Aparita

The Globe and Mail

The real Little India is in Malton, where Mississauga becomes a Bombay Bazaar

APARITA BHANDARI

SPECIAL TO THE GLOBE AND MAIL

MALTON, ONT. — An Indian soap called Kittie Party plays on a small TV screen in one corner of the “separate ladies’ section” in the inner part of Bharti Beauty Parlour Inc. The business is named after hairstylist Aruna Bassi’s husband, who looks after the other part of this salon that offers “hairstylists for ladies and gents.” Ms. Bassi, her hair tied into a waist-long plait, her mangalsutra (a black-and-gold beaded necklace worn by married Indian women) peeping out of her black beautician’s smock, explains the plot line to her customer as she gets ready to bleach her face.

“That boy is the son of the woman in the pink salwar-kameez,” says Ms. Bassi, 25, pointing to veteran Indian actress Poonam Dhillon’s character. “The woman in the pink is the wife of Kiran Kumar. Everyone thought she was dead, but now she’s come back to life.”

Bharti Beauty Parlour is one of a dozen Indian beauty salons in Malton, a corner of Mississauga at the intersection of Airport and Derry Roads. Malton also boasts Indian grocery and video stores, clothing shops such as Lebas: Fashion of India and jewellery stores such as Nu Ashok Jewellers.

The downtown Toronto neighbourhood of Gerrard Street and Coxwell Avenue is not the only taste of India the Greater Toronto Area has to offer. The real Little India is here in the suburbs, where there is a predominantly South Asian population, plenty of parking, and amenities covering everything from daily household needs to South Asian wedding requirements.

People drive in from Brampton, elsewhere in Mississauga, even Scarborough to stock up on essentials such as wheat flour, turmeric powder and hair oil.

“When you come to Malton, you feel like you’re in Chauda Bazaar, in Ludhiana, Punjab,” says Avatar Uppal, who runs Uppal Video and Travel with his wife. “You feel at home. . . . Malton is a main attraction. Like Gerrard Street was.”

“Before, everyone used to go to Gerrard,” says Hans Raj Sannan, who used to work as a stenographer in Delhi Cloth Mills before he came to Canada in 1990. His son, Ravinder, owns the India Food Market grocery store in Malton. Mr. Sannan says people come to the neighbourhood from long distances on the weekend. “Slowly the stores started opening in Malton. Clothes, jewellery, grocery, food. Now people come here.”

The area is a definite hotbed of activity on weekends. Soundtracks from the latest Bollywood movies or bhangra cassettes play in all the video stores. A steady line of men and women hover at the beauty parlours. Families enjoy a hot cup of tea and a samosa or a piping hot chole-bhature (spicy chick peas and deep fried bread) at the Indian restaurants. Some prefer the Indian-Chinese cuisine, which they refer to as Hakka, offered by restaurants such as Asian Wok and Roll or China Garden.

Uppal Video and Travel carries everything from Bollywood video and audio products to watches, flashlights and even some irons. Mr. Uppal serves his customers in a mixture of Hindi, Punjabi and English. He came to Canada in 1972. A decade later, he bought a house in Malton.

“When I first came to Toronto, I used to live near Queen and Pape,” he says. “There was only one gurudwara [Sikh place of worship] on Pape Avenue. Every Sunday, maybe 60 people came. Now there must be maybe 20 to 25 gurudwaras in Toronto. Nearby here, there are four gurudwaras.”
Open since 1997, the India Food Market grocery store is a relatively new entrant to the Malton store community, which started to grow quickly in 1985.

In the window of the shop, old-fashioned Indian prints stand next to a carrom board (a popular Indian board game). One print depicts Heer and Ranjha, protagonists of the classic Punjabi Romeo and Juliet story. A poster for Mela Teeyan Da, a Punjabi festival in which married women vacation for a few days at their parental homes, is taped on the door.

Inside the store, various essentials of a South Asian home are neatly stacked: incense sticks, camphor squares, Dabur Hajmola (digestive pills), spices, cans of pickles, jars of amle ka murabba (Indian gooseberry preserved in a sugary syrup), papad, dalmot (Indian snacks resembling trail mix), tawa (griddle), chakla-belan (a rolling pin and stand used to make Indian bread), jhadu (an Indian broom), as well as vegetables such as bitter gourd, small eggplants and arbi (colocasia) used in typical South Asian preparations.

