“Incredible India!”
The title of this column is borrowed from the buzzword of India’s official campaign to attract more Western tourists to the country. On my first trip to India, 15 years ago, I had visited Hyderabad, Madras (Chennai) and Bangalore in south India, as well as Mumbai (Bombay) in the west. Having just returned from another trip that took me to Kolkata (Calcutta), Uttar Pradesh, Delhi and Rajasthan, in the east, north and west, I have to agree. Incredible India!
India takes one’s breath away, both metaphorically and literally. Metaphorically, because one is simply awestruck by the number and majesty of her monuments, by the size of the country, by its cultural, religious and linguistic diversity, and by the many signs of economic and social progress. It seems India has more world-class historical monuments than the rest of the world put together. Speaking of first-rate monuments of Muslim heritage, I wonder if India alone may not have more of them than the rest of the Islamic world combined.
Stretching from Burma to Pakistan, from Sri Lanka to China, India’s diversity is stupefying. Imagine a Naga alongside a Sikh, a Tamil next to a Kashmiri. With 15 official languages and countless dialects, there is more diversity in India than entire continents can boast.
Although it is a Hindu-majority country, there are as many Muslims in India as in Pakistan or Bangladesh, more Christians than in Australia, as well as millions of Sikhs, Buddhists, Jains, Parsis, animists and others. Predominantly Indo-Aryan in terms of ethnic origin, a quarter of India’s population is Dravidian and 3 per cent are a mixture of Mongoloid and others. And these are not mere statistics. India’s diversity is evident everywhere, in colour, cuisine and costume.
India also takes one’s breath away quite literally, for there are streets, lanes and bazaars where one can hardly breathe – so strong is the stench from the strewn, rotting garbage and human and animal excrement. Incredible India!
India’s central, state and local governments have not even bothered to clean up the towns that attract tourists, such as Varanasi (Benaras), Jaipur, or even Agra, for that matter. No cleanup or window-dressing for tourists. Take it as it is or leave it. Such is India’s allure that Western tourists keep coming nevertheless, some of them on their second or third visits. Not the stench, not “Delhi belly”, not even the bomb blasts, nothing will stop them. There is something magical about India. In fact, India is full of magic, superstition and surprises.
If first impressions are last impressions, then I arrived at the wrong place. I flew into Kolkata, which has little to show by way of modern development, except a new bridge across the river Hooghly. Its finest buildings were built during the British Raj, but most are in various stages of decay or disrepair.
Kolkata makes one wonder why the people of West Bengal continue to vote for the Communist Party of India (Marxist), which has delivered little except, possibly, subsidized food and cheap public transport. Enough reason to vote, some might say. Compared to Delhi or Mumbai, not to mention Bangalore, Hyderabad and Chennai, Kolkata seems like another world, in a kind of time warp, forgotten by time – and by the central government in Delhi.
The ride into town from Kolkata airport introduced me to that side of India which Pakistanis would much rather not know about, for they prefer tales of Muslim persecution in that country. The day of my arrival happened to be a public holiday throughout the country on account of Muharram. My taxi driver feared a traffic jam on the main road because of the Muharram tazya procession. And although we took the back streets, we still ran into a smaller procession, complete with chest beating and all.
My first acquaintance with Kolkata’s bureaucracy was a trifle amusing, if a bit frustrating. But it was typically Bengali, in terms of the tardiness, as well as the verbosity and sentimentalism on display. At a quarter to 10, I joined a line of mostly westerners outside the locked doors of the railway reservation office for foreigners. The door opened a few minutes after ten. We were allowed in and made to sit in a waiting hall with numbered forms. The counter was equipped with four computer terminals, but only one of them was operating. Work didn’t commence until a quarter of an hour after opening time.
With just one official at work, progress was slow anyway. But within about twenty minutes, it ground to a near-halt when he got into an acrimonious argument with a colleague in a mixture of Bengali and Hindi. On arrival, the colleague in question had been accused of being a habitual late-comer. As everyone watched, the two exchanged sharp words mixed with irony, with the accused saying that the accuser’s attitude confirmed what he had always suspected, that his life and welfare did not matter to the latter at all, for he had not even cared to ask the reason for his coming late.
