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Numbers shrinking, Parsis appeal for preserving their legacy in Lucknow

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Members of Parsi community in Lucknow on Monday urged the administration to free their properties of encroachments and help in its preservation.

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Speaking at the book launch of ‘Bharat Ka Parsi Samaj’ by Dr Naresh Singh, president of Avadh Girls’ Degree College, Zarine Viccajee, whose family was one of the first settlers from the community in Lucknow, said: “Parsis have contributed to the country’s development and continues to do so in different fields. But the community’s strength is dwindling. Today, 40 Parsi families reside in the city as compared to 300 earlier.”

“Be it Lucknow or Delhi, we mingled with people wherever we settled. At a time when only limited number of Parsis are there to keep their heritage and culture alive in Lucknow, a few places like 73-year-old Parsi Anjuman and the graveyard need to be preserved,” she said.

“In our religion, we let the bodies of the dead decompose naturally. This is why Mumbai has the ‘Tower of Silence’. Lucknow has no such place, therefore, we go for burial,” Viccajee added.

Highlighting the history of the community, president of Lucknow Parsi Community Homi Sipai said it was Nauroji Damkewala, a trader of silk and pearls from Gujarat, who first settled in Lucknow during the times of third king of Awadh Mohammad Ali Shah.

“Gradually, a number of families started settling in the city. Most of the families stayed in the compound of Parsi Anjuman. We made Lucknow our home and embraced the city’s lifestyle,” he said. The members also expressed concern over the fact that their festivals, Navroz and Khordad Sal, were not declared public holidays.


Pervez Damania: State of Aviation Industry Post COVID-19

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Our dear friend and aviation industry legend Pervez Damania speaks to CNBC on the state of the aviation industry today and in the future, post COVID-19

Meet the Kavinas, one of the only two Parsi families in Kerala

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Dressed in regular ‘nighties’ with a dash of sacred ash on their forehead, Rathi and Dhan Kavina could easily pass off as Malayalis.

But a look around their modest flat reveals a picture of Prophet Zarathustra on the wall, as well as a prayer note with the Faravahar (symbol of Zoroastrianism), pasted behind the front door. The sisters, into their seventies, are the only remaining members of the Kavina family, one of the only two Parsi families in Kerala today.

But neither Rathi nor Dhan are too concerned about their Persian roots, or the fact that they don’t share a God with many others in the State. “God is one, only the names are different,” says Rathi, the older of the two, a perpetual smile playing on her lips. On a shelf in the bedroom are pictures of Gods of all religions, besides that of their late parents and brother, with rows of small lamps before them.

“We celebrate all festivals including Onam, Christmas, Vishu besides Zoroastrian festivals,” they say. In fact, when their brother was alive, they used to go on pilgrimages to various temples, as well as the Anjuman Baug, the only Parsi Fire Temple in Kerala, situated near SM Street, Kozhikode. “We worship the fire and recite a prayer in Gujarati to Ahura Mazda (the Lord of Wisdom) every day. But we don’t have a holy book. Our only motto in life is: good words, good thoughts and good deeds,” says Rathi.

Their family settled in Kerala after their parents moved to Thrissur from Ahmedabad, home to one of the largest communities of Parsis. Their father, Padamsha Kavina, had come to work in a textile mill in Thrissur, and the two sisters were born here. “We attended school and college in Thrissur, and have lived here all our lives,” says Rathi. While their brother started a textile business later, where Rathi assisted him, Dhan has been a home-bird all her life. “I’m the one who does all the shopping and banking, but I don’t even know how to make a cup of tea. Dhan is a great cook and homemaker,” Rathi says with a laugh.

The sisters speak fluent Malayalam and English, and a bit of Gujarati, but can’t read or write either of the Indian languages. “When we were young, our relatives from Gujarat used to ask us why we were speaking English at home. So, we didn’t fit in completely with them. But since we were not Malayalis, we didn’t fit in here completely either,” says Rathi, but again with a laugh.

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However, in keeping with the Parsi tradition of not marrying outside the community, none of the three siblings got married. “When we were younger, our parents used to discuss our marriages. But we didn’t want to leave Kerala,” says Rathi. “After a while our parents realised that there was no use asking us. They decided that they just want us to be happy.”

imageAs they have never left Kerala, they have never attended a Parsi wedding, nor are they aware of the much-debated Parsi death rituals of exposing corpses to scavenger birds. “Our parents and brother were cremated in Kozhikode, at the Anjuman Baug,” says Rathi. The only other Parsi family in Kerala, the Marshalls, is in Kozhikode and take care of the Fire Temple. “There used to be a renowned Paris surgeon in Thrissur — Hirji Sorab Adenwalla – our very good friend. But he is now settled in Coonoor post retirement,” says Rathi.

The sisters remember a time when their parents were alive, when they would celebrate Navroz, the Parsi New Year. “We would wear new clothes and mummy would cook special dishes. Our Malayali friends too used to wish us ‘happy new year’. Mummy used to be a great cook and did all kinds of embroidery. She would wear the sari Gujarati style, and she trusted everyone,” she recalls.

Their brother died in 2009 and their cousins in Ahmedabad too have passed away. Didn’t they ever feel like going back to Gujarat? “Never. My parents too never wanted to leave Kerala. We always had plenty of Malayali friends. People ask us what we will do when we grow older. But Kerala is home to us. We are happy here. We trust fully in God.”

Remembering the Parsi community of Amritsar

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The Parsi community, known for its entrepreneurial and philanthropic activities, has been a significant part of the history of Amritsar. The city, known for its open heart and the ability to seamlessly merge different cultures together, has its own special connection with the Parsi community.

Article by Neha Saini | Tribune News Service

One of India’s most famous sons, Field Marshal Sam Hormusji Framji Jamshedji Manekshaw, was born in Amritsar. Popularly known as Sam Bahadur (Sam, the brave), he was the first Indian Army officer to be promoted to the rank of Field Marshal.

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Another famous Parsi from the city is fondly remembered as the Grand Old Lady of Amritsar. Tehmi Bhandari, a woman who was much ahead of her times, opened the doors to luxuriously hospitality and global flavours with the famous Bhandari guesthouse. So, as the Parsi community celebrates its new year, city, too, fondly remembers its lost legacy.

“The Parsi community had a significant presence in Amritsar till early 80s. They had established business here and were quite active part of the city’s cultural and social map. Tehmi Bhandari’s father had ice factories and her family was close to Sam Manekshaw’s and my late father,” shared Ashok Sethi, a former media professional and a businessman. He remembers how Tehmi was the first woman in the city to set up her own business. “She is probably someone, who was one of the pioneers of the hospitality sector in Amritsar. She became the first woman in these parts to run a business when she converted her palatial home into a guesthouse, which became the favorite stay option for foreign visitors in those times.”

In the early eighties, the onset of terrorism hit the community bad. “Most of the Parsi families gradually moved away from the city, settling in Delhi and Mumbai,” said Sethi. Tehmi was the last of Parsi community to remain in Amritsar. With her demise, her family too moved away.

Dr Pusphinder Singh, a historian, said Tehmi and Manekshaw were the last link of the city with the Parsi community. “The Parsis had brought a lot of cultural influences with them, despite being a very exclusive community. The younger Parsi generation either lost their status in the community by marrying outside their community or by migrating to other countries.”

Reminiscing about the Parsi palate

As the Parsi New Year begins, Hyatt Regency is paying homage to the Parsi community’s legacy in the city by hosting a food festival dedicated to them.

“With Amritsar having a deep connect with the Parsi community and the Parsi food being very rich in texture, much like Amritsari food, it made perfect sense to host a Parsi food festival for our patrons. The Parsi New Year gave us the perfect platform to do so. Parsi delicacies like Dhansak, Patrani Machhi and Salli Jardaloo are some of the dishes that were a part of city’s food legacy,” shared Shiiv Parvesh, head chef of Hyatt Regency, Amritsar.

Nehru’s son-in-law Feroze, a crusader, who exposed corruption in his party’s government

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It is because of a private member’s bill introduced by Feroze Gandhi in 1956 that it is possible for media to report Parliament proceedings.

New Delhi: He was just 48 when he passed away on 8 September 1960. But the inscription on Feroze Jehangir Gandhi’s gravestone at the Parsi cemetery in Allahabad best describes how full and glorious a life he led: “He is not dead who lifts Thy glorious mind on high. To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.”

To those who don’t know much about him, Feroze Gandhi was Indira Gandhi’s husband, grandfather to Rahul and Varun Gandhi and Priyanka Gandhi-Vadra.

But, more importantly, the two-time MP from Rae Bareli, a constituency now represented by his daughter-in-law Sonia Gandhi, was a fighter, who never shied away from taking on his own party’s government when his father-in-law Jawaharlal Nehru was the prime minister of the country.

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Personal life

Feroze Gandhi was born in a Parsi family in Bombay on 12 September 1912. He was youngest of his five siblings. After his father’s death in early 1020s, his mother along with the kids shifted to Allahabad. It is where Feroze spent a good part of his life. In 1930, he came in contact with Kamala Nehru, Jawaharlal Nehru’s wife and later quit studies to take part in India’s freedom struggle. His surname was Ghandy, which he changed to Gandhi after getting inspired from Mahatma Gandhi. He actively participated in freedom movement and soon became a known face in Allahabad.

He was regular to the Nehru family’s ancestral house, Anand Bhawan, in Allahabad and came close to all the family members. When Nehru’s wife Kamala fell ill, Feroze took care of her and even went to Lausanne in Swtizerland, where she was recuperating from her tuberculosis. Kamala Nehru died in February 1936.

In the later years while studying in England, Feroze and Indira came close and they got married in March 1942. During the Quit India movement both Feroze and Indira went to jail. The couple had two sons Rajiv and Sanjay born in 1944 and 1946 respectively.

A journalist-turned-politician

Having started as a journalist, Feroze Gandhi understood the importance of freedom of press.  After independence, journalists were not allowed to report on the parliamentary proceedings and it could attract a suit against publication of any such proceedings. Feroze had won the first general elections of independent India in 1952 and was an MP in the House. He was a backbencher who would prefer listening to talking. But when he spoke he made relevant observations and in the later years created trouble for his government.

Noted Swedish journalist Bertil Falk in his book Feroze: The Forgotten Gandhi describes the incident which allowed press coverage of the parliament proceedings in India

In 1956, Feroze Gandhi introduced a private member’s bill advocating press freedom that later became a law as Parliamentary Proceedings (Protection of Publication) Act 1956.

During his speech in Parliament on the bill brought by him, Feroze Gandhi said, “For the success of our parliamentary form of government and democracy and so that the will of the people shall prevail, it is necessary that our people should know what transpires in this House. This is not your House or my House, it is the House of the people. It is on their behalf that we speak or function in this chamber. These people have a right to know what their chosen representatives say and do. Anything that stands in the way must be removed.”

This was one of the rare occasions in Parliament when a private member’s bill was passed by all and became a law, which made it possible for the media to report Parliament proceedings.

Today, when we have two channels — one each for Lok Sabha and Rajya Sabha — which telecast live proceedings from Parliament, we should thank Feroze Gandhi for facilitating it.

That, several years later, in 1975, a Congress government led by his wife, Indira Gandhi, enforced Emergency in the country, almost destroying the idea of free and independent press, is a different story.

A Congressman in opposition to his own govt

In the years after independence, the Congress was the largest party in government and there was virtually no opposition. But even as a Congress MP, Feroze Gandhi made an exception and at times played a crucial role in keeping the democratic fervour alive by raising issues that trouble the government of those days.

In fact, Feroze Gandhi unravelled a financial scam that led to the resignation of then finance minister.

On 16 December 1957, Feroze Gandhi raised the issue of a scandal in the newly nationalized Life Insurance Corporation of India (LIC) in the Lok Sabha. He raised flag on an investment of Rs 1.25 crore by the LIC in different companies of a Kolkata-based industrialist and stock speculator Haridas Mundhra. Despite the fact that it was a Congress government and it was headed by his father-in-law Nehru, Feroze didn’t hesitate in making sharp allegations against the government.

During his Lok Sabha speech he said, “Mr Speaker, there is going to be some sharpshooting and hard hitting in the House today, because when I hit, I hit hard and expect to be hit harder. I am fully conscious that the other side is also equipped with plentiful supplies of TNT.”

It was possibly independent India’s first financial scam. In his address in Parliament, he presented his well-researched facts and demanded an inquiry by an in-house committee. He was not in favour of a judicial inquiry as in his speech he said, “I am not much enamoured of the word judicial.”

“When things of such magnitude occur silence becomes a crime. Public expenditure shall be subject to severe public debate, is a health tradition, especially so in an era of growing public enterprise,” he explained why he, as an MP, was raising an issue that could embarrass his own father-in-law’s government.

However, a one-man commission was formed under former chief justice of Bombay High Court, M.C. Chagla. Within two months, the commission submitted its report indicating involvement of then finance minister T.T. Krishnamachari. Krishnamachari was forced to quit on 18 February 1958.

After India got independence in 1947, Feroze and Indira stayed in Allahabad. Feroze at the time worked as managing director of  National Herald newspaper. In 1950 he became member of provincial parliament and in 1952 contested the first general elections of the country from Rae Bareli. He got elected as an MP and moved to Delhi. In 1957, he got re-elected from Rae Bareli. He died on 8 September 1960 after suffering from a heart attack at Willingdon Nursing Home which is now Dr Ram Manohar Lohia Hospital.

