BEYOND THE STARS - DESI STYLE

Boredom can push one to extremes.  A friend of mine suffered from this frustrating symptom coupled with bouts of insomnia. He often read the telephone directory at the dead of the night to set his restless mind to rest. Of late, I became a victim of a similar disposition. However, instead of the telephone directory, I seek solace in the wide world of the net.

My favourite refuge is the YouTube. Apart from old movies, there are numerous other issues and non-issues that you can indulge in. A few days ago, I accidently found a link which supposedly explained “The Theory of Relativity” in the simplest possible words. If I was a bit confused while I started watching the clip, at the end I was completely flabbergasted. Incidentally, an old friend from Kuwait called me when I was watching the hour long clip. He was curious to know how I had been spending my time in USA, where I was on a holiday. Without contemplating the consequences, I blurted out; - I am studying the Theory of Relatively. What followed was a stunned silence at the other end followed by a mute suspicion of my sanity. He was relieved when I explained the extraordinary scenario.

YouTube has the habit of suggesting subjects of your possible interest. My dabbling with Einstein led me to a video clip that boasted of India’s space technology, - Mars Orbiter Mission (MOM) or Mangalyaan. The event sent ripples across the nation when national TV channels broke the news on 5^th November 2013 from Sriharikota, where the launch pad of ISRO (Indian Space Research Organization) was located.

What caught the international scientific community by complete surprise was the ridiculously low cost of the project. An elated prime minister could not hide his excitement and pride, when he announced to the nation that the cost of US$ 73 million was way less than the US $ 100 million spent on making the Hollywood blockbuster “Gravity”. Another crowning glory was India’s astounding success at the very first attempt, whereas the other three space agencies from USA, Russia and Europe all failed in their maiden attempts.

Incidentally, NASA also launched a Mars mission named Maven a few days later on 18^th November 2013 and the total cost was US$ 671 million.  Scientists around the globe marveled at the low cost of the Indian mission and initially attributed the reason to cheap human resources in India. However, salary of the scientists and other staff are arguably lower but constitute a small fraction of the total cost. The main reason for the cost difference was a much higher payload of Maven and the technology used for its launch.

Maven headed for the Mars orbit immediately after its launch and reached on 22^nd September 2014, consuming a stupendous amount of fuel. On the contrary, Mangalyaan, in spite of being launched earlier reached the Mars orbit 2 days later. This was due to a unique technique employed by the Indian space scientists.

The Mangalyann or the Mars Craft was not sent to Mars immediately after launch but was placed in an off-centered elliptical orbit around the earth. After every revolution, when it came close to earth, the scientists provided a bit of thrust from the control room to push it a bit away from earth while still remaining in its orbit. It happened for a week and during this process the craft generated a tremendous amount of energy due to centrifugal force, which provided the initial “force” when the craft was finally released towards its intended mission. This technique minimized the cost of fuel. The scientists called it a “sling shot” method. However, I think it was the legendary “Jugad Technology” that we, in India, nurtured to perfection.

It was indeed an event of great pride. But it was not the end of the story. It turned out to be just the beginning of India’s space odyssey. In June 2016, ISRO launched a rocket to place twenty satellites in space on behalf of USA, Germany, Canada and Indonesia. The mission was a success. The western countries, though conversant with space technology, opted for India because of the low cost. ISRO is finally ready to snatch away a large slice of the lucrative business of placing satellites in space.

The journey has just begun.

*************

New Jersey/Kolkata

June/July 2016

BORDA - The Big Brother

Dr. Bishnupada Pal Choudhury, MBBS, DOMS, MS, - the illegible letters after the name had me in complete awe. I was probably in my late teens, still in college aiming to earn an engineering degree. One day, at a private moment, I quietly asked him to decipher the muddle. He did and I realized how much of hard work had gone behind earning those letters. Later, three more letters would find their legitimate place after the name, - PHD. But that is another story. 

This was Borda (pron. Bawrdaa). Being the eldest grandchild of late Ishwar Chandra and Madhumalati Deb, he was the big brother of our generation, - our Borda. We all looked up to him. My parents, his mejomama and mejomami were very fond of him. My mother particularly will cite the examples of her “Biju” as a benchmark for me. My father, not very eloquent by nature, would beam with pride every time his name and achievements were mentioned. 