I was reminded of the comment of the American journalist, P. J. O’Rourke, about his experience in Kolkata in 1998 in his book The CEO of the Sofa: “I spent the next four days trying to accomplish something in India again. . . . This would take twenty minutes. Adjusting the clock to Indian Daylight Wasting Time, that’s four days.”
The people of Kolkata vote for the Communists, but religion and superstition pervade their lives in a way that I have not seen elsewhere. Most taxis in the city are adorned with a miniature deity, or a picture of one, on the dashboard. That, of course, is not much different from the religious verses and incantations that are suspended from the rearview mirrors of motor vehicles in Pakistan. What was different was that a driver would alternately touch the deity and his forehead two or three times with the fare to bless his income.
On one occasion, I climbed the raised soil around a pipal (fig) tree on the footpath in order to better position myself to take a picture. But before I could take one, I felt a tap on my shoulder. A man had drawn my attention to something where I stood. Quickly, I retreated with an apology, for I had desecrated a sacred tree. I had failed to notice the two or three stones, along with few flowers and some vermillion, signifying something sacred. It seemed that every tenth tree or so had the aura of holiness attached to it in this manner.
Later, in another incident that educated me in the social intricacies and religious nuances of India, I slipped my foot into a slipper (chappal), which I intended to buy, to make sure it was the right size. It happened to be on the top of a stack of slippers and miscellaneous footwear for sale on the footpath. Their owner furiously demanded that I withdraw my foot, which, I surmised, had the effect of defiling his stock.
True, his stock consisted of footwear but, until sold, they were his capital, his asset, his means of livelihood, and therefore, clean and sacred, not to be trampled underfoot. Incredible India!
(Published in Daily Times, 16 March 2006)
Metros and Trains
Kolkata has an underground metro train line with 17 stations extending over 16 kilometres. Service is cheap, frequent and punctual. In contrast to the city above them, the underground trains and stations are quite clean. The metro, India’s first, used to evoke pride among the people of Kolkata, but now it is no match for the spick and span, ultra-modern and larger metro system of Delhi.
Metro or not, Kolkata’s decline commenced when the British moved the capital from there to Delhi in 1912. The partition of Bengal in 1947 (resulting in the separation of East Bengal, now Bangladesh) hastened the decline, which was aggravated by decades of Communist rule.
If there is one thing that can definitely make the Bengalis of Kolkata and West Bengal (and, to a lesser extent, Bangladesh) proud, it is their affinity for literature, dance and drama. Many years ago, a special issue of the Far Eastern Economic Review had commented that only in Kolkata were you likely to meet a police officer who could discuss Shakespeare and Tolstoy.
When I mentioned this to a friend, he confirmed its veracity from his personal experience. After the Bangladesh war of 1971 he had been arrested and taken to the police station chief in a border town of West Bengal for illegally crossing the Bangladesh-India border. On seeing that he was reading a novel by Tolstoy, the chief ordered his immediate release! But the captor didn’t let his prisoner go until the two had exchanged a word or two about Tolstoy.
Kolkata has been made famous by Satyajit Roy, one of the best film directors the world has produced. He was honoured with a Lifetime Achievement Special Oscar on his death-bed in 1992.
If their metro train and cultural accomplishments give pride and joy to the people of Kolkata, then their man-drawn rickshaws are a blight. Not many of them are left, and they are confined to a small section of the city, but it is a pathetic sight to see a human being, tethered to a two-wheeled rickshaw much like a horse, running on the street pulling passengers seated at the back.
By Indian standards, Kolkata only gets a trickle of Western “backpacker” tourists and most of them arrive only in transit from Bangkok heading for other destinations in India. The many hotels and restaurants in the city thrive on account of visitors from neighbouring Bangladesh – businessmen, tourists and students.
Thousands of Bangladeshi students pursue higher studies in India and many Bangladeshi colleges and universities take their students on “study trips” to India. Kolkata is not only a point of entry into India for Bangladeshis, but it is for Bengalis everywhere what Lahore is to Punjabis. It is their cultural Mecca.
Motorways and roads are being constructed throughout India at a frenetic pace. Their centerpiece is the oddly-named Golden Quadrilateral connecting the four so-called megacities of Delhi, Mumbai, Kolkata and Chennai.
