GALL IN THE FAMILY

We fight our relatives with vigor and venom

By Berjis Desai

If we may be pardoned an unscientific generalization, Parsis fight with their relatives — spouses and siblings, parents and progeny, aunts, uncles and cousins — more than members of other communities. While money and marriage are the major reasons, allergy, eccentricity and simple dislike also lead to courts and police stations. The orphan Mako, who lost both his parents when the state transport bus to Valsad overturned, was brought up by his spinster maasi (maternal aunt) who doted on her rather healthy ward. Maasi was secretly overjoyed at his resolve never to contemplate matrimony until she discovered him with the maid in their tiny bathroom. His decent wages, as a booking clerk with Air India those days, bankrolled maasi’s house and put him in a commanding position. Mako did not permit maasi to terminate the domestic’s services thereby threatening maasi’s dominance.

Great affection was soon replaced by great hostility as aunt and nephew declared war. The dining table was agreed to be divided into two equal parts demarcated by a rope. Maasi would send Mako’s doodh ni tapeli (utensil holding milk) flying off the table if it dared to trespass upon her section. In retaliation, the nephew would lock her in the bathroom, the original battle ground, and leave the house. They routinely filed criminal complaints against each other, and one Friday night the harassed sub inspector locked both up for two nights until Mako, who had a phobia about lizards, fainted in the lock-up.

In the very early days of our impoverished legal practice we foolishly agreed to mediate between two middle-aged sisters staying together in Cusrow Baug, both spinsters of course, and both working for the same bank. Their exotically wild allegations and counter allegations would have made Harold Robbins blush, and even 35 years later, publication of the charges would be deemed obscene. Neither would let us recuse from the mediation and taught us the virtue of infinite patience. Years later, one of them sent us half-a-dozen Lookmanji’s malai na khaja (a fresh cream filled philo sweetmeat), with a note saying that our services as the mediator were no longer required as her sister had died the previous evening!

Like Westerners, Parsis believe that divorce at any age is acceptable. After decades of unpeaceful coexistence, Parsis sue their spouses for divorce before the matrimonial division of the Bombay High Court aided by the so-called delegates of the “jury system.” Most of these geriatric delegates cut a sorry picture before an audience of regulars who come armed with a bhona no dabbo (tiffin box) to be devoured in the recess after enjoying the salacious details of matrimonial lives made public. The Parsi Marriage and Divorce Act does not recognize irretrievable breakdown as a ground for divorce. Many cussedly do not agree to divorce by mutual consent to prevent the spouse from remarrying, which results in contested cases lasting for years. Those who have been married long, take longer to divorce. Often the non-Parsi judge hides his exasperation with the litigants, exacerbated by inane comments from the delegates, behind a polite countenance, out of deference to the collective goodwill for our eccentric community.

Shapurji, a gentleman at large, who spent his life between the courts and Ripon Club, refused to settle a dispute with his cousins regarding some old furniture worth Rs 17,000, and thought it very unsporting of his cousins who refused to appear in court, thereby denying Shapurji the pleasure of a contest. He gladly paid his solicitor’s bill for Rs 70,000. We recall his quaint little solicitor, in his late 1980s, taking a goodly 30 minutes to finish the arduous journey from his easy chair at the Ripon to the washroom, and ambling back.

We were also privy to an acrimonious dispute between three Parsi Irani brothers in the bakery business. Every morning, they baked fresh bread and also fresh disputes, mostly banal. The eldest, who suffered from Parkinson’s disease, insisted that we reduce our fees and that he would soon “please” us. Our doorbell rang at 5.30 in the morning, and there was our client with a huge walnut cake, for our gustatory pleasure. His middle brother, who had an uncanny resemblance to the hero of Taras Bulba, would apply ginger paste on his sweating bald pate to keep it cool and saunter into the High Court, setting a hundred noses twitching. The youngest brother complained to us that our client’s wife was so jealous of his wife that when the latter had her hysterectomy performed by a noted obstetrician, the former too went to the good doctor with a request that he do her hysterectomy.
In the Parsi DNA, there is an as yet unidentified litigation gene which is transmitted from one generation to the next. For these families, filing a suit is as common as having breakfast. Consent terms are for cowards; settlements are for sissies. Parsi ladies and gentlemen of leisure litigate for sheer pleasure. In their unending quest for justice they care not if their opponents are of their own blood. Mako died prematurely before his maasi who honored her errant nephew’s memory by refusing to untie the rope which divided their dining table.

Berjis M. Desai, managing partner of J. Sagar Associates, advocates and solicitors, is a writer and community activist.

LEMON AND CHILLI ARE NOT THAT SILLY

Tale of the Superstitious Parsis

By Berjis Desai

Until the late 1980s, when there were no mobile phones or email, and crank calls were untraceable, warring Parsis in baugs would arrange to send the Doongerwadi hearse first thing in the morning on some saaro saparmo divas (auspicious day) to their enemy’s home. Just as Behramji would be savoring sev and dahi, the khandhias (pallbearers) would ring the doorbell and crudely ask: where is the body? A classic case of sagan ma vaghan (bad omen on an auspicious day) would convince Behramji’s family that the coming year would be an annus horribilis (not to be confused with a bad attack of piles).

