Crafts And Craftsmen Of Kashmir

Kashmiri crafts are prized for their intricacy, complex designs and elegant styles. I am always attracted by their nature-inspired patterns and skillful use of colour.  Flowers, trees, birds and animals inspire their papier mache, carved walnut woodwork, metal work, crewelled curtains and their woven and embroidered pashmina shawls. 

Papier mache shikara on carved walnut wood table

Carved metal pot looks out onto a garden

Embroidered chinnar leaf-curtains in my house

So sought after are these products that fakes are now mass-produced and transported all over the country and, worse still, back into Kashmir!  Shawls from Ludhiana and Amritsar find their way into the hands of Kashmiri vendors and most exhibitions in Indian cities have at least one stall of "reasonable" (cheap!) semi-pashmina (containing not a thread of pashmina - the prized wool of the high altitude Himalayan mountain goats).  Apparently there is a large market for these pseudo-pashmina shawls and stoles for people no longer want to buy the 'once in a lifetime' shawls (which last considerably more than a lifetime), preferring to wear them for a short while and replace them

 with newer styles.

Trying to find authentic products even within Kashmir is quite a job.  We were fortunate to have met Renuka, a pleasant lady who works with local craftsmen in Srinagar and who gave us the address of the Beigh family of Kashmiri embroiderers.  I had only one afternoon free for shopping and had to decide between crafts, food (walnuts, apricots, saffron, honey, spices) and textiles.  Textiles won hands down and then it was a decision between woven shawls and embroidered ones - each is an art in itself - and I chose the latter.

The Beigh family 'karkhana' (a factory) was in a small lane flanked by large houses which had no names or signs anywhere!  Fortunately our driver knew exactly where it was and said it was a pink coloured building, the only one in that lane.  We climbed up a few flights of stairs to enter a large, many-windowed room with a threadbare carpet covering the entire floor.  At each window were placed two large cushions that served as seats for the embroiderers.  There was a basket of yarn in one corner and a large mass of old threads hanging on the opposite wall.  This was all the equipment in the karkhana!  Four elderly men sat, embroidering quietly and as we entered, two younger men came up and greeted us.

Skeins for embroidery

Old threads for darning

A shawl embroiderer

We sat down and over cups of kehwa (a Kashmiri spice-rich tea) and biscuits, spoke of this and that - of crafts, the difficult times faced by craftsmen, of the wonders of Kashmir and its treasures (which, according to them was the culture and hospitality that far outshone the natural resources), of their experiences in selling the products within and outside India and so on.  We met the oldest member of the family, a Master craftsman, who struggles with asthma as he continues to embroider.  All his sons are national award winners.  We were told that the youngest generation now goes to school and apprentices in the evenings but before that, none of the children had time for education.  Each shawl takes a minimum of three years to complete, many larger and more intricate ones take twice that time.  Several hundreds of workers are also employed by this family; each person is assigned a specific shawl.  The embroiderer decides the pattern and colours and works on one piece at a time.  The old threads hanging in one corner were fragments from ancient shawls that were saved and used to darn old shawls that their customers brought in.

Master craftsman and head of the Beigh family

 We were then led to the room that housed their current stock - not just shawls, but embroidered materials for salwar-kameez, embroidered sarees and more.  They brought out pieces of different kinds of materials and styles as we were not sure what we might want to buy.  The price depends on the material, the weave, whether it is factory made or hand woven and on the quality of embroidery.  It was interesting to see how the same fibres can be woven in various ways to give different textures; the open and soft textured pashmina (inevitably factory-made) is considerably less expensive than the closely woven pieces done by hand.  The shawls may be left in their natural colours (off whites, brownish greys) or dyed before the embroidery begins.

The shop in the karkhana

Surrounded by shawls of all kinds, it was very difficult to decide what to buy.  However, through a gradual process of elimination (and several visits to the mirror!), each of us identified one shawl which we felt we absolutely must have!  It was an interesting experience and very poetically described by the younger family member, who acted as salesman.  He said, "I believe that you have come all this way in search for something that belongs to you, which is being kept in my custody until you claim it."  Of course, we pay for it!  But the work is so fine and done with so much care that I am happy to support this tradition - and also to nurture the belief that I have come to collect "my piece" amongst the hundreds!

