“The Fishermen Were Here First”

A Koli woman from India
(Photo: Meena Kadri)

By Supriya Savkoor

That famous line about India’s legendary city of Mumbai was written by one its most famous sons, author Salman Rushdie, in his Booker Prize-winning novel, Midnight’s Children. His book is fiction, of course, but he bases his rich story lines on the country's equally rich history, including in this reference about what is now India’s most populous city and the world’s fourth largest.

Before the colonists ever set foot in the area now known as Mumbai, it was made up of seven islands, each taking the name of families of the native tribe known as Kolis, its original residents. Even the present-day names of the city’s neighborhoods are mutations of those original names. And on one of those islands, Dongri, the Kolis still houses the temple dedicated to their goddess, Mumba Devi. Sound familiar? The city’s pre-colonial name, Mumbai, hails from this Koli goddess (devi means goddess, in fact).

The islands eventually came together, much of it through land reclamation, and formed the modern city that came to be known as Bombay in the 20th century and back to Mumbai in this one. As the city grew up, the natives were pushed out, to the fringes of the city, where they were marginalized into low-paying laborer jobs, mostly fishing. (Note, the word "Koli" is likely the derivative of the English word “coolie,” which refers to any sort of unskilled, menial laborer.)

In the 1960s, Bombay’s Kolis went to court to save what they could of their remaining settlements, mostly those at the edges of the city, along the sea and other waterways. They won, and today, those little communities, a small handful of them, are known as Koliwadas, as in “Koli neighborhoods.” The Koli fisherpeople, and the women folk, in particular, are a fixture of the Mumbai landscape. They squat at train exits and on the footpaths (sidewalks), with large baskets full of fresh catch in front of them. The women are dressed colorfully and wear tattoos, which have a religious significance. They’re lively, exuberant, and, well, known for their salty language but not for biting their tongues when annoyed. Koli folk music, mostly about the fishing way of life, has become popular among the mainstream, even sung by a few Bollywood singers of yesteryear. The Koli festival, Narali Punaw, commemorates the beginning of the wind’s changing strength and direction, in favor of their main livelihood of fishing.  

Numerous Kolis have carved successful careers outside of fishing, but here are a few surprises in their midst: before the Buddha sought enlightenment, and though he was previously a prince, his princess-wife was said to have hailed from the Koli community. The poet-saint Kabir (“Slowly slowly O mind, everything in its own pace happens/The gardener may water with a hundred buckets, fruit arrives only in its season”) may have been a Koli. The Mafatlal family of industrialists, presiding over the successful Indian textile empire, Mafatlal Industries Ltd., also hails from a Koli weaver family. And on and on.

But wait, back to Salman Rushdie, whose command of history and poetic prose in Midnight’s Children perhaps explains the Koli community’s legacy best.

“The fishermen were here first. Before the East India Company built its Fort...at the dawn of time, when Bombay was a dumbbell-shaped island tapering, at the center, to a narrow shining strand...when Mazgaon and Worli, Matunga and Mahim, Salsette and Colaba were islands, too—in short before reclamation...turned the Seven Isles into a long peninsula, like an outstretched, grasping hand, reaching westwards into the Arabian Sea; in this primeval world before clock towers, the fishermen—who were called Kolis—sailed in Arab dhows, spreading red sails against the setting sun. They caught pomfret and crabs, and made fish-lovers of us all...There were also coconuts and rice. And above it all, the benign presiding influence of the goddess Mumbadevi, whose name—Mumbadevi, Mumbabai, Mumbai—may well have become the city's. But then the Portugese named the place Bom Bahai for its harbour, and not for the goddess of the pomfret folk...the Portugese were the first invaders, using the harbour to shelter their merchant ships and their men-of-war; but then, one day...an East India Company Officer...saw a vision. This vision—a dream of a British Bombay, fortified, defending India's West against all comers—was a notion of such force that it set time in motion.”

