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Jama Masjid + Feathered Friends

ganpenelope — Wed, 23 Jun 2010 00:18:29 +0000

Jama Masjid strikes me as the Trafalgar Square (pre-2008) of Delhi. Flocks of pigeons gather in the open courtyard and are fed handsome amounts of seed; possibly the only other obvious Jainism influence in Jama Masjid other than the 260 pillars carved from Jain traditions that supports the big hall in the western chamber.

Whilst the pigeons in Jama Masjid are free, a stark reality occurs just hundreds of meters away at the Jama Masjid bird market, where pigeons, ducks, roosters and munias are cooped up in cramped cages waiting for an exchange of swabs of rupees for their lives. Although their feathered cousins – the parakeets, mynas, owls and falcons – won’t face the fate of a blade slicing through their throats, they do not escape the currency of cruelty that takes place every Friday and Sunday where they are sold to the highest bidder that promises to curtail their freedom for live.

Across the street, behind the Red Fort at INA Market there is a same scene; one that is replicated at Minto Road, Noida’s Sector 18 Market and Moolchang crossing where the vendors not only flaunt the birds without fear of authority but threatens to destroy any cameras pointed in their direction.

Although Schedule IV, Section 2, of the Indian Wildlife Protection Act, 1972 states that the trade of protected birds, including hill mynas, falcons, vultures, pheasants, rose-ring parakeets and cockatoos is banned, the apathy of the authorities is said to help this trade flourish.

In other instances, the law has been ‘confused’ with vendors arguing convoluted versions of the law such as: “Birds held captive before 1990 and the offspring of such birds can be traded.” Or those justifying their actions by a warped account of what is legal: “Trading of exotic foreign species is not mentioned in the Illegal Trade of Exotic Species.”

For the birds, neither does ‘generation’ nor the terms ‘legal’ and ‘illegal’ hold any significance when life itself has clipped their wings.

And in the most extreme instances, the guardians of the law are purported to be hand-in-glove with those who trade birds illegally. The lure of rupees proves too strong.

Tibetan Refugees: Tibetan Rug Revival

ganpenelope — Wed, 31 Mar 2010 00:18:39 +0000

Whilst the rug making industry in Tibet stretches back hundreds if not thousands of years, to satisfy monastic institutions and wealthy families need for khaden (a comfortable and warm seat carpet measuring 3 feet by 5 feet), Nepal is currently the largest global producer and exporter of Tibetan rugs followed by India.

Notwithstanding the Chinese Communist occupation of Tibet in the 1950s, the Tibetan rug industry faced sharp decline in the mid 20th century from its heydays in the 19th and early 20th century. Social upheaval that begun in 1959 is said to have given rise to the decline followed by experiments of collectivisation that left rural Tibetans with little time to weave; drastically cutting off khalden supplies to monasteries, the biggest procurer of Tibetan rugs.

The decline was exacerbated when many of the aristocratic families who formerly organized the weaving workshops of the best quality Tibetan rugs fled to India and Nepal, lending a further blow to the waning Tibetan rug industry. With them, they brought their knowledge of rug making and reorganised workshops that saw the revival of Tibetan rug weaving in the 1970s within the refugee communities of Nepal and India.

Although initially weaved by Tibetan refugees, local non-Tibetan workers were soon recruited, which eventually replaced the original Tibetan weavers. With increasing export demands and cost pressures, new materials, designs, machinery and rugs of larger sizes were introduced by the non-Tibetan workers with the aim of accommodating the living rooms of the export markets; thereby eroding the ancient tradition and contributing towards the disappearance of knowledge.

Over time, the Tibetan rug producers have abandon the traditional use of Tibetan highland sheep’s wool, changpel, and unique knotting method (that is different from that used in other rug making traditions globally), for rugs weaved by machines out of inexpensive imported wool and cheap dyes, thereby marring the quality of Tibetan rugs. With more informed customers today, these cheaper and poorer quality rugs are now marketed as ‘Tibetan styled rugs’ and sold widely in Nepal, India and Tibet for the tourist market.