My shawl

Someone in my family bought an off white shawl with large, brightly coloured leaves and flowers, another person bought an elegant and intricately embroidered black shawl for evening wear.  I bought a grey shawl with a beautiful weave and a delicate, embroidered border.  A wondrous border in soft colours - peach (one of my favourites), sky blue, baby pink and tiny dots and stripes of red.  The family members who did not buy anything (i.e. the men!) were replete with tea, biscuits and conversation.  Finally, with many gracious invitations uttered by one and all, we bade farewell to this incredibly creative family.  We drove away with hearts so full of happiness that it dripped out, mingled with the sunshine and fell all over our precious shawls, making them look all the more beautiful.

Detail of embroidery

Valleys And Waterways Of Kashmir

I had very little time to explore this fascinating land of towering mountains, green, shaded vales and innumerable water forms (rivers, streams, lakes, glaciers).  I spent a couple of days in the Srinagar and Anantnag districts of Kashmir and my focus was largely on meeting people I knew.

After attending various functions and meeting family friends, we found ourselves on the road that connects Srinagar to Anantnag.  It is crowded and dusty in part but also passes through some very scenic stretches.  We crossed fields green with unharvested rice, the Lidder river (and its tributaries) lined by willow, poplar and chinar trees, fields where saffron grows, orchards of apple, pear and apricot.  The road weaved gently round the undulating terrain as we moved from mountain to mountain.  The skies were cloudy, threatening rain when we set out, but the clouds gradually lifted and reluctantly allowed the sun to shine through.  As soon as the sun broke through, we got a glimpse of layers and layers of towering, ancient mountains - some pine covered and some stark and bare, whose presence we were earlier unaware of.  We were suddenly surrounded by shades of green, brown and grey.  This is the magic of the mountains - they can disappear and appear at will (or when the weather permits it)!

Srinagar is crowded and dusty and one tends to forget that it is one of the most picturesque capital cities of the country.  Until one moves past the construction to see water and mountains stretching out endlessly.  The Jhelum river flows silently through the city and enters the gigantic Dal Lake.  Mountains rise in the distance.  In the background, hidden away in a corner, is the tiny, tranquil Nagin Lake. The lake is relatively quiet; shikaras (small local boats) glide along its surface, transporting flowers, vegetables or the occasional visitor!  A row of houseboats stand placidly in the distance, awaiting tourists.  We ventured on this lake one evening during sunset, when the colours were a rich orange-gold that turned to a pale peachy-pink.  Then night fell and the lights from the houseboats and the city came on like little glowing torches.

The next morning, I stood and stared at the lake for a long time - birds hopped from leaf to leaf, the lotus plants were fresh and turned towards the sun (the flowers had all fallen off during the heavy rains of the previous days), the water gleamed and mumbled to itself - secrets of all that it had witnessed perhaps.  I walked away, at peace with the world.

Attending A Kashmiri Wedding

I have just returned from a trip to Kashmir that began as I was invited for two weddings.  It was a hurried on-the spot decision to go; I threw in a few clothes, other essentials and flew to Srinagar.  There is now an almost direct flight from Bangalore (with a halt in Delhi) which has made Kashmir quite accessible to the southern region of the country.

The last two years have been relatively peaceful in the valley and tourism has surged.  Hotels have been packed and roads jammed with vehicles.  This was the off season yet I saw a fair number of visitors and hotel bookings were still hard to get.  I assumed this was because it was wedding season in Kashmir - just after the weeks of fasting and before the onset of the winter harvest, but in fact the visitors were largely tourists.  The weather is normally clear at this time but this year the rains have been late everywhere.  I reached to find cloudy skies that burst open to release torrents of rain that lasted right through the wedding ceremonies.

The wedding  was in a small town near Pahalgam (two siblings were getting married on consecutive days- this is quite common in Kashmir; it makes sense to arrange events when infrastructure can be shared and family can keep themselves free for two or three days at a stretch).

We arrived at the family house to find preparations in full swing.  An open area had been covered for the cooking.  An array of pots and pans stood by a long shallow trench that was being filled with firewood.  Huge pieces of mutton were carried in, spices were washed and cleaned.  The open kitchen was being prepared for cooking.  The stoves were lit, several men sat with wooden slabs and mallets, pounding the meat for hours before it was put into the clay and metal pots and simmered over the wood fire.  While this was in progress, another tent had been set up where folk dancers and musicians would perform while family and friends sat around.

On the first night we represented the groom's side and went to the bride's house for a late night-early morning feast (wazwan) that lasted several hours, in which we were served all possible kinds of mutton dishes along with lots of rice and tiny amounts of vegetables.

There was much singing and dancing at both houses.  We returned early morning with the newly wed bride who was welcomed her to her new home with more singing.

