The American Meteorological Society is pleased to recognize outstanding individuals and organizations of the weather, water, and climate community through its Awards and Honors program. Join us in congratulating the 2021 recipients who will receive their award or honor at the 101st AMS Annual Meeting.

THE HYDROLOGIC SCIENCES MEDAL

Awarded to Soroosh Sorooshian

For ingenious, groundbreaking work on surface hydrology and the remote sensing of precipitation that has profoundly impacted the field of hydrometeorology.

Soroosh Sorooshian is an Iranian-American distinguished professor of civil and environmental engineering at the University of California Irvine and currently serving as the Director of the Center for Hydrometeorology and Remote Sensing.

Dr. Sorooshian was born in Kerman, Iran in 1948 and is a member of such prestigious organizations as the National Academy of Engineering and the International Academy of Astronautics. He was also a chairman for the Global Energy and Water Cycle Experiment of the World Climate Research Programme. In 2009 he was appointed as the California Council on Science and Technology member.

In 2005 Dr. Sorooshian was awarded the NASA Distinguished Public Service Medal ^[4] and in 2006 was awarded the Robert E. Horton Memorial Lectureship award by the American Meteorological Society. A year later, he became a recipient of the Great Man-made River Water Prize which was given to him by UNESCO itself for his scientific activities at University of California Irvine and the Sustainability of semi-Arid Hydrologic and Riparian Areas which is a division of the University of Arizona. In 2010, he became the 4th Prince Sultan Bin Abdulaziz International Prize for Water recipient and was named an honorary professor by the Beijing Normal University.

Below is a video presentation from UCI Honoring Professor Soroosh Sorooshian

Our second author in the Everyday Parsi 2020 series is Feroze Jamshedji Unwalla from Mumbai, India.

Feroze Jamshedji Unwalla writes…

My earliest memories of Muktad, in the mid-1940s, were of accompanying my parents and siblings to Daman from Udvada, where we lived. My Bapawaji , Ervad Hormusji .J. Unwalla , the Panthaki of the Daman Dar-E-Mehr, was highly respected not only by the Parsees in Daman but all the other communities who were then under the Portuguese rule. Muktad, observed for 18 days then, was a time our family; my father, Ervad Jamshedji Unwalla and two of my Kakas, Ervad Dadiba Unwalla and Ervad Pestonji Unwalla, performed ceremonies/ prayers together for not only the dearly departed of our family but also the Parsee community residing in Daman.

The day would begin at 2am with the women cleaning the Karasya/Vase while the menfolk would fetch water from the well. The karasya/vase would be then arranged on the marble tables allocated to each of the families with flowers from the Agiary compound. My mother, Goolbanoo Unwalla, and other women of our family would then start preparing the sweets to be offered at the prayers while the men (Mobeds) got ready with arrangements of the fruits etc. I was particularly keen on observing the rituals and would wake up early to watch everyone dedicatedly perform their duties even as my mother would force me to go back to sleep.

The taste of the delicacies malido, papri, bhakra, etc. prepared by the women in our family, is difficult to forget as also the effort they would put in to ensure that it was befitting to be offered for the prayers. As my father and Kakas would be busy with prayers, I would be impatiently waiting for my Bapawaji to take me to the market as was his daily routine.

On the first day of the Gatha, we would be up at 11pm to start prayers at 12am and the same on New Year and Khordad Saal to conclude all the ceremonies. I recollect vividly, my mother and the other women of our family working together to prepare food for the Satum prayers; from drawing water from the well to performing all the chores as a unit. The bond they shared was obvious, even as they laughed and joked while they would unwind at the end of a tiring day.

On completion of Muktad, the karasya/vases were cleaned, my siblings, cousins and I would volunteer to personally return the items to the families who had offered prayers as was the practice. Since we were aware that we would get tipped by a few of them we would compete to get sent to those houses. On the concluding day i.e. Amardad Saal we would be spoilt for choice with the variety of food that would be laid out. Through the years, food also became part of the memories of Muktad.

On becoming a Navar at the age of 13, under the direct guidance of my father, my first experience of performing ceremonies at Muktad was at the Batliwalla Agiary in Tardeo. As much as it was a great learning, as young priests we felt overworked. Prayers would commence at 5am upto 1230pm and on Gatha days upto 130pm. Jashans would then commence at 2pm followed by Satum ceremonies. The Satum ceremony was performed thrice during the day leaving us exhausted by the end of the day. We continued our religious and secular education at the M.F. Cama Athornan Madressa in Andheri.

I had the privilege of working at several Agiary’s during Muktad as well as otherwise; Ashburner Agiary at Khetwadi where my Fua, Ervad Novroji Unwalla was a Panthaki; Patel Agiary at Mazagaon where my mama, Edulji Bhadha worked and in Daman when I had to stand in for my father who was assigned duties to perform the Boi to Iranshah in Udvada. According to the Udvada Anjuman, the 9 Athornan families are assigned to perform the Boi to Iranshah. Every family was given a month and the 30 days were further divided amongst the families as per the number of members. Our family used to get the privilege every nine months and on many an occasion would happen to be during the last four days of Muktad. My father would leave to undertake his duties at Iranshah on the assurance that me and my brother, Bomy Unwalla, would fill in during his four day absence. It was always a fulfilling experience to be able to perform the ceremonies alongside family during Muktad.

Muktad also took us to Chinoy Agiary in Secunderabad where for many years my brother-in-law Ervad Noshir Dastoor served as Panthaki. My brother and I besides other Mobed’s from Mumbai would offer our services during Muktad for many years which was initially over 18 days and then became 10 days. It became our second home with two of my sisters moving there and the love we received from the community residing in the Agiary premises. We served at the Chinoy Agiary during Muktad until a couple of years after the passing of our father and brother-in-law under Ervad Darabshaw Bhatela, who was also my brother-in-law. The experience was a memorable one; of music programmes that were organized to facilitate bonding and for recreation and the pampering by my sisters.

My Muktad memories are among those I most cherish; of my parents and extended families dedicated to collectively serving our community and the togetherness we experienced in the process!

Feroze Jamshedji Unwalla, residing in Mumbai, hails from a family of priests who have served the community over generations.

Our third author in the Everyday Parsi 2020 is Homi D. Gandhi

Homi writes…

When I was a child, Muktaad prayers at the Gandhi household on the Gandhi Street of Parsiwad, Fort, Bharuch had a special significance, as it was one of the few Parsi homes hosting the 18-day Fasli Muktaad at home. Although I had participated in the rituals, I was very young and unaware of their significance.

Sometime in February 1946, my Bapaiji (paternal grandmother) confided in me that our community handyman, Dadi, was going to whitewash the whole kitchen area to get it ready for the March Muktaad. “This Muktaad is special because it will be for Gool too”, she explained. Bapaiji asked me not to go into the kitchen and play around with Dadi’s limestone powder boxes.
The mention of Gool brought back memories I had not thought of for almost 8-9 months. Gool, my elder sister, my only playmate in those early years, had passed away in June of the prior year due to diphtheria which developed after her tonsils were removed. When we had stopped our daily visits to the hospital in Mumbai at that time, I threw tantrums to visit her and was repeatedly told that as she had gone to a faraway garden of flowers and could no longer be visited.

Our kitchen – a rectangle room of about 25’ X 15’ – comprised of a cooking area, a prayer area and a “tanka” (well). Our kitchen’s cooking hearth worked on burning wood and coal, leaving soot on the walls and the need for annual whitewashing to make the kitchen pristine for the Muktaad. The rainwater harvested in the tanka was our main water source as we did not have water piped into the home. It was deep and wide underground, so if there was a famine, we could carry on to the next monsoon season, if we used our water resources sparingly.

The prayer area was demarcated by colored marble tiles, with knaves on 2 outer sides to display the boundary. As we used to have regular prayers at home on holy days like Parabs, Ghahambars, Hormuzd and Behram Roj and on birthdays, we maintained the sanctity of that area by never going there for any reason other than to clean or pray. Over twenty-five photographs of our dear departed family members in different sized frames were hanging in that area, along with a picture of Zarathustra. For the first time, in March 1946, Gool’s photograph was also hanging there, next to my grandfather’s.
During Muktaad, we had three or four marble topped tables, on which we laid out a couple of khumchas, each with 4-5 silver vases engraved with the names of the people in who’s memory they had been consecrated. Every morning, fresh, fragrant flowers -usually roses or tuberoses – were put in those vases. Prayers were performed with change of each geh and the fire in the prayer area burned almost continuously. For Usheen geh, our mobed Darashaw would arrive just after midnight. Even as smoke filled our home from time to time, it was predominantly engulfed with the fragrance of sandalwood, loban and fresh flowers.

As this was the only location of Fasli Muktaad in our area, many Parsis attended the prayers with us, usually around the time the geh would change during the day. The evening prayers were for the most part attended by us, including 10 kids from my Fuiji’s (paternal aunt) family, and some neighboring kids. After the mobed had prayed, we would all recite the Kushti prayers, Sarosh Baj and Namaskar Muktadno in unison. After that, we would all sit down in a line on the sadri (mat) on the floor and the elder children would serve us our meals on the dry patra plate (no paper or plastic plates). After dinner, we would sing a couple of Monajats before dispersing for the night. We always ended with “Khudavind Khavind”, Bapaiji’s favorite Monajat.

Let me share a few words about my Bapaiji. She was a woman with a small physical stature (she probably weighed no more than 100 lbs. at any time in her life), always wore a white cotton ijar with a top blouse that had removable gold buttons. I never saw her walking upright as she had broken her thigh bone many years before I was born. As there were no walkers or other equipment, she would move in the house by holding on to furniture. Her world revolved around 2 houses, mine and my fuijis which was about 200 feet away. Our household helpers would carry her in an armchair from one house to another periodically. She loved each one of her grandchildren and offered good advice in a very gentle, respectful voice.

On the last Gatha day, there would be a jashan with four mobeds praying. A large number of neighbors and other children would congregate in the main room outside and also offer their prayers. Some of them will bring offerings of fruits, flowers, sandalwood and loban and sometimes, cooked meals, which we all relished sharing afterwards.
After I understood the significance of Muktaad after Gool’s first Muktaad, I slowly got involved in more activities in subsequent years. Eventually, I took my father’s place as the dependable man to get the fresh flowers and fruits each day of Muktaad at the all-important, appropriate discounts.

In early 1950, Bapaiji decided to curtail our Muktaad days to 10, ending on the fifth Gatha day, as she had decided to celebrate my Navjote on Dae-pa din roj. She was getting old and frail and passed away peacefully at home in early January 1951. This was my first time witnessing the death of a loved one. We had a special relationship and I mourned her loss at each day through all the prayers. When the question of hosting 1951 Fasli Muktaad came up, my dad wanted to stop it, but my mom and fuiji wanted to host it for at least one more year at home in honor of Bapaiji. The women prevailed and we hosted the 1951 Fasli Muktaad at home. I missed Bapaiji at this Muktaad, but I also felt her blessings.

In 1951, a new tradition began. In addition to the Fasli Muktaad, we also hosted the Shehenshai Muktaad in August at our new family Mobed Jehangirji’s home. Jehangirji also encouraged my dad to continue the tradition of hosting a jashan on the last Gatha day during the Usheen Geh at Homawala Agiary. The Shehenshai Muktaad lasted for 18 days too at that time, but the process of attending the prayers had changed. We would mostly visit Jehangirji’s home for the Muktaad prayers in the evening as the mornings were busy with bazaar, work and school. An added attraction was dinner at Jehangirji’s place. On Shahenshahi new year day, we would visit all seven agiaries of Bharuch and assemble at fuiji’s place for prayers. After dhandaar and patio lunch, we would play our favorite songs on “His Master’s Voice” phonograph and the day would end in one of the two cinema halls of Bharuch.

My maternal grandfather passed away in Bombay in January 1953. My Mamaiji (maternal grandmother) and Mamas (maternal uncles) decided to hold the Uthamna and all subsequent prayer services in Bharuch in Mamaiji’s family Agiary (Doongaji Agiary) in Parsiwad, Out Fort, about 3/4 miles away from our home. As my Mom could not handle daily visits due to her physical condition, this additional job was added to my daily routine. In 1953, my mother’s family (the Postwalas) visited Bharuch for the Muktaad days and so my time was split between 2 places that year. In 1956, these prayers shifted to Bombay as the Mobed attending the prayers was not doing well and his son started doing them in Dadiseth Agiary from that year onwards. When I moved to Bombay in 1957 to study at Sydenham College, I attended the Muktaad prayers there.

After moving to England in 1961, I recall Mrs. Moos and Mrs. Wardon cleaning the khumchas, fruits and flowers before the muktaad prayers at the Zoroastrian House in London. Ervad Dr. Sorabji Kutar would perform the prayers in his clear melodious voice, a profound experience that created a desire in me for the first time to understand the prayers, many of which I knew by heart. Many discussions would follow during the car ride back home with Shirinbanu and Sorabji and their family, deepening my understanding of our prayers and rituals.

I attended the prayers regularly and then celebrated the new year at a very formal reception and dinner at Kensington Palace Hotel. My great uncle would make sure that I was with him for that function, sometimes with cousins and friends in tow. After the new year, many young Parsi boys and girls used to visit the Brookwood cemetery on or before Farvardian day and clean up the area around all Parsi monuments. We would offer our payers before returning home.

