Going back to the roots: an emotion in motion

A forgotten link of Govadia heritage

Article by Adil J. Govadia

Our large 3-tiered family haveli (bungalow), built way back in 1887, is located in a small Gujarat hamlet named Nargol, located on the southern tip of Gujarat, approximately 150 kms north from Mumbai, overlooking the Arabian sea. One of the safest and most picturesque of all beaches with tall Sarovar (Casuarina) trees dotting the shoreline, three Parsi families, namely Patel, Karbhari and Khandadiya, are believed to have first moved to the village some 600 years ago and named it as ‘Anar Gul’- meaning ‘flower of pomegranate’. Over time, the name got corrupted to ’Nar Gul’ which eventually became Nargol.

The most beautiful Nargol beach 

Nargol beach dotted with Sarovar (Casuarina) trees

The said 3-tiered ‘Govadia Bungalow’ in Nargol is an architectural marvel of the period, having a massive front courtyard that leads up the semi-circular steps onto an enormous Doric-columned high-ceiling veranda with multiple arches that protects its residents from the oppressive summer heat. This 19^th century masterpiece displays a unique design of an environmentally friendly structure made of flat hand-made bricks, lime, jaggery and home-grown Saadra wood (also known for producing katha eaten by paan chewers) along with toddy and eggs brought from the family farms. Toddy and eggs were essentially used as binding agents in absence of cement and the floor was coated with cow-dung and lime that not only protects the residents from termites and insects but also provides a cool environment during summers while retaining warmth during bitterly cold winters.

The bungalow has a Spartan design with a large central hall flanked by two independent units consisting of living-rooms and washrooms on either side of two massive wooden stairways in the center, each leading to two separate galas or wings. In order to provide more living space to the growing Govadia clan, the primeval architect of the almost 140 years old bungalow, experimented by adding an attic to the two functional floors, which gave the structure an imposing look of grandeur and magnificence.

An imposing 19^th century ‘Govadia Bungalow’ with a mango tree in right foreground sowed by Jevanji Faramji Govadia, the author’s grandfather

Thus, the 3-tiered ‘Govadia Bungalow’ with porticos and verandas, thick walls and high ceilings, having additional small air vents high-up on the walls close to the ceiling that provides a better ventilation of coastal breeze, is indeed a marvel worth admiration. Divided into two independent units (galas) with the upper floors accessed independently by two massive wooden stairways belonging to two ancestral brothers Hormazji and Rustomji, sons of the Govadia patriarch Pestonji Govadia (Mirza).

On each of the two floors there are a total of NINE large galas (living-rooms) with self-contained raised washrooms (bath areas) that had no running water connectivity till as late as the 1970s when water pipes were laid and the village finally got access to the Government-supplied fresh water. Till then, bath and general washing was done by drawing water from the courtyard well.

Typical of any traditional family living in a 19^th century bungalow, a series of toilets were built outside the main structure, also devoid of running fresh water due to absence of flush facilities. Here too, water had to be drawn from the courtyard well. Separate toilets (with iron doors) were especially constructed for the women-folk of the family who used them exclusively during their monthly seclusion. In fact, all toilets, by design, were built outside the living accommodation in order to not only maintain religious sanctity within the household but also to sustain family hygiene in absence of flushing facilities and septic tanks.

Subsequently, sometime in the year 1949-50, the family saw the construction of the only septic tank in the entire Valsad district that was laid for the first time in our ancestral ‘Govadia Bungalow’ and the public from the neighbouring areas flocked to see this novel and groundbreaking innovation! Even the Maharajas of Jawahar and Dharampur visited our ancestral village to have a first look at the septic tank!

Maharaja of Dharampur His Highness Vijaydevji-Mohandevji during his visit to Nargol

Sitting on his left Mr. Kabraji, Collector, Thana District

Standing back row L-R: Two Princes Ramdevji & Sahadevji, Meherbanoo Taleyarkhan, Dr. Cawasji Mehta & Rustom Taleyarkhan

As kids, we visited Nargol ever so often and had the opportunity of experiencing village life without electricity! Every day, after an enjoyable and entertaining visit to the most beautiful sandy beach, we were quickly hustled by our family elders back to the bungalow to draw bath-water from the well before sun-down. This is because, after sun-down, it is a religious taboo to disturb the well-waters. It was much later in the mid-70s that the hamlet got connected with the main electrical grid to receive sporadic electrical supply which marked the modernization of Nargol.

Almost a dozen families lived happily and contentedly in the large ‘Govadia Bungalow’, often sharing food prepared in two separate family kitchens located on ground floor that was managed by the senior ladies of the joint family. Admittedly, each gala holds a unique memory – a story narrating the lives of those who once occupied it and the faded family portraits on the crumbling walls provide a glimpse into their lives, connecting the modern-day present to a bygone era of simple yet a happy, resilient and gadget-free existence.

For the early Parsis, the period of Mughal rule (1573-1660 CE) was a time of relative peace and security in contrast to the earlier period of oppressive rule of the Delhi Sultanate (13^th-15^th century CE). In the early period after migrating from Iran to India, Parsi priests had established a system of ministerial boroughs (panthaks) by systematically allocating different areas to specified Mobed tolas (priestly lineages) for religious duties. Over a period of time, the Bhagaria and the Sanjana panthaks in Navsari further evolved into a formal social structure of five specific groups or families called Pols, who were assigned related priestly duties whereby each family got to perform every ceremony during the annual cycle. The Sanjans and the Bhagarias thus had a working arrangement to run the sacred Atash Behram and other religious ceremonies in Navsari, but this understanding broke down resulting in the notorious ‘Tarota Bazar murders’ of three Bhagaria priests (Rustam Shapur Antia and Manek Behram Nariman) and seven Behdins. Disturbed by the development, the Sanjana priests decided to move out of Navsari with their sacred fire. Thus, Iranshah’s 300 years long stay in Navsari came to an abrupt end around 1740 CE when the Sanjana priests, with the authority of the Gaikwad of Baroda, moved the sacred Iranshah to Valsad (Bulsar) en route to a small seaside village named Udvada where it gloriously continues to radiate. Eventually, the NINE priestly families from the Sanjana panthak declared their right to exclusively tend to the sacred fire, a practice that continues till date.

With Navsari deprived of the holy fire, the Bhagarias in time consecrated their own Atash Behram in 1765 CE at the same place where Iranshah had previously been housed. It was much later, in 1925, that the present grand structure was erected to house the Atash Behram fire.

NOTE: There is no record of a formally signed covenant of either the five priestly groups or the geographical distribution of priestly duties. However, the privileges and authority, vested in the heads of the five Pols, became null & void upon the appointment of the first Dastur MeherhiRana in 1579 CE.

Evolution of the Govadia family

The existence of the earliest known Govadia patriarch – Peshotan Mirza, is loosely verified by word-of-mouth accounts from various senior members of the family. Peshotan Mirza’s life history starts around the period when the Navsari Atash Behram was enthroned in 1765 CE! He originally hailed from the Sanjana tola (group) of Udwada but moved to a small hamlet named Govada* near Umbergaon in Gujarat sometime in the year 1810. He was a tall, well-built, handsome, hardworking agriculturist who was often referred-to as ‘Govadawalla’ or ‘Govadia’, meaning ‘resident of the village Govada’.

*NOTE: The hamlet named Govada is located just 8 km from Umbergaon (District Valsad) and boasts of a pretty Dar-e-Mihr (Dadgah) built in 1855. There is one Dokhma (Tower of Silence) still functioning out of the three dokhmas presumably built sometime in mid-16^th century CE, thereby making them amongst the oldest consecrated Parsee structures erected in India.

The name ‘Govadia’ stuck to Peshotan Mirza who eventually adopted the name ‘Peshotan Govadia’ and moved on in life! Unfortunately, not much is known about him although the word-of-mouth mention of Peshotan Govadia (alias Mirza) is unfailingly consistent. He nevertheless remains non-existent in official priestly records or any other reference source from Udwada or anywhere else.

Due to the above stated Bhagaria-Sanjana feud in mid-18^th century CE, a few priestly families like Peshotan Govadia (Mirza) opted to stay away from the continuing dispute and instead opted doing agriculture over Mobedi (their ancestral priestly vocation) in distant towns and villages like Bulsar and Nargol. This separation from the mainstream priestly calling was the tipping point which led to their eventual alienation from mainstream Sanjana priestly livelihood.

Thus, Peshotan Govadia (Mirza), although a qualified Mobed (priest), preferred agriculture over priesthood. He worked very hard to earn a good name in his adopted hamlet Govada and the neighbouring villages like Nargol, Sanjan, Saronda, Mal Talhasari etc. Thereafter, the resolute activities of his progenies and subsequent generations, their pursuit and perseverance to excel in their chosen field of work, their moral courage and self-reliance and their rustic exploits over the many subsequent generations, is indeed a popular folklore that is not only exciting but also encouraging and awe-inspiring. They lived modestly but happily as they ploughed their lands and graciously assisted the society at large. They often kept their purse-strings loose as they frequently lightened the burden of their tribal workers and that of the community & society in general by their altruistic generosity. While they were honest, hard-working, persevering and joyful, they lived life graciously as their sense of humor, uproarious practical pranks, hilarious mischief and sidesplitting banter continues to remain a village folklore. They pursued their religious traditions and ancestral legacy with sagacity, magnanimity and cheerfulness – qualities that stood them in good stead during turbulent times of life’s turmoil and hardships. They undoubtedly kept Parsism alive by their good thoughts, words and deeds as mandated by their religion!

Govadias flourish in agriculture business

Because of prevailing thick jungles and absence of concrete roads, all business was either done on foot, horseback or bullock-cart. According to a reliable estimate, at one time, just before the country’s independence, the Govadias owned over 18,000 acres of fertile agricultural farm land and teak-wood plantations. Agricultural produce like kolam rice, wheat, grams, toor-dal (pigeon-pea) and various vegetables from the Govadia farmlands were brought to Nargol by long winding caravans of bullock-carts. At times, each cultivation had a caravan of over 100-150 bullock-carts meandering grandly through numerous villages and jungle wildernesses, indeed an impressive sight to behold. All harvest was stored in ‘vakhars’ or storage silos located at Nargol which, over the years, were dismantled and converted into kitchens and store-rooms as the future generations increasingly lost interest in farming and agriculture!

In those days of rampant slavery practiced around the world, particularly in Europe, Mid-East and America, where the slaves were held against their will from the time of their capture or purchase till death, were deprived of all human rights. The Govadia ancestors however recognized basic civil rights of fellow humans from the earliest times and treated all tribals, adivasis and ethnic groups with abundant love, esteem and social care. Although slavery was more desirable to landlords who owned large tracts of land, generous and compassionate Govadia ancestors thought otherwise as they treated all communities in their jurisdiction with great concern, love and a sense of profound social kindness. They extended free medical help wherever necessary and encouraged basic hygiene and elementary education. In fact, so generous were the successive generations of the Govadia lineage that they formed a practice of supplementing annual ration of grains, milk and vegetables to any unfortunate tribal widow who lost her sole bread-earner early in life. In many cases the Govadia ancestors even helped extremely poor tribal families by allowing them to till and earn a respectable living on especially demarcated small plots of Govadia farms without any financial gain in return. Ironically, this magnanimous gesture later went against the benevolent Govadias when the land ceiling act was introduced – ‘those who till the land own the land’ – due to which the noble Govadias lost large tracks of land to the same adivasis they had facilitated in their hour of need!

                            One of the nine galas

The grand wooden staircase

Despite several socio-political hurdles that existed then, the Govadia ancestors however expanded their agricultural business many-folds by buying vast tracts of jungles and farmland far and wide. Besides teak-wood plantations, they also cultivated Acacia wood (Kathi wood used in Fire Temples), produced charcoal and owned several toddy shops (Palm wine). Besides, they had also established a lucrative business of extracting & selling pure rich honey from live beehives brought from deep jungles by the tribal community.

A new dawn: Govadias go global

Truly, the heroic deeds of Govadia ancestors, the story of their pursuit in search of existence, their moral courage and self-reliance and their exploits over the generations does provide one an insight into their sense of hard work and clean living. They lived humbly, soberly and happily as they tilled their lands with self-fulfilling esteem, dignity and pride. They always attuned to the heart-strings of their religion and kept their traditions alive by their good words, thoughts and deeds!

However, due to rapid changes and fast globalization where global competition, technological progression, changing demographics and a fast-developing IT sector, had a telling effect on how the biosphere operated. Rapid urbanization brought about demographic changes resulting in a colossal paradigm shift of man and machinery that eroded the hitherto existing cultural and socio-religious value systems. Just as in the past, when Peshotan Govadia (Mirza) and his progenies opted for agriculture over their ancestral priestly vocation that resulted in a prototype shift, similarly, modern-day Govadia youth opted to step out of the agriculture business into other contemporary vocations, leading to another paradigm shift, first from rural to urban and then global, that slowly but surely led to abandonment of the ‘Govadia Bungalow’, once home to over NINE Govadia ancestor-families!

The courtyard with a fresh-water well                             

Unusual window fixtures

Apparently, given the race to relocate from rural to urban and then global, resulted in a kind of renunciation of the ancestral ‘Govadia Bungalow’ which, over succeeding decades, suffered indifference and neglect leading to present-day deplorable deterioration. Having no inhabitants to occupy or take care of the grand old bungalow, the roof eventually caved-in while the front and rear courtyards saw the overgrowth of shrubs and bushes where we once played with sheep, hens, cattle and dogs. Indeed, full of delightful memories, the hallowed ‘Govadia Bungalow’ stands in ruins today where generations of the Govadia ancestors lived, thrived and prospered. In fact, memories come gushing as one navigates through some of the family’s crumbling black & white picture-frames that still hang on the dilapidated walls of the ‘Govadia Bungalow’, reminding of the ancestral Govadia opulence. Though many others in the crumbling picture-frames remain unrecognizable, as their identity is perhaps completely lost in time, it nevertheless is a matter of pride to be able to at least get a glimpse of them in these fading picture-frames.

