Looking for Miss Sargam- by Shubha Mudgal

Several years ago, my colleague and I went to meet an esteemed retired professor who holds sway over Indian science.  We wanted to invite him to a program that the school was conducting.  On the way, my colleague told me that after issuing the invitation, I should get out of the room because he was going to beg, plead, cajole, whatever you want to call it, with the esteemed professor.  My colleague wanted to become a member of one of the academies of Science in India (We have three academies.  Don't ask me what they do).  Without the support of esteemed professors, there is no chance of getting into these academies.  My colleague was willing to do whatever needed to be done to get into the academy.  After issuing the invite, I got out of the room and my colleague started his cajoling.  There was some give and take.  Some experiments do be done, a student to be mentored...my colleague agreed to everything.  Six months later when the academy announced its new members, my colleague's name was conspicuous by its absence.

I was reminded of this incident when I read the story entitled "Manzoor Rehmati' by Shubha Mudgal.  This is one of the stories in the collection "Looking for Miss Sargam".   Manzoor Rehmati wants a Padma award, the honor bestowed by Government of India every year on Republic Day, and the one person who could get it for him was a senior musician named Khan-Sahab.  Khan-Sahab, by dint of deft handling of the government and politicians (never offer any firm opinion on any thing) was on Padma committee.  He decides who should be given the award and who should not be.   Khan-Sahab declares that he would help Manzoor Rehmati.  But, Khan-Sahab wants the compositions of Manzoor Rehmati's father.  Manzoor Rehmati gives it to him.  And we know how it will end.

Looking for Miss Sargam captures the foibles, the aspirations of the New India.  Miss Sargam is a recluse.  No one knows anything about her.  Hints are dropped about her through the book and we, the readers, are to make what we want of Miss Sargam.  Meantime, there is a PR person who wants to organize Aman Bol (Say Peace) concert featuring a Pakistani Singer and an Indian Singer.  There is a Mataji, head of a devotional sect, who would do anything to help a devotee.  There is a small time swindler who manages to dupe aspirants before doing the vanishing act and leaving his collaborator, a small time musician from a small city, to face the music. 

Written in a mixture of Hindi and English, it was an engaging read because I could relate to the events/people, to the appalling dishonesty that many display.

Using fridge for experiments

After 9 months of close down when the School reopened we found that the cold rooms, which maintain temperatures at 4oC, are not working.  Some of our experiments require a cold room.   When I went to the lab last week, I found my students hastily making space in the fridge.  As I watched bemused they quickly set up the equipment on the lower shelf.  There was slight dent made in the fridge door allowing the electric wire to pop out which was then plugged to the power source.

It was a good use of the fridge.  Just for the record: It worked!

Samaithu Paar (Cook and See)- Cookbook by Meenakshi ammal

Amma learned to cook only after her marriage.   As Appa was in a transferable job, she was cut-off from her family for most part of her life.  With no telephone, letter being the only mode of communication, her cooking evolved by trial and error.  Later when telephone became available, she would sometimes call her favourite sister-in-law to consult about a recipe.  For the most part though, she was dependent on Samaithu Paar (Cook and See) cookbook written in Tamil by Meenakshi ammal.  There were three volumes of this book with the recipes catering specifically to the Tamil Brahmin Community.  It was Amma's Bible.

Festivals were always crisis times because each festival has a prescribed menu.  Amma would frantically thumb through her Samaithu Paar book, trying to figure out which volume had the recipe, reading and re-reading as she tried to get a hang of it.  I would be co-opted as the the helper to grind spices or rice or whatever needed to be ground using the traditional stone grinder (called Aatu kal in Tamil. The apparatus consists of a stone base with the middle hallowed into a cup like shape and a stone pestle).  Together, and sometimes with Appa roped in, we would stumble through the prescribed menu.  When Amma  finally put it all together before Gods as offering, there would be a huge sense of accomplishment.  We had done it! 

When I went to US for Ph.D., I was presented with my own copy of Samaithu Paar or Cook and See.  My copy is in English as I cannot read or write Tamil.  There are no pictures, measurements are in obsolete terms, and recipes are written in very quaint language.  But it is a book that helped me start my life in the University town.  