During my first tour of North America from London in 1967, we were in Montreal during the Muktaad days. And so, I opened up the local telephone directory to find Parsis to connect with. Two names popped up – Homi Daruwalla and Jehan Bagli. There was no organizational set up at that time, no prayers, but both families invited us to their homes, and we celebrated those Gatha and new year days together.

When my family and I emigrated to New York in 1981, we became members of ZAGNY. It wasn’t until the 1990s, that, our ZAGNY community decided to host Muktaad prayers on one of the Gatha days on a weekend before celebrating the New Year day with fanfare. It would be another decade before the ZAGNY community would mark four Gatha days of the Muktaad with different members hosting the prayers in their homes in various parts of the tri-state area that ZAGNY serves, and a day of prayers on a weekend at the Dar-e-Mehr.

But in other places in the US, muktaad was marked for more days. During a work visit to Chicago in August 1998, I met Ervad Arda-e-Viraf Minocherhomjee, who invited me for the first Gatha prayers that evening at the Chicago Dar-e-Mehr. There were a lot of young Mobeds participating in the prayers and ending the day with a communal meal.  I was quite impressed that Chicago community was performing prayers for all 5 Gatha days and I attended them on most of these days.

After my wife, Villy’s, passing away on July 15, 2000, my mother-in-law, Nargis Mehta, invited us to join the family in India for the muktaad. My son, Navroz, and I visited Bangalore and attended the Agiary where a stalwart mobed, Nadirshah Unwala, was performing the daily Muktaad prayers. He had invited help from outside, and I was surprised to find that our Bharuch mobed Jehangirji Dastur’s grandson had come to Bangalore from Surat to help Nadirshah. What a coincidence! After having the muktaad prayed in a Pune Agiary for two more years, Nargis suggested that we continue to pray at home.

So after returning back to the USA, I asked our ZAGNY Ervad Pervez Patel the significance of Muktaad prayers at home. Ervad Pervez responded that prayers at any place at any time is rewarding for your own soul! And then I recollected my earlier conversation with Professor Kaikhosrov Irani a few years ago. When Villy realized that her end was approaching, she asked me to inquire from Kaikhosrov the appropriate mode of body disposal. During our conversation I also asked Kaikhosrov about his views on after-death ceremonies. He replied, “Homi, after-death ceremonies after first 4 days of death are for the people left behind”. So I started visiting Villy’s grave in Washington Cemetery in Paramus, New Jersey with flowers, Gatha prayer book, and a folding chair on Gatha days for a number of years and started reciting appropriate Gatha. One day I thought of learning the meaning of those prayers and that began my reading and reviewing many translations of Gatha prayers.

My muktaad memories began in my family’s kitchen in Bharuch, and this year will likely continue from home as well. The pandemic has brought me full circle.

Fellow of the Institute of Chartered Accountants in England & Wales, Homi D Gandhi retired from active corporate life after working for 20 years in public accounting over 4 continents and for 25 years in market regulation at the NYSE & FINRA. President of ZAGNY (2002-2008) and President of FEZANA (2016-2020), Homi has represented Zoroastrian community in Interfaith Activities at many national and global events and was the first Main Representative of FEZANA NGO at the UN. Currently, Homi is Co-President on the World Council of Religions for Peace International. Homi also Co-Chairs Zarathushti Entrepreneurship Development Foundation (ZEDF).

In recognition of his community service, Homi was awarded Temple of Understanding’s Interfaith Visionary Award (2010) and Sikh Community’s “1GOD1Humanity” Accolade (2019). He was also honored to ring the New York Stock Exchange Opening Bell (2004) in recognition of his significant service to the community.

Our fourth author in the Everyday Parsi 2020 series is Soonu Engineer of London, United Kingdom

Soonu writes…

As a child, Muktad filled me with wonderment. Our house, already swept and swabbed twice daily, was given an extra special sparkle and, sometimes a whitewash, in anticipation of the arrival of the heavenly souls of our ancestors. Delicious but simple food was prepared as a gesture of hospitality. The marble-and-copper prayer table in our kitchen gleamed in the flickering light of the divo, the room filled with the fragrance of fruit, fresh flowers, and the murmur of daily prayers. It was a very special homecoming, at once mysterious and exciting: I was curious what the fravashies might make of us, but I was sure that the soul of my best beloved mamaijee would not be disappointed.

While Muktad was personal and intimate, related to one’s home and family, past and present, it was simultaneously a communal, shared experience. Every house in our colony, and in all the colonies and baghs of Karachi, prepared for this special spiritual visit and our school too was spruced up for the occasion, with prayers on the last five Gatha days, in the great hall, attended by senior pupils.

As a teenager, Muktad took on an added dimension for me. I was allowed to join the adults in an early morning session of Humbandagi at Jehangir Rajkotwalla Bagh, a community hall in the centre of the city. We woke up at dawn and set off around 6.00 in the morning, in cars and ghoragaris, on cycles, scooters, motor bikes and on foot. There was hardly any traffic on the roads as though it was specially cleared for Parsis to make their way, from all directions, to this central space. This exclusive journey, through the cool morning air of a hushed city, was exhilarating in itself. This too is part of my memory of Muktad.

Humbandagi prayers are not peculiar to Karachi but the particular format introduced by our High Priest, Shams ul-Ulema, Dr Maneckji Nusservanji Dhalla, involved congregational singing and a sermon, which was unique within the tradition of Humbandagi. We assembled, not in the Dar-i-Mehr, but in a much larger community hall. Everyone performed their Kasti prayers individually in nearby rooms and then gathered in the hall to sing together verses based on the Gathas (but reworded using the later Avesta). Several hundred people attended daily. The occasion was so popular that the congregation spilled over into the compound outside.

Everyone had a little pocket-sized Gujarati booklet entitled, ‘Hambandagi matay chutee kadhela Avesta na fakra’, in which the Avestan Gatha verses were published along with their translation into Gujarati. According to the booklet, the verses were compiled by Pirojshah Hormusji Dastur – Meherjirana, a practicing priest, the editor of the weekly newspaper, Parsi Sansar anay Lok Sevak, and a learned Avestan scholar himself. He had printed and donated 1500 copies to the community in March 1958.

In the Gujarati preface, Dastur Meherjirana advised, “Humbandagi means to pray together to God – that is the best prayer. It is good to understand what you pray. If you pray with devotion, it has wonderful effects on the body and mind. Praying these selected verses together, with devotion, and meditating on them, will give you mental satisfaction and peace and will surely draw you towards the divine path of righteousness.”

The Humbandagi was led by Ms Nargis Dubash. She sang each selected verse first and then it was sung by the congregation, her voice rising above theirs. I remember the melody and can hear her beautiful voice ring out, followed by the rich, soaring cadence of the devotees. Perhaps three or four verses were sung, each followed by a translation in Gujarati which was read by Ms Dubash. She would stand on a raised dais, a slim pleasant looking woman, dressed in a plain sari with a saur modestly covering her head – the model of a pious Parsi woman.

The Humbandagi was followed by a short lecture from Dr Dhalla on a theme picked out from the verses sung that morning. It seemed the community was hungry for religious information, knowledge and spiritual guidance. There was pin drop silence as he spoke. People flocked to hear him. They were as eager to hear his sermons as they were to take part in the singing of the Gathas.

We girls, mainly from the Mama Parsi School, sat at the back of the hall, in our white school uniform, our heads covered with a white crocheted cap or red velvet topee. In another corner at the back, were the boys of the Bai Virbaiji Soparivala Parsi School (BVS) also in their uniform and respective ‘house’ caps. There was as much attention paid, by each youthful group, to one another as to the hymns and sermon! This too was part of the excitement of Humbandagi during Muktad in Karachi.

By 7.30am we began making our way to school, office, or back to the home. Some people went to the Saddar Agyari or to the one at Gari Khata to pray and light a divo for their dear departed. They took fresh flowers to put in their family’s karasya. I had the opportunity, once, to visit the Saddar Agyari after Hambandagi and before going to school. I first did my kasti as normal and, instead of going to the main prayer hall, went upstairs to where the Muktad tables were laid out. The sight was breathtakingly beautiful. The long, rectangular, whitewashed hall was filled with the scent of jasmine and roses, the morning sun and the shimmering divas lighting up the silver and copper karasyas arranged on row upon row of white marble. Each karasya was in the memory of someone departed. There was no ornamentation – just the marble tables, the vases, flowers and light. That is what I see in my mind’s eye when I think of Muktad.

Muktad encouraged respect for and gratitude towards elders; concern and care for the souls of the departed and for the wellbeing of our own souls; cleanliness and care of the environment; celebration of Nature’s beauty with flowers, and of its abundance, with fruit; nourishment of the body as well as the soul; hospitality, generosity, and spiritual devotion. Spiritual cleansing during the last 10 days of the year prepared the individual and the community to begin the new year refreshed.

Decades later, I read about the theology of Muktad. It seems that our beliefs and practices in the days of Farvardegan were a harmonious blend of family-centred hospitality and devotion, with the communal prayer for all souls. To this blend Dr Dhalla contributed a particular devotional event that was, as far as I know, unique to the Parsis of Karachi.

This year, in keeping with the innovative spirit of Karachi Parsis, I am told that the Hambandagi will be conducted via ‘Zoom’ due to restrictions on collective worship during the pandemic. The verses to be sung will be emailed for each day. I wonder if they will use the 70-year-old Hambandagi booklet compiled by our ancestors.

Soonu Engineer is based in London. She volunteers for the Zoroastrian senior citizen’s befriending project and is a campaigner against the creeping privatisation of the National Health Service.

Supreme Court of India Justice Rohinton Fali Nariman delivers the 7th L M Singhvi Memorial Lecture on

Reincarnation: Comparative Religious Practises.

Our fifth author in the Everyday Parsi 2020 series is Ervad Zarrir Bhandara of Los Angeles, California, USA

Ervad Zarrir writes…

The 10 days of Shehenshahi Muktad begins this Thursday August 6th 2020, Roj Aastaad Maah  Asfandaard YZ 1389, with 5 Hamaspathmaidhyem Gahambaar and Gatha days beginning  August 11th Tuesday and Navroze (New-Year) on August 16th Sunday.

As I go down memory lane, I’m taken back to 1973, when I performed my first Muktad prayers and even before that time, when I was a student at the MF Cama Athornan Madressa for a little over a year. I remember walking holding my father’s hand at 4 am in the dark to get a bus to go to the Agiyary. I was just a 9-year-old lad half asleep getting trained to serve the community, every weekend, afterwhich my mother would come around 11 am to pick me up.

My first three years I performed the Muktad prayers at the Rustom Framna Agiyary in Dadar Parsi colony, where Muktad was held for 18 days and I would stay at the Agiyary for all 18 days. Oh, the fragrance of pure Sukhad & loban along with the delicious aroma of fresh breakfast including Bhakhra, dar ni pori, chapti, Popalji, malido etc. come to my mind as we (about 50 mobeds) would start the day at 5:30 in the morning. I am being the youngest would be called nallah and favorite of all the priests and laities. Some priests would just carry me to our morning prayers, which would end around 1:30 pm with only two 15-minute breaks for breakfast and lunch. Then the priests would take a couple of hours nap, not me though, I would go out in the park to bicycle or play, I don’t know how I had so much energy. After that the evening prayers would begin with the Satum prayers and Jashan. Again, from 7 to 9 pm, like a puppy I would be playing with my newly made friends in the park.

In 1976 (when I was 13) on weekends and holidays, I started performing prayers at the Anjumanna Atashbehram under the stewardship of late Dasturji Dr. Kaikhuhroo JamaspaAsa and under Panthakis late Cawasji and Soli Masani. Here, I really grew in terms of my learning experience and developed lifelong friendships including Ervads Burjor Tarachand (current manager of Anjumanna Atrashbehram), Darayas Karkaria (Financial Advisor at Langrana’s), and Adil Masani (Financial advisor of FEZANA and ZAC). At Anjuman Atash Behram we had a similar kind of routine starting the day around 5:30 am but here the mornings would end around 11:30. During Muktad days (which was 10 days) myself and Adil would go for lunch together. Many times, we would have 3 jugs of fresh juice, before the prayers. During breaks, I would have delicious hot “Market” (a concoction of tea and coffee) with late Soli Masani and other friends. We would have a lot of fun as well after the prayers, but we truly gave our 100% when performing the rituals. I eventually rose to the position of an assistant Panthaky.

At that time, we had the largest clientele in our Atash Behram with about 75 Muktad tables. I would help Soli -my Panthaky- to arrange everything for the morning till 11:30 pm and sleep in the same hall where the Muktad was set up & where the beloved spiritual guests were residing.  At 4 AM we’d wake up and start working again.  On the 5th Gatha night the prayers would finish at 3 AM, but somehow my friend Adil Masani & I would still have energy and would take a long stroll from Marine drive to Nariman point and back (coastal area) till 6 AM when Adil takes the train to Andheri (home) and I would go back to Atash Behram to perform the New year prayers.