There are many private airlines operating in India, Jet Airways, Air Sahara, Deccan Air, Spicejet and Kingfisher being the major ones with large fleets of modern planes. The traffic at Delhi airport (India’s second busiest, after Mumbai) is comparable to some western airports: a steady stream of planes landing and taking off. Thirty five airlines fly to Delhi. There are over two dozen flights daily between Delhi and Mumbai alone.
Most Indians can’t afford to fly and, owing to the huge distances, trains remain by far the principal mode of long-distance transportation. Given the high demand for railway tickets, buying one usually entails standing in long queues and well in advance of the travel date. Ticketing is fully computerized and tickets may be bought anywhere in India from any point of origin to any destination.
Indian railway system as a whole is a wonder. It is a massive network, the world’s largest, inherited from the British but hugely expanded and improved in the last fifty years. Single tracks have been turned into double tracks, lines have been electrified and many metre gauge lines have been converted to broad gauge.
The number of trains that run on the tracks is just unbelievable. Excellent long-distance overnight trains named “Rajdhani Express” connect the national capital with virtually every distant state capital, whereas comfortable daytime short-haul trains called “Shatabdi Express” connect the capital with shorter destinations such as Lucknow, Agra, Jaipur, Amritsar and Chandigarh.
Trains may run late, they may be overcrowded, but they run with a frequency and cover distances that are mind-boggling. But derailments and accidents are rather frequent and the human toll is usually high. Ignorance and human error are to blame as much as technical failure, ageing equipment and infrastructure problems.
I will be less than frank if I did not tell readers that my first railway journey in India fifteen years ago was a disaster, and not in a manner of speaking. As I was sleeping on an upper birth in an express train from Hyderabad to Chennai, I woke up in shock in the middle of a very dark and wet night about halfway through my journey. A thunderous roar and shaking confirmed my worst fears: my train had derailed.
Slowly but surely my coach overturned and fell on its side. Although a total of eight coaches overturned injuring many passengers, fortunately no one died. I escaped without a scratch and arrived at my destination safe and well, though a bit shaken, about 14 hours late. As reported in the next day’s newspaper, the derailment was caused by “metal fatigue” of the track when the train was traveling at a speed of 80 km per hour.
The accident had occurred at about 2:45 at night, but the relief train arrived nearly three hours later. By then all passengers, some screaming from pain, had been pulled out of the overturned coaches by villagers. And when the relief train did arrive, they had little to do except transporting the passengers to the nearest station.
Other than this “minor inconvenience”, my experience of the Indian railways has been pleasant, having traveled from Mumbai to Delhi, Kolkata to Varanasi, Allahabad to Delhi via Lucknow and Jaipur to Delhi via Agra, in addition to Hyderabad-Chennai.
Indeed, a journey on the Indian railway is likely to be an educative experience in multiculturalism, human camaraderie and plain efficiency at a low cost. I must admit, though, that I travelled first class most of the time, with the added privilege of booking my place on the trains through the special facility for foreigners.
Indian trains are India in microcosm, both for better and worse. If the state of the state of Bihar is any guide, the decision to make Laloo Prasad Yadav the minister of railways doesn’t bode well. During the 15 years that Yadav ruled Bihar directly or through his wife and cronies, it descended into a state of violence and lawlessness.
The well-known writer on India, William Dalrymple, recently wrote that one ought to visit Bihar if one wished to see India as a failed state, adding that if one wanted to see how India will look if it succeeds, one should go to Bangalore instead.
Perhaps, time will tell. But the Indian railways are too serious a business to be left in the hands of any politician, let alone one with Yadav’s reputation.
(Published in Daily Times, 23 March 2006)
Monuments and Museums
Historical monuments in India are better preserved than in Pakistan, including those of Muslim origin. While the former appears to take pride in its Muslim heritage, the latter has virtually renounced its Hindu past.
The Taj Mahal exceeded my high expectations, but the real surprise were the Agra Fort, Itmad-ud-Daulah (3 kms from Agra) and Fatehpur Sikri (40 kms away). In Agra everyone seems so focused on the Taj that many overlook these other magnificent monuments nearby.
Agra Fort is a massive complex of royal quarters (such as Jahangir Mahal, Diwan-i-Khas and Khas Mahal) across the river from the Taj built by Emperor Akbar and his three illustrious successors. Itmad-ud-Daulah is the tomb of Mirza Ghiyat Beg, an important member of Emperor Akbar’s court and later chief minister and father-in-law of Emperor Jahangir. The first building to be constructed in white inlaid marble, it was designed by Beg’s daughter, Nur Jahan, Jahangir’s favourite queen.