Apart from the path-crossing black cat, walking under a ladder, spilling salt and other international superstitions, Parsis have their own unique collection. Seeing a hearse at crack of dawn on Parsi New Year day, a dog suddenly wailing or moaning without cause, a crow depositing a dead rat on the window sill and meeting a punchayet trustee in the morning are the milder superstitions. The hard core ones are a mixture of Iranian and Indian beliefs. That pregnant women must sleep out a lunar eclipse is extensively followed. In the villages of Gujarat, it is widely believed that at such a time a pregnant woman should not even open her eyes: If she were to spot an owl, the child would be born with owl-like features. Some anecdotal evidence witnessed by this columnist: The rooster is much respected as the angel of dawn and almost never knowingly eaten. In the backyard of Gujarat Parsi homes, poultry would be reared for eggs and for sali ma murghi but the rooster would be spared and die either of excessive exertions with his fast diminishing harem or being heartbroken at seeing his mate end up on a plate. To complete the bird superstitions, Parsis reacted with horror to a vulture sitting on the roof of a house. It was taken as a sign of an earthly sojourn about to end. Considering that Parsis managed to outlive the vultures, this superstition has proved to be baseless.

Even in Persia, they believed in the evil eye. Shah Faridoon, a wise king, was a great white magician who conquered the evil Zohak and whose nirang prayer is even today faithfully recited by community members to ward off black magic. This nirang lists more than a hundred different types of nazars or chashma (evil eye) to be purged. The healer holds the thumb of the right hand of the victim and recites this nirang with the oft repeated intonation of the mantra, “Fé naaméyazad, bā farmaané yazad, banamé nik Faridoon é dāāv gayé,” which has very potent vibrations. Some Parsis wear an amulet containing a miniature version of the nirang.

Fixing a horse shoe above the entrance door (more often than not, the shoe was from cattle, and not a horse) to prevent malevolent influences from entering within, tying lemon and chillies and avoiding stepping on those lying on the ground, purging hepatitis (only of the ‘A’ variety) and sunstroke by performing certain rituals ultimately do have their origin in some superstition or the other. The rational ones quip that superstition brings bad luck, while the believers retort that superstition is nature’s way of preparing one for bad news. The glass shade of a divo (oil lamp) or a mirror cracking are considered terrible omens (as Tennyson put it: “The mirror crack’d from side to side, ‘The curse is come upon me,’ cried the Lady of Shalott”).

Notwithstanding the Parsi love for food, dhansak is never to be prepared on a birthday; since post the dawn uthamna ceremony for the deceased, the temporarily vegetarian relatives would eat mutton dhansak, cutely called the charam nu botu (charam being the fourth day after death and botu meaning a succulent piece of meat). However, one may gladly consume mora dar chawal on a happy occasion. Fortunately, there are no superstitions attached to drinking though one may certainly consider it a bad omen if that carefully preserved Merlot turns out to be vinegarish.

Devout Parsis do believe that day and night are divided into sub-periods of 90 minutes each (beneficial, inimical, excellent, auspicious, chaotic, bad, disease) prominently printed for the month in every good Parsi calendar (like those produced by the almost defunct Karani Brothers or Union Press). Rolled up into a cylinder, the calendars were handy to swat mosquitoes before flattening them under a heavy mattress in time for Parsi New Year. These sub-periods or chogadiyas were faithfully consulted and journeys and events planned accordingly. If one was not careful about what one said during a particular chogadiyu, the consequences could be horrendous if some malevolent entity was listening in then. Similarly, it was taboo to wallow in bed at dusk. Anyone uttering messages of gloom and doom was sarcastically dubbed “Sagan no ganthiyo” (virtually impossible to translate) and to be avoided.

The most sinister superstition was that, other than the khandhias, no one must come out alive from the dakhma. Decades ago, when medical standards were poor, an old lady consigned to the Navsari dakhma showed signs of life and was promptly beaten to death in the belief that once the geh saran ceremony had been performed, one simply cannot come alive again. This is not a figment of our imagination, though obviously we cannot adduce any evidence.

Finally, it is not good to die during the five Gatha days preceding the new year, since one will not then have a masiso, bumsie or chhumsie (after death prayear for the first month, two months and six months). Something like being born on February 29. So be careful during the Gathas.

Berjis M. Desai, managing partner of J. Sagar Associates, advocates and solicitors, is a writer and community activist.

This piece was published in Parsiana edition dated August 21, 2015

Of Parsis, Faith, Healing and Alternative Medicine

The orthopedic specialist has grimly pronounced that you must lie flat in bed for three weeks, not bend down or lift weights for the rest of your life. The disc has truly slipped. As you lie forlorn, staring at your false ceiling, ruing the postures you can no longer adopt, a Good Samaritan promises a magical, instantaneous cure. Groaning in pain, you stand before a large, mustachioed Parsi gingerly eyeing you. 

In the style of security guards at the airport, he frisks your fragile spine with his farmhand fingers and locates the source of your woes while his two helpers hold you back to keep you from running away should you have a last minute change of mind. The healer taps your back lightly with his foot twice or thrice before nonchalantly delivering a hard kick on the offending vertebra with laser precision. Momentarily, you are unable even to cry and then the man commands you to get up. Hesitatingly, you do and discover that your pain and stiffness have disappeared, instantly. You walk away smiling. The healer charges no money and you go home happily, thinking of the alternative employment the orthopedic doctor will soon have to find.

The legendary founder of this kick school was Manchersha Madhivala, a rough diamond. He cured thousands and never took a penny. Visitors to his simple home in Madhi village, a few miles from Navsari, were not allowed to leave without partaking of a spartan meal of coarse rice, dal and dried Bombay duck. It was believed that he had been given this magic touch by a sadhu (Indian ascetic). Madhivala imparted his method to Jal Amaria, Keki Kotwal of OK Wafers and Eruch Avari of Colaba, all of whom served selflessly and all now deceased. Kayomarz Patel continues the tradition. There were no horror stories of a kick landing wrongly or puncturing a kidney or lung.

Parsis suffering from back and neck problems also visit a Gujarati businessman at his modest residence in one of Bombay’s western suburbs. He does not kick but manipulates vigorously. In the Jain tradition, his sadhana (discipline undertaken in pursuit of a goal) has resulted in a siddhi (a power) from Mataji, a female deity, enabling him to deal with the muscular skeletal system for the last 35 years.