I fortunately became well-received and liked amongst my comrades there, mainly because of the way I would perform the rituals. I’d take my time to pray and pray loudly with passion so the vibrations would echo throughout the Atash Behram and into the other realm. There, I also had the privilege to pray with the older brother of Dasturji Dr. Firoze Kotwal, late Ervad Kersasp Kotwal, brother of late Dasturji Dr. Framroze Bode (CA), late Ervad Burjor Bode and the best priest I have ever met- late Ervad Darabji Masani. I found Ervad Masani to be the most humane, humble person, and knowledgeable in rituals, yet, you would barely hear him utter a word. Whether he spoke to a child or a high priest he would speak to them with the utmost respect. This was his greatness and it is very rare to come across

From 1977 till 1992 I started praying at the Doongerwadi (Tower of Silence), I was just a teenager when I joined. I would have to pray next to a corpse for the whole night, my longest time praying at a stretch was 13.5 hours. While others my age were having fun & enjoying the frivolities of adolescence, I was striving towards being the best in reciting my prayers and performing rituals. Priests came from all over Bombay to Doongerwadi, so you’d get to see the cream of the crowd. All throughout my career I have been privileged with laud & compliments, but here I received the best compliment(s) of my career. This came from some very elderly, experienced priests who had been practicing for 50-60+ years. Unfortunately, I don’t recall their names, but they all said this or something similar: “we have never seen, and we will never see a mobed praying like you.”

Besides prayers, performing rituals, and my academic studies, my second passion was Karate, I attained a Black belt in 1983 under Hanshi Vispy Kapadia and was appointed assistant Karate instructor for all the wings of Maharashtra state police. I’ve taught about 50 schools total in Bombay. Simultaneously, I continued the noble profession of Mobedi. By this time, I had also started teaching Navjote prayers to young kids.

In the late eighties, I enrolled in AET -an Advanced Priestly Training post-graduation course- under the chairmanship of Dasturji Dr. Firoze M. Kotwal, where the teachers were Dasturji himself along with Khojeste Mistree- teaching world religions, Dr. Huzan Kharas/Davar- teaching Social work, and Dr. Farokh Buchia- teaching Psychology/counselling amongst other teachers. I learnt a lot and the best part was to get a chance to volunteer at Asha Daan-Mother Teressa’s home (Thanks to Huzan). On completion of this course, I received the best student award for the entire four years’ course, which was presented to me by the then vice Chancellor of Bombay University Ms. Mehroo Bengali.

Despite all that I had accomplished till then, I always felt something was missing, I was not satisfied with the way rituals were being performed (i.e maintaining ritual purity, reciting prayers without shortcuts, etc.). However, I knew that if I brought up my concerns and if they had been implemented it could potentially put a lot of priests and helpers out of work, so it remained a desire for some time until I came to CA, USA.

From 1992 to 2016 we performed the Muktad ceremony for the Southern CA community in our own home for twenty-five consecutive years on an honorary basis. Muktad vases, fragrant flowers, sukhar, loban, & delicious fruits & Parsi food (veg) are brought from all over Southern CA every Muktad. Even though the community would have to cram into our small home, so many were eager to attend every year. One year we even had the privilege of having high priest late Dasturji Kaikhushroo Meherjirana visit our home to pay respect to Muktad.

In 2008 we received a very special new edition to our family. My wife, Tinaaz, noticed a small white stray dog roaming around in front of our house, seeming to be very lost. My daughter, Danish, followed him and saw he had no name tag, so she brought him home and we adopted him. This was coincidentally a day before Muktad was going to begin on Ashishwangh roj, Asfandarmad mah, which is why we decided to name him Ashish. The little guy turned out to be very calm natured, sweet, and quiet. He started sitting with us in many of our ceremonies including Muktads. He stays quiet, doesn’t move around much during prayers, and doesn’t ever try to eat the chasni. Because of Ashish, we’ve been able to maintain the Sagdid ritual here in California (showing the deceased person’s body to a dog) during Geh Sarna ceremonies.

Finally, in 2016 ZAC (Zoroastrian Association of So.CA) finished building our Atashkadeh/Agiyary and in 2017 we had our first Muktad there. This year with grace of God and the blessings of our Hama Ashofarohars it will be my 48th year of performing Muktad prayers along with my son Ervad Zerkxis Bhandara. Zerkxis started doing Muktad with me in 2007 (it will be his 13th Muktad this year).  As a father and Zarthosthi priest it has been a great pride & joy for me to perform ceremonies with my son. Especially, since there are not many priests who regularly perform duties here, it has been a great help to have him. Zerkxis is also an aspiring religious academic who has received his BA in Religious studies at the University of Santa Barbara and is working on his Masters in the same at the California State University of Long Beach. I am further blessed that he is passionate about adhering to our ritual customs accurately & carrying our traditions- including Muktad- forward.

Our sixth author in the Everyday Parsi 2020 series is Ervad Khushru Master of Auckland, New Zealand.

Khushru shares the “Memories of a 12 year-old-mohbed”

All of 12, I vividly recall how excited my younger brother  Neville and I were for our first muktad  at Sir Jamshetjee Jeejebhoy Agiary better known as Sir ni Agiary.

It may be something due to the fact that our father Khursetjee Vajifdar was a devout and dynamic dastur who got us started with public service as a young age. 

In spite of a head bath so early in the morning there would be sleep in our eyes, however we would be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed the minute we but all set foot in the agiary.

The hustle-bustle of the people, the dasturjis praying loud, each one trying to drown the voice of the other when they recited the names of the departed souls, so that they can be heard by their respective behdin and bow down in reverence…. the energy, the fragrance of the sandal wood, the atmosphere was so beautiful with a multitude of lamps glowing and the tables decorated with roses and lilies was a sight to behold–especially at the break of dawn.

A feeling of divinity enveloped the agiary and the people in it.

There is no hiding the fact that we were partly excited because as young kids it was the time to earn some good pocket money.

All the  asudaats that the behdins would give us for praying was a great motivator to get up early in the morning at 4am  and prep up to go to the agiary.

The moment we stepped into the sacred precincts of the fire temple, we had to get on with the morning satum. 

Often, the behdins were eager to get their prayers done and get on with their day. And whilst I prayed with all the sincerity of a 12-year-old, I couldn’t help noticing what was laid out for satum— for that’s what we would be eating for breakfast. 

Yummy bhakras today! How exciting was all that for a young lad. 

Apart from the prayers and a feeling of serenity and peace,  catching up with all the new mobeds who had come from different  cities especially for muktad prayers  and the chasniwala boys mostly from Petit School (Boarding) was the fun element. We all shared a great bond and a sense of  camaraderie.

By the end of the day we were exhausted, yet exhilarated …and by the ninth day we couldn’t wait for the Parsee New Year to arrive. We made new friends, felt rich and important, and so satisfied with a perfect start to the year.

From the memories of a 12-year-old praying during muktad times, cut to the time we moved to Auckland 16 years ago…..and we had our first mukatad at the Forud Shahalori Dadgah that Aspi Shahlori had built singlehandedly 15-years-ago.

We were overcome with a feeling of joy and gratitude that we could have the prayers for the departed souls in a faraway land…literally at the end of the world.  

The anticipation was no less—not for the asudaat now but just that it would bring solace to all the people who have lost their near and dear ones, as they found comfort in the prayers. Bringing in the New Year with a jashan at the dadgah was always a special event that brought the community together.

Most of the prayers are done on a voluntary basis and my older and wiser self is filled with a sense of reverence.

It is a huge privilege as we collectively pray to all our Fravashis followed by the remembrance of individual souls and Fravashis of the departed souls.

Ervad Khushru Master lives in Auckland with his wife Farida. Besides being actively involved in the local community at various levels, he is one of the regular mobeds performing various religious ceremonies, and will be performing the community muktad prayer ceremonies at the Shahlori Darbe –Mehr in Auckland.

Knowledge Is Precious
Wisdom Is Priceless
Happiness Is Infectious

How we can become an instrument of education
Through our innate inspiration
To bring about a transformation
In our future generation.

By supporting these Prime-Star Goals Of The IranShah Initiative

The Star Of Knowledge

Knowledge regarding the right understanding of wisdom and obedience with truthfulness; to become among those who are celebrated for spreading true accounts of the good religion through religious mentorship.

By virtue of acquiring the right knowledge we become instruments or channels of knowledge through our innate inspiration to bring about a transformation in the psyche of our community and dedicate our quest and endeavor to the Glory of IranShah!

The Stars Of Happiness And Wisdom

It is interesting to observe that acquisition of wisdom goes hand in hand with happiness. One who is wise is also happy. Divinity enters the heart of the acquirer of wisdom and makes that individual experience “fresh and superior happiness.”

In Dinkard Book 3 it states that:

“Be it known that, whatever wisdom and happiness exist now, are owing to the principles that give strength of wisdom and the power of happiness. Among these, by means of the proper power appertaining to the soul, Ohrmazd reaches into the heart of the acquirer of wisdom, and the power of obtaining the wishes, reaches into the heart of the acquirer of wisdom. And on that wisdom reaching into the mind, a path is found by the mind that is obedient to Ohrmazd and is pure, to see what relates to the invisible; and so, man becomes worthy of fresh and superior happiness.”

May You Continue To Shine The Light Of Knowledge And Wisdom With Joy And Happiness.

Please continue to challenge us with your deep, probing and insightful questions.

Using these learning opportunities, we need to stimulate and enrich our environment at a personal, communal and global level.

This means that we need to harness and use every form and facet of our environment to provide these opportunities and it also means that we need to use the enablers (of this platform) to truly become ‘enablers’ of happiness!

Together, let us create a knowledge based eco-system of cross-learning, acquisition of wisdom and happiness for all, with the Blessings of IranShah!

www.iranshahinitiative.com

Former St Kentigern student Arzan Todywalla is off to further his football aspirations after being offered a scholarship at St Mary’s College in Moraga, California.

Good enough to trial for Birmingham City as a youngster in 2014, Todywalla is hoping to make a career in professional football after completing his studies offshore. He also works part time as a salesman at a local Noel Leeming store.

Article by Jim Birchall | Times NZ

Todywalla is a talented all-round sportsman having represented New Zealand in the Oceania Futsal (indoor soccer) competition in 2017.

Todywalla leaves this week for California, then on to his home for the next four years, and the Times caught up with him just before he boarded the plane for San Francisco.

When asked about travelling to a country struggling to contain Covid-19, Todywalla said the university has put excellent measures in place. He will still have to self-isolate on-campus for 14 days upon his arrival.

The undergraduate finance programme he will be studying is a four-year commitment and Todywalla said he will be looking to “work his way into the top side” after linking up with his new teammates and assimilating to the methods of head coach Adam Cooper.

The St Mary’s soccer programme is highly regarded in US soccer circles and the school has won its regional conference more than once.

Arzan Todywalla in action. Photo supplied

The fall season starts in September so Todywalla will be straight into practice and games post-isolation.

He becomes the third Kiwi on the team roster alongside Sebastian Schacht and Boyd Curry.

Long term, Arzan says he would love to be picked up by a major league soccer side at the end of the four years at college.

He added that he is appreciative of those who have helped him on his footballing journey to date. “I’m grateful to all my coaches and family and friends as, without their support, I wouldn’t have been able to achieve it.”

Most Parsi matchmakers maintain Excel sheets or handwritten diaries of profiles and a collection of bio-datas. They don’t advertise their services at all; it is word of mouth or social media chatter that does the job.

Article by Huzan Tata | Firstpost

“Sima Taparia from Mumbai” is the phrase that went viral as soon as the series Indian Matchmaking dropped on Netflix last month. ‘Regressive’, ‘casteist’ and ‘sexist’ are just a few terms people used to describe the show that gives a glimpse into Taparia’s life as a matchmaker, as she jetted across countries in an attempt to find suitable matches for her clients. But despite the criticism the show and the institution of arranged marriage faces today, matchmakers seem to be a blessing in disguise for a small populace that is almost on the brink of extinction.

Sima Taparia, the matchmaker featured in Indian Matchmaking. Twitter

Parsis, who settled in India from the eighth century onward, are a community who find their religious roots in Iran, and are followers of Zoroastrianism. On landing on Indian shores, the Parsis – and Iranis who arrived in later centuries – soon assimilated with South Asian society, before many spread their wings to move abroad in the 1960s and ’70s. Today, their ilk struggles with a number of issues – late marriages due to the difficulty of finding a partner; the reluctance or inability to have children; conversion not being permitted by their religion; and the chief demographic being above 60, all major reasons for their dwindling numbers. There are just over a lakh Zoroastrians left in this world, or maybe even less.

But Parsi matchmakers are making their own attempts to help delay this decline.

Known as ‘kaajwaalis’ in the olden days – ‘kaaj’ being the Parsi Gujarati word for ‘match’ – who, like Taparia, had a hands-on role in getting families and couples to meet and advise them on prospective partners, today’s Parsi matchmaker has taken on the role of a facilitator. Most maintain Excel sheets or handwritten diaries of profiles and a collection of bio-datas – details of each potential bride or groom that includes personal, family and career descriptions, hobbies, and preferences for a partner – that they share with men and women who register with them. “I collect basic information on email, and have a huge database of prospective youngsters. Once every few months, I mail people registered with me a list of these names suitable to each one’s age and qualifications. It’s entirely up to them to contact whoever they think would be a good match. I just create a platform for youngsters to get to know each other. This is my small contribution towards my beloved community, I don’t want any compensation for it,” says Mumbai-based matchmaker Zarin Havewala who has been practicing for ten years. Due to her efforts, she has seen an average of eight to nine matches in a year since she started.