Fatehpur Sikri, a large complex in red sandstone, was the capital Emperor Akbar built and then abandoned for lack of adequate water supply. Its perfectly preserved buildings fuse together Hindu and Muslim traditions. The huge Jama Masjid in Fatehpur Sikri, with its massive Buland Darwaza, houses the exquisite white marble shrine of the renowned saint Shaikh Salim Chishti.
Delhi’s Lal Qila (Red Fort) is truly majestic and very well maintained by the Indian authorities, like the Taj Mahal, Agra Fort and Fatehpur Sikri. One enters the massive complex through the Lahori Gate. Aside from the usual diwan-i-khaas, diwan-i-aam, etc, within the ramparts there is a beautiful little mosque of white marble called Moti Masjid, constructed by Aurangzeb.
The Hindi version of the nightly hour-long “sound and light show” at the fort (offered alternately in Hindi and English), in reality, is in such impeccable Urdu as to make any Lucknawi proud, except for a couple of Hindi words (e.g. itihas instead of taarikh for history). The commentary and re-enactment of voices from Moghul times are interspersed with such Muslim expressions as “ya Allah”, “meray Khuda”, as well as the azaan.
In Old Delhi, besides the fort and the Jama Masjid, there are Muslim monuments in whichever direction you look: the Qutb Minar, Purana Qila, LodiGardens and Humayun’s Tomb, to name a few. The Qutb Minar complex includes the first monuments of Muslim India. The red sandstone tower, covered with intricate carvings and verses from the Holy Quran, rises 72.5 metres.
Qutb-ud-din Aibak began construction of this victory tower in 1199, though it reached its full height under his successors. The British historian James Ferguson called it “the most beautiful example of its class known anywhere”. The complex includes the ruins of India’s first mosque, the Quwwat-ul-Islam, built by Aibak using the remains Hindu and Jain temples.
The elegant Humayun’s Tomb, constructed under the supervision of his widow (mother of Emperor Akbar), stands in the centre of charbagh, or quartered garden. It was here that the last Moghul emperor, Bahadur Shah Zafar, had taken refuge in 1857 after the failed uprising and was taken prisoner by the British.
Zafar’s two sons, Mirza Mughal and Khizar Sultan, and his grandson, Abu Bakr, were not so lucky. In an act condemned by the British historian Bosworth-Smith as “stupid, cold-blooded threefold murder”, Major Hodson summarily executed the trio who too were captured in the tomb, a fact recorded on a plaque there.
The Bara Imambara in Lucknow, built by Nawab Asaf-ud-Daula in 1784, definitely deserves a mention. It boasts one of the largest vaulted halls in the world – 50 metres long and 15 metres high, constructed without the aid of a single iron or wooden beam. Above it is the famous maze called bhulbhulayan, where one better venture with a guide.
Allahabad is famous for the sangam, the confluence of the rivers Ganga (Ganges) and Jamuna, holy to Hindus and a site for pujas as well as the mahakumbh mela, the largest religious congregation in India, held every 12 years. The last one, in 2001, was attended by 17 million people.
The city is also home to Anand Bhavan, where Jawaharlal Nehru passed his early years and where much of Congress history is preserved. Now a museum, the house originally belonged to Sir Syed Ahmad Khan, who sold it to Nehru’s father, Motilal. The room where Indira Gandhi was born has been preserved in its original condition.
Preserved, too, is the site in New Delhi where Indira’s life was cut short in 1984 in a hail of bullets fired by two of her own bodyguards as she walked from home to work. The house is now the IndiraGandhiMemorialMuseum. Here, “the last few meters of Indira Gandhi’s walk have been covered with crystal suggesting a river in flow. A sheet of clear glass marks the spot where she fell”.
Every former Indian leader, starting with Mahatma Gandhi, is honoured in Delhi in one way or another.
Varanasi (Benaras) is one of the oldest living cities in the world. The holiest of cities, it stands at the centre of the Hindu universe. Hindus from far and wide – pilgrims, sadhus and sanyasins – converge here for a dip in the waters of the holy Ganga. Located near the ghats is the temple complex of Vishwanatha, which was sacked by successive Muslim rulers and repeatedly rebuilt and destroyed. The present structure was constructed in 1785.
