Preview: Shreya Ghoshal at The Royal Albert Hall (Monday 6th May 2013)

Alas we won’t be able to go to this event but given the quality of Indian singers we have seen in London recently I don’t think readers will be disappointed.  We were blown away by Shankar Mahadevan in particular and look forward to his next concert in London.

At the time of writing there only appears to be standing room in the gallery available at the RAH (which has a maximum capacity of c6,000) for Shreya’s concert which must show the latent demand both for her and Indian singers in general. Judging by her Twitter feed (@shreyaghoshal) she seems very excited at the prospect of this concert. On this tour Shreya will also grace Newport in Wales, Manchester and Birmingham.

Shreya Ghoshal is of Bengali birth and background but she was raised in Rajasthan (Susen always seems to find a Bengali connection somewhere - Sue). At about the tender age of 16, following an appearance on an Indian reality show, she sang Aishwarya Rai’s part in Devdas (see my posting Bollywood and Me). Since then Shreya’s sung in many movies and languages and appeared as a judge on a number of Indian shows such as Indian Pop Idol, and sang on one of SRK’s latest movies Jab Tak Hai Jaan (see our review).

If you are fortunate enough to be going to any of her concerts please let us know your thoughts on the website, Twitter and Facebook.

Susheela Raman at the Royal Festival Hall

Susheela Raman opened the South Bank’s ‘Alchemy’ festival last Wednesday with a performance that rocked. That is the most apt description that I can come up with.

This was the first time I had seen her perform. To be honest, I wasn’t quite sure I liked her singing on the You Tube clips I had seen – deep voice, jazz / funk influenced. But her live performance was much much better, with an originality that brought together European, African, Indian and Pakistani influences and created something that couldn’t be so easily categorised.

Outside the UK, Raman has been feted. She has released 5 albums since 2001, with her first album, ‘Salt Rain’ going gold in France. In the UK it was shortlisted for the Mercury Music Prize and she also won the Best Newcomer award from BBC Radio 3. In India she achieved fame and widespread coverage last year when her version of Bollywood song ‘Yeh Mera Deewanapan’ accompanied a pole dance by porn star Sunny Leone on India’s version of ‘Big Brother’ (You Tube link here).

Raman herself is of Tamil parentage, born in London but brought up mainly in Australia before moving back to London in the late 90s. She performs with her English husband Sam Mills on guitar. Mills himself has an interesting background, having become influenced by the burgeoning world music scene gaining prominence through the 80s – through the Womad festivals and subsequent setting up of record label Real World Records. His interest in Bengali Baul music led him to studying anthropology at the London School of Economics, emerging with a PhD in 1992, and then to musical collaboration with Bengali Baul musician Paban Das Baul. And Mills apparently speaks Bengali – a feat I have not even attempted, beyond the few words I have gleaned from Susen.

And so to the performance. Raman appeared on stage with a cape and characteristically wild hair, accompanied by three Rajasthani percussionists and London-based tabla player Aref Durvesh. Later on came the Rizwan-Muazzam Qawwali singers from Pakistan – a group of 8, led by 2 nephews of the late Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. It was a strange sight seeing the all-male Pakistani singers, some fairly portly and middle aged, juxtaposed with Raman’s no-holds barred self-expression. It was a joy to see how she communicated her total immersion in the music, through her body and voice. Her movements ranged from more nuanced to the slower tracks to sheer head banging and pogo dancing. At times she seemed trance-like, body moving, with the other musicians in time to the rhythm. On occasion the gyrations and head banging has apparently been a bit too much for her Indian audiences. But compared to the restraint of many Indian female vocalists, it was liberating to see her sheer abandonment to the music. Susen considered himself far too ‘English’ to join in – but she was here to shake up the English. Towards the end she encouraged everyone to stand up from their seats, for we were going to ‘rock out!’ And rock out we did, at least as far as our English sensibilities would allow.