Like Havewala, almost all Parsi matchmakers provide their services free of cost, simply to encourage intra-community marriage at a time when their global population is endangered. Most of these women don’t advertise their services at all; it is word of mouth or social media chatter that does the job.

***

Since most Parsis are scattered around the world and are already scarce in number, many do not get a chance to even know of others of the same community in their usual social and work circles. “The key is to find ways for our singles to meet – be it at youth congresses, seminars, trips, camps and social media, or introductions by an old-fashioned matchmaker like me,” says Roshan Rivetna of Chicago, who also runs the matrimonial section of the FEZANA (Federation of Zoroastrian Associations of North America) Journal of which she has been editor in the past. “I would never consider charging for these services – I am more than amply rewarded when a match is made,” she adds. She’s helped around 75 people find their partners since she began this work in 1991, but feels like that isn’t enough. “My success rate is not as high as I would like.”

Many Parsis though, owing to their Westernised and relatively modern worldviews, are wary of arranged marriages, with many not considering it as a way to find a spouse. “There’s a misconception that in arranged marriages you see someone today and are engaged tomorrow, or that parents have the main say. No, I think couples should take their time to get to know one another. It’s important to meet and know someone’s family and lifestyle properly before taking the plunge,” explains Kamal Karanjia, a matchmaker based in Mhow, Madhya Pradesh who has clients across the world, from New Zealand to Canada.

“Nowadays, I find that some youngsters are hesitant about being introduced by an old lady like me – they are instead looking for that ‘spark’ or ‘vibe’. I tell them that sparks can come after marriage too – you have to work hard together to find it and make it grow into an enduring and loving marriage,” says Rivetna.

It’s not just the ‘spark’ they’re looking for that turns Parsis away from the world of arranged marriages. The Netflix series showcased many participants rattling off qualities and traits they desired in a partner that viewers found problematic, like “fair-skinned” and “mentally and physically attractive” to even “girl must be over 5’3″” and “flexible” – the last two being a lady’s criteria for her potential daughter-in-law. But Parsi matchmakers are not usually plagued with such requests. Although some families believe in horoscopes and reject good matches based on the stars, and a few may have requests based on superficial qualities (Karanjia has rejected bio-datas or stopped working with people if she feels that they aren’t too serious about the process), most seem to have a good head on their shoulders.

“I’m happy to say that most of the time, our young have their priorities right – focusing on education, profession, family, and to a lesser extent on looks and fair skin,” Rivetna, mentions. Karanjia too, whose list of bio-datas includes those of people even in their 40s and 50s, adds, “Some Parsi boys are less educated as compared to girls, but they still have the capability to rise. I tell people to look at the person’s nature and family background too.”

And most Parsis who do decide to go through the matchmaking route seem to understand this well.

Khushnaz Appoo, who was 26 when she registered with Havewala and found her match within three months, says “I was quite open to the thought of meeting my partner this way. I was just searching for someone who was mature and financially stable.” Her husband Adil, who took almost five years to find a life partner after registering, said he never had any specific requirements when looking for a spouse. “There were rejections throughout the process, but I always believed that someone was waiting for me. The day I met Khushnaz, I had a positive feeling about her. It was worth the five year wait.” The couple dated for ten months, mentioning that they initially took it slow and didn’t want to rush into marriage.

Similarly, US-based Gave and Sanaiya Poonawala, who met through Rivetna and have been married since 2017, viewed the process positively. “The main takeaway I have had through working with a matchmaker was that as you meet people with different perspectives and backgrounds, it helps you to reflect on what you want for now and for the distant future, the limits of compromises that you will be able to make, and values you wouldn’t cross over,” says Sanaiya.

Ultimately, these Parsi matchmakers are working towards one goal for nothing in return – to help people find worthy partners, who will together hopefully go on to start families of their own. What keeps these women going, one wonders? “I’m happy when couples show their gratitude for the hard work I do, for those who are total strangers to me. I don’t expect anything except a thank you, but some couples do send their wedding invitations or a box of sweets. That gives me a boost to continue doing this,” Havewala says.

“This is not a business for me. I do this work for the preservation of my community – that is my only aim,” concludes Karanjia, speaking for all the Zoroastrian matchmaking aunties.

Our seventh author in the Everyday Parsi 2020 series is Nazneen Thanawalla Spliedt of Northern California, United States

Nazneen writes about her Muktad memories from Karachi Pakistan.My earliest memories of celebrating the Muktad Days in Karachi were as a young child, when my Maternal Uncle passed away and my Grandmother had his Muktads performed at home.

With tables laid with fruits, flowers, divo, and every day some delicious food prepared, we would remember the souls of the departed as we would partake in the offerings.

Each year in Karachi, there would be a Hama Anjuman Muktad & Hambandagi performed during the 10 Muktad days. They were held in the Jehangir Baug Hall (which was the place where weddings & navjotes were performed – similar to the Albless Baug of Bombay). The Muktads were held in another Hall, which was normally used to serve meals.

This tradition was started by a group of Youth and young parents , who had been instrumental in organizing a few Youth Congresses in Karachi during the 1940’s.

There was a Muktad table laid out with flowers, divos, and any offerings brought by people who wished to remember the dear departed. It was one communal table.

The ceremony started at 7.00 a.m. with singing of a ‘kardo’ from the Avesta. This was from a book that was published specially for the Muktad Days. Each day was a different prayer. The singing was led by the Anklesaria sisters. They would lead the attendees in the singing of the ‘Muktad-no-kardo’ and then recite its meaning in Gujerati & English.

After the invocation, Dasturji Dr. Maneckji Dhalla, at that time the Head Priest of the Parsis of Pakistan would give a short homily and a wonderful lecture on a different topic each morning. Either he would recite from his book “Homage Unto Ahura Mazda” and talk about various aspects of the religion as pertaining to the subject of the day or experiences from his life.

He continued doing this until he passed away, and thereafter the tradition was carried on by Ervad Godrej Sidhwa. The Anklesaria sister’s tradition was also carried out by Perviz Dastur for many years.

Since the Jehangir Baug was within walking distance of the 2 Parsi Schools and many of the Parsi Baugs, the attendance was always very good and on weekends it was standing room only!

The ceremony ended at 7.45 a.m. after which everyone rushed off to School and work. Those who did not have to do that, stayed on for the jashan ceremony performed by the priests.

Like everywhere else, there were also individual Muktads held in the 2 Agiaries and people would go to pay homage to the Muktads of their relatives or friends.

When the Jehangir Baug was sold and torn down, this tradition was continued to be held in the Hall of the Hirjikaka (Saddar) Agiari. Sadly, the attendance dropped over time, as did the Parsi population of Karachi.

We should be grateful and appreciative of our Priests in North America that they have voluntarily kept this tradition going. The days of the Muktad bring us all peace and tranquility in which to remember those who have passed on and help us build and live a better Now.

Nazneen comes from Karachi, where her family has lived for 4 generations. She attended the Mama Parsi Girls School, St. Joseph’s College & did her MBA from the University of Karachi’s – Institute of Business Administration, she was the 2^nd woman from Pakistan to graduate from this Institution. Since her school days she has volunteered with the Zarathushti and other community organizations in Pakistan – thanks to her Parents, Uncles, Aunts & School Teacher’s encouragement. She worked in the Hotel Industry, which took her to Curacao, where she met her husband – Ehler. They spent the next 10 years working in Central & South America & Europe where she never ran into another Parsi until they were posted to Hong Kong, where they lived until 1998. They came to North America in 1998, to retire but became active in the Zarathushti Community of Northern California. She served on the Board of ZANC from 2000 to 2017 and served as President from 2005 to 20017. She is currently a Trustee of ZANC.

▲ Adar Poonawalla, CEO of the Serum Institute, and his wife, Natasha, at their ranch in Pune, India.

Photographer: Subhash Sharma for Bloomberg Businessweek

The Serum Institute of India is preparing to crank out a billion doses. And that’s just the beginning.

By Ari Altstedter | Bloomberg

As chief executive officer of the Serum Institute of India, the largest manufacturer of vaccines in the world, Adar Poonawalla can produce about 1.5 billion doses a year of almost any inoculation. He has machines that fill 500 glass vials every minute, and gleaming steel bioreactors almost two stories high that can make more than 10 million shots a month. He can claim, credibly, that he helps inoculate 65% of the world’s children, in more than 100 countries, against diseases such as measles and tuberculosis. And deep inside Serum’s lushly landscaped, 50-acre campus, about three hours inland from Mumbai, he’s already brewing the raw materials to make one of the leading experimental vaccines for the novel coronavirus at a scale that could make a serious difference to ending the pandemic.

But before getting into all that, the first thing Poonawalla wants to show me during a recent visit is his office, because it’s brand-new—and it’s a plane. Specifically, a converted Airbus A320. “This is kind of similar to Air Force One,” he says as he leads me through an onboard lounge, a 10-person boardroom, and, finally, in what was once coach, a bedroom that could easily be found in a five-star hotel. It’s all elegantly designed, vaguely art deco, and accessed through a luxe jetway with marble floors and carved wooden doors that’s connected to ground level by a dedicated elevator. How much did the remodeling cost? “Oh, nothing,” Poonawalla replies before revealing the figure: about $1 million.

▲ Poonawalla in front of the construction of a vaccine factory.

Photographer: Subhash Sharma for Bloomberg Businessweek

While his family fortune stands at about $13 billion, that kind of spending—to say nothing of indulgences that include a collection of 35 rare cars (one of them a Mercedes converted into a replica Batmobile) and flying in Michelin-starred chefs to cater dinners with his glamorous wife, Natasha—might seem extravagant for someone in his business. Making basic vaccines, particularly for emerging markets, is such a low-margin proposition that manufacturers in the developed world largely abandoned it decades ago. But there’s a case to be made that Poonawalla’s immoderate ways put him in a better position than almost anyone to help get the world out of its present crisis. Since becoming CEO in 2011, he’s habitually ignored projections for sluggish vaccine demand. Instead, buoyed by his family’s money and a history of long-shot bets that went the Poonawallas’ way, he’s steadily increased Serum’s production footprint, building manufacturing lines that doubled its capacity and then doubled it again.

The results are visible from the cockpit of Poonawalla’s office. Just across a patch of tarmac—he uses it to land his helicopter—are two factory buildings and a giant concrete-and-glass warehouse, a brand-new campus that cost about $700 million to construct. When Serum began planning it a little less than four years ago, the coronavirus pandemic was merely an epidemiologist’s bad dream. Now the facilities are starting to be put into commission, boosting annual capacity to about 2 billion doses. That will put Serum far ahead of the second-largest vaccine producer, Sanofi SA, which turns out a bit more than half that volume, largely from Indian factories.

Serum already has a deal to produce a billion doses of ChAdOx1 nCoV-19, the vaccine being developed by the University of Oxford and AstraZeneca Plc, which could win approval from U.S. and European regulators as soon as this autumn. But Poonawalla argues that whichever of the more than 100 vaccine candidates in development ends up being effective, Serum will have to be part of any global-scale manufacturing plan, and not just because of the size of its factories. The only shareholder Poonawalla has to answer to is his 79-year-old father, Cyrus—one of India’s best-known bon vivants in his day and the man he credits for his own liberal attitudes toward money. That family ethos is what created Serum’s massive capacity, and, in Poonawalla’s view, it allows the company to move faster and take bigger risks manufacturing in the pandemic than any publicly listed pharmaceutical giant. After all, he can afford it. Have you seen the plane?

“People today are really puzzled why we are the only ones who can make Covid-19 at this scale, and that’s because I had the vision, and we put in all the money, to just build,” he says, with typical humility and restraint. “I don’t see a choice. They’re going to have to come here.”

The Poonawallas trace their lineage to a migrant who, sometime in the mid-19th century, came from western India to Pune, about 90 miles from what was then Bombay. The migrant promptly set himself up as a “billiard marker” at the local British officers’ club, keeping score and refreshing drinks. He parlayed his connections with the colonial military into a successful construction business and wound up owning so much land that people started calling him Poonawalla, which more or less means “the guy in Pune.”

But his descendants had large families, which divided inheritances. By the time what was left of the fortune made it to Soli, Adar’s grandfather, all he got was a house and 40 acres of undeveloped land. Soli used that spread to create the Poonawalla Stud Farms, which would eventually become the country’s most successful breeder of racehorses. But the sport of kings had an uncertain future in newly independent, officially socialist India, and as he came of age, Soli’s son Cyrus figured it would be wise to diversify into a business with more mass-market potential.

▲ Poonawalla at his ranch.

Photographer: Subhash Sharma for Bloomberg Businessweek

Casting around for ideas, Cyrus realized the Poonawallas had ample raw material for two lifesaving products that Indians desperately needed. Anti-venom for snake bites and tetanus antitoxin, which neutralizes tetanus in the bloodstream, are produced by injecting horses with small quantities of venom or bacteria, respectively. When the horses develop antibodies, their serum—the fluid part of blood—can be harvested and refined into treatments. The Poonawallas had been selling retired racehorses to a government institute in Mumbai for that purpose, but Cyrus decided he could do it more profitably himself. The Serum Institute of India Pvt. Ltd., which he founded in 1966, was soon working on vaccines, too, including one for tetanus.