Feroze Gandhi’s grave lies forgotten

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Feroze Gandhi may be the patriarch of the Congress’s first family, but the party as well as his family members seem to have neglected his cemetery in Allahabad, now rechristened as Prayagraj.

As per records available with DNA, Congress president Rahul Gandhi last visited the grave of his grandfather way back in 2011.

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Inviting Rahul Gandhi to attend the Kumbh Mela in Prayagraj, Uttar Pradesh Deputy Chief Minister Dinesh Sharma recently said that the leader should also visit the tombstone of his grandfather. He asked Rahul Gandhi to pray for the “soul” of this forgotten Gandhi. Sharma’s remarks came at a time when Rahul has been hopping temples and asserting his gotra.

The tombstone of Feroze, considered India’s original anti-corruption crusader, sits in a neglected state in a corner of the Parsi cemetery at Stanley Road on Allahabad-Lucknow Highway. It’s just miles away from Anand Bhawan, once the seat of Nehru-Gandhi dynasty.

Tourists visit Anand Bhawan, the ancestral home of the Gandhi-Nehru family, but anyone hardly goes to Feroze’s tombstone. The cemetery has nearly 100 Parsi graves.

DNA has found that Rahul has visited the tombstone just twice. It was during November 2011, in the run-up to the 2012 assembly elections, he had last paid homage. He had then stayed overnight at Anand Bhawan. Earlier, Rahul had visited the cemetery in August 2008 and was accompanied by his uncle Rustom Gandhi, aunt Shehernaz and a few relatives.

Rustom, son of Feroz’s eldest brother Fardiun, lives in Prayagraj. DNA tried to contact him, but he wasn’t available for comments. Sources said Rustom stays away from the limelight.

Rahul’s sister Priyanka Gandhi had visited the tombstone of her grandfather once – in 2009.

UPA chairperson Sonia Gandhi too had visited the grave of her father-in-law once in 2001. During that visit, locals said, she had expressed “concern” over the “deteriorating condition” of the place. Four years later, she assured financial support to revamp the grave. But the beautification is yet to happen.

A caretaker named Brijlal has been tasked with the upkeep of the grave. “This is a tombstone of late Feroze Gandhi. He was a great man. His vanshaj (descendants) must visit the place frequently,” said Brijlal.

“He is not dead who lifts thy glorious mind on high to live in hearts we leave behind is not to die,” reads the epitaph on the tombstone. Feroze died of heart attack in Delhi on September 8, 1960. Before his death, he had insisted that he should be cremated as per Hindu rites.

His elder son Rajiv Gandhi, who was 16 at the time, had lit the funeral pier at Delhi’s Nigam Bodh Ghat. His wife Indira and father-in-law Jawaharlal Nehru were present.

After the cremation, the mortal remains were divided into three parts. The first part was immersed in Sangam, second was interred in the cemetery and the third was immersed in Haridwar. An Uthamna ceremony as per Parsi custom was held at Hotel Finaro in Allahabad.

Feroze’s original surname was Gandhy. But he was so inspired by Mahatma Gandhi that he had changed the spelling of his surname from Gandhy to Gandhi when he was a member of Vanara Sena wing of the Congress during the independence movement.

He was a member of the provincial government from 1950 to 1952. He won India’s first general elections from Rae Bareli in 1952 and was re-elected five years later. Feroze never shied away criticising the then Congress government led by Nehru on the allegations of corruption. He brought a private member’s bill in Parliament to allow the press to cover parliamentary proceedings. Press Club of India owes its building to Feroze Gandhi Trust.

Chennai’s Parsi community looks back on its ties with the metropolis

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The city’s Royapuram fire temple stands on the brink of turning 110

In Royapuram, heavy with humidity and the sharp tang of sea salt, stands a white building that has sheltered an undying flame for over a century now. Below its balustrade-lined terrace are engraved the atash (holy fire) and the farohar (winged symbol of the faith). Its four cusped arches are bordered by red steps that lead to a verandah from where doors open into the deep recesses of the nearly-110-year-old Jal Phiroj Clubwala Dar-e-meher — the only Zoroastrian place of worship for the community in Tamil Nadu, Kerala and Puducherry.

Article by Deepa Alexander

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The Parsis, followers of Zarathustra and descendants of the Magi, fled the Muslim conquests of 8th Century Persia for Sanjan, western India, bringing with them their worship of Ahura Mazda, sense of entrepreneurship, industriousness and fair-play. A second wave of Zoroastrian migrants, known as Iranis, came in the 19th Century. Although they number only around 85,000 in 21st Century India, no other community, perhaps, has been more influential. With their ascent into prominence during the Raj, Parsis were at the sharp end of the stick when it came to industrialising the country, promoting education, upholding the law, spearheading research, conducting orchestras or leading the defence forces. Some of the names are legendary — Jamsetji Tata, Homi J Bhaba, Zubin Mehta, Freddie Mercury (born Farrokh Bulsara) and Field Marshal Sam Manekshaw.

Strength in numbers

It is on these eminent Parsis, and others from Chennai, and their religion that has influenced the Judeo-Christian faiths, that Tehnaz Bahadurji spoke of at a recent talk at the Madras Literary Society. Among the many slides in the presentation was one that holds a mirror to how the community is shrinking; it showed a couple gazing at each other with the words ‘Be responsible. Don’t use a condom tonight’ written underneath.

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“We are 250 people in Chennai. With pets, it’s about 300,” says Darius Bahadurji, tongue-in-cheek. Darius, president of the Madras Parsi Zarthosti Anjuman, and chairman, Jal Phiroj Clubwala Dar-e-meher, moved to Chennai 35 years ago. “The numbers in Chennai have been constant over the last couple of years, while in Kolkata what was 1,200 is only 450 now. We are defined by being Parsi more than anything else. I know for sure we are much loved. It’s an advantage to be so accepted,” he says, when I meet him with a few other Parsis at his office.

“The first Parsis came to Madras from Coorg where they were traders and dubashes,” says Zarin Mistry, historian and honorary secretary, Madras Parsi Association (MPA), who was born and raised here. “In 1809, a delegation met the Governor of Fort St George. Hirjibhai Kharas was one among them and the first Parsi in Madras.”

Kharas and five other Parsis, along with two priests, bought a sliver of land in Royapuram and were later leased a plot for a burial ground. For nearly 50 years, there seems to be no record of the community here. In 1876, they formed the Parsi Panchayat that was renamed Madras Parsi Zarthosti Anjuman (MPZA) in 1900. However, there was no place of worship until the Dar-e-meher was raised in 1910 in memory of Jal, the young son of philanthropist Phiroj Clubwala.

In the years since, the Parsis have been a significant weave in the fabric of Chennai. “We don’t feel like outsiders but we are still looked upon, at least in the South, as such. People don’t know much about us and we have to identify ourselves with a truck from Tatas or a soap from Godrej,” laughs Jasmine Kabrajee, language expert and president, MPA.

“That’s because we have never publicised ourselves or our contributions,” says Firdause Jila, vice-president, MPZA. “But everyone knows us to be a happy-go-lucky lot.”

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This zest for fun underlined Parsi life in Madras for well over a century. While the Clubwalas strengthened the community through their philanthropy, three generations of the Daji family served as priests even refusing to leave the fire unattended when Madras was bombed during the First World War and evacuated in the Second. Mary Clubwala Jadhav, first lady Sheriff of Madras, founder of the Guild of Service and Chennai’s most famous Parsi, was awarded the Padma Vibhushan.

Jehanbux Tarapore set up a formidable construction company that built the Tungabhadra and Hirakud dams and a host of buildings in Chennai. Three generations of students at Madras Medical College were taught Anatomy by Dr Meherji Cooper, while every memorable film made in the 1940s had cinematographer Ardeshir Irani’s stamp on it. Minoo Belgamvala founded the Madras Motor Sports Club that put Sholavaram on the racing map of India. Ninety-three-year-old Katy Bharucha, a telephone operator for the Indian Air Force in the Second World War, is the oldest member.

“Seventy per cent of the community is 70 and above. Late marriages and single children have led to it shrinking,” says Jasmine. “But we are young at heart,” says Darius, adding that senior citizens still go motoring during weekends. “Some Parsis have moved to Chennai to work in the IT and automobile industries. They have married, stayed on and had children. That has moved the needle for us.”

“It’s only recently that we see children running around at our monthly community lunches,” says Tehnaz, of the times when they meet for a wholesome Parsi meal served on banana leaves. The navjote (thread) ceremony, and the festivals of Navroze and Jamshedi Navroze are also when the community gathers at the Clubwala Memorial Hall. “We also extend the facilities to other communities, at times, free of cost,” says Pervez Mulla, honorary secretary, MPZA, who was raised in Chennai.

Legal debate

While there is much legal debate about the acceptance of children of Parsi women who marry outside the community into the fold, socially there is complete integration. “Zoroastrianism sees women as equal but when they marry out, their children are not considered Parsi. It has led to heartbreak, sometimes. Some women go ahead and have the navjotes of their children in the hope that the religious stringency may ease in the future,” says Tehnaz.

Shirin Patel (name changed on request), a 27-year-old copywriter, says, “If the community is worried about shrinking, they should accept the children of women marrying outside. However I have never felt pressure and Chennai is the place I call home even if I’m still explaining who a Parsi is. I wish people could meet the fun-loving, older lot to know who we really are.”

Part and Parsi of Madras

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This Madras Day, members from one of the oldest communities in the city speak through their traditions, roots, cuisines and culture.

Amid the clamour of a bustling Royapuram lies the Parsi fire temple, offering a moment of tranquillity from the chaos outside. The porch is dotted with simple chalk images of fish and flowers. The doorway is adorned with intricately woven and beaded torans.

Article by Vaishali Vijaykumar | Express News Service

As we enter the building, which shelters an undying fire, we are told that the priest alone can tend to the fire. He is the only person permitted inside the sanctum sanctorum. Entry into the prayer hall is restricted to Zoroastrians who offer sandal sticks to the priest, who throws it into the fire on their behalf.

On a warm Sunday morning, some senior members from the Parsi community hosted an engaging talk on their cultural practices inside the 110-year-old Jal Phiroj Clubwala Dar-e-meher, and a breakfast comprising heirloom delicacies, as part of Madras Week celebrations on Sunday.

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Generations of style

Dressed in their fineries, the women are draped in their gara (saris) in the native Parsi style. They tells us that earlier, Parsi women would cover their head with one end of their sari during rituals. Hence, only one earring was made, usually with gold or silver.

“The community’s elaborate embroidery work has its influence from China. Blouses either match the sari or are left plain. The garments are difficult to maintain and are expensive. We send them to Mumbai for dry cleaning. These are passed on to us by our mothers and grandmothers,” says Tehnaz Bahadurji.

The men are dressed in their traditional dagli made of thin cotton cloth paired with white trousers and a white cap. “Sapat is our traditional footwear made of velvet or leather. The demand has gone down because of dwindling numbers in the artisan community. People continue to order it from Mumbai,” says Tehnaz.

Quaint customs

The men and women also wear sadra, a white muslin vest that stands for innocence and purity, and kasti, a holy thread wrapped around the waist thrice. It consists of 72 threads, for each chapter in the holy prayers, and is mandatory to wear after Navjote, a holy communion performed for children between seven and 13.

“We are hardly a 250-member community in the city. We seldom have marriages. Two priests pray primarily over the bride and groom in an archaic language called Avestan. That apart, we celebrate new year’s day, which is after the spring equinox on March 21, in the memory of King Jamshedji Nowruz who started the festival,” shares Tehnaz.

She explains that it’s not the fire they worship but their prophet Zarathustra, who brought the message of the creator Ahura Mazda. As fire is said to be the most powerful and incorruptible of the five elements, it is symbolic of their creator on Earth.

Early years

We move to our next location — Parsi Anjuman Baug Dharamshala — a few buildings before the fire temple. Zarine Mistry, the community’s historian, was ready with her facts to take us through their early settlement in Madras and stories of prominent contributors.

“The first Parsi came to Madras in 1795 from Coorg. A Parsi man, Heerjibhai Maneckji Kharas, bought the first plot and kept adding to it. By 1822, we had 32 grounds taken on lease. When the Crown assumed sovereignty in 1858, all the property became our own,” she says.

The Madras Parsi Zarthosti Anjuman was formed in 1900. When the son of the philanthropist Phiroj M Clubwala died, he donated the fire temple in his son’s memory, which was consecrated in 1910. The Parsi club was formed in 1930, where the community meets once a month.

Community outreach

Despite dwindling numbers around the globe, the community has maintained a stable count in the city, making their presence felt through their philanthropy. “Hormusji Nowroji was a civil engineer who was said to have built the Kilapuk waterworks and introduced piped waterlines to the city. Philanthropist-trader Phiroj M Clubwala built the Anjuman Bagh for guests from other cities to stay,” says Zarine.

Minoo K Belgamwala was a well-known figure in motorsports and horse racing. Adi Merwan Irani was a popular cinematographer and Dinshaw Tehrani, a reputed sound engineer started Newtone Studios in Kilpauk.

“Mary Clubwala Jadhav was the daughter-in-law of PM Clubwala. After her husband’s death, she joined the Guild of Service in 1935 and went on to introduce social service to well-to-do ladies. In 1940, she set up the Indian Hospitality Committee to help soldiers in the world war. She started the first school of social service in 1952, Madras School of Social Work, and was the first lady sheriff of Madras,” says Zarine.

