The Times of India's 'Delhi Diary' and Refugees

 

Refugee Assistance Stations like the one in the picture above were established for incoming Punjabi Hindus and Sikhs arriving in Delhi after 1947 (this is a picture I came across on the internet). In many ways, the Punjabi refugee was a discursive construct. Loathed, admired, pitied and respected, the refugee was (and has been) imaginatively woven into the urban fabric of Delhi with each portrayal reflecting larger social anxieties and cultural transformations.

 

I thought I’d historicise this using The Times of India’s ‘Delhi Diary’, a segment written in the late 1940s in the wake of the Partition of India. The Delhi Diary was a series that chronicled change in Delhi, particularly the coming of refugees. It expressed the hopes and anxieties of Delhi’s older and more established elites (Hindus) in the 1940s. In 1948 for example, it complained of the recent ‘Kerbstone merchants’ (refugees) crowding Connaught Circus:

 

“During evenings, when the elite of Delhi frequent this place, it is almost impossible to move along the circular arcades on which the kerbstone merchants have entrenched themselves; frequent collisions between persons are not uncommon and a slight jerk is liable to bring upon oneself a cataract of merchandise…Right at the entrance of a first class tailoring establishment a kerbstone sartorial artist may offer a suit tailored in the best traditions of Lahore for less than half the price charged by the reputed tailoring firm…”

 

However, the refugee wasn’t just a castigated figure. The industrious Punjabi, igniting a culinary and business transformation (clichéd references today) in Delhi finds a mention too. Here is the same segment on the cultural life of the city after Partition, especially on the opening of eateries:

 

“…Eating in restaurants, which not so long ago was considered by Punjabi Hindus as a sin only next to drinking and smoking, is so popular today that one finds an eating house in Delhi at every street corner. Hundreds of hawkers with movable handcarts dotted all over New and Old Delhi have a busy time throughout the day dishing out baked bread and highly spiced cooked grams (kulcha chola) and other delicacies to eager customers.”

 

While the ‘Delhi Diary’ was a short-lived phenomenon (I can’t find a reference to it after 1949), the image of Punjabi refugee in Delhi and the many associations it invokes is enduring.

 

That’s all this week. See you next Friday. 

Dentistry in Delhi, circa. 1946

 

On today is a photograph of a dental business in Delhi from 1946. While the name of the dentist remains unknown, the image was featured in an American publication at the time as part of a series on ‘sidewalk businesses in India.’

Although the publication presents the ‘sidewalk dentist’ as a curious oddity, the hypodermic needle in his hand suggests that he was a reputable, if not officially licensed, practitioner running a popular business. It is also noted that his stall was located at the foot of the Jama Masjid, implying that he could afford the higher rent typically charged by the mosque authorities. All of this points to his business being well-established and in demand.

One might argue that the crowd in the photograph was gathered specifically for the feature, and that the display of dental impressions and a bed of extracted teeth (!) was staged for the photographer. However, we may never know for certain.

In the absence of universal dental care in India, such forms of street dentistry continue to exist today. Delhi’s street dentists—and more generally, India’s street practitioners—cater to the poor, who often cannot afford private dental care. A contemporary publication featured a story on this subject, which I’m enclosing here for further reading: https://www.livemint.com/Politics/DKDZkHEa9hoyDVUQzGr1IO/Street-dentists-filling-gap-for-the-poor-in-India.html

See you next Friday for more on Delhi’s history.

Delhi's first archaeological society, circa 1847

 Some time ago, I briefly mentioned the first archaeological society in Delhi, founded by the British Resident Sir Thomas Metcalfe in the 1840s. I wanted to revisit this topic, so I went back through some archival material to explore it further. Today’s post is focused on exactly that: the Delhi Archaeological Society. The image above is a very early photograph of ruins from the Qutub area (Mehrauli) around 1911. Although this is from a private album and not from the same time period, the Qutub area was one of the places where the society was most active, so it felt fitting to include it.