It was a time of huge innovation in vaccines—the measles-mumps-rubella shot was introduced in 1971, while international efforts to eliminate smallpox and polio were in high gear—and Cyrus decided that was where the future lay. At the time, vaccine production in India occurred largely in sleepy government labs, and Serum’s more nimble management and lower costs allowed it to win contract after contract from the national and state administrations. Earnings from that work gave Cyrus the capital to import manufacturing equipment from Europe and the U.S., which allowed him to add more products to Serum’s lineup.

In 2001, Adar Poonawalla, newly graduated from university in the U.K., joined Serum’s sales team. He found the experience frustrating. The company was at the mercy of India’s all-powerful and emphatically glacial bureaucracy. He often brought stacks of books to meetings with ministers or civil servants, assuming he’d be kept waiting for hours in their anterooms no matter how early he arrived. “I found that not only humiliating but also pointless,” he recalls. “That’s when I said, ‘This is ridiculous.’ ”

The only solution was “building, building, building capacity, because I knew the demand for exports would be growing so fast”

Western manufacturers had spent much of the previous decade shifting to more complex vaccines that could command higher prices. But poorer countries often couldn’t afford them, leaving much of the market open to anyone who could provide the same benefits at lower cost. Poonawalla believed that should be Serum, which at the time exported to only 35 countries. He began making regular drives from Pune to Mumbai, catching multileg flights to Egypt, Indonesia, and other countries, and found that compared with India, their governments worked at lightning speed. Soon Serum was adding as many as six countries a year to its list of importers. (Today the company sells to 140 countries, accounting for more than three-quarters of its roughly $782 million in annual revenue.)

Production couldn’t always keep up with the pace of new business. “Within two or three months of having the facilities commissioned, they were sold out,” Poonawalla says. The growth became a virtuous circle. Serum’s economies of scale allowed it to sell vaccines cheaper than anyone else and still turn a profit: One meningitis shot went for just 64¢ a dose. Those low prices spurred more demand from governments and organizations such as Gavi, the global vaccine provider backed by Bill Gates. For Poonawalla, the only solution was “building, building, building capacity, because I knew the demand for exports would be growing so fast that we’d never be able to catch up. And that’s exactly what happened.”

If Poonawalla has played his cards right, humanity’s deliverance from its worst viral outbreak in a century may begin on a cramped second-floor landing on Serum’s Pune campus. Usually used as a staging area for deliveries, its new purpose was declared by a piece of office paper slid into a plastic sign holder: “Covid-19 Vaccine Manufacturing Facility,” it read. The vaccine it referred to is the one under development by Oxford scientists and AstraZeneca, which could be one of the first approved. It uses a harmless chimpanzee virus to mimic the so-called spike proteins that allow the coronavirus to breach human cells, hopefully training the body to recognize and destroy them.

▲ A Serum technician checks on coronavirus vaccine production.

Photographer: Subhash Sharma for Bloomberg Businessweek

Because the Oxford team, led by researcher Sarah Gilbert, had proved the same method was safe for humans with a previous experimental vaccine, its Covid-19 effort entered human trials at high speed. AstraZeneca, which agreed in April to back the effort with its financial muscle and distribution network, wanted to begin putting together the necessary factory capacity right away, so if the vaccine does prove effective, injections could begin immediately. Poonawalla says he and Pascal Soriot, AstraZeneca’s CEO, were connected by a mutual friend in May. Over a couple of video calls, they negotiated a deal for Serum to manufacture about 1 billion doses over the course of a year, almost half the overall total, with 400 million due before the end of 2020. They’ll be sold at cost until the end of the pandemic—in a recent deal to supply 100 million doses to low- and middle-income countries, Serum capped the price at $3 per shot—though even after that Poonawalla estimates he won’t charge much more than $13.

When I visited in June, the company had already started preproduction. In a sterile room crammed with stainless-steel lab equipment, a technician in a white hooded jumpsuit attached an oversize plastic syringe to a tube sticking out of a 200-liter (53-gallon) bioreactor—essentially a still that grows cells instead of fermenting alcohol. Slowly pulling back on the syringe’s plunger, he drew a slug of pinkish goo from inside. A huge bag of the same substance was sitting on a heavy-duty steel shelving unit, feeding into the bioreactor through another tube, like a giant IV drip. The fluid, known as animal cell culture media, is a soup of nutrients and amino acids that the cells growing inside the reactor use for sustenance, and the technician was taking a sample to see how they were doing.

The goal was to create a “virus bank”—a large volume of human embryonic kidney cells that can be infected with the Oxford researchers’ modified virus. Once the virus had multiplied through these cells, they might be purified and processed to produce a modest quantity of vaccine, but in this case the Serum team was planning to bank them to infect even more cells, part of its plan to have enough for commercial manufacture. The company was in the process of ripping out the ceilings above another factory floor, creating room for 2,000-liter bioreactors suitable for pandemic-level production.

The Oxford team published promising data in a July article in the Lancet, showing its vaccine produced an immune response in almost everyone who received it in early tests. But it still has a long way to go before its safety and efficacy are proved in large-scale human trials, which are now under way. If the vaccine fails to prevent disease or turns out to have unacceptable side effects, Serum’s preparations will have been for nothing. That would incur a loss the company estimates could be as high as $200 million—though the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation has agreed to help share some of the production risk, and Serum hopes to repurpose its new equipment for other coronavirus vaccines.

That could require some significant retooling. Another leading candidate, from the U.S. biotech company Moderna Inc., relies on a never-before-used method that teaches the body to ward off the spike proteins by recruiting its own cells to produce and release them. This “messenger RNA” method—so called because the instructions for the spike protein are written in bits of genetic code that tell cells what proteins to produce—might be much easier to make at scale. Researchers at Imperial College London estimate that a single 5-liter bioreactor could produce as many as 50 million doses a year. But the technology is completely unproven, and Serum will have the capability to manufacture it only early next year, using techniques it’s never employed before.

The company is far more experienced producing vaccines of the oldest kind: inactive or weakened forms of an original virus, rendered harmless by heat or a chemical such as formaldehyde, or trained to infect a chicken embryo until they become inept at replicating in humans. At least two Chinese companies are developing coronavirus vaccines that employ the inactivated-virus approach, but it’s not clear where production would occur if they’re successful.

The potential for complex problems, and even outright conflict, is obvious. The past several months have seen the emergence of a sort of vaccine nationalism, with governments around the world clamoring to make sure their citizens are at the front of the line. Sanofi CEO Paul Hudson prompted outrage in France when he said the U.S., which put up initial cash for manufacturing, would likely get the first shipments of the vaccine the Paris-based company is working on with GlaxoSmithKline Plc. The U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, meanwhile, recently bought up almost the entire short-term supply of remdesivir, an antiviral drug that’s been helpful for some Covid-19 patients.

Poonawalla says Serum has received no direct instructions from the government in Delhi to prioritize domestic use—only a general mandate to “make sure you have enough vaccine for India.” The plan for now is to devote half of Serum’s Oxford vaccine production to its home country—enough to cover the most vulnerable, plus a substantial chunk of the general population—and the rest to other developing nations, many with no meaningful production capacity of their own.

▲ The Covid-19 vaccine plant at Serum Institute.

Photographer: Subhash Sharma for Bloomberg Businessweek

That would make Serum something of an outlier. If AstraZeneca’s manufacturing plans are any guide, most vaccine supplies are going to be national or regional, with American factories supplying the U.S., European ones responsible for Europe, and so on. But India, which already produces about 60% of the world’s vaccines, would make the shots for itself and anyone else who needs them. How much of that production comes from Serum, and not its many smaller but no less adept domestic competitors, will depend on Poonawalla’s abilities as a dealmaker and his production team’s ability to adjust to the needs of the winning formula.

No one can afford to wait long for a coronavirus vaccine, but time in poor countries is particularly short. India, where tens of millions of people live in densely packed slums, implemented one of the strictest lockdowns in the world but has failed to flatten the curve of infections, more than 2.1 million of which have been confirmed. The virus-fighting measures contributed to an economic collapse, throwing more than 100 million people at least temporarily out of work and creating a real risk of starvation among the poorest. So while some richer nations were able to maintain controls on movement until new cases fell to manageable levels, Prime Minister Narendra Modi had little choice but to open the economy back up, whatever the cost in viral deaths. So far, more than 43,000 have been recorded, with the daily count regularly exceeding 800 in early August. Many more almost certainly have gone uncounted.

▲ Serum’s billion-dose vaccine factory, under construction.

Photographer: Subhash Sharma for Bloomberg Businessweek

What worries some epidemiologists, though, is the possibility that humanity is entering a dangerous new age of infectious disease. There have been a half-dozen serious viral threats over the past 20 years, from the outbreak of severe acute respiratory syndrome (SARS) to the Ebola epidemic in West Africa, which shattered previous records for the spread of the terrifying pathogen. The odds of more emerging are arguably higher than ever. The destruction of natural habitats is putting people into much closer contact with animal viruses, while global travel networks make it possible for them to spread with ease. Many of these “zoonotic” viruses will be harmless to people, or not contagious enough to travel far, but some could have the right mix of attributes to create another catastrophe.

Shortly after the World Health Organization declared a pandemic in March, Poonawalla assembled 600 construction workers to build his biggest plant yet. Two months later the hulking concrete frame of the first and second stories was in place, with thickets of rebar pointing upward for the third. When the facility is complete in three years, it will add an additional 1 billion doses to Serum’s annual capacity, at a cost of about $400 million. With any luck, the coronavirus will be far less of a threat by then, and immunizations for it in only limited production. But Poonawalla plans to keep the new line ready for whatever comes next. “Maybe not in my lifetime, but at least in my children’s lifetimes, there’s going to be another global pandemic,” he says. “And I’m willing to bet anything that pandemic will be far worse than this.”

For much of the past two decades, proposing big, speculative investments in vaccine production would get you laughed out of many pharma company boardrooms. It still might. Vaccines are expensive and risky to develop but rarely have the payoff of, say, a new cancer therapy. A disproportionate share of the demand comes from developing countries with little ability to pay, and by definition each patient receives just one or a few doses, rather than becoming a long-term customer. In a 2019 report on global vaccine development, McKinsey & Co. said “pipeline growth has been flat” among the so-called Big Four vaccine developers—GlaxoSmithKline, Merck, Pfizer, and Sanofi—with more lucrative products such as biologic medicines attracting a rising share of investment dollars.

Poonawalla’s business model, by contrast, is built almost entirely on vaccines—and he’s hopeful the experience of Covid-19 will spur a dramatic change in how governments, and investors, view his product. Politicians are going to “put huge priority and funding to vaccine procurement and distribution,” he says. That would benefit Serum enormously, though Poonawalla insists he won’t cash in on the interest by going public or bringing in outside investors. But he is investigating the possibility of setting up some kind of dedicated unit to prepare for novel threats, and finding a philanthropic entity or sovereign wealth fund to help back his 1 billion-dose pandemic factory. Poonawalla is plenty rich and has the tolerance for long-term risk you might expect from a man who was to the stud farm born. But the burden of permanent vigilance against the next catastrophe is more than he can handle. “The endgame solution is to have some dedicated pandemic facility on standby forever,” he says. “Finding a financial model to keep that going is where I will need outside funding.”

▲ Vaccine manufacturing at the Serum Institute.

Photographer: Subhash Sharma for Bloomberg Businessweek

In the meantime, Poonawalla’s family is isolating at home, albeit with a vibe that’s more Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous than Contagion. They’ve been riding out the virus in a spacious ranch house, surrounded by 190 acres of rolling hills and patches of woodland. In a glass-walled enclosure in the garden, Natasha, his wife, told me about how the virus scotched her tentative plan to send one of her two sons to a British boarding school, forcing her to take over his education personally. Meanwhile, a platoon of waiters in white shirts and black waistcoats laid out a teatime repast of cakes, cookies, and nuts. None of them wore masks; no one is allowed to get near the family without being tested. The last thing Poonawalla wants, as he tries to roll out a vaccine the world desperately needs, is to get sick. “I need to perform, and I’m focusing on that,” he says.

Natasha had barely had a chance to reach for a cookie before we were called out to the lawn. Two miniature Shetland ponies that Poonawalla wanted to show me had been fetched. Attendants led them to an artificial waterfall to pose for photos with the couple, Poonawalla in burgundy jeans and a light pink button-down and Natasha with a sleeveless Louis Vuitton hoodie hanging off her shoulders. They each held one of the tiny horses by a leash.

After the photos were taken, the Poonawallas retired to a nearby patio. As I left, the last thing I saw was the team of butlers racing across the lawn, the snacks we’d abandoned earlier balanced on silver trays.

Our eighth author in the Everyday Parsi 2020 series is Ervad Mehbad Dastur of Toronto, Canada

Mehbad writes… 

I would like to bring to the attention of readers the significance of Muktad. Photographed below are my grandparents Ervad. Mahiyar Dinshawji Nalladaroo and my grandmother Bapaimai Mahiyar Nalladaroo. My grandfather was the Panthaki (head priest) of the Banaji Atash Behram in Bombay, India which he took care for so for many years.