Allopathy provides relief but no cure for common hepatitis or jaundice. This columnist, when 12, suffered a bad attack of jaundice and the doctor was concerned with the rising bilirubin level. An old chasniwalla (fire temple worker) was approached, bargained hard for his fees, concluded the arrangement, took a bowl of water, mumbled a prayer, blew on the water and dipped the patient’s finger in the water which slowly turned yellow. Later that evening, the blood test showed normal bilirubin and the coffee colored urine turned pale yellow. The utter revulsion for food or even its aroma was soon replaced by a gargantuan appetite. The doctor just shrugged his shoulders.

A century ago, in the state of Baroda ruled by Sayajirao Gaekwad III, a granduncle working as an engineer during day would cure scorpion bites after nightfall. The villagers would bring the writhing victim, suffering from excruciating abdominal cramps, to him in a cart. The Parsi would say a short prayer and the victim would gratefully get up and walk away, blessing the healer. Nothing was taken in cash or kind. Having been taught some spell by a roaming dervish, the Parsi had to stand in chest deep water in the river at midnight on one particular day in the year, virtually like a refresher course in toxicology! The Parsi did not pass on his powers to anyone.

Migraine cured by eating a piece of sweetmeat at dawn; sunstroke cured by passing a stainless steel thali (plate) filled with water, stones and a few other things, all over the body; piles cured by consuming a cup of mild black tea blessed by a Khoja gentleman residing in a bungalow at Bandra — these are cures that have been witnessed by this columnist over the years.

For those trusting only in Zoroastrian prayers, the powerful Ardibesht Ameshaspanda Nirang followed by the equally potent nirang of the legendary king of yore, Shah-e-Faridoon, a great white magician and healer, destroyer of all evil, have been found to be miraculous not only in curing ailments but for exorcising evil and mental disorders. The healer holds the right thumb of the patient while sonorously uttering the intonation: “Fénaamé yazad ba farmaané yazad, banaménik Faridoon é daavgayé (Faridoon commands evil to be frozen).”

Not all Parsis take kindly to alternative healers. Decades ago, one Sunday evening, we remember seeing a resident medical officer of a community hospital throwing out a Parsi healer reciting prayers before a young lad afflicted with a brain tumor. The doctor bellowed in a stentorian voice across the lobby that he would summon “the Gamdevi” (police). Strangely, himself an expert on forensic science and toxicology he was reportedly often found sitting in his cabin trying to hypnotize a rooster trying its damnedest to escape the iron grip of the good doctor.

Editors’ note: Nothing contained in this article should be taken as an endorsement, by this columnist or this publication, of any of the alternative methods of cure.

Berjis M. Desai, managing partner of J. Sagar Associates, advocates and solicitors, is a writer and community activist.

NON-PARSI BELIEVERS ARE ON THE RISE

A surprising number of non-Parsis have faith in Zoroastrian prayers

There is this anecdote about a solitary fisherman’s tiny boat being tossed around in stormy waters with the shore nowhere in sight. A few years earlier this fisherman had witnessed, in a similar situation, his Parsi master reciting the Yatha Ahu Vairyo after which the sea suddenly turned benign, thus saving precious lives. However, the only word the fisherman could remember was “Thavario.” 

With great devotion and faith, he started chanting, “Parsi taro Thavario (Parsi, your Thavario).” The miracle is said to have occurred again: the stormy skies cleared and the wind dropped.

In those towns of Gujarat which have an agiary it is commonplace for non-Parsis to hand over sandalwood sticks to Parsis entering the fire temple and requesting them to light a divo. Barring some occasional oddball, Parsis would gracefully accede to this touching request.

Even in Udvada non-Parsis buy sandalwood and leave it at the Iranshah gate.  In the 1940s when the revered Sardar Dastur Noshirwan Dastur, designated Head Priest of the Deccan, was in charge of Poona’s Sardar Sorabji Patel Agiary in Nana Peth (Gaam ni Agiary), it was widely known that non-Parsis would leave sandalwood outside the fire temple as offerings to the atash padshah. The benign priest, noted for his spiritual aura, would also reportedly receive written requests (which were tied to the branches of a pomegranate tree in the compound) asking him to make special intercessions on their behalf to solve the problems they were facing.

This now occurs in Bombay as well. On Meher mah, Meher roz, as the queue winds its way through the narrow lane leading to the famed Aslaji Agiary, non-Parsis can be seen handing money to Parsi devotees to offer sandalwood to the holy fire on their behalf.

At Bombay’s Bhikha Behram Well, located at the southern end of Cross Maidan, several non-Parsis stand outside the venerated premises to offer their devotion.

Our progressive priests (and their number is gradually increasing) who perform funeral rites for those opting for cremation and navjotes of children of intermarried Parsi mothers, are now being requisitioned to conduct jashans at non-Parsi homes. The fervor with which these jashans are attended by non-Parsis is to be seen to be believed, report the priests. The potency of manthric prayers is appreciated. Non-Parsis suffering from chronic illnesses or inexplicable malevolence request their Parsi friends to recite the Ardibehesht Yasht or the nirang of Afsoon-e-Shah-e-Faridoon, the divine healer. A Maharashtrian lady on dialysis recently surprised this columnist by reciting the central manthra of that nirang, with impeccable pronunciation.

Does this mean that if the faith was to open its doors to non-Parsis there would be an implosion? We think not. Just as Parsis, substantial numbers of whom routinely worship at the temples of other faiths but remain Zoroastrians, non-Parsis who offer devotion at Zoroastrian places of worship would stay with their religion. Many such non-Parsi believers often express a wish to worship in our fire temples and some of them have even done so. This will undoubtedly enrage the orthodox. However, what seems sacrilege today will, over the next two or three decades, become accepted practice. Closed door practices generally crumble under the pressure of external factors.