Often, the childhood memories of the bungalow flash a kaleidoscopic profusion: like bathing in open washrooms having a small parapet that shielded our ‘budding youth’ from the living room occupants while the hanging clothesline above barely afforded us a bathing privacy. And yet we thoroughly enjoyed living in such rustic conditions as each gala was spacious, big enough to accommodate several visiting cousins. Despite the so-called ‘hardships’ of drawing our own bath water from the well, using hand-held fans or having long tedious lantern-lighted evenings, we thoroughly enjoyed our stay in Nargol.  Also, re-filling those multiple kerosene lamps every evening was fun while the ladies of the house set the large creaky dining table for an early evening supper, the same unpolished huge dining table where our sagacious ancestors met over a hearty meal while consuming Mahua drink or tody, often dominated by the typical Govadia banter and din! I particularly remember the door and window fittings which seemed quite unusual while the massive old mosquito-netted beds were absolutely fascinating, reflecting an emotion in motion of our childhood memories.

Notions of privacy or living as a nuclear family and eating alone never ever crossed our minds when in Nargol. In fact, there was someone around at all times – to love, to care, to cook, to mocker or to laugh with. And this is why I strongly miss that family bond, a sense of CLOSENESS, CONTENTMENT & CHEERFULNESS that existed in the old village bungalow, perhaps lost forever in the hustle-bustle of the present-day urban existence. Undeniably, in the ‘Govadia Bungalow’ there was no dearth of repartee, wit and laughter as the senior citizens of the family pranked, joked and told joyful stories from their past while we as kids listened in rapt attention. The hilarity and raillery effectively shielded their sweat and toil as they reminisced the past and with silent tears of anticipation for the future, looked confused and disoriented as the younger generation, like tiny acorns, although growing into sprawling banyan-trees, spreading their roots around the world in every walk of life, were abandoning the village and the century-old bungalow! Govadia men and women of humble means, despite financial constraints, had risen to global positions of abundant eminence – financially, socially, intellectually & spiritually, bequeathing their noble example to future generations for necessary reflection and positive emulation.

The ancestral ‘Govadia Bungalow’ today remains a silent spectator trying to narrate the rich tapestry of its historical past. Serving as a bridge connecting the present with the bygone past, presenting a glimpse into the lives and experiences of its hardy occupants, the ‘Govadia Bungalow’ today remains but only a shadow of its elegant past. The grand old bungalow has weathered the passage of time and continues to stand tall as a testament of resilience, character and strength of our forbearing forefathers. It’s a place that holds immense significance to our very existence as it embodies the essence of our cultural identity and holds the key to unravelling the history of past generations.

The design of the bungalow, its furnishings and the artefacts within its walls reflect the aesthetics and artistic sensibilities of the past, providing valuable insights into the cultural embroidery that once shaped and defined our ancestors’ lives. Standing tall as a microcosm of the religious traditions, customs and family values, our ancestral home embodies the cultural heritage of the Govadia lineage. But sadly, the once-vibrant dwelling, now remains a silent bystander of the fast-changing social and global evolution. Unfortunately, the ravages of neglect have left its mark on the bungalow’s battered facade, crumbling walls and creaking floorboards and the echoes of life, that once resonated within the walls of the bungalow, are now replaced by an eerie silence. Though now connected to the electricity grid, the bungalow remains dark and silent as ironically there are no inhabitants to turn-on the lights!

The reasons for its neglect may be varied but the end result remains a poignant reminder of the transience and impermanence of human existence! Why do we stretch & stress to build or acquire real estate when everything material is transitory and temporary? Like in the case of our beloved ancestral bungalow, one day all will either be demolished, sold, legally challenged or lie in ruins! So, why do we fret and fume over superficial luxuries in this short span of leased life that has an uncertain tenure and whose terms are immutable and non-negotiable? Ironically, in the modern-world houses get bigger while families get smaller! Also, when the house has occupants, we desire peace & privacy but when the nest empties, we long for company. Such is the human insatiability for existence!

As Rose Kennedy once said, “Life isn’t a matter of milestones, but of moments”; though time moves slowly it passes quickly, leaving its shadow behind silently! And once you pass it, you cannot return back, as it only transforms itself into an emotion in motion!

(Excerpts from ‘The Govadia Genealogy – a brief sketch’ by Adil J. Govadia)

(All pictures clicked by the author)

Among the plans are a project to do up the compound, a small museum, a photo gallery, an arch, and a new drinking water fountain for the public who may want to drink the spring water from the well.

Article by Manoj Ramakrishnan | Free Press Journal

As one of Mumbai’s oldest landmarks, the Bhikha Behram well in Churchgate, prepares for its tricentennial in 2025, there are plans to give the monument a revamp. Among the plans are a project to do up the compound, a small museum, a photo gallery, an arch, and a new drinking water fountain for the public who may want to drink the spring water from the well.

The sacred well

The well is a sacred site for Parsi-Zoroastrians who gather here for prayers every day. On special days like ‘Ava Roj’ or ‘water day’, there are larger congregations that gather there to revere the water element which has its own guardian angel in the Zoroastrian religion. 

The well’s compound was recently tiled and painted with funds from Makarand Narwekar, the former local municipal corporator. There are plans to do up the surroundings with the help of an architect who has an expertise on redesigning public places, said Diniar Mehta, president of the Parsi cell of the Bharatiya Janata Party’s Colaba assembly constituency, who has been instrumental in getting the restoration plans.

“We were asked for help by the trustees of the Bhikha Behram Well. This is a non-profit trust charitable trust and donations go for the regular religious ceremonies that are held here,” said Mehta.  

Earlier, the inner compound of the well, which is listed as a Grade II A protected structure under Mumbai’s heritage conservation laws, one of the highest grades under the list, was restored by conservation architects. The restoration involved the raising of the floor by 100 mm to prevent water flooding in from the road, a new ceramic tile flooring, improved drainage of rain water, and increase in the height of the parapet surrounding the compound.

History of the well

According to Percy Siganporia, who has chronicled the history of the well, Parsis revere the well and its surroundings as a sacred site because it contains fresh water even though it is just a few hundred meters from the sea. The well was dug in 1725 though the pavilion was constructed in the early twentieth century.

The well was built by Bhikaji Behram Pandey who had arrived from Bharuch in south Gujarat as a source of water for travellers passing by in bullock and horse carts. A stone ‘hawada’ or a trough was built for the animals to drink out of. Siganporia said that when the Bombay High Court, the University of Mumbai, and the Central Telegraph offices were built in the late 19^th century, the well supplied drinking water for the workers. Later, carts carried water from the well to offices in the area.

“Another well in the area, located in the Bombay High Compound, was closed in the 1980s after the water turned brackish. So this is the only fresh water well surviving in the area,” said Siganporia. “In the 19^th and early 20^th century, Bhikha Behram’s natural spring water was considered to be a remedy for stomach ailments as well as for eye and hair remedies.”

The quiet compound, filled with trees and shrubs also offers a sanctuary where lawyers from the nearby courts and writers have sat to write and contemplate.

Tracing a tiny Mumbai community’s journey with a niche art form

At any Western classical music performance that I attend in Mumbai, the audience is always a sea of elderly Parsis. (Parsis are a tiny community of Zoroastrians who migrated from Iran to India in the eighth century.) There were the regulars: the elderly gentleman with a scimitar nose, bobbing his head in time to the music; the sari-clad grandmother, impeccably attired and dignified. It is a running joke that if anyone wanted to finish our community off in one go, the easiest way would be at a Western classical performance.

Article by Meher Mirza | VAN Magazine

But why is a minority community in Mumbai associated with this art form from Europe? For this, we must scroll back to the time when India was fettered by colonialism.

Across India, the British hoped to contour a simulacrum of an idealized British world, opening British-only clubs, hosting balls and throwing classical music concerts. A fistful of elite urban Parsis and Indian Christians, somewhat more “Westernized” than other communities, with facility in English and reading Western musical notation, later attempted to engage with some of these aspects of British culture. (For such Parsis, sculpting a lifestyle drawn from both Western and Indian cultures might have seemed forward-looking and progressive.) Orchestras and audiences, often a sea of white, slowly became checkered with a few Indian faces.

An article in the Parsi Times pointed out that “When the great soprano Emma Albani sang in Bombay around 1914, she noted that ladies in beautiful pink sarees were very appreciative of the typically English repertoire she sang. These were Parsis.”

In 1930, composer and violinist Merwanji (Mehli) Cassinath formed a 14-piece orchestra made up entirely of young Parsis. This Young Men’s Parsi Orchestra was “more of a string band,” wrote the newspaper Mid-Day in 1983, “although they did have piano, clarinet, C-melody sax, bass and drums.”

Between 1890 and 1934, Miss Bhikaiji Limjibhoy Palamkote, a gritty Parsi musical impresario, author and advocate for women’s education, tutored hundreds of students in Western music, dispatching 344 for examinations held by the Trinity College of Music, purportedly even donating Rs 25,000 (roughly $9,000 today) to the college as awards for students who passed with distinction.

In 1921, the Bombay Symphony Orchestra, helmed by German conductor Edward Behr, employed at least three Indian musicians on strings. According to a 1920 issue of the Times of India, Behr had earlier appealed to the local municipality for funds (none came) to shape an orchestra of men and women: “Mahomedans, Hindus, Parsis, Goanese, Anglo-Indians, in short, of any musical talent to be found in this country strengthened by capable European players in different sections of the band.” A year after his first appeal, he wrote again to the Times, saying somewhat cholerically, “I am convinced that, if musical matters are to be improved in this city, the effort must come from the music makers and lovers themselves, and that it is no good waiting for a fairy god-mother in the shape of the Municipality or the Turf Club to shower funds for the purpose until they realise there is real need for such a thing.”

A Parsi philanthropist, Jehangir Petit, ended up supporting the initiative. The first performances of the BSO, in November and December 1921 at the Excelsior Theatre, showed a great deal of promise—even though a Bombay Chronicle columnist did plead for the addition of a humorous monologue or recitation to razor the monotony of “a number of Orchestral classics which would otherwise have to appear on the programme in succession.”

Behr’s orchestra lasted only a few years, but in 1935, a new one sprang up. It was founded by Mehli Mehta, a Parsi violinist tutored by Cassinath, and Belgian conductor Jules Craen. Throughout the 1940s, articles in the Times of India and the Bombay Chronicle praised Mehta’s (and Craen’s) performances as “superb,” “brilliant,” having “sparkling technique,” and Mehta as “India’s leading violinist.” One article in 1949 lamented that “artists of the calibre of Mehli Mehta have to make the best of our existing hall”—this was the Cowasji Jehangir Hall, known for its uneven acoustics (now converted into the National Gallery of Modern Art). Mehta would later move to the U.S., founding and helming the American Youth Symphony for decades. His son, Zubin Mehta, became one the world’s most famous conductors.

Even after the yoke of colonialism was cast off, Mumbai kept seeding musicians, many of whom belonged to the Parsi community. The Time & Talents’ Club, a group of women who organize concerts, draws an unbroken line from 1934 to today, when it was begun by Gool Shavaksha. Peopled by a clot of upper-crust Parsi women, the Club boosted the city’s cultural scene by wrangling concerts with everyone from the Berlin Chamber Orchestra to Yehudi Menuhin, then distributing the proceeds to the less privileged.

The only other community in India with the training for and interest in classical music to produce professional performers was the Christian community, which birthed brilliant musicians such as Vere da Silva; he founded the city’s first string quartet and later, the Bombay City Orchestra. Goans and East Indian musicians came to undergird most orchestras and bands across the country.

Clearly, the Parsis absorbed Western music as deeply as they took to cricket—like fish to water— and were “amongst the first Indians to develop a taste for Western classical music,” writes Naresh Fernandes in his book Taj Mahal Foxtrot. As a tiny minority seeking a new home in India, such social syncretism was crucial. Parsis had absorbed strands of various cultures, yielding their Persian tongue, dress and some social and religious customs for Indian ones. Similarly, centuries later, there followed a cultural collusion where elite Indians constructed themselves within the image of the British and adopted an Anglophile ethos, one of several minorities at the time to do so. Under colonialism, a few wealthy Parsis even hired English governesses, who taught the children of the household to play the piano and the violin. And since the community was centered largely in Mumbai, this is where the classical scene eventually pooled (although cities such as Delhi, Chennai and Kolkata have conservatories of their own, and continue to host infrequent concerts).

A quick aside: Goa also has a vibrant classical music community, stretching all the way back to Portuguese colonization in the 16th century. “The Portuguese, who had ruled Goa since 1510, neglected higher education almost completely but in 1545 established parochial schools that put into place a solid system of musical training,” writes Fernandes. “Boys were taught to play an instrument, usually the violin, musical theory and how to read Western-style scores.”

Still, the specter of failure would continually cast its shadow on Indian performers, shackled as they were by wince-inducing taxes (25 percent until ten years ago, for fear Western classical would draw audiences away from Indian art forms), expensive instruments, an uneven audience and wobbly infrastructure for anyone contemplating a career in music.

Yehudi Menuhin, visiting India for six weeks in 1953, wrote in the Bombay Chronicle that he believed it necessary for the Indian government and people to organize an institution on a national scope for Western music, and deemed it essential for an Indian to be its director. He went on to suggest Dr. Narayan Menon of All India Radio in New Delhi and Mehli Mehta, who he felt were “well equipped to supervise the training of staffs and to preserve the interests of Indian music.” The enterprise should be bent towards education, Menuhin continued: “In the same manner that we of the Western world study an art foreign to us, the Greek theatre, for example, which we study carefully though we would not consider it a replacement for our own native expressions in the theatre.”

