Surat Municipal Corporation’s recent book release- ’At the Core’ not only provides a peek at the built heritage of Surat and Rander but also enriches readers with information on important areas of Tapi town and how their names came into being.
Tapi, also known as Suryaputri, is named after the Sun God’s daughter. Author Ishwarlal Desai who has penned one of the most wonderful versions of the history of our town –‘Surat Sonani Murat’ mentions how mythology revolves around the belief that the Sun God upon being pleased with the penance of Kapil Muni, settled in this region as Kantarswami, which is why it was known as Suryapur. Rander derived its name from his wife Rannade, while Ashwinikumar was christened after his son, who, locals believe performed the pyre rites for gods.
The name Choriyasi Taluka was derived from the fact that flags of 84 nations proudly furled over the trading ships that sailed the Tapi. As the town began to progress, turning into one of the most successful ports in global trade, various core areas of the city were named after rich merchants or clans that resided there, like Gopipura, Sonifaliya, Wadifaliya, Shahpore.
Certain areas were named after the trade that flourished there like Nanavat-where money of all International currency could be exchanged, Ruwala Tekro-where cotton commodity ruled, Machhlipit-fish market.
Saiyyedpura is said to have taken its name from the Sufi Saiyyed saint while Meccaipul derives its name via the ferry station bridge from where Haj pilgrims boarded ships that set sail to Mecca.
Rustompura is named after a leading Parsi trader in the 17th century-Rustom Maneck Seth (1635-1721) .This gentleman was the vital link for business between Aurungzeb, the Dutch and the British.A favourite with the monarch, he was gifted large areas of land which he named after himself and family members. Sagrampura was originally called Frampura, after his son- Framji Seth, Nanpura is named after his grandson, Nanbhoy Seth.
While the English and Dutch cemeteries are part of the city’s heritage structures, all that otherwise remains reminiscent of the British are the Hope Bridge and Andrews Library and though the Dutch did not make it to Delhi, their factory and garden are still very much part of our town .Interestingly, French Garden is present day Diwali Baug. While both the Dutch and the French gardens look out to the river, in the ancient times, the popular river fronts were the various Ovaras. Amongst the aptly named numerous Ovaras such as Navdi (boat), Ghanta (bell), Patali (Hanuman temple) Raja (King) the one that holds distinction is the Paanch Pandav Ovaro where, it is believed that the Pandava’s emerged ,through a secret tunnel ,when they escaped certain death.
The area we know as Mugalisara derives it name from Mughal Sarai where caravans once rested; it now houses the offices of the municipal corporation. Surat’s modern suburbs begin with Athwalines; its name comes from Athwa gate-meaning the eighth gate. Through its years of progress, rulers tried to secure our prosperous ‘city of Kubera’ with a circumference of two walls. The inner wall was named Sheharpanah (city shelter) while the outer one was Alampanah (shelter of the world).
Surat originally had 12 city gates which were majestic and named -Phatak Darwaja,Variyavi Darwaja,Katargam Darwaja,Lal Darwaja,Delhi Darwaja,Sahra Darwaja,Salabat Darwaja,Maan Darwaja,Navsari Darwaja,Jafarali Darwaja,Majura Darwaja,Athwa Darwaja-the positions of these were determined via the routes of trade.Even as the areas around these now non existant gates are still known by the same names,Surat’s Ringroad is the replacement of most of the same
From Chowk to Zhampa , Katargam to Timalyawaad, the city carries on its ancient names with pride. A few areas near Ramnagar in Rander and Sachin GIDC area are officially known as Pakistan Mohallo and Bangladesh Mohollo, thus named after migrants from those countries who are now successfully settled in Surat.
Showing posts with label parsi achievers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parsi achievers. Show all posts
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Monday, August 9, 2010
Dalda 13 in focus
In ten days from now, in order to commemorate 50 golden years of the photo division, a Media unit of the Ministry of Information and Broadcasting, we shall witness India’s first National Photo awards.
Amongst the four prestigious recipients for the,’ Lifetime achievement award’is India’s first lady photojournalist, Homai Vyarawalla – aka Dalda 13,a nickname that came from her year of birth, the age at which she met her husband and the number plate of her vehicle in Delhi-DLD 13.
Vyarawalla was born in Navsari on the 9th of December,1913.Her father was a Parsi stage artist with a traveling theatre company ;at a very young age her siblings and she were packed off to Mumbai for higher education.
There have been many moments in this eminent and photogenic photographer’s life, which would tell a story of their own, had she been photographed then, one wonders –
Like how it felt to be the only girl in her class and one who went on to pass matriculation.
Like what was the scene like when she first met Maneckshaw –her husband to be at a railway station?
Like what did she paint during her course at the Sir J J School of Arts?
Like what was the experience like while learning photography and processing the pictures in the dark room.
Like how did she look when she took her first pictures independently, those of the women’s club of Sir J J School of Arts, at a picnic party to the Amarnath temple?
Like what was the look on her face, when she looked at those pictures published full page, in the Bombay Chronicles.
Like how it felt to be the only woman in her field and being paid Re.1 (a big thing) in those days.
Like how she felt sharing the Rolliflex camera with her husband, as they together covered the Mumbai of the 30’s, Hospitals, festivals, beggars, cottage industries, et al.
