logo image Tracing the identity & history of the Indian Subcontinent via family archives

Birthdays

182 – The German garden designer of the Indian Subcontinent

My great-grandfather, Gustav Hermann Krumbiegel and great-grandmother Klara, with their family at home. Bangalore, Mysore Presidency (now Karnataka). Circa 1935

 

Image and Text contributed by Alyia Phelps-Gardiner, UK

This is a photography of my great grandfather Gustav Hermann Krumbiegel with his family, also known as GHK, taken at their residence, Granite Castle, in Bangalore.

My great grandfather Gustav Hermann Krumbiegel or GHK as we call him, was born on December 18, 1865 in Lohmen, Germany. He studied horticulture and garden design at Pilnitz, Germany and after graduating, wrote several letters for an opportunity to work with The Royal Parks in London, until finally, he was offered a job to design the flower beds for Hyde Park, the largest Royal Park in London, UK. After his contract at Hyde Park ended, he became an employee and a lecturer at the Royal Botanical Gardens in Kew (London district) and in his spare time studied Architecture design at Kensington University.

The beautiful gardens of London were a usual visit for most of the Indian Subcontinent’s Royalty and thus an impressed Maharaja of Baroda, Sayajirao Gaekwad III, asked for a horticulturist for his gardens. When GHK was presented with the offer to be his horticulturist for the Baroda State, and considering a radically different climate of the Tropics, I have no doubt that my great grandfather would have thought of it as the most interesting opportunity, and accepted the offer. GHK moved to India in 1893, at the age of 26 was soon joined by his wife, my English great grandmother Katie Clara who arrived at the shores of Bombay at the age of 18. My Grandmother Hilda, Great Aunts Frieda and Vera were all born in Baroda (now in Gujarat).

Over the course of time, GHK was hired by several Princely states across the subcontinent all of whom who had begun to compete with each other over gardens and talent. He designed his way across northern India with over 50 gardens, tea and coffee plantation estates of Ooty, several palaces and towns in Kerala and down south to the rocky terrain of Bangalore (now Bengaluru) when he was introduced to Maharaja Krishnaraja Wadiyar IV, the King of Mysore. In 1908, GHK was offered the job as the superintendent to redesign the Lalbagh layout and was gifted a home, a bunglow known as Granite Castle. The family embraced Bangalore with their hearts and decided to make it their home.

During World War II, when the Dewan of Mysore, Mirza Ismail, appointed GHK as an architectural consultant to Mysore, Jaipur & Hyderabad, the British Residents in Mysore staged a huge protest. All Germans in India were declared enemies. Moreover, his letters show that he was quite vocal about his support for India’s independence. My English grandmother too, was labeled a traitor, because she had married a German. Twice it happened that the British Army imprisoned GHK in prisoner-of-war camps to be deported back to Germany. My great grandmother and her daughters were placed under house arrest, but both times the Maharajah of Mysore who had come to become a good friend, came to their rescue. The Maharajah later commissioned a painting and a bust of GHK, which currently resides at the Royal Palace of Mysore. Other visiting kings would gift GHK Tiger cubs and Elephants calves, until my great grandmother banned them from the house, as they would chew and ruin the furniture. A royal gift, a Gandaberunda bracelet, to my grandmother Hilda on her 18th birthday in 1915, is one that I wear often.

As a superintendent for Lalbaug, GHK got to work creating the best Botanical Garden of the country, and began obtaining seeds from other countries and in return introduced the west to collections of bamboo, varieties of rice, and mango from India. He planted hundreds of new ornamental plants and flowering trees in Bangalore that would be covered in bloom through the year, including over 50% of the nearly 9,000 trees from 800 genera in Lalbagh. GHK designed the ornamental structures in Lalbagh such as balustrades, arches, staircases, bridges, pedestals, vases and fountains and with the honour of picking the site for Vidhana Soudha (State Legislature), he began influencing several urban planning decisions within the city. He introduced Art deco architectural styles and used local materials that have significantly formed the urban aesthetic of Bangalore. Within a few years, GHK had Bangalore earn the title ‘Garden City of India’ and ‘Green City’. However, had he seen Bangalore today, I know he would have been severely disappointed with its upkeep.