As I grew up in Bombay, I was a very mischievous boy and so my Bapaiji suggested that I be admitted to the Dadar Athornan Boarding Madressa (Dadar Athornan Institute) where I would learn the prayers to become a priest and at that same time also go through regular school studies. During my time in the boarding school I also learned the ancient Avesta language and along with it the meaning of some of the prayers that we pray regularly.

At the age of 12, I was ordained as a Mobed as per the Kadmi rituals by my uncle Ervad. Faramroze A Behramkamdin pictured below by going through the three Nahan’s. This photo with Fali uncle was taken on the day of the Anniversary Jashan of the Banaji Atash Behram back in Nov 2013.

I continued the same path as my grandfather Mahiyar pappa and many other family members to assist with prayers at the Banaji Atash Behram during the Kadmi as well as the Shenshahi Muktad/Gatha days. As I prayed at the Banaji Atash Behram, I noticed how my family members remembered my grandfather and other souls who had passed away. There were rows of metal vases on top of tables filled with roses and other flowers. As I grew a little older, my Bapaiji had the biggest influence on me as regards to Gathas. She used to have Atash Dadgah in our old house and always used to keep the fire lit during the Muktad days with prayers.

My teachers, family and friends always emphasized doing good to others unconditionally without expecting anything in return. I continued assisting with the Muktad and Gatha days while in Bombay at the Rustom Framna Agiary in Dadar Parsi Colony where we eventually moved and I have continued to do the same even in Toronto from the time I arrived here. However, it was not just the Gatha days that I assisted with the prayers but also during the monthly days of Fravardin and Behram roj and also other days when the Agiary needed help in Bombay. The dearly departed souls are always remembered through the year not just during Kadmi, Shenshahi or the Fasli Gatha days. It is always important to remember them and take their blessings.

Since moving to Canada as a young adult with my parents, I have been assisting at our Toronto Darbe Mehr at ZSO and OZCF during the Gatha days and continue doing so every year. My elder son Xersis also went through his Navar ceremony at the age of 12 at the Rustom Framna Agiary in Dadar Parsi Colony, Bombay. He also assists me with the regular prayers and during the Gatha days, family jashans and other prayer ceremonies.

Over the years being in Canada and visiting India on a few occasions, I have always taken the time to meet my older family members, teachers and my friends. I remember meeting my Principal Ervad. Rustomji N Panthaki back in Dec 2000 along with his wife Jalamai.

How can I forget them? Even though he was strict with me I owe everything to them for shaping my life. I still clearly remember when our principal Rustomji used to tell me “Avaaj kari ne bhano” (pray loudly so your voice can be heard). It is the same discipline I have instilled in my son Xersis and am very proud to see the way he prays today. When we pray we are praying for the peace of the souls. There are happy occasions along the way but also sad occasions at times for us and for the family we pray for. I feel a connection in me when I say the names during the prayers.

I was recently talking to my wife that as we grow older, we go through a lot of souls that have impacted our lives and passed away. Sometimes it happens suddenly and we don’t get the chance to see them again in person but we always remember them. What better way to remember than during the Muktad/Gatha days? It’s only when you remember the souls it makes you feel more connected with them. Remember them and then celebrate the New Year.

One thing that we all know that no one will be there with us forever. There will be a time when someone will go suddenly or when someone may lose a close family member, so during GATHAS it is the best time to focus and pray to our departed souls for their peace and blessings. It is during Muktad days that departed souls’ fravashi comes down and it is at that time of praying Afarghan, Farokshi and Satum you venerate their fravashis for their peace and blessings and to know that they are in peace and in oneness with you. When volunteering to pray at Darbe Meher for others and taking my family there to pray & give respect to departed souls is the best thing any Parsi Zoroastrian should do during the Muktad/Gatha days even if it is just praying 2 Yatha Ahu Vairyo and 1 Ashem Vohu. Close your eyes and take a moment to reflect back at life and take a moment of silence and remember your near and dear ones.

With the current turbulent times and the pandemic, we have to thank God everyday as we are alive never to forget the souls of our loved ones and receive their blessings. It is through their blessings one continues living in Good Thoughts, Good Words and doing Good Deeds over the years.

Tandarosti and Best Wishes to all around the world.

With Peace and Gratitude,

Ervad. Mehbad Dastur

Toronto, Ontario

CANADA

On the last Gatha at the end of this Muktad period, I would like to share an #everydayParsi story of a different kind.

While the last few authors have all shared their memories of muktad as “Everday Parsis” like you and me, today we remember the Everyday Parsis of yore who have passed away, some nearly two centuries ago. They lay in rest in faraway Parsi cemeteries. Their graves are not only a marker of their final resting place, but also a testament to the pioneerng Parsi spirit of our ancestors which took them to these far off lands. Over the last 10 days I have posted a series of pictures on my facebook and instagram feeds. Read on…

“…..Over the next 10 muktad days I will share some photographs of tombstones from Parsi cemeteries the world over that I have had a chance to visit.

The first one is from the very small cemetery in Macau. This is the oldest of the three in the region. The tombstone you see is of Cursetjee Sapoorjee Banajee originally of Bombay who passed away on February 27, 1840, nearly two centuries ago. I remember thinking to myself as I took this photograph….what was this man’s story. How did he arrive here and later pass away. And in wondernment I said an Ashem Vohu and a Yatha Ahu Vairyo for his departed ruvan.

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Today we pay our respects to Hormusji Pestonji Jacus who died in Amritsar on August 8th 1890 and was laid to rest in the Lahore Parsi Cemetery. In Pre-Partition India Lahore and Amritsar were twin cities separated by an hour’s drive. And Amritsar had a sizeable Parsi presence too.
Lahore’s Parsi Cemetery also called Gulbaug is a large sprawling cemetery surrounded by the typical urban chaos that one finds in most cities today. When it was established more than a century and a half ago, it was on the outskirts of the city.

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The tombstone of Byramjee Dinshwji Dhunna Patelna is in the gorgeous Hong Kong Parsi Cemetery. The boy died at a very young age, probably from an illness on September 10th, 1858. I think this is the oldest tombstone in the Hong Kong Cemetery. I was lucky to visit it with my dear friend and head priest of Hong Kong Anjuman, Dasturji Homyar.

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Today we visit the tombstone of Pirojshah Rustomji Daruwalla, who lies at peace in Gulbaug, the Lahore Parsi Cemetery. The headstone is beautifully ornate. What is interesting on the headstone is that his name is just mentioned as P. Rustomji in English while in Gujarati it is fully spelt out, including his last name.
Pirojshah died on 28th November 1933 and was buried in Lahore, Pakistan. Garothman Behest to his Ruvan.

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This tomb monument has an interesting twist. Pestonjee Cawasjee Darabsha Sethna who founded the firm Cawasjee Pallanjee & Co. of China passed away on August 18, 1842. However this monument was erected by his descendants, decades later on July 31st, 1919. Wonder what took so long. This also was one of the most recent ones in the Macau Parsi Cemetery before it stopped being used.

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Today we pay respects to the grave of Bai Cursedbai Bhicajee Kmaras who lies in the Lahore Parsi cemetery having passed away in November 27, 1897.

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Today we seek the blessings of Tehmina Peshotan Bhandara who passed away on January 6, 1995 and lies at rest in Gulbaug the Lahore Parsi Cemetery.

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An interesting tombstone in the Hong Kong Parsi Cemetery wretched in the memory of Jamasji Byramjee Colah who died at sea on a a sailing vessel off the coast of Macau, on the night of 31st May, 1875.

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The oldest tombstone in the Macau Parsi Cemetery I could find was that of Cursetjee Framjee. A “Native of Bombay” as is inscribed on the stone, he passed away on March 17th, 1829…nearly two centuries ago.

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And the last in the series is the tomb of one of the greatest Parsis of Hong Kong… Hormusjee Naorojee Mody. The founder of many a Hong Kong public institution include the HK University, etc. He lays in rest at the beautiful Hong Kong Parsi Cemetery in Happy Valley.

Twelve years ago, Homyar Nasirabadwala was working as an accountant in his hometown of Mumbai, India, when he came across a job advert in a Parsi magazine seeking a full-time dasturji, a Zoroastrian priest. Already ordained in doctrines dating back to antediluvian Persia that influenced essential principles of Judaism and Christianity, Nasirabadwala figured it might be time for a change, so after 11 years of number-crunching service at Shapoorji Pallonji & Co, he applied online.

Article by Rhea Mogul | South China Morning Post

There was just one catch, the posting was not at the Wadia Atash Behram, the fire temple on Princess Street, near Nasirabadwala’s home in Malabar Hill, an affluent Mumbai neighbourhood in the shadow of the Parsis’ most well-known monument, the Tower of Silence. It was 4,300km away, in Hong Kong.

“I wanted to give back to my community,” says 65-year-old Nasirabadwala, tending to a fire inside the prayer hall of the Zoroastrian Building at 101 Leighton Road, in Causeway Bay, “so I took early retirement and packed my bags. This has been the best decade of my life.”

The aroma of burning sandalwood fills the spacious, rectangular room on the fifth floor of the building. At the far end on the left, a glass panel is etched with an image of Zoroaster, the founder of Zoroastrianism. Opposite this, on the far right, a large portrait of Parsi businessman Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoy covers most of the back wall.

The Tower of Silence in Bombay, circa 1955. Photo: Getty Images

Nasirabadwala places a piece of sandalwood on the flame burning in the afarganyu, a traditional silver chalice-shaped vessel that holds the fire representing purity, the light of God and an illuminated mind. This Hong Kong fire has been burning since 1993, when the 22-storey building, formerly a modest three, opened its doors on March 21 of that year, on Navroze, the Parsi New Year.

Once he got the job, there was an additional require­ment: the priest had to be comfortable conducting religious ceremonies for a “progressive community”, blessing interfaith marriages, as well as performing the Parsi initiation cere­mony, the Navjote, for children of interfaith marriages.

These are practices unusual if not blasphemous to the insular, conservative Parsis in India, who practise endogamy, marrying only within their community, and believe any dilution of their faith is sacrilegious, which goes for genetics, too. Children born to only one Parsi parent are not recognised. Add low fertility and late marriages to the equation, and only 150,000 or so of this ancient bloodline remain worldwide.

In 2017, the BBC reported a “glimmer of hope” in India upon the birth of “the 102nd baby” born to two Parsi parents owing to a government scheme launched in 2013 to promote purity in procreation – a “moment for celebration in the dwindling community”. As far back as 2006, The New York Times ran the headline “Zoroastrians keep the faith, and keep dwindling”. The article described a “palpable panic” among Parsis “fighting the extinction of their faith”, and thereby, for their very existence.

And yet, in Hong Kong, nearly 12 years after heeding his call, Nasirabadwala serves a Parsi population that has, in the past 40 years, according to a local Parsi directory, grown by 36 per cent – and without any need for government incentives. How is this possible?

When Nasirabadwala arrived in Hong Kong, he was unaware of the vital role that the Parsis had played in the growth of the city.

“Living in Bombay, I knew what they did for Bombay,” he says, “but on taking up my assignment to Hong Kong, I learned so much more.”

Kotewall Road, Bisney Road and Mody Road are all named after Parsi businessmen. Two of the founding members of HSBC were Parsi. The University of Hong Kong was solely funded by Hormusjee Naorojee Mody, who was also instrumental in founding the Hong Kong stock exchange, Kowloon Cricket Club and Hong Kong Jockey Club.

The Star Ferry was founded by Dorabjee Naorojee Mithaiwala. Ruttonjee Hospital, founded by businessman and philan­thropist Jehangir Hormusjee Ruttonjee, is among the most recognised medical facilities in the city. He also established Hong Kong’s first brewery.

Jehangir Hormusjee Ruttonjee with his family. Photo: Handout

It is a pioneering spirit that dates back to the 7th century, following the Arab conquest of Persia, when Zoroastrians found their way to the northwestern state of Gujarat, in India. Referred to by the Indians as “Pars”, meaning “from Persia”, the Parsis were given refuge by Hindu kings on the condition that they abstain from proselytising.

Mumbai later became the centre of their world. There they built fire temples and the Tower of Silence, where the dead are left to be devoured by vultures, a practice originating in a belief that the dead should not pollute the Earth.

Settled in India, many Parsis became small business­men, and they rose to prominence with the arrival of British rule. Lighter skinned, educated and gender-equal, they were a good fit with the British ambition to westernise India. Soon they were dominating business in Victorian Bombay, building the city’s first universities and hospitals.

Now they had their eyes set on the Far East. But before Hong Kong, it was Canton, modern-day Guangzhou, that served as the region’s trading hub. This is where the first recorded Parsi merchant, Heerjibhoy Jivanji Readymoney, arrived in China in 1756, after three months aboard a large clipper from India.

As the monopoly of the East India Company ebbed, more Parsis joined the thriving trade of the Pearl River Delta. The most well known is Jeejeebhoy, the opium trader who, in 1857, would become the first baronet of Bombay. The fortune he amassed throughout his years of trading opium would earn him the moniker “Bombay’s most worthy son”.

The old Zoroastrian Building at 101 Leighton Road, circa 1931, the year it opened. Photo: courtesy of Yazdi Parekh

On his fourth trip to Canton, during the throes of the Napoleonic wars, Jeejeebhoy was captured by the French along with a young Scottish doctor, William Jardine. Later, when Jardine set up Jardine Matheson, in 1832, one of Hong Kong’s original hongs, Jeejeebhoy was appointed as the only Asian director of the company. His portrait still hangs in the company’s headquarters in Central.