For the love of food

As the talk concludes, Mahiar Shroff and his wife Zavera Shroff set the table with elegant crockery and a sumptuous spread of copiously buttered buns, scrambled eggs and paneer, minced meat, roasted potatoes and a dessert made of semolina.

“We try to include meat in some way in our food. For instance, broad beans are used in kebabs, cluster bean is cooked with shrimp and all vegetables have egg added to them. We have a month dedicated to the angel of animals when we avoid meat,” says Tehnaz as we down cups of piping hot Parsi chai.
The walk was curated by Rajith Nair from Travelling Gecko.


In Kolkatta Dharmashala stands, but not many travellers as the community shrinks

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A leftover of time but living testament to the Parsis in Kolkata.

“Manackjee Rustomjee Dharmashala for Parsi travellers” — the inscription in an old-fashioned font on the doorway transports one to the days when accommodation wasn’t pre-booked online and travel itself was fraught with uncertainties.

Article by Bishwanath Ghosh | The Hindu

IMG2912The building itself, with slatted windows, belongs to that era, and so does the neighbourhood where it stands — Kolkata’s famous Bow Barracks, located off the busy Central Avenue. The dharmashala is one of those leftovers of time that still remains in business — a living testament to the Parsi community in the city — though there aren’t too many Parsis in the country today, leave alone travellers, to avail themselves of the facility.

“Once upon a time tourists came to Kolkata, spent a couple of days here and went on to Darjeeling and the northeast. But now many cities are directly connected to Bagdogra (gateway to the northeast), so people hardly come to Kolkata,” says Dara Hansotia, who hails from Ahmedabad and has been the manager of the dharmashala since 2014.

“Also, now when people come to the city on work, they are put up in hotels by their companies,” he says. Even then, according to Mr. Hansotia, the facility, with 13 operational rooms, hosts about 30 people every month. A double room costs ₹1,150 and single ₹950, inclusive of breakfast.

Though the rooms are available only to the Parsis, the dining hall is open to all: just about anyone can walk in to get a flavour of Parsi cuisine, provided they have placed their order well in advance with Mr. Hansotia, who loves cooking and briefly looked after catering at the dharmashala before being appointed its manager.

Does he remember this place being ever packed to capacity? “On two occasions,” Mr. Hansotia’s wife Meher replies. “Once in 2014, when three Parsi weddings were held simultaneously in the city, and again in 2017, when a tournament of five Parsi cricket teams was held in Kolkata. One was the local team, and of the remaining four, one stayed at the fire temple and three with us.”

The dharmashala was originally built in 1909 in the memory of Manackjee Rustomjee by his friends living in Bombay, Calcutta and China. The rent was eight annas a day. In 1936, that building was demolished and the present structure constructed by architect and civil engineer Ardeshir Dinshaw Vehvalvala, and the rent hiked to 12 annas. Today it is run by a trust called the Calcutta Zoroastrian Community’s Religious and Charity Fund.

According to Mr. Hansotia, there were about 3,000 Parsis in Kolkata until a few decades ago, and now the number stands at around 400, almost half of it consisting of the elderly. As one of the nodal persons of the community, he is also expected to conduct funerals. At the Tower of Silence, he says, solar panels are used these days to disintegrate a body because vultures have almost disappeared.

Mrs. Hansotia believes that focus on career is partially responsible for the dwindling population. “Youngsters these days don’t want to marry early because they want to build a career, and by the time they are ready to marry there is no suitable candidate within the community. We are quite horrified about the future,” she says.

Vice President Venkaiah Naidu releases commemorative postal stamp and coffee table book to commemorate 100 years of Jamshedpur

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Vice President Venkaiah Naidu releases commemorative postal stamp and coffee table book to commemorate 100 years of Jamshedpur

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Applauds Tata group`s ethical approach to business

Jamshedpur, Feb 17: M Venkaiah Naidu, Vice President of India, released the commemorative postal stamp, coffee table book at Tata Auditorium -XLRI today. He was the Chief Guest of the Commemorative Function of 100 Years of Jamshedpur and was accompanied by Droupadi Murmu, Governor of Jharkhand; Champai Soren, Minister of Welfare, Government of Jharkhand and Anil Kumar, Chief Post Master General, Jharkhand.

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Addressing the gathering at Tata Auditorium – XLRI, the Hon’ble Vice President of India applauded the Tata group for its ethical approach to business and commended Tata Steel for its contribution towards improving the quality of life of the community for over 100 years. He described Jamshedpur as India’s first planned industrial city that had earned the distinction of becoming the country’s role model for sustainable urban and industrial development.

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He dwelt at length on the priorities of the government and outlined the investment opportunities that can contribute to the economic growth of the country. He said that the development of a sustainable strategy is increasingly becoming an imperative for companies’ survival and longevity and Jamshedpur is a glowing example of sustainable development.

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In her address, Droupadi Murmu, Governor of Jharkhand said that over the last 100 years, Jamshedpur had transformed itself to become the most populous and economically-prosperous city of Jharkhand. She stressed upon the imperatives to preserve and protect the State’s rich tribal culture and heritage. “Tribal folk and dance forms such as Jhumar, Chhau, Mundari and Santhali must not just be preserved but also nurtured. Focus should also be laid on the preservation of tribal languages, practices and social ethos,” she said.

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TV Narendran, CEO & Managing Director of Tata Steel, recalled that, in the year 1919, the then Governor General of India, Lord Chelmsford, had rechristened Sakchi as Jamshedpur in honour of its Founder, Jamsetji Nusserwanji Tata. He thanked the Government of India for releasing a commemorative postal stamp to mark the centenary of the naming of the city.

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Earlier in the day, Vice President of India visited the Centre for Excellence (CFE), where he and Hon’ble Governor of Jharkhand planted banyan tree saplings. They were facilitated through a walkthrough exhibition on the 100-year journey of Tata Worker’s Union (TWU) by R Ravi Prasad, President TWU. Committee Members of TWU were also present on the occasion and introduced to the Vice president of India. TWU is the first union in the country to complete 100 years having been built on the fundamental principle and spirit of “working together”.

Vice President of India and Governor of Jharkhand were also shown the Tata Steel Archives at CFE where the Tata Steel story was shared with them.  Tata Steel Archives is the first Business Archives in the country.

Among those present at CFE from Tata Steel were Suresh Dutt Tripathi, Vice President (Human Resource Management), Chanakya Chaudhary, Vice President (Corporate Services) and other officers from the leadership team of Corporate Services.

Numbers shrinking, Parsis appeal for preserving their legacy in Lucknow

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Members of Parsi community in Lucknow on Monday urged the administration to free their properties of encroachments and help in its preservation.

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Speaking at the book launch of ‘Bharat Ka Parsi Samaj’ by Dr Naresh Singh, president of Avadh Girls’ Degree College, Zarine Viccajee, whose family was one of the first settlers from the community in Lucknow, said: “Parsis have contributed to the country’s development and continues to do so in different fields. But the community’s strength is dwindling. Today, 40 Parsi families reside in the city as compared to 300 earlier.”

“Be it Lucknow or Delhi, we mingled with people wherever we settled. At a time when only limited number of Parsis are there to keep their heritage and culture alive in Lucknow, a few places like 73-year-old Parsi Anjuman and the graveyard need to be preserved,” she said.

“In our religion, we let the bodies of the dead decompose naturally. This is why Mumbai has the ‘Tower of Silence’. Lucknow has no such place, therefore, we go for burial,” Viccajee added.

Highlighting the history of the community, president of Lucknow Parsi Community Homi Sipai said it was Nauroji Damkewala, a trader of silk and pearls from Gujarat, who first settled in Lucknow during the times of third king of Awadh Mohammad Ali Shah.

“Gradually, a number of families started settling in the city. Most of the families stayed in the compound of Parsi Anjuman. We made Lucknow our home and embraced the city’s lifestyle,” he said. The members also expressed concern over the fact that their festivals, Navroz and Khordad Sal, were not declared public holidays.

Pervez Damania: State of Aviation Industry Post COVID-19

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Our dear friend and aviation industry legend Pervez Damania speaks to CNBC on the state of the aviation industry today and in the future, post COVID-19

Story of Jamshedpur: Romance and Valour

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Envisioned by a Parsi, planned by an American, named by a British Viceroy, landscaped by a German Botanist, the story of Jamshedpur is full of romance and valour.

Once Sakchi, a village in the princely state of Mayurbhanj,  it was rechristened Jamshedpur by Lord Chelmford on January 2, 1919 in honour of the Founder of the Tata Group, Jamsetji Nusserwanji Tata, and Tata Steel’s contribution to the British war effort in World War I. The year 2019 marked 100 years of naming of the city as Jamshedpur.

Published in the Avenue Mail

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Lord Chelmsford , who served as Governor General and Viceroy of India (1916 – 1921) had said: “ I can hardly imagine what we should have done during these four years (of the First World war) if the Tata Company had not been able to gift us steel rails which have been provided for us , not only for Mesopotamia but for Egypt, Palestine and East Africa, and I have come to express my thanks…It is hard to imagine that 10 years ago, this place was scrub and jungle ; and here, we have now, this place set up with all its foundries and its workshops and its population of 40,000 to 50,000 people. This great enterprise has been due to the prescience, imagination of the late Mr. Jamsetji Tata. This place will see a change in its name and will no longer be known as Sakchi, but will be identified with the name of its founder, bearing down through the ages the name of the late Mr. Jamsetji Tata. Hereafter, this place will be known by the name of Jamshedpur.”

Today, a hundred years after Lord Chelmsford made his speech, Jamshedpur is synonymous with progress and growth.

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History is a guide to navigation in perilous times. History is who we are and why we are the way we are. A city without memory is like a city of madmen, a city devoid of any pride or glory. Proper respect and due regard should be given to all those who have worked for the greater good of city.

First-time visitors to Jamshedpur on business, or relatives and friends of residents, are pleasantly surprised when they arrive here, and discover a clean and green city with tree-lined roads, stadiums and parks, and orderly neighborhoods — a legacy of the visionary founder, Jamsetji Nusserwanji Tata.

Residents know that their steel city has always had a deep cultural heart, and a great love for sports. Jamshedpur has always attracted luminaries from every field — acclaimed singers, dance legends, theatre groups, artists and artists, who have come to perform here. The city is well-known among sports lovers; its golf tournaments draw enthusiasts from all over, it has hosted national and international cricket matches, and is an established national center for  football and archery.

Today, as we look back over the last hundred years, we laud the thought process of Lord Chelmsford, in christening the hamlet of Sakchi as “Jamshedpur”, a name which has stood tall over the ages and continues to be an example of a truly cosmopolitan and vibrant India.

From a small town to a commercial hub, the Steel City has come a long way.  Increased civic services and infrastructure over the last couple of years have helped the city to grab the attention of the investors. The changing face of the city can be witnessed from the fact that AC Nielsen ORG MARG survey recently on the quality of life in cosmopolitan cities like Chandigarh , Bhubaneswar , Pune and Bangalore rated Jamshedpur as the second best in India after Chandigarh in quality of life index.  The index took into account parameters like water and power supply, public services, health and environment, education, economy etc.

The post Story of Jamshedpur: Romance and Valour appeared on Parsi Khabar.

The Irani Aviator And His Flying Machine

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The Irani doctor of Dahanu and his flying machine

Dr. Behramshah Mazda, MBBS, was on the phone. Talking to me from Dahanu. Hometown of the Zoroastrian Iranis. About 120-km from Mumbai by road. I was speaking to him after years. But I could picture him easily. A burly, blustery Irani. Trusted in Dahanu for decades as the go-to doctor. Everybody knows him. And for reasons other than his bedside manner and healing touch.

Posted by Mark Manuel on Facebook

I was writing about the Dahanu Thermal Power Station that was threatening the coastal town with ecological disaster. It was coal fired. The Iranis were worried about the black acid rain that had begun falling at night. It was the cause of skin disorders, sore throats and respiratory illnesses. A black residual ash was killing the crops and fruit plantations.

I 117115004_10157439954685911_386338654647136529_omet all the Dahanu Iranis over dinner. Some grew lychees there. Others chickoos. There were also bakers and restaurateurs. One was a doctor and an aviator. Iranis are an unusual people. Dr. Mazda was also an excitable person. He convinced me to fly over Dahanu in his ultralight aircraft next morning. I was lightheaded with local toddy and recklessly agreed.

I thought he had a small plane like what JRD flew from Karachi to Bombay in 1932. Or a crop-duster aircraft used to spray pesticide over fields. Curiously that night, I wondered where Dr. Mazda parked his ultralight. Dahanu had no airport. But 75 km away in Daman was a Coast Guard Station with an airstrip. Maybe he kept his ultralight in a hangar there.

He asked me to meet him on Dahanu beach at 7 am. I found him there with a strange contraption. Like a tricycle with a motor, propeller and hang-glider’s wings. It had two tiny seats. I looked at it in disbelief. “Ready for take-off,” he jovially asked, giving me a helmet and strapping himself down with a seat-belt. I sat behind. Holding his shoulders. And rested my feet on his seat.

I refused to believe this open, flimsy machine could fly. But the propeller whirred, the motor sputtered, and the ultralight came to life reluctantly. Dr. Mazda gave it acceleration. Its controls was a crossbar between the wings. Which he stretched his hands out and grasped. We taxied down the beach and awkwardly took off like an old vulture after a heavy meal.