Over the years, I have referred many cookbooks and food blogs but Samaithu Paar remains the book to be consulted in times of crisis.

Today was one such day as it is a festival called Thiruvathirai. I do not know much about its significance other than it is for Lord Shiva.  Festivals in our house were celebrated not for religious reasons but for the food. The traditional menu for this festival is a rice sweet dish called Kali and a vegetable stew called Kootu.  The past many years my Periamma (Appa's eldest brother's wife) was in Delhi and she would call me over to have the lunch with her. This year she is not there and I decided to make Kali and Kootu.  I looked up the food blogs, consulted my sister-in-law but the fear of the unknown remained.  So this morning, I took out the worn out copy of Samaithu Paar and with its gentle guiding managed to make both the dishes. 

 Sumitra came in just as I had finished cooking.  She was the first to taste both the dishes.  According to her it was tasty.  So mission accomplished.

 

What is in a name?

 Shakespeare said a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

Indian politicians of course have a different take on it.  Calcutta became Kolkata, Madras became Chennai, Bombay became Mumbai and so on so forth.  Occasionally, there will be a demand to change the names of cities with Muslim names.  Of course, it became a reality in UP where Allahabad was renamed Prayagraj.

Shiv Sena, the ruling party of Maharashtra, has recently decided to do away with localities that have caste names. 

Tamilnadu has been ahead in this.  In 1979, MGR, then Chief Minister of Tamilnadu, decided to remove caste surnames from road/street names.  They also decided to remove the honorifics bestowed by the Britishers.  So Sir CV Raman Road became CV Raman Road.  Dr. Rangachari Road became Ranga Road (I do not know why Dr was removed.).  Dr. Nair became Doctor road (Nair being the caste surname had to be removed).  Sir Desikachari and his wife Lady Desikachari each have a road named after them.  Lady Desikachari road became Lady Desika road and Sir Desikachari became Desika Road.  My brother mourns his loss of both Sir and Chari (caste name) in one go.

In Delhi, road names give you a glimpse of the rich history-global as well as Indian.  After the assassination of Olaf Palme, Swedish Prime Minister, one of the roads was named after him.  JNU, of course, stands on Nelson Mandela Marg (Marg = Road in Hindi).  There is Pritiviraj Road named after Prithiviraj Chauhan one of the early Kings of Delhi, Lodhi Road is a nod to the Lodhi kings who ruled, Akbar, Shahajahan, and Arungzeb Roads were named after the Mughal Emperors.  Unfortunately, Aurungzeb is currently persona non grata.  When APJ Abdul Kalam, the erstwhile President of India, died, Aurungzeb Road was renamed as APJ Abdul Kalam Road.  It makes no sense as this road straddles Akbar Road and ShahJahan Road.  There used to be Dupliex Road (nod to the French Governor General) but it got converted to Krishna Menon Marg.  Similarly, Curzon Road, named after Lord Curzon, the Viceroy of India, got converted to Kasturba Gandhi Marg.   And the biggest idocities of all was to rename Connaught Place and Connaught Circus (named after Duke of Connaught) after Indira Gandhi and Rajiv Gandhi by Shiela Dikshit, then Chief Minister of Delhi.  Fortunately, people are smarter.  We simply call it CP.  Then there are road names whose origins are lost in the mists of time.  We have no clue about the origin of Ch, Jhandu Singh Marg.

The best story of road name, however, comes from Kolkata.  At the height of Vietnam war, the Left Government of West Bengal decided to change the name of the road on which the US Consulate stood.  Overnight Harrington Road became Ho Chih Min Sarani (Sarani = Road in Bangla).  Needless to say, the Americans were not amused.

Press Freedom

For the past couple of days I have been watching the American Elections.  When Pennsylvania and Georgia started to swing Biden way, Trump gave a speech at the White House.  As usual he ranted that he had won the election and what was happening in those states was a fraud.  As he ranted, NBC anchor cut in and said that the President is peddling lies. 