Off The Beaten Track: Bandra’s Spiritual Side

This week’s guest, Jayanti Shukla, an occasional guest blogger here at Novel Adventurers, is the head of operations for both United Way of India as well as United Way of Mumbai, a premier global non-profit network. As a long-time resident of Mumbai, she takes us this week on a unusual tour of one of the city's most glamorous neighborhoods.

If you are a Mumbaikar, meaning a resident of the city of Mumbai, India, and if your postal address has Bandra in it, then you are considered to have arrived! Bandra is known as the “Queen of the Mumbai Suburbs.” It’s home to many film and theatre stars, politicians, and expats. It’s also a highly coveted location for restaurants, pubs, and high-end stores. Over the generations, the Portuguese, Persians, and the East India Company have all contributed to its rather unique past in Mumbai’s (then Bombay) history.

I was fortunate to have lived in Bandra for 25 years. Being an avid walker, I would roam the inner lanes of this beautiful suburb often. There is still a lot of living history in Bandra, such as the old-timers, some in their 90s, who carry with them so many memories of life in old-time Bandra, that I often feel a sense of urgency in documenting their memories!

In comparison to other suburbs in the city, Bandra is uniquely cosmopolitan and has been home for generations to Hindus communities—the Maharashtrians, Marwaris, and other linguistic groups—as well as to Muslims, Catholics, the Zoroastrians, and the East Indians (the local name for the Catholic ethnic community that speaks Marathi; many East Indian families have lived in Bandra for generations). Mount Mary Church looks down benignly over the homes of the relatively well-heeled residents of Bandra who live on the hill of the same name. There are also some very old and forgotten places of worship in the older parts of Bandra, where a few devout still work hard to keep the old traditions alive.

I recently strolled the old lanes to learn more about these old forgotten places of worship. I felt transported to another era, so different from the bustling vibrant suburb of today that people know Bandra to be.

The Bandra Jain Temple

Tucked away at the end of a crowded lane off Hill Road in Bandra is the Jain Mandir, a temple for more than 140 Marwari Jain families, a trading community originating from the Indian state of Rajasthan and who have made Bandra their home for generations. Many of these families base their home-cum-shop in the bylanes around this temple. It’s obvious that the temple is what keeps the community together.

The original temple is more than 150 years old and was built in honour of the eighth Jain Tirthankar (or saint), Shri Chandraprabhu Swamiji. (The Jains follow the teachings of a lineage of 24 Tirthankars.) Some 35 years ago, the temple was renovated and a beautifully carved marble idol of the third Jain Tirthankar, Shri Sambhavnath Swamiji, was placed in the sanctum, while the idol of the eight saint was elevated to the “Shikhar,” or top of the temple, where it now resides. The temple also has idols of many other Jain saints and beautifully carved marble pillars. The marble, from the famed Makrana marble of Rajasthan, had been specially brought to Bandra, where skilled artisans specially crafted them. Quite a journey!

I found that generations of one particular Jain family, the Marlecha family of Marwad in Rajasthan, had been bestowed with the honour of being caretakers of the temple. It is well cared for thanks to generous support from the community. The temple ceremonies are many—including regular anointing of the idols with milk, saffron, and sandalwood. The religion lays great stress on donating alms for the less fortunate, and the poor throng outside the temple for free meals.

The Jari Mari Temple

For years, I took the 9:21 a.m. Bandra local train to work and watched as some commuters pushed their way out of the rush-hour trains on Tuesday mornings to make a dash for the Jari Mari Mandir (or temple), a stone's throw away from the station on S.V. Road, which runs parallel to the station road. After a quick prayer, commuters would dash back to board the next local train to get to work. What was it that made office-goers give up their seats, a coveted possession on a crowded local train, to jump out midway to go to this place of worship?