76 A, Upper Circular Road in Rajabajar was an unofficial base or headquarters of our family. A cosy abode maintained by my Kaku and Kakima (Uncle and Aunt) sheltered many friends and relatives. During one of my summer holidays, while I was still in high school, I had the pleasure of Borda’s exclusive company and spent some memorable time with him. He was a medical student, probably on a holiday. I remember a few long chat sessions. I wonder whether Borda’s children (Purba and Pushaun) are aware that those days, he was very fond of cowboy movies. He narrated several stories to me like that of a bounty hunter, who drew his gun in a flash, while riding a horse, and shot down a rogue, who terrorized a whole town. I listened wide eyed.  

One Sunday morning, he sought my parents’ permission to take me out to watch a film. The permission was granted immediately. I was so excited. The film was Robin Hood. That probably was the first English film I watched ever.  

He had a flare for languages. While he was studying in King George Medical College in Lucknow, he picked a bit of Urdu too. If I remember right, he spoke Assamese fluently as well. 

Memories are blurred now. All these stories are not in chronological order but random flashes of memory. He gifted me a shirt on his return from abroad after one of his academic pursuits, which I treasured and sported only on very special occasions.  

His transformation to the world of literature and art was a very pleasant surprise. In my later life, I realized how much knowledge he had gathered during his life. However, by this time, our meetings were brief and infrequent. It is indeed a matter of great regret that I never had the opportunity to discuss with him the hobbies and passions that he indulged in during his mature years. Some of his recent books reflect his spiritual side as well. I wish I could tell him in person how much we all admired him and his life. 

On a lighter note, I remember during my early days, when Borda was probably the most eligible bachelor on this side of the Atlantic, my mother was approached by several parents for obvious reason. My mother would reject all such proposals as those would-be-brides did not deserve her Biju. She was right. At the end, the most deserving one became my boudi. 

Love you Borda. Be happy wherever you are.

 

Siddhartha Deb, Kolkata, 20 Nov 2015

MY FRIEND HYDER

Hyder Ali came from a humble background. Education was not a priority in his family. All efforts and contacts of any sort of his father were directed towards finding a secured job for him to ensure a tenable future. Hyder’s father was a cook at the company guest house and a pretty good one. So much so, the British general manager of the company often commandeered his service to entertain special guests. Yes, his father knew the GM; personally.

Our school was a boys’ school run by the company for the benefit of its employees. The official status or positions of the fathers did not matter a bit. The teachers, however, were overtly supportive of Hyder. Sending him to school was a reluctant decision of his father. Hyder started rather late and was a couple of years older than the rest of us. Within a short spell of time, he started excelling in all subjects and competed with the brighter boys for the top spot. Teachers went out of their way to nurture him.

However, Hyder dropped out when we reached the seventh standard; immediately after he was offered a scholarship. The teachers were perplexed. The headmaster personally tried to contact Hyder’s father but the old man refused to see the veteran teacher. A group of boys were delegated to Hyder’s house. They were chased away by the old man. He would not allow them to meet his son.

A few weeks later, while walking to school, we witnessed an amazing spectacle. It was our dear friend in a milk white tunic and trousers and a matching cap riding a brand new bike. When we jostled around him to find out what was going on, he gave us a contemptuous look and announced in unaccustomed English, “Now working” and rode away. The encounter was duly narrated to our class teacher later. The elderly teacher shook his head and sighed. Later, we discovered that Hyder’s father requested the general manager for a job for his son. The all-powerful GM obliged his favourite bawarchi and got his son a job as a ward boy at the company hospital. As he was only 16, his age was inflated in the job application. Anyway, we met him on several occasions till we finished school . He did communicate but the contempt for a bunch of school going kids was too prominent. In course of time, we went our own ways and lost contact with this childhood friend.

Many years later, my wife was admitted at the same hospital to deliver our first child. The nurse-in-charge briefed us about the setup of the maternity ward and summoned the ward boy on duty.  A balding Hyder appeared with a big smile; and froze. His smile disappeared. He mumbled a faint “excuse me”, turned around and walked away. The nurse-in-charge was furious, apologized for this unexpected behavior and assured us that Hyder was in fact very efficient and helpful senior ward boy with many years of experience.  I decided to keep quiet, at least for a while.

