Monday, 30 December 2013

on Ittars... (Deccan Herald, 1 Dec 2013)


The fragrance of royalty


Delhi’s Nizamuddin is better known for Sufi saint Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya’s dargah (mausoleum). 

Walking towards it, one cannot miss the waft of fragrances that awaken and enliven our senses. During my last visit, instead of going straight to the dargah, I took a narrow lane and found myself in an exquisite ittar market. Glass-panelled shops with beautiful crystal bottles holding perfume oils enchanted the passers-by.

Walking into one of the shops, I started a conversation with the owner, Mohammad Faizan (23 years), who is taking forward his father’s business. “My father came to Delhi some 60 years ago from Bulandshahr in Uttar Pradesh, and he started this business for Islamic reasons. There is sunnat in it, and no work is considered purer,” Faizan tells me. This reminds me of Eid, when it is customary for every Muslim man and woman to apply ittar. Muslim men also wear ittar on Fridays for their jumma prayers.

Ittar, a term with Persian roots, is natural perfume oil derived from herbs, flowers and wood. The Arabic word is attar. The oil, obtained through hydro or steam distillation, is aged. No alcohol is used in ittars. Hence, unlike synthetic perfumes, ittars are worn directly on the body: insides of wrists, behind ears, insides of elbow joints and back of the neck.

History relates that the Mughal nobles of India were great patrons of these oils. The Jasmine ittar was a particular favourite of the Nizams of Hyderabad. It is also mentioned in Ain-e-Akbari by Abul Fazal that Emperor Akbar used ittar on a daily basis. 

It is also said that a Mughal princess’ bath was incomplete without ittar; particularly Oud which was, and is, prepared in Assam. Legend has it that Mughal Empress Noor Jehan discovered one of the most expensive and exotic ittars, Rooh-e-Gulab, while in her bath. 
Faizan informs, “Our Indian products are home-based and mostly come from Kannauj in Uttar Pradesh.” It is today the ‘Ittar city’ or the perfume city of India. 

“Our products have varied markets within and outside India. Oud is most in demand outside India, especially in the Gulf.” He tells me that Oud is like wine, gets better and more expensive with time. “Oud starts at Rs 10,000 for 10 grams and can go up to lakhs, often auctioned. This perfumed oil is mostly for the royal families of Saudi Arabia.” 

And that, “Arabs don’t use it as perfume 70 per cent of the time; they mostly use it as an aphrodisiac. The perfume increases the body pressure.” 

The Indian government apparently, reveals Faizan, has put a ban on the export of Oud since its source Agarwood (dark resinous heartwood) is a rarity. “Arabs mostly come all the way to Delhi and Mumbai to purchase them.”

The popular ittars within India, Faizan tells me, are the flower extracts Raat ki Rani and Bela. “But these perfume oils, in natural form, come very costly because of the processing mechanism. Hence identical products, not natural but made of essential oils, are in demand in Indian markets.” 

Though ittar has a steady clientele, Faizan states that pure ittar is almost a thing of the past because of its price. “People, especially youngsters, can’t afford pure ittar and so go for western perfumes available in good price.” But he does admit that they get clients from diverse religious backgrounds and not just Muslims. Besides, they get corporate demands too. 

“Denim makers approach us for water-based ittars. When denim is being processed, the heavy chemicals used leave a very pungent smell. To remove this smell, they use water-soluble ittars.”

Faizan shows me a bottle of Ruhkhas, which is used in summer for its cooling effect. “The more you sweat, more will the fragrance last,” he says. 

Then he dabs a drop of some bliss on my right wrist. It is Shamama-tul-amber, he tells me, which is priced at Rs 1,200 for 10 ml. “It is made of garam masala (Indian spices), amber (a rare extract from the Salmon) and sandal oil. It is in huge demand in the Gulf and India and all other cold places. It keeps you warm.” 

On my left wrist, he adds a dash of Oud. I came back smelling divine, with fragrances on me that survived two showers.

Sunday, 15 December 2013

My short story, "That summer" published by Writers Asylum


My short story story, "That summer" has been published by Writers Asylum. An excerpt:

"I loved Aita not only because she was my mother’s mother but mostly because she was a child like me, at least, at heart. I have always remembered her as this frail old woman with hair as white as cotton tied in a bun that looked more like a pig’s tail. She would be there at the gate in her starched mekhela chadars and toothless smile, waiting to welcome us every time we went. I have never known her in any other image. She would wait for me to come during my month-long summer and winter vacations, bathe in the rain with me, make bird houses with me, pick lice from my hair, make me sleep with her at night and tell bedtime stories. Grandma’s place at Digboi, in one of the northernmost corners of Assam, was my favorite playground. Every time, there would be a new calf or a pigeon, duck, cat, dog, or plant for me to get excited about. And there would be some new story too to keep me occupied during the stay.

