The history of Surat's geography

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.

Surat Nu Jaman,Tapi Nu Maran

They say that the crows come to fetch your soul when it departs from its mortal being.

There were five of them, silently perched in a dignified demeanor outside her windowsill.

Her face beamed an inner glow as she slept peacefully in the room within, revealing no sign of agony suffered since past three months; encased within a network of fleecy wrinkles, hair out of harm’s way in a bob cut; dressed in her signature Khadi skirt and short sleeved shirt-her preferred attire since days of picketing straw dolls at Bhagal crossroads; when she supported Gandhiji’s Quit India movement as a child.

The doctor who came to issue her certificate of death broke down.” Who will rebuke me for my unpunctuality now?” He sobbed. Since the time she had needed physicians, she had been wary of their degrees.” I could bet my last Icy balm that most of Surat’s labourers in Varacha and Pandesara are given shots by quacks with fancy degrees.” she would state, as she scrutinized credentials of every doc who examined her. The balm was her precious jar of relief for bow legs that had seen better days when she bicycled to Nari Saurakshan Gruh, originally located at Piplod. She would pedal from within the walled city, over Ghodod road which was then a dusty track for racing horses; spend the day counseling rescued female sex workers, women who knew no better than being suicidal. Later, she had trekked the Dangs, educating independence to adivasi students. By the time rheumatism set in, she sheltered and kept a sharp maternal eye over local college girls.

As the sun changed its last set of windows for the day, the house began to fill with mourners. Wobbly kneed sisters lamented their irreplaceable loss, braver family members held on to their tears as best they could because she had chuckled upon instructing them,” I don’t want any crying; remind everybody that it is considered shameful accordingly to Hindu Bali. Don’t trouble the NRIs, for I have no intention to wait on an ice slab while they manage a special leave from their tedious routine.”

Somewhere within the cross legged crowd of veiled women, a ringtone blared out a stale item number .Unnerved, the elders began to discuss dates for ‘besnu’,’barmu’,’termu’. Before their mission for setting menus could commence, they were politely informed by a grand child about her last wishes -
” Don’t host any post death ceremonies whatsoever. Don’t run an obituary in the papers; there will be people eating bhelpuri over my photograph the next day. Help the needy, not the greedy. Feeding our God men will not nourish my soul, I would rather you all remember me every time you bite into a hot ‘mirchi bhaji’ or relish a ‘ghari’.”
Talk about Gharis sent her gleefully reminiscing; she would relive delicious tales about delicacies that originated in Surat, the art of rolling paper thin patulis, how the English first discovered custard apples here and named them so, how the original ‘sancha’ ice cream was pure cream laden with luscious fresh fruit, how khaja got combined with mango pulp, citing reasons why Surti cuisine is glorified.

The monotonous chanting of God’s name died down at Ashwinikumar cremation ground. Now modernized with the passage of time; it offers ashes of the deceased within a few hours of the pyre being lit. A little shop across the road, offers voluntary service of sending the same to Varanasi; via which, relatives recieve a post card of confirmation from a trust, stating that the ashes of their loved ones have been immersed in the Ganges at Kashi.

She preferred the Tapti. “The old proverb stating ‘Surat nu jaman ane Kashi nu maran’ is meant for visitors, not us Surtis. Flowing by the Shivji temple at the Paanch Pandav Ovaro, near Ashwinikumar, is a segment of the Tapi known as Gupt Ganga, even the Ganges comes to here to wash her sins. It’s futile for Surtis to go to Kashi when the Tapi is pure enough for the Ganges herself.” she had informed.

She will be missed terribly, but then again, her Surti spirit shall live on forever.

An open letter from an abandoned child

An open letter from destiny’s child


Dear Ma,
I often think about you, as I lie here in my hospital cradle. I miss the warmth of your womb where I lay snug and safe for nine months. Feeding from you as your foetus. Feeling along with you, your happiness and pain as I tossed and tumbled inside you. I heard the sounds of music you listened to and jigged with it in my own way within the space you so generously provided me. I am sorry but I dint mean to hurt you when I gave you that occasional kick from within, it was just my way of assuring you that I was okay and I existed.

It was not my intention to hurt you at all when I made way out, but your body had given signs that it was time for me to come and join you in your world outside. I cried because you cried .My favourite moment was when you first held me close; nothing will ever feel that good again.:-) .