However, the finest quality of Tibetan rug, in which every process – from yarn spinning, dyeing, knotting and trimming of the pile after weaving – is done by hand still exist in pockets of refugee communities and Tibet. Here, tradition continues to run thick and the Tibetan rugs are still made for flooring to wall hanging to horse saddles, and the most commonly used purpose: a seating carpet, khaden, for monks… definitely not a size that would do your western styled home living room any justice and a hefty price tag that will have you chocking over your butter yak tea.

Stitches of Tibet

ganpenelope — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 00:18:27 +0000

In Tibet, tailoring is a fine art and often divided into four areas: appliqué, fashion design, tent making and accessories and toys.

The finest tailoring would be that done by the appliqué artists is the making of silk thangkas. Constructed with hundreds of hand-cut pieces of silk and brocade, and embroidered with thread and hairs from a horse’s tail, these elaborate creations may take months of work depending on the intricacy and size that ranges from the standard two feet to the sixteen storey kyigus which were hung down the front of monastery buildings during religious festivals.

Stuffed toys on the other hand are crafted for the fun of children and the enjoyment of collectors, often taking the forms of yaks, black and brown bears, marmots, and the famous and much loved dogs: the Apso and the Tibetan mastiff. These toys are often dressed in traditional Tibetan costumes, representing aristocratic bears and nomadic yaks.

However when stitches is resorted to at the Tibetan Refugee Self Help Centre, it centers around practical needs: the production of apparels and tents, with the latter mostly taking on the form of functional door curtains to keep the cold and draft out.

Some artisans are found making shoes, both for sale and use, as well as stuffed toys for sale in the modest tourist shop at the Tibetan Refugee Self Help Centre.

Mojari Jootis Kolhapuris

ganpenelope — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 00:18:51 +0000

Mojaris, Jootis and Kolhapuris ‘floods’ Rajasthan, Delhi and Punjab with production dating back to the period of Kings and Queens. During its heydays, Jootis were heavily embroidered with real gold and silver threads and decorated with precious gems and pearls. But, with the passage of time, these were replaced by artificial materials, beads, bells and even mirrors (more commonly in Rajasthan), in order to make them affordable for everyone.

Typically Jootis are made out of buffalo, cow or camel leather soles, with the upper part comprises leather or simply textile. Both the parts are joined together by a paste or glue, then hand-stitched with cotton threads.

Mojari is referred to a man’s closed shoe with an extended curled toe, while Jootis have flat fronts. The Jootis’ rear is also normally covered but mojaris have an open look from behind. The ordinary Mojari is either pointed in shape, or rounded. The different forms are known as gol-panja (Round Toe), chota-panja (Small Toe), salem shahi (Pointed Toe).

These flat soled shoes have no left or right distinction.

Addressing India’s School Dropouts

ganpenelope — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 00:18:51 +0000

Despite the success of a few world class schools such as the Indian Institute of Technology, India’s education system is in a dismal state overall. Spending just 3.5% of its gross domestic product on education, of its 1 million schools, most are state-run and reported to be sub-standards.

Set against this backdrop, tens of thousands of private school have sprung up across India in recent decades. Once preserved for the elite, private schools in India have undergone rapid transformation and growth to satisfy the educational aspiration of middle-class. This trend it appears has begun to extend to villages in the rural areas, and poor families have increasingly expressed willingness to pay at least a small percentage of their income to bolster the educational prospect of their children.

Despite these efforts to provide for a better and far reaching education system, one fact remains: of the 96% of India’s children enroll in primary school, about 40% drops out by the age of 10 (UNESCO 2006). The root causes for these dropouts are attributed largely to poverty, family problems or lack of awareness among parents on the importance of literacy, let alone education.

Acknowledging this, some commendable localised ’solutions’ have surfaced with the emergence of NGO-linked and individual funded private schools that hands out scholarships and highly subsidised fees.

Manali Model School is one of such schools ran by Raju ji – a physically handicapped man, who after spending 5 years with various grass root and national level NGOs championing literacy programmes (’Mission Illiterate’) with villagers and the elderly, decided to take on personal bank loans (at various intervals) to build a school for ’slow learners’ with the aim of providing inclusive education that does not exclude children on the basis of caste, creed, financial status, academic performance, or physical disability.

