East is East!

Last Sunday, I went on a Mumbai Magic tour to Elephanta island. My guest was a South American lady, educated in the US, and a very senior businesswoman.

Waiting for the boat to Elephanta, we saw a very young couple, recently married. The girl could not have been more than 16, the guy perhaps 18 or 20.

"She's very young", said my guest. "Do you think this was an arranged marriage?".

"Probably", I said, giving her my stock answer. "There are no statistics, but I think over 90% of marriages are arranged."

"Does everyone marry this young?"

"No, the national average age is 19-20 for women."

"Nineteen? That's young as well!"

"Yes, but at the time the British left India, the average age of marriage was 14. We've come quite a way from there, especially if you look at the size of our population, and what it takes to change a whole nation's average in 50 years. It's nothing short of a revolution."

She looked at the young bride again. I could see her thinking, how does this girl feel about this? A stranger in her bed, chosen by her parents? What is this relationship really like?

And, seeing the couple again through my guest's eyes, I thought yes, how does this girl put up with this stranger in her bed?

My guest turned to me.

"Can I ask you something personal?"

I could see it coming.

"Did you have an arranged marriage?" she asked me.

"No", I said.

Her relief was palpable.

"I cannot understand this arranged marriage business! How do you put up with it!!", she said.

I could see that for her, being told who to marry was about as medieval as it gets.

I launched into an explanation of expectations and conditioning, and how marriage in India is not between individuals, you marry into a family, so the more similar your backgrounds and religion, the easier it is to fit in. We spoke of East versus West, romantic brainwashing, divorce rates, the caste system, the obsession with fair skin, matrimonials, the shaadi.com revolution, and so on. She was a highly intelligent lady, a pleasure to talk to.

At the end of the conversation, she had heard it all, and it didn't change her mind a bit.

The bottomline is - sometimes East is East and West is West, and there ain't no middle ground!

Slumming it

I went to Dharavi today, with an American visitor. We saw tiny shops selling grains wholesale. We saw jewellers. Leather shops. Textiles. Dyeing and embroidery. Pottery. Papadam making. Paper and plastic recyling. Lottery tickets, barbers, knife sharpeners, flower vendors, vegetable sellers. Temples, mosques, movie theatres. Sewers, toilets, and poverty. Dharavi is alive and vibrant and sickening and stench-filled, all at the same time. It is staggering.

Mad about Matrimony

If you've hit thirty, then in the Indian marriage market, you're definitely past your use-by date.

But before you despair - there is hope yet, at least for the readers of the Times of India - simplymarry.com's special marriage fair this Sunday in Sion.

If you're planning to check it out, then, like the ad says - "Please carry your photograph along".

And while you're at it, here is some free advice from the dharmashastras -

"Choose a horse after looking at its father, a girl after looking at her mother, a land after looking at the abundant grass, and a clan after looking at the conduct of its members."

Or even better -
"The girl's father should evaluate the boy's family, character, body, age, education, relatives, and wealth and if satisfactory, conduct the marriage. If these seven points are examined properly, there will be no cause for regret later."

And finally -
"Following the code of conduct and practicing celibacy, the bachelor should marry a virgin girl of good quality.

The qualities of a good girl are:
She must be chaste and unmarried;
She must be desirable;
She must not be a paternal cousin to the sixth degree;
She must be free from disease;
She must have brothers;
She should not belong to the same gothra and pravara (family tree and bloodline);
She can be a cousin to the fifth degree and above on mother's side, and to the seventh degree and above on father's side."

There you go. Easy as pie. What are you waiting for?

- Deepa

God is a woman. Without bawling babies.

Outside the Bhuleshwar Temple, I clicked this photograph of Durga, the great Warrior Goddess. India has so many goddesses - some fierce, some kind, some to be feared, some to be adored.

But strangely enough, for a country that is hung up about fertility, none of the goddesses I see in temples today seem to have borne children.

Parvati, the only major goddess with kids, did not carry them in her womb. This, in spite of several chapters in the Shiva Purana detailing her amazing love life with Shiva.