My grandmother Hilda recollects that the great grandmother Klara was a master baker and all the staff at the botanical gardens would have cake with their lunch. On Sundays, both GHK and Klara would cycle around Lalbagh giving out plants to people and school children for free. He even began teaching prisoners to grow crops as he believed it would give offer them a renewed purpose. GHK envisioned a grand and healthy future in India through horticulture and inspired several other states in the Indian subcontinent to create a history of horticultural legacy.

After he retired from his post in 1932, GHK continued to live in Bangalore, working as consulting architect and advisor in town planning and horticulture. His very last assignment at the age of 90, was for the Indian Government to landscape the Raj Ghat Memorial Gardens in memory of Mahatma Gandhi.

My great grandfather Gustav Hermann Krumbiegel passed away in February of 1956 and was buried at the Methodist cemetery on Hosur Road, Bangalore. His epitaph reads, “Whatever he touched, he adorned”, and even though I never met my great grandfather, whenever my feet touch the Indian soil, I know, I’m home. The road adjoining the Lalbagh Botanical Garden is named after him as Krumbiegel Road.


181 – The wonderful nuns of Ajmer, Rajasthan

My grandmother, Hansa Singh with her doctor, her son as a baby – my father, and the Nuns from St. Francis Nursing Home. Ajmer, Rajasthan. October 1956

Image and Text contributed by Priyamvada Singh, Ajmer, Rajasthan

The newly born baby in this picture is my father, Jitendra Singh, and the lady holding him is my grandmother, Hansa Kumari This picture was photographed at Saint Francis Nursing home, Ajmer (Rajasthan) in October 1956 – a few days after my father , was born.  The lady sitting on the left is Dr. Albuquerque, one of the most proficient gynecologists of that time. The nun sitting on the right is Sister Beatrice – a senior administrator at Saint Francis. The three nuns standing behind them also worked at the nursing home, and even though my grandmother doesn’t recall their names now, she can never forget their kindness and compassion as long as she lives.

My family used to live in a small village Meja, about 125 kms from Ajmer (now a large township in Rajasthan). Our district at the time did not have very reliable medical facilities and so it was decided that my heavily pregnant grandmother would be taken to Ajmer for delivery. As soon as her ninth month began, my grandmother went to Ajmer along with my great grandmother by train. My grandfather went to drop them but returned immediately because someone had to stay back in the village to look after my bedridden great grandfather.

The plan was to find a reasonably priced hotel or a rented apartment for the delivery period, but when the nuns learnt that my family were outstation patients and that only two ladies were going to stay back in the city, they figured it was going to be an  inconvenient, especially in case of a medical emergency. So they made a generous gesture and offered my family a room in the hospital itself, in return for a nominal donation.

The offer was indeed a blessing because 60 years ago, even well-educated women like my grandmother (who had completed her schooling from a convent – St. Patricks School, Jodhpur) weren’t very confident about living on their own and that too in an unknown town. The nursing home premises was a safe dwelling place and most importantly, my grandmother would have medical assistance 24X7. My grandmother and great grandmother lived at Saint Francis for nearly two months – the entire ninth month and a month after the delivery – and my grandmother has the most wonderful things to say about that time. She recalls how the nuns showered her with much love and affection, and made her feel so much at home that she never realized the absence of her family. They knitted woolens for her soon to be born baby, made chicken broth (my pure-vegetarian great grandmother was not comfortable touching meat), they accompanied her for evening walks and shared many warm moments.