Twelve years on, the Manali Model School is a 3-storey structure – with room for expansion – that provides elementary, primary and secondary schooling between 9:30am to 3:00pm, in addition to night and computer classes for dropouts and adults in the evenings. Staffed by 10 full time teachers, Raju ji and his wife are not just actively involved in formal classroom education and the daily operations of Manali Model School, but finds the time to knock on the doors of pockets of villages in the Himalayan foothills and visits the tents of the nomadic Rajasthani community with the aim of convincing parents on the importance of education and its role in improving the lives of their children and future generations.

Although Raju ji is well aware that these students are unlikely to afford even subsidised fees, uniforms and allocate 5-1/2 hours a day, he is unperturbed and soilders on with his ‘Mission Illiterate’ dream.

“Some pay. Some don’t. It’s ok. If they come 10 to 15 hours a week, I am happy. Education is not about learning algebras or memorizing history books, it’s about character building and understanding the fundamental skills you will use in daily life. This is my hope for them. My dream for these children and their families.”

Raju ji

Having survived the strife his ‘Mission Illiterate’ dream had created with his late father, outcast by his village, near bankruptcy and continuous debts, Raju ji is far from giving up the Manali Model School, his 10 staff and approximately 130 students he has when school reopens next month.

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For those who would like to volunteer and learn more about Raju ji and the Manali Model School, please contact:

Hemraj (Raju) Thakur, c/o Manali Model School, Bhajogi, Manali, Kullu 175131, Himachal Pradesh, INDIA | rajumanali12@gmail.com | +919 816812410

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Click HERE for FULL slideshow / multimedia

The Homeless, Rural India and COP15

ganpenelope — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 00:18:35 +0000

While much of the press at COP15 were focused on the leaked draft, disarray climate talks that threatens international unity to fight global warming and speculations on India and China’s move, in tandem with ‘analysis’ (opinion pieces really) of both nations, the reality on the ground is quite different… or so it seems in Ghoom, West Bengal.

Per capita energy consumption levels in India are multiple times lower than even the world average (let alone Western Europe). Almost half of rural households and 10% of urban households still lack access of electricity. At this juncture, India is a country in energy transition and it need space to grow its energy consumption.

Set against this backdrop, one of India’s key goal is to increase supply of modern energy services to its population (some 40% +/- of homes lack electricity). Analysis conducted suggest that to give a small supply of electricity to every home in India, India will require only 10 GW of capacity – a figure that would drop further if India chooses to use distributed or renewable generation. Given that the ‘growth rate’ of electrification of hundreds of GW in India will be spread across the coming decades, the number becomes very small. This means its goal of universal electrification can be met with modest carbon impacts, which level can be mitigated through efficiency and other means such as the quoted ambitious national solar mission.

Mission aside, “green” energy is not yet cost-effective; not in the scale that India needs. The fact remains that at every income level, Indians derive a large fraction of their total energy needs from liquid and grid sources compared to other developing nations in the world. Continued dependence on inefficient solid fuels, which contributes to over 85% of rural household energy needs, remains very high.

Playing catch-up in a globally responsible manner is one thing. Re-thinking its energy development strategy is imperative. Key driver for transition will remain income, energy prices, energy access and local fuel availability… right to the grass root levels.

However, being a late comer is not all that bleak amidst talks for real commitments on carbon emission cutbacks – India can pick and chose technologies at a fair price.

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Photo: A homeless man picking bits of spent coal left by Darjeeling’s Toy Train on the train tracks of Ghoom, West Bengal, December 2009.

Read more about India And Climate Change HERE.

Hashish Children of Kullu

ganpenelope — Wed, 20 Jan 2010 00:18:24 +0000

Set against picturesque backdrops of high mountain passes, the gushing Beas River, lush apple orchards, bucolic alpine meadows and glacier, in Himachal Pradesh lies secluded hamlets infamous for its world class charas (Hindi for hashish).

Grown wild, traditionally the locals use the hemp fibre for ropes and to weave traditional shoes, with seeds being kept aside for its medicinal properties. However, in the 70s, hippies from the West flocked this pristine valley in search of a cosmic high.

With a perfect micro climate – sun-drenched ridges and healthy soil, Kullu Valley’s cannabis plants grow in abundance and is reputedly the cream of the crop; with ‘Malana Cream’ ranking the best in the International Cannabis Cup event held annually in Amsterdam. Other brands include AK-47, Russian Mist and Space Ball.