Lakshmi, the Goddess of Wealth, has no kids either. And as for Saraswati, Goddess of Learning, she just sits there on her swan, looking pretty. No sign of ever bearing children, not with that waistline. She's a river goddess originally, dammit. She ought to be more fertile than that!

Goddesses weren't always like that though, thankfully.

Excavations in the Indus Valley have revealed several terracotta figurines of a pregnant goddess. And in many places in India, there are carved sculptures of "Lajja Gauri" - a naked Goddess depicted in squatting position. By the fourth century, Lajja Gauri had become accepted into the Hindu pantheon as the consort of Shiva. The Shiva Purana tells the story of Parvati and Shiva in an unending coitus - when they were suddenly interrupted by a visitor, Parvati bashfully covered her face with a lotus. Between the 6th-12th centuries, the worship of Lajja Gauri was pretty popular in the Chalukyan Empire (you’ll see Lajja Gauri statues if you go to Badami). Some of the oldest Lajja Gauri sculptures are from the 1st to the 3rd century, such as this one from Amravati.

But coming back to today – Goddesses these days seem to be sanitized versions of what they once were. Santoshi Maa, for example.

Santoshi Maa is a 1950’s phenomenon, and represents the best modern hope for all-suffering virtuous Hindu wives. Her myths tell the story of a young wife forgotten by her husband and abused by her in-laws. The pious wife, however, remains loving and faithful. Chiefly by means of prayer to Santoshi Maa and fasting once a week, she sees the return of her husband. He has newly acquired wealth, and she moves with him into her own house (thereby earning freedom from her in-laws, I presume). And – nine months later, she has a son.

With a storyline like that, I’m not surprised this cult spread like wildfire.

But does Santoshi Maa - the Goddess of Contentment have a baby herself?

Nope.

God is a Woman. Without bawling babies.

A lesson in Mutton Korma

On a recent bazaar walk near Chor Bazaar (Thieves Market), I spotted a group of men making mutton kurma for a feast in the evening. I stopped for five minutes to chat and photograph. I've promised to bring back colour photos the next time I go there.

So here's what I saw:

Step 1: Saute onions with garam masala, until the onions turn red. Lots and lots of onions, enough to thickly layer the bottom of this vessel. Lots of oil too. When the onions are ready, add the mutton.


The guy holding the mutton basket is the Master Chef. He was a man of few words, but clearly the boss. Actually, it was pretty cool to see. His vocabulary was a whole bunch of terse sentences, each with not more than 2 words. If he said something, the others would hop to it, pronto. They were pretty smooth as a team.

Step 2: Stir the mutton and onions together for about 5 minutes. Requires muscles.


Step 3: Ginger, garlic and green chillies - ground into a paste. Exercise discretion. This plate was heaped full, before most of it was added to the waiting mutton.


Step 4: Turmeric - lots of it. He actually just picked up a handful and flung it carelessly into the pot.


Step 5: Add a pan full of tomatoes. Clearly not a major ingredient, but a critical one.

Step 6: A litre of water, and a full handful of salt - looks delicious already.


Step 7: Now the magic trick - layer with more onions. This is about half way through the process of layering. By the time the layering was done, all the mutton was covered.


Step 8: Close and cook until the mutton is tender.


Step 9: Here's the team that orchestrated the whole thing. Master Chef with Assistants.

Indian women - Art in daily life

Somehow, when you talk about Indian art, you think of exquisite bronze sculpture or fine wood carving or Mughal miniatures...and you forget the everyday beauty that Indian women create in their homes, all across the land.

I am stunned by the variety and richness of Indian folk art whenever I encounter it.

How can one contiguous land mass spawn so many diverse styles, so many forms of aesthetic expression?

The point came home to me yet again when I saw a collection of photos of everyday life in Indian villages. The photographer is Dr. Stephen Huyler, an American who has spent 30 years in India, and published several books. The photo above is of a small hut in Kutch, Gujarat. It is from his book, Painted Prayers.