Jari Mari is one of the avatars, or incarnations, of the Hindu Goddess Shakti, a divine female power. The Jari Mari temple has a “Swayambhu” and “Jagrut” deity, meaning it is a miraculous natural creation and therefore considered to be alive and powerful.  Such a deity is said to have the power to fulfill wishes, and the temple’s devotees have immense faith that their prayers will be answered. This explains the provocation for commuters to brave their way out of a crowded train then make their way back after a quick daily visit to the temple!

The temple was built on the spot where the idol was first discovered by local dhobis, or washer men, and  the panchayat, or local governing body, decided to make the dhobi community the custodians of the temple. A lake  used to be behind the present temple premises, but it has since been drained and the land reclaimed, but the temple, which is now more than 300 years old, is believed to be as powerful and sacred as it was when it was first established.

The idol of the goddess is said to have appeared at this spot on January 9, 1696, on the auspicious day of “Angarika Chaturthi”—a special Tuesday dedicated to the elephant God Ganesh—and celebrated 300 years on January 9, 1996, when Bandra organized large-scale celebrations in the temple’s honour. 

Satghare Ram Mandir

Bazar Road Bandra is a narrow winding lane, with shops and hawkers on both sides. I love the sights and smells of this bazaar, so quaint and old world, with many even more narrow lanes branching off deeper into the locality. Who would have realized that in one of those narrower lanes is the Satghare Ram Mandir, a temple that’s more than  200 years old. I had to ask an old man sitting outside his shop for directions, and he obligingly offered to walk with me to show me the temple.

The gentleman who met me at the temple door was delighted that someone was showing interest in the temple and eagerly welcomed me in. There was something peaceful and calm about the Satghare Ram Mandir. I was told how Purushotam Malhar Seth, a well-to-do businessman of the Daivadnya Brahmin community, built the temple. Satghare, of which sat means seven and ghare means homes, refers to the seven households originally from Thane, a district near Mumbai, for whom this was the family temple. (Incidentally, Mumbai  is a city built on seven islands). Seth had acquired land in Bandra and built a bungalow here with a temple in it. Bandra was quite cut off from the mainland in those days, and this bungalow was more like a holiday retreat. As Seth was a staunch devotee of Lord Rama, he’d noted that there was no Ram temple in the suburbs. It is said that he also built the temple to bring together the people of the faith, who were in those days under pressure by the Portuguese to convert to Christianity. Looking at Seth’s  importance in the community, the British government bestowed on him the title of Mahajan, or very important person, in the community.

Dargah of Hazrat Pir Maulana Sufi Sultan Naqshbandi

Seeing my interest in wanting to document old places of worship in Bandra, my guide for the Satghare temple offered to take me to another such place, and he was sure even followers of the faith may not know of the existence of the dargah of Hazrat Pir Maulana Sufi Sultan Naqshbandi.

Tucked away in a narrow lane called Maulana Baba Lane, which runs alongside the big mosque, the Bandra Jama Masjid, on the arterial S.V. Road in Bandra, is a small dargah, which is the tomb or shrine of a Muslim saint. It looks quite nondescript from the outside, but step inside, and you are dazzled by the exquisitely intricate mirror inlay work on the ceiling of the dargah. This is the tomb of Hazrat Pir Maulana Sufi Sultan Naqshbandi, also known as Maulana Baba, a Sufi saint who settled in Bandra more than 100 years ago. Along one wall of the room sits a row of Sufis, devotees of the saint who recite the Ayate Karima, 7,000 verses from the Holy Quran, in a trance-like state. The recitation is performed by the Sufis on behalf of followers who come to pray at the dargah, since the Sufi saint is said to have the power to grant wishes.

Interestingly, it is said that Parsis (of the Zoroastrian faith) were among the early followers of the saint, and many of them used to visit the shrine to pray for his blessings.

It may be the queen of the suburbs, but for me, Bandra assumes a completely different meaning—a place where so many  communities and their places of worship coexist in complete harmony. It is no wonder that there is so much positive energy here, part of what makes it the energetic vibrant and unique place it is. 