A day later, when I was back in the hospital during the visiting hours, my wife confirmed that Hyder-bhai, as he was known, was indeed very cordial and friendly. But for some strange reason, he addressed all other ladies as “madam” but for my wife it was a very respectful and soft “boudi” or bhabhi. I enlightened my wife with his entire life story and requested her to treat him with respect as she would any other friend of mine.

After a week or so, we were ready to leave the hospital with our little baby daughter. As was the custom, a bit of a tip was to be paid to the hospital junior staff, which was usually collected by the r ward boy. Neither I nor my wife was prepared to do this. Instead, we detailed my mother-in-law to handle the delicate task. Hyder came into the room after I left and my mother-in-law thanked him for all the help and offered him an envelope. His eyes became moist and voice choked, as narrated by my wife later. He politely refused to accept the envelope and declared for the first time, “I know your son-in-law personally; and I cannot accept this”. My mother-in-law, as she was briefed, said, “I know, you two are childhood friends. My son-in-law told me all about you and him. You are also like a son to me; this is a gift from a mother or an aunt (maasi). An emotionally drained Hyder accepted the envelope and took my baby daughter in his arms before bidding farewell. However, he made no attempt to meet me.



The Hospital where my daughter was born

As we got into the car, parked just outside the hospital premises, I saw Hyder standing on the long veranda, leaning on the railing, staring at us. I got out of the car and waved at him. He did not wave back; he just turned around and disappeared.

That was the last time I saw him.

Siddhartha Deb

Kuwait; 7 August 2012

The Global India

In 2009, my wife and I were on a short holiday in Switzerland. The day after we arrived, we took a conducted sightseeing tour of Zurich. It was a cool, bright and sunny day. We got into a fancy looking bus with large glass windows. Apart from my wife and I, there were a newly married couple from Hyderabad - both IT professionals, a young couple from NOIDA with two sweet little kids, a group of charmingly jovial  Gujarati families and few other nationals, mostly Japanese.  It was a small bus and half the seats were taken by Indians.

Each seat had an earphone with a choice of buttons on a panel fixed on the back of the seat ahead. Each button showed a flag and a language.  One had the option of listening to the running commentary in the language of one’s choice. The driver introduced us to the function of the buttons. He was a friendly, middle aged guy. He must have noticed that most of his passengers that morning were Indians. After his short speech, he said with a chuckle, “Sorry guys, no ‘Indian’ button”.

The Japanese crowd enjoyed the statement; they would … there was a button for their language. Their leader, with two large cameras hanging from his delicate shoulder, gave us a broad smile. I smiled back and said “Another five years at the most, you will find an Indian button as well”. The young Indian crowd cheered.

My statement was prophetic! And, it did not take five years. Five days later, we were in Lucerne, a city with breath-taking surroundings. We took another conducted tour of the city.  The seats have similar earphones and buttons like the ones we saw in Zurich. Suddenly, my wife reacted with uncharacteristic exuberance,

 “Hey, look”.

“What?” I responded in surprise.

She pointed to a button in front us. Lo and behold, there was indeed a button with our tricolour engraved next to it.  Curious, we pressed the button. The effect was magical. Far away from our shores, in an alien land that had no significant historical ties with India, came a sonorous female voice through the earphone, “Namaskar, Lucerne shahar-me aapka swagat hai”.

Honestly, I was pleased but not surprised. Just a few days earlier, we were waiting for a train at the Interlaken rail station right in front of a snack bar. The menu on display had a wide range of snacks like sandwiches, croissants, cakes, cookies, chocolates, soft drinks, tea, coffee etc. Just above the menu board was a prominently displayed handwritten sign that read “Hot samosas available here”.

Indian professional are spreading far and wide led by the young IT professionals. IT professionals, in particular, are conquering the world like Alexander’s army.  Other professionals are not far behind. Earlier, the preferred destination was USA.  These days, young Indian professionals are working at different industries in Europe as well, in Research & Development and Design and Manufacturing. Two factors have made this possible; firstly, a fast growing aging population in Europe and secondly, the availability of appropriate human resources in India.  India’s bulging population thought to be a liability two decades ago turned out to be an asset. The current emergence of Indians everywhere in the world can under no circumstances be termed as the much feared “brain drain” of yore. On the contrary, it is a long term “brain investment”. The penchant of educated Indians settling abroad is on a decline these days. More Indians are returning home after a stint abroad, enriching the nation with foreign currency and more importantly, skill, expertise and technology. I met a young Indian IT professional last year in USA, successful and well settled with all the frills of an “American Dream”. His firm statement that he was planning to return home reflects the current mind set.