Even after my father was born and things got more hectic, the nuns went way beyond their professional duties to lend a helping hand. Whether it was early morning or middle of the night, they were always there to offer their unconditional love and care. Soon the baby was about a month old and it was time to leave. But the bonds made over these two months lasted a lifetime, and every time that my family was passing Ajmer, they made it a point to meet the nuns. In fact, my family was so grateful for the kindness of these nuns that for several years after, during harvest season, my grandfather gifted sacks of grain to the nursing home kitchen as a token of appreciation. The nuns were reluctant to accept it at first, but when my grandfather insisted that it would help other outstation families like us, they accepted it graciously. With time, our association with Saint Francis got stronger – four of my father’s first cousins (my grandfather’s sisters’ kids) were born there, and years later, me and my brother as well.

When I had a baby, he was born in another city at a state-of-the-art private hospital. A four day fixed package was offered to me with highly professional staff & efficient service. I was home on the fifth day and I have no complaints, but sometimes I think about my grandmother’s delivery experience and feel that mine was so warmth less, and mechanical as compared to her experience. I wonder why didn’t I form such personal connections? My guess is that not all of us are fortunate enough to be blessed by the harbingers of humanity.


172 – The pocket money photograph

My Father, Subhash Goyal. Vaishno Devi Temple premises. Jammu & Kashmir. 1979

Image & Narrative contributed by Sayali Goyal, New Delhi

My father Subhash Goyal was born in 1968. He grew up in Bathinda, Punjab with four of his siblings (two elder sisters and two younger brothers) and a large extended family of 19 cousins, innumerable aunts & uncles, all of whom lived on the same street. This photograph of him as a young teenager is special to me and when I asked him about it, he tells me that it was taken when he had gone for a trip with his parents to the much revered Vaishno Devi Temple after his Board exams. He spent half of his pocket money  (5-Paisa) to secretly get this photo done in a studio in front of an old camera in Kashmiri attire. The idea of a solo photograph was fascinating to him.

My great grand father, Roshan Lal Katia was a senior advocate in Punjab. He had 11 children who multiplied the family gene further with 24 more – my father being one of them. He recalls that my great grandfather had a taste for luxury and was a forward thinking man. He educated all his children, including the girls – all of whom became renowned doctors and lawyers. My father primary school was Summer Hill convent and then high school was St. Joseph’s Convent where all his cousins studied too. When he grew up, he chose to become a business man.

My father has always been immensely fond of travelling, and often reminisces about his family’s expeditions to several places including Agra and Rishikesh in Uttar Pradesh. He enjoyed travels on trains for simple pleasure of buying tea and snacks whenever the train would halt. He and his two younger brothers would buy small toys like marbles from vendors on the platform.

Returning from a holiday would also mean bringing back sweets for the neighbors and telling them stories of their visits. He remembers he used to get 10-paisa as pocket money that would be spent on snacks and sometimes to buy kites. The back lane of his home would clog rainwater during monsoons and all the children would make paper boats to sail in clogged waters.
He tells me, the children would get new clothes on special occasions, and like in many Indian families it would be made from the same roll of fabric, making them all look identical. On those special occasions Samosas were a delicacy.

Interestingly, he remembers his first birthday celebrations, where Samosas and Chola Bathura were served with ice cream made of milk fat. My grandfather, he says had a special fondness for him, for he was the only one who had a cycle and that too it was red. The day that cycle had to be delivered, he went to the cycle shop at 7 am in the morning and sat all day at the shop to make sure it was modified according to him. He would clean his cycle everyday after school and run errands on it.

In 1984, my father went of his first international trip to Nepal with school friends and later to Thailand in 1989. In 1987, his first trip to Bombay (now Mumbai) was a special one as he went to the famous Taj Hotel at Gateway of India,  for High tea and attended a Bollywood night. My dad’s uncles, and my grandmother still live in Bathinda and we migrated to New Delhi when I was born in 1991.

In a small effort to capture that curious spirit to explore, travel and small pleasures, I have documented my father’s journey through his childhood in Punjab here.