Here are some more photos from his collection: this one below is from Jaisalmer in Rajasthan. I was struck by the sophistication of the lady's sense of aesthetic - her eye for form and shape and contrast is undeniable. The way she is making her home rise from its desert surroundings is just stunning.

And here is another photo from Sawai Madhopur, on the outskirts of Ranthambore Tiger Sanctuary. Walls and floors in this part of India are often decorated with elaborate drawings. I've seen life in that area of Rajasthan - the land is arid, life is hard I'm sure. And in the middle of it all is someone creating beauty and serenity.

And this, the last one below, from Tamil Nadu - what went through her mind, as she drew this? Did she feel the beauty? I have drawn smaller versions of these myself, with rice powder and rice paste, and I know how engrossing the activity is, and how much you can lose yourself in it.

These are just a small sample from Dr. Huyler's photos. He is writing another book now, called India's Daughters: Art and Identity. In his own words, this books is "a profile of 20 different Indian women from diverse backgrounds and professions all over India. Each is in some way an artist, although not all would consider themselves as such. It is a much more personal survey than Painted Prayers, attempting to give voice to Indian women's empowerment through their own words, stories and art."

I'm looking forward to it.

Of birdtalk and contraception

I went to The Bombay Store recently, and bought statues of two tiny metal birds, in traditional Dhokra style. The birds are that famous pair from folklore, the tota and the myna - the parrot and the starling. The parrot is male, the myna female.

Dhokra is an Indian aboriginal/tribal art form from eastern and northern India. The word Dhokra itself means "oldest" - and refers to the lost-wax method of making amazingly aesthetic stuff with nothing but clay, beeswax and metal scrap to work with.

Not only Dhokra artists, but several other Indian handicrafts depict the tota-myna pair (for example, it is a popular motif on Maharashtra's famous Paithani sarees). And in an interesting modern variation - the Indian goverment uses the tota-myna as their brand ambassadors in a birth control campaign in northern India.

Called Aao Baaten Karein - Come Let's Talk, this campaign encourages discussion on family planning and contraception, through dialogue between the tota and the myna.

In all of Northern India, the tota and myna are recognized as secular symbols representing the male and female form. They are known for their talkative nature. They are considered expert story-tellers, and their stories typically include opposing points of view, banter, humor, riddles, and poetry.

Perhaps the original source of this widespread folk symbolism is the Suka Saptati, the "Seventy Tales of the Parrot" - a clever Sanskrit book written in the 9th Century (or earlier perhaps) about the affairs of men and women. The Suka-Saptati was translated into Persian - the Tuti-Namah - and was very popular in the Mughal courts.

The Suka Saptati goes thus:
Once upon a time, there was a merchant who went on a long journey, leaving his beloved wife. He asked his trusted birds, a mynah and a parrot, to keep her entertained while he was away. The wife however, being smitten by another man, arranged a secret tryst through a go-between. The mynah pleaded with the wife to change her mind, offering advice on righteousness. The angry wife tried to wring the myna's neck, but the bird escaped. It was then the parrot's turn. The parrot agreed to let her go, provided she listened to just one story. The parrot then began narrating - and the story was so fascinating, that the wife was too late for her tryst with her lover. Every night, for seventy nights, the parrot told a story - and every night, the wife missed meeting her lover. On the seventy first day, the husband returned, the parrot told him all that had transpired, and the husband was grateful to the clever bird for saving the family honour, so to speak.

And in case you're wondering what happened to the wife, well, the wife repented and was forgiven. I presume the husband didn't go on long trips again!

"OMG What do I wear?"

A friend from London - a rather attractive Englishwoman in her late twenties - was in Mumbai last month. We went sightseeing and shopping. Because it was muggy and warm, she wore a dress with a halter neck. It took her all of ten minutes on Mumbai's streets, to realise it was a mistake (if stares could burn, her shoulders would be charred to a crisp). For the rest of the day, she wore a hot cardigan, and didnt take it off even in the 'safe' environs of the Taj Sea Lounge. I met her again in London last week, and over drinks at Corney and Barrow, we laughed the whole incident off.