Middle East has been a favourite pasture of Indian professionals of all categories since the 50’s. In the early 80’s, when I was still new in this region, I was sent to Bahrain on a project on behalf of my company in Kuwait. I was young and had no friends in Bahrain.  I was in a hurry to get back. One evening, I told my hosts to leave me alone in the office. I wanted to finish the task in hand.  I assured them that I could get a taxi to return to my hotel.  I finished at 9 PM. It was a cold December night and I found one lone taxi at the stand. It was an elderly Arab at the driver’s seat. My Arabic was pathetic. I hesitantly approached the taxi. I made a lot of hand gestures and spattered a few Arabic words I had picked up to tell him that I would like to go to Hotel Diplomat.  The driver was smart, he understood and gestured that it would cost me a couple of dinars. I agreed. He opened the door. As he started the car he said, almost absent-mindedly, “aaj bahut thanda hai bhai sahab, hum heating chalu karta hain, thik hai?”

He spoke fluent Hindi!  In fact, Hindi movies run in packed houses in several Arab countries.

A foreign ministry official was once asked about the total numbers of Indians and people of Indian origin residing abroad. The figure given by him was thirty million, roughly. Obviously he did not have an exact figure.  In response, a journalist quipped, “Plus another half a million in different transit lounges all around the world”. Yes, the number of Indians travelling has also increased significantly. These days they travel with their laptops and blackberries. I once met an old associate at London’s Heathrow absorbed on the screen of his laptop early in the morning. On my query, he replied sheepishly that Bombay Stock Exchange had just opened with a hike and he just booked some profit.

The Ministry of Overseas Indians Affairs has some interesting statistics on its website. According to information available with the ministry, Non-Resident Indians (NRIs) and People of Indian Origin (PIO) are scattered over two hundred countries across the globe, including some obscure countries like Republic of Palau with 14 Indians and Niue with 3. There are 20 in Albania, 50 in Croatia and 10 in Dominican Republic. There are in fact 20 in Cuba and 16 in Nicaragua.  One might wonder what these people do for a living. Unfortunately, the ministry is silent on this aspect. I wonder where these people get their consular services from!

Philippines boasts of about fifty thousand citizens of Indian origin. Their ancestors mostly went from Sind and Punjab.  Sindhis are generally in business and had migrated well before the country was partitioned. Though their original habitat is not in India any more, they still proudly proclaim their Indian identity. When Sushmita Sen was declared Miss Universe in 1994 in Manila, they declared handsome discounts on all merchandise for a whole week!

There was an amazing scenario in April 2010, when prime minster Manmohan Sigh and president Obama met in Washington DC. Singh was being assisted by Jaideep Sarkar, a young dynamic officer of the Indian Foreign Service.  Incidentally, Obama’s principal aid was Anish Goel, supposedly a rising star in US administration. The presence of Indian-Americans in the current US administration is so strong, that Pakistan government has been expressing its apprehension about the “Indian lobby” influencing  US global policy!

There was a strong rumour sometimes back that Bobby Jindal, the governor of Louisiana might offer himself as a presidential or a vice presidential candidate in the future.  Jindal subsequently denied the story albeit a bit mildly. However, members of the Indian Diaspora heading governments far beyond the shores of the country are not a rare sight. S.R Nathan has been the president of Singapore since 1999. Anand Satyanand is the current governor general of New Zealand representing the Queen of England. Ms. Kamala Persad-Bissessar  was elected as the first woman prime minister of Trinidad & Tobago in May 2010. Mahatir Mohammad, the former prime minister of Malaysia is of Indian ancestry; his grandfather migrated from Kerala many years ago. Governments of Mauritius has been dominated by Ramgoolams and Jagnauts for a long time.  Nikki Haley (aka Nimrata Randhawa)  was the Republican nominee in the South Carolina gubernatorial election, 2010 at the time of writing. Ujjal Dev Singh Dosanjh was the prime minister of British Columbia earlier in the past decade.

I often wonder if the current quest for globalization that the country has adopted is at all necessary. Because, slowly and subtly, the rest of the world is getting Indianised. No wonder the most popular British food now is Chicken Tikka Masala and it is official.

Jai Hind.