Parsis should be legitimately proud of the power of their faith being appreciated by others. Every religion is universal and man-made rules of exclusion are bound to fall by the wayside when the time is ripe.

Berjis M. Desai

Voting for self-interest

In State and municipal elections, Parsi voters should exercise their franchise intelligently

As informed citizens, in national elections, we vote, keeping in mind the national interest. However, in State legislative assembly elections and/or municipal elections, we take into account local issues. As a result, often there is an electoral swing even within a short period of time and the outcome of local elections, at times, differs from national elections.

Our Constitution details the powers exercisable by the Union of India, the States and certain shared powers between the two, called the Concurrent List. Hence, electoral considerations will also vary accordingly. In a secular democracy, is it legitimate to consider the interest of one’s community in exercising franchise? At first blush, a liberal democrat may find this repugnant. The right to vote is sacred and cannot be sullied by any considerations of caste, community or religion. That would be against the fabric of secularism.

On the other hand, this proposition cannot be examined in isolation. Our community, being minuscule in numbers, certainly requires extra protection. Our Doongerwadi lands, priceless, are hungrily eyed by property sharks. Our vast properties in the city are the envy of others. With a majority of Parsis being above 60, we have a disproportionately high number of senior citizens. Many of them reside alone and are vulnerable to being victims of violent crime. Our children find it increasingly difficult to compete for a place in educational institutions on a level playing field. We may have proudly rejected reservations earlier. However, the time is ripe to have reservations in medical, engineering and other professional courses. The B. D. Petit Parsee General Hospital operates on a shoestring budget and has acute cash flow issues. Our heritage sites like Udvada and Navsari require protection.

Politicians of all hues routinely claim to be friends of the community. These claims are often hollow. However, there are legislators who have genuinely furthered the interests of our community. For the last decade, they have furthered the community’s interest effectively by renovating Doongerwadi pavilions (did not go down well with the Fringe), cleaning water tanks in our baugs, donating ECG machines to our community medical centres and so on. More significantly, they are endeavoring to get reservation for Parsis in the Maharashtra Legislative Council.

Parsis should vote for a candidate irrespective of their personal political affiliations, by subsuming them in the larger interest of the community.

The crossroads at which the community finds itself demands that we learn to vote in the community’s interest, at least, at the State and local municipal levels. This is routinely resorted to, even in more mature democracies.

-- Berjis M. Desai

Respecting Priests

From sublime heights, our priests have descended to becoming an underprivileged class

The diktats of imams and maulvis are faithfully followed. Hindu priests rule the roost in most parts of India. Not only archbishops and cardinals, even the parish priest is held in affectionate regard. Buddhist monks are considered evolved souls. Bohris regard their head priest as a direct descendant from the Prophet. Jains revere their maharaj sahebs and mahasatijis. Sants rule Sikh hearts and Rabbis rock. Parsi priests, an underprivileged class, are given only cursory respect.

Zoroastrian prayers reverentially refer to the great dasturs of yore who sacrificed all to protect the holy fire and the faith from the marauding Arabs. It was a dastur who secured us refuge in India by convincing a sceptical king in power about our bona fides. Dastur Meherjirana attended Emperor Akbar’s court and significantly contributed to Din e Ilahi, a new secular faith conceived by the Emperor. For believers, even today, Meherjirana’s image which has mystically surfaced on the marble wall opposite the sanctum sanctorum in the Navsari Atash Behram is proof of his high spiritual status. In more recent times, the many miracles of Dastur Jamshed Kookadaru, including alchemically transforming a brick into gold to finance a fire temple, are the stuff of legend. Our priests were giants of men, both spiritual healers and leaders in thought.

From these sublime heights the priests descended into unseemly factional strife, asserting territorial rights to perform ceremonies and indulging in parish grabbing, and even violence. Since one had to be born into a priestly family to become a priest, it became a calling by compulsion and not choice. Even if a non-priestly behdin ("Of the Good Religion") had eminent qualities to be a good priest, he was barred by the accident of birth. A non-merit based hereditary calling often degenerates. Young lads dropped out of school to practise as priests to feed families. Lack of education led to penury, poverty and poor thinking. The priests began to be perceived by the behdin laity as babblers for money.

There was reluctance on the part of behdins to marry daughters of priestly families [Andhyaru ni dikri andharoo lavé (a priest’s daughter brings bad luck)] which resulted in intermarriage amongst priestly families further aggravating the problem. While the priests were in decline, the behdins prospered. A Brahmin elite elicits respect from other economically superior classes provided the former possesses a sharp intellect. Our uneducated priests could not provide leadership in thought.

Nor did their lifestyle inspire reverence. Unlike Roman Catholics, Jains, Buddhists and some Hindu sects, our priests took no vows of celibacy. Unlike the maulvis, they were not teetotallers. Personal sacrifice and a spartan life dedicated to the faith inspire awe and respect. Our priests are indistinguishable from the laity. Many overindulged in worldly pleasures. There was no demonstration of a spiritual life. Neither was there any centralized hierarchy whose commands were sacrosanct.

Instead of being able to galvanize the flock, the priests often became objects of ridicule. Priests dozing during recitation of prayers or taking short cuts by omitting stanzas are the butt of jokes. Of course, there were a few who were highly educated, cultured, erudite, learned and pious. But not enough to compensate for the rest of the mediocre army. Behdins pay paltry fees for religious ceremonies. Poor income makes full-time practice of priesthood difficult, compelling many to take day jobs and become part-time priests, a contradiction in terms.

Crass commercialization displaces devotional fervor. Priests have to appeal to charity for housing and hospitalization. A vicious cycle is continually fed. Various mobed (cleric) amelioration schemes are inadequately funded. A rich and prosperous community with huge charity funds has priests who live in penury.