This too would eventually become a Parsi enterprise: Mumbai’s National Centre of Performing Art, a multi-venue theater inaugurated by Parsi industrialist J R Tata and Dr. Jamshed Bhabha in 1969. The theater was meant as a repository of India’s vivid cultural traditions. In a newspaper interview, P L Deshpande, the Marathi author-musician and Honorary Director of the NCPA, explained that “The basic genesis, the raison d’etre of the NCPA, is the perpetuation, development and preservation of the Indian legacy of the performing arts, which depends mainly on oral tradition. We always knew that we could never hope to emulate other centres, like the Lincoln Centre and the Kennedy Centre in the US, or the Festival Hall in the UK, whose budgets run into hundreds of crores.” The NCPA started small, but eventually grew to include a belt of theaters wedged between the expensive Oberoi hotel, and a redoubt of tetrapods that open out into the Arabian sea. Each venue is distinct: the bowl of the Sunken Garden scooped out of the ground; the vast marbled halls of the Jamshed Bhabha theatre; the Experimental Theatre with its entirely reconfigurable interiors; the vast Tata amphitheater and its revolving stage; the cosy Little Theatre; and so on.

For years, audiences came to the NCPA for a Marathi lavaani performance or a Hindustani classical concert. From 1969 to 1974, the NCPA website says, “most of the leading exponents of the Hindustani and Carnatic traditions were recorded” for their archives. This musical plurality continues to this day, although the NCPA has come to be known as a bastion of Western music. Its Parsi chairman, Khushroo Suntook, founded the Symphony Orchestra of India (India’s first and only professional symphony orchestra) in 2006. He brought in British-Parsi conductor Zane Dalal as its Associate Music Director and Kazakh violinist-conductor Marat Bisengaliev as its Music Director. In fact, the SOI has more Kazakh and international musicians than Indian.

Nonetheless, in a country already rich with its own musical traditions, Western music would remain a largely separate world, seemingly unassimilable. It had long suffered a corrugated history in India, often dismissed as a frivolity enjoyed by a closed circle at best, or a musty vestige of colonialism at worst. Amid India’s vast composites of class, caste, religion, and language, many considered it constrained and elitist; fewer still even knew what it was. Honorary director Deshpande complained to the press, “I have still to understand the connotation of the word ‘elitist’ when it is applied to the NCPA.”

But most indicting of all? The fanged suggestion that this music was dull, relegated to the realm of the old fogy.  

That view of classical music persists even among Parsis. “Of course, I used to think all this Bach Beethoven stuff was boring,” millennial Dinyar Boga tells me. “I would leave it to my parents to attend all these concerts, which they religiously would.” Boga is convinced Parsis are shackled to the past. As someone who grew up listening to “this Bach Beethoven stuff” (and whose mother was an assiduous piano student) though, I do look forward to an occasional concert—nothing quite replaces the thunder and thrill of a live performance.  

There lies a chasm between Boga and sexagenerian Tehmi Patel. For Patel, attending a classical music concert—especially during the winter “season” at the NCPA—was a time for (restrained) revelry, requiring an appropriate choice of formal clothes, and dinner with other concert-attending friends after. “Of course, I never miss a show if I can help it,” says Patel. “I enjoy opera, ballet, the orchestra, all of it.” Patel, like many older Parsis, also enjoys old Hindi film songs and pop music like ABBA and the Beatles. Embracing the one did not equal foregoing the other.

Like Patel, half the audience for such performances is built of affluent elderly Parsis. Similarly, the list of patrons of the Symphony Orchestra of India reads like a Yellow Pages of the community. And therein lies the rub.

Never a large community, the Parsis today are a pinprick in the ocean of India thanks to critically low birth rates. Less than 70,000 exist worldwide; death rates outnumber births. Naturally, there are fewer Parsi musicians, not least because music is not considered a viable job option. The community itself is gently fading into memory. Author Aakar Patel wrote in a column in 2009, “Fifty years later, [after Indian Independence], classical music is dead everywhere in India except South Bombay. And here it is dying as one community depopulates.”

But this is perhaps too bleak a view. Music schools such as Furtados’ and The Mehli Mehta Foundation are inspiring greater engagement with younger generations of music from diverse communities and incomes. The indefatigable nonagenarian Jini Dinshaw continues to teach students for free, and hosts concerts every so often. The NCPA’s SOI Music Academy has sculpted young talents such as Nyra Jain, Gauri Khanna, Aneesha Vora, Meghna Mathur, Soli Nallaseth and Pranaya Jain—only one of these names is Parsi—and is sending teachers into municipal schools as well. Ballet is steepling in popularity amongst the elite. A stream of schoolchildren are choosing to learn the piano, the cello, the violin, and the viola, if nothing else than to facilitate entry into colleges abroad. In numerous interviews, Suntook points out that younger audience members are swelling in number. Could this be a second coming? As a concertgoer, my fingers remain crossed.

The university has signed a Memorandum of Understanding with the Ministry of Minority Affairs to start this special study centre in the university.

Article by Dhairya Gajara  | Free Press Journal

Students at the University of Mumbai will be able to study Parsi Zoroastrian culture from the upcoming academic year as the university plans to start the Avesta Pahlavi study centre. The university has signed a Memorandum of Understanding with the Ministry of Minority Affairs to start this special study centre in the university.

Avesta Pahlavi Study Centre

With the major Parsi population of the country residing in Mumbai, the University of Mumbai has taken the initiative for the study and research of the ancient, rich and glorious Parsi-Zoroastrian culture and from this academic year. Avesta Pahlavi Study Centre will be established in the university and will be operationalized through the School of Languages. On Thursday, an MoU was signed between the University of Mumbai and the Ministry of Minority Affairs in New Delhi.

The centre will highlight the importance of studying and researching ancillary subjects like Zoroastrian scriptures, classical literature, parsi community, Zoroastrian culture and spirituality. Avesta Pahlavi is being studied at the UoM since 1888 and now this study centre will increase the scope of this study with diploma, certificate, degree, post-graduation and research options.

In accordance with the National Education Policy, for the preservation, conservation, promotion and dissemination of Indian languages, the study of Avesta Pahlavi language and culture will also be carried out at the university along with Sanskrit, Pali, and Persian languages.

“Preservation, conservation of rich heritage of Avesta Pahlavi”

Prof. Ravindra Kulkarni, Vice-Chancellor, University of Mumbai said, “The university plans to establish the centre with a broad vision to promote Indian culture, Parsi culture and Indian traditions globally and promote international cooperation.”

“Preservation and conservation of the rich heritage of Avesta Pahlavi, Parsi community’s contribution to national development, documentation of linguistic features and the contribution of Avesta Pahlavi to Indian cultural diversity will be studied through this centre,” he added.

The university has received a financial support of Rs. 12 crores from the Union Ministry of Minority Affairs. The fund will be used to start a language lab, multimedia studio and ancillary infrastructure for the study centre.

The students will be able to learn about Avesta Pahlavi grammar and vocabulary, literature, historical background, scripts and writing systems, translation and philological analysis, semantics and dictionaries, ancient Iranian history and civilization, Avesta Pahlavi epigraphy and palaeography, inscriptions and manuscripts.

The March 2024 Ba Humata lecture is on the theme “THE QUALITY OF LIBERALITY IS THE TOTALITY OF IMMORTALITY” Yasna 46.5, Yatha Ahu Vairyo & Zararthushti Prayers

Speakers

• Ervad Parvez Karanjia  (India)
• Ervad Kyan Arzan Lali  (United States)
• Meherwan Patel  (Pakistan & Singapore)
• Jerou Panthaki RamMohan  (United Kingdom)

Moderated by Karishma Koka

On Sunday, March 3, 2024

• 8:00 AM Pacific Time
• 11:00 AM  Eastern Time
• 4:00 PM UK Time
• 7:30 PM Iran Time
• 8:00 PM  UAE Time
• 9:00 PM Pakistan Time
• 9:30 PM India Time
• On Monday, March 4, 2024 12:00 Midnight Perth Australia, Singapore And Hong Kong Time

Join Zoom Meeting

https://us02web.zoom.us/j/83408826220

Meeting ID: 834 0882 6220

Passcode: BAHUMATA

In the spirit of Ek Bharat Shresth Bharat, the Ministry of Minority Affairs hosts event to honour the legacy of Zoroastrians in the Country by adopting a comprehensive approach to successfully interact with the Parsi community representatives

Smt. Smriti Z. Irani, Union Minister for Minority Affairs and WCD highlights  importance of revival of languishing languages

MoU signed  to develop ‘Centre for Avesta-Pahlavi Studies’ at University of Mumbai

Improved guidelines of  JiyoParsi Scheme  launched

In the spirit of Ek Bharat Shresth Bharat, the Ministry of Minority Affairs hosted a event to honour the legacy of Zoroastrians in the Country today at Delhi Parsi Anjuman to exemplify the ethos of unity, diversity, and inclusivity that defines Bharat. The event was chaired by Smt. Smriti Zubin Irani, the Union Minister for Minority Affairs and Women & Child Development.

The event aimed to honour the legacy of Zoroastrians by adopting a comprehensive approach to successfully interact with the Parsi community representatives. Through their achievements and contributions, the Parsis have truly exemplified the ideals of One India, Great India.

The essence of India lies in its rich cultural diversity and the harmonious co-existence of different communities. As part of the Ek Bharat Shresth Bharat initiative, which aims to celebrate the unity in diversity of our nation, the Ministry of Minority Affairs highlighted the contributions and legacy of the Zoroastrian community in India. The Zoroastrians, also known as Parsis, have a long and illustrious history in India, dating back over a thousand years.

As the nation continues to promote cultural exchange and mutual understanding among different communities, inspiration need to be drawn from the Zoroastrian community’s journey in India, which serves as a shining example of resilience, co-option, adaptability, and excellence.

The event was blessed with the presence of Vada Dasturji Khurshed Dastur, High Priest of the Shreeji Pak Iranshah Atashbehram, Udvada. Shri John Barla, Minister of State for Ministry of Minority Affairs and representatives from various Parsi organisations across the country participated in the event.

The event facilitated interaction with the Parsi Community representatives to showcase the effective steps taken by the Government for the overall welfare of the Micro-Minority in the country. During the event, key insights were shared, highlighting various support services from containing the population decline to revival of languishing languages. Collectively, these initiatives underscore the Government’s commitment to mainstream the minority communities and building a strong Nation.

The event witnessed signing of anMoU to develop ‘Centre for Avesta-Pahlavi Studies’ at University of Mumbai.  Avesta – Pahlavi, the ancient and sacred language of the Parsis is one of the ancient languages used by members of Parsi community. This language is used in the Zoroastrian scriptures of the Parsi community that imbibes the humanitarian values amongst its followers and makes them tolerant law-abiding citizens of the society. Avesta – Pahlavi bears a close affinity to Sanskrit, the classical language of India being a branch of the great Indo-Iranian stock of languages.

Focusing on the increasing demand and need for reviving the language not only as a subject for higher education but also to preserve the learnings of Parsi Zoroastrian culture, this is the unique exercise and initiative on part of the Ministry of Minority Affairs to revive and develop the earlier existing department for the language in the Mumbai University after 21 years by setting up of ‘The Centre for Avesta-Pahlavi Studies’. 

Ministry of Minority Affairs in collaboration with Mumbai University aims to establish the Centre and required infrastructure for undertaking certificate courses, diploma courses, and PhD programs with an amount of approx. Rs. 11.20 Crore.

The improved guidelines of the JiyoParsi Scheme were also launched. The implementation of the scheme through involvement of State Governments, Parsi Organisations would facilitate better outreach among the community and would improve the coverage of the scheme across the country. The scheme provides financial benefits to the beneficiaries through Direct Benefit Transfers (DBT).

Smt. Smriti Z. Irani, Union Minister for Minority Affairs and Women & Child Development highlighted the importance of revival of languishing languages, especially those related to notified minority communities. On this occasion, the Minister emphasized revival of other languishing languages. Smt. Irani informed details regarding the mode of assistance under the JiyoParsi scheme and urged the Parsi organisation representatives to make the community aware about the scheme.

The Minister also emphasised  that young Parsis need to be trained in ethnic skills and may be financially assisted by the Ministry and encouraged to take up entrepreneurship.

The PARZOR Foundation ceased its involvement in the Jiyo Parsi scheme due to the government’s decision to implement direct beneficiary transfers

Article by Linah Baliga | Hindustan Times

Mumbai: The central government has last week introduced a fresh strategy to execute the Jiyo Parsi scheme, which is aimed at curbing the decline in the Parsi population of India, a significant number of whom live in Mumbai.

Jiyo Parsi, a central government scheme, was launched in 2013-14 to reverse the declining Parsi population by adopting scientific protocol and structured interventions to stabilise their population in the country. Through the scheme, Parsis receive financial assistance, especially low-income families who are not able to afford expensive medical treatment like IVF.

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Under the new guidelines, beneficiaries will engage directly with the state government (district collector), after the Parzor Foundation, which was so far instrumental in implementing the Jiyo Parsi scheme, withdrew from the programme.

The new strategy entails that beneficiaries will get the funds directly into their account through the district-level committee with the district collector as the chairman. This committee will serve as a vital link between the Parsi community and the Government of India, ensuring the effectiveness of the interventions. It will organise counselling sessions and workshops to raise awareness about the scheme’s advantages.

The committee will accept proposals from applicants, assess them in collaboration with medical professionals/clinics, and endorse beneficiaries for treatment while also reviewing bills for reimbursement.

