodities arrive daily into this market. The produce is sold by auction and the prices are noted and managed by the Mumbai Agricultural Produce Market Committee. It is the committee's responsibility to ensure that sales do not take place below the minimum price fixed by the government. They are also responsible for ensuring fair measurement and weighing, and fair charges for labour.

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I wanted to spend more time, talking to people - traders, labourers, shopkeepers, and buyers...I wanted to understand how the pricing system worked. But it was nearing noon and the sun was getting fierce. My driver Mariappan had cleverly retreated to the local canteen (that's him in the white shirt and black trousers, standing in the shade drining chai).

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So I finally called it a day, and sank gratefully into the coolness of the airconditioned car. As I dropped Satyen back home, I said to him, "I'm coming back again to Vashi! There's so much still to see!"

Want to come with me?