We have come such a long way since those early days of Womad. It takes me right back to 1985, when I attended one of the first Womad festivals on Mersea Island, together with memories of the cold tent, rain, mud and plastic cups of beer. But a time of huge change and excitement – a musical escape from the backdrop of Thatcherism, miners strike, yuppiedom and privatisation gripping the UK at the time – to a world quite literally opening up on our doorstep. The musical collaboration of Raman and Mills is the fruition both of their own personal explorations and journeys (for Raman, back to her Indian roots, for Mills, reaching out across continents from the UK) as well as the newly opened up world – to create something so uncategorisable and new. Pure alchemy.

The Hindu Rate of Growth?

There was an interesting story in this week’s Bombay Mix by Robin Pagnamenta in The Times. Juhu Airport in Mumbai, used primarily for helicopters and private charter flights, was closed for over 3 hours when rat excreta (sorry if you are reading this over breakfast) short circuited vital cables leading to a breakdown in the airport’s radio system. There was no back-up system, and tycoons and Ministers were forced to sit on the tarmac. Incidents like this are important since they expose influential people to the shortcomings in India’s infrastructure and maintenance.

This story gave some context to the lecture I attended at the LSE a couple of weeks ago. The original title of this lecture would have been much to dull to introduce this post: “India – Macroeconomic Challenges, Some Reserve Bank Perspectives”. Until I arrived at the lecture I had not realised the speaker was in fact the Governor of the Reserve Bank of India (RBI), the Indian equivalent of Sir Mervyn King, Governor of the Bank of England.

I was quite surprised at the turnout in the middle of the afternoon but the timing allowed many students to attend. Many of the student attendees were of Indian origin, and from India it seemed, judging by the Hindi I heard around me.  All seemed confident and many equipped with 2 mobile phones - presumably one for international calls and one for UK calls.  There seemed to be an ease between the sexes and a lot of what might be considered flirting - which I hadn't expected, but probably a reflection of the more recent urban liberalising of modern India.

Before going I had been a little concerned about whether my economics knowledge would stand the test of time, having done economics A level and some at university. When I learnt the speaker, Dr Duvvuri Subbarao, was in fact the Governor of the RBI that did not ease my concern. But I needed not have worried; from the dark recesses of my brain I was soon attuned to growth rates, fiscal deficits, current account deficits, quantum and price elasticity.

Before the lecture the chairman Professor (Lord) Desai noted that the “global” recession was one that only affected the Western world; China and India, and the Far East generally were enjoying relatively high levels of growth.

Although most of the lecture was rather dry as one would expect from a central banker to a School of Economics Dr Subbarao did mention he was formerly a scientist, originally studying physics, before doing graduate studies in economics in the US. He started with quite a good joke saying that he knew exactly when the recession would end. Lehman Brothers had collapsed when he was originally appointed, and the recession had intensified when he was re-appointed for a second term. Dr Subbarao suggested that the audience take note of when he steps down as a marker for the end of the recession.

Dr Subbarao began with a review of the economic situation in India. Its growth rate of 5% is the worst for a decade – we in the UK would be grateful for 5% or even 3%. But India has 7% inflation, and high current account and fiscal deficits. He suggested growth had slowed in recent years because of lower levels of investment, low business confidence, and infrastructure / governance issues. “The Hindu Rate of Growth” – low growth in the years from independence to the early 90s was said to be 3.5%. Overall with the rise in population that would mean lower living standards.

I would have liked more detail on the infrastructure and governance issues (perhaps code for economic mismanagement, corruption and the rule of law). Later on Dr Subbarao did suggest that India cannot raise long term finance for infrastructure as its financial sector is not fully developed with less sophisticated bank lending and limited pension funds. As a contrast, although Dr Subbarao did not say this, China is building almost a power station a week (remember India’s power cuts of a year ago?) and new roads and high speed railways are being built aplenty. China is also building huge numbers of airports. Dr Subbarao did say that he thought there were financial schemes such as Private Public Partnerships (PPP) that may offer solutions – although that is horribly reminiscent of PPI for British readers. But PPP requires good governance and a working court system to effectively settle disputes.

Dr Subbarao focused on inflation although we were not told whether the RBI has explicit inflation targets. He attributed relatively high inflation to rising food prices – as rural incomes rise there is more demand for food, and meat – rising global commodity prices, in particular oil and coal, and the fiscal deficit. He suggested rising food prices were a sign of success in raising rural incomes. But with GDP / head of $1500 any increase in rural income would automatically translate to a rise in inflation. Inflation had dropped from 11% a couple of years ago but has stayed stubbornly high despite growth leveling off.