Off The Beaten Track: Is 50 The New 30?

This week’s guest, Jayanti Shukla, is a busy career woman living her dream in Mumbai, India. After 24 years in the insurance sector, gaining her fair share of success, she decided to take that leap of faith to follow her true calling. Jayanti is now in charge of a major non-profit organisation in Mumbai.

I completed 24 years of service in the insurance industry in 2008, and I had enjoyed these 24 years. I got my promotions in time, was paid well, lived in a company-given flat in a posh suburb of Mumbai, and enjoyed all the trappings that came along with my comfortable job. I enjoyed the positions I held and the respect I received in the corporate world. But I knew by then that this was not what I wanted to do for the rest of my life, even if I was one of the youngest managers in the company and not done moving up the corporate ladder. I was 48 years old and the vice president of a major insurance brokering company.

For many years, I spent my spare time working with voluntary groups involved in social and civic causes. These interactions kept me grounded and closer to reality. When I turned 40, I told myself I would quit my corporate sector job at 50 then do only what I really wanted to do. But I was lucky. When I turned 48, I was offered a job to head a non-profit organization. The head hunters believed that my experience with voluntary groups combined with my corporate sector experience made me a suitable candidate for the post. Without thinking twice, I agreed – it seemed to fit into my long-term plans and, even though it was two years early, it felt right.

At a centre that United Way of Mumbai supports,
offering classes to slum children

I knew nothing about this organization, though United Way as a non-profit movement is huge in North America and some other countries. Still, I’d never heard of them before interviewing with them. It was only after I began understanding the work that the Mumbai chapter of United Way performed in the non-profit sector in India, did I realize just how lucky I was to get into this particular organization – both in terms of the work the United Way did all over the world and how this opportunity supported my own career plan! My salary took a huge hit as did all my old perks. From a posh office in the business district, I moved into a small office tucked away in an old industrial neighborhood. I have never regretted the decision.

The two years to my turning 50 were life changing. I had a bonus two years' lead time to plan and work towards doing just what I had planned to do when turning 50. Now no two days were the same. At my new workplace, I found myself working with a bunch of well-trained social workers and, believe me, if you want to look and feel young, spend your time with young social workers. Friends I met after a long while mentioned how I did not look a year over 30, and I would mentally thank my new assignment and my colleagues for this. My office staff was in the social sector by choice, and their aspirations from life were so different from the more career-oriented young professionals I worked with in the corporate sector. Community impact, resource mobilization, campaigns supporting the girl child, fund raising for the cancer afflicted, microfinance programs for women’s self-help groups, how to stem farmer migration to cities due to failed crops – my world changed overnight and took on new meaning. 

With my young team of social workers

I was free from worries about the next promotion increment, performance parameters, and business targets, and at home, I was content my daughter was now a responsible adult, independent, and doing well. Now 50, I felt totally liberated and decided I wanted to throw a big party to celebrate my birthday – for me, a personal celebration of the more confident, focused, and happier me. After I lost my mother to cancer in 2005, I had run in the Mumbai Marathon – in the easy 6-km run – to raise funds for victims like her. It was cathartic. My interaction with other non-profits brought me closer to the challenges organizations face for funds, and I began participating in the marathon again, now with renewed vigor, and raised so much more. Participating in the Bangalore and Delhi Marathons were just logical next steps.

At the start of the
Bangalore Marathon 2011

My association with the voluntary groups I’d worked for before I joined United Way continued. For over a decade, I have been involved with a community trust that organizes a hugely popular community festival, the “Celebrate Bandra Festival,” where an entire community comes together to celebrate the uniqueness of its suburb, its multicultural population, its status as an education hub and the restaurant capital of Mumbai, and so much more. This festival is the only one of its kind in Mumbai that showcases the best a community can offer. In a unique model, the proceeds from the festival contribute towards funding projects that ensure a better quality of life for residents – solving water shortages through rainwater-harvesting plants, powering solar water heaters, and donating school buses for orphanages. After moving into the social sector professionally, my life seems to have come full circle.

