in bits and pieces
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| Slow primordial death. |
Created based on satellite images of Dal Lake dating from 1998 to 2012 made available by Google (here, although they were supposed to have images dating from 1984 but somehow the actual data available is only from 1998. The image came alive and death of the lake became clearly visible by applying certain line filters on the images. I tried something similar for Wular, but there the lake is hardly visible in any case, all one sees is movement of a green cover.
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Cut out this bit about Ghulam Rasool Santosh (Srinagar, 1929 – Delhi, 1997) from docu “Contemporary Indian Painting” (1985) by K. Bikram Singh. [Full film here]. famous for paintings replete with tantric motifs. Trained under N.S. Bendre.
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| Gandharbal Kashmir by N.S. Bendre. Previously: Kashmir Canvas of Bombay Progressives |
G. R. appended his Hindu wife’s name ‘Santosh’ to his after marriage. Daughter married a Hindu and son a Sikh. Lived in Delhi.
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My favorite G. R. Santosh anecdote that I first heard at Hari Parbat from an uncle:
When pandits started building a ‘modern-updated’ temple on Parbat, G. R. Santosh was a much saddened man. He had spent quite some time studying the hill looking for tantric motifs in its rocks, offering an entire aesthetic theory based on what he saw in the hill. Now there was a wall coming around the main syen’der-ed rock. He pleaded, he cried, told them to stop and not mess with the yantra. The work continued. A new temple came up around a rock caught in between marbled walls. A work that still continues.
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Above: Martand shot by Brian Brake in around 1957.
Below: A photograph of an old terracotta Kashmiri vessel brought to Jammu along with other things. Shared around two years ago by Man Mohan Munshi ji.
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| White horse outside ‘Bank of Baroda’, Pestonjee Building, Kothibagh, Residency Road |
I knew this one was going to be a special book but what I didn’t expect was an image of a prized memory of Srinagar City: Pestonji’s White Horse.
Raghubir Singh’s ‘Kashmir: Garden of the Himalayas’ (1983) has the photograph explained as, “The white wooden horse was a joke-present from one polo-playing Maharaja (Jaipur) to another (Kashmir). A White Horse whiskey dealer rescued it from a junk heap and installed it in front of a building in Srinagar which he rents to a bank.”
Although the book does not mention it, yet I had heard so much about it (although not the story about its origin), I knew I was looking at the famous Pestonji Ka Ghoda.
Pestonji name figures in history of Kashmir right from late 1800s to the early times of Sheikh Abdullah (Jinnah and his wife apparently stayed with him during a trip to Srinagar in 1920s).
A shopping mall now stands in its place.
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The book took almost 14 days. Whoever said world has become smaller hasn’t obviously tried bringing in a book from overseas. Originally costing Rs. 280. It cost me around Rs.1600 for a second hand first edition. Some more on the book later. And also some more rare books. And when I get some time some old writings of an incredible Parsi on Kashmir, its lore, Pandits and their ways of life.
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Update: From my father’s camera. The White Horse (rather a replica?) now in November 2013, alone in a M S Shoping Mal, Residency Rd, Regal Chowk, Rajbagh, Srinagar.
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| 15th May, 2013. Kochi. |
Kashmir had Khar, T’char, Wattil and Kan’hapin, it was in Jammu that I first saw a Jugnu. But the only Jugnu story I know comes from Kashmir and has been told once too often to me by mother. Kashmiris have been telling venerative stories of thieves for ages but this one is more recent.
There once was a thief in Kashmir who took his name from Dharmendra’s film titled Jugnu (1973). Inspired by the film he took to leaving letters at crime scenes, all of them marked ‘Jugnu’. It is said, one night he climbed into a house and not finding anything else worthwhile, served himself dinner, eat and left. Next morning the victims found a letter in the kitchen. It went something like this:
Jugnu aya
Gad’e Khaya
Bahut Maza aya
Jugnu came
Had fish
Relished
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| Self. 20th August. 2012. |
Talle mere phatte de’n, par ghar mere Dilli’n
I’m in rags, but I hail from Delhi
~ A Dogri saying. Came across it in ‘Tales from The Tawi: a collection of Dogri Folk Tales’ by Suman K.Sharma.
This time in his room I found an interesting locally published ‘Hindu’ calender.