And as I listened, I wondered if it was possible in India.  Nehru used to laugh at the cartoons poking fun of him.  But he was a rare one. When Emergency was declared by Indira Gandhi in 25th June 1975, The Times of India carried an obituary.  It was 22 words long and read:

"O'Cracy, D.E.M beloved husband of T. Ruth, Loving father of L.I. Bertie, brother of Faith, Hope and Justicia expired on June 26th."

In today's India it is impossible to imagine any of this happening. No TV channel or anchor will have the courage to do what the NBC anchor did.  The freedom of press along with other freedom (even the ones guaranteed to us by the Constitution of India) and institutions are either dying or are dead.

P.S. Appa said that he  did not know why it took so long to declare the winner.  The Tamil Newspapers and Thulasendrapuram declared Kamala (Harris has been conveniently dropped) the winner right after the elections were over.  Of course, Trump did not have Chittis backing him or breaking 108 coconuts in the temples.

Eta Dom

 Living on Janpath in the 1970s gave us easy access to the British Council Library, the American Center and the Russian (Soviet Union) Center.

Of the three, the British Council library had a very good collection of books.  Appa became a member,  I do not remember whether my brother also had a membership or not.  From my view point, it was a wonderful place for they had a children's section and I was introduced to the books written by Enid Blyton.  Even today, despite the obvious racist overtones, they still remain a favourite, to be dipped into now and then.

The American Center functioned more as an information center.  But they did have a small library. This is where we got to read Life with Father and Life with Mother, both written by Clarence Day.  I also remember that they had a book of American Plays.  That is how I read "The Philadelphia Marriage", Arsenic and Old Lace, and the Man who came to Dinner.

The Russian Center too was an information center.  They did not have a library but they made up for it by deluging the Indian market with affordable books published either by Mir (Peace) Publications or Progress Publishers.  These books were English translation of the Russian books and included both fiction and non-fiction.  That is how Tolstoy, Turgenev, Pushkin, and Gorky (after reading Mother I never got the courage to read any of his other books) came into our lives.

We were introduced to the American Center because the librarian had a problem with the telephone.  Those days telephone was not freely available and even if a person had a telephone, there was no guarantee that it would work.  Kidwai Bhawan Telephone exchange was notorious for its non-functional property and it was Appa's job to soothe the irate customers.  Of course we made many friends this way.  That is how the librarian at the American Center entered our lives.  Under his guidance we became members of the American Center.  He also provided us free subscription to Span, which was American propaganda magazine.

The Russian Center swam into our orbit because my younger athai (Appa's 2nd older sister).  Athai was a writer and she won the Soviet Land Prize.  She came to Delhi to accept the award.  She was learning Russian those days as the prize included a trip to Soviet Union.  Between her and the Russian Center, they managed to convince appa to subscribe to Soviet Land, which was their propaganda magazine, for three years.  We were non-aligned keeping with the fact that India was one of the founding members of the Non-aligned Movement.  According to my brother, Span was readable while Soviet Land was completely unreadable.  Both he and I remember that it used to contain folk/fairy tales which we would read.  I also remember that either that or Soviet Woman used to contain embroidery/knitting/cross stitch patterns for I still have some of the patterns that I saved from the magazine.

The subscription to Soviet Land included linguaphone to learn Russian.  It included a blue coloured 45 rpm gramophone disc and a book.  These arrived every month for 3 years.  Athai and appa were were enthusiastic but amma was skeptical of the project.  And she was right for appa never opened the book or listened to the disc.  It was quietly relegated to a project to be taken up after retirement.

But, my brother and I did open the first one.  Over the course of hot Summer days I learnt the Cyrillic alphabets and was introduced to the Russian family comprising of Mama, Papa, Anton, and Anna.  Then came Eta Dom or This is a house.

That is where I stopped. Eta Dom remains etched in my memory.

Few years back, with my parents becoming older, my brother and I threw away the linguaphone records, unopened and unlearnt.

Re-shaping Delhi

The Central Government has taken the onus to reshape Delhi.  