There’s never really a quiet day in the neighbourhood, Ms. Bassi says as she gets ready to thread another customer’s eyebrows. She studied to be a beautician in India before she came to Canada five years ago.

“We get people from every community — white, black, Indian, Chinese, Guyanese,” she says. “This is a good location. There is competition, there are many beauty parlours here. But we have our regular clients. They drive from Richmond Hill, Oakville, Burlington.” They come for other things too — like grocery shopping.

“But sometimes,” Ms. Bassi says, “they come just to get their eyebrows threaded. I guess they like the work.”

Rishi Rich Project Headlines 4th Masala! Mehndi! Masti! Festival

Girl you got exactly what I need, I ain’t gonna lie,
With you is where I wanna be,
All up in the club, the finest girl I see,
I know that you want me to come over to you and ta-alk.
I’m just trying keep it real wit’ you,
Are you feelin’ me the way I’m feelin’ you…
Either call your crew ‘n’ I’m'a call my crew…
Cuz Jay and Rishi Rich and Juggy D are comin through

Beware of the boys, ladies. The Rishi Rich Project is coming to Toronto, and they’re looking forward to kick it with you.

The trio from UK will be in town to headline the fourth annual Masala! Mehndi! Masti! festival, performing on the CIBC stage on August 5th. The festival runs from August 4th to 8th, featuring local and international artists, making it the largest of its kind in North America.

Call them the young Turks of British Asian music. Coming after artists such as Panjabi MC, and, if you really want to go old school, Apache Indian, the Rishi Rich Project has repackaged the bhangra beats that were playing on the streets of Southall. With hiphop, R&B and dance hall influences mixed along with straight up bhangra beats, their music is now playing on mainstream UK channels such as Channel U (an urban music channel similar to Much Vibe), artists such as Craig David, Britney Spears and Mary J Blige have chosen to get their music remixed by them, and even Bollywood has asked the group to spice up a soundtrack or two.

For Jay Sean and Juggy D, the trip to Toronto will be their first. Although both have family in Canada, they’ve only heard about the city through their family and friends.

“Well, I haven’t heard much about it, all I know the weather is a bit like the UK,” says Juggy D in a phone interview from England. “I’ve heard it can be really cold, but then it can get really warm.”

Until he was about 10-years-old, Juggy D, would come to Vancouver every year in the summer to visit his family.

“Sometimes, when I came out to Canada, after a couple of weeks, I’d start picking up the accent really quickly,” the 22-year-old laughs. “I’d phone back to London, and I’m talking with a Canadian accent, and they’d be like, what the hell is he doing. It’s only been about three weeks you know.”

“I am really looking forward to coming to Toronto. I’ve heard it’s a kicking city.”

At the moment, Juggy D is getting geared up to release his debut self-titled album. Tracks from the album - completely Punjabi - are getting airtime on Channel U. But Juggy D says it’s about time the music industry caught up with the (South) Asian explosion going on.

“If you look at England, the number one take-out food is Indian curry,” he says. “Then there was Bombay Dreams. So, even our music is getting the same attention. It’s massive right now.”

Across town, 23-year-old Jay Sean is hurrying on the road. It’s been a long day for him. He’s just finished putting the final touches on his soon to be released debut album. He’s on his way to an event, driving his car with his knees, with just time for a quick interview.

“It’s mental right now,” he laughs into the phone. “Absolutely mental. I’ve been in the studio the whole day, just putting bits and bobs on my album. Now, I’m driving to a gig where I’ll perform, and I am talking to a reporter from Canada.

“It’s been great working on the album. For an artist, the best thing is to be able to write your own songs. So all these songs I wrote in my bedroom, I’m now putting in my album. It’s the best thing really. You know, coz I can only sing about what I know.”

The album Me Against Myself will be out in October. The album features tracks “Eyes On You” and “Me Against Myself.” The single “Eyes on You” debuted at number 6 on the British charts.

He hopes to break stereotypes of Asian with his new album, says Jay Sean, who gave up studying medicine to pursue his music career.

“You know, the common stereotype of (South) Asians being very studious type, and making very good doctors, lawyers and engineers and accountants,” he says. “It was very, very rare that Asians were seen in the mainstream in the media. It was only last year that Bombay Dreams came on West End in London, which was a very big deal.