High priests, appointed by heredity and not merit in most cases, have refused to adapt with the times. Some are unduly orthodox and a few positively repugnant to the youth. The irony is that almost all possess stellar intellect and an ability to impress. However, by toeing an excessively conservative line, they are alienating the youth. We need to lift the priests from this rut and turn them into an army of enthused preachers of the faith. A flock which does not look up to its shepherd is doomed to dissipate.

Permitting behdins and women to become priests, allocating liberal resources to educate and equip young initiates, providing free and highest priority in community housing, medical aid and free life insurance to full-time priests, investing in sprucing up our athornan madressas and making the community conscious of the critical importance of priests, may yet stem the rot. Non-resident Indian Parsis with large hearts are ready to help. Our miserable punchayets are too busy squabbling to take the lead. The high priests themselves have to uplift the priests. Sometimes, ridicule can rapidly turn into reverence.

- Parsiana, September 2014

FROM DADGAH TO DARGAH

Extra-religious worship is endemic.

Ervad Homi, a Navar Maratab (Editor's Note: trained Parsi priest) from Navsari, devotedly serves a Bombay fire temple, as its managing trustee. Homi offers prayers twice a day at his agiyary. He is a diehard conservative who disapproves of inter-faith marriages and crematoria. Homi believes our faith and its prayers to be potent and powerful, capable of bringing about miracles. 

Yet, every year, Homi makes a pilgrimage to Tirupati Lord Balaji and is ecstatic with the twenty second darshan of the Lord. He also visits Shirdi and prostrates himself in abject surrender to Saibaba. Homi wears around his neck an amulet of protection given by a Muslim fakir to his grandfather, which, he asserts, has protected him against many a disaster. From the Brahma temple at Pushkar, the famous Shani temple at Shignapur, the dargah of sufi saint Tajjudin Baba at Nagpur and the most revered Ajmer Sharif shrine, are all on his annual list. A carnivore who loves his daily tipple, he turns vegetarian and teetotaller during Navratri and the Ganpati festival. 

Homi is the rule not the exception. Parsis like Homi do not feel guilty for a moment about extra religious worship. Even mainstream orthodox bodies like WAPIZ seldom raise this issue, knowing fully well that many of their ardent supporters would be offended at any diatribe against extra religious worship. Of course, the readers of Parsi Voice and TZ online, regard such worship as betrayal of our Faith. But then, these days who bothers about the Fringe.

At first blush, extra religious worship alongside an abiding belief in our Faith may be puzzling. It is not so. Even Hindus, while being ardent Krishna devotees, do worship Muslim pirs, particularly in villages and small towns. This is true secularism. Being irreligious or atheist or agnostic is not necessarily secular. Treating all faiths as roads leading to the same goal is secularism. Parsis too have adopted the same approach.

Anecdotally speaking, most orthodox are second or third generation Bombayites and generally hail from the English-speaking upper middle class. On the other hand, majority Parsis like Homi are usually from the Gujarati speaking middle and lower middle classes who are either first generation Bombayites or intimately connected with their roots in Gujarat. This accounts for their close connect with fellow communities and their religious practices.

This extra-religious interaction begins at birth. A Hindu astrologer is consulted to draw up the child’s horoscope. Often the astrologer may suggest a Pooja to remove some malevolent aspect in the life chart. If the child suffers from jaundice, a Muslim healer is contacted to drain the yellowness through water therapy. It is common to worship at the local pir’s dargah and come away with an amulet of protection, worn with the same fervour as the kusti around the waist. (Editor's Note: a thread worn around the waist defines the identity of a Parsi - much like the turban of the Sikh or the thread worn by Brahmins defines their identity) 

Numerous rites, customs, superstitions are observed – pregnant women forbidden to venture out during a lunar eclipse, not touching the jar of homemade pickles during menstruation. The night of kali chaudas is feared, the evening of Dhanteras is spent in praying over new books of account and Divali is celebrated with gusto.

And this is not a new phenomenon. Parsis began to visit Shirdi from 1930 onwards. Iranis and Parsis constitute a majority of the devotees of Avatar Meher Baba (an Irani Zoroastrian who became a Sufi Master). Prominent Parsis regard late Kamubaba of Goregaon as their Guru. On Novena Wednesdays at the Mahim church and at Siddhivinayak on Tuesdays, you will see many Parsi faces. The list is long.

Although most of these Parsis continue to believe in the potent vibratory power of the Avestan prayers, being a dead language, they do not derive solace. Succour is, therefore, sought in the more intelligible. A preacher expounding the Bhagwad Gita with its twin principles of karma and reincarnation provides greater solace to a Parsi who has lost a loved one, than placing roses in a silver vase and listening to the drone of overworked Dasturjis in a smoke-filled agiary during Muktad. Increasing number of inter-faith marriages adds grist to the extra religious mill. Displaying the photo of a non-Zoroastrian saint or Guru alongside the Prophet Zarathushtra on the mantle piece is no longer frowned upon.

The hardcore traditionalist cannot figure out the mindset of his co-religionist, who while being a practising Zoroastrian is, like Homi, seen to be dabbling in alternative avenues. He is willing to ignore the indifferent Parsi but Homi is an eyesore. However, believing in other faiths, while giving primacy to ours, is a part of Homi’s DNA.

This is also a manifestation of a culture being swamped by larger ones. Parsis do not live in ghettos any longer (ironically, those living in the baugs (Editor's Note: the "baug" is a Parsi Colony - typically, a community enclosure) and colonies indulge more in extra religious worship). The magic appeal of miracles has disappeared from our faith. There are no longer personages like the revered Dasturji Kookadaru, who performed many a miracle and healed body and soul. However, such personages do exist in many other religions and thus attract the Parsis.