I read later – again in Robin Pagnamenta’s column – that Indian efforts to reduce poverty has had limited effects and compares badly to its neighbours. The University of Oxford reported that both Nepal and Bangladesh had cut their multidimensional poverty index far faster than India. With an economy growing strongly recently far more progress should be expected in addressing poverty. Little of the wealth India is creating is trickling down to assist the poor.

Dr Subbarao accepted one criticism of the RBI in that he has only instrument, interest rates, to tackle inflation. But he focused on the fact that he needs to encourage savings to help oil growth in infrastructure projects in particular. There was acceptance that the RBI needs to strike a balance and that it is not possible to lower inflation without forfeiting some growth. Another dilemma is that inflation affects the poor more than the rich. Dr Subbarao suggested that encouraging more infrastructure was vital to ease inflationary pressures. A rather vicious circle but the message I got was that inflation would be high for some time to come.

The conclusions were that “The India Growth Story” was still credible but that it needs to grow at 7-11% for 10-15 years. One cannot take people out of poverty at 5% growth.
I would have liked some comparisons with India’s chief rival China, but Dr Subbarao is a representative of the Indian state putting the best slant on India. In addition, some discussion on the nature / structure of the Indian economy would have been helpful e.g. services / manufacturing, rural / urban, plus whether these infrastructure bottlenecks can be resolved. This week’s Economist shows that while India is forecast to grow at 6.5% in 2013, China will grow at 8.5% with both suffering from the downturn in the world economy. Indian industrial production growth is 2.4%, China’s 9.9%, China has much lower inflation, a huge current account surplus while India has a continuing deficit.

My “takeaway” from the lecture was concern about the long-term future of the Indian economy. The Congress Party is committed to raising rural incomes, using schemes such as the National Rural Employment Guarantee Act, but this leads to inflation. Furthermore, faster rising middle and upper class incomes leads to increasing purchases of imported consumer goods and a consequent rise in inflation. Developing infrastructure is the means to increase living standards and help drive down inflation e.g. getting more domestic goods and food to the urban market, and also precipitating a strong manufacturing sector which is presently unable to rely on guaranteed electricity supplies. Contrasts with China are inevitable and while China has its own issues, corruption included, these do not significantly impact on the development of it economy.

Kolkata Street Food Experience

Last Monday evening was cold and wet. I was tired and Susen was limping around as he had somehow injured his foot the day before. If I hadn’t already had paid good money for tickets to the ‘Kolkata Street Food Experience’ it would definitely have been a curl up under the duvet in front of the TV-type evening. Instead we found ourselves in the streets around Brixton (slightly off my radar these days) looking for an old railway arch housing the ‘Whirled Cinema’ beneath it. We eventually located it down an alleyway behind a parking lot and I think if I hadn’t had Susen’s company I might have thought better of walking down there. Despite his hobbling and injured foot, he represented some sort of male protection, however illusory.

[caption id="attachment_431" align="alignleft" width="225"] Angus in action at his stall[/caption]

Stairs led up to the small cinema (hired out for private use) which had been transformed into a hippy wonderland with kitsch Indian-style signs, fairy lights and garlands of flowers. The inspiration behind all this is Angus Denoon and his roving street food stall ‘The Everybody Love Love Jhal Muri Express’. Street food is the new big thing, though nowhere near approaching the range in the US (or indeed Kolkata or Bangkok).