I closed my eyes, regretting the impetuousness with which I agreed to this unwise adventure. When I opened them, Dahanu was falling away beneath my spread out feet. We climbed at a slow, alarming pace. I held my breath, not believing what I was seeing. Dahanu was a green forest of chickoo wadis, Parsi-Irani mansions, and modern bungalows with swimming pools and big cars.

Dr. Mazda steered the ultralight towards Gholvad. Heading for the gigantic, ugly power station that rose to the sky with sinister dome-shaped buildings and narrow chimneys that were puffing out ashy black smoke. “This is what we are fighting against,” he said. I didn’t like the look of it. So I squeezed his neck. “If you strangle me, who will bring us down,” Dr. Mazda choked in protest.

He turned towards Daman next. “That’s the Coast Guard Station,” he indicated with a jerk of his head, “If I fly any closer they might shoot us down.” I squeezed his neck again. After 20 minutes of flirting with the Gods and elements, Dr. Mazda lined us up with Dahanu beach for landing. The little flying tricycle plunged down in terrifying jolts, buffeted by air currents that threatened to take us up again.

I shut my eyes again. But I could hear the sea restlessly pounding to the right. My heart was in my mouth. “Ready for landing,” Dr. Mazda shouted, laughing like mad. And like a gigantic Boeing coming in to land, he brought us down in stages, riding the air currents carefully so that the ultralight did not suddenly lose height and plunge into the sea.

We landed with a thud, bounced on the beach, and rolled shakily to a halt. Stray dogs sleeping on the sands, startled to find something falling out of the sky, chased us barking. This is not a hobby for the faint-hearted, I thought, unsteadily getting to my feet. But which Irani is faint-hearted! “Have you ever experienced anything like this?” Dr. Mazda asked beaming. “Nothing so crazy,” I said.

But he has given up flying. After 35 years. A Coast Guard Station come up at Dahanu has done him in. It banned flying last year as a security threat. To get permission he had to submit a flight plan. “This was a headache. It was a hobby. But the guy upstairs was telling me, enough! Now it’s dangerous to fly a kite in Dahanu,” Dr. Mazda said humorously. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

DR. BOMANBEHRAM MAZDA is Dahanu’s only Irani general physician. In his spare time, he flies an ultralight aircraft and surveys the chikoo plantations of the coastal town, writes MARK MANUEL who went up with him for a lark.

This is an archive article from 2014 on Upper Crust India

ALL the Iranis of Dahanu are not chikoo and lychee farmers or bakers. Some, like Dr. Behramshah Mazda, MBBS, are also aviators! Yes, medicine is his profession, but flying is his passion. Sunday mornings when the coastal township is still fast asleep, Dr. Mazda gets out his ultralight aircraft and takes off from Dahanu beach. He flies as far as Gholvad, but not Udvada, for that would be trespassing Coast Guard air space and facing the risk of being shot down. It is not a hobby for the faint-hearted. But then which Irani is faint-hearted!


I went up with him for the sheer thrill of the experience. When Dr. Mazda told me about his “aircraft” over an Irani meal laced by intoxicating toddy the previous night, I had readily agreed to join him in the adventure. At the time, I had imagined the “ultralight” to be a “microlight” aircraft of the kind that aviation expert Vijaypat Singhania had flown from UK to India. A sleek, flying machine. But what I saw waiting for me on Dahanu beach at 7 o’clock next morning gave me a shock!

A tiny tricycle fitted with a hang-glider’s wings and an outboard motor with propeller. The contraption had two small seats. Dr. Mazda helped me onto the latter one and took the seat in front. He strapped us both onto this tricycle with wings, then gave me a helmet and wore one himself. Through a small walkie-talkie system fitted into the helmets, he communicated with me.

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“Hold onto my shoulders,” he advised. And I did, for there was nothing else to hold onto. “Are you ready for take-off,” he asked. And I commended my soul to God and replied, shakily, “Yes.” Well, the propeller roared into life and the ultralight jerked up. Dr. Mazda put his foot down on the accelerator and we taxied down the beach at great speed. With a sudden roar of energy, like a vulture taking to wings, the ultralight took off and I shut my eyes. When I opened them again, it was to feel the rush of breeze against my face. We had cleared the coconut trees on the beach and were climbing at a slow, but alarming pace. Dahanu beach was falling away beneath my spread out feet. I could hardly believe my eyes. Dr. Mazda now had us as high as a chopper, and I was beginning to regret the impetuousness with which I had agreed to go up with him.

But Dahanu, when I ventured to look down, with its green forest of chikoo wadis and old Parsi-Irani mansions, was looking magnificent. Dr. Mazda kept the ultralight at a constant height and pointed out the township to me. “That is old Dahanu,” he said, indicating with a jerk of his head a cluster of residences that had seen better days. “This is new Dahanu,” he continued, and I could see highrises, modern bungalows with swimming pools and big cars parked in the driveways. “And that is the thermal plant we are fighting against. It is polluting our township.”

I looked. An ugly-looking industrial plant was coming up with gigantic chimneys spewing black smoke into the sky and dome-shaped buildings looking ominously sinister in the early morning sunlight. It is a Brihanmumbai Suburban Electric Supply (BSES) plant and the Dahanu Environment Protection Authority, an autonomous body of the Supreme Court headed by Justice Chandrashekhar Dharmadhikari, has been fighting against it. The Irani farmers blame the drastic drop in orchard produce in recent years to the thermal pollution caused by the plant. Ash, laden with sulphur, which is toxic to agro-produce, has ruined the yield on the chikoo, coconut and even select variety of mango crop.

But sensing my apprehension about flying towards this monolith, Dr. Mazda steered the ultralight around and lined us up with Dahanu beach once again for landing. Then, like a gigantic Boeing landing, he brought the little flying tricycle down in stages, riding the air currents so that we did not plunge or soar unnecessarily. My heart was in my mouth for, to the right was the sea, restless and pounding, and the beach looked too narrow an airstrip to land even in this contraption. But we landed as light as a feather. And stray dogs that were sleeping on the beach, startled to find something falling out of the sky, woke up and chased the ultralight barking madly as it taxied to a halt. “Have you experienced anything like this,” Dr. Behramshah Mazda asked beaming. “Nothing quite so crazy,” I replied. He took it as a compliment.

The pioneering lawyer who fought for women’s suffrage in India

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Amid the pandemic gloom, it is easy to forget that the year 2020 marks an important anniversary for women’s rights.

In the US, it has been 100 years since women cast their votes for the first time. A century ago in the United Kingdom, the first female law students were admitted to the Inns of Court.

At Lincoln’s Inn in London, one of those students, Mithan Lam, was an Indian. In 1924, she became the first woman to be allowed to practise law in the Bombay High Court, shattering one of the thickest glass ceilings for professional women in the country.

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image caption Lam (left) was the sheriff of Bombay, the first female sheriff in India

Article By Parinaz Madan & Dinyar Patel | BBC

But Lam’s influence extended well beyond the bar: she left an indelible stamp on the female suffragist movement and the struggle for gender equality in India.

Lam was born in 1898 into a wealthy and progressive Parsi family. While on a holiday in Kashmir in 1911, she and her mother, Herabai Tata, had a chance meeting with Sophia Duleep Singh, an ardent feminist and suffragist in Britain.

Intrigued by a colourful badge Singh wore proclaiming “Votes for Women,” Lam and Tata were quickly drawn into the cause of Indian female suffrage.

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image caption Lam was the first woman to be allowed to practise law in the Bombay High Court

Suffrage was a contentious issue amongst nationalists in colonial India: should women’s enfranchisement be prioritised over Indian independence?

Lam saw no contradiction between the two demands, branding men’s reservations against women’s voting rights as “soap-bubble material”. “Men say ‘Home Rule is our birthright’,” Tata stated in 1918, echoing a famous nationalist slogan. “We say the right to vote is our birthright, and we want it.”

In the autumn of 1919, women’s groups in Bombay decided to send representatives to London when the British Parliament was considering female suffrage in a package of political reforms for India – also known as the Montagu-Chelmsford Reforms.

Lam, 21, and her mother were the natural choice, given their determined activism. Since they were given only four days notice before setting sail to England, they composed their parliamentary evidence on the boat.

Tata and Lam’s evidence highlighted the impossibility of meaningful political reform if half of India was excluded on the grounds of sex. “Attempt to reform without the co-operation of women,” they argued, “and you are simply raising a paper fabric on foundations of sand.”

While unsuccessful in their immediate objective, their evidence might have spurred the British Parliament to leave the decision about female suffrage to the discretion of the Indian provinces. In 1921, both Bombay and Madras presidencies granted limited women’s franchise.

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image caption Sophia Duleep Singh, an ardent feminist and suffragist in Britain, inspired Lam

Mother and daughter also captivated the British public with their passionate advocacy of Indian women’s issues, earning the support of Ramsay MacDonald, the future British prime minister, and the feminist icon Millicent Fawcett.

Lam’s suffragist activities eventually led her into the world of law. While in London, she decided to pursue a legal education and a master’s degree in economics from LSE. In 1923, she had the distinction of being the first ever woman called to the Bar from Lincoln’s Inn as well as the first Indian woman called to the Bar in Britain.

The newly minted lawyer sailed back to India in December 1923. It was a fortuitous time to return because that year, the Indian government removed disqualifications for women to practise law.

Lam found herself in a daunting situation as the sole female lawyer in the male bastion of the Bombay High Court. “I felt like a new animal at the zoo, with folks peeping through doorways,” she recalled. “As soon as my shadow crossed from the library to the common room, there would be an uncomfortable silence, making me feel even more self-conscious.”

Misogyny, ironically, might have played a role in landing Lam her first court appearance.

According to a former Supreme Court judge, Lam was approached by a solicitor whose client had a watertight case. “He has such a good case that he cannot lose,” the solicitor claimed. “But he wants to inflict upon the opponent the humiliation of being defeated by a woman.”

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image caption British officials had argued that universal franchise was a “bad fit for India”

Within a few years, however, Lam built up a solid legal reputation. She appeared in an eclectic mix of cases in court, ranging from prosecuting currency counterfeiters to defending the validity of a Jewish betrothal.

Outside of the courtroom, she helped shape gender-sensitive legislation for marriage and inheritance and became a prolific advocate of women’s and children’s rights.

But she matched this legal activism with on-the-ground social work, shuttling between Bombay’s elite drawing rooms and its teeming slums. Lam brought slum dwellers improved infrastructure and health facilities, helped resettle Partition refugees and led numerous social welfare activities of the All India Women’s Conference.

In 1947, the year of Indian independence, Lam added another first to her credit.

She was appointed as the sheriff of Bombay, the first female sheriff in India. Years later, when she travelled the world as a representative of Indian women, this caused occasional puzzlement. San Francisco’s sheriff took her for a visit to the city’s prisons and gave her a police baton, not knowing that a sheriff in India occupied a largely ceremonial position. “They were rather intrigued about the fact that a woman could be a sheriff, for in the US sheriffs are real police officers and have to be quick with the gun,” she recalled.

By the time she died in 1981, Lam had mentored generations of feminists, hopeful that the growing number of women in law would stimulate political and social reform in India.

Her work – as well as the work of hundreds of other relatively unknown female pioneers – has paved the way for law becoming an increasingly popular career choice for Indian women today.

But according to a recent study, while certain leading law firms exhibit remarkable gender parity, the Indian legal profession continues to be overwhelmingly male-dominated.

Exactly a century ago, Lam rallied against gender-based exclusion with a poignant question: “How can the women be declared unfit without even being given a trial?”

Such words may hold a special resonance today with female trailblazers working their way up in traditionally patriarchal bastions, whether inside or outside the courtroom.

Parinaz Madan is a lawyer and Dinyar Patel is a historian.


The Legal Effect Of Declaring A Statute Unconstitutional; Revisiting The Pesikaka Case

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What happens to a statute when the Supreme Court declares it unconstitutional, either in its entirety or in part? Does it vanish like a disappearing message on WhatsApp or does it get temporarily eclipsed due to a declaration by the Lords? The question was the subject matter of a detailed judgment delivered many moons ago by the Supreme Court in Behram Khurshid Pesikaka v. State of Bombay[1] (hereinafter referred to as “the Pesikaka case“) which is an authority on this point of law. The author through this column revisits the law laid down by the Supreme Court in this case.