Kuwait - 16 May 2010.

An Oilman's Story

Exploration for oil is a dirty business. The locations where people set up the rigs and equipment to explore deep down in the heart of mother earth would be an environmentalist’s nightmare. In spite of stringent standards imposed by the authorities around the globe, one would find stinky effluent pits, roar of half of dozen generators and dirty smelly chemicals being pumped in and out of the well bore.

I was in total shock when I started my career in the oil exploration business more than four decades ago. Most of the days, I returned home in dirty oily clothes raising suspicion in the mind of my family members regarding the type of job I did. They never expected a young man with an engineering degree to go to work in tattered khakis, heavy leather boots, helmets and return home with oil and grease stains all over. 

A few springs later, I fell in love with my job and I am still deeply in love. It was exciting to be in charge of a complex operation in a distant forest, away from the civilized world. Life in the camps was fascinating though one would occasionally crave for a break.  Time and career growth had since pushed me gradually away from the hot spot but I still love to get into my coveralls once in a while and spend some time at the oil rigs with the “boys”. 

One of the fringe benefits of the job has always been close interaction with people from all over the world. Even before I left the country in the early 80’s, I had the privilege of meeting people from USA, UK, France, Japan, Nigeria or even Egypt. Once I had lunch with a die-hard Texan in a camp in Arunachal Pradesh. It lasted for about forty minutes. We had a long chat and I did not understand a word he said. I responded by guessing his hand gestures. It was my first encounter with a Texan and his first trip out of USA. But he thanked me at the end of the lunch for a lively conversation. Thankfully, his assignment was complete and he boarded a helicopter on the way to the airport to get back home immediately thereafter. 

There was an interesting episode on board a drill ship off shore Orissa in 1981. It was the first offshore exploration venture of my company. I was representing the company on the drill ship. The ship belonged to an American organization. It had a multi-national crew. A German supply boat was also contracted by our company from Singapore to provide the necessary support we needed from the shore. However, the arrival of the German boat was delayed due to rough weather. In order to carry on with the operation, our company hired a  fishing trawler from the local market as an interim measure. The trawler was manned by a Tamil speaking crew who spoke no other languages. One fine afternoon, the captain of the drill ship, an incorrigible Englishman, frantically asked me to come over to his cabin. The fishing trawler had a problem and it was trying to communicate with the drill ship. The captain regretted his inability to understand the “Indian” spoken by the trawler crew. I tried a bit of Hindi, a little English but could not break the language barrier. The captain was dismayed to learn that I did not speak “Indian” either. It was an emergency situation and there was no time to explain the complexity of a multi-lingual India. I took the shortest recourse. I made an announcement on the public address system to find if anyone on board spoke Tamil. The outcome was a big surprise; a Malaysian of Chinese origin came to our rescue. He had worked in a rubber plantation in Malaysia some years ago as a supervisor and had Tamil labours working for him. He spoke Tamil fluently. Communication was established. 

The story took a twist a few days later, when a radio signal came in from the German supply boat. The boat was in the high sea and developed a mechanical trouble. The German captain and his engineer, first and second mates were all in the engine room trying to repair the fault. The radio room was being manned by a manual labour who did not speak English. The English captain on our drill ship was tearing his hair. He was convinced that this time we were in a total mess because the manual labour at the radio was from Bangladesh. This was my time to smile. “Hey wait a minute”, I said, “Let me take a shot”. “How?”, the captain was perplexed, “Do you speak Bangladeshi?”. I sure did. I blurted out in the microphone in a language I spoke all my life. There was a moment’s silence followed by an excited response from the other side. The guy on the German boat was thrilled to hear his mother tongue from a distant drill ship. He even asked me which “zillah” I belonged to. 

Many years later, I met the English captain at a pub in London and he was still trying to figure out why I had failed to communicate with a fellow Indian but had no problem with a foreigner. He was in high spirit when he raised the issue and I decided not to explain! 

I spent the last thirty years of my life in Kuwait. It has been fascinating. Switching to an oil company in the middle east, where the annual production figure was forty or fifty times more than that of my company back in India was an Alice-in-the-Wonderland like experience. Luckily, I was not alone; there was a sizable number of colleagues from India, who switched over with me in the 80’s. We blended well in the new environment. It was indeed a multi-national set up.  When we landed here, the oil exploration business was literally run by the Americans and the British at the professional level. Slowly, there was a turn around. Indians professionals started arriving in the early 80’s and earned a reputation which was unparallel. However, it continues to be a multi-national set up with a prominent presence of Indian nationals. In fact, Indians are the largest expatriate community in Kuwait today. 