With college-student volunteers

Is destiny my companion, or is all this just a coincidence? I was running the marathons even before moving to the non-profit organization, but I did not know when I joined my new job that United Way of Mumbai had, just a few weeks before, been signed on as the official charity partner of the Mumbai Marathon. Now I was heading an organization that was mandated to create and implement a strategy to get as many non-profits, working on just about any cause – education, disability, tribal welfare, sports promotion, mental health awareness – to register with the marathon’s charity partner and use the marathon as a platform to raise funds. There I was until just a few years before raising funds for cancer-afflicted patients, and here I am now, spearheading efforts to facilitate fundraising for a humongous number of causes. In fact, I was now responsible for heading the largest philanthropic exchange in the country. I knew for sure I had an angel above looking after me!

With my family at an awareness walk on the occasion of
World Disability Day earlier this month

Life could not be better. My energy levels have increased, my family life has improved, and my circle of friends greatly diversified. I look better and am at peace with myself. I am in my 50s, and I thank god for it. I was fortunate enough to have been able to change tracks at a stage in life when one doesn’t really want to risk rocking a “steady boat.” Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained! 

So I look forward to 2012 with anticipation and continue to set goals for myself as I do before every New Year. This time, it is learning how to swim and joining a piano class. Is there anything special about what I am doing? Hardly so. It is just a question of following your calling – the calling of your heart and mind!

What about you? What are you going to make happen in the coming year? 

The Lonely Art of Wrestling Stereotypes

In parks and sporting arenas all over India, you’ll see young people, almost always boys, playing cricket, soccer, even rugby in their spare time or in competitions. But if you walk through certain public cricket maidans (open spaces) in Mumbai, you may see a rare and peculiar sight – a young, rather slight woman sumo wrestling with her brother.

Even more surprising is that twenty-four-year-old Hetal Dave (pronounced "dhaah-vay") is the country’s first competitive sumo wrestler, possibly the only one. No doubt the country’s only female practicing the ancient Japanese sport.

Dave started out learning and mastering judo before moving on to sumo, but not without quite a few obstacles. For one thing, India has no sumo rings for her to practice in or other female sumo wrestlers to practice with. She also comes from a very conservative Brahmin community in which anything unconventional is frowned upon, so imagine their reaction when she announced her new career. Fortunately, her immediate family has been encouraging and supportive. But while Dave practices regularly with her brother, it's been an uphill battle finding steady sponsorship to be able to travel abroad to compete against other women in international tournaments.

Occasionally, she is able to find a sponsor, such as last year, when she competed in Estonia, where she placed fifth. Not having her own mawashi, the cloth belt that sumo wrestlers wear, Dave had to borrow one from the Japanese, who then cheered her on at that competition. The Indian public, especially many young Indian women, have been inspired by Dave’s passion and singular ambition.

Sumo wrestling as a professional, competitive sport is observed only in Japan, where women are not allowed to play except at the amateur level. In fact, women are not allowed to even touch a professional sumo ring in Japan because of the "impurities" they may impart. As a result, it's not a sport that many women anywhere, particularly in Japan, choose to take up.

Not counting Dave though. If she can continue finding sponsors, she hopes to continue competing and improving her skills. In the meantime, she works as a part-time school teacher to support herself. Even as she keeps breaking down barriers – both in sports and in society.

Want to see Hetal Dave in action? Take a look:

Details, Details

When I began writing my first novel, I kept it all very hush hush. For all the usual reasons, but also because setting my story in Mumbai (known as Bombay until about fifteen years ago), seemed ridiculous even to me. After all, I’d visited it often but never lived there, much less experienced it without a chaperone.