Homi is misty eyed before Iranshah, Udwada and would gladly sacrifice his life for his Agiyary. He regards himself as a pucca Zarthosti. However, he is equally lost in the religiously ecstatic Quawaals singing outside Ajmer Sharif and equally moved to devotional fervour while attending the Aarti at dawn in the Saibaba temple at Shirdi.

Castigating Homi and his ilk would be counterproductive and even drive some of them away from our Faith. The Fringe should realise this and keep its mouth shut.

- Parsiana, June 2014

TIME TO TEST THE WATERS

There is a fair chance that inter-faith married Parsi women will gain parity with men

An inter-faith married Parsi lady apprehends that someday the priest in the agiary (Editor’s Note: the fire temple) will prevent the entry of her toddler son. Can he, she queries. Yes, we reply, as the law stands today. Instead of waiting for that humiliating experience, why not move the High Court, we ask. Her chances of success are very good indeed. We do believe that Petit vs Jeejeebhoy and Bella vs Saklat (google for them) are no longer good law after the Constitution of India conferred the fundamental right to gender equality (no intelligible differentia exists to prevent putting children of inter-faith married Parsi men and women on par). In addition, India is a signatory to many conventions on human rights which further strengthens the chances of these two old judgments being bypassed.

The recent judgment of Justices Dhananjay Chandrachud and Anoop Mohta of the Bombay High Court in the banned priest’s case makes helpful observations in this regard and indicates the present thinking of our judiciary. Our young lady is still not convinced. What if I fail, she asks. Presently, many inter-faith married Parsi mothers blithely take their children to the fire temple and virtually no one objects. If I fail, all this can stop, they reason. So why invite trouble? This is exactly the reasoning of the matronly ladies of AIMZ (Association of Inter-Married Zoroastrians) who have been unable to make this leap of faith.

But look what happened to Goolrookh Gupta’s case, they contend. While we still believe that Gupta will ultimately succeed, we have always maintained that her individual facts were not ideal to make a test case of (name change to Neha, purported filing of income tax returns as a member of “Hindu Undivided Family” member etc.). None of the so-called legal infirmities in the Gupta case will, however, apply in this case.

Recently, a non-Parsi journalist lady married to a Parsi male, recounted the story of her four-year old daughter, on her first visit to Iranshah, Udwada, loudly shouting ‘Ganpati Bappa Moriya’, in the sanctum sanctorum, to the horror of the not so amused devotees and a stern priest asking her to be taken away. The moral of the story being that culture and way of life is imbibed from the mother, and not so much from the father. (Editor’s Note: it is another matter that many Parsis are devout Ganpati worshippers – read about this phenomenon in other posts on this blog) All the more reason to end this irrational discrimination.

For obvious reasons, we would not like to reveal the precise legal strategy for commencing such a test case.  Suffice it to say that all it requires is a daring Parsi lady. She will receive overwhelming support from the who’s who of the community across the country and several eminent senior counsel would be only too happy to represent her without charging a fee. For all you know, the mainstream orthodox (like the WAPIZ) may not even resist much. Many in the community believe that this discrimination must end.

Will the AIMZ take a lead, as it logically ought to? We think not. Hence, we require a couple of Parsi ladies, married under the Special Marriage Act (registered marriage), preferably to Hindus, and born of both Parsi Zoroastrian parents. This is only to ensure that some irrelevant objections do not deflect from the main objective.

Some candidates will emerge to bell the donkey. The faster this happens, the better. It is ludicrous to put a percentage prospect of success on the outcome of litigation in India, but we shall make bold to assert a 80% chance.

Those who anticipate that this would open the floodgates are mistaken. The number of such children (born of Parsi mothers and non-Parsi fathers, the latter seeking entry of their children into our faith) will not be more than 300. Out of these, hardly 10% are likely to avail of Parsi charities, which anyway are running out of beneficiaries. No sensible liberal is advocating outright conversion, which would be politically disastrous and destroy our unique ethnic identity. However, justice and fair play demand that both sexes must be treated equally. Someone from the fringe is bound to quip that if you are so keen to end discrimination, why don’t you also exclude children of inter-married Parsi males? If the fringe elements wish to accelerate our already dramatic demographic decline even further, then what is one to say? There may be a dearth of Parsis, but not of idiots.

- Parsiana, June 2014

No Criticism Please, We are Parsis

Younger readers may not recall an English theatre production called, No sex please, we are British.  Our chillingly declining numbers are a testimony to our empathy with the Brits. Though some macho Parsis may contend that we are firing alright, but mostly blanks. While those on the Fringe (Editor's Note: the "Lunatic Fringe", is an expression one would read here often) maintain that the second coming of the Lord shall reverse demographic trends (‘Gayomard and a Soshyosh aideryad bad’, our prayers recite), their estranged brethren in the mainstream accuse this publication of manipulating statistics (and exposing damned lies).

A decade ago, the above para would have elicited a wry smile. Today it evokes anger and indignation (though not of the righteous kind). The-facts-are-incorrect-denial mode. Even-if-they-are-correct-why-publish-it-ostrich approach. You-are-an-enemy-of-the-community Taliban attitude. "Even if you are only the messenger, we shall shoot you, for bringing bad news. Leave us alone in our cocoon of disbelief. Voltaire may have said that I disagree with you and I shall defend to my death your right to disagree with me. Voltaire be damned, unity of the community is the need of the hour and your dissent is pernicious and we shall not tolerate it. We may have mingled like sugar in milk, as promised to our royal shelter giver, but now like lactose intolerance, we are allergic to criticism."