He and other young entrepreneurs like him were aware of the risks they were taking. In the Parsee Cemetery in Happy Valley, two tall tombstones pay homage to two brothers lost at sea off the coast of Macau. They were in their early 30s.

Most Parsis who travelled to China did arrive, although it took a long time for them to be accepted by the Cantonese. Having escaped religious and political persecution in Persia to settle on the west coast of India, Parsis were used to playing the long game. The Chinese referred to Parsis as bai tou yi (“white-head foreigners”), and since the social rank of any foreigner was below that of a Chinese, they had little to do with each other outside the business realm.

In Zhang Kan, a collection of essays published in 1976, Shanghai-born writer Eileen Chang says of the era: “Chinese people were very conservative. Men would never think of marrying a person of mixed blood, not even as a concubine.”

But as the Parsi presence grew in the region, so did their desire to establish themselves officially. In 1822, on the rugged slopes of Guia Hill, in Macau – now called Estrada dos Parses – the first Parsi land was purchased to build a cemetery. Twelve years later, the China Canton Anjuman, an official group to take care of Parsi affairs, was formed.

Mar­riages between Chinese and Parsees were not marriages of convenience; they served no political purpose. They were the results […] of the two communities getting to know and appreciate each otherGuo Deyan, historian

Not long after, stronger ties with the locals were forged. When the Treaty of Nanking was signed in 1842, ending the first opium war, manyParsis diversified into cotton, silk, tea and sandalwood.

As a result, according to Chinese history scholar Guo Deyan, the Parsis had more oppor­tunity to interact with local people. Language barriers gradually diminished as more Parsis learned Chinese and the Chinese learned colonial-standard English. A sign of this mutual accep­tance, according to Guo, was the growing practice of interfaith marriage between Parsis and the local Chinese.

“In the early twentieth century, and even earlier, mar­riages between Chinese and Parsees were not marriages of convenience; they served no political purpose. They were the results […] of the two communities getting to know and appreciate each other over a long period of time,” writes Guo, in his research paper, “The Study of Parsee Merchants in Canton, Hong Kong and Macao.”

Chang, in the foreword to Zhang Kan, writes of the marriage between a Chinese woman, Mi Ni, and a Parsi man named Banaji in the early 20th century in Hong Kong. Banaji, writes Chang, spoke “fluent Chinese” and was “quite wealthy”. (Banaji would become a source of artistic inspiration for Chang; his life would inform her 1944 serialised novel, Lianhuantao.)

While this marriage was viewed positively in Hong Kong, and even encouraged by Mi Ni’s mother, the laws of India made things more difficult. According to the Parsi Marriage and Divorce Act of 1936, “marriage” meant a marriage between Parsis.

In 1908, a French woman, Suzanne Brière, also known as Sooni Tata, as the wife of Parsi industrialist Ratanji Dadabhoy Tata, requested that after death, her body to be left in Bombay’s Tower of Silence in accordance with Parsi tradition. After her marriage, she had converted to Zoroastrianism by undergoing an initiation ritual performed by a priest, but whether this conversion was permitted was in dispute, orthodox hardliners believing one must be born into Parsism.

Brière took her case to the Bombay High Court, where Justices Dinshaw Davar and Frank Beaman concluded that the Parsi community consists of Parsis who are born of Zoroastrian parents who profess the Zoroastrian religion; Iranis from Persia professing the Zoroastrian religion; and the children of Parsi fathers by “alien” (non-Parsi) mothers who have been admitted into the religion. The legal definition excludes the children of Parsi mothers by “alien” (non-Parsi) fathers. Brière’s body lies in Paris, in the Père Lachaise Cemetery; a testament to her defeat.

Banaji, who grew up on foreign soil, and whose peers included other Indians, British, Chinese, Portuguese and Jews, rebelled against the pressure from Parsi society and, against Parsi tradition, had a son with Mi Ni. “Such enormous changes in the traditional attitudes of both Parsees and Chinese,” writes Guo, “are powerful evidence of the extent to which Parsees were accepted into Chinese society.”

This non-endogamous group set the bar for the forward-thinking Parsis who followed, which is one of the reasons the Parsi population in Hong Kong has continued to grow.

The Parekh family, who maintain the local Parsi directory, enter the names of every person – the non-Parsi spouses, and the children of non-Parsi spouses, included – who wishes to be added to the list; a very different approach from that taken by some of their Indian counterparts.

Hormusjee Naorojee Mody. Photo: Wikipedia

Four Parsi merchants – Dhunjibhoy Ruttonjee Bisney, Hirjibhoy Rustomjee, Pestonjee Cowasjee and Framjee Jamsetjee – were among the first land buyers in Hong Kong. By 1845, the Anjuman had grown to cover Hong Kong and Macau. Seven years later, the foundation stone for the Parsis’ first establish­ment in Hong Kong, also a cemetery, was laid at 39 Tai Ha Street in Happy Valley, today Wong Nai Chung Road.

By 1860, 17 of the total 73 merchant firms listed in the Hong Kong Directory were Parsi. The Parsis would go on to devote their time, energy and money to building much of their new home. Zoroastrian House – a three-block, 13,795 sq ft property at 49 Elgin Street, then wide, leafy and home to many Indians – was purchased in 1861. In 1931, eight years after this property was sold, Zoroastrian Building opened at its current location at 101 Leighton Road.

Mody, a Parsi businessman who was once described as “a prince of good fellows” by the headmaster of Oxford University’s Queen’s College during a Hong Kong visit, is arguably the most illustrious example of his kind. He solely financed the building of the Kowloon Cricket Club, on Cox’s Road, in Jordan, in the 1900s, and was one of the founding members of the Hong Kong Jockey Club.

His horses – Fun and Marauder among them – won the Hong Kong Derby 11 times. But of all Mody’s contributions to Hong Kong, the greatest remains his role in founding HKU, donating HK$180,000 towards its cost. The foundation stone for the university was laid on March 16, 1910.

“We’ve been here for a very long time,” says 88-year-old Noshir Pavri, a Hong Kong-born Parsi. “And we’ve made the city our own.”

The foundation stone laying ceremony of the University of Hong Kong, on March 16, 1910. Photo: University of Hong Kong

Pavri’s grandfather arrived in Canton in 1910 for the same reasons as many Parsis before him: to trade and start businesses. In 1924, the family migrated south to Hong Kong. They lived in Wyndham Street, notable for its strong Indian presence. Their office was on the ground floor of their home; Noshir, his sister, Ruby, and their parents lived on the upper floors.

“This is how every family-owned business did it,” says Pavri. “We’d go downstairs to work in the morning, leave after finishing. It was a simpler, easier time.”

These “simpler” times would soon come to an end – for three years and eight months, to be exact  – and the Parsis would experience an unimaginable reality.

When the Japanese invaded Hong Kong on December 8, 1941, many foreigners fled the colony. Under the new rule, Hong Kong bank accounts were frozen, the value of the Hong Kong dollar shrunk by 25 per cent and the local Anjuman fell on hard times.

“Although the Indian community, the Portuguese, and other ‘neutral’ nationalities were allowed to live ‘at liberty’,” says Pavri, “it was quite a deceptive freedom, as there was inflation, rations, bombings and raids. Our standard of living and quality of life had dropped significantly.” Individuals were imprisoned for offences such as keeping lights on, or for being outdoors during curfew. “There were tunnels along what is now Queen’s Road East, where people would hide. People sold personal items, bit by bit, to get by.”

Zoroastrian priest Homyar Nasirabadwala in the Zoroastrian Prayer Hall at the Zoroastrian Building, in Causeway Bay. Photo: Antony Dickson

Pavri’s Wyndham Street home and the Ruttonjee home in Duddell Street were used to house Parsis who had been deprived of their own homes. Several Parsis were imprisoned by the Japanese, Ruttonjee among them.

Together with his sons, Ruttonjee was accused of helping the internees of Stanley camp, and of engaging in anti-Japanese activities. In 1942, Japanese guards surrounded their homes, Dina House and Ruttonjee Building in Duddell Street, for several weeks. The men spent nine months in prison on remand, were tortured and then sentenced to five years’ imprisonment.

Despite the harrowing conditions, the Anjuman’s focus on serving the Parsis remained. Accounts from meetings held between 1941 and 1945 tell of how the organisation was in dire need of money, unable to withdraw any from its accounts. Many Parsi residents took it upon themselves to pay for the Zoroastrian Building’s upkeep – electricity, water bills and the salaries of the priest and the cook. Parsi businessman Rustamba Dastur described it as his “duty” to give his own money, and to see that their cemetery received “protection, always”.

So on August 30, 1945, when the Japanese surrendered, a jubilant Pavri and his family took to the streets for a “momentous celebration” near Admiralty.

With time, Hong Kong had become deserving of the sacrifices made in its name. Its diverse community learned to work together, forging lasting partnerships. Hong Kong was a city worth fighting for. And 43 years later, so it was again.

Jal Shroff at the Kowloon Cricket Club. Photo: Antony Dickson

The idea to redevelop the three-storey building at 101 Leighton Road was sown in the minds of the commu­nity by former Anjuman president, Jal Shroff, in 1988.

“A lot of people were against the idea,” says Shroff, who arrived in Hong Kong in 1949 as a refugee from Shanghai. His father “lost everything” when the Communists took over. Reflecting on the colony’s handover, he says, “It was an uncertain time, and people didn’t know what would happen to Hong Kong after 1997,” says Shroff. “There was a lot of fear.”

When the Tiananmen Square crackdown  occurred in Beijing in 1989, “it put an entirely different perspective on the commercial viability of the project”, recalled Hong Kong-born Parsi Jimmy Master, in an interview with Parsiana magazine during the opening ceremony of the new Leighton Road building, in 1993. When tenders were put out, the response, according to Master, “was dismal”, but the redevelopment went ahead.

The building would “maximise the plot ratio, earn a significantly higher income for the trust funds, and enhance facilities available for the local Anjuman”, said Master. But most importantly, the structure represented a “reaffirmation of the community’s future in Hong Kong”.

So in 1993, Shroff inaugurated the new Zoroastrian Building, which “today reflects the efforts of a community that has worked together for a common cause”, he told a crowded room. “We, the Parsis of Hong Kong, [are] demonstrated by not our words, but by our actions and our commitment to Hong Kong.”

Neville Shroff, president of the Hong Kong Anjuman, with his wife Farida and their children Alisha and Nigel, at the Clock Tower in Tsim Sha Tsui. Photo: Antony Dickson

And that year, days before Shroff gave his speech, a time capsule was buried under the lobby entrance. “Who among us will be left in Hong Kong to open the time capsule? From the 40 children in our community, who will choose to make Hong Kong their home? And among the younger families, will they continue to make a home for their growing families in Hong Kong?” These, according to Master, were some of the questions being pondered by the community’s older generation.

Twenty-six years later, in 2019, Alisha Shroff walked onto a stage at the Pacific Palms Resort in Los Angeles, in the United States, part of a seven-person panel to discuss how “women will modernise the world’s oldest religion” at the World Zoroastrian Youth Congress.

“I love to explain to people that Parsis and Hong Kong have actually had a long and very enterprising history,” she says.

Shroff, 36, is fourth-generation Hong Kong-born, the oldest of three siblings; brother Nigel and sister Natasha were also born and raised in the city. Her father, Neville Shroff, has been president of the local Anjuman since 2011.

“A lot of thought has to be given to planning what’s next,” she says, sitting in the Italian restaurant at the Harbour Club, in Tsim Sha Tsui. “We have to find a way to bridge a gap and find a common ground for our need to modernise our religion, and what mindset needs to change.”

In the distance, the Star Ferry makes its way across the harbour.

An amazing initiative by 5 Zarathushti youth from the UK…. the ZOROVERSE Podcast is live !!

Check out episode one that features the amazing athlete Ayesha Bilimoria aka “FitGirl”

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Zoroversepodcast/

Instagram:  https://www.instagram.com/zoroversepodcast/

Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FoNGGt_w7xo

Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/6cwQfUWZF6haMU7WSaEIfy

A portion of a stone wall crashed right outside Adil Driver’s bedroom window in Parsi colony, but rain is impeding clearance; he wants permanent relocation.

Each time it rains, Adil Behram Driver rushes to his bedroom window and warily eyes a hillock 3 ft away. Nineteen days after a landslide sent a portion of a stone wall abutting the hillock tumbling towards the 16-storey Baria building-3 in Gamadia Colony, Tardeo, neither have the boulders been cleared nor have Driver and his family been moved out.

Article by Linah Baliga | Mumbai Mirror

The Parsi colony houses 18 buildings dating back 70 years, four of which are in the close proximity of the hillock near Forjett Hill. The wall was built 20 ft high in three layers in 2006 in a stair-step formation, with large stones forming the first level.

Around 5 am on July 27, Driver, his wife and two daughters were awakened by loud noises. “I immediately shut the windows of my room and the kitchen,” said Driver. Within seconds, the rumble grew louder. When the noises died down, Driver assessed the damage: rubble from the base of the wall had filled the narrow path forming the periphery of the colony, just outside his bedroom window on the ground floor.