Most of the images were ‘tantric’ art in line of G.R. Santosh. And an odd image out in the calender I found was that of ‘The Shepherd’:
A painting by Miss G. Hadenfeldt from ‘The Charm of Kashmir’ (1920) by V.C. Scott O’connor (Vincent Clarence Scott, 1869-1945). More paintings by the artist here, posted to this blog back in 2010.
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| From an image published in 1952 |
A popular old ditty from Kashmir on Maths and its mind befuddling mysteries.
Algebra Nay Jabar Kiya
Waqt Ki Rahi Tangi
Kalam Bechara Kya Likhay
Kakaz Rahi Nangi
Algebra unleashed terror.
There wasn’t enough time.
What could the poor pen cover?
Naked, was left the Paper.
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In Kashmir, Kagaz is Kakaz.
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I first came across that ditty thanks to my grandmother who would use bits of it to taunt me while I would fall asleep while reading. Then, recently, I came across two lines in book ‘Srinagar: My City My Dream’ by Zahid G. Muhammad‘, a complete ‘Kashmir Nostalgia’ trip, (first and only book that someone actually bought from Flipkart based on a recommendation on this blog). Then, today, I came across the full ditty in ‘Cashmere: Kashir That Was Yarbal’ compiled by Somnath Sapru. [PDF download link].
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Based on a random conversation with my father and some uncles. Story of Ghulam Da’en, Golaam the witch, perhaps the greatest three card trickster from Kashmir.
Every month. At the start of every month he would pocket half of my salary. He was a real trickster. No one could catch him. He would clean your pockets with you only complying willingly. And he had all these techniques. Some so obvious. Like at first, after his cries of – Begam ko Pakdo, Begum par Lagao – had your attention and you moved in to see what was going on, why the crowd, you could always see him handing over money, to some lucky winner who had just picked the queen from three random cards. And then another one from the crowd would win. Then another. You would feel lucky. Like this day your luck would hold out against Ghulam Da’en, Golaam the witch. You too would bet. And of course, you win. Your lucky day. Crowd cheering. You bet more. You loose. You bet more. You loose. And soon you realize what happened. That Ghulam Da’en tricked you again. It was a setup. It should have been obvious. Those other winners were of course with him on it. Wearing a fur cap on his head and an old worn pheran, he would do this to random people at Pratap Park and to tourists at Boulevard Road, but his favorite haunt was Karfali Mohal near Sharabi chowk, near Parimoo Chemist, Habba Kadal where even his victims were his regulars. And fast. He could switch cards with a gentle flick of his nails. You wink and you miss. Once while dealing he showed me a deck full of queens. From the deck placed three cards down. Asked me to bet and catch. Of course, I bet and picked a card. And I lost. I lost. Then to rub it in, he turned the other cards too. Not one of them was queen. Not one. He would play you. He would play you like a fool. But some days he would let you win too. Go home with a real winning. He would show you three cards. He would show you which one is the queen. Before the serve, while the cards are still in his hand, you would notice that the queen card has a little tear on a corner, or a fold, or a quirky mark. You would memorize it. This is easy. He would lay the cards. You would place the bet, pick a card. He would flip it and of course, you win. He would give you the money. He would tell you this is your lucky day. You bet to play again. The mark is there. Raise the bet. You win. You start believing in you good stars, in God, in Ghulam Da’en’s bad luck and your smartness. You raise the bet. He tells you not to steal livelihood for a poor man on his bad day. You raise the bet even higher. You want round. There is old debt to be settled. You would clean the house this time. He serves the three cards. You can’t believe your luck. What treachery is this! What witchery! All the three cards this time have the same exact little tear on the corner, the same exact fold, the same exact not so quirky mark. And that is how you would lose half you salary to Ghulam Da’en. Go home to get an earful about it from your wife or parents. And you couldn’t fight him over it. It was all fair and square. You definitely couldn’t fight him. He once pulled a snake on me. He actually had a live snake in his pocket. That Ghulam Da’en, the three card trickster.
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| Damaged image of Laksmi-Narayana, seated on Garuda, 9th cent. A.D., Zeithyar (Srinagar) From ‘Vaishava Art and Iconography of Kashmir’ (1996) by Bansi Lal Malla |
Below: Something I randomly clicked back in 2008 at Zeethyar because I found the setting interesting.
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