zor kor veshive sahlaban

Bank of Jhelum somewhere outside of Srinagar. 2010.



buji aki dop yi kya didi gom
kasabay osum su kot didi gom
su ha didi nyunay gura aban
zor kor veshive sahlaban

Said an old granny in a wild flurry,
“Oh, woe is me! Oh, woe is me!
O where’s my headgear?”
“O granny dear, O granny dear,
The yellow flood has carried it off.”
The Vishav has overflown her banks.

A Kashmiri limerick displaying from  J.L Kaul’s Kashmiri Lyrics (first published in 1945. revised and edited by Neerja Mattoo (2008)).
Vishav, fed by Kaunsarnag lake, is a tributary of Jhelum which it meets at Bijbehara..
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Zooni, the great film that never got finished

[Cross posted on my other blog about other thoughts that inundate my mind]

Dimple Kapadia puts on makeup as she gets ready to shoot for ‘Zooni’.
A Kashmiri crowd, of mostly teenagers, looks on. 1989.

Came across this beautiful image in ‘Mary McFadden: high priestess of high fashion : a life in haute couture, décor, and design’ [ at Google Books, check it out for her story about the film that never got finished]

In a New York Times article dated 1990 [link], she is quoted saying:

‘This is like a Cecil B. de Mille production, with 1,000 people in two village to dress. There are no records of how people looked, and no miniatures like other places. I took a melange of looks from the high courts of Persia and Suleiman the Magnificent in Constantinople, so they have more of a Persian feeling. The Mogul Empire had not yet influenced Kashmir.’

For much of late 1980s, Muzaffar Ali, back then already acknowledged a master filmaker for his cinematic rendering of Urdu novel “Umrao Jan Ada” (1905) by Mirza Haadi Ruswa telling the story of a 19th century Lucknow courtesan , was busy planning his next big project, cinematic rendering of the folklore surrounding 16th century Kashmiri poet-empress Habba Khatoon, known to her people as Zooni.

This film was going to be his masterpiece, a project so ambitious in its approach to the subject, an attempt so detailed in its planned execution that it would have been absurd to call it an Indian film at all. Who had heard of a well researched Indian film?

American designer Mary McFadden did the costume designs. Art historian Stuart Cary Welch was  consulted for getting the feel of the era right. The two men behind Umrao Jaan’s musical soundtrack weaved something special for this one too: Akhlaq Mohammed Khan ‘Shahryar’ offered lyrics while Khayyam put those words to music. With his plans to shot the film on location in Kashmir, there was the need to capture the intrinsic beauty of the locale, its people and of the story on camera. The scenic beauty of Kashmir needs to be approached either with a certain restrain or, on the opposite end of the spectrum, with a feeling of Fanaa (not to be confused with that nasty ‘eye of needle meets I don’t know what’ film). Camera was handled by Basheer Ali, a new talent, a protegee of Ishan Arya, the cinematographer for M.S. Sathyu’s Garam Hawa (1975). You would have had to watch the film to know which way it went. The project had already taken some time in making. But it seemed like something worth waiting. Dimple Kapadia, was moving from her nadir of Zakhmi Aurat and on way to her zenith of Rudali. Maybe Zooni was going to be her zenith. Vinod Khanna was well past his peak and well passed his Osho days. But if he was still man enough to sell soaps, he was man enough to portray a king, he already looked the part, riding a horse in that popular soap ad, there was going to be much galloping in this film too (the age of galloping men was to end later with Khuda Gawah (1993) starring the better half of Amitabh-Vinod Khanna duo). Yes, there would have been fans and critics who would have judged their performance. There would have been verdict of the box-office. But we are getting too far. Who worries about the box-office while  the film is still being made? (Don’t answer.)

The film never got finished even as all the songs had been recorded and a lot of scenes had been shot in Kashmir.

By the end of 1990, with the situation in Kashmir going from normal to bad to worse, to at one point seeming like the end, Muzaffar Ali must have got that terrible feeling in the gut that the film may never get finished.

Maybe it would have been just another film, ‘Oji he should have retired after Umrao Jaan. What point this Zooni? These indulgent directors, I tell you.’, that kind of thing and not something that Muzaffar Ali claims would have changed the history of India. Can films change history? Or maybe it would have been special. It would have found an appreciative audience. We may never know.

And perhaps this was the last Indian film to be called a Cecil B. de Mille kind of production.

A trailer of Zooni  uploaded to youtube by Basheer Ali. In last couple of decades the world has got used to crisp images, only HD even on Rs.9000 camera. So the film was look dated now but at least the music can be digitally mastered. Song in the background ‘Rukh-e-Dildaar Deedam Daras Ko Aaye Preetam’.  I read about this song at this blog post by Shahryar’s son about his father’s failing health. I do hope at least the soundtrack of this film gets released.  But the way Zooni and Kashmir are intertwined. There is even little hope of that.