In fairness to the orthodox, this intolerance is not limited to them. It pervades across the spectrum of thought. Is this then the extreme prickliness of those feeling doomed or is it a new-found feeling of bristling aggression. When one is aware of the weaknesses in his case, he does not want any public expose of such weaknesses. He goes the extra mile, therefore, to stifle any criticism. Respect for the other viewpoint is lost, the moment you doubt bona fides. These days, there is too much doubting of bona fides. It is quickly presumed that anyone in community service must be having a personal agenda. It is true that many do. However, you cannot paint with the same brush, those few who don't.

The biggest problem facing the community today is not decimating demographics but cold indifference. The very fact that you are reading this shows that you do have some interest in the community.  Unfortunately, you are in a minority. Most Parsis have a soft corner for the community but nothing more. Only a micro minority is concerned with what happens to the Parsis. 

Overwhelming numbers believe that the trustees of our charities are a bunch of clowns viciously fighting each other. The beneficiaries greet a trustee with a polite smile only so as not to affront him. Privately what the community thinks about our trustees is unprintable. The much abused phrase Parsipanu is not that annual visit to the Agiyary or watching a putrid Parsi comedy or gorging at the Ripon Club on Wednesday afternoons. Even the intelligent spare little thought about the issues threatening the very existence of the community. This has led to the affairs of the community being handled by, believe it or not, a dozen odd Parsis. 

This concentration of power amongst this dozen (we shall eschew the adjective), needless to state, is dangerous. The vicious hatred amongst them is very un-Parsi. Like battle scarred gladiators, they lick 
their bruised egos and yearn to see their opponents humiliated. These war games have now spilled over from the media into the Courts. Many of these worthies are street fighters who love a bloody brawl, for the sake of it, as their non-community careers are uniformly boring and pedestrian. They and their followers, of liberal or orthodox hue, sincerely believe that they are the saviours of the community. The indifference of the community feeds their delusions of grandeur. And why blame the tadpole for thinking that he is the master of the cesspool?

As a result, there is no dispassionate expert thinking on how to tackle issues. The cesspool is so turpid that none wants to step into it. Painstaking sociological research is dismissed as biased. Suggestions to reform charities are seen as motivated. None wants to be shown a mirror. They do not want a confirmation of the ugliness.

A few years ago, only those, whom we affectionately like to call fruitcakes, reacted angrily to criticism. Now, all do. When few can even bear to be told the truth, disaster is not far away. Our much-touted sense of humour was founded on the fundamental premise of having the ability to laugh at ourselves. We have so terribly lost that ability, in the process of protecting our puny egos. 

The community is already mentally extinct.

- first published in the Parsiana, April 2014

Dadar Parsis' unique sub-culture dissipating

Pesi was hugely irritated with the untimely ringing of bells in St. Joseph’s Church, on the outskirts of the Dadar Parsi Colony (DPC). His complaints to the Archbishop of Bombay went unheeded. Pesi then wrote to His Holiness, the Pope himself, who wrote a personal reply to an elated Pesi. The bells rang less and the famous railing of DPC’s Five Gardens instantly christened him Pesi Pope. The truth of this implausible story will be verified by almost all senior citizens of DPC.

The railing, in its heydays, was imposing, cruel, funny and unsparing. The rally driver causing his terrified passengers to involuntarily relieve themselves in the Fiat, when being driven to Lonavala after midnight in an hour and quarter (remember there was no Expressway then) was called ‘Rocket’. The kind hearted, podgy manager of the Central Bank of India, (Khodadad Circle branch) was called ‘Bun pao’. A Mae West look alike was ‘Nagoo Doll’. There was a ‘Bafaat’ and a ‘Mike’ and a ‘Chocolate’. Almost none escaped the mandatory rechristening a la Anthony Burgess’ dystopian novel – A Clockwork Orange. There were three or four railings but ‘Lakhan ni railing’ was the meeting point for authentic ‘Aandas’ (an untranslatable expression for crude, unsophisticated louts and loutees) every evening. Nothing was sacrosanct and no reputation remained unscathed. Every eccentricity was celebrated and every idiosyncrasy pilloried.

Expletives were as ubiquitous as pigeons. Even inanimate objects like the daily newspaper, a bottle of milk or a cricket bat were routinely accused of having illicit relationship with their close female relatives. The Dadar Parsi was tough, macho and not exactly sophisticated. And they all were and are obsessively fond of their bikes and their Colony.

The Colony, of course, being a collection of unconnected 100 odd plots, most with a ground and three storeyed building, having a single commonality – the Parsis-only covenant. This covenant was legally challenged in a bitterly fought litigation in the Bombay City Civil Court many decades ago. The Parsi Central Association (PCA) succeeded in upholding the covenant (thanks to the brilliance of noted lawyer, Nadir Modi, who appeared gratis and a somewhat sympathetic Judge Rego). DPC also has several non-covenanted plots, mostly of Parsi ownership.

Much against our liberal instincts, we must confess that this covenant has helped in preserving the quaint DPC sub-culture, notwithstanding that the Parsi-only buildings are now sandwiched between cosmopolitan apartments, after most have been mounted upon by additional floors on stilts.

As is inevitable, in the covenanted buildings, Parsis have married non-Parsis and we understand that there are around 20 flats having non-Parsi spouses and children. What is jarring, is, that the PCA has recently begun to flex its muscle against Parsi women introducing their non-Parsi husbands and children, into these covenanted flats. PCA’s policies are counter productive and may well backfire, if one of these aggrieved ladies challenges once again the validity of the covenant, in the changed circumstances. The hotheads in PCA should be counselled by saner elements, like the venerable Mithoo Jesia, not to rake up an unnecessary controversy.