Meetings of the district-level committee will be held quarterly to review and recommend applications received for the Health of Child (HOC) component of the scheme. A provision of ₹50 crore was made from 2021 for the scheme and every year ₹10 crore will be spent till 2026.

Dr Adil Malia, trustee of the Bombay Parsi Panchayat, said, “What the government has done is that they will directly deal through the nodal officers of the government and the local panchayats because there are lots of people not necessarily staying in Mumbai but also staying in other parts of the country. So, it becomes better for the nodal officers to get in touch with local panchayats and directly deal with them and reach out. The amounts will be directly credited into the beneficiary’s account.”

He further added, “BPP represents the entire largest population of the Parsi in India. So according to me, 80-85% of the population in India resides in Mumbai and Maharashtra. That is why it will continue to play a large role in influencing the government in a positive way. This is a good move. The government has done a lot of research and it is a well-thought-out scheme.”

The Parzor Foundation ceased its involvement in the Jiyo Parsi scheme due to the government’s decision to implement direct beneficiary transfers without the need for intermediaries or NGOs. Advocacy and counselling services were halted in 2022. The recently launched scheme on Friday, last week, managed by the state and central government, mirrors the previous one. Parzor Foundation had to discontinue support for dependents, redirecting them to apply directly to the government.

Expressing concern, a source stated, “The Parzor team had gone to every town, every village, and city and spent years on it. They also provided personal counselling.”

Personal counselling was instrumental in supporting couples facing fertility challenges. Trained counsellors from Tata Institute of Social Sciences (TISS) were part of the disbanded team. The scheme facilitated marriage, medical treatment for disorders, and emotional support during fertility treatment, resulting in over 450 births between 2014 and 2022.

As per the newly reintroduced scheme, infertility is defined as the inability to conceive for over two years and presents a complex socio-psychological challenge. Parsi couples who have been blessed with children may apply for scheme benefits, which will be provided to duly verified applicants. However, funds will not cover maintenance, construction, or recurring expenses for facilities like crèches. The maximum number of beneficiaries for this component will be capped at 200. Elderly care will be monitored by district authorities to ensure respect for elderly family members by beneficiaries. Additionally, beneficiaries or their family members may pursue Avesta-Pahlavi language courses (two ancient Iranian languages) through distance learning from affiliated universities, with the ministry reimbursing annual fees up to a maximum of ₹6,000.

The government’s advocacy component involves a comprehensive outreach programme, including seminars, medical camps, publicity materials like brochures and films, and social media campaigns. This initiative, which will be undertaken by the state with the assistance of selected Parsi organisations, aims to raise awareness among the younger generation and couples of marriageable age. The goal is to address the population decline within the community by promoting early diagnosis and treatment. Additionally, digital advocacy will be utilised for wider outreach, while information about the Jiyo Parsi scheme will be disseminated through prominent Parsi newspapers and periodicals.

This scheme will now be under scrutiny by three committees. A state-level project monitoring committee will be established at the state level to oversee the implementation progress of the scheme. This committee will be chaired by the secretary of the department of minority welfare and include district collectors as members.

There will be a sanctioning committee, chaired by the relevant joint secretary, which will include a representative from the Ministry of Health and Family Welfare and the respective director/DS as convener. These committees will oversee the scheme’s implementation and address any issues that arise.

Lastly, there will be an oversight committee, chaired by the minister/secretary of minority affairs, and will include a representative from the Ministry of Health & Family Welfare and one from the state government. This committee will convene annually to evaluate the progress of the scheme’s implementation.

Mumbai University’s decision to open a centre to study Avestan and Pahlavi is as important for the Parsis as it for the rest of the communities

Article By Kurush Dalal | Hindustan Times

Ashem vohu vahistem asti ushta asti ushta ahmai yad ashai vahistai ashem. These words by the prophet Zoroaster were sung over 3,500 years ago in northern Persia, and mean righteousness/truth is the greatest virtue. The language of a large chunk of prayers of Zoroastrians is in a barely known language called Avestan. Another significant number of texts are in a language called Pahlavi — both languages have an interesting intermingled history.

PREMIUM A fragment of a stone relief from the Sasanian empire bearing a Pahlavi inscription using Middle Persian script. This piece is currently at the Metropolitan Museum of Art(Wikimedia Commons)

Avestan was not only the language of the ancient Persians, it is also a cousin to Rig Vedic Sanskrit. As many scholars of linguistics in West Asia and South Asia have remarked, one can translate poetry from one to the other without losing the poetic metre. There are several similarities in the texts of the Zoroastrians and the Rig Veda, so much so that you cannot truly study one without the other.

This isn’t surprising since Avestan and Rig Vedic Sanskrit have a common language of origin which the linguists call Proto-Indo-Iranian. This, in turn, is descended from a common ancestral language called PIE (Proto-Indo-European) which is the ancestral language of Latin, Greek, German and most European languages.

In fact more work has been done at working backward to reconstruct PIE than any other proto-language. It was as PIE speakers migrated from a common homeland that the language groups — due to isolation — created regional dialects and then regional daughter languages.

Thus, Union minister Smriti Irani’s announcement that the ministry of minorities affairs is signing a memorandum of understanding (MoU) with Mumbai University to open an Avestan Pahlavi Language Centre, with perhaps a Chair, and on a budget allocation of ₹11.20 crore, is fabulous news. The studies in these subjects, which were flagging over the past few decades, will not only be revived, but will also encourage a deeper understanding of our shared roots with persons across communities and even religions.

A common ancestry

It was in India that Sir William Jones, a judge in the Calcutta high court and a renowned linguist who set up the Asiatic Society of Bengal in what was then Calcutta, first postulated a common ancestry of Sanskrit, Latin, Gothic and Celtic languages in 1786. The research into these proto-languages has continued to this day. DD Mahulkar’s Pre-Paninian Linguistic Studies (1990) is just one of the more recent, and well-renowned works.

A photomechanical print of Sir William Jones made by Joshua Reynolds, which is now part of the National Library of Wales portrait archive(Wikimedia Commons)

But what happened after these languages came up?

Avestan led to the development of Old Persian which was spoken by the Achaemenids (founded in 550 BC): it was their official language, and is the earliest source of the word “Hind” in the 522 BC inscription of Darius the Great, one of the emperors of the Achaemenid Empire. The state religion was Zoroastrianism and this kept Avestan alive side by side with Old Persian.

In the third century AD, we see the rise of the great Sasanian Empire under Ardeshir I Papakan and the language of his court was Middle Persian — another term for which is Pahlavi, taken from the name of the script used to write it. In the Sasanian era, however, a script emerged for the writing of Avestan called the Avestan script and a variant of this, called Pazend/Pazand, to write the commentaries on the religious literature of the Zoroastrians.

Surprisingly, Avestan doesn’t seem to have been written prior to this. It was only orally transmitted — much like the Vedas.The only know script from that time is Cuneiform, which, in turn, goes back to the 3rd millennium BC in southern Iran and was even used by the Achaemenids to write Old Persian in the sixth and seventh century BC (and even a bit later).

Pahlavi is a very complex script with just 14 letters that make 40 different phonemes, resulting in complex ligatures. Pahlavi continued to be used as a prestige language long after the fall of the Sassanian Empire to the Caliphate in 641 A.D. Modern Persian, the language of Iran and a large part of Central Asia and Afghanistan, and once the language of the Mughal court in India, emerged from the language, Pahlavi.

Thus, it is critical to learn and keep alive the study of Avestan and Pahlavi to better understand the language of the Vedas as well as the Persian spoken all over northern India and the Deccan. Not to mention to understand better the nuances in the scriptures of the Zoroastrians as well as their Rig Vedic cousins.

Kept alive through its script

Interestingly the Pahlavi script did not disappear and turns up in the 10th-11th century A.D at the Kanheri caves (now in Mumbai’s Sanjay Gandhi National Park) in a series of inscriptions. It also turns up later on a series of portable stone crosses along the west coast of India. These crosses found in Kerala with one each at Goa and Anuradhapura (Sri Lanka) are inscribed in Pahlavi and known as the Saint Thomas Crosses in memory of St Thomas a disciple of Jesus Christ who is said to have brought Christianity to India in the 1st century A.D. They are very similar to similar crosses found in Herat (Afghanistan) that dated to the third century A.D. Pahlavi continued to be the language of the Eastern Syriac (aka Nestorian) Church. Many of the Indian Pahlavi Crosses have been ascribed to dates between the third and ninth centuries. There certainly needs to be much more research on this topic.

The cross of St. Thomas carved in black stone found in the church of Our Lady of Expectation built on the top of St. Thomas Mount in Chennai. Many of the Saint Thomas Crosses along the west coast of India have inscriptions in Pahlavi and have been ascribed to dates between the third and ninth centuries A.D. (Wikimedia Commons)

To be sure, much research has been done on Avestan and on Rig Vedic Sanskrit in Germany, the USA and the UK. In the UK, the School for Oriental and African Studies has been running a lovely course, ‘Introduction to Avestan’, along with the Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute (BORI), Pune, supported by UNESCO PARZOR (Parsi-Zoroastrian) in Pune too. Various institutions in India have also done critical research on Avestan and Pahlavi, notably the Asiatic Society of Mumbai, BORI, the KR Cama Oriental Research Institute, to name just a few.

The upcoming centre has its work cut out. It must offer the possibility to further study the Cuneiform script in which Old Persian is written, as this is an overlooked area in Persian Studies in India today. There is only one qualified Cuneiform reader, Shri Shailesh Kshirsagar, in all of India that I know of. A holistic set of studies between this centre, the departments of Sanskrit and Persian at the University of Mumbai, BORI and universities in the West and in Iran could result in a fascinating new appraisal of these critically important languages and their history. This centre could also shed more light on the Pahlavi Inscriptions of Kanheri and those seen on the crosses. A complimentary study of the Parsis, their archaeology, history and culture, their religious and philosophical evolutions, and the sociology of the Avestan speakers needs research too.

For many years the University of Mumbai has run a small but successful Masters course in Avestan and Pahlavi. The Sir JJ Institute has run a consolidated five-year Bachelor’s course in Avestan which is recognised by the University of Mumbai and is almost a prerequisite for the MA. The Sanskrit Department of the University has also run a paper in Avestan. This has sadly been discontinued in recent years and one hopes, will be revived at the upcoming centre.

The generous grant can also be used to bring on permanent faculty. This is indeed a great opportunity for the study of these languages and hopefully will open a new chapter in Indian academia.

Dr Kurush F Dalal is the director, INSTUCEN School of Archaeology, Mumbai. The views expressed are personal.

Centre For Avesta-Pahlavi Studies At University Of Mumbai To Give Fillip To Zoroastrian Culture

The centre will offer undergraduate, graduate and doctorate programmes in Avesta, the language of the Zoroastrian scriptures.

Free Press Journal News Service

Dr Ravindra Kulkarni, vice-chancellor of the university, said the centre has already created interest outside India, with the University of Toronto evincing its interest in collaborating in the project.

Minister for Women and Child Development and Minority Affairs, Smriti Irani. |

The Minister for Women and Child Development and Minority Affairs, Smriti Irani, on Tuesday attended the bhoomipoojan of a new Centre for Avesta-Pahlavi Studies’ at the Kalina campus of the University of Mumbai.

The centre will offer undergraduate, graduate and doctorate programmes in Avesta, the language of the Zoroastrian scriptures. A memorandum of understanding to set up the facility had been signed between the University of Mumbai and the ministry for minority affairs last week.

The centre, which is expected to be ready in one year, will be financed by a grant of Rs 12 crore from the central government. Irani, who had announced the centre at a meeting with Parsi-Zoroastrians on February 29 in Delhi, asked state Minister for Higher Education Chandrakant Patil, who was present at the function, for support in developing the pilgrim and tourist infrastructure at Bahrot Caves near Dahanu, where Parsis had hidden the holy Iranshah fire – now housed in the community’s supreme fire temple at Udvada in Gujarat – to save it from an invading army.

“This important part of the community’s legacy needs attention. We will 100 per cent fund it,” she said, evoking loud applause from the audience.

Irani added that there are little-known events in the community’s history in India that have not yet received attention from researchers. “Around 1500 Parsis had taken up arms and had joined the Hindu kings to fight the invading army of Muhammad Bin Tughlaq, the sultan of Delhi,” she said. “This and other aspects in the Zoroastrian manuscripts, like astronomy and surgery, need to be institutionalised.”

The function was attended by religious scholars and members of the Parsi-Zoroastrian community, which has been asked for a centre for teaching and researching their liturgical language, especially since the only centre to teach it, at St Xavier’s College, closed down 21 years ago.

Khurshed Dastoor, the Vada Dastur or high priest at the Udvada shrine, reminded the audience that Avesta and Sanskrit were sister languages with a common origin. “It would have been difficult for Avesta to be translated if Sanskrit was not there,” said Dastoor.

Nadir Godrej, chairman of Godrej Agrovet, and a member of the Godrej business family, recited a poem that describes the 1,000-year-old history of his community in India after they fled religious persecution in Persia, now Iran. “They came to Gujarat, came into their own in British India, thrived in Mumbai,” said Godrej, adding that the community was facing a decline in population but had to preserve its culture beyond the demographic slide.

Godrej said that prominent members of the community, like freedom fighters Dadabhai Naoroji, Pherozeshah Mehta, industrialist Jamshedji Tata, founder of the Godrej business conglomerate Ardeshir Godrej, were all students of the University of Mumbai.

Patil said that it was odd that Mumbai, which has the largest population of Parsi-Zoroastrians in the world, did not have a college where Avesta-Pahlavi was taught. “India has lost 220 languages in the last 70 years as the last generation of speakers in the tongue have passed away,” said Patil, explaining why it was necessary to preserve languages before they go extinct.