There has been a lot of buzz around here since the time I have been brought to this new place. People bend over me in curiosity and give sweet smiles. I have also been photographed and featured in newspapers. I wonder if any of them reached you and if you recognized me. The people looking after me are called doctors. They are helping me get healthier by giving me something called antibiotics .I am also given infant nutrition but it doesn’t taste even half as good as what you fed me. :( . Last fortnight, they brought in another girl like me who was forgotten in a train by her mother, by mistake. The poor child refused to have anything for 16 hours until she was happily united with her mother.

Then last week, I got new company. This baby weighs twice my weight and is really cute. That’s what all the nurses say. She was wrapped in a cloth and left behind on the main road! I wonder why parents are becoming so forgetful these days. But you know what, when she was brought in here, another mother of an infant offered to feed her :-) I suppose breast milk does not differentiate between children. If her parents don’t come looking for her, maybe she will be my best friend at Nari Saurakshan Gruh ,where both of us will be growing up till our parents find us .I hear they celebrate all festivals and holidays and have good health and educational programmes. But I would rather celebrate my birthday with you; will you be able to find me by then?

I am looked after lovingly by the inmates of that institution. Instead of one mother I have many. But you know what? I miss you. Do you miss me too? I hope you do.

Today is a very special day for girls, I hear.The town has been fasting, observing Navratri before Ram Navmi, praying for health, wealth and happiness from all the avatars of Goddesses. Little girls like me are called ‘Kanjaks’ meaning incarnations of Goddesses .They will be invited at homes and people will wash their feet and bow in front of them asking to be blessed. The little giggling girls will be given goodies and gifts. If I could talk and someone asked me what I wanted for a gift, I would most certainly ask to be united with you.

They say I am a survivor, some bad people buried me alive but I called out loud from below the earth mounds and made it .They have named me after one of the sports champion in town and I hope to make my mark in this world ,as she has. I will. And just as her parents are so proud of her, I hope you and Papa will be too. :-)

Hugs and kisses,

Destiny’s child.

MEMOIRS OF A ‘TEXTOIL’ TYCOON

Memoirs of a 'textoil' tycoon.


‘A story like mine should never be known, for my world is forbidden, fragile and well, fatuous. I was born in a faraway land, in the lap of luxury, thanks to the toil of my predecessors. My childhood was the happiest phase of my life; a time when I could be and express myself and have nobody judge me for it, when friends were just that, when my surname was not an invisible decorum ;Then, I grew up.

’ Go make a life ‘, they said.’ See the world for yourself. We have set up a textile mill for you; all you have to do is run the show.’ I smiled to myself; this meant Independence, an opportunity to prove my ability. I wanted a life that was mine to live, this was going to be it or so I thought.

I had read that the Parsis considered themselves as sugar when they first arrived in Gujarat to mingle in and spread sweetness; I thought of myself as water. Water can carve its way through even stone and no matter how tough a time I would face, I was ready to work my way out from it.Ah! But I was young then, and naïve.

So, I gave up my city of joy, its club culture and cosmopolitan crowd .Trading old girlfriends for a wife, my top end car for a second hand model and a palatial mansion for a condominium that was part of the mill premises was not exactly as much adventurous fun as books otherwise make it out to be. I often wonder if that wry smile on father’s face when he talked about Surat actually meant that he knew it was part of a ‘dry state’ area. Freedom came with its own set of limitations here, I realized it much later.

A man’s power cannot be judged by his appearance alone-It’s the first lesson my mill labourers taught me as they twisted me around their little fingers. I learnt to adjust myself to filthy surroundings, gutter tongue and toxic air; the moolah mania overpowered all other senses. Competition and inflation were yet to take over, making good money was really easy; I was determined to not seek to defeat the men I was competing, I had decided to defeat their confidence, taking myself to unreachable heights.

I was quick to make it to the top slot. But dreams, alas! They can either make or break you. As you try and make them come true, you must live both the sides of that desire. With power also comes responsibility and if you cannot handle both, there will be none left.

Through the years, my life turned to routes I had never foreseen, the city took back as much as it gave, monetarily and socially. My wife switched from a veiled, head nodding docile daughter in law to a vain, haughty socialite whom I no longer recognized. Was she in the wrong company, I wondered? But then again, her inner circle was that of my community, how could I blame the city? The women in Surat are modern, I admire that, they voice their opinion, wear what they want and even as they are feminine, think themselves no less then the man they are with. They are also traditional in their own way and for an outsider to come understand and balance both, is a tall order. My children have a life of their own, and I certainly won’t be the one to write their future.