Angus Denoon writes on his website (streetfoodkolkata.com) that he first made jhal muri when asked to make a dish from Kolkata where he had been filming the street food there. He made jhal muri – a type of Indian snack food – as it involved no cooking and was relatively easy to mix together the assembled ingredients. He then began selling it from a converted, decorated supermarket trolley but has since moved slightly more upmarket with a van. Versions of this exist all over India: jhal muri is the Bengali name (similar to, but not quite the same, I am told, as the more widely known bhel puri). Years ago, I used to buy take away cartons of a similar kind of chaat (snack) in Manchester. Although it was more papri chaat (papri wafers, boiled potato, chick peas with yoghurt, tamarind chutney, fresh coriander and sev), I loved the flavours, especially of tamarind and coriander – similar to those in jhal muri. Jhal muri is a mixture of puffed rice, sev, nuts, chopped onion, cucumber, lime juice, spices, tamarind chutney and fresh coriander – usually mixed together freshly to order in a bowl, then served in a paper cone with a spoon. When I first knew Susen, he made me a version from his childhood, when it was more difficult to get hold of Indian ingredients. It consisted of rice krispies, chopped cucumber and peanuts mixed together – interesting, but not quite authentic. [Last year the new Quality Foods Indian supermarket in Hounslow also had a stall selling bhel puri and pani puri: a real rival for Angus’s Jhal Muri Express, although lacking the colourful signs].



But back to Monday evening. There were 4 stalls in all serving as many snacks as you wanted. As well as Angus’s jhal muri stall, there was one with a mixture of sev, red lentil dhal, onions, tamarind, coconut, lime juice, garam masala, chaat masala and coriander – served on a leaf-type plate. At first glance, a strange combination but actually very good. Another stall had pani puri (gol goppa) – stuffed with potato and chutney but lacking the cumin water that really makes it explode with taste in your mouth. Finally, a stall with lassi, chai and a sweet snack mixture of Gujarati sweet dumplings in mango lassi with lime juice. Not a combination I had come across before – but then it was apparently one of Angus’s inventions.

Looking around, the audience was mainly white English, probably fairly young, educated – I could see myself back in the 80s in my soul-searching, travelling, back-packing days trying to find some meaning in life beyond the office blocks and insurance companies of the Croydon suburb where I grew up. We spotted only one other man of Indian origin, although the woman serving on the lassi and chai stall said her mother – although English - had grown up in Kolkata as her family were working out there.

Once everyone had been fed – probably around 150 people at this point, which felt more like a small private party – time for the film. Filmed and edited by Angus himself after several trips to Kolkata, ‘Street Food Kolkata – the Film’ was a delight. Starting with dawn breaking and the city slowly waking up, it films the various stallholders cooking, with the story told by the people who make the food and those who eat it. The lack of commentary meant the focus was entirely on the food, the cooking and people themselves, with an inspired music soundtrack by Larry Lush. The vendors showed amazing skill, ingenuity, resilience and sheer hard work in producing cheap and nutritious food to sell on the streets: ranging from luchis (fried rotis), shingaras (Bengali samosas) to biryani, Chinese noodles and sweet jilapi (jelabi in Hindi). Their skill, dexterity and entrepreneurship would rival some of the top restaurants and businesses in London. The marketplace is extremely competitive – one commented that if they don’t make tasty food, they will not be in business very long.

Food is also cheap, even by Kolkata standards. One tour guide filmed said a plate of food would only cost around 17–20 Rs (around 20–25p). You might criticise the lack of hygiene or health and safety – but the other side is that there, people are earning a living for themselves producing the food and feeding nutritious food to poor people who could not otherwise afford to eat (or have the means to cook for themselves). By contrast, here in the UK the poorest people – instead of having access to cheap and nutritious food cooked on street stalls – are at the mercy of the large supermarkets or fried burger / chicken take-aways. It is possible to eat cheaply and well in the UK if cooking for yourself, but it requires resolve and motivation to resist the temptation of empty calories or cheap offers in supermarkets, together with culinary skill (social / cultural capital) that poorer and socially disadvantaged people might lack. In the UK finding good prepared food is a much harder task, leading to malnutrition and obesity when there is limited choice.

Customers for street food in Kolkata, however, did seem to come from all walks of life – both male and female, English speaking – though perhaps their choices are selective, depending on who they trusted or the type of food.

And so we left the streets of Kolkata and hippy grotto under the railway arch, back onto the wet and rainy streets of Loughborough Junction and Brixton – another exploration in itself, with Brixton’s African and Caribbean influences and a whole other world within London.