Raking in approximately Rs 900 crore per annum, naturally the locals cashed in on the trade, alongside a nexus of expats, local peddlers and international smugglers. With the emergence of a mini-Colombia sort of cartel in the Kullu Valley, comes a host of problems that has spurred aggressive crackdowns by the Indian police and the Narcotics Control Bureau under the supervision of the Inspector General of Police.

However, local and international media attention in particular seems to concentrate only on news of missing foreign nationals in the Kullu Valley such as Israeli-American backpacker Amichai Shtainmetz, British Ian Mogford, Israeli Nadav Mintzer, and Guy Daudi, Canadian Ardavan Taherzadeh, Rotterdam Maarten de Brujin, Russian Alexei Ivanoc, Australian Burfitt Jacqueline Louise, and the perhaps the most notoriously covered is Anna Bartlett a 25-year old British girl whose body was washed up in a river. The fact is almost 50,000 foreign tourists visit the valley every year, with Israelis making the majority of them. As per official records, 57 foreigners have died in the region due to accidents and ‘accidents’, attributed to trekking and drug overdose. Unofficial records suggests that a relatively high percentage of missing foreigners are ‘missing’ or ‘dead’ … having chosen to settle in the valley and join the burgeoning illegal trade that is controlled mostly by the Israelis and Italians.

Nothing worthy is being mentioned about the government’s stance on the issue, its action plans to curb cultivation of cannabis, stricter law enforcement on cultivators and smugglers, and/or preventive measures and assistance to locals who are ‘forced’ into the cartels’ trap. Whilst there are countless of NGOs (both locally and internationally funded) and state-run institutions around the Kullu Valley that assist and educates children who are orphans, handicapped and lately the Rajasthani nomadic community, nothing is done for the children who lives in the hashish hamlets. They not only remain in an intricate web of an international cartel ring of smugglers, but are increasingly driven further into places that are physically inaccessible and by all imagination uninhabited by any sizable population of humans to avoid detection by enforcement agencies.

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For my personal account of this photo story, read HERE {warning: mere rantings}

Women Weavers: Kully Valley

ganpenelope — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 00:00:33 +0000

What appears to be distinctively distracting as you drive down the lovely and pristine road connecting Kullu and Manali with the roaring Beas river flowing pass and alpine landscape soaring way way above the skyline, are countless of shops selling mufflers, stoles and shawls, and in your face “Traditional Kully Shawls” signboards posted above or beside what appears to approximate the size of the shop itself!

Interestingly 20,000 to 22,000 people are said to be engaged in weaving around this valley and many of which are women.

During my trip to Manali, I was fortunate to be invited into 3 homes of weavers, two of which were part of a women weaving cooperative society. I was informed that 90% of the weavers in the Kullu Valley work with or is in some way affiliated to the many well-organised weaving cooperative societies, most of which are operated by women for women. Not only does these cooperative societies assist in organising the weavers, procuring bulk raw material and marketing the finished product, the societies have provided employment across the entire value-add chain in the weaving industry to women in this valley which has made them self reliant both from an economic stand point but more importantly in terms of acquiring new skills and experiences that they would otherwise never have had the opportunity and exposure.

Being an integral part of the lives of people in the Kullu Valley, every home has at least one loom; be it being used for commercial reasons or for their own consumption. Not surprising then the Pattus is their traditional attire – a characterless 18-22″ wide blanket like piece woven in the natural colours of wool – black, grey and white (and occasionally dyed with vegetable dyes) that serves the bare necessity of covering their bodies and protecting themselves from severe cold. Worn as a single piece wrapped around their bodies, the Pattu is held in place with a piece of cloth that serves as a belt and fastened at the top with a delicate chain with two clips at its ends.

Today, 70 years after the weavers from Bushehar (Shimla) handed down their weaving knowledge that includes hand looms, geometric designs and synthetic threads (all of which was possibly from the influence and transfer of know-hows by the British) the Kullu Valley now offers an impressive array of woolens for sale in many exotic designs and from the subdued colours of apricot, olive, ocher …et cetera achieved by the natural vegetable dyes to the vogue and fashionable synthetic dyes.

