O' Delhi, Delhi Oh!

An almost same-sex marrige in Delhi in 1880's

2011-09-13T17:37:00.000-07:00

This amusing incident is mentioned by Rev. G. A. Lefroy, the Head of the Cambridge Mission at Delhi during the 1880's, while describing part of his duties in a paper written in 1884*. Among his other responsibilities Rev. Lefroy was the marriage-registry-officer for the native congregation in Delhi. As he puts it -

I ought perhaps to make a slight exception in my own case, for I have recently been entrusted with an office which involves the outlay of some little time and thought, though I fear it scarcely receives so much of either as it deserves considering the magnitude of the interests involved. The office to which I refer is that of marriage-registry-officer for the native congregation in Delhi, by which I would have you understand nothing in the most remote degree connected with the celebrant of secular as opposed to religious nuptials, but a kind of central confidant for all the eligible young persons of both sexes in the neighbourhood to whom they may entrust, together with a short statement of their personal advantages, their hopes and longings with reference to the married state, and whose effort it is to arrange and bring to completion such unions as may seem to contain the greatest promise of a long and happy domestic life. The office is perhaps a somewhat peculiar as well as delicate one, and for the relief of any of the weaker brethren who may find in this a singular outlet for monastic energy, and it may be even stumble thereat, I may perhaps explain a little further the circumstances out of which such a state of things have arisen. The problem is in reality a simple one. One of the very first and chiefest aims in life of the parents here, I allude, of course, more especially to the class of which I am at present speaking, is to secure betimes the suitable betrothal of their children. I say betrothal, because it is in this country a ceremony wholly distinct from marriage, and often preceding it by many years, taking place at any age between two and twelve years old, earlier perhaps, but not later without very grave reason or incurring the risk of serious responsibility. The conditions of such suitability in the mind of the anxious Father are chiefly three, (a) That the parents of the other child should be living, or failing this, that there be some other responsible person able and prepared to undertake the expense of the marriage feast, etc.; (b) that the partner selected be, if possible, lighter, at any rate not darker in colour than his own offspring; and (c) that he or she come of a stock not only unconnected by blood with his own, but even without the slighter, and as it would appear to us not wholly undesirable bond of friendship or even casual acquaintanceship. It is on these lines that I have to work, and the method of action is not difficult. I enter in a book the names of all children for the disposal of whose hand and fortune no other engagement has already been made, and whose parents express their wish that such should take place by Christian rites, and then, whenever a father intimates to me that he is desirous to conclude a betrothal for his olive-branch, I try to select a partner, fulfilling as far as possible the above conditions.Sometimes negotiation is required to carry a proposed engagement to a successful issue.

He then describes the faux-pas, same-sex marriage not being a favorite dish then in India, or even now for that matter-

This was notably the case in one instance which occurred some time back. An engagement had been suggested between two parties who seemed in all respects suitably matched, the age especially being all that could be desired, as the boy was eight and the girl six years old, but unfortunately the boy's father, who lived in a village a little distance from Delhi, and had some difficulties about accepting exclusively Christian rites, hung back. I arranged to go and talk the matter over with him, but so serious did his objections seem in the mind of those who knew him best that, on the day in question, I was deserted by all those who among our little Daryaganj flock are usually my heartiest supporters in these simple and earnest efforts for the domestic prosperity and happiness of our Christian brotherhood, and left to bear the brunt of the battle, and probably the burden of defeat, alone. Nothing daunted I girded myself up for the task, summoned the whole male population of the village, for I need scarcely explain that these are matters of absolutely general interest, in which every 'bhai' or member of the caste has an almost equal vote with the father, and urged my case so vigorously that in a couple of hours' time a successful issue was reached, and the engagement there and then (in the absence it is true of the girl, but of what consequence was that?) formally completed. This piece of successful diplomacy brought my fame as a match maker (if a word of so questionable a character can be applied to functions so pure and lofty) up to fever heat, and applications for engagements flowed in apace. Unfortunately amid this press of business an accident, such as may occur in even the best managed institutions, happened, which, for the moment at least, caused a complete reaction, for, by the slightest clerical error in the entry of the names in my book, I almost succeeded in bringing together in the important betrothal rite two young persons, admirably matched in almost every other respect but both, by an amusing coincidence, of the male sex. For a time this unfortunate incident, causing as it somehow seemed to do a most unfavourable impression, completely stopped the run on my office, but I have little doubt that by renewed efforts and a still more scrupulous attention to even the slightest wishes of my clients my previous proud position may be before long regained.