The Museum of Failures is an excellent example of Thrity Umrigar’s strengths as a novelist

Article By Nalini Iyer | The Examiner

Thrity Umrigar is the author of ten previous books including the popular The Space Between Us and the The Secrets Between Us. Museum of Failures is her 11th book for adults.

Umrigar’s fiction often features the Parsi (Zorastrian) community of India, especially women,  and the city of Bombay, or Mumbai as recurring elements. She also features the Indian immigrant experience in many of her novels. Museum of Failures invokes these common elements and tells the story of Remy Wadia, a poet turned adman, who lives in Columbus, Ohio, with his white pediatrician wife, Kathy.

Remy and Kathy are childless and seeking to adopt a baby from India when a stroke of luck connects them to Monaz, a young, unwed, pregnant Parsi woman who happens to be the niece of Remy’s best friend. Remy flies to Bombay to meet Monaz and to explore the possibility of adopting her child. When he arrives in India, he discovers that Monaz has had a change of heart and wants to keep the baby and marry its father while keeping her pregnancy secret from her own parents.

In the meantime, Remy visits his aging mother, Shirin, only to discover that she is ill and in the hospital with a respiratory infection. Remy’s visit to India gets extended as he cares for Shirin. We learn of his complicated relationship with his mother who was temperamental and kept her distance from Remy when he was growing up. Remy had idolized his late father Cyrus and still grieves for him.

As Remy nurses his mother back to health, he discovers hidden family secrets that radically change how he views his parents and his childhood. At the same time, the adoption saga runs its own course of numerous twists and turns. Eventually, both the mother-son relationship and the adoption narrative reach resolutions and Remy finds joy and comfort at the end of both.

Museum of Failures is an excellent example of Umrigar’s strengths as a novelist — she evokes Mumbai cityscapes beautifully and is bound to make many a diasporic Indian nostalgic for the city and its sights, sounds, and foods. She sensitively portrays the Parsi community, a minority whose numbers are fast depleting. She understands the struggles of a diasporic subject — the tie to two different homes and countries whose demands often conflict with one another. In Remy’s case, it’s career and wife in one space and an aging, lonely, mother in another.

The two storylines — Remy’s family history and his search for a baby to adopt — are well structured and intertwined well. There are moments that do stretch the reader’s credibility such as Kathy’s choice to leave the adoption decision entirely up to Remy. Does not a prospective adoptive mother want a say in who her future child might be? She remains an unbelievably virtuous and supportive wife who is a shadowy voice on phone calls or a nebulous figure in Remy’s story of their courtship.

The characters in India from Remy’s parents to Dina, a friend of his father’s  and his friends like Jango and Shenaz are multi-faceted and credible. Overall, the novel is classic Umrigar and will undoubtedly be enjoyed by her fans.

Shayan Bisney pens a wonderful article about Fali Nariman, who passed away recently.

“I am very proud to say that my oldest friend hit 95 and lived his life to the fullest.”

Shayan Bisney with Fali S Nariman

“I have seen many Sundays,” Fali Papa, as his family fondly called him, would say on a number of occasions when I would meet him.

Fali Sam Nariman bid adieu to us all on February 21, 2024 at his residence in Hauz Khas in Delhi. My association with Fali Sir began in 2021, when I was a judicial law clerk to his son, Justice RF Nariman, who was in the evening of his career as a judge of the Supreme Court of India. I had requested Sanaya Nariman, wife of Justice Nariman, in 2021 if I could meet Fali Sir and take his autograph on a copy of his autobiography Before Memory Fades, to which she very happily said, “Yes, of course!”

Bisney’s signed copy of Before Memory Fades

I first met him on August 3, 2021 at his residence for lunch with a few other guests present. I vividly recall being overwhelmed as I was meeting a mammoth figure of the Indian legal fraternity. I took my place at the table farthest away from him, a little hesitant to make conversation with him in the midst of important public figures. Then, Fali Sir called me and told me to sit next to him. He asked me questions about my life, my career as a young law graduate and also jokingly said, “I hope Rohinton is not being too strict with you.” He signed a copy of his autobiography for me and said, “All the best, come again.” I was delighted beyond belief that day and told everyone about this.

I later joined Justice AM Khanwilkar. Within my first week of joining, I got a message from Sanaya aunty asking me to join Fali Sir for dinner at his residence. This became a regular part of my routine as Fali Sir and Sanaya aunty would very regularly invite me for a meal to his place.

Over lunch, he would insist that I have a beer while we talked about various subjects. My polite refusal to the offer had no bearing, as his domestic help would open a bottle even before my answer. When I would meet him for dinner and drinks, he would have the BBC running in the background and would watch the news. He would also give me a lot of “courtroom gossip” which not many were aware of.

He really enjoyed cricket. He was a fan of the sport since his young days. I too have a deep love for the game and we would often watch a good evening game of cricket together. Many of our interests matched and our conversations went beyond the dining table to emails and phone calls.

I got over 40 books signed by him to give to various people, to which he never refused, but only asked me to give the correct spelling of the person it was dedicated to. He was a rare individual who stayed away from “WhatsApp University” and did not possess a mobile phone.

Shayan Bisney with Fali S Nariman and R F Nariman

When he across an interesting article, he would first ask his office staff to email it to me and then send it by post to my residence. When I talked about buying any book, especially related to law, he would directly ring up the author and asked them to send me a signed copy!

I met him for professional advice in August 2023 in a matter concerning the Parsi Zoroastrian Anjuman of Secunderabad and Hyderabad. He gave me a list of things to come prepared with, to which I obliged. During the briefing, he was firm and gave me ways on how I could improve. I also provided him with a lot of input in the matter before the Supreme Court in which a prayer was made to allow Parsi victims of COVID-19 to have their last rites performed according to Dokhmenashini method.

My last conversation with him was on his 95^th birthday on January 10 this year. He would always wish me the very best and asked me to visit him soon. He took great care of his health and regularly had a doctor visiting him to check his health.

Throughout his life, he was very close to his wife, Bapsi, who had succumbed to COVID-19 in 2020. He would always say that she was the pillar of the Nariman family. There was rarely anything he did without remembering her. He would tell me stories about his late wife and always get emotional while narrating them.

He was blessed to have great domestic and professional support staff. His junior of over 38 years, Subhash Sharma, continued to always be with him. His granddaughters Nina and Khursheed, along with Rohan (husband of Nina) would always keep him company and never made him feel alone. His son Justice RF Nariman, daughter Anaheeta and daughter-in-law Sanaya would spend a large part of their days with him and Fali Sir cherished having such a lovely family. He was one of the fortunate ones who could see his great-grandchildren who dearly adored him.

To me, Fali Sir was more than a mentor. He was a guide, well-wisher and fellow advocate, but most importantly, a dear friend. I am very proud to say that my oldest friend hit 95 and lived his life to the fullest. As I write this piece on my way back from Delhi to Mumbai after attending his last rites, I do feel a void in my life. But I also find solace that he left this world on his own terms without any major illness or suffering.

Fali Sir, I will dearly miss you!

Shayan Bisney is an advocate based in Mumbai.

Bombay Parsi Punchayet Faces Backlash As ‘Jiyo Parsi’ Beneficiaries Await Overdue Payments

The trust owes more than Rs5 crore to around 300 families, according to one estimate.

Article by Manoj Ramakrishnan | Free Press Jopurnal

Even as the Centre has announced enhanced child benefits and fertility assistance under the ‘Jiyo Parsi’ scheme for Parsi-Zoroastrians to combat their declining population, the apex community trust, the Bombay Parsi Punchayet (BPP) has not been paying the beneficiaries since 2019. The trust owes more than Rs5 crore to around 300 families, according to one estimate. The BPP chairman told the FPJ that they are in the process of clearing the arrears.

BPP’s financial assistance

The BPP offers financial assistance to families to have a second or third child. In July 1993, it had drawn up a child support scheme of Rs1,000 per month for a second and third child born after April 1993. In April 2010, the aid was increased to Rs3,000 per month for a second child and Rs5,000 per month for a third child.

The payments continued till June 2019 when the assistance was stopped. The BPP – one of the biggest property owners in the city,  with thousands of houses leased out or rented out to community members – apparently became cash-strapped. According to the community newspaper ‘Parsi Junction’, the backlog has risen to Rs4.35 crore payable to more than 270 families till September 2023.

“Will be clearing another year’s backlog shortly”

Citing cash constraints, BPP chairman Viraf Mehta said, “Just a few weeks ago we cleared one full year’s backlog and will be clearing another year’s backlog shortly.” Apologising for the inconvenience to beneficiaries, he sought cooperation owing to their financial situation.

The community, however, is sceptical about the promises made. Jehangir Patel, the editor of the community magazine Parsiana, said that the BPP has to pay arrears of salaries and subsidies for priests, apart from the dues to couples. “Plus money is owed to tenants and licensees who have paid the BPP’s share in addition to their own for building repairs. The proceeds from the proposed sale of the Bai Mahal building (a trust-owned building in Tardeo that is planned to be sold amidst allegations that the sale price is low) will barely cover the dues, assuming the proposal goes through.” He said the BPP made a loss of almost Rs5 crore for 2022-23 and Rs7 crore the previous financial year.

Jiyo Parsi scheme

The Jiyo Parsi scheme, which is around a decade old, has been recently revamped to allow beneficiaries direct access to financial assistance for fertility treatments, instead of having to go through a private agency. The scheme is credited for an extra 400 births in the dwindling community, estimated to be less than 60,000 in the 2011 census.

The Jiyo Parsi scheme, which is around a decade old, has been recently revamped to allow beneficiaries direct access to financial assistance for fertility treatments, instead of having to go through a private agency. The scheme is credited for an extra 400 births in the dwindling community, estimated to be less than 60,000 in the 2011 census. Ava Khuller, president of the Delhi Parsi Anjuman and the president of PARZOR (Parsi-Zoroastrian) Foundation, a UNESCO-sponsored group to document and promote the community’s culture, said that the Jiyo Parsi scheme was not just aimed at increasing the birth rate.

“The scheme also has incentives to help families care for elders. Because of the large number of unmarried people and longevity in the community, most young people have uncles and aunts who need to be cared for. This responsibility often leads to young people choosing not to have children of their own,” said Khuller.

Meanwhile, there is also a demand for an increase in doles to Rs10,000 and Rs20,000 per month for a second and third child born after January 1, 2024.

As the Dhobi Talao-based Parsi food joint Sassanian Boulangerie completes 111 years, we look at the years gone by and how they managed to remain afloat.

Article by Heena Khandelwal | Indian Express

With its 111-year-old charm, it promises a timeless and budget-friendly dining experience. (Express Photo)

Time seemed to pause as we entered Dhobi Talao-based Sassanian Boulangerie, a Parsi eatery. The dimly lit space with yellow walls adorned with wooden panelling, vintage mirrors, and reverse glass paintings – all quintessential features of an Iranian restaurant in Mumbai – exudes nostalgia. Original bentwood chairs and marble-topped tables fill the room, while Iranian landmarks adorn the walls alongside old-fashioned signages. With its 111-year-old charm, it promises a timeless and budget-friendly dining experience.

Established on Nowruz (Persian New Year) in 1913 by Rustam K Yazdabadi as K R Sassanian Bakery and Restaurant, the Parsi eatery started as a whole-day breakfast joint serving omelette, brun maska, pudding, mawa cake and biscuits. Like many eateries of its era, it doubled as a general store, selling essentials like soap and toothpaste.

“When the founder passed away in 1947, my father Khodadad Meheraban Kola, who previously worked at the neighbouring Parsi eatery Kyani’s & Co, joined Sassanian as a partner. He operated the business alongside Yazdabadi’s wife Perin K Irani,” shared Meheraban Khodadad Kola, one of the three current partners of the iconic food joint. The other partners are Steven Adi Yazdabadi and Irandokht Rustom Behjat. Kola, a stalwart 73-year-old Parsi gentleman, frequents the place every evening, arriving at 6 pm and departing after the shutter rolls down at 9 pm.

Established on Nowruz (Persian New Year) in 1913 by Rustam K Yazdabadi as K R Sassanian Bakery and Restaurant, the Parsi eatery started as a whole-day breakfast joint serving omelette, brun maska, pudding, mawa cake and biscuits. (Express Photo)

“Once upon a time, we opened at 5 am and closed at 11 pm,” he recalled, reminiscing about the bustling business of yesteryears. “During my father’s era, my uncle Khodu Irani, a renowned horse trainer who had trained horses for Raj Kapoor and Mahmood, lived nearby. Jockeys would gather here as early as 5 am before heading to the racecourse,” he shared, adding that through the day, the eatery would see a lot of passengers drop by, courtesy of Marine Lines station, which used to be very close by in those days.

“Even though the demand was largely for chai and brun maska, which were available for 10 paise and 20 paise respectively, it was a golden time. When the station relocated, we saw a decline in customers,” he added. Even today, the tea and brun maska, now priced at Rs 20, remain a beloved choice among patrons. During our visit on a weekday evening, the cafe buzzed with individuals, groups, and couples enjoying their tea alongside brun maska, chicken roll (Rs 100) or burger (Rs 120).

Like many eateries of its era, it doubled as a general store, selling essentials like soap and toothpaste. (Express Photo)

Kola took over the cafe in the 1990s after his father’s passing. The initial years were tough. “After my father’s death, I slipped into depression. The place was running on autopilot mode. At one point, we were doing nothing,” he shared. He credited his wife Ruhangeez M Kola, great-granddaughter of the founder, for revitalising the restaurant and saving it from decline.