Adjacent to the temple, and now guarded by armed police aided by surveillance cameras, is the Jnana Vapi Mosque, also known as the Great Mosque of Aurangzeb. Not far is the 13th century Razia’s Mosque, which stands atop the ruins of a still earlier Vishwanatha temple, destroyed under the Sultanate. Ten kilometres away is Sarnath, a well-preserved place of pilgrimage for Buddhists, for Siddhartha Gautama reputedly gave his first sermon here in the 6th century BC.
Rajasthan’s capital Jaipur, also called the Pink city, completes the tourist Golden Triangle, the triad that includes Delhi and Agra. The city is well-known for its palace complex, forts and Hawa Mahal, built by Rajput kings. The famous Hawa Mahal, equipped with 593 finely screened windows and balconies on a five-storey façade, was built in 1799 “to enable the women of the court to watch street processions while remaining in strict purdah”.
Bordering on Pakistan, Rajasthan is India’s most conservative state by far. As my Western guide-book describes: “You don’t have to be long in Rajasthan to realize that women are rarely seen or heard. As part of the state’s feudal legacy, the purdah system, by which married women are kept isolated and under veil by their husbands, is still widespread in rural areas. . . . The literacy rate for women in Rajasthan is one of the worst in India [and] half are forced into marriage by the age of fifteen.”
Rajasthan gained infamy in 1987 when, in the village of Deorala, the widowed Roop Kanwar performed satiunder controversial circumstances. She burned herself to death at her husband’s funeral pyre, watched by over one hundred people. Within two decades of that event, the state’s three top political offices – Chief Minister, Governor and Speaker of the Legislative Assembly – are now held by women. Perhaps it is not so much a paradox as a sign of the changing times.
(Published in Daily Times, 30 April 2006)
Tradition and Progress
Any visitor to India is surprised by the legions of cows that hang around the streets. As soon as they cease to be productive, cows and bulls are abandoned by their owners to fend for themselves. They are too costly to be fed and too holy (gau-mata or mother-cow) to be converted into food.
The street, then, becomes their home. Surviving on garbage and evidently malnourished, they are susceptible to diseases and often have open sores, from illnesses as well as collisions with all kinds of vehicles. The roads are littered with cow dung and their urine flows freely. The wheels of passing vehicles spread them over the road like butter and jam over toast.
Throughout India, juxtaposed with tradition, superstition, religiosity, poverty and squalor, there is progress, modernity, prosperity and tolerance.
Many Hindus are deeply religious, but they pursue their varying creeds in individual and personal ways, as opposed to the dogmatic, congregational and collective rituals of Muslims. There is a deity here and an idol there, and a bow or a nod to the god (or goddess) of this or that, even from a distance, suffices for most Hindus most of the time.
Many temples, mosques and shrines have become commercial enterprises for those who have the good fortune or the muscle power to control them. Kolkata’s most important temple, Kalighat, is no exception.
My Western travel guide had warned: “Avaricious priests will try to whisk you downstairs to confront the dramatic monolithic image of the terrible goddess in the basement, with her huge eyes and bloody tongue”. As expected, a priest advised me that offering a coconut, one kilo of sweets, some flowers and Rs 521 in cash would achieve all my wishes.
As I approached the Kalighat temple, I saw destitutes begging for alms and prostitutes “linger[ing] on the thoroughfares and bridges offering their services in tragic, grimy circumstances”. I overheard one prostitute tartly tell her prospective customer, who was obviously a hard bargainer: “Thank god, I have not yet been reduced to begging”.
At the Ajmer shrine of renowned Muslim saint Khwaja Muinuddin Chishti, khadims are likewise wont to milk pilgrims. Here, too, I had been forewarned by my guidebook: “Entering the dargah, you’re likely to be stopped by stern-looking young men claiming they are ‘official guides’. In fact, they are khadims, hereditary priests operating in much the same way as Hindu pujaris, leading pilgrims through rituals in the sacred precinct in exchange for donations”. Generous donations and offerings were supposed to materialise all my wishes.