I sit back and realize the only three things that matter in life are- cricket, business and war. Understand one and you will understand all .This past week, has provided a peek into all three.

With our union still on strike against yet another price hike, I shall spend the present week thinking about my gains and loss.

One cannot read loss, only feel it. So, here I am, a lonely Lala, penning thoughts in a diary that will never be read.’

Mirza Ghalib's Shagird -Sayyah

MIRZA GHALIB’S SURTI SHAGIRD

  Nestled within the hustle bustle of the area known as Badekhan Chakla, is one of Surat’s heritage monuments - Khwaaja Daana Saheb’s Dargah.The Mausoleum of a famous saint who traveled from Agra to Baroda to Surat in the 15th century .Just as all rouzas do, this place provides for peace and quiet to staunch believers who come here to pray and pay respect. 

Circumferential to Khwaja Daana Saheb’s place of rest are various other tombs, those of his direct descendants. One among these is that of Nawab Gulam Baba Khan, a patron of Delhi’s great poet Mirza Ghalib. Next to him, is buried Sayyah-one of Ghalib’s favourite students. Although the renowned poet never visited Gujarat, he kept in touch with Gujarat’s Mirs via his wonderful letters.

 ‘Qasid ke aatey aatey khat ek aur likh rakhoon,main jaanta hoon jo who likhenge jawaab mein’ 

Ghalib tutored the glamour of Urdu grammar to many students through his impeccable penmanship and was particularly fond of Mian Dad Khan, bestowing him the pen name ‘Sayyah’, meaning traveler.Ghalib penned him thirty-five letters from 1859-1869, discussing various topics. Sayyah was a courtier at Nawab Mir Gulam Baba’s palace and it was he who introduced Ghalib to this patron.Ghalib loved to travel but in absence of good health and apt means, it was Sayyah who corresponded to him about various places in India where he traveled to.

 In the book Mirza Ghalib and the Mirs of Gujarat, author Mir Jaffar Imam shares the letters Ghalib wrote to Sayyah.The beauty of Ghalib's prose was equal to that of his verse.The personal letters written by Ghalib during his last years to the kith and kin of author Mir Jaffar Imam,show Ghalib's most vulnerable and sentimental profile.

One of them reads thus when translated- “Well if I cannot travel, I’ll content myself with the thought that ‘to hear of pleasure is to experience half of it.’ So let me enjoy the story of Mian Dad Khan Sayyah’s travels and tours.” 

Syed Zahiruddin Madani who wrote ‘Sukhanrvarne Gujarat’ mentions how Sayyah was a connoisseur of elegant and well stitched clothing and ordered the same from Delhi; he also had a penchant for perfumes and collected various ittars from around the country.Once, Mirza Ghalib sent him six caps like the one he wore himself but Sayyah gave them to Gulam Baba, wearing none himself. 

Sayyah’s luxurious lifestyle and extravagant habits led to his involvement with some people of dubious character, who printed counterfeit currency. Once, Sayyah used a counterfeit Rs.100 note at the Victoria Terminus and was sentenced to fourteen years upon getting caught but, was pardoned and set free when he wrote a verse in the honour of Queen Victoria’s jubilee celebrations. 

Although a Diwan of Sayyah ‘s works is not available, he published a book ‘Saire Sayyah’ in 1872, which was a travelogue featuring his visits to mushaiyaras in cities such as Hydrabad,Mysore,Madras,Delhi,Meerut,Lucknow,Banaras and so on. The book ‘Lataaif-e-Ghaibi’ written by Sayyah is credited to Ghalib who many scholars believe was its original writer.

 ‘Khat likehnge garche matlab kuch na ho/Hum toh aashiq hai tumhare naam ke’

 In his book ‘Surat sonani murat’, author Ishwarlal Desai has described how Ghalib and Sayyah shared a unique father and son relationship.Ghalib mostly referred to him as ‘Barkhurdar’,or ‘Munshi sahab ‘or ‘Dost’. Ghalib and Sayyah both shared the grief of losing several children none of whom survived beyond infancy. The Ustad consoled his shagird through his letters and related to his irreplaceable loss.

