PUNCHAYET TALES

BPP Trustees have always been interesting human material

By Berjis Desai

They say that Muncherjee Khareghat was the best ever trustee of the Bombay Parsi Panchayet (BPP). Few will dispute his impeccable record of service. We know exactly the thought passing in your mind. No, we are not in a position to name the worst ever. Like Lord Byron and the Queen, not that we won’t, but we can’t. So many vie for this position that it would be unfair to disappoint. Almost everyone has a tale to tell about their favorite candidate. Even Solomon would be hard pressed to decide. We will, however, narrate a few of these tales without naming those who are living [considering the countless ‘mari jai muo’ (die, wretch) uttered by the beneficiaries, they must be truly blessed to be insulated from these curses], for the dead cannot be defamed.

When this columnist was 14, he impulsively shot off a letter to the Kaiser-e-Hind about how the youth ought to replace the blue blooded geriatric trustees clinging to the rusty throne of power (in Gujarati, the letter sounded even more melodramatic). That very evening, BPP trustee Erach Nadirshah and his wife arrived at our tiny flat unannounced. Father gave us an irritated look not about our penning the letter but because he had to endure their presence on a Sunday evening. Even on that sultry May evening, Nadirshah was dressed immaculately in a three piece suit. His wife, after spurning the offer to have tea, imperiously announced how disturbed her Erach had been since morning. Whereupon Nadirshah fished out the newspaper cutting of the letter and held it up like a rat he had caught for the municipality (he retired as the chief hydraulic engineer from the BMC and that is another story but of no direct relevance) and asked our father whether his son had indeed penned the offending letter. We smilingly nodded, which incensed the trusteesaheb no end. He launched into a diatribe about the lack of respect for our akabars and how our father ought to have prevented the publication of the letter. Our father simply said that he had no control over Kaiser-e-Hind or his son (he was then editor of The Bombay Samachar). After the couple departed, we innocently asked why out of the seven trustees only one had protested. Our father said something which is unprintable.

The trustee was equally incensed with his brother-in-law, Minoo Nariman, who wrote several Parsi comedies including a hilarious one about his old aunt who met Hitler and introduced kera pur eedu (eggs on bananas) to the dictator and how that spurred him to gobble up Poland. Nariman invited Nadirsha to be the chief guest at a Parsi New Year play which he had written. Nadirsha discovered to his utter horror that the play titled Houdaas Choudaas (corrupt) was a satire on the BPP. He and his wife had to endure the catcalls of the audience. A few years later, the BPP honored the then about to be deposed Shah of Iran at the Taj, when the Shah told Eruch that he was a ‘Shah’ too. The Nadirshahs were delirious with joy, as if the purpose of their incarnation had been achieved.

The trustee stayed in the same building as B. K. Boman Behram (BKB), his co-trustee. BKB was a cool cat and perhaps the most controversial trustee of his times. If the Nadirshas had pretensions of being aristocratic, BKB was a people’s man, polite, diplomatic and suave. As an independent municipal corporator, he managed to get himself elected as mayor of Bombay with the help of 40 Shiv Sena corporators. Somehow, after this election, his popularity in the community dramatically dipped. Allegations flew fast and furious, with that doyen of Parsi solicitors of the yesteryears, Rustom Gagrat, calling him all sorts of names in the Press. BKB wrote in the Evening News that he was not bothered by the rantings of “some Tamarind Lane solicitor;” to which Gagrat retaliated by calling his bête noir a Meadows Street lawyer. Rarely though did BKB’s veneer come off. He was a liberal at heart and truly secular, though, like many today, he projected himself as orthodox, particularly after he allied himself with Dr Nelie Noble in the BPP boardroom. He was extremely popular with the Kannadiga community and chose to unwind in their religious festivals by donning traditional attire, dancing and playing the violin. Apart from those merry jousts, he was keen to adopt an orphan boy called Chinappa. BKB never married.

Murmurs about all not being kosher with housing allotments started when BKB was at the helm. In the late seventies, under the editorship of Jehan Daruwalla, the Mumbai Samachar ran a long campaign against BKB’s acts of omission and commission in the BPP, and just stopped short of alleging lack of probity. This was the catalyst for the CER (Committee for Electoral Rights) movement when the very thin cucumber sandwich eating elite took to the streets and won all but one seat in the electoral college. BKB and Noble naturally did not recontest and Jamsheed Kanga of the CER was elected unopposed. BKB, slightly bitter, faded away from municipal and Parsi politics.

Noble, a spinster, was known for her sternness even while a student at the Grant Medical College. Her integrity was never in doubt even during those BKB-Nadirsha years. A diehard fanatic in religious matters, she believed in Minocher Pundole, a self-proclaimed Ilm-e-Khshnoomist scholar, and his many miracles including conjuring up the exact number of mutton cutlets from the refrigerator of an Udvada hotel for his hungry disciples, even though he preached vegetarianism. To make sense of the last sentence, you require akuri with masala logic, which Noble amply possessed. She was instrumental in the creation of an additional agiary at Udvada, causing consternation to the non-Pundolite traditionalists who detested her. At BPP elections (those days, elections were a very tame affair), she managed to capture some registers in the then electoral college with sponsored voters and a mild display of some muscle by one of her brothers until 1980 when Dinshaw Mehta made her realize what a rank amateur she was.

Just imagine Nadirsha, Noble and BKB in the present BPP boardroom. Noble would have wilted like a daisy upon learning that MC does not mean master of ceremonies. Eruch would have fainted in his three piece suit upon seeing chairs being flung. Perhaps even BKB, a veteran of many a fight in the legislatures and the courts, would have felt a trifle embarrassed. Hope you got your answer.

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 7, 2015

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

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