By the way, I have a much better understanding of the Texan language these days! 

The most memorable and also the most devastating experience in Kuwait till date was the environmental disaster triggered by the retreating army of Saddam Hussain’s Iraq in 1991. They set fire to over seven hundred producing oil-wells. It was an inferno unprecedented in human history. The estimated loss was in the order of six million barrels of oil per day in addition to the hideous pollution it created all over the gulf region. 

All we could see in those traumatic days were belching flame and black smoke coming out of each well in sight, extending up to the distant horizon. The spiralling cloud of black smoke shrouded the mid-day sun creating an eerie feeling of “darkness at noon”. It has been eighteen years since the fiasco and the nightmarish memory is still fresh in my psyche. 

It took over a billion dollars and a global effort spreading over almost nine months to extinguish the fires. But that is another story for another day.

 

Kuwait - 1 October 2009 

What's In A Name?

What’s in a name?

Plenty…. Shakespeare and the rose notwithstanding!

A suave and sophisticated lady, a good friend, a dedicated Mumbaikar was in Kolkata recently to meet her relatives. The last time, she was in the city was over thirty years ago when she was a new bride. We, the die-hard Kolkatans kept our fingers crossed lest she finds our dear city abhorrent. After all, Mumbai was the glam-city, the commercial capital of the country!

The fear was uncalled for. She had a wonderful time in Kolkata. She did some shopping; bought kurtas from Sharbari Datta for her American son-in-law, a few baluchoris for herself and her daughter. No other city in the world would offer her this fanciful merchandise. And, she loved the food here. She tasted a bit of “Oh Calcutta”, “Flame Grill”, “Nola” and enjoyed a sumptuous dinner hosted by her cousin at the Kolkata Club. The last place sounded a bit unfamiliar!

“Kolkata Club?”

“Well,” she clarified, “it is a very old club for the city’s elite bang opposite Rabindra Sadan”.

She was surprised we never heard about it.

Well, not quite, we did hear about it. But the place was Calcutta Club.

“Really?”- She was a bit surprised now, “Hasn’t Calcutta been rechristened?”

“Yes, true but not the club!”

Interesting point indeed! The city did change its name, true. But, does every entity prefixed with Calcutta need to change as well?

 Can you have a restaurant called “Oh Kolkata”? Nahh.. It does not sound right!  

What about the other institutions of the city? What about the University of Calcutta, I wondered. The state authorities must have changed the name. But no, the university still retains its old name; at least that is the impression one gets at their website. It is a fairly user-friendly website I must say, decorated in light blue, very soothing to the eyes. It proudly proclaims “University of Calcutta”. There is no sign of Kolkata anywhere.

Calcutta Electric Supply Corporation or CESC, an organization we have all known for ages have stuck to their identity and did not convert to KESC. Calcutta Tramways Corporation or CTC could have changed itself over to KTC but they did not; in spite of being a state owned company. It would be a shame if it did; CTC has a very cute logo, - a “T” with two outstretched arms sheltering two cute little  “C”s that look so vulnerable. KTC would have destroyed the balance and symmetry of the logo.

However, Calcutta Police did change itself to Kolkata Police. All their vehicles are marked with the Bengali letters “kaw” and “pu” with a vertical arrow between the letters. The arrow, from a distance, looks like the phonetic “aa” sound rendering “kaw-pu” as “kaapu” which is interpreted by some cynics as an abbreviation of the word “kaapurush” or coward! This aberration was pointed out to me by a Deputy Commissioner of Kolkata Police, now retired.

There are several others, who have not changed their names.  Calcutta High Court, Calcutta Youth Choir, Calcutta Kennel Club, Royal Calcutta Golf Club have all retained their identity.

So did Calcutta Club.

Thank God for small mercies.

Kuwait - 5 January 2009

PRINCE ANWAR SHAH

Many years ago, when I was a school kid, I accompanied my father to an unfamiliar area beyond the Dhakuria railway crossing; the over bridge did not exist those days.  He was trying to locate a friend’s house. I noticed that a number of road and street names in the area are prefixed with the word “Prince”. The main thoroughfare that our taxi drove through was Prince Anwar Shah Road. There were several other branches as well with royal titles like Prince Ghulam Muhammad Shah Road, Prince Ghulam Hussain Shah Road, Prince Bakhtiar Shah Road, etc.