He conferred Sayyah with the title’Saif Ul Haq’ (the sword of God) and wrote to him”By giving you the title, I have appointed you the commander of my army. You are my hands, you are my arms, you will be the weilder of the sword of my speech.” Proud of being his ustad’s favourite, Sayyah once wrote “The shadow of grace of Ghalib has graced me, what matters if the wings of Phoenix do not bless me with their shadow.”

He further penned with great pride, “Hai talmaz Assadullah se humko Sayyah, shaayaro mein ho na kyun fakhre madar apna”

Thailand's spice and silk route

Thailand's spice and silk route

“Sorry sir,full moon night,so, no whiskey,no sexy.”said the bouncer blocking the bar entrance. The Gujaratis could not believe their ears; there they were, in Phuket, Thailand’s paradise for ‘paisawallahs’, they had all the money to spend in the world, but this ban certainly meant less bang for their buck.

“Eni behney! “Exclaimed one from the gang,”ahiya ho Poonam bharva jaay!”(they visit the temple on a full moon here too)
There is much more than the Thai‘wai’(namaste)that welcomes Indians to feel at home in Thailand; for a country where tourism thrives on the business of bars and babes-practices that are generally perceived as being outside the matrix of morality, it has staunch cultural traditions very similar to many followed within India and more so in Gujarat, which surprises first time visitors.

Business bonding

Around 8 lakh Indians visited Thailand in 2010,but Gujarat’s Shahbandars (Port men) were amongst the earliest who sailed out to its shores.During the ancient medieval times, Surat, Bharuch and Khambhat which were amongst the most active ports of the 52 which existed in Gujarat, had many traders sailing out with fine silk and spices to Thailand’s shores.Patan’s Patola silk is considered sacred and the fabric of gods there.Naturally dyed colour fast block printed cloth made by the masters of textiles in Ahmedabad was produced for export to Thailand.

Made by the Bhavsars of Ahmedabad,the cloth was known as ‘Saudagiri’-fabric meant for trade.This trade was monitored by three main corporations run by Vashi,Maskati and Baghi . The Imperial Gazeeteer notes how five workshops of Hindu and Muslim Khatris were set up in Pethapur for block printing fabrics to be exported to Thailand. The Gajjar community specially crafted wooden blocks with Thai motifs. Along with silk weaves ,cotton Kalamkar prints from Ahmedabad had high demand in Thai markets.Motifs woven within Thai silk till this date is inspired by these ancient designs.

In his book ‘The history of Thailand,’Patit Paban Mishra states how ‘spice and pepper trade in the Mediterranean by Gujarati traders resulted in the establishment of Muslim settlements in Southeast Asia.The Indian Muslims, newly converted to the religion themselves were not as orthodox as the Arabian followers of Islam.’

Gujarati entrepuener, Nishita Shah, 30, recently featured amongst Forbes magazine’s listing of Thailand’s richest.Gujarat’s Dawoodi Bohra community known to be ace businessmen were amongst the earliest trading communities to settle in Bangkok; in fact ,the oldest non-Chinese firm in Bangkok is the A.T.E. Maskati Company, established 1856 by Dawoodi Bohras of Ahmedabad who had sailed out from Surat and set up one of Thailand’s first international trading companies.

Food and culture.

Gujarat’s Khatri community too abstains from both meat and alcohol during full moon nights and a visit to the temple particularly that of Mahalakshmi is mandatory. Just as the evil eye is warded off by burning it back here, butter paper lanterns are lit and let up to burn out above the beaches of pristine sea waters there.

More than 94 % of Thailand’s population follows Theravada Buddhism which historians believe was spread via the messengers of Ashoka the great Indian king , locals believe in Ramakien –a Thai version of Ramayana..Over the years,Thailand has also preserved its Hindu characteristics acquired from Khshatriya immigrant colonies,via peaceful non political methods and more so by means of marriage.Traders who sailed out to Southeast Asia,often ended up marrying local women and settling there for good.Later,when their off springs were married back into Gujarat,they brought with them a varied Thai cuisine and long before fancy Thai restaurants were opened up in our country, Khatri home makers were conjuring up coconut and peanut curries tinged with lemongrass roots within the local kitchens.

Many Brahmins, who sailed there with Kshatriya kings settled in Thailand and were adopted into royalty and also performed coronation ceremonies. Indian themes thus got ingrained within Thai forms of dance and dramas. Method of worship is similar as Hindus, as are our Gods from Ganesha to Brahma.