Like all Parsi institutions, the once bristling and strident DPC is fast mellowing. When we came to reside in one of the buildings (non-covenanted, of course), two decades ago, the warm and popular Yezdi Daruwalla (who soon died young and much mourned) informed us that DPC was a very secure place (‘before you can scream ‘chor, chor’, men with sticks will rush out of their houses’). All that has disappeared. Most have a look of resignation around them. Of course, DPC does come alive during the Jamshedi Navroze spring festival, and if you are keen to hear authentic, original Parsi, and almost lyrical, abuse, you can still visit the Dadar Parsi Gymkhana (a worthy competitor to the Dadar Parsis in this field were some Navsari mobeds we encountered during the Navar ceremony).

Are the Dadar Parsis largely orthodox? Maybe, though not in the WAPIZ sense of the term. More inclined to preserve Parsi properties in Parsi hands and more comfortable to relax and share laughter with fellow Parsis, preferably also from the DPC.

While adventurers abound, with the passing away of old hands like Rustom Tirandaz, DPC now lacks a charismatic personality to lend and electrify its 8000 inhabitants (down from a peak of 13,000) and to preserve gracefully the unique heritage of this village like oasis with its gorgeous trees (all numbered) and its nostalgic lanes.

Unlike a Parsi Baug, DPC, being a collection of scattered buildings, is fast losing its Parsi character. The numbers are eroding, the people are ageing. The bikes don’t backfire at midnight. ‘Baffat’ has made his last faux pas. ‘Mike’ has been silenced. Nagoo Doll does not look like Mae West anymore, or vice-versa. Rocket does not drive now. The railings are full of people, but not Parsis. The church bells ring again, more than they ought to, but there is no Pesi to write to the Pope.

Non-Zoroastrian Parsis; and Non-Parsi Zoroastrians

Many believe erroneously that all Parsis are Zoroastrians, and vice-versa. The nearly three lakh practising Zoroastrians in countries around the Caspian Sea are not Parsis. And quite a few Parsis are not Zoroastrians, like late Rajiv and Sanjay Gandhi. Although born of a Parsi father, neither was "Navjote-ed" and neither believed in the one Lord Ahuramazda and his prophet, Zarathushtra. After his assassination, when Rajiv Gandhi was accorded national honour, his Parsi relatives did place a Sudreh Kusti on the funeral cortege.

Despite there being no legal or ecclesiastical authority for the proposition, without a Navjote, a Parsi is not regarded as a Zoroastrian. In the absence of any records or system of certification, a simple assertion by a Parsi that he has been Navjote-ed will suffice. Yet, some do not like to take chances. Ness Wadia in his eighties and Nusli Wadia in his fifties were Navjote-ed, a little belatedly, through the orthodox Dasturji (priest) Firoze Kotwal, who had not so long ago termed Parsis marrying inter-faith as being guilty of adultery. Of course, for the learned priest, goose and gander don’t require the same sauce.

It is possible that you may have had a Navjote ceremony and yet not regarded as Zoroastrian. This can happen in two situations. If you were 'Navjote-ed' but your father is not a Parsi (there are priests now who will gladly conduct your Navjote ceremony, even if both your parents are not Parsis) and, secondly, if you convert to another faith, openly or otherwise. 

We know of two unrelated Parsi ladies, both born of blue blooded Parsi parents and married to a Parsi, and though not baptised, were practising Christians (one of them regularly played the piano during Sunday Mass). When they were widowed, they had to sit outside the Doongerwadi Bungli, like any other non-Parsi.

For our younger readers, it is best perhaps to reiterate the legal position. Parsi is a race, Zoroastrianism is a religion. To enter most fire temples and Towers of Silence and to be regarded as beneficiaries of almost all Parsi charities, you have to be both – a Parsi and a Zoroastrian. There are some rare trust deeds where the beneficiary need only be a Zoroastrian (mostly out of inadvertence, not design). To be regarded as a Parsi, at least your father must be a Parsi.

A micro-minority, though born a Parsi, never get to be a Zoroastrian. The parents may be atheist, agnostic or believe that no religion should be thrust upon a child, and hence, ignore Navjote. Then of course, there are those who begin life as Parsi Zoros but convert at the time of marriage to the faith of their husband (the law requires exacting evidence to establish such conversion – a name change is not enough but a marriage ceremony of another faith, usually, is). Again some migrate to another faith out of a conscious choice. We knew of a Parsi solicitor (now deceased) who did Namaz in his office, five times a day, while his irate clients fretted in his Pickwickian office. Or like the born again Christian Parsis mentioned above. 

Confuse not though those who believe in other faiths but also continue to be practising Zoroastrians. The orthodox would like to disbelieve but a huge number of Parsi Zoroastrians in India fall into this category – perhaps even as much as one-third.

When Sanjay Gandhi suddenly perished in an air crash, his widow, Maneka, did consult lawyers to ascertain which law of intestate succession (those dying without a will) would apply – the Hindu Succession Act or the Indian Succession Act provisions applicable to Parsi intestates. We do now know the outcome but the correct law would have been the Parsi law, even if Sanjay was not a Zoroastrian, he was certainly a Parsi, being born of a Parsi father. You can give up your religion but not your race.

If you think the above is semantics or mere technicalities, you are wrong. It is intrinsically connected to the future of our Faith. The day we decide that race is immaterial, and only bona fide belief in the faith matters, a revolution will take place. Non-Parsi Zoroastrians shall be officially admitted to the faith (perhaps, the aspiring Russian mobed (a cleric), who was roughed up by orthodox hooligans at Sanjan, will return, to be initiated as a Navar / Martab). 

This will provide an unprecedented impetus to millions of nascent Zoroastrians to join the Faith and numbers will swell for this modern-sounding religion with its emphasis on ethics, environment and equality. A micro-minority of the followers of the Zoroastrian faith will then be Parsis, mingling with their non-Parsi brethren, in a vibrant melting pot.

- Parsiana, August 21, 2014