But the story bubbled up and, in the process, I mined my memories along with lots of online research to get my facts straight.

Early this year, when I finally started spilling the news that I’d written the novel, I was thrilled to find so many cheerleaders rooting for me (at least, no one laughed in my face). Soon, I was exchanging dozens of emails with friends and relatives in Mumbai, who were answering my growing avalanche of questions—from insider information on the city’s textile industry, to Marathi translations, the color of a particular local train five years ago, and whether autorickshaws came to certain neighborhoods. That’s right, I became a pest.

Still, even with all that local knowledge and despite visiting the city so many times growing up (long before I started writing about it), I worried about getting the details right. So when this past summer, I had an opportunity to visit for a whole week, I jumped at the chance to both experience one of my favorite cities and fact-check my first, mostly completed novel. Talk about exhilarating!

In trying to experience the city through the eyes of my main character, I did some things she did in the book along with a few interesting adventures of my own. I rode the local trains alone (okay, only once, I’ll admit), got soaked in the fabulous monsoon rain (or rains, plural, as they call it there), snuck into a nightclub during off-hours, dined at what had to have been a seven-star hotel, visited a police station with an offer of chai from the friendly, hospitable cops who, oddly enough, encouraged me and my companion to take photos.

Most of them wore huge grins, all except for the one pictured here who may look stern in the photo but was actually just self conscious about being photographed with his pant legs rolled up. Yes, his pant legs. He’d just waded through ankle-deep rainwater accumulating in this low-lying section of South Mumbai and instructed us not to include his exposed legs.

The trip was full of bittersweet emotions. Seeing loved ones doing extraordinarily well after decades of hard knocks filled me with joy. And seeing the entire city's fortunes undergo such transformation felt like the start of a revolution.

Known as the city of gold, for about a hundred years until the 1980s, Mumbai lured hundreds of thousands of laborers from all parts of the country to its textile mills and the promise of employment and steady incomes. So when the industry collapsed thirty years ago, the city itself started a steep decline that could be felt in all areas, from its crumbling infrastructure to its uneasy, frustrated residents.

But today, with loads of foreign investment, obvious economic growth, designer this and brand name that, the city is hard to recognize. Thriving cottage industries have come up in slum areas, attracting both shoppers and tourists. Wide, high-speed freeways, such as the one known as Bandra-Worli Sea Link, are drastically cutting travel times from central Mumbai to the suburbs. And soon, the city will have its own high-speed metro rail.

Nowhere is this boom more apparent than the construction industry. Real estate is virtually unaffordable for outsiders, but longtime residents of the city, even the poorest, benefit from some of these changes. For example, developers are buying up the crowded old tenement buildings known as chawls, tearing them down, and replacing them with ultra-modern skyscrapers. The original occupants of, let’s say, a five- or six-story building are given large, modern new flats that they can in turn rent or sell at a premium. It's a win-win situation, as the developers rake in even more money selling the upper-story flats of the new building, say some twenty stories high. A down-and-out area automatically becomes prime real estate so now, instead of trying to get away, the old residents are perfectly situated.

Obviously, it would be naïve to believe these changes benefit everyone. They don't, and in some cases, the opposite is true. But it fills me with wonder to imagine thousands upon thousands of low-income residents becoming millionaires overnight. There’s a long way to go in eradicating poverty and addressing environmental conditions, but progress is actually conceivable now.

The changes also presented me with a few challenges. Was that building here on my last visit? Wasn’t there a shanty outside this hotel before? When did that bridge go up? My questions elicited vague smiles and a bit of head scratching. “Maybe,” I kept hearing. Or, “I don’t know myself. Things just keep changing. It probably changed more than once after the thing you’re remembering.” I thought Mumbaiites would find it hard to stomach a novel with the facts of their city not just right. But in fact, the landscape’s changing so much and so fast, that I can keep imagining the Mumbai of my novel. And the one of the future.