Like that summer, in the early 1990s, when Aita took me to the gooseberry tree by the pond behind the house. “Living in the town has destroyed your skin. Look at you!” she told me, holding me by the hand and leading me through the backyard towards the pond. “Your skin hangs on you like a tortoise’s shell when it should be soft and glowing. You need to eat lots and lots of gooseberries.” As we neared the pond, Aita let out a strict, “Be careful now! I don’t want you in the pond. Just follow me!”
As I nodded, she placed a step on the tiny patch of land between the gooseberry tree and the pond, her foot slipped and she went sliding into the pond. It all happened so fast that Aita’s shout came out only after she had landed in the pond. I thought I was imagining things when a little fish leapt out of the water and almost fell into her open mouth crying out in horror."

Wednesday, 4 December 2013

Cherra in my mind

I blurted out "Cherrapunji" when a couple of us were discussing our favorite places in the world. It's not that I've grown up there or keep visiting it every now and then. It was just a visit in 2008, with my parents and Dulu jethu and Munu jethai, that did it for me. The wettest place on earth before Mawsynram (also in Meghalaya) claimed the title, Cherrapunji is about 4-5 hours from Shillong (by road) and we were wondering, as we made the trip, why on earth had we not visited it before! Considering the fact that we often traveled to Shillong, which is at a two hour drive from Guwahati, my home town. 

Here, I get together a photo essay from my 2008 trip. I don't know why but Cherra is in my mind today!

on the way to Cherrapunji from Shillong

a shop by the roadside selling mustard green pickles, my favorite!


the beautiful Cherra sky

the Cherra hills

in Meghalaya, a common sight is of women running shops and stalls by the roadside and at marketplaces

women running the show in one of the roadside stalls at Cherra 

a bunch of interesting people we met. I (extreme right, standing) pose with them.

megaliths (burial mounds) inside a village in Cherra
 
the Cherra sky - clear and blue

such fresh air that when I look at these photographs even today, I can smell the crisp air!

We stayed at the breathtaking Cherrapunji Holiday Resort

here I am taking in the beauty of the place!

at Cherrapunji Holiday Resort

the little lady who made our stay at the resort comfortable :)


Carmela, who along with her Andhra husband Dennis, owns the lovely Cherrapunji Holiday Resort

we pose with the village boys who came to the resort in the evening to sing for us. they were so talented! 


     

Tuesday, 3 December 2013

My latest short story published - "The cabbie and the Madamji"

My latest short story "The cabbie and the Madamji" has been published by Writers Asylum.

Excerpt:

"He said his name was Dharam Pal Singh and he showered Neha with utmost respect. “How far have you studied, Madamji?” he once asked Neha as he took her to The Claridges for a meeting. “PhD,” she replied.
“Have you done B.A.?”
“Oh. Yes,” Neha tried not to laugh.
“My son’s also done his B.A. and has now joined my taxi service. He can speak in English, you know!” Dharam Pal announced proudly. And then he went into the story of how diligent and efficient his son is and that they got him married right after his B.A. because he was quite a catch and there were many parents of girls after him. “His B.A. fetched him quite a dowry, you know?” he winked at Neha when their eyes met in the rear view mirror. “He now has a two year old daughter and his wife is pregnant again; hopefully it will be a boy this time.” Neha wanted to say something, but she deemed it better to keep quiet.
As they were about to take the turn towards Claridges, Dharam Pal said, “I am sure my son could have got a job like you. After all he is educated like you. But I need him for my taxi service, you see, to expand my business. So he had to make a sacrifice for his father. I am sure God will reward him well for this.”
Neha’s office is located in Noida, across the Yamuna. But she has to move around the whole of Delhi NCR on official duty. On a few occasions before, Dharam Pal had chauffeured her to and fro from the office to the ministry offices at Nirman Bhavan. He wasn’t an employee with her organization, but his taxi stand was close to their office and so his services were taken for most of the traveling around by her colleagues. So a kind of unwritten contract existed between Dharam Pal and her office. And if ever Dharam Pal got to know that her office has used the services of another taxi provider, he would come over and create quite a tantrum at the reception. In the last six months that Dharam Pal had got to know Neha, he had also taxied her to the Indira Gandhi National Airport once when she was flying out of the country on work."

Friday, 22 November 2013

shopping at Duty Free :)


Every time someone I knew flew out of the country, they came back raving about duty free shopping at the international airports. So I really looked forward to duty free shopping when my turn came. But when a friend recently asked me how has been my experience, I went blank. Now I know why I went blank: my mind’s still dazzled by the sight of the sparkling shops, much like that of a child who finds herself in a mela! I became a consumer of sights more than a consumer of products (primarily and sadly because I had little money)! And I must admit that although I am more of a person who loves to shop at local markets for local products, I was more than happy being a consumer of the sparkling sights at the Indira Gandhi International Airport, Delhi and Heathrow, London.

