Eid Mubarak!

A very happy and blessed Eid to all of you who celebrate!

And, because I can’t resist the temptation to share knowledge I come across while I’m doing my research, here’s a little tidbit about Eid as it was in the time of the last Mughal emperor, Bahadur Shah ‘Zafar’. (The illustration, which dates back to 1843, depicts Bahadur Shah in an Eid procession, with princes and other salatin – distant family members of the Emperor – following on elephants, horses, and on foot).

Bahadur Shah 'Zafar' rides on elephant back in an Eid procession, 1843.

Bahadur Shah ‘Zafar’ rides on elephant back in an Eid procession, 1843.

Since the date of Eid—as now—was decided based on the sighting of the moon, it was the emperor’s responsibility to ensure that the moon was sighted and duly recorded. For this, he would send horsemen out of the city to spot the moon. If there were clouds, the riders would go further out, to a village or up a hill. Their sighting of the moon would be recorded and signed by a ‘reliable witness’: a qazi, for instance. The news, when conveyed to the emperor, would be transmitted to the rest of the city by means of fired cannons.

Eid, of course, was a very important festival, celebrated with much feasting after the long days of fasting. Traditionally, the emperor would go to the Eidgah, accompanied by the princes, other salatin, prominent officers (and even, in what was definitely a political move, the British Resident in the early 1800s). On the occasion of Eid-ul-Zuha, he would sacrifice a camel at the Eidgah.

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Mirza Ghalib (1954)

Okaaay. I’m finally back from a whirlwind book tour. I gave endless interviews (I can now answer questions in my sleep); was wined and dined—great ilish in Kolkata and awesome Chettinad food in Chennai—and even ended up on youtube. I met some likeable and interesting people, including crime writer Zac O’Yeah (in conversation with me at the Bangalore do) and blogger-cum-bestselling writer Amit Varma, author of the delightful My Friend Sancho—he was in conversation with me in Mumbai and had some nice things to say about my book. And yes (I can’t resist the temptation to blow my own trumpet!), others have said good things about The Englishman’s Cameo, too: Pradeep Sebastian, writing in BusinessWorld, for instance; and Vivek Tejuja on http://www.goodreads.com.

So, having done my bit of shameless self-promotion—and wound up at exactly the place I wanted this post to go—I’ll begin with this review. Like me, the Urdu poet Mirza Ghalib was a Dilliwala. Like me, he too was a writer (and before I have Ghalib fans leaping at my throat for daring to lump the two of us together: no, I do not compare myself to the man. He was pure genius. Not so with me). And like me, Ghalib loved to hear his writing being praised.

Bharat Bhushan in and as Mirza Ghalib

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