Part 6: January 15 (Saturday) to January 18 (Tuesday)

We buy all our prescription medications from Canada. They offer generic equivalents unavailable in the States, and since our health insurance provides no drug coverage whatsoever, the savings is significant. Most of my meds are actually made in India, so I decided to bring my prescriptions and see if I could have them filled here. Gene sent us to the Yamuna pharmacy, where all the Embassy personnel go for their meds.

Yamuna Pharmacy, Delhi (JZ)

When we got to the shop, it was filled with airline stewardesses, ex-pats, and Indians. No problem filling our prescriptions. The prices were so much lower than even our Canadian pharmacy that we bought a year's supply of medicines for both of us. The savings paid for one of our airline tickets! Why the Republicans are trying to overturn Obama care is beyond me.

Gene and Barb wanted us to meet Sharon Lowen, a well respected expert on Indian dance and a woman with a passion for the country and culture.  She came as a Fulbright scholar 40 years ago and basically never left. She is a network Queen, who provided great contacts and ideas for our project. Her enthusiasm was infectious. Plus, she really does know everyone.

Selection of Pashmina Shawls (AT)

Jerri had wanted to buy some shawls, so Sharon sent us to Muzzafar Khalid. We took a long rickshaw ride to an old part of Delhi, through winding streets, crammed with shops, people, motorcycles, animals. Muzzafar is from Kashmir; he splits his time between there and Kolkata. He has a workshop where real Pashmina shawls are made (as opposed to inauthentic ones that sport a label but are not actually made in Kashmir.) The wool is soft, the hand weaving fine. We had a lesson in wool and weaving techniques. He showed us items that were works of art, unfortunately far too expensive for our means. Jerri did buy an exquisite cape, as well as several scarves. Muzzafar's son Basharat showed us one beautiful example after another. This was the real deal, vouched for by Sharon, who has been collecting quality pieces for years.

Alan Photographing Basharat and Muzzafar in their home (JZ)

Muzzafar told us about the difficulties in Kashmir and how violence had cost him two seasons of production, not to mention its far more devastating consequences in lost lives. He is a businessman who simply wants to do his work. Then Muzzafar asked us our religion. When we explained that we were Jewish, a wonderful conversation ensued. We talked about Jews and Muslims being children of Abraham, brothers who need to talk with one another. Jerri politely objected to referring to God as “He” and Muzzafar agreed that this was limiting. He is eager to be in touch with our rabbi Andrea London of Beth Emet Synagogue. Later, he sent us an article he wrote about Islam.



I don't believe I have ever had such a conversation before. Our cultures are so exclusive, our fears so great, our opportunities for dialogue so seemingly limited. Yet here we were, two Jews and two Muslims, living half way around the world from each other, enjoying each others company. Muzzafar presented each of us with copies of the Koran. Jerri opened hers to a section on women. I opened mine to a passage about Moses. Muzzafar smiled. “This happens all the time. Allah guided you to those pages.”

Then Basharat drove us home, which was an experience in itself. The more excited he became by the reality of our conversation, the slower he drove. I mentioned Salmon Rushdie's love for Kashmir evidenced in his book The Ground Beneath her Feet, but because he is a divisive figure for Muslims, it only caused Basharat to drive slower. We were being passed by cows.

Muzzafar, Jerri and Basharat (AT)

The next day we visited the Bada Gumbad mosque at the Lodi Gardens, a tranquil spot near the International Center where we were having lunch with Ajay Mehta, the Director of a non-profit that works on conflict resolution in the states of eastern India. Ajay was a college roommate of our neighbor Jeffrey. He too thought the album was a fascinating glimpse of an India at a significant time in its history.

Bada Gumbad Mosque, Lodi Gardens, Delhi (JZ)

Ajay suggested we meet with the director of the Indira Gandhi Center for the Arts, who would likely be interested in an eventual exhibit of our material. Unfortunately, he was not in, but we had the chance to see a remarkable exhibit 'March to Freedom' that used Gandhi's walk to the sea in protest of the salt tax as an impetus for contemporary art works. The exhibit consisted of paintings, photographs and sculptures and was a powerful example of non-didactic socially motivated art, well aware of contemporary art practice.

The next morning , we met Rahaab Allana, the Director of the Alkazi Foundation for the Arts (http://www.acparchives.com/pageone.html) This was a spectacular meeting, a highlight of the trip. The Center houses a collection of 90,000 photographs, from the earliest days of photography in India through the 1940s.

Rahaab was knowledgeable and excited by our collection. He saw many opportunities for collaboration. We talked about the approaches we could take with this material, from art historical to educational perspectives. He discussed representational styles, from the Company Period of colonialist paintings romanticizing India to more contemporary approaches. We talked about placing our collection within the framework of American documentary photography, wondering if our photographer had any knowledge of the Photo League or the Farm Security Administration images.

Rahaab presented us with one of their publications, a book about an Indian woman photographer of the 1940s. We will clearly work with the Alkazi Foundation as this project continues to unfold.

Rahaab Allana (AT)

We next headed to the airport to fly to Kolkata, where we were to meet Emma. Her flight was delayed for 3 hours, so we sat in the dismal Kolkata airport. She finally arrived and we took a cab to the TransAid guesthouse, in Ballygunj, again arranged by AIIS. I called the hotel manager 4 times to help our confused driver. He kept stopping people on the street for directions, but as soon as they told him, he promptly forgot. It took an hour and a half of driving in circles before we got to our destination.