156 – The force behind my grandfather’s success

My grandparents, Bani and Radhika Karmakar . Bombay (now Mumbai). Maharashtra. 1972

My grandparents, Bani and Radhu Karmakar. Bombay. Maharashtra. December 1979

Image & Text contributed by Anuradha Karmakar, Mumbai

My Dida (grandmother in Bengali) Bani Karmakar (née Roy) was born on October 5, 1926 in Shologhor, Dacca District in erstwhile East Bengal. She had a rather impoverished childhood as the eldest child of a large family with three sisters, two brothers and a host of extended family members. She witnessed, at close quarters, the horrors of the Great Bengal Famine of 1943, where three million people perished.

Dida did not have much of a formal education as she was married off in 1944, at the age of 17 to Radhika Jiban Karmakar, a soft-spoken 28-year-old man from Gramwari, Dacca (now Dhaka). Radhika Jiban left home at the age of 16, worked in the Calcutta Film Industry as a lab technician and also learnt photography from Jatin Das, a well-known photographer in Calcutta (now Kolkata). He then migrated with Das to Bombay in 1940, leaving behind a young wife in East Bengal with his family, where their first daughter, Sudevi was born in October 1947. The horrors of the communal massacres during 1946-1947 were witnessed by Bani, as also during one harsh monsoon, the swollen river Padma, changed course and devoured houses and paddy fields, the only source of sustenance for many. These two unfortunate events forced the mass exodus of many Bengalis seeking refuge and the Karmakars were among the millions who were forced to leave everything behind in 1948, many of whom migrated to West Bengal.

After a short stay in West Bengal, Bani found herself joining her cinematographer husband in the hustle and bustle of Bombay, which was to be their new home in 1949. They stayed in modest houses in Andheri and Sion where their four younger children; Radha, Krishna Gopal, Meera and Brojo Gopal, were born. From a small village to living in Bombay, without much support and a growing family with a host of relatives, was a tough task for the young mother, which she handled to the best of her abilities.

Radhika Jiban (whose name was shortened to Radhu, on Mr. Raj Kapoor’s insistence) worked as a cameraman and subsequently as cinematographer with RK Studios (now R.K. Films). His work involved erratic work schedules and travel within and outside India and hence primarily Bani was responsible for bringing up five children. They lived a frugal life together as much of her husband’s meager salary was spent on their children and extended family. Her home was the first stop for a horde of relatives and others who would arrive to make it big in Bombay. There were times when there was no food left for her at the end of the day due to unexpected guests and she would have one roti with sugar to keep her going. The matriarch complained to no one.

She found the time to educate herself in English and pick up skills in handicrafts. She never attended the flashy movie premieres, filmy parties or social gatherings while her husband rubbed shoulders with the who’s who of Indian and International Cinema. She preferred staying at home and taking care of her family. Together, the couple witnessed many important milestones in life- graduations, heartbreaks, first jobs, marriages, promotions and the births of their grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

My grandfather, Radhu Karmakar came to be known as one of the ’10 best Cinematographers in the World’ and much of his professional achievements and laurels can be attributed to the sage and timely advice of his wife and my grandmother. He had won many awards during his lifetime which we proudly display in our family home, but what my grandmother was able to achieve was intangible; besides being a great cook, she managed a warm home, raised self-reliant and educated children, and was a role model for all those who came in contact with her. Radhu Karmakar  passed away on October 5, 1993 at the age of 77, in a car accident while returning from shooting the movie ‘Param Vir Chakra’. He was on his way back to Bombay (now Mumbai) to be with his wife on her birthday. Bani immersed herself in religion and spirituality, household work and doting on her grandchildren, to deal with the grief of her husband’s sudden demise.