“In 1997, we expanded the menu to include chicken rolls, puffs, and other snacks. We introduced a lunch and dinner menu with Parsi dishes, Chinese items, and sizzlers five years later. With the help of chef Bhushan from Taj Hotels, the place gained popularity among office-goers for its value-for-money offerings,” he explained. “People still love our dhansak (Rs 250), sali kheema (Rs 190) and sizzlers (Rs 370 onwards),” he added, noting that the prices continue to remain conservative following his father’s philosophy of “providing value for money experience and earning blessings from customers in return.”

Meheraban Khodadad Kola is one of the three partners of the iconic Parsi eatery. (Express Photo)

“While the business recovered, the pandemic dealt a harsh blow to the restaurant,” he lamented. “It hasn’t been the same ever since.” Reflecting on what sustains the establishment, he emphasised, “It is the nostalgia of the older generation, along with the eatery’s iconic status that brings in a lot of customers over the weekends.” He has pinned his hopes on his son, who is currently in Canada, to return and continue the legacy.

If you are a fan of their delectable soft mawa cakes (Rs 30), fragrant with cardamom, you have Kola’s father to thank. He acquired the recipe from diners at Kyani’s, refining it over time before introducing it at Sassanian Boulangerie.

There’s every chance your Covid jab was made at the Serum Institute of India, where ambitious staff are on course to eliminate malaria. So why do they worry about Britain?

The anti-malaria drug R21 is manufactured at a rate of 400 doses a minute at the Serum Institute in Pune

Article Ben Spencer | Photographs by  Richard Pohle | Sunday Times UK

Machines whirr, glass clinks and every 95 seconds a child’s life is saved. The world’s biggest vaccine-maker — the Serum Institute of India — is gearing up to dispatch 25 million doses of the new R21 malaria vaccine, developed by scientists at the University of Oxford, to Africa next month.

Three years ago, this same laboratory was churning out millions of Covid vaccinations. Now, at the rate of 400 doses a minute, it is waging war on malaria, a disease that kills 600,000 people a year.

But while much of the developing world is crying out for jabs, Adar Poonawalla, the chief executive of the Serum Institute, believes the West has become blasé about vaccination. “It’s complacency,” he said, pointing to the British measles outbreak — the largest seen since the 1990s — which hit the Midlands in recent weeks and is spreading throughout the country.

Whooping cough is also on the rise: on Thursday, the UK Health Security Agency (UKHSA) warned of a new spike among infants after a “steady decline” in vaccination among babies and pregnant women.

“In the developed part of the world you haven’t seen the tragedies caused by these diseases [for many years],” Poonawalla said. “These are very harsh reminders, when these outbreaks come about, that these diseases do exist.” In Birmingham, pictures of the rashes caused by measles have been distributed to GPs because many had never seen cases of the disease before the current outbreak.

An Airbus A320 has been converted into offices and a boardroom for the factory

SUNDAY TIMES PHOTOGRAPHER RICHARD POHLE

Despite the huge success of the Covid vaccine rollout, uptake of routine childhood jabs is now lower in the UK than it was before the pandemic — and for some jabs, the lowest it has been for 15 years.

The Serum Institute, a three-hour drive from Mumbai, employs 8,000 people and has capacity to manufacture 3.5 billion doses a year of a range of vaccines, which it sells to 168 countries around the world. Its products include almost every conceivable vaccine, including measles, tetanus, polio and a new low-cost HPV jab. During the pandemic, two billion Covid vaccine doses were made here — including tens of millions that were sent to the UK.

Its new malaria jab will be rolled out in the next few weeks. Every year, roughly one in every 500 children in Africa under the age of five die from malaria. At those rates — and with vaccine efficacy of 79 per cent — every 630 doses injected will prevent one death.

“We’re really looking forward to being able to contribute to save a lot of lives,” said Poonawalla, 43. “In the coming years we can scale up to 100 million doses a year.”

Adar Poonawalla, the chief executive of the Serum Institute, took over from his father Cyrus

SUNDAY TIMES PHOTOGRAPHER RICHARD POHLE

Poonawalla said a certain degree of “vaccine fatigue” is natural. But seven miles away at Lalwani Mother and Child Care Hospital, in south Pune, children are queueing to receive Serum’s new HPV jab. Dr Sanjay Lalwani, a paediatrician, says that after a dip in the uptake of childhood vaccines during the disruption of the pandemic, demand has shot up among Indian families. “They realise the only way we conquered Covid was through the vaccination programme,” said Lalwani, who runs the hospital with his wife, Sunita, a gynaecologist.

Families in Pune wait for HPV vaccinations supplied to a local hospital by the Serum Institute

SUNDAY TIMES PHOTOGRAPHER RICHARD POHLE

Dr Sunita Lalwani administers Swarnika Landge, ten, with HPV vaccination

THE TIMES

Poonawalla said that in contrast, vaccination complacency in Britain has not only set in among families but in the government, which has failed to boost manufacturing capacity.

When the Oxford-AstraZeneca Covid vaccine was first rolled out in early 2021, Britain’s tiny manufacturing base severely limited supply. Only two factories — Oxford Biomedica in Oxfordshire and Cobra Biologics in Staffordshire — were initially able to make the vaccine, and the government had to outsource production first to a plant in the Netherlands and then to Poonawalla’s Serum factory. When Narendra Modi, the Indian prime minister, imposed an export ban in March 2021 to focus on meeting domestic demand, the UK was left scrabbling for doses.

Matt Hancock, the health secretary at the time, pledged to boost the industry in February 2021, saying: “We are at the forefront of the science, we should be at the forefront of the manufacturing too.” But since then, British vaccine-making has stagnated. “God forbid there’s a pandemic again, because we would be in exactly the same position we were at [in 2020] — nothing has changed,” Poonawalla said.

A visitor to the Serum Institute begins the careful process of putting on personal protective equipment

SUNDAY TIMES PHOTOGRAPHER RICHARD POHLE

The government-funded Vaccines Manufacturing and Innovation Centre in Harwell, Oxfordshire, was sold to a US company in 2022, before construction was even finished, and was then mothballed. Valneva, a French vaccine-maker, had planned to build a state-of-the art factory in Livingston, near Edinburgh, but shifted production to Germany after the government cancelled a contract for 100 million doses of its Covid jab.

Officials point to a deal with Moderna to build a 250-million-dose-a-year factory in Oxfordshire. AstraZeneca last week announced it would invest £450 million in manufacturing in Liverpool, and a deal was signed last year with CSL Seqirus to make emergency jabs in the event of a serious flu outbreak. A UKHSA spokesman said it was “supporting on-going strengthening of the UK’s domestic vaccine manufacturing”. But Poonawalla said far more is needed. By investing in routine vaccine manufacture, ministers could ensure facilities are available to make emergency vaccines in the event of a pandemic.

The institute is able to produce each dose of the R21 malaria vaccine for only $4

SUNDAY TIMES PHOTOGRAPHER RICHARD POHLE

Poonawalla has invested £50 million in Britain’s Oxford Biomedica plant — which first made the Oxford Covid jab — in a bid to keep it “pandemic-ready”, but said government input is needed. “We have made that investment to make the UK a little bit more self-reliant and less dependent on imports,” he said. “But sadly, these facilities and others all over the world will probably end up doing something else, or being shut down, because, quite frankly, if governments don’t support and fund and keep these facilities warm, you can’t have plants just waiting around for a pandemic. You need to support them, at least at a basic cost level, to keep them going. Otherwise we’re just back to square one.”

Poonawalla took over the Serum Institute in 2011 from his father, Cyrus, now 83, who founded the company in 1966. According to the Times of India, in 2021 the Poonawallas were the sixth-richest family in India, with an estimated fortune of $15 billion (£11.8 billion). Adar keeps a stationary Airbus A320 on his factory site, which he has converted into an office and boardroom, and has a collection of 35 rare cars. In December, he bought Aberconway House in Mayfair for £138 million, the second-highest sum yet paid for a home in London.

He says this wealth — and private ownership of the Serum Institute — allows him to keep vaccine prices low. “We don’t believe in making a 1,000 per cent margin on a drug when we can just make a modest margin and still be quite profitable. If you’re listed, you’re chased by your quarterly results. But I’ve got the freedom and luxury to be able to decide, with a small group of individuals, to have flexibility on that, and to be able to take care of inequalities in developing-world countries. That’s really where Serum’s main focus has always been.”

He points out that while Serum is the biggest manufacturer of vaccines by volume, its income is far lower than western competitors. It had a turnover of $3.2 billion in 2022, compared with $100 billion for Pfizer.

The institute employs more than 8,000 people in Pune

SUNDAY TIMES PHOTOGRAPHER RICHARD POHLE

During the pandemic it produced two billion Covid vaccines

SUNDAY TIMES PHOTOGRAPHER RICHARD POHLE

Sir Adrian Hill, the director of the Jenner Institute at Oxford, who was involved in developing both the Covid vaccine and the new malaria jab, said the Serum Institute’s ability to make vaccines both at scale and at low cost is crucial. The R21 vaccine will cost just $4 a dose — compared with $11 a dose for the malaria jab launched in January by its rival, GSK.

GSK is also facing manufacturing limits, with just 6.6 million doses planned this year and next. “There’s no controversy about whether 100 million doses is better than six million,” Hill says. “The cost is much lower and the efficacy is higher.”

Hill is now working on developing better malaria vaccines. Umesh Shaligram, chief scientist at the Serum Institute, believes that a combination of vaccines, all attacking the disease from different angles, will eventually eliminate malaria altogether.

“It will be a big challenge, but within 20 to 25 years, we hope to do it. We are putting a lot of effort into elimination,” he said. “We believe vaccination can do it.”

Fitness and Wellbeing

Health

Coronav

Own the Past, a city group of history and heritage enthusiasts, are hosting a curated evening of diving into the legacy of Kolkata’s Parsi community with Bawa Bhonu & Gupshup

Article by Jaismita Alexander | The Telegraph India

On Sunday, March 17 at Kolkata’s Olpadwala Hall on Chowringhee Road, a curated evening titled Bawa Bhonu & Gupshup will take a deep dive into the legacy of Kolkata’s Parsi community

Bawa Bhonu & Gupshup — sounds like a fun tagline, doesn’t it? That’s the name for an upcoming event on Sunday, March 17 at Kolkata’s Olpadwala Hall on Chowringhee Road. Own the Past, a group of history and heritage enthusiasts in the city are organising the immersive event to revive conversation around the history and legacy of the Parsi community in Kolkata. The event promises engaging gupshup with Bawajis, as members of the Parsi community are often referred to colloquially, along with some great bhonu or food.

Run by Vibha Mitra, a versatile entrepreneur dealing with textiles and now heritage, Own the Past is a gurukul vertical in her OPUS Foundation Trust, which focuses on immersive learning about history. As part of the group, Mitra devotes her time, skills and resources to the appreciation of the intangible and tangible heritage of Kolkata. With the curated evening of Bawa Bhonu & Gupshup, she wants to bring to focus the small but iconic Kolkata Parsi community.

Vibha Mitra of Own the Past

Books, ‘Bawas’, ‘bhonu’ and more

The informative segment of the evening will see philanthropist, sportswoman and author Prochy N. Mehta engaging in a conversation with Yezdi Karai about her book Who is a Parsi? Mehta’s book busts the common myths about the community, their origins and their presence in India. Speaking to My Kolkata about the event, she said, “I am very excited to be a part of this. Vibha is doing a great job in reviving the history of the Parsis in Kolkata. It will be a great evening where people will know about the culture and traditions of the community. Besides the conversation, there will be the all-time favourite dhansak. So it is both bhonu and gupshup with the Bawajis.”

Prochy N. Mehta with her book ‘Who is a Parsi?’

As Mehta mentioned, a Parsi event is incomplete without bhonu and a special menu has been curated with popular Parsi favourites including mutton dhansak, sali ma marghi or sali boti, and more. The catered meal will be curated by Khurshid Vatcha, who is a teacher by profession but known in the Parsi community for her food, and serves up the culinary legacy of her family on special occasions within the Kolkata community. A traditional Persian Haft-seen table, which is usually laid out for Navroze, will be set up by Sanam Karai.

The vening will also feature delicious Parsi fare including the popular mutton dhansak

The event also promises a healthy dose of laughter and this gupshup part of the evening will be anchored by Cyrus Madan and Noomi Mehta, two stalwarts of the community in Kolkata, who are sure to add the humorous note tickling everyone’s funny bone with anecdotes.

“Our initiative is to rekindle a conversation on the legacy of the Parsi community in Kolkata,” said Mitra inviting Kolkatans to the event. “The event will talk about traditions, food, and culture, and be an immersive experience for the people of Kolkata. We are hoping people will have a good time. This is the first time we are doing something of this sort with the Parsi community and we plan to do more.”

Natasha Patel writes….

Throughout my life, I have spent countless man-hours explaining my building’s name to people – Talati Terrace. In a pool of new age, greek-god inspired Bombay building names and old school ones like Laxmi Niwas, Talati Terrace has always stood out like a sore thumb, an oddity—like most old Parsi things!

So there are two usual SOPs to try and explain the name to someone. First, there is my preferred approach of enunciating every syllable and breaking it down until I am shouting at the delivery man. Second is my mother’s way of giving an etymology lesson over the phone! Countless “aree bhaiya tumko samjhta hai, gaon ka Talati hota hai na, waise hamara building ka naam hai!” On most days, nothing works, and we leave it to fate for Raju from Swiggy to find our home!

As a child, I always wondered if I could get a pin code change and just live at Jackson Heights in Bandra instead, or even better, a moneyed Parsi house in South Bombay! Alas, I was stuck with Saat Bungla and Talati Terrace. But as I grew older on a steady diet of my grandpa’s stories and tales of how this all came to be, I could trace the connections of nearly 100 years of history steeped in the land that I get to call home.