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Bombay film industry had long tried to make a film of Habba Khatoon. All attempts were doomed. First attempt was by Mehboob Khan in 1960s, it was going to star Saira Banu as the queen and Kamaljeet was the king. The project was shelved after Mehboob Khan’s death in 1964. Another attempt was made in 80s by Sanjay Khan who wanted to cast Zeenat Aman as the queen. The songs for the film were recored by Naushad with Rafi. The film was never completed and the songs from the film proved to be last collaboration between Rafi and Naushad.[song]

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Museum, Old and New

Recently, I got an email from someone involved in the design of the New Museum in Kashmir. He had stumbled across my blog, found it interesting and wanted to know if I would like to connect with their project. I was delighted. A new museum in Kashmir. I don’t know how things would roll on that front. But for now, I would like to share these photographs of the first museum of Kashmir:

In 1898, after a proposal from a European scholar, Captain S.H. Godmerry, Maharaja Pratap Singh converted the Ranbir Singh Palace in Srinagar into the Pratap Singh Museum [official website]. Most old-timers remember it as the museum near Bund. The  rare photographs of the building posted here are from around year 1905, a year of great flood and great winter,, and taken from a book called ‘The romantic East Burma, Assam, & Kashmir’ (1906) by Walter Del Mar. I had stumbled across it a couple of years back somewhere in the web, the images from this book stayed with me even as the details of the books got blurred after I lost my ‘bookmarks’ in a system crash. Last  night, as a browsed through a book at archive.org, I recognized the lost images.

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Witches of Kashmir

“I know no country on earth where so many witches could be enlisted for Macbeth, if, instead of three, Shakespeare had wanted a hundred thousand.”

Words of French naturalistVictor Jacquemont in another translated version of his originally in french, ‘Letters from India'(1834). I have previously written at length about his letter [here] but after coming across a fresh caustic version of his judgement on un-beauty of Kashmiri women in ‘The Asiatic journal and monthly miscellany, Volume 15’ published in 1834 by East India Company [Google Book Link] and in ‘Letters from India and Kashmir’ (1870) by J. Duguid, I felt like borrowing an old insult and digging up his bones from the grave and then burying him again. And what better way than this…

A Pandit Woman by Pandit Vishwanath, 1920. [More about this first Pandit photographer here]
Found on ebay. Phtotographer unknown. My guess Fred Bremner from 1900.

‘A Kashmiri nautch girl with a hookah’ by Mortimer M. Menpes (1860-1938)[via: christies ]
[More Kashmir work by Mortimer Menpes here]
‘Two Natch Girls’ by William Carpenter [via: Victoria and Albert Museum].
More works of William Carpenter on Kashmir here
A Beauty of the Valley’ by G. Hadenfeldt, found in  ‘The Charm of Kashmir’ (1920) by V.C. Scott O’connor.  [previously posted here]
Natch Girls, albumen print by Francis Frith from 1870s.

Dancing-girl of Cashmere, a wood engraving from the 1870s by Emile Bayard.
Above two are from the servers of columbia.edu, scavenged from an ebay listing dated 2001 and 2009 respectively. Someone over there must have gone through the same loop that I am going through now.
 [My detailed post on Kashmiri Natch Girls
from ‘Our summer in the vale of Kashmir’ (1915) by Frederick Ward Denys.

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Hanji’s Love Song

Photograph from A lonely summer in Kashmir (1904) by Margaret Cotter Morison.
[more photographs from the book here]

Hanji’s Love Song

You are my flower, and I would fain adore you
With love and golden gifts for all my days;
Burn scented oil in silver lamps before you,
Pour perfume on your feet with prayer and praise
For we are one – round me your graces fling
Their chains, my heart to you for aye I gave –
One in the perfect sense our poets sing,
“Gold and the bracelet, water and the wave.”

From ‘Afoot Through the Kashmir Valleys’ (1901) by Marion Doughty. [Photographs from the book here]

Gun Men

A product of Vincent Brooks Day & Son, Ltd., London from “Our visit to Hindostán, Kashmir, and Ladakh” (1879) by MRS J. C. MURRAY AYNSLEY. This was part of the book, but had nothing to do with Kashmir.
Indian and European Hunters with Guns and Trophies Outside Tents at Their Camp 1864 (Via: Smithsonian Photography Initiative) By  Samuel Bourne.