“I like to just bring some irony out of this. We’ve been doing this for so long. You know, the Panjabi MC “Mundian to Bach Ke” song came out five-six years ago. And it’s only now that most people are discovering it. I want to let people know that there’s more we can do. I think people need to be more open-minded.”

Arguably, the man behind getting Jay Sean and Juggy D noticed is their producer Rishi Rich. His passion is to produce original sounding music, says 26-year-old Rishi.

As he heads to his studio in Perivale, about 20 minutes away from his home in Harrow, Rishi stops to get himself a cup of Indian tea, Lucozade and salt-and-vinegar crisps. The studio is in the middle of a quiet industrial area in an outer west London suburb, tucked behind the white art deco Hoover Building.

His journey from his first job, when he was 11, as a runner in a recording studio near his house, to now running his own studio has been a long one. Brought up by a single parent, Rishi trained in classical Indian music as a young child.

“My mum started me with it,” he says. “I learnt to play the harmonium and the tabla. Indian classical music is the hardest thing to learn. If you learnt that, you can play anything really.”

When the owner of the recording studio Rishi used to work for was looking for a keyboard player, Rishi offered his services. Soon, he formed 2 Kool with a friend. By the time he was 15, he’d released his first single “Bombay Jungle,” which was soon followed by the album Love 2 Love.

At the moment, Rishi is working on releasing an album next year featuring artists such as Adnan Sami and Danish rap group Outlandish besides Jay Sean and Juggy D.

“As soon as I get back from seeing you guys in Toronto, I am hibernating,” he says. “I will be working at the studio for six months.”

The proudest moment in his career until now was when he took his mother to the British Asian Music Awards, and picked up three awards, says Rishi.

“My mum had always wanted me to win a producer award,” he says. “Just seeing the look on her face, it was all worth it. This is what it’s all been for.”

His mother’s decision to trust in him, when he was young and decided to quit school to follow a full-time music career, was a hard one.

“It was a risk, you know,” says Rishi. “It was a big risk that my mum took when she decided that I don’t need to study. But because of that risk, I had to make this work. I had nothing else to fall back on.

“It was hard. There wasn’t much money. I’ve been working hard. It’s just this whole year that’s been a bit mad. Before that, it was six years of working hard and no one knowing you. But that’s just the way the music industry is.

“Now I can look after myself, and I’ve been looking after my mum.”

While Rishi finds the fame that comes along with the job a little hard to manage sometimes, his crew mates Jay Sean and Juggy D are enjoying every moment of it. While Rishi relaxes at home with his few close friends, Jay Sean likes to hang out and have fun and enjoy a normal lifestyle, going out for drinks with his friends or playing on Playstation.

“Yeah, Rishi is the serious one,” laughs Jay Sean. “Juggy D and I clown around all the time.

“I absolutely love (the fame). But we don’t focus on it. It’s very surreal, people chasing our car when we leave. The fame and whole thing - me and my boys, Rishi Rich and Juggy D, don’t ever really think about it. We have been kind of lucky. And we don’t get caught up in it. It could all go tomorrow. We kind of laugh about it.

“It’s just that we just love what we do.”

Filmmaker Ali Kazimi takes on two types of project. Personal stories or projects that pay the bills. But he must believe in both.

Continuous Journey, Kazimi’s latest documentary, is a personal project. It screened at the Hot Docs festival, which took place from April 22 to May 1. Besides taking the second place in the audience’s favourite category, the dark documentary also received a Special Jury Prize for Best Direction in the Canadian Spectrum Programme (feature length) category.

The documentary follows the story of Komagata Maru, a Japanese ship chartered by a Sikh entrepreneur Gurdit Singh to ship Indian immigrants to Canada.