It was in 2011 that I was in Heathrow; and I picked up two bottles of flavored drinking water by mistake. I saw the price on the shelves, and since it went with the price of flavored drinking water outside, I picked up a bottle. The guy at the counter told me that at that price, I was getting two at Duty Free. And he fetched another bottle of the same for me. My first experience with the glory of Duty Free shopping that was. I was full of glee. But as luck could have it, I couldn’t finish one bottle at one go, which left me with two bottles and I had no space in my hand baggage for even one bottle! Plus, my hands were occupied with the hand bag, the laptop bag, a huge coat and a stole that slipped from my shoulders to my hands every now and then. My hands, in other words, were full and they couldn’t occupy themselves with any more stuff like the two bottles of my recently purchased flavored drinking water. So, I somehow finished one bottle (gulped more than half of the precious stuff down my throat because I didn’t want to throw it in the bin) and left the other bottle with the amused counter guy.



Back in Delhi, at the Indira Gandhi International Airport, I completed the rest of my shopping. I had picked up little souvenirs for family and friends from places here and there in England. But, as is the case with me, I knew people loved chocolates as gifts. In Delhi Duty Free (http://www.delhidutyfree.co.in/), I bought chocolates like crazy. My husband, who had lived in Berlin for a while, always got chocolates from Duty Free when he came home. “You get the same brands at good price, plus you don’t have to carry a load all the way!” I remembered his words and shopped like crazy. As I was walking out, a brother-in-law’s favorite Johnny Walker Black Label caught my eye. I checked the price, it was incredible! I quickly bought it for him. And resisted the urge to buy a couple more considering the mountain of chocolates I already was carrying.




This is it as far as my Duty Free shopping experiences are concerned, but I know people who have bought TVs in Dubai Duty Free, like 2-3 TVs at a time for themselves and family. And only last week, a friend coming back to India got so busy at Delhi Duty Free that he left his luggage at the baggage collection belt unattended! 


SPECIAL NOTE:Thank you Blogmint (www.blogmint.com), India’s first and only paid bloggers network, for letting me share my Duty Free experiences! 

Monday, 11 November 2013

My latest short story "She worked in a spa" (published by Writers Asylum)


My short story "She worked in a spa" has been published by Writers Asylum. An excerpt:

"She was quiet, shy and highly attractive; and she lived like she never belonged there. We lived opposite each other, in flats set upon a narrow lane at Malviya Nagar Khirki Extension, one of the many bustling and bursting middle class colonies in Delhi. Our balconies almost touched one another, jutting out of our fourth floor flats. And often we passed smiles from our balconies, even exchanged a few words at times. I was living there for three years, she came a year after. I was putting clothes to dry in the balcony when she arrived in an autorickshaw. Behind it came a small van with a bed, a wooden almirah, three-four suitcases, a chair, a table and three buckets full of utensils. From all the stuff that emerged out of the autorickshaw and the van, it seemed she must have been around in the city for a couple of years.
I saw her arrange her rooms from my room behind the balcony. We all lived in two-room sets, rooms that were set one after the other like train coaches. So our bedrooms were partially visible from the other side, despite the curtains put up for privacy. She often moved about her flat in shorts that highlighted her beautiful legs and tank tops that clung to her beautifully toned body. Her skin shone like gold and there was something extremely attractive about her. No wonder she flaunted it, I thought. But with time, as I understood it, she wasn’t flaunting her beautiful skin and body, she was just being herself! The way she walked and talked complemented the casual manner of her dressing. And she was friendly in a very casual way. As if she couldn’t decide if she liked me."

Read the whole story at http://www.writersasylum.in/2013/11/fiction/she-worked-in-a-spa/

Sunday, 10 November 2013

The extraordinary stories in our ordinary lives: The story of a Muslim daughter-in-law

Shahida and I were roommates at Kamrupa hostel when we were pursuing our Bachelor's degree from Delhi University, in the early 2000s. We used to pray together. In the mornings when I would place an incense stick in front of my little Ganeshji on the study table, she would come and stand by me. I would go and sit with her when she performed her namaaz. We fought and hated certain things in each other, but were very fond of and learnt a lot from each other too. Later, when I married a Muslim and she a Hindu, we joked that God perhaps got confused who was Hindu, who was Muslim because we both prayed together!