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Zethan, north by northwest

Travellers in Kashmir (~1920) by Miss G. Hadenfeldt [more]





Sent in by my Uncle R.L Das. 
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Zethan is an obscure village lying north by northwest on the outer fringes of Handwara tehsil. In the year 1998, I was promoted and transferred to Kashmir valley as provincial deputy drugs controller.Even though the militancy had ebbed down it had not been wiped out.Kashmiri pandits still felt insecure over there.I filed a civil miscellaneous petition against my posting,which was dismissed ab intio. I had but to join my new posting. Luckily, no mishap took place during my five years tenure.

During the winter of year 2000, our office received a stream of complaints against one Sarah of Dangiwachi and one Surinder Singh of village Zethan. The complaints indicated that both of them sold drugs without any drug licenses and they indulged in quackery. During the last twenty years, the people of Kashmir have developed a favorite pastime of filing frivolous complaints against one another. I would have taken these complaints lightly, but this time, action on complaints was endorsed by Dy. Chief Minister.

I proceeded towards Zethan with my inspectorate staff taking a route via Sopore, then crossing the Baramulla –Handwara road. We reached a populous village known as Rafiabad. I had visited this village earlier in 1976 when it was still known as Dangiwacha (Kashmiri word for ‘animal’s calf’). At that time it was a sleepy village with kuchha houses with thatched roofs. This time around these had been replaced by pucca houses with corrugated tin roofs.An expansive Higher secondary school had replaced the old primary school of 1976.

Upon inquiring about Sarah, we realized she was a rather well known in the area. We were directed towards another village a couple of miles up ahead, near a rather new and large military camp . Looking for Sarah
we were led to a big shop that stood out as it looked more or less like a government dispensary. Inside, a plump lady with handsome features was examining female patients, a stethoscope in hand, plugged to her ears. A bearded man, most probably her husband was dispensing medicines. So, the complaint
was right. Sarah was not only a quack but performed  D&C (douche and cleaning) as well.

We asked for her qualification. She said that she was an unemployed auxiliary nurse and that her husband was a plain matriculate. Procedure to be followed in such case was clear and well defined. The shop had to be shut. But as we were about to sieze the medicines and stethoscope, two army-men entered the shop and asked us to accompany them as some Colonel Sahib wanted to talk to us. We went to Colonel Sahib’s
camp. After introductions he offered us cardamom flavored Kahwa. He got talking.

‘Mr.Das, I am happy you people are doing a good job, preventing misuse of medicines and malpractices but at the same time you must be aware that Kashmir is also covered under AFSP act. This means that we have to see that peace is maintained in the area. I am responsible for effective maintainance of the act in this area.’

Then he got to the point.

‘This lady, Sarah, is doing a good job of maintaining peace in the area by looking after sick people and she is doing it on a charitable basis.’

And then in a clear high tone, he ordered.

‘I hope you understand, she should not be penalized’.

And that was that. Sarah seemed to be well connected in her territory. It is usually risky to take cudgels with army people especially when they have unbridled powers. So we moved on. There was one more complaint to be looked into.

From here, it was an uphill journey to Surinder Singh’s shop. While on way, just as we started, it started snowing. The uphill journey took us to one of the most breathtaking views I have ever seen. On the way we could see boulders of different shapes and sizes scattered over a vast area, right up-to the top, on the side of a hillock. Probably caused by a cloudburst, sometime long ago. Off  and on we could see forest huts with trellis and shingled roofs. The snow around their windowpanes reminded me of the scenes from the movie, Dr. Zivago.

We must have walked twenty kilometers uphill to reach our destination. Sardarji Surinder Singh’s pharmacy wasn’t hard to locate. The complaint seemed frivolous as he had a very neat premises and his
records were update. He had a drug license also. All clear credentials.

A thought occurred to me, ‘Why a city bred person had chosen this remote village near the border for his business?’. It was beyond my comprehension.

While conducting inspection, a curious crowd had gathered around the shop. I had a good look on them. I was surprised to see that most of the onlookers were fair complexioned and wore round frilled woolen
caps. Many of them had steel grey eyes and unlike Kashmiris did not wear Pherans, for they were draped in woolen blankets.

While on our way back, I asked the drugs inspector of the area, a local guy, a Kashmiri, as to who were those onlookers.

‘ Sir, your guess is as good as mine.’ That’s all he said

R.L DAS
JUNE 2011

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I couldn’t help pointing out to my uncle that in the place high up in the mountains, in that thunderstruck place, in that pass peppered with boulders brought down by clouds and snow, everyone is an outsider.

KP, KM, 1928

A Kashmiri Pandit (L) and a Kashmiri Muslim (R) in 1928. Captured by Martin Hurlimann.
Came across these two photographs at ebay. The photographer, unidentified.