Article by Dormaan Dalal | LiveLaw.in

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  1. THE FACTS[2]

The stage is set in the 1950’s Tony island of Colaba in uptight South Bombay, an area known for bad drivers with no parking skills. The protagonist of this story is a Parsi man named Behram Khurshid Pesikaka who seemed to be a colourful personality with a mundane job: An Officiating Regional Transport Officer, Bombay Region. On 29th May 1951 at 9:30 PM this RTO officer knocked down three persons with his jeep at Colaba Bus Stand.[3] The cops came (presumably in another jeep), arrested him, and took him to hospital for a medical examination where the doctor found that his breath was smelling of alcohol. His pupils were semi-dilated and were reacting to light, he had coherent speech and most importantly could walk in a straight line (relatable to those of you who have been there). The ‘doc’ felt that he had not consumed daru per se but had taken alcohol in some medicinal form. He was tried under two offences. One under Section 338 of the Indian Penal Code[4] on three counts for causing grievous hurt to three injured persons due to rash and negligent driving and the other under the then Section 66 (b) of the Bombay Prohibition Act.[5] Pesikaka in his defense stated that he had not consumed any liquor but had taken a medical preparation, a dose of ‘B.G. Phose’[6] containing a small amount of alcohol prior to the accident. The Presidency Magistrate acquitted Pesikaka of both offences, but the High Court convicted him of one of the offences under Section 66(b) by reversing the order of the Magistrate. The matter was carried to the Supreme Court in Special Leave by Pesikaka (hereinafter referred to as “the Appellant“) and was originally heard by a Bench of three Judges who delivered separate opinions on 19th February 1954.[7]

  1. BEFORE THE SUPREME COURT

Before the Supreme Court it was contended by the Appellant that after the advent of the Constitution of India, 1950, (hereinafter referred to as “the Constitution“), the Supreme Court in The State of Bombay v. F.N. Balsara,(hereinafter referred to as “F.N. Balsara“)[8] had declared Section 13(b) of the Bombay Prohibition Act, 1949 (hereinafter referred to as “the Prohibition Act“), that prohibited the consumption and use of liquor, as invalid, because it violated the right to property under the then Article 19 (1) (f) so far as it affected consumption or use of liquid medicinal and toilet preparations containing alcohol and also declared Section 66 (b) as “inoperative and unenforceable so far as such medicinal and toilet preparations containing alcohol were concerned.”[9] The Court in F.N. Balsara had declared Section 13(b) invalid to the extent of the inconsistency, i.e. “so far as it affected the consumption or use of liquid medicinal or toilet preparations containing alcohol.”[10] Therefore, according to the Appellant, it was incumbent on the prosecution, to prove that the accused had consumed or used an intoxicant which contravened the provisions of the Act which after F.N. Balsara’s judgment did not include medicinal and toilet preparations.[11] However, Respondent argued that F.N. Balsara granted an exception or a proviso to Section 13 and the burden was on the accused to prove that he fit within that exception.[12]

In order to arrive at a conclusion one way or another, the Original Bench of Bhagwati, Jagannadhadas and Venkatrama Ayyar JJ. had to first determine the effect of the declaration of the Supreme Court in F.N. Balsara. In other words, the Bench had to decide the legal effect, a declaration of unconstitutionality had on a statute in India. These were the early days of the Constitution and the Supreme Court had to directly decide this issue for perhaps the first time.[13] The Constitution was not built “on a tabula rasa but upon foundations afforded by the Government of India Act 1935″;[14]an act which was a legacy of the British Raj. The main feature of the Constitution was to maintain the doctrine of parliamentary supremacy with a provision for judicial review.[15] The concept of parliamentary supremacy is borrowed from the United Kingdom and the doctrine of judicial review is borrowed from the American Constitutional experience.[16] All three judges extensively relied on the principles of American Constitutional Law to form their opinions.

The opinion of Bhagwati J.

Bhagwati J. referred to the oft-quoted passage by Cooley on Constitutional Limitations which states that when a statue is declared unconstitutional,

“it is as if it had never been. Rights cannot be built up under it; contracts which depend upon it for consideration are void; it constitutes a protection to no one who has acted under it and no one can be punished for having refused obedience to it before the decision was made. And what is true of an act void in toto is true also as to any part of an act which is found to be unconstitutional and which consequently has to be regarded as having never at any time been possessed of any legal force.”[17]

The learned Judge then referred to the dictum of Field J. of the US Supreme Court in Norton v. Shelby County[18] in which the Associate Justice stated that

“An unconstitutional Act is not law, it confers no rights, it imposes no duties, it affords no protection, it creates no office; it is in legal contemplation, as inoperative as though it had never been passed.”

Apart from referred to Rottschaefer[19], Bhagwati J. also referred to passages from Willoughly on Constitution of the United States and Willis on Constitutional Law.[20] Both jurists were of the similar view that when it comes to an unconstitutional statute, the Court simply refuses to recognize it and ignores it, but the decision affects parties inter se and their private rights. A declaration of unconstitutionality may operate as precedent but does not result in annulling or repealing a statute and it does not strike the statute from the statute book. Bhagwati J. was of the view that the though declaration in F.N. Balsara was a judicial pronouncement under Article 141 and was the law of the land, “that declaration was not to enact a statutory provision or to alter or amend Section 13(b)” of the Prohibition Act or introduce an exception or proviso.[21] The effect of the declaration was that the prohibition in Section 13 (b) was enforceable regarding consumption or use of prohibited liquor like wine, beer, toddy etc. and all non-medical and non-toilet liquid preparation but was not enforceable for liquid medicine or toilet preparation. The argument of the Respondent that the declaration carved out an exception or proviso to Section 13(b) thereby shifting the burden of proof on the accused to fit his case within the exception, vide Section 105 of the Indian Evidence Act, 1872[22] was rejected by Bhagwati J.[23] According to Bhagwati J., the declaration

“had the effect of rendering the prohibition of consumption or use of liquid medical and toilet preparations containing alcohol as having never at any time been possessed of any legal force and so not to be enforceable whenever any accused person was charged with having contravened the provisions of Section 13(b) of the Act.” (emphasis supplied)

Eventually Bhagwati J. opined that “The prosecution ought to have proved that the Appellant had in contravention of the provisions of the Act consumed an intoxicant meaning any liquor” prohibited to be consumed in accordance with the declaration in F.N. Balsara, and thereafter allowed the Appeal and quashed and set aside the conviction of the Appellant by the High Court.

Venkatarama Ayyar J. disagreed

Venkatarama Ayyar J. on the other hand disagreed with the view taken by Bhagwati J. The learned Judge, like Bhagwati J., rejected the contention that F.N. Balsara amended or modified Section 13 (b) of the Prohibition Act.[26] However, according to the learned Judge, “the Appellant had to establish that what he had consumed was a medical preparation.”[27] According to the learned Judge, “the plea of unconstitutionality is not established unless all the elements necessary to sustain such a plea are established” and therefore, the Appellant had to make out a case that he had in fact consumed a medical preparation and “that Section 13(b) is bad in so far as it prohibits it.”

Regarding the legal effect of the declaration of unconstitutionality, it had been argued by the Appellant that the declaration that Section 13(b) was void under Article 13 (1) of the Constitution in so far as it related to medical preparations. This intended consequence would mean that the offending section would have to be “read as if it did not include medical preparations.”[29] In order to analyze the legal effect of the declaration, Venkatarama Ayyar J. relied heavily on the American Constitutional doctrines to form his opinion. According to the learned Judge, two factors had to be considered; firstly, whether the constitutional prohibition which has been infringed affected “the competence of the legislature to enact the law or did it merely operate as a check on the exercise of a power which is within its competence” and secondly, if it was merely a check, whether it is enacted for the benefit of individuals or for the benefit of the general public on public policy grounds.[30] According to the learned Judge,

“If the statute is beyond the competence of the Legislature, as for example, when a State enacts a law which is within the exclusive competence of the Union, it would be a nullity. That would also be position when a limitation is imposed on the legislative power in the interests of the public, as, for instance, the provisions in Chapter 13 of the Constitution relating to inter-State trade and commerce. But when the law is within the competence of the Legislature and the unconstitutionality arises by reason of its repugnancy to provisions enacted for the benefit of individuals, it is not a nullity but is merely unenforceable. Such an unconstitutionality can be waived and in that case the law becomes enforceable.” (emphasis supplied)

Apart from referring to various treaties on American Constitutional Law[32], the learned Judge referred to the observations made in decisions of the United States Supreme Court[33] and opined that the concept or doctrine of waiver would also apply to the Indian Constitution. According to the learned Judge, when a law is found to be infringing a constitutional provision, it would be open to any person whose rights have been infringed to waive his fundamental rights after which there is no impediment in enforcing the law.[34] The learned Judge noted the distinction made by American jurists between unconstitutionality of a statute arising due to lack of legislative competence and unconstitutionality due to a legislation violating a constitutional provision and adopted these principles to Indian Constitutional Law.[35] In the former case, the statute would be void ab initio and a nullity and would have to re-enacted while in the latter, the statue would be eclipsed and would become operative without re-enactment once the impediment or constitutional prohibition is removed by amending the Constitution or amending the statute and once the prohibition is removed, it could be enforced ‘proprio vigore’.[36] The learned Judge then turned his attention to Article 13 (1)[37] of the Constitution and after referring to the statement of law in Corpus Juris Secundum and the judgment delivered by S.R. Das J. Keshavan Madhavan Menon v. State of Bombay,[38] observed that the word “void” in Article 13 (1) would mean “relatively void” and not “absolutely void”.[39] An absolutely void statute or provision cannot be enforced at all, but a relatively void statute or provision can be waived by an individual and therefore, according to the learned Judge, Section 13 (b) of the Prohibition Act, which was a pre-constitutional statute was relatively void and was merely unenforceable.

Eventually the learned Judge held that the burden of establishing that “what was consumed was a medical preparation” lay on the Appellant and hence confirmed the conviction of the Appellant under Section 66 (b) of the Prohibition Act by dismissing his Appeal.

Jagannadhadas J. concurs with Venkatarama Ayyar J. but with different reasons

Jagannadhadas J. also generally agreed that the decision in F.N. Balsara does not ‘proprio vigore’ amend the Prohibition Act and referred to the very same passage of Willoughby quoted by Bhagwati J. in his opinion.[42] Willoughby had stated that the Court does not annul or repeal a statute if it is in conflict with the Constitution but simply refused to recognize it and the decision of the court affects the parties to the decision only with there being no judgment against the statute.[43] However, according to the learned Judge, the aforementioned passage covered cases which fell within the scope of Article 13(2)[44] but not Article 13(1) of the Constitution.[45] The effect of the declaration in F.N. Balsara as per the learned Judge, results in two possible outcomes namely, “(1) the said severable part becomes ‘unenforceable’, while it remains part of the Act, or (2) the said part goes out of the Act and the Act stands ‘appropriately amended pro tanto.[46]‘ “[47] The learned Judge proceeded on the footing that the declaration in F.N. Balsara brought about a “notional amendment” which had to be imported into the Act.[48] The declaration, according to the learned Judge, engrafted an exception or proviso into Section 13 (b) by excluding medical or toilet preparations from the prohibition.[49] This would be an exception under Section 105 of the Evidence Act.[50] The learned Judge eventually held that the Bombay High Court was correct that burden of proof lay on the Appellant, upheld the conviction of the Appellant under Section 66(b) of the Prohibition Act and ultimately dismissed the Appeal.

Reference to the larger Bench of five Judges

As is often the case when Judges deliver separate opinions, the lack of unanimity and uniformity of the court’s opinions may have resulted in utter confusion with several head scratching moments. According to the author, though this is not reflected in the reporter, it may have been the reason for the Court to grant review and reopen the case by referring it to the Constitution Bench on the following question of law,

“What is the effect of the declaration in The State of Bombay and Another v. F. N. Balsara that clause (b) of section 13 of the Bombay Prohibition Act, 1949, is void, under article 13(1) of the Constitution, in so far as it affects the consumption or use of liquid medicinal or toilet preparation containing alcohol, on the ground that it infringes article 19(1)(f) of the Constitution ?”

Chief Justice Mahajan would have none of it

The majority opinion was delivered by Mahajan C.J. for himself and for B.K. Mukherjea, Vivian Bose and Ghulam Hasan JJ. with S.R. Das J. being the sole dissenter.[53] According to Mahajan C.J., the declaration in F.N. Balsara that Section 13(b) is void so far as it affects consumption or use of liquid medicinal or toilet preparations containing alcohol is “to render part of Section 13(b)…. inoperative, ineffective and ineffectual and thus unenforceable.”[54] According to the learned Chief Justice (as he then was), the part of the section that has been declared void has “no legal force so far as citizens are concerned and it cannot be recognized as valid law for determining the rights of the citizens.”[55] “No notice can be taken of the part of the section struck down in a prosecution for contravention of the provisions of that section.”[56] According to Mahajan C.J., the High Court erred by placing onus on the accused when the onus had to be cast on the prosecution.

Mahajan C.J., rejected the introduction or import of terms like “relatively void” coined in American Constitutional jurisprudence into Indian Constitutional Law.[58] The learned Judge also rejected the view of Venkatarama Ayyar J. that “a declaration of unconstitutionality brought about by lack of legislative power stands on a different footing from a declaration of unconstitutionality brought about by reasons of abridgment of fundamental rights” and further stated that it was not a correct proposition that the constitutional provisions in Part III of the Constitution merely operate “as a check on the exercise of legislative power.”[59] According to the learned Judge, there is no distinction between both declarations of unconstitutionality namely, on the ground of legislative competent or violation of fundamental rights because of these declarations “go to the root of the power itself.”[60] The learned Judge also stated that it was not open for an accused person to waive his constitutional rights and held that “the doctrine of waiver” enunciated by American Judges cannot be introduced into the Indian Constitution “without a fuller discussion of the matter.”[61] Though this stray observations gives the initial impression that the issue of application of the doctrine of waiver was left open by the Court, the subsequent sub paragraph of the majority judgment dispels that impression. According to Mahajan C.J.,

“These fundamental rights have not been put in the Constitution merely for individual benefit, though ultimately they come into operation in considering individual rights. They have been put there as a matter of public policy and the doctrine of waiver can have no application to provisions of law which have been enacted as a matter of constitutional policy. Reference to some of the articles, inter alia, articles 15(1), 20, 21 makes the proposition quite plain. A citizen cannot get discrimination by telling the State “You can discriminate”, or get convicted by waiving the protection given under articles 20 and 21.” (emphasis supplied)

The learned Judge also expressly held that there was no scope to apply the American doctrine enunciated by Willoughby that the declaration of unconstitutionality which is in conflict with the Constitution affects the parties to the proceeding only and does not apply in rem.[63] According to the learned Judge, once a statute is declared void under Article 13 (1) or (2), the declaration has the force of law and is no longer qua persons whose fundamental rights are infringed.[64] In the United States, no provision like Article 13 exists and therefore the aforesaid doctrine has no application to Indian Constitutional Law. The learned Judge then went on to state,

“In this country once a law has been struck down as unconstitutional law by a Court, no notice can be taken of that law by any Court, and in every case an accused person need not start providing that the law is unconstitutional. The Court is not empowered to look at that part of the law which has been declared as void, and therefore there is no onus resting on the accused person to prove that the law that has already been declared unconstitutional is unconstitutional in that particular case as well. The Court has to take notice only of what the law of the land is, and convict the accused only if he contravenes the law of the land.”