According to Kazimi’s website, “On May 23, 1914, the ship arrived in Vancouver Harbour with 376 passengers aboard: 340 Sikhs; 24 Muslims and 12 Hindus. Many of the men on-board were veterans of the British Indian Army and believed it was their right as British subjects to settle anywhere in the Empire they had fought to defend and expand. They were wrong…

“Continuous Journey is an inquiry into the largely ignored history of Canada’s exclusion of the South Asians by a little known immigration policy called the Continuous Journey Regulation of 1908. Unlike the Chinese and the Japanese, people from British India were excluded by a regulation that appeared fair, but in reality, was an effective way of keeping people from India out of Canada until 1948. As a direct result, only a half-mile from Canadian shores, the Komagata Maru was surrounded by immigration boats and the passengers were held in communicado virtual prisoners on the ship. Thus began a dramatic stand-off which would escalate over the course of two months, becoming one of the most infamous incidents in Canadian history.”

Sitting in a café in the Yonge-Bloor area, Kazimi chooses his words carefully. Taking occasional swigs of coffee, he takes time to reflect on his Continuous Journey, a documentary that would take eight years to make and still have him deeply in debt.

“I was, in some senses, trying to locate myself in the Canadian landscape as it were,” he says. “It took me many, many years to figure out that I was (making Continuous Journey), in part, as an exercise to truly claim this country as whole. And I felt I could only really claim it if I was to connect myself with people who’d come before me, from India. In fact, the very first people who came before me.

“But the initial intent was to make (the documentary) because I was angered by the way I was dealt with Canadian immigration literally since the time I landed. At the time, there was a level of - and I think it’s shifted considerably since then - of arrogance and sheer exercise of power, of specifically the immigration officer. And their discretionary power to say yes and no, as to who can come into this country.”

It’s been more than 20 years since Kazimi first came to Canada. He was a film student back then. He already had a BSc from New Delhi’s prestigious St. Stephens College. His first trip to Toronto, as an exchange student at York University, will forever be etched in his memory.

“I was pulled out of the (immigration) line by this middle-aged, white man,” says Kazimi. “He had silver hair. And a kind but patronizing tone. I was taken into a room and questioned for over 20 minutes. The basic gist of the conversation was whether I had bought the visa at some back alley in Delhi, for $10. At the end of it, he told me the only reason I was let go was because I spoke such good English. And because I’d remember him for the rest of my life.”

“This was a stark change from when my brother immigrated 10 years ago, when he welcomed warmly by a similar looking man. My experience was definitely an individual incident. But at the same time, the fact that this individual had the ability and power and lack of accountability to do (what he did) - it fascinated me.”

His first experience with the immigration officer stayed with Kazimi.

The exchange program turned into a four-year scholarship at York University’s film department. And Kazimi found himself looking up the Immigration Act in York University’s law library.

“The Immigration Act gives very wide discretionary (powers) to the immigration officer,” he says. “That got me interested in the history of immigration. And then I was trying to answer a basic question. Why do most people in the world consider that a Canadian is blond and blue eyed?

“In 1968, Canada made a decision, when its traditional source of immigration from the British Isles and Northern Europe was drying up, to open its doors. It was an economic necessity. Today that decision is part of Canada’s mythic narrative. And while I understand how national mythology works, I am not a fan of nationalism, any sort of nationalism.”

While Kazimi wants to question that national mythology, his intent isn’t to blame, he clarifies.

“I didn’t make the film to berate Canadians for being exclusionary,” he says. “It’s not to wag my finger and say, ‘You think you are multicultural but look what you did back then.’ That’s not the purpose. The purpose is that we reflect on history and that we contextualize our presence within a historical framework. It’s important to understand the context within which we live, work and understand the future.”

Although the Komagata Maru is mentioned in “two lines” in Indian history books, Kazimi first came across the story when he came to Canada, when he was trying to understand the demographics of immigration.

“I’d heard about the Chinese head tax and the Japanese internment, but the Continuous Journey Regulation is such as clever piece of regulation that it seems non- exclusionary on paper,” he says. “But it has a far more exclusionary effect. At least with the Chinese head tax and Japanese internment, there was a possibility of coming in. But for South Asians, unless you came on a continuous journey, there was no way you could come into the country, no matter how much money you had. And the numbers back it up. And yet, in the national narrative of Canada, Canada has never excluded South Asians.”

Putting the documentary together was an arduous process on many levels. There was limited archival documentation and no period film footage at all. There wasn’t much funding beyond arts council grants. Broadcasters, who are the primary way of getting funding, weren’t very keen on the story.
“One broadcaster, mainstream, told me, only half jokingly - ‘It’s a terrible, terrible chapter in Canadian history. Do us a favour and blame the British’,” Kazimi recounts.