Further links:

http://eat.st

British Street Food Awards

Angus Denoon's blog

Sikhism and a visit to the Gurdwara

Sikhism has been creeping up into my consciousness the past few weeks. It started with David Cameron’s visit to India back in February, as a kind of follow-up from Boris Johnson’s visit last autumn. As part of his PR exercise, he visited Amritsar – home, of course, to the Sikh Golden Temple – and scene of the 1919 massacre when British troops opened fire, without warning, on 10,000 people holding a protest meeting. Around 400 people were killed and 1000 wounded. Cameron stopped short of an apology but described it as a ‘deeply shameful event’ – condemned even at the time by the British Government. For Amit Baruah, however, this gesture was meaningless as the violence of Empire was too widespread. ‘See,’ he writes, ‘your violence and our shame was embedded in Empire. We can distinguish between the day-to-day and the spectacular, or how one of your predecessors, Winston Churchill, ensured that no grain reached millions of starving Indians during World War II. Here’s a small problem, Mr Cameron. You might find something ‘deeply shameful’ in every city and town of this country, something you may not want to apologise for’ (Open Magazine, 21 February 2013). Colonial guilt is not so easily assuaged then - although you have to have some sympathy for Cameron’s ‘damned if you do, damned if you don’t’ situation. [And, let’s face it, independent India also has its flashpoints such as Indira Gandhi’s attack on the Golden Temple in 1984. Not a high point in modern Indian history and one which led to her assassination by her Sikh bodyguards].

Last week then saw the first in a new series on weddings in Britain. The first episode of ‘A Very British Wedding’ on BBC2 focused on two couples. One of the couples, Kami and Dev were Sikh, living in Doncaster. I’m afraid I am with Sam Wollaston on this one, reviewing the programme for The Guardian (14 March 2013) and I quote:

‘There are [a] few Sikh and Punjabi traditions going on. The Guru Granth Sahib gets invited; Dav has a sword that has been passed down the generations; he and Kami can’t see each other for the six weeks leading up to the big day; she makes Indian sweets and blubs some more, before being rubbed in turmeric.... You know what, though, a bit of turmeric isn’t enough. Just about everybody’s got someone making Indian sweets in their family now, haven’t they? That’s sort of the point of the series: this is totally normal in this country. It doesn’t make it either fascinating or entertaining television’.

In the UK today, we seem to project ‘culture’ onto immigrant groups in society. So, Kami and Dav have culture: Dav plays in a Punjabi bhangra band, whose dance moves come from the farming in Punjabi villages of their parents and grandparents. They even imported hay bales into their back garden to try and recreate the farming feel for a pre-wedding party. And it’s all really important to maintain and propagate these traditions within their ‘community’. The flip side to this is that I (white British, non-immigrant) don’t have culture. I did have a thought that if I got married, I could try and recreate the cigarette, biscuit and jam factory feel in my back garden of my ancestors who worked there in Liverpool. Or perhaps a Scottish theme of my maternal grandfather (rollmop herrings in oatmeal springs to mind). Doesn’t have quite the same resonance though as I am deemed culture-less now, an urban Londonite who takes on the shade and cuisine of any number of cultures I am surrounded and influenced by depending on my mood. Real cultures, with traditions worth upholding.

And so to Friday when I was a volunteer parent helper for my son’s class visit to the local gurdwara. This was a first for me as well as my son – never having actually been inside a gurdwara. We all donned our headcoverings (my son looking a bit like a pirate with a blue scarf tied round his head like a bandana) for a tour inside. I was impressed with how all the children, without prompting, just followed each other in respectfully putting some money into the offering box in front of the Guru Granth Sahib and kneeled down, touching their foreheads to the floor.

As far as religions go, Sikhism is impressive. Honestly, the basic principles are like the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, around 500 years before they were actually formulated. Gender equality, no Hindu and no Muslim, no idols or statues as objects of worship and an emphasis on service and looking after others. And practical: the kindly elderly man who showed us round (looking the archetypal Sikh fatherly-type) asked the class why they took off their shoes before coming into the gurdwara. ‘To show respect’ one of them answered, very plausibly. Actually, he said, ‘It’s to keep the place clean’. Of course! In the room where we were sitting, there were some blankets and mattresses in a pile, in case of visitors who needed somewhere to sleep.