Lastly, Mahajan C.J., expressly rejected the view of Jagannadhadas J. that the declaration in F.N. Balsara engrafted an exception or proviso to Section 13 (b) of the Prohibition Act and that the onus of proving the exception was on the accused in accordance with Section 105 of the Evidence Act.[66] According to the learned Judge, there is no power for the State at all to engraft an exception of proviso inconsistent with Part III of the Constitution.

Das J. dissents

Das J. disagreed with the aforesaid majority view. The learned Judge was unable to accept the wide proposition laid down in the dictum of Field J. in Norton v. Shelby County[68] quoted earlier, what stated that when a statute is adjudged unconstitutional it is as if it had never been.[69] According to the learned judge, the dictum of Filed J. concerned a post Constitutional Statute and not a pre-Constitutional Statute and it could not be said that the declaration of unconstitutionality makes a statute void for all purposes including past transactions that took place prior to the Constitution.[70] The declaration in F.N. Balsara “does not affect anything done under the Act prior to the commencement of the Constitution.”[71] The learned Judge then went onto state that the result of the declaration was that “the prohibition of that part of Section 13(b) will be ineffective against and inapplicable to a citizen who consumes or uses liquid medicinal or toilet preparations containing alcohol. No part of the section is obliterated or scratched out from the statute book or in any way altered or amended for that is not the function of the court.[72] This seems to be in conformity with the view of Mahajan C.J. However, the divergence of opinion can be found in the subsequent portion of the opinion. According to Das J., the judicial declaration in F.N. Balsara “serves to provide a defence to a citizen who has consumed or used liquid medicinal or toilet preparations.” The onus was on the accused to prove that he had consumed liquid medicinal or toilet preparations containing alcohol, which prohibition of consumption was declared void by F.N. Balsara. If he establishes that he has consumed such liquid then the declaration in F.N. Balsara will apply namely, the prohibition in Section 13 (b) is not applicable to him as it is inconsistent with his fundamental right.[73] According to Das J. the declaration in F.N. Balsara serves as a defence to the accused and “a person who challenges the validity of the section on the ground of its unconstitutionality has the advantage of the declaration as a matter of law but the facts on which that declaration is based have nevertheless to be established in each particular case where the declaration is sought to be availed of.”

Eventually, Das J. held that the declaration does not operate as an amendment of Section 13(b) and no excepted or proviso could be grafted.[74] However, Das J. made it explicitly clear that he expressed no opinion on the observations made by the other learned Judges on the doctrine of waiver, the check of fundamental rights on the legislative power and most importantly on the effect of the declaration under Article 13 (1) being “relatively void.”

Therefore, the law laid down by Mahajan C.J. for the majority became the law of the land. The Court very rightly rejected the application of the complicated American doctrines of waiver, and absolute and relative voidness and provided a simple and straightforward edifice which has stood the test of time.

Views are personal.

(The author is a practicing Advocate at the Bombay High Court. He can be contacted on Twitter @DormaanD)

[1] AIR 1955 SC 123

[2] The facts have been paraphrased from Para 2 to 4 of the reporter at page 128 and 129.

[3] Ibid p. 128 para 2

[4] 338. Causing grievous hurt by act endangering life or personal safety of others.—Whoever causes grievous hurt to any person by doing any act so rashly or negligently as to endanger human life, or the personal safety of others, shall be punished with imprisonment of either description for a term which may extend to two years, or with fine which may extend to one thousand rupees, or with both.

[5] Section 66 (b) prior to its amendment read as under:

Whoever in contravention of the provisions of this Act

(b) consumes, uses, possesses or transports any intoxicant or hemp

shall on conviction be punished.”

[6] A tonic containing B Complex and Phosphates

[7] Three separate opinions were delivered by N.H. Bhagwati, B. Jagannadhadas and T.L. Venkatarama Ayyar JJ.

[8] AIR 1951 SC 318

[9] Supra note 1 p. 129 para 6

[10] Ibid p. 130 para 9

[11] Ibid p. 129 para 6

[12] Ibid para 7

[13] Also see Deepchand v. State of Uttar Pradesh [1959] S.C.J. 1069

[14] S. Venkataraman, “The Status of An Unconstitutional Statute” 2 Journal of India Law Institute 401, 410 (1960)http://14.139.60.114:8080/jspui/bitstream/123456789/14915/1/028_The Status of an Unconstitutional Statute (401-422).pdf (Last visited on Monday 07-12-2020 at 6:54 PM)

[15] Ibid p. 410, 411

[16] See Marbury v. Madison, 5 U.S. (1 Cranch) 137 (1803) https://tile.loc.gov/storage-services/service/ll/usrep/usrep005/usrep005137/usrep005137.pdf (last visited 07-12-2020 7:00 PM)

[17] Supra note 1 p. 130 para 10(a)

[18] (1885) 118 US 425 (C). Also see Chicago, Indianapolis & Louisville Ry. V. Hackett, (1912) 227 U.S.559, S Ct., 57 L. Ed. 966

[19] Supra note 1 p. 130 para 10(a) Rottschaefer on Constitutional Law, at pg. 34, “”The legal status of a legislative provision in so far as its application involves violation of constitutional provisions, must however be determined in the light of the theory on which Courts ignore it as law in the decision of cases in which its application produces unconstitutional result. That theory implies that the legislative provision never had legal force as applied to cases within that class.”

[20] Ibid p. 130, 131 para 10(a)

Willoughby on Constitution of the United States, Second Edition, Vol. I, page 10 :-

“The Court does not annual or repeal the statute if it finds it in conflict with the Constitution. It simply refuses to recognise it, and determines the rights of the parties just as such statute had no application. The Court may give its reasons for ignoring or disregarding the statute, but the decision affects the parties only, and there is no judgment against the statute. The opinion or reasons of the Court may operate as a precedent for the determination of other similar cases, but it does not strike the statute from the statute book; it does repeal….. the statute. The parties to that suit are concluded by the judgment, but no one else is bound. A new litigant may bring a new suit, based on the very same statute, and the former decision can be relied on only as a precedent,………”

“It simply refuses to recognise it and determines the rights of the parties just as if such state had no application………..”

Willis on Constitutional Law, at page 89 :-

“A judicial declaration of the unconstitutionality of a statute neither annuls nor repeals the statute but has the effect of ignoring or disregarding it so fact as the determination of the rights of private parties is concerned. The courts generally say that the effect of an unconstitutional statute is nothing. It is as though it had never been passed…….”.

[21] Supra note 1 p. 131 para 11, 12.

[22] 105. Burden of proving that case of accused comes within exceptions. –– When a person is accused of any offence, the burden of proving the existence of circumstances bringing the case within any of the General Exceptions in the Indian Penal Code (45 of 1860), or within any special exception or proviso contained in any other part of the same Code, or in any law defining the offence, is upon him, and the Court shall presume the absence of such circumstances.

[23] Supra note 1 p. 131, 132 paras 12 to 15

[24] Ibid p. 134 para 18, 20

[25] Ibid. The judgment is reported from pages 137 to 142 paras 27 to 37

[26] Ibid p. 138 para 29

[27] Ibid para 30

[28] ibid

[29] Ibid p. 139 para 31

[30] ibid

[31] ibid

[32] Ibid. Reference was made to Cooley on Constitutional Limitations, Willis on Constitutional Law, Rottschaefer on Constitutional Law.

[33] Ibid. The judgments referred to were Shepard v. Barron, (1903) 194 US 553 (J), Pierce v. Somerset Railway Co. (1989) 171 US 641 (K), Pierce Oil Corporation v. Phoenix Refining Co. (1921) 259 US 125 (L), Wilkerson v. Rahrer, (1890) 140 US 545 (M)

[34]Ibid paraphrased

[35] Ibid pp. 139, 140, 141 para 32, 33 and 34.

[36] Supra note 14 p. 410. Proprio Vigore means by its own force or vigour. Also see “What Is the Effect of a Court’s Declaring a Legislative Act Unconstitutional?” Harvard Law Review 39, no. 3 (1926): 373-78. Accessed December 8, 2020. doi:10.2307/1329312; Field, Oliver P. (1926) “Effect of an Unconstitutional Statute,” Indiana Law Journal: Vol. 1 : Iss. 1 ,Article 1. Available at: https://www.repository.law.indiana.edu/ilj/vol1/iss1/1 (Last visited on 08-12-2020 at 9:00 am; Crawford, Earl T. “The Legislative Status of an Unconstitutional Statute.” Michigan Law Review 49, no. 5 (1951): 645-66. Accessed December 8, 2020. doi:10.2307/1284649.

[37] Article 13. (1) All laws in force in the territory of India immediately before the commencement of this Constitution, in so far as they are inconsistent with the provisions of this Part, shall, to the extent of such inconsistency, be void.

[38] AIR 1951 SC 128

[39] Supra note 1 pp. 140, 141 para 33, 34

[40] Ibid p 141 para 34

[41] Ibid p. 141, 142 para 34 and 37

[42] Ibid p. 134 para 21 (a). Bhagwati J. quotes the same paragraph in his opinion at p. 130 para 10(a).

[43] Ibid p. 134 para 21(a). Also see Supra note 20 for the quoted text of Willoughby

[44] (2) The State shall not make any law which takes away or abridges the rights conferred by this Part and any law made in contravention of this clause shall, to the extent of the contravention, be void.

[45] Supra note 1 p. 135 para 21

[46] Pro tanto means to that extent

[47] Supra note 1 p. 135 para 21

[48] Ibid para 22

[49] Ibid pp. 135, 136 para 22 to 24

[50] Ibid p. 136 para 25

[51] Ibid para 25 and 27(a)

[52] Ibid p. 142 para 39

[53] Delivered on 23rd September 1954

[54] Supra note 1 p. 144 para 49

[55] Ibid

[56] Ibid

[57] Ibid

[58] Ibid p. 145 para 50

[59] Ibid para 51.

[60] Ibid

[61] Ibid p. 146 para 52

[62] Ibid

[63] Ibid para 53

[64] Ibid

[65] Ibid pp. 146, 147 para 53

[66] Ibid para 54

[67] Ibid

[68] Supra note. 18

[69] Supra note 1 p. 151 para 65

[70] Ibid

[71] ibid

[72] Ibid p. 152 para 65

[73] Ibid

[74] Ibid p. 153 para 67

Naoroji’s ‘Drain of Wealth’ Approach: Guiding Indian Nationalism

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Beyond brief by-rote study of history at school about the ‘Grand Old Man of India’, not many Indians are aware of the true depth of the achievements of Dadabhai Naoroji. Mathematics prodigy at Bombay’s Elphinstone College, expatriate business representative in London, the first Asian to be elected to the House of Commons as MP in 1892. As much as these are great achievements, perhaps his greatest is his study of the systematic impoverishment of India by both the British East India Company and the subsequent Crown government.

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Article by Dinyar Patel | Live History India

Among other things, he tied such ‘drain of wealth’—his seminal idea—to recurring and devastating famines and general lethargy of India’s economy. Naoroji lobbied in Britain for India’s empowerment, brought these truths to the world, triggered discussion and change. And he used his research and writing to fuel Indian nationalism both before and after co-founding the Indian National Congress in 1885.

In his deeply researched and fluent book, Naoroji: Pioneer of Indian Nationalism, Dinyar Patel, who taught in the department of history at the University of Southern California before taking up a position as an assistant professor of history at the S P Jain Institute of Management and Research (SPJIMR) in Mumbai, brings us more than the life and times of a remarkable man. He brings us the persistent fortitude and sparkling, inquisitive genius of Naoroji. This exclusive excerpt from Patel’s Naoroji details the process and application with which Naoroji, born to obscurity in Gujarat’s Navsari, constructed the irrefutable evidence of Britain rapidly, and massively, draining India’s wealth—more than a hundred years before high-profile post-colonial debates of the social-media age in Oxbridge:

Shuttling back and forth between London and Bombay in the late 1850s and early 1860s, while he rode the highs and lows of the cotton trade, Naoroji must have even more keenly felt the stark difference between mother country and colony. For England was the undisputed locus of power and prosperity: home to the newly established India Office, which took over the reins of power from the East India Company without interrupting the flow of wealth from the subcontinent. India, in contrast, lay shattered after the Mutiny of 1857 and enervated from a spate of deadly famines. It seemed to be the very byword for poverty and powerlessness.