               catching up with Shahida after many years. with our husbands. Mumbai 2010

Many moons ago, when I was about eleven or twelve years old, Dad and I were forced to move our car into the nearest garage, somewhere near Guwahati Medical College, when it suddenly broke down on the road. It was some minor thing that had to be fixed, thankfully, and dad and I spent the next fifteen minutes with the owner of the garage while his men worked on our car. Dad and the man started chit chat and I, in the absence of any attractive option, listened on. A little into the exchange of pleasantries and the man started lamenting about the hurt his Muslim daughter-in-law was hurling at his family. "She performs Namaaz. She refuses to apply sindoor," seemed to be what had disturbed him and his wife most. And I remember being furious at him (maybe, my soul knew what was in store for me several years later!) and telling my dad later when we were on the car again that the man was insulting his daughter-in-law by talking about her to people like that; and that now that she was family and living with them, he should accept her for what she is, how she is no matter how bad or good that is for him. And my dad gave his consent to my opinion (maybe his soul also knew what was in store for me several years later!) No wonder my dad and I are soulmates :)

Anyways, I am glad that things have turned differently for me and a few of my friends who have got into inter-religious marriages. My father-in-law is unabashed about the fact that he has a Hindu daughter-in-law; and for the past five years he has regularly wished me on every Diwali. It goes without saying that this gesture means a lot to me. So is the case with my friend Shahida Hussain, married to Deepanjan Ghosh. Her in-laws have never cried about her being a Muslim, even while considering the fact that Deep is their only child. They could have harbored ideas about a daughter-in-law from their own culture, community, (Shahida is an Assamese and Deep a Bengali) etc. etc. But nothing like that. Shahida's in-laws are nothing like the man I encountered in that garage in Guwahati years ago. They don't freak out at the sight of their Muslim daughter-in-law performing the namaaz. And acceptance came quite naturally to not only her parents-in-law but also extended family like grandparents and uncles, aunties and of course the cousins. 

A few years ago, Shahida, a senior manager in a bank, and her husband (an IT professional) got themselves posted to Kolkata to be with the latter's parents, retired and settled in the city. They live together and there is not a single festival that is not celebrated in that house: Eid, Diwali, Janmashtami...etc. Shahida jokes that Christmas is the only festival when she enjoys a holiday; "all other festivals are celebration at home so lot of work and preparations!" Her late father-in-law had told her on last Eid that this celebration should never cease to be observed at this household. "The year he expired, as a Hindu custom, all festivals in the family were not celebrated except for Eid, which the extended family got together at my place to celebrate to respect one of Baba's last wishes," Shahida says.

Ayaan stays at home with his Thamma (paternal grandma) the whole day when his parents are at work. Shahida had feared that like many of her working friends and colleagues with long corporate working hours, the mother-child relationship would get affected. "But fortunately it has not happened with me. And it is mainly because of MA, my mother-in-law. MA would always keep saying good things about me to Ayaan. Also would explain to him why his mummum (Ayaan refers to his mom as such) goes to office. Of course being with his grandma makes Ayaan least worried about his mother's absence!" speaks Shahida with a lot of gratitude for her mother-in-law.

"My Hindu mother-in-law encourages my son to learn namaaz from me," reveals Shahida. And in a lighter vein adds, "But the little one gets a bit confused at times and starts bowing his head in sajda in his grandmother's worship place, which is full of Hindu deities! Ayaan understands Assamese because his father was strict that all lullabies and child talk that I had with him during his infancy were in his technical mother tongue, i.e. Assamese." 

After her father-in-law's death recently, Shahida's family comprises of her husband, child, mother-in-law and Kaku. "Deep's father and Kaku were good friends who decided to stay together post retirement. So they built their houses in the same apartment and shared their lives together for a couple of years till one friend departed. Kaku is a renowned neurosurgeon of the country and a Brahmin by birth. So the same roof houses a Brahmin and a Muslim who are bound in a father-daughter bond. Kaku is a father figure for both Deep and me and is the Nanaji of Ayaan."

Ayaan 's  full name is Ayaan S Ghosh. He gets the "S" (Syed) from his mother. Shahida wanted it in his name and the family made it happen. 

I post here a few pictures from Shahida's album.

                 Shahida with her husband Deepanjan and son Ayaan on Eid. Home, Kolkata.


                       Shahida celebrates Durga Puja with Deepanjan and Ayaan. Kolkata.


                      Little Ayaan all dressed to celebrate Rongali Bihu, the Assamese New Year

At times I can but only wonder how a person who is truly educated in the holistic sense of the term, will always preach and practice tolerance for diversity. Will not seek to impose one's way of life on others, because the person will know that there is not just one way of life just as there is not one single way to claim God. This wisdom comes with holistic education, whether that education has been received in an institution or outside it. And I have noticed, in many cases, wisdom and education has nothing to do with the premiere institutes you go to. I guess, forgive me for my audacity, one has to be blessed to gain this enlightenment. It frees the spirit immensely. Shahida and I are lucky to have wise people around us. Who love us. Who support us. Who let us be.
  

Zaara’s video blog :)

My 7 year old daughter wants to start a video blog. I asked her what she wanted to do with it. She said, she would describe the books she l...