(emphasis mine)

Same-sex marriage - not here buddy!

Do excuse the title of this post - it is, of course, much exaggerated to catch your attention, like all good advertising and all insincere political promises. But the read was worth it, admit it!

*The leather-workers of Daryaganj by the Rev. G. A. Lefroy, M.A., Cambridge Mission, Delhi, 1884

An beguiling couple

2011-09-13T16:45:00.000-07:00

Fascinating creatures, these-

A couple of peacocks at the Delhi zoo

Panorama of Chunnalmal's haveli

2011-09-13T16:16:00.000-07:00

Another panoramic image of Old Delhi. This is the historic haveli of Chunna Mal (sometimes also written as Chunnamal) in Chandni Chowk.

Seth Chunnamal was at one time perhaps the richest and the most influential Indian in Shahjahanbad. This was in the turbulent years after the revolt(mutiny) of 1857. His haveli(mansion) in the central street of Shahjahanbad is an extensive building that used to be in its heyday a cynosure of all eyes. It is still fairly well preserved, unlike many other fascinating structures in the same area that are crumbling and decaying into nothingness.Unfortunately, we in India are not strong on historical preservation.We will fight, agitate and become violent at some some perceived 'insult' to some historical personality even as the monuments that truly embody our heritage rot and disintegrate. I made a film about it called the Losing Heritage- the case of Chunnamal's haveli.

The historic haveli of Chunna Mal in Chandni Chowk - click for a larger image

Delhi in panoramic photos

2011-09-13T15:50:00.000-07:00

Starting a new feature on this blog -panoramic images of Delhi. First off the mark, the historic Gurudwara Sis Ganj and it's surroundings located in the old city of Delhi, known in Mughal times as Shahjahanabad.

Panoramic image of Gurudwara Sis Ganj -click to see larger image

It's no good posting a panorama if you don't click it to see it in it's extensive glory.So do click on the image.

Children have all the fun

2011-05-26T06:28:00.000-07:00

Cooling down after school at the India Gate.

Golden God

2011-05-26T06:22:00.000-07:00

Lord Buddha at the Tibetan Monastery in Delhi

Narayani Gupta vs. William Dalrymple on Ghalib

2011-03-13T04:37:00.000-07:00

I posted on this interesting story -the Ghalib-Thompson incident- earlier at The Liberty Blog. Here it is again-

When I read this in Narayani Gupta's book Delhi Between Two Empires, pg 9, I knew it stank (or as we say in India, mera maatha thanka!) -

Ghalib, like others, realized that the British had come to stay, and shrewdly thought that a qasida to the Queen would be a useful investment. But he went that far and no further. When Thomson, the provincial Secretary, treated him boorishly, Ghalib sacrificed the offer of an appointment at Delhi College, though he desperately needed a steady income to cushion him against his extravagances and his gambling debts.

Ghalib -The proud poet

And sure enough. William Dalrymple describes the incident in greater detail in the Last Mughal, pg 129-130 -

Ghalib, like many writers before and since, suffered from the potentially combustible combination of expensive tastes, a keen sense of his own worth and insufficient financial resources to support either. Always precarious, his finances had become especially troubled after his sense of personal honour compelled him to turn down the lucrative chance to become the Persian Professor at Delhi College. Ghalib had arrived at Delhi College in his palanquin having being invited to apply for the new post. But after reaching the college gate, he refused to enter until Mr Thomason, the secretary, came and welcomed him, as he insisted his aristocratic status dictated. After a long stand-off, Mr Thomason came out personally and explained that a formal welcome was appropriate when he attended the Governor's durbar, but not in the present case, when he came as a candidate for employment.