Naoroji soon abandoned such anecdotal comparison in pursuit of detailed economic study of India. Between the late 1860s and early 1880s, he produced a prodigious amount of literature— containing extensive calculations, international comparisons, compilations of historical evidence, and refutation of government pronouncements and statistics—highlighting the stark impoverishment of Britain’s Indian subjects. Significantly, he established a direct causal link between poverty and British rule. “So far as my inquiries go at present, the conclusion I draw is, that wherever the East India Company acquired territory, impoverishment followed their steps,” he argued. The instrument of this impoverishment, Naoroji famously contended, was the “drain of wealth”— whereby as much as one- fourth of the annual tax revenue raised in India went into British coffers rather than being reinvested in the country. While its mechanisms were complex, Naoroji clearly understood that the drain was, fundamentally, a question of colonial policy. “I wonder when this Hydra headed policy will ever be broken,” he confided to a friend and political ally in Bombay, Behramji Malabari. “These Englishmen cannot understand that the wealth they carry away from this Country is the whole & sole cause of our misery. . . They take away our bread and then turn round asking us why we are not eating it.”

The Poverty of India

Between 1867 and 1880, Dadabhai Naoroji expounded upon the drain of wealth from India through a series of detailed papers and published statistics. He presented most of these papers in London, before British audiences. This was no mere coincidence: Naoroji felt duty-bound to change the tone of Indian policy debate in the capital of the empire. To this extent, in late 1866 he established the East India Association, a forum for discussion of Indian affairs that, in London as well as in a branch society in Bombay, drew a large cross section of bureaucrats, politicians, students, and intellectuals.

It is difficult to say why, precisely, Naoroji chose the late 1860s to launch into sustained discussion of Indian poverty and the drain. No letters or papers survive to explain his rationale. Quite likely, however, Naoroji was moved to action by twin crises unfolding in the subcontinent at the time. The American Civil War prompted the first crisis. Opening volleys from Fort Sumter’s cannons brought to a halt the South’s cotton trade with Britain, causing a spike in the price of Indian cotton. This benefited a handful of Indian cotton merchants, including Naoroji, while wiping out the last remaining weavers in the Indian countryside, who were no longer able to purchase raw materials. Once peace returned to the United States, the price of Indian cotton cratered. Indian merchants faced economic ruin— this was the reason Dadabhai Naoroji & Co. was forced to declare bankruptcy and temporarily shutter its London office. For India, the American Civil War was a one- two punch that sent financial shudders through both city and countryside, demonstrating the precariousness of the colonial economy.

The second crisis was far graver. In 1865, following a capricious monsoon, famine began stalking India’s eastern shores. Panic spread through the region of Orissa after the colonial governor coolly refused to intervene and provide emergency supplies of grain. By 1867, as much as one-third of Orissa’s population was dead. The Orissa famine was, for Naoroji, a stark example of India’s perilous economic and political position. It prompted him to investigate how mass famine had been a hallmark of British rule in India— and how the specter of starvation and disease had significantly worsened in the past de cade. “What an appalling, what a sad picture we have before us!” he concluded upon tabulating recent death figures. “Have all the wars of the past 100 years destroyed as many lives and property as the famines of the past eight years?” From the East India Association’s lectern, Naoroji began speaking with urgency about Indian poverty, mass famine, and the drain of wealth as interconnected phenomena. He first sought to establish the gravity of Indian poverty in order to highlight the country’s inability to bear further outflows of its meager resources and finances. Naoroji’s immediate task, therefore, was political in nature: urging swift policy changes that would acknowledge and rectify the drain.

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Naoroji’s book, Poverty and Un-British Rule in India (1901)|amazon.com

When Naoroji began speaking about poverty and the drain, however, he confronted a Himalayan obstacle. It was extraordinarily difficult to convince British audiences, both policymakers and the general public, that India was a fundamentally impoverished country. During the second half of the nineteenth century, this notion went against conventional wisdom in the United Kingdom—in spite of grim headlines emanating from the latest famine-stricken districts. How was poverty possible in a land that had produced the British nabobs of the previous century, one that continued to buoy the fortunes of the City of London, the empire’s financial heart, and fill British docks and ware houses with luxury goods of every sort? Could India really be a poor country when, year after year, an increasing number of Indian professionals, princes, and wealthy merchants streamed into London, consorting with the commercial and political elite of Britain and the empire? And wasn’t Naoroji— educated, Anglicized, and relatively wealthy by the mid-1860s— himself an example of imperial beneficence? As naive as these observations might seem today, they were important components of British imperial imagination. They were premised on the common belief that India, precisely because of its abundant wealth, was the linchpin of the empire’s prosperity and political, economic, and military strength. Famine was a bizarre aberration, the result of Indian laziness or fecundity rather than systemic poverty.

The British Indian government did not make Naoroji’s task any easier. Each year, mandarins in the India Office in Whitehall assembled the Moral and Material Progress Report, deploying official statistics to claim significant social and economic progress in the subcontinent. Many of these statistics, however, were simply wrong. In 1871, Naoroji addressed London’s Society of Arts, mentioning a recent India Office report given to Parliament. As proof of the “General Prosperity” of India, the report cited a “great excess of exports above imports,” a stunning 188 percent increase in exports during the 1840s and 1850s, and a 227 percent increase in imports in the same period. These were, an incredulous Naoroji stated, “fallacious statements.” And they were also symptomatic of a much larger problem. “I am constrained to say, after my residence in this country for fifteen years, that the knowledge of the public here about India is not only imperfect, but in some matters mischievously incorrect,” he declared. Due in part to such reports and statistics, there was “the almost universal belief that India is rich and prosperous, when it is not so.”

Naoroji’s attempts to hammer away at this universal belief were hampered by many factors other than ignorance, bad information, and rosy official pronouncements. There were, for example, par tic u lar derisory attitudes among Britons toward Indians. One irate Anglo- Indian, writing to the London Review in response to some of Naoroji’s opinions about Indian poverty, complained that Naoroji was simply repeating “the common native argument that the English have drained India of its treasure and reduced it to misery.” But what truly outraged the writer was that an Indian had the audacity to make these claims before an audience of eminent Britons— current and former officials and “many practical men”— and then publish his paper for distribution, something that suggested “a most mischievous character.”

Such were the attitudes that greeted Naoroji’s first forays into discussion of Indian economic matters. On May 2, 1867, he inaugurated the East India Association in London by delivering a paper titled “England’s Duties to India.” The title sounded innocuous enough. But before an audience that included eminent members of the India Office, men who helped compose the annual Moral and Material Progress Report, Naoroji detailed the horrific dimensions of the Orissa famine. The famine forced Naoroji to weigh the advantages and disadvantages of British colonial rule. “Security of life and property we have better in these times [under the British], no doubt,” he stated, “but the destruction of a million and a half lives in one famine is a strange illustration of the worth of the life and property thus secured.” While he lavished praise upon the British for granting India several supposed boons— “law and order,” “the enlightenment of the country” through Western education, and a “new political life”— Naoroji grappled with a fundamental tension between, on one hand, piecemeal social and political advancement and, on the other, unfathomable impoverishment.

Aside from broaching the topic of mass famine, Dadabhai Naoroji’s “England’s Duties to India” was significant in one other sense: it established his quantitative, statistical approach for proving the existence of Indian poverty. While his focus in this paper was India’s heavy financial tribute to its colonial master, Naoroji soon turned his attention toward the economic condition of the Indian people themselves. In July1870, he delivered another paper, “The Wants and Means of India,” at London’s Society of Arts. With a touch of irony, Charles Trevelyan—a hated figure in Ireland due to his mortality-inducing policies during the potato famine of the late 1840s—presided over the meeting. Naoroji posed a basic question to Trevelyan and other attendees: “Is India at present in a condition to produce enough to supply all its wants?”

In order to answer this question, Naoroji developed several innovative methods for quantifying and describing India’s stark poverty. First, and most significant, he made the first- ever estimates of the country’s gross income per capita (technically, gross production per capita). His calculations were simple and difficult to disprove. “The whole produce of India is from its land,” Naoroji observed. Working backward, he took land revenue figures for the year 1870–1871 and, by noting that the government collected around one-eighth of total produce in the form of land revenue, calculated that the gross product of the country per annum was in the neighborhood of £168 million. Adding gross revenue from opium, salt, and forest products, and factoring in coal production as well as revenue from appropriated land, Naoroji set a very conservative final estimate of £200 million. By simply dividing this amount by the total population of India, he arrived at a figure that caused scandal in London: a paltry 27 shillings per Indian subject. In comparison, average income in the United Kingdom was nearly twenty-five times higher, around £33 per head. Naoroji offered a more conservative estimate of 40 shillings per head in India in order to account for any industry and manufacturing, which he held to be negligible. Either figure, he cautioned, was undoubtedly too high, due to the concentration of wealth in a microscopic upper and middle class. “Can it be then a matter of any surprise,” he asked his audience, “that the very first touch of famines should so easily carry away hundreds of thousands as they have done during the past twelve years?”

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Naoroji as Colossus who has bridged the gulf between India and England|Review of Review (1892)

Naoroji’s second method involved perfecting the art of statistical comparison. Figures on Indian poverty might startle and shock members of the British public, but well-formulated comparisons could also make them viscerally uncomfortable. In “The Wants and Means of India,” Naoroji pioneered economic comparisons between India and other countries, especially the United States and the United Kingdom. But it would take a few more years for him to make some of his most striking statistical comparisons. In another paper, “Poverty of India”— delivered in 1873 to a parliamentary committee but not published until 1876—he compared the plight of the average Indian peasant unfavorably with that of an Indian prisoner or coolie emigrant. Once more, Naoroji’s method of calculation was simple, turning the limited official statistical data on the country to his advantage. Consulting government reports, he located figures for basic provisions—food, clothing, and bedding—provided to inmates at Indian penitentiary facilities and recommended for coolies making their outward sea voyage from Calcutta. These provisions, Naoroji emphasized, were for “simple animal subsistence,” allowing for “not the slightest luxury . . . or any little enjoyment of life.” Yet, he declared, they were beyond the reach of the vast majority of Indians. Naoroji illustrated, province by province, how the amount expended on maintaining an inmate could, in some cases, be twice as high as the average income of a peasant. “Even for such food and clothing as a criminal obtains,” Naoroji concluded, “there is hardly enough of production even in a good season, leaving alone all little luxuries, all social and religious wants, and expenses of occasions of joy and sorrow, and any provision for a bad season.” This was a prophetic observation. Just a few years later, during the so- called Great Famine of Madras in 1876–1878, an American missionary recorded how starving weavers begged to be arrested so that they would at least receive some food while in jail.

Sapping Vital Blood

In Dadabhai Naoroji’s formulation, the Indian civil service— and, specifically, the lack of a significant number of Indians in this administrative corps— was the primary reason for Indian impoverishment. He posited a direct link between the preponderance of Britons ruling the country and the scale of the drain of wealth; this, in a nutshell, was the political corollary to the drain theory. For Naoroji, therefore, civil service reform was a subject of vital economic importance, a matter of life or death to millions of famine-weary Indian peasants.

Naoroji did not enunciate the political corollary until the 1870s. However, we can trace its roots back to his maiden political speech, delivered at the inauguration of the Bombay Association in August 1852. In this speech, Naoroji, then in his late twenties, suggested a link between faulty governance and poverty. The impoverishment of the Kunbis or peasants, he noted, might be the product of “bad administration.” Government administrators, “being drawn from England, do not, except after a long residence and experience, become fully acquainted with our wants and customs.” Consequently, these British officers were “often led, by their imperfect acquaintance with the country, to adopt measures calculated to do more harm than good.” The solution, therefore, was to recruit knowledgeable Indians for government service. In 1859, four years after relocating to Great Britain, Naoroji took up the case of the very first Indian candidate for the civil service, Rustomji Hirjibhai Wadia, who was unceremoniously barred from taking the service’s entrance examination by the India Office’s last-minute reduction of the age limit.

Although in Wadia’s case his pleas to authorities fell on deaf ears, Naoroji persisted in speaking and writing about the need for more Indian administrative officers. Like many other political reformers in Calcutta, Bombay, Madras, and elsewhere, he concentrated his energies on protesting against the formidable difficulties faced by Indian candidates: a low age limit; the fact that exams were only held in England, necessitating a long and costly voyage from the subcontinent; and the content of the exams, which privileged knowledge of European classics and literature over subjects such as Arabic and Sanskrit, where Indian candidates would have a significant advantage. Indian agitation led to some official concessions. In 1865, the India Office reversed its decision to further deemphasize Arabic and Sanskrit in exams after Naoroji submitted a petition on the topic, questioning the government’s commitment to fairness for aspiring Indian officers. Naoroji increasingly framed the civil service issue as one of Indian rights, dropping his earlier arguments about the problematic consequences of an Indian administration dominated by Britons unfamiliar with Indian culture and opinion.

Naoroji’s 1867 address before the East India Association, “England’s Duties to India,” represented another important transformation in his views about how the civil service caused poverty. It was at this moment that Naoroji suggested, for the first time, that India’s impoverishment was the result of a pronounced economic drain. While he did not use the term “drain” specifically—he spoke of financial tribute and “home charges”—Naoroji asserted that British rule had resulted, to date, in the transfer of a whopping £1.6 billion from the subcontinent to imperial coffers. Relying on parliamentary returns, he calculated that Great Britain continued to siphon, conservatively, £33 million each year from its Indian possessions, or roughly one-fourth of tax revenues collected in India.