Thousands flock the Sri Mariamman temple in Bangkok during Navratri .Bangkok's sacred destination - temple of Emerald Buddha has Ramayan depicted on its walls.A lot of retail shops in Thailand even within fancy malls begin the day by playing a recording of the Hanuman chalisa.

Geographically,the only link that connects India to Thailand are the lowest crags of the Himalayas ,foothills of which line Northern Thailand; its Salawin river flirts with Myanmar before flooding our Bay of Bengal. Surat and Tapi are names that read on the maps of both these two different countries which have similar customs. While Gujarat’s spices and silk enrich their day to day life, fruits imported from Thailand's 'Fruit Garden city'-Surat Thani, like Ramabutan, Mangosteen and Durian are now available here too. Along with similar English language speaking skills (or rather the lack of same) we also retain the title of being ‘city of good people.’

Alam Ara -India's first talkie.

MORE ARA FOR ALAM

Last week Google’s doodle commemorated India’s first talkie, Alam Ara, turning it into one of online’s hottest hits of the day.

Made 80 years ago, our country’s first ‘all singing, talking and dancing’ movie seems to have been silenced forever, since, it’s last existing print perished in a fire at the National Film Archives of India, 2003.

 A milestone for Bollywood, this movie that also set the hallmark for popular Indian cinema with the song and dance routine has another strong Surti connect besides its heroine Zubeida.

“Alam Ara was an instant runaway hit that ran for seven weeks at Mumbai’s Majestic cinema, four annas tickets were black marketed for Rs.5 and Rs.6 an astonishing price in those days.” informs music writer Adil Bhoja,further pointing out that Imperial Movie –tone was co owned by a Surti.”In the silent era, and even much later movies were screened in pitched tents with a screen and a few accompanied musicians. A Surti by the name of Abdullally Esoofally was a leading exhibitor of silent movies. In a bid to settle down, he bought the Alexandra Theatre in Bombay in 1914 and went on to build the Majestic Theatre in 1918 along with his partner- Ardeshir Irani.Together they formed Imperial Film Company and released Alam Ara in 1931.”

Abdullally Esoofally was an enterprising Surti, born here in 1884; this pioneer tent showman traded in global cinema. He would take his projector, folding screen and a fifty by hundred foot tent that could host a thousand spectators and venture to spread the magic of cinema through India and Asia, exhibiting operas, comedies and actualities like travelogues and sports events, with live music from tabla-sarangi and harmonium players.With Alam Ara also began the profession of penning dialogues for cinema; India’s first writer of which was Joseph David, a Bene Israeli Jew .

The script was written in lighter vein to appeal lay audiences similar to the way they are now. David’s great grand daughter, Joanna Ezekiel a writer herself, now settled in the UK says that ,”Although he had minimal schooling and had joined Parsi Imperial theatre as a stagehand who got small improvisational roles as an actor, Joseph David Penkar was soon noticed for his talent with words and music. Fluent in Indian and Hebrew as well as the English language, he had a passion for plays and the influence of mythological tales from all these languages was detectable in Alam Ara.I am proud that my Jewish ancestor wrote a script that was enjoyed alike by Hindus,Muslims,Jews ,Christians and other religions alike. Sentimental? Yes, but then, that’s Bollywood.”

Paging through The Encyclopedia of Hindi Cinema proved one thing for certain, that the main lead Master Vithal –superstar of the silent era had little to do in the film; being poor at Hindi diction which was the need of the hour then, he was shown magically dumbstruck and was either in a trance or unconscious through most of the film.  It was here that Prithiviraj Kapoor’s thunderous booming voice scored and secured a successful future for this character actor who went on to establish the iconic Kapoor clan.Prithviraj Kapoor played the role of Adil,as Zubeida’s father in the film.

Surat’s Zubeida who played the lead role held centre stage with her enigma. Writer Urvish Kothari, a connoisseur of vintage music who owns a booklet on Alam Ara, printed in Gujarati, points out that, “Alam Ara was the name of the heroine, which is interesting considering the fact that it was not a known name that belonged to any historical /mythological character that people could identify with.”

It was Ardeshir Irani’s belief in this spitfire Surti superstar who went to provide ‘paisa vasool’entertainment for the enthusiastic public.It was she who made it eternal, like it’s name-Alam Ara-Light of the World, glowing in our memory forever.