Soon after the landslide, the Bombay Parsi Punchayet (BPP), which owns the colony, offered to move his family out to a neighbouring building for 15 days, while tin sheets with scaffolding were propped up to cover the gaping hole in the wall.

But Driver had had enough and demanded permanent relocation elsewhere. “There had been smaller incidents earlier. The thick vegetation on the wall worsened the problem as it made the structure hollow from the inside,” he said, adding that he did not want his family to live in fear all the time. “One of my daughters is a Class X student and I have a chronic illness. I was willing to move to a smaller house, but the BPP told me that it would be more expensive.”

The hole in the wall is covered by tin sheets, but residents are questioning their stability

He feared that were there to be another landslide, rocks would enter his home. “The boulders fell near a sewage line. The next time, they can crash on it, and filthy water can flood my home.” He said during last week’s rain, water seeped through his walls, and questioned the protection offered by the tin sheets.

Dinshaw Irani, who lives on the second floor, and Khursheed Behram from the third floor said their families, too, have been living in fear of a big tragedy. “The third floor is at the same height as the crest of the hillock. If there is another landslide, even we can be affected. I can see cracks on the wall from my window,” said Behram,who, too, questioned the stability of the tin sheets.

She said residents have been told that clearing the rubble will take time owing to rain. “We have been told that undertaking such work at this time can lead to more damage.”

Another tenant demanded that the wall be replaced with a concrete structure.

Viraf Mehta, one of the BPP trustees, said a structural engineer and a contractor have conducted an assessment of the site, and the necessary precautions taken. “The BPP board has sanctioned repairing the wall within the next two weeks. We will be reinforce the structure to ensure this doesn’t recur.” He expressed confidence in the protection offered by the tin sheets.

Fravash Chothia is a young Zarathushti based in Toronto. Fravash is a budding filmmaker and he put out this really interesting video capturing the 2019 Muktad times in Toronto.

Fravash writes

This year since we are observing the Shahanshahi Muktads virtually, I wanted to share this documentary I made last year. This video highlights the importance of unity, and the importance of coming together during these 5 auspicious Gatha days within our thriving Zoroastrian community in Toronto. I’d like to thank everyone who made this documentary possible and would love to continue making more in the future.

Natasha Mavalvala is standing on the upper floor of the H. J. Behrana agiari in Karachi’s Saddar, singing hymns for the souls of the departed. Her audience is a camera, recording her recitations of the Humbandagi prayer. The hall, which used to be packed with Parsis, echoes with her solo voice.

Article by Anushae Engineer | SAMAA

The coronavirus pandemic has forced Parsis to turn to technology to conduct the annual communal prayers. Even with social distancing, as many Parsis are elderly, the general consensus was that it would be putting them at risk by holding the sessions at the agiari.

When it was confirmed that the Navroze mela set for August 16 and the humbandagi would not be held, Tushna Patel approached the agiari’s trustees. “Let’s not break this chain we’ve had for so many years,” she told them. She pitched the idea of recording the sessions and sharing them online.

In Humbandagi (or communal prayer in Gujarati), Parsis gather to sing hymns in the 10 Mukhtad days before Navroze, the New Year for those of the Zoroastrian faith. It is believed that during Mukhtad, the souls of the departed descend to Earth to bless their loved ones.

“You cannot see them but [the souls] make their presence felt, and the reading of the Humbandagi holds you together,” Mavalvala explained. “It gives peace to them in a religious sense… You’re not just praying for their soul but your soul too.”

Usually, a lead singer begins promptly at 7am. Mavalvala has been fulfilling this role for the last six to seven years. She sings one Gatha at a time, first solo and then with the audience repeating after her. A translation follows before the recitation of the second one. Gathas are the conversations believed to have taken place between the prophet Zarathustra and Ahura Mazda, who Zoroastrians worship as God.

A total of 39 gathas have to be completed every year, meaning three to four gathas have to be recited each of the 10 days before Navroze. Everyone in the room is expected to remain standing throughout the session which takes no more than twenty minutes.

Natasha Mavalvala, like Tushna Patel, has been attending humbandagi her whole life. She recalls the excitement she experienced as a child, attending the sessions in uniform with her brother and father before hurrying to school with her friends. Most Parsi children during the 1970s and 80s attended Mama Parsi Girls Secondary School or BVS Parsi High School, both of which are within walking distance from the agiari. This was also a time when the majority of Parsis lived in Saddar and so it was convenient for parents to bring their children to the agiari before heading to school or office at 7:30am.

“It was just once a year, 10 days in the year, but it brought a lot of us together,” said Mavalvala. “I remember it as a happy time, not as a religious time, but we learned a lot from it. We used to sit there and hear Godrej Sidhwa giving a sermon all 10 days.” 

Godrej Sidhwa, a prominent Zoroastrian priest in Karachi who has passed away, used to pick out passages from the gathas and tell them as stories, often incorporating them into his sermons. Once he retired from his priestly duties and grew elderly, the sermons that followed gatha recitation ended altogether, marking the end of an era.

A mere two or three dozen Parsis have been attending hambandagi in recent years, compared to the hundreds who used to pack the prayer hall. “Ours is an aging community and the age bracket now is 70 years and above. People can hardly walk up the stairs to the main hall,” Mavalvala said. “A lot of emigration has also taken place.”

Pleasantly enough, though, Mavalvala and Patel have realised that by going online, the number of Parsis praying the gathas—albeit from the comfort of their homes—is far greater than could ever be physically possible in the agiyari.

Mavalvala sent the daily prayer video snippets to an email chain of hers with around 500 people, while Patel did the same thing through a WhatsApp group with almost 200 members. Both women said that what they had initially expected to be circulated among a few hundred Parsis in Karachi has instead reached well over 1,500 worldwide.

“The response was totally overwhelming,” Patel said. “People are telling me not to shut the [WhatsApp] group because along with Hambandagi, I’ve been posting other information, prayers and prayer books.”

Both women received messages from Parsis all over the world, grateful for being able to reconnect to their childhood memories of the Saddar agiyari. Aside from that, people like Rashna Gazder, a well-respected piano and language teacher, who moved to Karachi from Bombay 30 years ago, are appreciating that because of the technology they can pray at any time. “I told Tushna, I got involved in [hambandagi prayer] after a very long time,” Gazder added.

Patel reckons that they will have to continue for those people who will not come to the agiari next year also. “We’ve laid the foundation for it and I think we have to continue with it.”

Astrophysicist Nergis Mavalvala has been named the new dean of MIT’s School of Science, effective Sept. 1. She will succeed Michael Sipser, who will return to the faculty as the Donner Professor of Mathematics, after six years of service.

Mavalvala, the Curtis and Kathleen Marble Professor of Astrophysics, is renowned for her pioneering work in gravitational-wave detection, which she conducted as a leading member of LIGO, the Laser Interferometer Gravitational-Wave Observatory. She has received numerous awards and honors for her research and teaching, and since 2015 has been the associate head of the Department of Physics. Mavalvala will be the first woman to serve as dean in the School of Science.

“Nergis’s brilliance as a researcher and educator speaks eloquently for itself,” says MIT President L. Rafael Reif. “What excites me equally about her appointment as dean are the qualities I have seen in her as a leader: She is a deft, collaborative problem-solver, a wise and generous colleague, an incomparable mentor, and a champion for inclusive excellence. As we prepare for the start of this most unusual academic year, it gives me great comfort to know that the School of Science will remain in such capable hands.”

Provost Martin Schmidt announced the news today in a letter emailed to the MIT community, writing, “I very much look forward to working with Nergis and to benefiting from her unerring sense of scientific opportunity, infectious curiosity, down-to-earth manner and practical wisdom. I hope you will join me in congratulating her as she brings her great gifts as a leader to this new role.”

As with most everything she takes on, Mavalvala is energized and optimistic about the role ahead, even as she acknowledges the unprecedented challenges that the school, and the Institute as a whole, are facing in these shifting times.

“We’re in this moment where enormous changes are afoot,” Mavalvala says. “We’re in the middle of a global pandemic and economic challenge, and we’re also in a moment, at least in U.S. history, where the imperative for racial and social justice is really strong. As someone in a leadership position, that means you have opportunities to make an important and hopefully lasting impact.”

Leading with heart and mind

For the past five years as associate head of physics, Mavalvala oversaw the department’s academic programming and student well-being. She implemented new, more flexible doctoral requirements and exams, and expanded the department’s digital learning portfolio with the development of online versions for a number of core subjects. She also introduced changes to the department’s undergraduate and graduate advising, and helped to set in motion an extensive mentoring program.

In collaboration with department head Peter Fisher, she co-founded the Physics Values Committee, a group of faculty, staff, and students who advise the department on issues of well-being, respect, inclusion, collaboration, and mentorship. The committee developed the department’s first values statement, which has become a model for departments and units across MIT, and at other universities.

Mavalvala launched initiatives to meet the department’s goals of education and advising, while aiming to reduce stress and workload on students, faculty, and staff. She also helped to revise the department’s graduate admissions procedures in order to increase equity and promote a more diverse student body.

Mavalvala has also made it a priority to listen to students, through town hall meetings, open office hours, and by including student representatives in key departmental committees.

“I have had the privilege of working with some amazing people,” she says of her time as associate department head. She credits the many students and colleagues she has worked closely with, especially Fisher: “Through him, I’ve learned about leadership with compassion, with heart.”

“Learning the language”

Mavalvala was born in Lahore, Pakistan, and grew up in Karachi. A tinkerer by nature, she often got up to her elbows in grease as she absorbed herself in the mechanics of bike repair. In school, she gravitated to math and physics early on, and her parents, strong advocates of both their daughters’ education, encouraged her to apply to college overseas.

At Wellesley College, she earned a bachelor’s degree in physics and astronomy, before moving to MIT in 1990, where she pursued a PhD in physics. Her advisor, Rainier Weiss, now professor emeritus of physics, was working out how to physically realize his idea of an interferometer to detect gravitational waves — minute disturbances rippling out through space from cataclysmic events millions to billions of light years away.

Mavalvala dove into the fledgling project, helping Weiss to build an early prototype of a gravitational-wave detector as part of her PhD thesis. Weiss’ idea would eventually take shape as LIGO, the twin 4-kilometer-long interferometers that in 2016 made the first direct detection of gravitational waves, a historic discovery that won Weiss and others the 2017 Nobel Prize in physics.

After completing her PhD work at MIT, Mavalvala went to Caltech in 1997 as a postdoc, studying the cosmic microwave background. In 2000, she joined on as a staff scientist at the LIGO Laboratory, where researchers were collaborating with Weiss’ group at MIT to build LIGO’s detectors. She spent two years with the Caltech team before accepting a position that took her back to MIT, where she joined the faculty in 2002 as assistant professor of physics.

Since then, she has helped to build up the MIT LIGO group, where she has worked to design and improve different parts of the interferometers. She also has led a team of scientists in developing tools to study and manipulate the barely perceptible quantum effects on LIGO’s massive detectors.

“To make an experiment like LIGO work, as large and complex that it is, takes the collaboration of hundreds of scientists, across geographical and cultural distances,” says Mavalvala, who sees useful crossover with her new role at the School of Science helm. “It’s good training for the dean’s position, because that’s going to require also spanning not just different fields of physics, but different fields of science, and learning the language of those fields.”

Mavalvala is a recipient of numerous honors and awards, including in 2010 the MacArthur Fellowship. In 2014, the National Organization of Gay and Lesbian Scientists and Technical Professionals recognized her as the LGBTQ+ Scientist of the year, and in 2015 she was awarded the Special Breakthrough Prize in Fundamental Physics, as part of the LIGO team. In 2017, she was elected to the National Academy of Sciences. That same year, the Carnegie Corporation of New York recognized Mavalvala as a Great Immigrant honoree. She is also the first recipient of the Lahore Technology Award, given by the Information Technology University, a public university in Pakistan.

“A better MIT”

Mavalvala is optimistic about the road ahead and credits her predecessors, and especially Michael Sipser, for paving the way.

“In some ways, the years leading up to the pandemic have been good years for MIT from the side of scientific discovery, and our impact on the world,” Mavalvala says. “I’m awed by the number of things that Mike has done and has left in good shape. I will always be grateful for that, and plan to carry on with the many things that work well, while also continually improving what we do and how we do it, as needs and demands shift.”

Since LIGO’s first detection of gravitational waves was reported in 2016, Mavalvala, with her deep passion for science and lively personality, has been sought after as a sort of unofficial ambassador to the public on behalf of astrophysics and STEM more broadly. Her identity as an openly queer immigrant woman scientist of color has also brought her public attention. As she takes on her new role, Mavalvala plans to continue to engage a wide audience with her passion for science and discovery.

“MIT is one of the top places in the world for doing cutting-edge science, and we will continue to maintain that eminence. At the same time, we also have to push on issues of diversity, issues of racial and social justice, and of work-life balance,” says Mavalvala, who is also a parent of two children. “There’s this idea at places like MIT that to be as excellent as we are in science and education, that has to come at the cost of all other aspects of being human. I reject that idea. So part of what I’d like to do, and part of my vision of a better MIT, is to find ways for those things to coexist, in good balance. I don’t have any illusions that some of these things will be harder to do, but it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.”