My grandmother Bani Karmakar, passed away on May 14, 2015, at the age of 87, due to a prolonged illness. She had suffered a stroke, was battling Dementia and was just a shadow of her former energetic self. She loved being surrounded by us even when she could not recall our names. Sometimes she would revert to her childhood days in East Bengal, calling out names of friends and family who were long gone. Yet, that isn’t how I choose to remember my Dida. To me, she will always remain my strong-willed, stubborn, strict and very loving grandmother, a little rough around the edges, but a gem of a human being. During her last days, when asked what her last wishes were, Dida said that she would love to see me get married and then she could die in peace. She won’t witness my wedding ceremony, but the day I get married, I know she will be there to bless me, watching and smiling her cheeky smile.


91 – ‘Gunjing’ in the poshest market of Lucknow, Hazratgunj

My brother Aman and I at the Hazratgunj Market, Lucknow, Uttar Pradesh. February 18, 1982

Image and Text contributed by Annie Zaidi, Bombay

My brother Aman Zaidi and I spent about a year living with our maternal grandparents in Lucknow, while our mother was in the hostel in Aligarh Muslim University (AMU), trying to finish her Masters.

I was about two and a half years old, hence my memories of this phase are dim. But I was deeply attached to my grandma and was perpetually tailing my big brother, Aman. I also have vague memories of trying to play ‘Kabaddi‘ with his friends.

This photograph was taken on Aman’s seventh birthday by my father, and Aman had just been gifted his first bicycle. He learnt to ride it the same day. Since I was not gifted a bike until I was much older, I never did learn to ride one and still can’t.

Our father had taken us to Hazratgunj, the poshest market in town, perhaps for a treat. I have no idea why I’m making that face – perhaps annoyed at being asked to pose too long. Another colour photograph of this day tells me that my brother was wearing a smart, red jacket and it matched his brand new Red bike. I was wearing a Pink Anarkali styled kurta with a little black embroidered ‘Koti‘ (sleeveless jacket). It was a baby version of the costume that female qawwals in Hindi movies of the 50s & 60s were often seen in.

This day – or at least, this outfit – should have been memorable, my family tells me. We were visiting my bua (father’s sister) and she had a pet dog. I had never seen a pet dog before, but I was not afraid. I was told that the dog would only try to ‘kiss’ me and sure enough, he did. He licked my face, so I promptly returned the courtesy. I licked the dog right back! Needless to add, my family hasn’t stopping teasing me about it since 1982.

My favourite memories are rooted in Lucknow, and many of them involve Hazratgunj, or just Gunj as we call it. It was the poshest market in town. My college-going aunts would often go ‘gunjing‘ (a term Vikram Seth used in his novel, A Suitable Boy, setting it in a fictional city on the banks of a river). Gunjing did not necessarily translate to shopping. My aunts would take a cycle-rickshaw or rode a Moped to Gunj, and waffle around. And sometimes we’d go along. There were some glass-fronted stores, so they window-shopped. They bought ‘churan‘ and roasted peanuts. Later, there would be great joy and family chatter around a pile of peanuts, cracking shells and licking bits of ‘kala namak‘ (Black Indian salt).


73 – He folded sarees for One paisa each, and went on to become the Director of a Bank.

My maternal grandfather, Manikchand Veerchand Shah (seated in white turban) and extended family, Solapur, Maharashtra. 1956

Image and Text contributed by Anshumalin Shah, Bangalore

This image of maternal grandfather, Shri Manikchand Veerchand Shah and our extended family was photographed in November 1956, by the famous ‘Malage Photographer – Oriental Photo Studio’ who charged a tidy sum of 30-0-0 (Rupee-Anna-Paise) for two Black & White 6” x 8”copies with embossed-border mounts. The occasion was my grandfather’s birthday, he had just turned 60.