Handicapped by language and under tight time constraint, I regret that I was not able to better understand this art form and the people creating them. I remain curious about the real economic value in these delicate time consuming pieces they create and the actual portions of the economic cake the weavers are entitled too.

Interestingly, I am yet to see any of these hand looms pieces for sale under those blinding “Traditional Kullu Shawls” signage that dots the Kullu Valley and chocks their mainstreet malls. What I’ve seen seems to me to be over-priced machine woven shawls that are widely available all over India – a far cry from the traditional shawls spunned and weaved from natural fibres by hand looms in almost every veranda, garden shed or room in a Kullu home.

So, where do the real Traditional Kullu Shawls go to?

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More shots and behind the scene story HERE {warning: just rants by me}

Chandi Chowk: Chaos . Cargo . Coolies

ganpenelope — Wed, 09 Sep 2009 00:18:05 +0000

The nerve centre of commercial activity that dates back to the time of Shah Jahan’s Mughal empire, Chandi Chowk’s chocked up narrow lanes never ceases to fascinate.

Despite what appears to be a chaotic sight at first glance; the sea of people, knots of dangerously low electrical, phone and satellite cables dangling across buildings and streets, and seething mass of hooting, pushing cars, cycle rickshaws, autos and ox carts, Chandi Chowk is really organised and compartmentalised on a larger scale with countless of specialised bazaars that will match just about anything your imagination and senses cooks up.

Heading for the Naya Bazaar on Khari Baoli to stock up on masala, hing, saffron, vanilla pods and dried peaches, then Fatehpuri Masjid to ‘catch’ the Friday prayer mass, I was distracted by the seamless maneuvering of porters weighed-down by burdens of sacks bursting with goods on their heads, push carts or ox carts which trundle off through the mass of motorized traffic with the same ease and grace exhibited by Polina Karpakova in Swan Lake.

Following their trail, I ‘discovered’ Gadodia Market, a covered gathering place for wholesalers who weigh their goods on huge old-fashioned scales, just off Khari Baoli. Armed with a big juicy pomegranate, a packet of dried fig, bottled water and lots of dodged determination and curiosity, I parked myself amongst (now equally curious) sweaty men hauling cargo, pushing carts, spitting paan – adding colour to vibrant blue walls and colourful scenery – and occasionally passing remarks about me and my craziness!

The youngest of the group finally mustered the courage to approach me and after exchanging formalities and clarifying intent, followed by showing replays after replays on my camera’s LCD screen to the throngs of curious porters, normalcy resumed.

During chai, I was introduced to a group of them and soon learned that they were immigrant labourers from Bihar and Uttar Pradesh employed by shop keepers who has opted to live in more comfortable areas of Delhi, leaving Chandi Chowk with immigrants and only a handful of local families who resides in homes that lies far behind the street fronts in alleys and lanes that lace through Chandi Chowk’s maze or in visible haveli’s which though fading in grandeur is nonetheless huge with as many as over a hundred tiny shops operating in the alleyways beneath it.

Unperturbed by this massive wealth inequality, the porters seemed to me to envy their cousins – the railway coolies – and not their present employers. Life as a railway coolie is apparently better with better rates, work conditions and the union for protection. A railway coolie in Nizamuddin station is said to net Rs150 on an average day and over Rs250 on good days for 6 hours of work with lots of free time in between trains. Other perks includes two sets of uniforms, medical coverage that extends to him family, free education for his children, one complimentary second/sleeper class travel pass to any station in India per year, free use of the station’s waiting halls, canteens, latrines … Above all, the railway coolie license is granted for perpetuity and it is transferable.

Despite being laid out the laundry list of ‘perks being a coolie’, I could not help but suppress my desire to express in exasperation: “but who wants to be a coolie?”

Well, not until I was told that for a monthly license fee of Rs10, the coolie license can be ’sold’ for an enormous premium.

“Do lakh rupaiyE” { What?!? 2 lakh rupees? 2,00,000?!? }

My English speaking college graduate Chandi Chowk porter pauses infinitesimally to savour my expression when he delivered the punch line with a satisfied smile while I took a final gulp of my chai.

P/S: Graffiti above the seated boys in the photo reads: DO NOT SIT HERE