Like how she looked ,with her practical saree and becoming hair-do, while shooting pictures as a free lancer for The Illustrated Weekly of India, when the war came on.
Like how she was perceived in Lutyen’s Delhi of the 1940’s and 50’s as she bicycled around the town which was then safe for women even at 1 a.m.
Like how she sounded when she instructed all her colleague gentlemen to behave and have ‘no hanky-panky or unnecessary smiling that could be misconstrued.’
Like what was the look on her face when she taught fellow photographers to be ‘propah’, dressed in closed collar shirts and trousers and shoes because theirs was then a respectable profession.
Like how did she react, when they nicknamed her ‘Mummy ‘; out of love and respect.
Like how she and Maneckshaw looked while sharing their plate of food (lifelong) and other responsibilities in life as a 50-50 partnership.
Like the eager expression on her face as awaited her mother in law’s signal, from the terrace across her place of work, when it was time to feed her infant.
Like how it felt to spend a night at the Kurukshetra mela,a petite Parsi armed with a large format speed graphic camera that had a composite wood ,steel and aluminum chassis and weighed more than 6 pounds.
Like how she moved around with joy and child like simplicity in the innermost core of political circles.
Like what was she looking for when she always waited even after events for an out of the ordinary shot, at times perched on a table or stack of crates?
Like how she could behave like a thorough professional and not get carried away in spite of clicking the top politicians and India’s most important historical moments.
Like how she gave up clicking after being disillusioned at the sights that changed with the times after a career that spanned from the 1930’s to the 1970’s.
Like how she looks in her new roles as those of being a carpenter, gardener, tailor, plumber, cobbler, barber, gourmet cook in order to lead the independent lifestyle she has always led.
Yes, there have been many moments so far, in the life of Homai Vyarawalla, which would have made fabulous, precious photographs. One such moment will be on the 19th of August.
Though she hates being in front of the camera, this young lady will be bringing as much as dignity to the front of lens focus, as she brought from behind it.
In ten days from now, in order to commemorate 50 golden years of the photo division, a Media unit of the Ministry of Information and Broadcasting, we shall witness India’s first National Photo awards.
Amongst the four prestigious recipients for the,’ Lifetime achievement award’is India’s first lady photojournalist, Homai Vyarawalla – aka Dalda 13,a nickname that came from her year of birth, the age at which she met her husband and the number plate of her vehicle in Delhi-DLD 13.
Vyarawalla was born in Navsari on the 9th of December,1913.Her father was a Parsi stage artist with a traveling theatre company ;at a very young age her siblings and she were packed off to Mumbai for higher education.
There have been many moments in this eminent and photogenic photographer’s life, which would tell a story of their own, had she been photographed then, one wonders –
Like how it felt to be the only girl in her class and one who went on to pass matriculation.
Like what was the scene like when she first met Maneckshaw –her husband to be at a railway station?
Like what did she paint during her course at the Sir J J School of Arts?
Like what was the experience like while learning photography and processing the pictures in the dark room.
Like how did she look when she took her first pictures independently, those of the women’s club of Sir J J School of Arts, at a picnic party to the Amarnath temple?
Like what was the look on her face, when she looked at those pictures published full page, in the Bombay Chronicles.
Like how it felt to be the only woman in her field and being paid Re.1 (a big thing) in those days.
Like how she felt sharing the Rolliflex camera with her husband, as they together covered the Mumbai of the 30’s, Hospitals, festivals, beggars, cottage industries, et al.
Like how she looked ,with her practical saree and becoming hair-do, while shooting pictures as a free lancer for The Illustrated Weekly of India, when the war came on.
Like how she was perceived in Lutyen’s Delhi of the 1940’s and 50’s as she bicycled around the town which was then safe for women even at 1 a.m.
Like how she sounded when she instructed all her colleague gentlemen to behave and have ‘no hanky-panky or unnecessary smiling that could be misconstrued.’
Like what was the look on her face when she taught fellow photographers to be ‘propah’, dressed in closed collar shirts and trousers and shoes because theirs was then a respectable profession.
Like how did she react, when they nicknamed her ‘Mummy ‘; out of love and respect.
Like how she and Maneckshaw looked while sharing their plate of food (lifelong) and other responsibilities in life as a 50-50 partnership.
Like the eager expression on her face as awaited her mother in law’s signal, from the terrace across her place of work, when it was time to feed her infant.
Like how it felt to spend a night at the Kurukshetra mela,a petite Parsi armed with a large format speed graphic camera that had a composite wood ,steel and aluminum chassis and weighed more than 6 pounds.
Like how she moved around with joy and child like simplicity in the innermost core of political circles.
Like what was she looking for when she always waited even after events for an out of the ordinary shot, at times perched on a table or stack of crates?
Like how she could behave like a thorough professional and not get carried away in spite of clicking the top politicians and India’s most important historical moments.
Like how she gave up clicking after being disillusioned at the sights that changed with the times after a career that spanned from the 1930’s to the 1970’s.
Like how she looks in her new roles as those of being a carpenter, gardener, tailor, plumber, cobbler, barber, gourmet cook in order to lead the independent lifestyle she has always led.
Yes, there have been many moments so far, in the life of Homai Vyarawalla, which would have made fabulous, precious photographs. One such moment will be on the 19th of August.
Though she hates being in front of the camera, this young lady will be bringing as much as dignity to the front of lens focus, as she brought from behind it.
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