Who are all these princes? I wondered aloud.

They are the descendants of Tipu Sultan, said my father.

I did not have a clear idea who this Sultan was but I decided to keep quiet lest it exposed my abhorrence to history lessons.  Much later in life, I learnt a little about the Tiger of Mysore and the tragic end he met with while defending his kingdom, honour and independence. The British had a policy of sending the members of a vanquished royal family to exile beyond the realm of their erstwhile power base.  For some strange reason, Kolkata was the favourite dumping ground for the royals.  The last Nawab of Awadh, Wajid Ali Shah was also humiliated to an exiled life in Kolkata.

Tipu Sultan supposedly had sixteen sons and eight daughters. The fate of the daughters is rather unknown but certain websites on the internet including Wikipedia list the names of all the sixteen sons.  

Hussain Shah, a descendant of Tipu Sultan was recently interviewed by the Deccan Herald (27 July 2010) to reveal some of the mystery associated with the family. According to him, Prince Anwar Shah was a grandson of Tipu Sultan. After the death of the legendary hero, his sons and their families consisting of three hundred members were sent to Kolkata.  They were given official pensions as well as land to settle down. In course of time, the exiled family, still reasonably wealthy, acquired real estates in the prosperous and fast growing city of Kolkata. Hussain Shah leads a comfortable middle class life these days with an established business to run. His two sons are also well settled. However, other members of the family are not that fortunate.   The news report was silent about the princes whose names are linked to other streets and lanes in the neighbourhood.

However, Hussain Shah’s claim is contested by an internet source, which says that the road was named after His Highness Sir Ghulam Mohammad Anwar Shah, the fourteenth son of Tipu Sultan, who was eventually recognized by the British as the official head of the family and successor to his father. He was also knighted two years before he died in 1872. 

The subsequent official successors were as follows: -

1.    Prince Ahmad Halim-us-Zaman, fourth son of Sir Ghulam Muhammad Anwar Shah.

2.    Prince Muhammad Farrukh Shah, fourth son of Prince Ahmad Halim-us-Zaman.

3.    Prince Muhammad Bakhtiar Shah, grandnephew of Sir Ghulam Mohammad Anwar Shah.

4.    Prince Muhammad Ghulam Shah, son of Prince Muhammad Farrukh Shah

5.    Prince Ghulam Hussein Shah, son of Prince Muhammad Ghulam Shah

6.    Prince Hyder Ali, son of Prince Ghulam Hussein Shah.

7.    Prince Asif Ali, son of Prince Hyder Ali.

The last named is the current official head of the family.

Some years ago, Karnataka government wanted to trace out some of the descendants of Tipu Sultan and rehabilitate them in their ancestral land. However, most of the family members declined to leave their current home and hearth in spite of their impoverished life style. For generations, Kolkata has been their home and their ancestral land was completely alien to them.  However, according to media reports, Prince Asif Ali Shah, the official head of the family, agreed to be rehabilitated. Karnataka government provided him with a house, paid for his children’s education and conferred upon him a symbolic status of royalty.

 As mentioned before, the early ancestors of the family had acquired large chunk of real estate at the southern part of the city. It has been on record that the reputed golfing hunts of the city’s rich and elite, the Royal Calcutta Golf Club and Tolly Club are located on the exiled family’s property.  The multi-crore property, incidentally, is run by a trust. According to the trustee, his job was to maintain the mosques named after the Tiger of Mysore and not to dole out charity to the hapless family members. As a result, none of the descendants benefits from the enormous wealth left behind by their noble ancestors.  Today many of the descendants are rickshaw pullers and daily labours in Kolkata, totally ignored by a trust established to provide for their welfare.

Dean Nelson, the South Asian editor of The Telegraph (UK) reported on 31 July 2009 that real estates maintained by the trust are worth “hundreds of millions of pounds”.

Today, Prince Anwar Shah Road is a swanky stretch of thoroughfare proudly proclaiming the presence of the city’s most fashionable shopping mall and residential addresses.  However, the prince’s descendants continue to languish in abject poverty.

Kuwait - 28 October 2010