Meanwhile the mehndi raat for the next day's wedding (where we represented the girl's side) was in progress.  Henna was applied in intricate patterns on the girl's hand and subsequently on the hands of the other women who were present.  Folk  musicians and dancers sang and played till just before dawn broke and then everyone dispersed to get a few hours of sleep.

The following day we witnessed the nikah or actual wedding (which takes place in the girl's house).  The prospective bride and groom are not present on this occasion.  Instead they are represented by close family members who initially ask the bride and groom (in the presence of two witnesses from each side) whether they agree to this marriage.  After they have consented, the representatives, the witnesses and the qazi (religious head) meet in the girl's house.  The boy's family provides a sum of money and jewellery which is handed directly to the girl.  A contract is drawn up stating the amounts given, the names of the representatives and the witnesses who are present at the ceremony.  This is signed by the participants and the wedding is complete.  Dates and cups of milk are handed out followed by large plates of meat.  Some of the food is consumed, some carried back, then everyone disperses.  In the evening, the groom and some members of his family visit the bride's house where they are welcomed with songs and gifts.  There is much feasting and music after which they return home along with the bride.

Seven days later, the newly wed couple visit the bride's house where they spend a few days.  This marks the end of the wedding ceremonies.

Two Bengali Fish Curries

We rarely get good river fish in Bangalore; the little there is is cultured and I stay far away from it.  On weekends, we do get hauls from the eastern rivers, but I don't buy them in the monsoon season, which is the spawning time for many of the fish.  Thinking that the season might be over, I took a quick look in the market - and sure enough, there was a heap of tangra (small fish which are marinated in a green chutney and then fried in a besan (gram flour) batter), the usual rohu and katla (larger fish which are now cultivated - generally used for curries), small hilsa (a delicacy but one rarely finds the original, larger sized fish) and more.  I was drawn to the pile of pale pink, smooth skinned pabda - a fish with a delicate texture and flavour that my husband and I love to eat.

So pabda it was, and when I took it home I decided to divide it and make two curries - one with ginger and the other with mustard.  These curries are somewhat different from the usual onion - tomato kind - they have very little oil, almost no solid pastes and relatively large amounts of liquid.  Magically, the tiny bit of oil, the whole spices and the finely ground spice and liquid mixture comes together with the fish to form a delicious curry (which thickens on cooling due to the gelatin from the fish).  The spices are sharp but light enough not to mask the flavour of the fish.  This is the way I like it and the way I learnt it from Daya, our family cook in Kolkata.  In other homes or restaurants one might find heavier or oilier versions of these curries, which are also popular, but not to my taste.

The ingredients cannot be ground in blenders or electric grinders, so I pulled out my trusty grinding stone.  I did the ginger first and then the mustard (which is tricky as it often turns bitter- every cook has their own way and I grind it smooth with green chilly and salt).  The fish was coated in salt and turmeric (as is the Bengali way), then fried in very hot mustard oil.  Finally the curries were assembled - in mustard oil, with a sprinkling of onion seeds for the ginger and fenugreek seeds for the mustard curry.  I added a cup or two of water, a pinch of salt and finally the fish.  This was simmered slowly until the spices melded.  Interestingly, both curries look quite similar but the flavours, of course, are completely different.  The effects as well!  Ginger aids digestion and mustard is heavy on the stomach.

And now, I will have to select one of them for dinner tonight (it will be prudent to have the ginger)!  This will be served with steamed rice and fresh, garlicky spinach.

Fish with mustard

Fish with ginger

Stray Garden Visitors

This has been a strange year for rains, half the country is flooded and the other half drought ridden.  In Bangalore we have had small showers periodically that have helped keep the heat away but there has been less rain than usual.  Now, towards the end of the season, the skies are suddenly filled with clouds and there are bursts and torrents of rain.  In between, the sun peeps out and there are moments of bright sunshine, leaving us all confused.  Do we keep the clothes out to dry or bring them in?  Do we need our sweaters or will it be too warm?  Can we step out without an umbrella or will we be caught in a passing shower?

The birds and insects seem all confused too.  Perhaps this is why they have been making short visits to our garden, to look around, forage or just to dry themselves and get their bearings.  Each time I step out I see something crawling or flying or sitting in the garden or on the trees around.  It is impossible to capture these moments in any way, especially as I end up startling the birds and causing the butterflies to gracefully drift away.  But I have captured perhaps a little of the mood of this season - the gentle millipede trundling around, the unusual insects - some that pay a solitary visit and some that come in swarms almost like flocks of birds.  The squirrels that are going crazy chasing each other up and down trees.