Excerpted with permission from the book Naoroji: Pioneer of Indian Nationalism by Dinyar Patel (published by Harvard University Press). You can buy the book here.

The Pompous Legacy of the Persian Language in India

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From to ‘Hind’ and ‘Hindostan’ to ‘Chashma’ and ‘Biryan’, the words you know and the language and history you don’t. Persian

“The best memory is that which forgets nothing, but injuries. Write kindness in marble and write injuries in the dust.”

This is not a quote without context. The India of today (2021, can you believe it!) often forgets its own history, and it is understandable to forget what hinders in the process of moving on. The seasons, clocks and life itself teaches us the art of moving on, but only if we are observant enough. Often, forgetting the ingredients of the dish can make the taste fade in due course. Such is the status of Persian language in India, we eat it, drink it, smoke it …… live it but are seemingly ignorant about it.

Article By Tauhid Khan | The Second Angle

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Credits: History.com

Persian or Farsi was brought to the Indian subcontinent in the 13th century by the Persian rulers of Central Asia. In fact, the word Hindu, connoting people living in a geographical region beyond River Indus, is of Persian origin.

The language was not only the lingua franca of the classes just like English in the India of today — but also the language of artistic literature and philosophy. So is the word Hindavi, which later evolved into Hindi, used for the language spoken by the people in large parts of this land. After being the major language almost throughout the medieval era of Indian history in communication and literature, the language was replaced by English in the late 19th century. And now it faces infamy or stupor.

All through the Islamic conquest of Persia in and around the mid-7th century, the Parsis took shelter in Gujarat and parts of western India to avoid religious persecution. And that is how Farsi made its way into India. Persian language, with pre-historic roots in southwestern Iran, is one of the oldest Indo-European languages. The Arabs captured Persia but were unsuccessful in imposing Arabic on the conquered.

The Persians were compelled to accept the Arabic script but did not surrender their language. Instead, Farsi turned into a prominent cultural language in most of the largest empires in Western Asia, Central Asia and South Asia. Newer literature, especially Farsi poetry, started developing as the part of the court traditions in the eastern empires.

Thus, Farsi became a vehicle of cultural conquest defying Arabic political hegemony. As a result, some of the classics of literature, such as Rumi’s Mathnawi, Firdausi’s Shah-Nama, Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat, Hafez’s Divan and Saadi Shirazi’s Gulistan, were written in Farsi in the medieval period. Farsi also became the vehicle of Sufi mysticism and theology, flouting all orthodox religious boundaries.

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Credits: Mohamushkil.com

Its secular, liberal and strong cultural links helped Farsi survive political threats from Arabic and other languages. Even rulers of Turkish-Afghan origin in medieval India, including those of the Delhi Sultanate and the Mughal regime, accepted it as the language of the court and diplomatic discourse. In fact, they chose Farsi rather than their mother tongue Turkish, or Arabic.

Persian flourished in the Indian subcontinent, unlike in northern Africa where the conquered nations fell to the dominance of the Arabic language enforced upon them by the ruthless and powerful Arabs. Patronage of the language stimulated the flow of Persian texts and Persian speakers who were mainly soldiers, merchants, bureaucrats, scholars, poets, Sufi saints, artists and artisans to South Asia between the 11th and 18th centuries.

The decision to incorporate Farsi was in reality, a political move by the monarchs to get the better of the orthodox ulemas or Muslim theocrats who were mostly proponents of Arabic and Turkish. Irrespective of their ethnic, religious or geographical origin, these migrants from central and western Asia had skills in Farsi that would help them earn a livelihood in courts and bureaucracy.

Farsi reached its pinnacle in south Asia when Mughal emperor Akbar established it as the official or state language in 1582. Mind you, this was despite the fact that the Mughals were native speakers of Chagatai Turkish. Akbar used the language as a tool to knit together diverse religious and ethnic communities in his court as well as his burgeoning kingdom, culturally.

Not just Muslim aristocrats, but also scribes of upper-caste Hindu lineage — Brahmins, Kayasthas and Khatris — who served as clerks, secretaries and bureaucrats, learnt the language and got acculturated in Persian etiquette for social mobility. Ghazals, nazms and qawwalis (at Sufi shrines) in Farsi were wholeheartedly accepted as forms of literary and musical expression by the educated of all faiths and ethnicity.

Akbar and Jahangir commissioned Persian translations of the Ramayana and the Mahabharata. Dara Shikoh went a step further when he took up the task of translating the Upanishads into Persian, aided by veteran bureaucrat Chander Bhan. Persian romances, such as Laila Majnu and Yusuf Zuleika, were translated into many Indian languages.

The medieval Bahamani Sultanates and successor Deccan Sultanates and even the Hindu Vijayanagara kingdom had highly Persianised culture. The Sikh gurus as well as the Maratha ruler Shivaji were well-versed in Persian. The language had been used by the Bengal Sultanate as one of the court languages and in the chancery’s administration mainly in urban centres in Gaur, Pandua (today’s Malda), Satgaon (a port in Hooghly) and Sonargaon (near Dhaka), long before the Mughal period.

One of the principal patrons of Farsi in the early 15th century Bengal was Sultan Ghiyasuddin Azam Shah who established contact with the legendary Persian poet, Hafiz. Poet Alaol composed literature in the language and translated Persian classics into Bengali.

Royal patronage encouraged a section of non-Muslim elites in Bengal, especially the Bengali Hindu gentry and aristocracy, appropriate aspects of Persian culture, such as dress, social practices and literary taste. Rammohun Roy wrote treatises in Persian and started India’s first Persian newspaper Mirat-ul-Akhbar in 1823. The country’s first Persian printing press was also set up in Calcutta.

In the initial phase of the British administration, Persian was used as the language of the courts, correspondence and record-keeping. Governor-General Warren Hastings, well versed in the language, founded the Calcutta Madrasa where Persian, Arabic and Islamic Law were taught. The remnants of Persian judicial terms adalat, mujrim, munsif and peshkar are still used in courts across India.

The sharp decline of Persian began when English was made the language of governance through Lord Macaulay’s education policy in 1835. The emergence of vernacular languages, especially Urdu, ushered in further decay of Persian.

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Credits: riaan.tv

Persian was, after all, a foreign language of the privileged and royal. Urdu first emerged as the common language of soldiers of mixed origin (Mughals, Rajputs, Pathans, Turks, Iranians, etc.) in the Mughal camp, and then became a language of the multitudes. Urdu took shape as a mixture of Persian, Arabic and Turkish words formed with the intermingling of invading Muslim armies and local Hindi-speaking Hindus.

It’s a Turkish word which means Army camp, hoard, etc. The most popular theory that many historians ascribe to is that Urdu evolved with multiple contacts from Persian and Turkish invaders, and thereafter developed during the reign of the Sultans of Delhi as well as the period of the Mughal empire. Urdu borrowed elements from Persian — idioms, styles, syntax, script — and mixed these with the local dialects, such as Poorvi and Brajbhasha.

Persian is a language that has challenged all borders and divisions. It’s an impartial language of poetry, philosophy and culture that has integrated political and partisan divisions for around a millennium now and shall keep its contribution to the languages of the subcontinent across multiple countries. Upholding its greatness is a fitting tribute to the legacy and impact it has had on India and its languages and will go a long way in understanding a real perspective about the combined past of our country and its neighbours.

Not just the coronavirus, the government’s ineptitude has brought this tsunami on us

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Oxygen, vaccination, more beds and firmer enforcement of COVID-19 protocols can help us weather this crisis.

The present pandemic has devastated our poor country and anguished its people. There are two reasons for this debacle. The first is the dreaded, deadly coronavirus, which has perhaps mutated and become even more infectious. Equally responsible is the ineptitude and mismanagement of those who govern us and have the responsibility to safeguard our health and welfare.

Article by Dr. Farokh E. Udwadia | The Indian Express

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Equally responsible is the ineptitude and mismanagement of those who govern us and have the responsibility to safeguard our health and welfare. (Illustration by C R Sasikumar)

When the infection rate in India had significantly decreased last December and early January of this year, our netas congratulated themselves proclaiming to us and the world their efficiency in controlling the virus. Could they not realise that the second wave of infection was well-nigh inevitable? All countries in Europe, the UK, the Americas, and even developed countries in Asia such as South Korea and Japan, suffered a second wave, some even a third wave, and very often the second wave was worse than the first. Had we anticipated this, we could have buttressed our defences and increased our resources.

Perhaps the powers that be felt that we are God’s chosen country and this could not happen to us. But we are not God’s chosen country for more than one reason. So, not only do we have a disaster, but we are faced with a veritable, continuing tsunami.

To make matters worse, we allowed the Kumbh Mela, where lakhs and lakhs of people intermingled, spreading the virus, and then returned home further spreading the virus. The authorities in the northern states reassured us that all those who returned would be screened, tested, traced, isolated. Who are they trying to fool? The gullible people of our country, of course.

As the virus is tearing through our country, we witness election rallies where thousands of people day after day, standing shoulder to shoulder, without masks, listen to our netas without masks, spitting out words (and perhaps some coronaviruses) for over an hour. More infections, more misery.

Also, note the poor planning of the vaccination programme. Is it not elementary that the supply of the vaccine should relate to the demand? If indeed this were so, why is there a shortage of vaccines in many vaccination centres, with long queues of people waiting in the hot sun — more spread of infections, greater misery. Again, how large-hearted we all are! What largesse we possess to give vaccines to neighbouring countries, forgetting the agony of people in our own country, forgetting that charity begins at home.

What, indeed, should we do now? As one who has treated many ill patients over many years, let me give the following suggestions.

First, treatment. Beg, borrow, steal, pay even a ransom to get more oxygen, transport it, and make it available to patients. This requires excellent logistic planning. We are fighting a war, and no war has ever been won without excellent logistic support.

Second, there are only three drugs of importance: Most crucial is oxygen (yes, oxygen is a drug); Dexamethasone administered to those requiring oxygen. If given when the oxygen saturation is satisfactory, the drug may well do harm. Finally, blood thinners to prevent and treat clotting within vessels.

Third, we need critical care for the very sick and more beds to treat more patients.

No other drug has been proven to be effective against the disease. The anxiety and urgency to stock remdesevir, in my opinion, is not warranted. This drug is no cure, it does not reduce mortality — it only shortens by 5 to 6 days the duration of the illness. Use it if you will, but let us transfer this anxiety and urgency to getting more oxygen, please.

Vaccination is the key to victory against the disease. It is important to plan the logistics, project deadlines and ensure they are met and fix one price for the vaccine after negotiations with the manufacturers. Different prices will cause confusion. It is also necessary to set up many, many vaccination centres and augment the supply of any vaccine of proven use and safety. All people above the age of 20 must be vaccinated

Set up wardens, police cars in every crowded place in all cities to ensure that masking and social distancing norms are observed. Do not just fine, but jail for a few days, those who ignore this directive. Discipline needs to be enforced on an undisciplined people.

Major lockdowns are of no use but lockdown enclaves within a city found to be rife with infection and disease. Target people within these enclaves for priority vaccination. Test, trace, treat those within.

The television channels mouth platitudes. Where words most abound good sense is seldom found. There are, of course, a few exceptions to the above. I salute these.

Gujarat High Court Issues Notice On Plea Seeking Permission To Perform Dokhmenashini, The Practice Of Disposing Dead Bodies In Parsi Community

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The Gujarat High Court has issued notice on a petition filed by Surat Parsi Panchayat Board seeking permission to perform Dokhmenashini, a customary practice among the Parsi community of putting the dead body in a tower of silence, even for those who succumb to Covid-19.

Article by Akshita Saxena | Live Law

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The Petitioner, represented by Advocate Manan Bhatt, has stated that they have a fundamental right to perform the last rites of its community members in accordance with their religious practices and they cannot be forced to opt for burial or cremation.

It is submitted that presently, there is no law or notification which explicitly prohibits Dokhmenashini. However, the Central Guidelines on management of Covid-19 dead bodies prescribe only cremation and burial as the two modes of disposal, and it is completely silent on other religious practices.

There is no evidence of corona virus being spread through dead body. Therefore, there is no reason to deny the decent funeral to the petitioners’ members.

By not allowing the petitioners to follow their religious mandate, the fundamental rights as protected under Articles 14,19,21,25,26 and 29 are being violated without any reason, whatsoever,” the plea states.

It is argued that there is no scientific proof available that a dead body can transmit Covid 19. On the contrary the research shows that it is transmitted through living being only.

The matter is fixed for consideration on May 27.

As per the petition:

Dokhmenashini is a religious practice among the Parsi community wherein the dead body is kept at a height in a structure referred to as “well/tower of silence” to be eaten by vultures and the remains being exposed to Sun to be decomposed. The well is situated at secluded place and only accessible to “nasheshalars” who handle the dead body and place it in the well.

Alternative method of disposal of dead body through cremation is said to be against the faith and religious ethos of Parsi Community as they consider ‘Fire’ as an agent of purity, whereas the dead body is considered to be impure.

Similarly, burial is not possible for the reason that there is no burial ground allocated to Parsi Ground and furthermore, burial is considered by Parsis to be as sinful as cremation, since it pollutes the ground and surrounding.

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