There is a large board at the entrance to the shrine promoting the khadims in these unabashedly self-serving words: “Khadims relations with mazar-e-aqdas [holy shrine] is not only ancient but also intimate. . . . [They] have right to receive nazar-o-niyaz (offerings) of Huzoor Syedna Khwaja Gharib Nawaz (RA).”
India’s Muslim population is highly conspicuous. Mosques, old and new, are everywhere – north, south, east and west. In most Indian cities, towns and villages the muezzin’s call to prayer (azaan) is broadcast from loudspeakers mounted on minarets of mosques. An hour’s drive from Benaras, I saw the massive new building of a madrasa, comparable in size with the largest in Pakistan.
One of Delhi’s main railway stations is named Hazrat Nizamuddin, after the well-known saint whose shrine is nearby. Akbar road is one of the main thoroughfares of New Delhi. Other roads are named after Babar, Feroz Shah, Sher Shah, Shahjahan, Tughlak, Lodi, Bahadur Shah Zafar, even Aurangzeb, the Mughal emperor best known for his intolerance of Hinduism.
On the road north and east from Benaras one passes Muhammadabad, Fatehabad, etc. Among other district and town names in India are: Ghaziabad, Ghazipur and Fatehpur, Aurangabad, Ahmadnagar and Ahmadabad, not to mention Aligarh and Allahabad.
Railway stations in Uttar Pradesh and Bihar have their names written in Urdu, besides English and Hindi, as are all street names in Delhi. Even Benaras Hindu University has a thriving Arabic, not to mention Urdu, department.
Superfluous to say, there are extremist Hindus, just as there are fanatical Muslims. But one is struck by the tolerance of the vast majority of Hindus towards Muslims and their religious places and practices. Many Hindus are known to patronise Muslim shrines, such as Khwaja Muinuddin Chishti’s in Ajmer, Hazrat Nizamuddin’s in Delhi, Shaikh Salim Chishti’s near Agra and Baba Haji Ali’s in Mumbai.
The Muslims of north India went through a very traumatic experience on account of partition in 1947, with towns and villages depopulated and families split. There was hardly a Muslim family in UP and Bihar which had not lost one or more of its members owing to migration to Pakistan. The emigration had devastating personal, social and political effects on those who remained in India by choice or circumstance.
With time, however, the trauma and scars of partition have healed. Indian Muslims now are self-contained with shrinking ties to their relatives across the border in Pakistan. As families and family ties within India have expanded, and the partition generation is ageing and dying, Indian Muslims are increasingly Indo-centric, viewing Pakistan as just another country whose policies, if anything, cause them more harm than good.
Though under-represented in the civil services, police and the armed forces, Muslims are doing well in business, trades, craft, cinema and sports. Indeed, some have done exceptionally well. India’s richest man, Wipro Ltd. Chairman Azim Premji, is a Muslim. Worth over $8 billion, he was ranked No. 38 on Forbes magazine’s list of the world’s richest people last year.
In at least one temple and at the back of countless trucks I saw, written in Hindi, “hum sub ka maalik ek” (we all belong to the same creator). But, regardless of what some truckers and priests might declare and the state might decree, old habits and social stratifications die hard.
The quota system enforced by the government is heavily tilted in favour of the lower castes and dalits (untouchables), but life in many Indian villages and towns is still influenced by the caste system to a certain degree. It is worth mentioning that India’s last president, K R Narayanan, was a dalit.
But India is certainly changing, although BJP’s election slogan of “India shining” may have been a gross exaggeration.
Bangalore and Hyderabad are second only to California’s Silicon Valley in Information Technology. If Bollywood competes with Hollywood, quantitatively at least, some Indian television channels are nearly as good as their western counterparts in news coverage and investigative reporting. Similarly, Indian English newspapers are comparable to their western counterparts in both form and content.
Public call offices with the facility of international direct dialing are to be found in every nook and corner of the country. The phones are fully computerized, providing a printout of the duration and cost of the call as soon as it is terminated.
India looks like an unfolding success story. Gone are the days of the 1960s when some Western economists could joke about a sluggish “Hindu rate of growth”, as distinct from capitalist and communist rates of growth.
The recent adoption of sound economic policies, supported by a thriving democratic dispensation, a powerful civil society, and a secular ethos, assure steady progress. I conclude this series with the same words which I used at the outset: incredible India!
(Published in Daily Times, 6 April 2006)
– Razi Azmi