Comment by Riaz Haq on March 18, 2023 at 1:37pm

From #Karachi with love: exploring #Pakistan’s annual #flower show run by Pak #Horticulture Society at Karachi Boat Club: Big-headed yellow marigolds; purple & white stocks & annual carnations displayed with a distinctive style.
https://www.ft.com/content/862f41d1-1b47-4e17-91b8-54fbaaceb427



I have just been exploring links forged by flowers in dry south Pakistan. I was there on separate business, my life-long object of study, Alexander the Great. In 326-325BC he conquered his way down the Indus river valley, but he never planted a garden. He banned a curved fruit that was new to the Greeks and was thought to be upsetting his soldiers’ stomachs. It was probably a banana. Obedient to Alexander I never eat bananas.



Between lectures on his legend and localised study of his campaign, I have explored aspects of their setting, all new to me, and noticed how joined-up gardening links us to Pakistan. I was set on my path by a tree.

In the exclusive Karachi Boat Club, a fine old tree surveys the lawn, beautifully groomed for the members’ benefit. On its trunk a notice proclaims: “I have closely witnessed the evolutions of the upper middle classes of this metropolis for more than a century.”

If trees could talk, what would the plane trees in Berkeley Square be telling us about changes in London’s high society?



“Music and the playing of military bands,” the tree’s notice continues, “reminds me of the RAJ ERA when such parties were most prominent.” The tree is a bodhi tree, like the one under which the Buddha is said to have attained enlightenment.



Seeking sociological enlightenment, I looked at the gardening round the club’s lawn. Postcolonial petunias; big-headed yellow marigolds; purple and white stocks and annual carnations were displayed with a distinctive style: single plants of each had been planted in a painted clay pot, and then the pots were massed by the dozen to make lines and curves.

In the paved courtyard of the Gymkhana club in Hyderabad, plants in individual pots are banked up into a circular centrepiece which is a blaze of colour. I watched while the club’s gardeners took each pot to a tap in order to water it. At home I sometimes plant a spare petunia in a single pot, but it never reaches such a diameter. I need to give it some Pakistani care.

Admiring these bright variations on mere flowerbeds, I widened my social survey. I went to a popular gathering, the Pakistan Annual Flower Show, run by the Horticulture Society of Pakistan. As it began in the first spring of Pakistan’s existence, this year is its 75th anniversary. For three days, visitors flocked to Seaview and the AK Khan park, which commemorates Abdul Karim Khan, a founding genius of the show in 1948.

What a delight to see plants in profusion, packing individual nurseries’ tents and spilling out on to the grass while a military band played favourite Pakistani tunes. The show occupies a space that measures up to the Royal Hospital site of London’s Chelsea Show and the crowds are as dense as on any of Chelsea’s days. So much is on sale throughout, from excellent foliage plants to roses, including a superb flat-petalled crimson and a prizewinning red with white streaks called Double Delight.

Nurseries have joyful banners on their tents: “we do rockeries and manures” or “we are the Blossoming Nursery for rented plants”. Orange awnings brighten the scene, lit with those mainstays of Pakistani staging, lines of bare lightbulbs.

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Much of the audience was middle class: how have flowers’ uses evolved elsewhere in society? Outside Karachi I was securely escorted to a great evening occasion, a Friday celebration at the famous shrine in the westerly town of Sehwan. It is the resting place of the 13th-century Sufi saint, Lal Shahbaz Qalandar, and is a place of pilgrimage from far and wide.

Inside, red-robed dancers twirled to the beat of hand drums before thousands of packed spectators, entranced by the music and the rhythms, boys and men in the front, girls and women in the side chapels.

Comment by Riaz Haq on July 23, 2023 at 5:54pm

In Pakistan’s Karachi, South Indian immigrants keep the taste of Tamil food alive over decades


https://www.arabnews.com/node/2342506/lifestyle


The southern Pakistani province of Sindh is home to a small community of Tamils, a Dravidian ethno-linguistic group, who migrated from southern India in the 1930s. There are around 5,000 Tamils currently living in Pakistan, who include Muslims, Hindus and Christians, according to the Swamis, according to the community members. Some of these families have been settled in the Pakistani culinary and commercial hub of Karachi since the pre-partition British Colonial era.

The small community speaks Tamil, which is the official language of India’s Tamil Nadu state, while some of its prominent dishes include dosa (a thin pancake made from a fermented batter of ground black lentils and rice), idli (savoury rice cake usually served in breakfast), upma (a thick savory porridge made from dry-roasted semolina) and vada (savoury fried snacks made with ground chickpeas and lentils).

“Over the years, the food [we make in Pakistan] has gone through a transition. It is inspired from the Pakistani cuisine. Some of the masalas (spices) have come in from here,” Swami, a 41-year-old Tamil Hindu who works as a manager at a software house in Karachi, told Arab News.

“[Similarly,] Tamils in Sri Lanka, their food is also inspired by some of the Sri Lankan cuisines.”

Tamil cuisine, according to the Swami family, originated in the Indian state of Tamil Nadu that has a rich history.

“We make vada during weddings at the Haldi ceremony,” said Swami’s sister, Sunita Swami, as she mixed the batter before frying it. “It takes place in the morning in our culture. So, we make daal chawal and this (vada). They are deep-fried.”

The savoury fried snack is made with split chickpeas and split lentils, which are ground after being left to soak in water overnight.

Swami’s grandparents moved to Karachi, now a bustling megapolis of more than 15 million, when the South Asian port city had been booming under the British Raj, while their fourth generation is currently residing in Pakistan, according to Swami’s another sister, Renuk Swami, who said it was the food and the language that connected Tamils all over the world, irrespective of the religion they practiced.

“Kolachi (former name of the port city) was a booming industry [back then]. So, he (grandfather) came for better prospects sometime in the late 1930s,” Renuka said. “In Sindh, particularly in Karachi, there would be around 300 households. They are spread across various localities in Karachi. In a land where Tamil [language] is alien, it kinds of connected people.”

Swami’s mother, Annadanam Swami, shared they make dosa on special occasions as it requires a lot of efforts.

They first grind rice and black lentils before combining the two and adding tarka (heated oil or ghee in which spices and onions are well-stirred and browned), according to Annadanam. It is then fried with minimal oil in a non-stick pan.

“People in India mostly make it daily. It is available everywhere now, but it originated in Tamil Nadu. Previously, only Tamils used to make it,” Annadanam said. “The filling is a chutney. It’s up to the people to have it with potato filling [too]. A Tamil will have it with chutney only. Now there are a lot of variations and fillings.”

Many people believe dosa is the only Tamil food, but reality is that rice dominate the Tamil cuisine, according to Swami.

“It [Tamil food] was here [in Pakistan] since the 1940s, but it came to prominence in the early or late 90s with dosa. Most people know dosa,” he said.

“As my father was also telling that they never used to eat roti in the beginning. Everything was rice. Tamil Nadu is a rice-eating nation. Roti came later. If you are not eating rice, you are not a Tamil. We grew up hearing that.”

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