The family was photographed in the front yard of the bungalow called ‘Ratnakuti’ opposite the Fort in Solapur (then Sholapoor), Maharashtra. Ratnakuti was one of twin bungalows built around 1932 as mirror images of each other, known as ‘Jod-Bangla’. Beautifully crafted in stone and plaster, with imposing pillars, balconies and rooms with ceramic-chip handcrafted flooring, exquisite teak, brass grills for windows, coloured glass panes on windows and doors, verandahs with neat terracotta tiles, a large court-yard in front, ‘Ratnakuti’ and its twin would never fail to draw the attention of passers-by and stands to this day as a well known landmark. Eventually, the two bungalows were sold and are now owned by the Goyal family.

My grandfather, Manikchand Veerchand Shah, born in 1896, came from a pioneering and visionary Gujarati Digambar Jain family. He was a self-educated, successful entrepreneurial man with modest beginnings. Before 1910, he along with his younger brother, Walchand Motichand Shah, worked in a Saree shop of their guardian where they got paid One Paisa for every saree they neatly folded, ready for dispatch or sale and delivered on a bicycle to the shop at Phaltan Galli.

As they grew up together, my grandfather and his brother established and operated several businesses together complementing each other’s strengths. The businesses included a handloom cloth dyeing unit, in Valsang, near Solapur, for which the dyes were imported from Japan. They also began importing General Motors cars, motorcycles and trucks around 1922. I am told my grandfather would drive and deliver the imported truck chassis himself from Bombay to Pune and Sholapur. Their firm ‘Sholapur Motor Stores’ continues on in Pune, albeit only as a Fuel Station. He also established the well-known ‘India Garage’ in the 1930s where the present showrooms of Renault and Volkswagen stand, still operated by the family.

Closely associated with the freedom movement in Solapur, opposing the Martial Law imposed in 1930, he was arrested by the British, sent to Bijapur Central Jail and later exiled. Not to be outdone by the British, he used his stay at Bijapur Jail to monitor the establishment of a ‘Sholapur Motor Stores’ branch in the city.

Also associated with the Hindu Mahasabha, he rubbed shoulders with very important personalities like V. D. Savarkar, Dr. K. B. Hedgewar, M. S. Golwalker Guruji and Gulabchand Hirachand Doshi. While he was also deeply involved with several causes for the people of Valsang, unfortunately, owing to his association with the Hindu Mahasabha, an irate mob of villagers from Valsang set his car on fire in a frenzied reaction to the assassination of Mahatma Gandhi on January 30, 1948. Barely managing to escape with his life, he was deeply hurt and disillusioned by the senseless act by the people of Valsang. In consequence, he wound up his businesses and left Valsang, never to return.

After the death of his wife, my grandmother, when he was just 34, and as a sign of love for her, he changed his attire to only pristine white – a white turban, coat and a dhoti with white canvas pump shoes. While visiting us in Hyderabad, he would regularly buy the special black metal ‘Bidriware’ buttons for his white coats from a handicraft showroom at Abid Road.

My grandfather was a man of many parts. He was the Director on the Board of Bank of Maharashtra Ltd. As well as on the governing council for several religious and temple trusts. His contribution to the educational infrastructure development from his own funds at Solapur is widely acknowledged. He offered personal loans, scholarships and donor’s seats at the Walchand College of Engineering, Sangli for students pursuing higher studies in the 1950s and 60s. Several successful senior Engineers owe their careers to him.

Farming, Gardening, and Photography were his passions. I remember us youngsters gathering on his farms near Sholapur during summer holidays and enjoying the juiciest mangoes to our brim. Quite taken up with Photography as well, he had acquired a glass-negative Camera in the 1920s and his collection of glass negatives and pictures are our family’s priceless treasures.

My grandfather passed away in June 1968. Many members of the two older generations of the three appearing in the pictures have also passed on. The third generation now have their own children and grand-children. I feel very honoured to have shared some of the birthday celebrations along with my grandfather as we were both born only a few days apart.

Time moves on, but photographs manage to freeze fleeting moments here and there. If we could preserve these photographs, we succeed in reliving those moments over and over again and again.