I always thought I had more time, more time to document all that he told me, but little did I realise that someday my tomorrow wouldn’t be his and the city would fast change, with its rapacious appetite for tearing down all things worth preserving. Today, as I see my great-grandfather’s name in print, I couldn’t be more proud to be the custodian of a legacy of more than 110 years. The memories, the histories, and the lives of those who lived before me are etched in the walls of this beautiful bungalow that might fall now. While these words may not help to save it, I believe that we owe it to those who came before us to tell their stories. So, for the sake of history, i’ll gladly continue to explain the name of my building a thousand times over.

Disclaimer: Rattan Kunj, formerly known as Talati Bungalow and once owned by my family, is now co-owned by the Barars. They are striving to preserve it and prevent its demolition. So grateful to TOI’s Nauzer Bharucha for taking the time to cover this story.

One of last century-old, seafront Seven Bungalows faces demolition

Article by Nauzer Bharucha | TNN

MUMBAI: In a pristine corner of Versova, a private gate opens to a long, narrow dirt track leading to a bungalow close to the shore. The solid Burma teak roof looks ramshackle, but inside, there are 20 rooms with high ceilings, a majestic hall with stained glass work, and Italian Carrara marble flooring. Outside, there are two wells, one of which bears the insignia tile engraved with “1900 AD”, when the bungalow and the wells were constructed.

Once known as Talati Bungalow (named after the Parsi family of Sorabji Talati that once owned it), it is one of the remaining last two of the original Seven Bungalows (Saat Bungla) in Versova.

Now, this slice of Mumbai’s history may disappear soon. BMC issued a notice on Feb 29 to the owners of the property (renamed Rattan Kunj) to vacate and pull down the structure. The K-West ward office’s notice said the structure is in a “ruinous state” and “likely to fall”. The notice was based on the findings of BMC’s technical advisory committee (TAC), which ascertains if structures are dilapidated and beyond repair.

On a recent Sunday morning, Shaloo Rahul Barar and her two sons, co-owners of the over one-acre property kissing the Versova coast, alleged that there was a conspiracy to evict them. “We know that an Andheri builder wants to redevelop the land and throw us out by getting the bungalow declared ‘dilapidated’,” she said.

“Rattan Kunj was issued a structural audit notice for the first time in 124 years, when the co-owners were being tapped by a developer. In our report, it passed the tests, with minor repairs being required, which were met,” she said. The Barars are the only ones holding out as the other co-owners have moved out. “Strong and sturdy structures are made unfit through such audit reports,” said Barar, who acknowledged a dispute between her and the other section of the family, which has a stake in the property.

Jayesh Raut, sub engineer from the K-West office, said the co-owners submitted two separate audit reports, which were contradictory. “These reports were forwarded to the TAC, which visited the property and concluded that the structure falls under the C-1 category (dangerous to occupy),” he said. Barar alleged that the TAC report was never shown to her despite asking for it.

Last Dec, MLAs had in the assembly raised the issue of how strong structures were being wrongly declared dilapidated. They said the TAC should have independent members to evaluate the condition of such buildings.

A recent report by Indian National Trust for Art and Cultural Heritage (Intach) had said Rattan Kunj is structurally stable, “although repairs are required to maintain the integrity of some of the architectural elements”. “There are some minor cracks seen in the external walls of the building, and components such as chhajjas, Mangalore tiles and eave boards are missing in some parts. An appropriate conservation plan is required to protect the building from further deterioration,” it said.

The bungalow was built along with Kaikei Villa, Rus Cottage, Jasbir Villa, Gulistaan, Vijay Bhawan and Shanti Niwas after the plague hit the city in 1896. “…the original owners were Maharaja of Gwalior, Maharaja of Kutch, Dadabhai Naoroji, scholar Rustom Masani, Sorabji Talati, the Chinais and Khambattas,” said the Intach report.

Conservation architect Vikas Dilawari said, “Mumbai’s suburbs have a history that is relatively less known and often neglected. Very little of it survives due to tremendous redevelopment pressure as such structures were missed in the initial heritage listing. The seven or four bungalows in Andheri are living pages of history. Very few survive.”

Binaifer Nowrojee is incoming president of the Open Society Foundations, the world’s largest private funder of independent groups working for justice, democratic governance, and human rights.

With over three decades of experience, Nowrojee navigates politically sensitive operating environments to drive meaningful change. Her strategic leadership spans national, regional, and international levels, encompassing policy research, campaigning, grant making, litigation, and investment. Nowrojee brings deep expertise in Africa and Asia, where she has spearheaded advocacy initiatives to promote social justice and equality.

Previously, Nowrojee held key positions within the Open Society Foundations, including the vice president of Programs on the Executive Leadership Team, East Africa Foundation director, regional director for Asia Pacific, and vice president for Organizational Transformation. She played a central role in orchestrating a significant strategic and structural realignment of Open Society, enhancing its capacity to effect change in a rapidly evolving global landscape.

Prior to her tenure at OSF, Nowrojee served as legal counsel at Human Rights Watch and as a staff attorney at the Lawyers Committee for Human Rights. She has worked extensively on prosecuting sexual violence under international law and testified as an expert witness at the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda. Nowrojee’s commitment to advancing justice extends to academia, where she has served as a lecturer at Harvard Law School and was awarded a Carr Center fellowship.

Nowrojee holds a JD from Columbia Law School and an LLM degree from Harvard Law School, underscoring her strong academic foundation and expertise in international law and human rights. With her wealth of experience and unwavering dedication, Nowrojee is well-equipped to lead the Open Society Foundations into a new era of impactful and transformative change.

Who Is Binaifer Nowrojee, the New President of Open Society Foundations?

Michael Kavate

In 1993, George Soros realized he could not keep giving away his billions on his own. Needing a manager for his philanthropy, he hired Aryeh Neier, a veteran human rights advocate, law professor and cofounder of Human Rights Watch.

Neier ended up staying for nearly two decades, and in the dozen years since, three more leaders have come and gone at Open Society Foundations. All have been men, and all but one have been white.

That changed on Monday, when the philanthropy announced that Binaifer Nowrojee, who has overseen much of OSF’s long-running restructuring and recently served as vice president of programs, will take over as president of the grantmaker. She’ll take the helm in June, when OSF’s current leader, Mark Malloch-Brown, will step down.

Nowrojee will be the first woman ever to lead OSF, a titan of funding for progressive causes and global human rights. She brings to the table an impressive resume, having spent years as a human rights lawyer, law professor and advocate. And unlike past presidents, Nowrojee already has deep experience with OSF, having served at the funder for over two decades. That will no doubt serve her well, as the institution continues to navigate the tricky evolution into its leaner post-George Soros era.

Born in London to an Indian family and raised in Kenya, she is perhaps best-known for her central role in the grantmaker’s multi-year restructuring, under which the once-massive operation has laid off staff, shuttered programs and closed offices, even as it has maintained its grantmaking levels.

“After largely completing the organization’s transformation, it’s the right time for a new generation of leadership to take the reins,” said Mark-Malloch Brown in a statement.

While she represents a historic first, there is also an echo of OSF’s earlier presidents in Nowrojee’s resume. Like Neier, she has a background in law and academia and is a former Human Rights Watch staffer. Both spent more than a decade at the advocacy group, which is still a major OSF grantee. Nowrojee is also the second person of color and second from the Global South to lead the institution, following in the footsteps of former president Patrick Gaspard.

Soros, who made his fortune partly through bets on the British pound, Thai baht and other currencies, sees the appointment as a realization of his ambition to create a “truly global” philanthropy. “At the outset, that was merely an aspiration. But now I feel that this ambition has been fulfilled,” said the 93-year-old in a statement.

Nowrojee takes the helm of an organization still not quite finished with an overhaul that formally began in 2021, and is under the new leadership of Alex Soros, the financier’s 38-year-old son, who took over from his father as board chair in June. The long-running restructuring, which has also led to rounds of tie-off grants to grantees, has tested staff morale. Last July, the philanthropy announced it would lay off 40% of its workforce, and it has closed many of its international offices or converted them into fully independent foundations over the past year.

The effort to rein in OSF stretches back, at least conceptually, to the grantmaker’s second president, Chris Stone, who was hired to bring order to an operation with offices around the globe and funding in dozens more countries, yet with no unified budget.

The most recent phases were largely overseen by Nowrojee herself. OSF presidents since Neier have struggled with the mandate to reshape the sprawling organization. But Nowrojee managed not only to push through major changes, but also win the support needed to ascend to the top role, even as she acknowledged those shifts were difficult.

“We have endured a prolonged period of disruption, and this has not come without pain and loss, as many of you have said goodbye to colleagues and ended relationships with long-time grantees,” she wrote in a note to staff, according to the Associated Press. “As we navigate the remaining elements of change, I promise, first and foremost, to remain committed to Open Society values and to George Soros’s vision of critical thinking, local knowledge, and risk-taking.”

Her ability to do so with care may have won her key fans.

“I’ve seen firsthand @NowrojeeOSF’s compassionate leadership in the face of difficult circumstances,” tweeted Alex Soros, whom Nowrojee once accompanied during his trips to Asia, including to Rohingya refugee camps in Bangladesh. “She is an incredible human rights advocate who believes in the transformative power of OSF’s work. She embodies the spirit of OSF, and I’m confident that she will ably lead our next chapter.”

Her appointment, too, has met with enthusiastic replies from staff and former colleagues on social media.

“Truly remarkable to have a woman of colour leading OSF, and most importantly, someone who has come through the ranks,” wrote Erlin Ibreck, a former regional manager for Africa grantmaking at OSF who took a 2021 buyout, in a LinkedIn message.

Nowrojee joined OSF in 2004, leaving her position as a lecturer at Harvard Law School to lead Open Society’s East Africa office in Nairobi. After a decade in Kenya, Nowrojee moved to Singapore to become OSF’s regional director for Asia. She stayed there for seven years before beginning her role in the restructuring. Her work then impressed Stone, who was president during that time.

“When we worked together at OSF a decade ago, Binaifer did a brilliant job creating a new regional programme for the Asia-Pacific region, building strong teams with strong values,” he said in an email.

Her appointment this week did not go unnoticed in her home country. A bevy of headlines declared a “Kenyan human rights lawyer” had taken the top spot at one of the world’s largest foundations. Multiple outlets noted she is the daughter of Pheroze Nowrojee, a veteran human rights lawyer, poet and writer.

Prior to OSF, Nowrojee worked for years prosecuting sexual violence under international law. Her experiences include testifying as an expert witness at the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda, which tried suspects in the 1994 genocide against the Tutsi.

Gara LaMarche, who was vice president of OSF and director of U.S. programs during the mid-1990s and early 2000s, said by email that her expertise made her an “inspired choice” to head the network. “OSF has been the world’s leading philanthropic supporter of human rights, and she is a deeply respected and experienced human rights lawyer and advocate,” he wrote.

One more thing Nowrojee shares with predecessors like Neier is that she’s an author and frequent commentator. While at Human Rights Watch, she wrote a short book, “Divide and Rule: State-sponsored Ethnic Violence,” and co-authored another, “Failing the Internally Displaced.” She’s also written more recently for Time, the Asia Times and OSF’s blog, including one post in 2021 on the restructuring and another late last year on funding women’s political leadership.

One of her most recent writings? An extended LinkedIn post published Monday, laying out her journey to and with OSF.

“I share these details to provide you with insight into the fabric from which I am cut,” she wrote. “It is a fabric woven with the threads of dedication, integrity and a deep-seated belief in the transformative power of our work.”

Kenyan lawyer Binaifer Nowrojee to head Open Society Foundations

By AGGREY MUTAMBO

Kenyan human rights lawyer Binaifer Nowrojee will become the first woman from the Global South to head the Open Society Foundations, ending a three-year period of restructuring for the pro-democracy organisation.

Ms Nowrojee was appointed the president of Open Society Foundations (OSF) in a unanimous decision by the Board of Directors for the organisation, a dispatch said on Monday. She will replace Mark Malloch-brown who will be stepping in June this year.

Currently the vice-president for programmes at OSF, she joined the organisation in 2004, having previously worked at the Human Rights Watch (HRW).

George Soros, the founder of OSF, said this appointment is part of efforts to make the organisation “truly global”.

“At the outset, that was merely an aspiration. But now I feel that this ambition has been fulfilled with Binaifer Nowrojee as president of the Foundations, supported by an international team,” Soros said in a statement.

Educated at Columbia, and Havard law schools, Nowrojee has been in the human rights work for nearly three decades, having also been Director for OSF in East Africa, regional director for Asia Pacific and Vice President for Organisational Transformation.

She once testified as an expert witness at the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda., which was trying suspects of the 1994 Genocide against the Tutsi.

“I have accepted this position because I know that when Open Society is at its best, it is an inspiring place to work,” she told OSF staff in a statement.

“We have endured a prolonged period of disruption, and this has not come without pain and loss, as many of you have said goodbye to colleagues and ended relationships with long-time grantees.

“As we move into becoming a more integrated network, it is time for us to redouble our commitment to the important work that we are here to do, even as we support each other to restore the health and vitality of the organisation,” she said.

“As a lawyer, much of my professional life has focused on pushing international courts to deliver justice to victims of sexual violence in conflict. I am Kenyan, of Indian origin, and have lived and worked in Kenya, Tanzania, Singapore, the UK and US.”

From ‘hovering between life and death’ after a bouncer fractured his skull at Barbados in 1962, to celebrating his 90th birthday today, India’s oldest Test captain Nari deserves a badge of honour

Article by Clayton Murzello | Mid Day

The stitches on the right side of Nari Contractor’s head are visible at London Airport on April 17, 1962, a month after his skull injury sustained in the West Indies. Pic/Getty Images

When are you starting to play cricket again?”