The orange aloe vera flowers that don't seem to mind the weather or swarms of insects.  The splash of white in the red ginger lily.  

I missed the koels, the parrots and the barbettes, which flew away as soon as I sighted them, but the bulbul was more placid and allowed me to take a picture as it sat looking around from its perch on the sandalwood tree.

Water droplets run off all the creepers and trees, some go down my neck as well, it's quite refreshing!  And then the sun comes out, suddenly all the colours change and it's a different world.

Life With Killer Wasps

We have a gigantic and continuously growing wasp nest outside our bedroom window.  While it provides an intriguing glimpse of the lives of these industrious insects, we are always aware that nothing but a plastic mesh separates them from us now.  For they have built all round the window frame, the iron grill and are busy trying to expand their home each day.  I think we are now left with no option but to remove the nest.  This is an unfortunate conflict of interest as they have no way of knowing where to stop and we have no method of communicating with them.

The reason it has come to this is as always, partly human.  We began our search for answers and options a month ago with our esteemed Ecological Sciences department.  It took some time to contact them for emails did not evoke a response.  We were not particularly concerned at this stage though I occasionally had to calm my maid (who would launch off into stories about how her kith and kin were painfully stung by bees and the enormous proportions their faces had acquired).  Most people we met advised us to 'knock it off' or 'spray it down'.  In the west, there are powerful sprays which shoot jets many feet high, dissolving entire structures.  Our friends promised to try and bring us some on their next trip.  But the next trip would probably be a year down the line.  The only person who nodded calmly was a fluffy looking elderly Parsi lady, our friend's mother, who lives on a large farm by herself.  "Yes, if you don't trouble them, they won't trouble you," she said and we left it at that.

Of course, the least we could do was to find out more about this specie.  And so, once more, it was to Ecological Sciences that we turned. Someone came to our house and told us that these were vespas, very aggressive wasps and bullies of the bee and wasp world.

We were now one step closer to Knowledge .  We now had a word to use in our internet searches and the inevitable question, "What do we do?"  We were told that someone called Ponnannaji dealt with these issues and we could try and contact him.

Vespa - the fierce yellow and black hornets that live from spring to late summer or fall, and do not occupy the same nest twice.  This is what the internet informed me.  It did not sound too bad and if we didn't trouble them, they wouldn't trouble us, I thought, reassured.  Meanwhile, relatives drifted in and out, muttering, "Oh how beautiful!" and "My parents had something like this for many years, they had no problems whatsoever!"  The internet however cautioned me that any smell (rotting wood, apples, pears..) could drive the vespas crazy.  Fortunately, these fruit are so expensive that until the season is well underway, we don't buy them.  And we would have to take our chances with rotting wood.

Time moved on and our search for Ponnannaji began.  This turned out to be difficult for the Ecological Sciences people didn't feel Ponnannaji was the right man for this task but couldn't think of anyone else other than the Security Officer.

Meanwhile, we had no problems with rotting wood (our window frames were falling off, but modern 'beading' does not rot in the same way as old huge Burma teak logs and the vespas didn't even know when we repaired our frames).  However, we were having a lot of trouble with light.  The wasps are very sensitive to artificial light.  So we could use the lights during the day but not at night or early morning otherwise they would begin buzzing and circling the plastic net, trying to enter the room.  This was not too much trouble for our hours are not very different from theirs, nonetheless, it was a constraint. And one day, we saw a huge number of wasps buzzing around, enlarging the various openings they had built.  We thought they might be leaving, but it was not to be.  The numbers grew and as they began building round all the obstacles, the buzzing and scraping sounds intensified and then we had to leave town for some work.

Now we are back and have just called the Security Officer, who started laughing on the telephone.  "The Ecological Sciences people are dealing with wasps everyday," he finally managed to say after his mirth had subsided.  "How can they not know what to do?"  Finally he informed us that this was not part of his job.  We had to contact the Estate Office, who would in turn call Pest Control.  Today is Friday and we are not quite sure when we will find a solution to our vespas.  I am a little sad but I will be relieved to have a clear window to the sky and a room devoid of buzzing sounds.

Note: As it turned out, Pest Control came immediately and sprayed something noxious on the hive, then broke it down.  Some wasps died and several flew away.  I also spent the day outdoors and it will take another couple of days before we can use the room.  A large and complex operation!