Minimal research has been done on Komagata Maru, and so experts were hard to come by. Those who do make it on Kazimi’s documentary were people he met by happenstance. But Kazimi wanted to go back to the primary sources.

It was very hard to locate descendants of the original voyagers of the Komagata Maru. Or descendants from that era of Canadian history, who would have stories passed down the family, who would be willing to talk.

“A lot of people just don’t know their history,” says Kazimi. “Nobody wants to talk about it. People find it difficult to articulate. I had a hard time finding old-timers who’d talk about issues of race. People really started to talk about it in the 1970s, when the Komagata Maru started to become discussed in the mainstream. It’s how people deal with trauma and shame, and the desire to fit in.”

With the final edit complete, Continuous Journey is now ready to be showcased. Kazimi hopes the documentary will become one way of remembering the story of the Komagata Maru and its travellers.

“Well, they’re already teaching about Komagata Maru in high schools across Canada,” he says. “So now there’s a whole generation of kids who know about it, while their parents don’t.

“But it’s important that all Canadians remember. The Continuous Journey Regulation wasn’t written just for the Sikhs. It’s a story that affects all of us.”

Toronto Star, [07/03/2004]

Burial place of Nizamuddin open to all religions. Village around mausoleum a hub of Sufi culture

APARITA BHANDARI

SPECIAL TO THE STAR

New Delhi, India — It’s a difficult drive to the Nizamuddin basti or village that grew up around the mausoleum of renowned Indian Sufi Nizamuddin Aulia.

In A.D. 1274, Nizamuddin moved from his birthplace, Badauin, to Delhi, establishing a khanqah (monastery) in the jungle of Ghiyaspur, away from the main city and the politics of the royal courts. At the khanqah, Nizamuddin meditated and taught his disciples.

Over the years, the basti has become the hub of Sufi culture in the city. The annual Urs commemorating the birth and death anniversaries of Nizamuddin and his favourite disciple, poet and musician Amir Khusro, attracts thousands.

It’s fitting that the path to the dargah (shrine) of Nizamuddin isn’t easy, even if the small obstacles are modern constructs. After all, Sufis believe Sufism is covered with a veil, which you can see only through by discipline and persistence.

While colossal forts built during the same era now lie in ruins, the 700-plus-year-old dargah of Nizamuddin is one of the most popular spiritual destinations in India. Irrespective of religious backgrounds, people visit it, sometimes to have their prayers answered, and sometimes seeking inner tranquility.

On the outside, there’s nothing serene about Nizamuddin, especially the immediate surroundings of the dargah.

Touristy paragraphs describing the dargah usually talk about “going through a time-warp into the medieval period of India.” Beggars seek alms, dressed in ragged clothes, sitting along the narrow pathways leading to the centre. Shopkeepers perch on their haunches on their wooden stalls, cocooned in woollen shawls. They ply flower garlands or chadars (cloth) as you go in, and devotional books and music cassettes as you come out. The heavy scent of roses hangs in the air - the same smell of rose attar popular in bygone times.

En route, there’s a baoli (water tank) known as the Chashma-E-Dilkhusha. It’s said Nizamuddin himself started the construction of the baoli, digging with his own hands and blessing the water. His followers believe the water has mystical properties.

Following the alleys, you suddenly come into an open courtyard, and in the middle stands the dargah.
The structure is simple. Paved with marble, the dargah’s veranda has five arched openings on each side. The roof covering the arches has a parapet, topped by a series of small domes. A larger, onion-shaped dome, with alternating stripes of black and white marble, stands on top. Lattice screens and arches surround the actual tomb, forming an inner sanctum. Inside, a wooden canopy inlaid with mother-of-pearl arabesques is covered with the chadars offered to the Sufi.

The dargah is opposite the Jama’t Khana mosque, built by the son of the ruler Ala-ud-din Khilji. It’s also home to the mausoleums of Khusro, and the Mughal princess Jahanara. The mausoleums of famous Mughal ruler Humayun and celebrated poet Ghalib are also at a short distance away from the basti. It’s said that Nizamuddin Aulia was so loved that people wished to be buried near him.