After tasting some of the karah prasad (sweet, blessed food), we went to the Langar for lunch. Now this is where Sikhism is seriously admirable. We were told that they served around 300-400 free lunches each weekday and between 700–1000 at weekends. Amazing. Of course, as a white, blonde English woman I am assumed to have no knowledge of Indian or South Asian culture at all. I have the opposite of what Susen complains of – that he is assumed not to celebrate Christmas or Christian festivals by virtue of being brown-skinned. So, I sat down and one of my son’s classmates sitting next to me, of Indian parentage, helpfully told me what the dhal was, and how to eat it with pieces of the bread (chapati) – assuming I didn’t know. I just thanked her for helping me.

I have always had one slight gripe about Sikhism, in that one of the founding principles is to reject all sorts of blind rituals as well as any idol worship. All well and good, but what about all the rituals surrounding the Guru Granth Sahib? – a book of teachings, revered as a living God, wrapped up and kept under covers like a bed, a brush wafted over the top to keep it cool, only carried on someone’s head. It all seems.....well a bit like blind rituals to a book that is, after all, a book with words (albeit holy words) written in it. On my bookshelves, I have copies of (among others): the Bible, the Qu’ran, the Holy Teachings of Vimalakirti, the Sutra of Golden Light, the Dhammapada – I could go on. Yes, I try to look after them and not throw them around – but no, I don’t wrap them up in cloth, carry them on my head or fan them with a brush.

I confronted this objection of mine with one of the school teachers, who was Sikh herself. She said it was just a sign of respect, and that it was the only thing or ritual that was practiced – everything else (from Hinduism) had been abandoned. Actually, I felt OK about this. After all, in my Buddhist youth (another story), I had no problem in ‘bowing’ or ‘saluting’ the shrine with the symbols of the Buddha, candles, incense and flowers – as paying homage to the ideals which they embody, rather than the inanimate objects themselves. So to with the Guru Granth Sahib, it seems to me.

Another problem I encounter with Sikhism is it’s adherence to, and identification with, Punjabi culture. The language of the gurdwara is Punjabi, the hymns are chanted or sung in Punjabi, the script of the Guru Granth Sahib is a form of Punjabi. The food in the Langar is Northern Indian. This makes it extremely difficult for any non-Punjabi to consider becoming (I hesitate to say ‘converting to’) a Sikh. This is a shame as it has so much to offer – and may also alienate 2nd or 3rd generation Sikh immigrants to the UK as they identify less with Punjabi culture, and their knowledge of the Punjabi language decreases.
So too with Sikhism’s professed gender equality. Why was it therefore that all the musicians and hymn singers in the gurdwara always (or predominantly) seem to be male, whereas the chefs and servers in the kitchen were female? Gender stereotypes are easy to dispel with in words, but harder to do in practice.

It also seems to be the case that, despite its proclaimed equality, Sikhism still has a caste system which operates in the diaspora as well as in India. This seems to be particularly salient among ‘ex-untouchables’ or Dalits who converted to Sikhism as a way out of the discrimination encountered in India to being an ‘untouchable’ Hindu. The discrimination experienced as Dalits in India seems to have been, in some instances, carried into the UK and continued as a source of discrimination both within the Sikh community, gurdwara and even employment (including within the NHS). Such high ideals always seem to become compromised in practice among fallible human beings.

Sikhism is not without its Western converts. I noticed, in my research, that Alexandra Aitken, daughter of the former government minister Jonathan Aitken, had become a Sikh. She claims to have visited Amritsar and seen her future husband (an Indian Sikh) at the Golden Temple. Apparently she just ‘knew’ – even without having spoken to him – that he was the one she was going to marry. And so she did, becoming a Sikh – complete with outer trappings of white turban – with the enthusiasm that only new converts can demonstrate. Let’s hope it lasts and she continues to practise and find spiritual fulfilment. Others have come to Sikhism through the practice of Kundalini Yoga – although not strictly Sikh in origin itself.

It is, however, hard to become or practise Sikhism as a Westerner. The gurdwara remains inaccessible in language and culture and Sikhism’s reluctance to proselytise makes it a difficult religion with which to have a dialogue – in contrast to, say, Christianity or Islam. To my mind, however, it remains the most plausible, sensible and compassionate religion I have come across – at least in its ideal. Let’s hope it’s influence extends far beyond the gates of the gurdwara.