I was in Dubai as well last week - and I worked with several young women, all of them modestly dressed in black abayas. In the ladies loo, the abaya's would be adjusted, the head-scarves wrapped and re-wrapped until modesty was assured. In the same office, there were women from South Africa and London, wearing exactly what they would wear in their home countries - skirts, trousers, jackets. On Day Two at work, I wore what is called 'Indo-Western' - a black raw silk kurta with black trousers and a stole. I realised I was standing almost *exactly* at the sartorial mid-point between the abayas and the business jackets.

The whole thing has set me thinking about 'appropriate' business dressing.

In the first place, there is the debate about whether or not to be appropriate.

When I travel on work to London, I agonise over what to wear. What I *want* to wear is some of my sarees. I know I will look confident and attractive - but Lord, I won't fit in. And it's a bit disconcerting in meetings when people keep eyeing your midriff/waist. It's strange - in London, there's so much cleavage on display at work, and men don't stare. But when it's comes to saree-clad midriffs, there are definitely some startled glances. It is irritating at meetings, when you're standing up to make a presentation, and the audience is not looking at your face.

Anyway - what I end up wearing is clunky business jackets, hating how they fall on my five-foot-nothing frame. I tell myself it makes business sense to not look exotic, when you're trying to convince some staid banker that you know what you're talking about. But I resent the unspoken rules. I don't *want* to fit in!

On some recent trips, I've started wearing the saree (to hell with the consequences). Perhaps it's a sign of new-found confidence, or perhaps it is just vanity. I don't know.

There's always someone smarter

Did you spot the special feeding of the crows in Bombay yesterday?

Several houses laid out food in the morning, on plates made of banana leaves. This feeding of crows is one small part of Pongal, the Tamil harvest festival.

Not that Bombay's crows need any help with finding food!

They're among the smartest birds I've seen.

A couple of weeks ago, I saw two of them balancing coolly on top of a moving taxi, pecking at the bag of meat loaded on it. It was Bakr-Id that day, and the taxi had the remains of the day's sacrifice of goats. The two guys in the taxi had no clue their food was being eaten on the sly. My driver laughed when I said, look at those crows making fools of those men!

Another common sight in Bombay is crows stealing fish. You'll see them launching stealth attacks on vans and handcarts and taxis, merrily making a meal of the day's fishing catch.

Like I said, crows are smart. The only time that they get hoodwinked is by that other clever Indian bird, the koel.

The koel (the Indian cuckoo) lays its eggs in crows nests. And baby koels keep the deception going by cawing like crows. Devious, man!

Speaking of cuckoos - we learnt this rather philosophical Sanskrit poem at school. It's about the fine art of discernment:

Kakah krishna pikah krishna
Ko bheda pika kaka yoho?
Vasanta samaye praptey
Kakah kakah pikah pikaha

The crow is black, and the cuckoo is black
What difference, then, between crow and cuckoo?
When spring arrives, it's easy to tell**
That the crow is a crow, and the cuckoo a cuckoo.

**alluding of course, to the sweet song of the cuckoo in spring.

One-stop mini mall

As I walk along the streets of Matunga, I marvel at how South Indian culture has been transported to this small stretch in central Mumbai.

This tiny pavement shop is a perfect example.

It sells all the little things that Brahmins need to live life as prescribed by the Vedas. The Vedas contain rites and rituals for important events such as birth, marriage and death. The central element in the rituals is the sacred sacrificial fire.

The long Kusa grass you see stacked on the left is laid on the floor around the sacred fire for purifying the area. Shorter Kusa grass is twisted around the ring finger while offering oblations into the fire. Small twigs of the banyan tree are used to feed the flames. The fire itself is built using dried cowdung cakes as fuel (see if you can spot it in the picture!).

On the shelves at the top of the shop, you can see little containers with sandal powder, camphor, sacred ash and turmeric. A little plastic has crept into the packaging, but in all other ways, the rituals remain the same as they were four thousand years ago.

We looked around for the shop owner, and spotted him taking an afternoon nap.

Obviously, Bombay's modern-day rush hasn't yet reached this corner of Matunga!

- JK