Delhi is an ancient city.  There have been seven cities.  The oldest is the area around Qutub Minar (quite close to JNU and in fact, we can see the tall building from my colleague's office).  The remnants of the Qila (Fort) Rai Pithora can be seen around Qutub.   The second city was Mehrauli, again near Qutub Minar.  Then came the city of Siri.  There is the old crumbling Siri Fort still standing.  This area was developed during Asian Games, 1982 and thus, ruined Delhi forever.  The fourth city was that of Tughlaqabad.  The Tughlaqabad fort still stands, though in very bad shape.  These four cities were far away from the flood plains of Yamuna River.  The fifth city was built on the flood plains by Firoz Tughlaq and is known is Firozabad.  The fort is now a cricket stadium.  The sixth city was built by Sher Shah Suri around Purana Qila or Old Fort.  The seventh city was built by Shah Jahan, the fourth Mughal Emperor.  He built the Red Fort on the banks of Yamuna and developed the area that is known as Shahjahanabad.  Incidentally, Shah Jahan also built Taj Mahal in Agra. 

When the Britishers decided to shift the capital from Calcutta (Kolkata) to Delhi, the eight city called New Delhi was built on the Raisina Hill.  This is still as Delhi Imperial Zone or Lutyens' Delhi as it was designed and built by Edwin Lutyens.  The two major roads were the King's way (known as Rajpath after Independence) and the Queen's way (known as Janpath after Independence).  When we moved to Delhi in 1972, we lived on Janpath within the telephone exchange complex called Kidwai Bhawan,

Those days Delhi was a small ra ra town filled with government offices, government officers' residences, and refugee families.  Being right in the center of the town had its advantages.  We would walk down to Rajpath to watch the Republic Day parade on 26th January.  At one end of Rajpath is the Rashtrapathi Bhawan (it was known as Viceroy's Residence during British Era).  At the other end is the India Gate which was built as a war memorial.  The space in between is covered with lawn and man-made ponds.  This is where, even today, people gather to enjoy a bit of greenery.

We would walk down to catch concerts  at Rafi Hall, Mavalankar Auditorium, and Kamani Auditorium.  Appa tells of the days in 1960s when he would walk through Parliament House and how one day he saw Nehru get down from his car and walk into the Parliament house. 

 On Rajpath, came up, I will admit, soulless buildings that housed the government offices.  But Appa for some time worked in Dak Tar Bhawan which I thought was a very nice building.  Opposite it was the All India Radio.  I remember my Athai (father's 2nd older sister) going for recording an interview.

Further away from the Central Part, we would cross the flyover across Safdarjung Airport and come into  residential areas where appa's colleagues lived.  We ourselves moved across the city once appa was transferred to a new office.

These are memories.

Delhi has changed over the years.  The first major change came in 1982 when major construction activity took place as Delhi host Asian Games.  Delhi expanded into and beyond Qutub.  It also expanded across Yamuna.  But the buildings remained.  I left Delhi in 1991 and came back in 2004.  However, I could still go to Janpath and retrace the paths and the roads where we once walked. The shops were still there- the book store where we would browse, the dry fruit shop where amma used to buy cashew nuts and raisins, Keventers'  the iconic milk booth where we used to eat ice cream once a month... So things had changed and yet not changed. 

But now the Government has decided to reshape the Lutyen's Delhi.  Specifically the Rajpath.  All the buildings are to be razed, the green space decimated and converted into buildings and it breaks my heart.  It will no longer be the Rajpath that I recognize and loved.

But the unkindest of all cuts is the building of the new Parliament House.  The current Parliament House is a circular building built by Edwin Lutyens and Herbert Baker.  This is where on 15th August 1947 India gained Independence.  It is where Nehru gave the speech "Tryst with Destiny" It is where the Constitution of India was adopted  (26th November1949) and came into force on 26th January 1950.  Of course the building is old and CPWD excels only in ensuring seepages but that does not mean that it should be abandoned or converted into museum. It is the soul of the country.  

But such things are beyond comprehension.   PIL filed in the Courts have been dismissed.  And so the eighth city is to be razed to build a ninth city.