The first meeting of the Delhi Archaeological Society was held on April 5, 1847, and its transactions were published in the Delhi Gazette, a newspaper at the time. The meeting was attended by 17 interested members, with T. Palmer presiding. Thomas Metcalfe was present, but he was only an ordinary member. Among the 'native' members of the society were Nawab Ziauddin Khan of Loharu (Mirza Ghalib’s father-in-law) and Pir Ibrahim Khan, the Native Agent of Bahawalpur. Interestingly, the first meeting wasn’t even focused on Delhi itself; instead, the discussion centered around donations of ‘glazed bricks and tiles’—one of which had part of an inscription brought from Ghuznee by an officer. Metcalfe himself donated ‘coins of Tughlaq and Khalji (?) sovereigns found at Sirsa’. The society was also keen to receive journals from the Literary Society of Madras and the Asiatic Society of Bengal, and it needed funds to start its own publication.

Subsequent meetings in 1847 reveal that Thomas Metcalfe’s son, Theo Metcalfe, became involved in the society, either as a member or by attending its meetings. Theo would later become infamous for his role in retribution against Delhi after the Rebellion of 1857. By this time, the society had grown and was becoming more Delhi-focused. It had 55 ordinary members by April 1848 and was hailed as a "depository of the large amount of antiquarian lore" in the region. The society conducted researches at sites like the Jama Masjid and Firozabad, funded by a man named Mr. Thomasson. His contributions also helped build a collection of numismatic specimens in silver and copper. Although the newspaper trail runs dry after this point, we know that the society eventually carried out excavations at Delhi’s Jantar Mantar observatory.

There are a few key takeaways here: while ‘native’ participation did occur, the society’s agenda was firmly shaped by representatives of the East India Company. Nevertheless, as others have pointed out, the networks fostered by the society led to a rise in Indian scholarship on Delhi’s ancient monuments. The most notable of these contributions was Sir Syed Ahmed Khan’s Asar-us-Sanadid.

For now, I’ll leave it at that but here is an another treat, a very early image from the same album on Mehrauli/Qutub. 

More on Delhi next Friday.

Delhi's craftsmanship- Deghchis and pottery

 

On the back of last week’s Diwali post, I thought I’d write about craftsmanship in Delhi as I had covered tin foil work there. The picture above comes from an American advertisement placed by the Indian State Railways in the 1930s, aiming to tap into a nascent tourist market.

 

The coppersmith and his apprentice are perhaps posing for the picture but it’s worth noting that Delhi’s copper and brassware was second to none in the past. In the 1880s for example, British officials raved about the Delhi’s copperware Deghchis (copper utensils) which made a stellar entry in the gazetteers:

 

“In Lahore and other copper bazaars, visitors are invariably offered real Delhi Deghchis; and most of the smiths from other places admit that they are not so skilful as those at Delhi. In shaping a circular vessel of changing diameter, they find it necessary to solder pieces on, while a good Delhi coppersmith shapes the whole without joint from one piece.”

 

Yet in the crosshairs of colonial capitalism, Delhi’s copper and brassware quickly came into competition with cheaper German goods which flooded Delhi’s market. Indeed, it seems that in the late 19^th and early 20^th century Delhi everything had a German flavour; postcards were published in Germany, cheap utensils were shipped to Delhi’s markets and one can’t forget the demand for German toys, as I have written about earlier. 

 

To conclude the post on craftsmanship, below is a picture of a potter in Delhi, again from the 1930s decorating porcelain pottery. Considered ‘anaemic’ in comparison to Multan ware by British officials, Delhi’s porcelain pottery was a relatively new craft in the 20^th century. Potters had migrated to the city from Jaipur but their blue and green porcelain decoration wasn’t seen to be of the same standard. I’m sure the potter in the picture would disagree and given his fantastic pieces, so should we.

See you next Friday for more on Delhi.

Diwali in early 20th century Delhi

 

A topical post as this is Diwali time in Delhi. The postcard above is from 1919 and shows Diwali sweetmeat sellers in Shahjahanabad/Old Delhi. The picture is numbered but the postcard publisher isn't mentioned. There is no inclination of where the picture was taken either. 

In early 20th century Delhi, Diwali decorations came in the form of Pannah work (tin foil) on the walls of houses and doors. This was tinted with coloured varnish serving as a gold tinsel. People would cover their doors with tin foil and then paint foliated patterns as Diwali decorations. These were temporary of course, and would feature alongside with clay diyas (oil lamps). One can imagine that the sweetmeat sellers above would have throngs of customers buying sweets for their family puja (prayers) during Diwali season.

A short post this week but see you next Friday for more on Delhi's history.