Ghalib replied, 'I contemplated taking a government appointment in the expectation that this would bring me greater honour than I now receive, not a reduction in those already accorded to me .' The secretary replied, 'I am bound by regulations.' 'Then I hope you will excuse me,' Ghalib said, and came away.

What a difference in the two narrartives! And I don't mean the detail.

Ms.Gupta leaves an impression of Ghalib being a victim of colonial arrogance - you know, those racist, rude British that pepper our films and stories and official histories.The truth, as in the account of Dalrymple, appears just the opposite. It is Ghalib who in his aristocratic loftiness and vanity did himself much harm while Mr.Thomson(or Thomason) was politely correct and rule bound.

Mr. Thomson has long left this earth, of course but I hope that Ms.Gupta would do the departed soul justice and correct her description of the events.

The Cat on Jahanara's tomb

2011-03-10T03:41:00.000-08:00

More cats, this time on the latticed enclosure of Mughal princess Jahanara's grave, right next the dargah(shrine) of the saint Hazrat Nizamuddin Aulia (d. 1325 A.D.)

The inscription on the tomb reads as follows:

He is the Living, the Sustaining.
Let no one cover my grave except with greenery,
for this very grass suffices as a tomb cover for the poor.
The annihilated fakir Lady Jahanara,
Disciple of the lords of Chisht,
Daughter of Shah Jahan the Warrior
(may God illuminate his proof).

Interestingly there's a novel on Jahanara by John Shors-
The Life of a Mogul Princess Jahanara Begum: Daughter of Shahjahan

Unfortunately I haven't yet read it, so I cannot comment on it.

Feeding the felines

2011-03-10T03:03:00.000-08:00

Cats in Delhi are everywhere.

And speaking of winters

2011-03-09T19:01:00.000-08:00

Speaking of winters, I posted this last year at The Liberty Blog-

Lovat Fraser writing in 1903 had this to say* of Delhi winters-

I never dreamed of this, and I cannot stand it. I should think there is nothing in the world like the cold of Delhi. It is not that it is severe; it is the quality of it that knocks you over. Dry cold in other places is invigorating and stimulating. This is a sort of dead cold, and reduces you to a clammy corpse. It creeps in everywhere; the thickest overcoats are not proof against it. From ten in the morning to five in the afternoon I live; then the climate is delightful. But that is just the time when I want to be out seeing things; and when I start at night to write, my brain is congealed. It will not work, not will my hand hold the pen. Do you know how I wrote my last letter? My servant kept replenishing a basin of hot water on the table, and I dipped my fingers into it at the end of every sentence. How can I write decently under such conditions? And this is your coral strand! Never will I grumble at the English winter again.

*Lovat Fraser. At Delhi. Bombay: Times of India; London:W.Thacker&Co.,
1903. pp. 55-6.

Paradise passeth

2011-03-09T18:29:00.000-08:00

Sadly the winter passeth away. I shall miss snuggling into a rajai (quilt) with a favorite book. One of the best feelings in the world. Imitating the Mughal emperor Jahangir*, one can say -

Gar bar-ru-e-zamin ast; hamin ast, hamin ast, hamin asto!

If there is paradise anywhere on earth, it is here, it is here, it is here!

And that paradise is in the security of the quilt. It's a whole different world in there.

Mughal emperor Jahangir with a sufi saint,1618

*Jahangir said this about Kashmir, his favorite place.

Gymming gods

2011-03-09T18:02:00.000-08:00

At a temple near Delhi Gate, an image of a lean and muscular god.

Do the gods go gymming?