The Sufis’ popularity doesn’t seem to be waning. A steady stream of people visit the dargah, some to offer prayers, others give the garlands or chadars to the Nizamis, who offer them at the dargah. The Nizamis are descendants of Nizamuddin’s sister since he, himself, never married.

A few men sit in front of the dargah. One plays the harmonium, singing a quwwali or mystic song. Another joins in a falsetto.

“Hazrat Nizamuddin was a great spirit,” says a man, in Urdu, who gives his name simply as Irfan. “People come here with their problems, but they take away peace.”

Like the incense man who sits daily at the dargah, Irfan is something of a permanent fixture at the dargah, a sort of a modern-day dervish (monk).

“Everyone remembers God in distress,” says Irfan, paraphrasing an oft-repeated Sufi couplet. “Remember Him in happiness. There will be no sadness. I like it here because we get close to God, we’re close to Nizamuddin.”

Nizamuddin Aulia (1236-1325) was the fourth saint of the Chistiya order, a lineage of Sufi saints. Sufism is passed on from the Sheikh (elder) to the disciple, and the silsila (chain of authorities) is traced back to the Prophet Muhammad.

Sufism’s history is controversial; it depends on which Muslim you talk to, says Tabith Abdullah, associate professor of history at York University.

“Those more favourable towards Sufism say that it started with the dawn of Islam, that the Prophet was a Sufi,” says Abdullah. “Others tend to view Sufism as heresy, as a foreign element that came to Islam.”

All religions have a mystical side, which is juxtaposed with a more legalistic reading of the religion, explains Abdullah. While the branch emphasizing the law specifies the dos and don’ts, the mystical side emphasizes the heart rather than the mind.

“There’s one medieval Sufi saying from Anatolia,” he says. “It says `If you’re searching for God, you won’t find Him in Mecca, you won’t find Him in Jerusalem, you’ll find Him in your heart.’”

Sufism’s heyday was between the 10th and 16th centuries when it was practised in Africa, Anatolia, Central and South Asia. It was heavily influenced by Indian mysticism, as well as the pre-Islamic religion of Iran and Mesopotamia. Recently Sufism has regained popularity, especially through the works of Sufi poets such as Rumi and Rabia.

The Sufis usually convey their beliefs through poetry and parables. Much of Sufi poetry has to do with love. To the uninitiated, the poetry might seem secular with references to the Beloved, as well as states of intoxication by partaking in wine. However, the idea is to see God as the Beloved, and the intoxication is a result of being close to God or to unite with God.

One of the practices of Sufism is zikr, or remembrance. At Nizamuddin’s shrine, zikr is done accompanied with music in the form of qawwali. Other zikr sessions have become known for the whirling dervishes.

Zikr, or for that matter, Sufism, isn’t to be equated with qawwali or the whirling dervishes, says Abdullah.

“Many Sufi brotherhoods have peculiar zikr sessions,” he explains. “The whirling dervishes, for example, developed in Anatolia. The idea is to imitate the movement of the heavenly bodies to get close to the spiritual. Singing, the use of candles, all of this has really to do with local peculiarities. Some brotherhoods just repeat passages from the Qur’an.”

Although such sessions of music and dance often elicit “polemic” from the Sharia-minded Muslims, the tension between Islam and Sufism is articulated by a much more sophisticated argument.

“The Sufis say that the word of God can have esoteric and literal interpretations,” says Abdullah. “The Sharia-minded say this is dangerous. It opens (the Qur’an) to any kind of interpretation that people like, but the truth is that the word of God is exactly what it is, just the literal meaning.”

It’s practically impossible to summarize the beliefs of Sufism once you go beyond the generalities, says Abdullah. Some Sufi saints place great importance on the Sharia, while other Sufis pay no attention to it, and there’s a whole spectrum of Sufis in between.

“Sufis like Nizamuddin taught the people to follow the Sharia, to go to the congregational prayer on Friday,” says Abdullah. “But they also suggested practising zikr, especially on Thursday evening.”

The popularity of Nizamuddin and, by extension, of Sufism in India, has something to do with the mystical aspect of the faith, but also because the Sufis’ views of religion weren’t rigid, says Abdullah.

“(The Sufis) were able to reach out to other religions because there are so many commonalities between the mystical traditions in India,” says Abdullah. “There were some Sufis who even allowed non-Muslims to join their brotherhood.”