It’s nearly 62 years since Nari Contractor got asked this question by Dr Chandy at Christian Medical College, Vellore, in Tamil Nadu.

Former India captain Contractor turns 90 today—a day he may never have seen had he not heeded Dr Chandy’s advice.

A few weeks prior, Dr Chandy had inserted a metal plate in Contractor’s head, as a follow up to an operation caused by a lifter from West Indian fast bowler Charlie Griffith in the Indians versus Barbados game of the 1961-62 series in the West Indies. The plate was removed in 2022.

Contractor spent his days recovering while the Indian team, who he had captained in the first two Tests of the five-match series, dealt with Frank Worrell’s fiery West Indians.

At Vellore, the next medical facility Contractor checked into after New York’s Presbyterian Hospital, he had to be coaxed into making his way to Dr Chandy’s room.  The doctor could have visited his patient instead of the other way around. But good doctors are the best psychologists too, so he insisted on Contractor undertaking the 300-metre walk.

Back to the question. A stunned Contractor wondered how Dr Chandy could expect him to play again, considering what the delivery from Griffith had reduced him to. In the words of Berry Sarbadhikary, who reported on the tour, Contractor “hovered between life and death.”

Contractor at his Colaba residence on Wednesday

Dr Chandy remarked, “I want to tell you [Contractor] in plain and simple English that if you want to be a vegetable for the rest of your life, don’t ever play cricket again.”

On leaving the doctor’s room, Contractor soon found the wherewithal. Not only did he return to first-class cricket the following season to play for his beloved Gujarat Ranji Trophy team and nearly get picked for India again (in 1967-68), he also served his sport in a quiet and efficient manner.

Courage was a quality he displayed even before his near-death situation in 1962. In the 1959 Test against England at Lord’s, he continued to bat for his 81 after having his ribs broken through an express Brian Statham delivery in the second over of the Test. Breathlessness played a role in Contractor not reaching his hundred, but he took Australian legend Keith Miller’s breath away. In his expert comments piece for a newspaper, Miller suggested that Contractor be accorded the Victoria Cross for his bravery.

Contractor ended his first-class cricket career in 1970-71. From the house of Tatas, he joined Mafatlal as personal assistant to the Chief Executive, according to the January 24, 1971 issue of Sportsweek, in which he backed Ajit Wadekar’s side to give West Indies a run for their money. He was right, as India won 1-0.

Contractor went about his duties at Mafatlal without having much to do with the game. But one day, he received a telephone call from Madhav Mantri, the then Bombay Cricket Association president, asking what could Mafatlal do for Mumbai cricket in the face of a Ranji Trophy title drought in the second half of the 1980s.  A fast bowling scheme headed by Frank Tyson soon took shape and changed the face of Mumbai cricket; India’s fast bowling stocks rose in the bargain.

When it was decided that the bowling scheme would need a foreign head coach, Contractor was sent to England by his employers to find one. He met several coaches there who were willing to come over and head the scheme. But they couldn’t provide a blueprint and Contractor had to return to the city without zeroing in on a coach. He then contacted Tyson in Australia and convinced him to come over.

Although the scheme didn’t go the distance, it produced enough fast bowling talent for it to be rated successful.

Tyson later came to India to conduct courses for coaches so the coaching machinery was put in place as well.

Look at the Indian set up today. India’s bowling coach Paras Mhambrey is a beneficiary of the BCA-Mafatlal Fast Bowling Scheme and so is national selector Salil Ankola.

Amol Muzumdar, India’s women’s head coach, used to bat in the scheme. Ditto Hrishikesh Kantikar, who did a stint as head coach of the women’s team. And leg-spinner Sairaj Bahutule, who works with the Indian youth, was India’s head coach in Ireland last year as a stop-gap arrangement. Abey Kuruvilla, the tall India and Mumbai fast bowler, was the first success story of the scheme. He is now BCCI’s General Manager, after a stint as India selector.

All the above owe it to Tyson and Contractor as well, for getting the late England fast bowling terror to these shores. Contractor was also involved in the Talent Resources Development Officer (TRDO) wing as the head of West Zone as well as Cricket Club of India’s Cricket for Care coaching scheme.

Indeed, Contractor has lived a life of fulfilment, layered with a generous slice of integrity and commitment.

He has made countless friends along the way and he’ll miss many of them. Like his India teammates, his rival captain in 1962, Sir Frank Worrell, the decorated cricket writer Prabhu and well-travelled Dicky Rutnagur, who also covered that tour. They donated blood to ensure Contractor’s first operation went smoothly.  And most of all, he will feel the loss of his wife Doli (passed away in 2022), who was with him all the way just like he was there for her. That said, Contractor’s family members have kept him warm and cheerful.

It’s time to raise a toast to India’s oldest living Test captain, a living example of where picking up the pieces, overcoming pain, and displaying admirable courage can take you.

As a sequel to a recent column, a family romance that celebrates the magic of music in fusing an uncommon bond

Homi and Homai Dastoor in Navsari in 1959, the year of their marriage

Article by Meher Marfatia | Mid-Day

I thought about it quite a bit. A personal retelling of my parents’ romance is not for general sharing in the public space of these pages. But a whole month after the “Very, very Valentine” column, featuring the love stories of mid-20th century couples bound by cultural threads, readers still plead for an account of my parents’ life journey.

Its different phases spanned interesting city neighbourhoods. My brother Phiroze and I were Bandra-bred but Dadar-born, to Homai Joshi and Homi Dastoor. They met at Perviz Hall, the Dadar Parsi Colony’s one-time social hub. Dad wooed and won Mum with a delightful lecture series he delivered on Western classical music, demystifying the genre that intimidates many. I imagine how hundreds of young couples must have dated at what is now a centre selling sweet bakes like bhakra and pori, and taking orders to stitch sadras, the sacred muslin vests Parsis wear following their Navjote initiation to the faith.

Bombelli’s at Breach Candy, where they celebrated post-proposal. Pic Courtesy/Anita Bombelli

Our father proposed patiently every two years, understanding that his beloved’s hesitation before taking the plunge stemmed from health issues severe enough to have halted her college education. At the end of the sixth year, he struck third-time luck. She accepted. That was after a stroll down Breach Candy’s sea-hugging rockery and promenade dubbed Scandal Point for a romantic, wartime association. It was the niche for sweet rendezvous, where soldiers stole quiet sunset moments with their girls, amid the clamouring cawing of crows nesting for the night.

Dating done, miya-biwi raazi, they needed to celebrate. Off they trotted to Bombelli’s down the road (where Amarsons-Premsons stand), to seal the deal over vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce. For long years after, this is our old-fashioned choice of dessert when any cause for celebration presents itself in the clan.

Bide-a-Wee, the family cottage in Kodaikanal for their honeymoon

My jubilant folks were hardly alone. The passion and proposals that Freddy and Betty Bombelli indulgently witnessed, at their Breach Candy and Churchgate branches, warmed the hearts of the Swiss restaurateurs. Propelling plenty of prem kahaanis, Bombelli’s cast a spell over everyone trooping in. My folks were no exception.

The day after deciding to get hitched, they registered for JJ Rodriguez’s dance class. After feather-footed Joao Joaquim Rodriguez of Margao wowed the city with his school in 1951, it was de rigueur to show the object of your affection smooth ballroom moves there. Couples of every vintage happily headed to Sethna House on Barrow Road—Allana Road today, facing Electric House on Colaba Causeway—practising to pirouette and glide with grace. Trust history-loving Mum to challenge us as she narrated how they enjoyed this, despite both having two left feet. She asked, “I wouldn’t know, but don’t you want to find out why it was called Barrow Road?” Phiroze and I shrugged couldn’t-be-bothered “Nahs”.

Reading the memorial poem dedicated to his wife, under her portrait. Still from the documentary, The Ninety-first Symphony, by Rafeeq Ellias

Older and wiser, half a lifetime later, when I began researching Allana Road for this column, I did have to check. Barrow Road was constructed by the Bombay Port Trust; HW Barrow, chief reporter at The Times of India, was Municipal Secretary from 1870 to 1898.

The two also decided to learn a foreign language together. German was too guttural— “Every word long as a sentence,” groaned Dad, nixing it. For Italian, there were only average self-study courses then. They finally enrolled as beginners at Alliance Francaise. Conjugating irregular French verbs frustrated him. Challenged to handle even that basic level, he came to class joking that he feared the tutor would fling a well-aimed copy of the Modern French course Dondo textbook at him. She, on the other hand, soon became the teacher’s pet, picking up nuances quicker than most. Loyally, she rallied as his grammar cheerleader—“It isn’t you, Homi. They shouldn’t race ahead at this fast pace.”  

After duly visiting various elders of the extended Dastoor clan in Navsari, and their 1959 marriage in Albless Baug at Charni Road (named for Edulji Framji Albless, who earned the last name for his kind manner of greeting everyone “God bless you all”, which compressed to “Albless”), the newly-weds got a shock. The assigned photographer claimed everything shot was ruined. For someone who routinely collects photographs for oral history work, I’m still coming to terms with the sad reality that my own family album has slim pickings. 

Ever the optimist, Dad simply said “Forget it” and whisked Mum off to Kodaikanal for a week. A diligent assistant to Darab Tata, JRD’s brother, before joining Tata Textiles, he was pleasantly surprised to have the boss instruct, “Dastoor, what’s a single week of honeymoon, take another two!” 

Honeymoon done and house hunt accomplished, they settled into discovering each other’s irks and quirks in that deep, disconcerting way that fully surfaces when cohabiting replaces courting. Homemaker extraordinaire, Mummy tended to a largish joint family—which included a trio of sisters-in-law a generation older than her—with good nature, common sense and practicality.

Zealously, she scrimped and saved household expense amounts for her man’s sole indulgence: buying music or books on music. Tucked in her cupboard drawer were little envelopes labelled “Rent”, “Salaries”, “School fees”, “Groceries” and “Medicals”. There was a last envelope: “Homi’s music”. Phiroze and I could dip into any of the rest of the envelopes for an extra rupee or two with which to boost flattened pocket money change in our piggy banks. We did not dare touch “Homi’s music”, that’s how vigilantly she guarded that bunch of notes.

If Mum missed out on realising her dream of a career in law, she seldom mentioned it, but she could argue all right. And admitted she had a problem: reluctance, bordering on inability, to apologise. He, instead, said “Sorry” with endearing promptness. What’s more, believing that nothing proved a better panacea for sulks and the promise of peace than the sonority of music, he played favourite pieces composed by greats they mutually admired. 

Music was everywhere in our home, booming from a Garrard player I still have. The volume, upped for listening pleasure, ensured its strains reached the corners of each room. Bach to Brahms, Schubert to Sibelius, Mozart to Mendelssohn, their brilliance was second breath to us.

This happened literally from the cradle. Suffering the first-child syndrome, Phiroze was handled with ginger nervousness. Being second, I received more confident parenting. After Mummy got over slight initial alarm, Dad blithely parked my pram in the living room below stacked shelves of records rocking me to sleep. He actually recommended the loud bedtime routine to friends with kids, proud that his baby daughter scrunched shut her eyes within a minute of hearing the Merry Widow waltz’s melodic opening bars.  

Not a day went by without the beautiful sound of music. Composers became family members. A diehard devotee of Beethoven and Jascha Heifetz, Dad fervently wished his children could share birthdays with the virtuosos. Phiroze came in close, a day after wizard-of-the-violin Heifetz’s janamdin, February 2. More disappointingly, I arrived two entire weeks ahead of Beethoven’s birth date, December 16.

Not only did the maestros’ photographs hang beside our ancestors’ portraits, but their birthdays had to be properly observed. We tucked into festive breakfasts of sweet sev and ravo—dishes Parsis prepare on auspicious occasions. Guess who gamely kept track, marking those red-letter days way ahead on the calendar and rustled up the treats in a kitchen fragrant with freshly fried kishmish and kaju slivers? Amazingly supportive, wonderful at encouraging what was enjoyed by us all, ticking checklists of ingredients, Mum worried, “Are there enough almonds? Rava? Raisins?”

I teased that she was more carefully stocked with badams for Beethoven’s birthday than mine preceding it.

Mummy made sure the four of us observed an every-Friday ritual we looked forward to: “Bringing Daddy back” from work in Fort. We raced home from school in Bandra, boarded a Churchgate local and skipped onward to his Tata Textiles office at Bombay House, now in its centenary year; George Wittet designed the headquarters this industry giant established in 1924.

We would walk hand-in-hand to Marosa, a stone’s throw from Flora Fountain. The neighbourhood cafe for cosy chatter was as much the haunt of office-goers as it was the adda where Raj Kapoor conferred with his cinematographer Radhu Karmakar and music directors Shankar-Jaikishan. It served generous platefuls of chicken patties, billing customers for those eaten.

Ma slipped away six months short of their golden anniversary. Dad passed on ten years after, at 95. Every single morning, he recited aloud—almost like a prayer—a tender ode to her. Rafeeq Ellias filmed him doing so on a morning when he shot the documentary, The Ninety-first Symphony, capturing the essence of the man who wrote Musical Journeys, a bestselling book on Western classical composers, with a foreword by Zubin Mehta, at the age of 90. The poem read:

“I thought of you with love today
But that is nothing new,
I thought of you yesterday
And days before that too.
I think of you in silence
I often speak your name,
All I have are your memories
And your picture in a frame.
Your memories are my keepsake
With which I will never part,
God has you in His heaven
I have you in my heart.”

Author-publisher Meher Marfatia writes fortnightly on everything that makes her love Mumbai and adore Bombay. You can reach her at meher.marfatia@mid-day.com/www.meher marfatia.com