OLD FLOWERS: Homai Rustam Saklat in a silk sari with a typical “Swiss” border worn Parsi style with the pallu on her right shoulder. This portrait was taken by the artist, K. Khosa, when Saklat was in her 80s. She lived to be 92

In a community of less than 600, of whom more than 350 are over 60, it is difficult to come upon young people. Although they refuse to be listed as a minority community, the Parsis of Calcutta may soon become as invisible as two other peoples — the Jews and the Armenians — who rose to great heights of prosperity and power with the ascendancy of the British, and are now on their way out.

Most of the young ones whose names are listed in the Parsi directory, unlike their elderly counterparts, refused point blank to be interviewed. Perhaps they were afraid that I will ask them uncomfortable questions on the treatment meted out to couples in a mixed marriage (earlier the women used to be they were debarred from entering the fire temple), or even worse, the bogeyman Kobad Ghandy.

It was through the good offices of the only young priest of the four at the fire temple on Metcalfe Street (locally known as Bandook Gali) that I finally met the newly-married couple, Homiyar (31) and Ushta Kutar, at the Parsi Club on Mayo Road. Here, not surprisingly, there were young women in trendy outfits, along with their kids, and a young man, obviously a regular at gyms, taking a shower.

The club, like the fire temple on Metcalfe Street and the Olpadwala Memorial Trust Hall on Chowringhee, are some of the places where the Parsis meet for various social and religious events. Homiyar’s mother was known for her social service, and she is remembered in particular for her attempt to catalogue the books at the library on Zoroastrianism at Saklat Place.

Not surprisingly, like most young people anywhere, Homiyar did not have a clue about the books on theology in the library, but as I had already gathered from Katayun Saklat, the stained glass artist, it has some rare books, some in the Avestan language, the language of the Zoroastrian scriptures. Even the senior members of the community do not peruse them, and so the books are rarely aired in public.

The Parsis are Zorastrians, who are worshippers of Ahura Mazda and fire is the symbol of the son of god. They fled what is now southern Iran to escape persecution by Arab Muslims in 650 AD. They sailed to Gujarat in AD 785 and were largely farmers and toddy-drawers. Their tell-tale second names often give away the professions their ancestors were engaged in and indicate the town or village from which they originated.

Byron and grass

It is easy to find 90-year-old Parsis, and not infrequently some who are even older yet both mentally and physically agile. I met Shirin Tata, who turned 90 on November 25, and accepts the accretion of years with composure. Frail, with snow white hair and in a sari like most Parsi women of her generation, she has lived since 1945 in a hotel in the Dharamtala area with her son, Cyrus, a guitarist. That was the year she shifted to Calcutta with her husband from Bombay. Sewing and knitting keep her occupied, and for entertainment she plays mahjong with her buddies, with whom she celebrated her recent birthday. She never worked as her father did not allow her to go to college.

She finds nothing special about belonging to an ageing community. “We are closely knit. Everybody knows everybody. Things have not changed much. We meet at functions. The trust funds are healthy and nobody’s left out,” she says.

The Parsi Sethias of Calcutta contributed crores to the charitable trust funds, and this prompted an English journal to comment: “The vast contribution made by the leading businessman of Bombay Seth Jamshedji Jeejeebhai towards the Bengal Famine Fund has put to shame many Bengali baboos who are wealthier than him.” This seth came to Calcutta in 1799 and began his career as a clerk in the trading house of his cousin at a salary of Rs 2 per month.

I have also met Noshir Gherda, born in 1922, on several occasions, and besides possessing a prodigious memory that can make a computer feel challenged, he does not seem to mind trudging up the two flights of stairs to reach his flat in a heritage building on Park Street.

Homiyar and Ushta Kutar at their wedding

Barjor Modi makes light of his age. He says he is 91.5 years old. Said to be knowledgeable about his dwindling community, he trots out the figures. Forty years ago, there were about 3,000 Parsis in Calcutta. At one time, many buildings in central Calcutta were tenanted by small Parsi families, and a particular Bengali clan on Ganesh Chandra Avenue would only let out flats to people of Zorastrian faith as they were the only ones they could trust. Parsis love Western classical music, and once when one heard the piano being played in a flat or a building, one could safely conclude that the pianist was a Parsi.

Now only 30 per cent to 40 per cent Parsis are below the age of 40, while the majority of them are between 60 and 80 years of age, says Modi. So fewer children are born, and young people are under pressure to make babies.

Modi, who lives in Karnani Mansion on Park Street with his wife, a Hindi teacher, confirmed what is common knowledge. Most Calcutta Parsis today lead more humdrum lives and are content with the jobs — anything from working as accountants, wine merchants, caterers, in airlines, ad agencies and teaching school and college or music — they hold. At the same time, he says, they are “more prosperous now than before as in most families, couples work. Earlier, there used to be many poor Parsis.”

Khorshed Madan Mansion, a building on Lenin Sarani once meant exclusively for housing impoverished Parsis, has become a middle-class haven today. People have become more Westernised and “nobody wants to talk Gujarati” that is their mother tongue, says Modi as his wife chimes in, perhaps with a note of regret.

Men are rarely seen in the “dagli”, the jacket without buttons, and the “pheto”, to cap it all, save on special occasions.

The Parsis of Calcutta were once readily identified with a fizzy drink, a particular kind of heavily embroidered silk sari, a musician and a pioneer of the Indian cinema after whom theatres were named and a street still is.

Byron was the brand name of the popular aerated water manufactured by two rival families. By the 1960s, Coca Cola had wiped it out of existence. The Parsi saris named garas once used to be made in China. These heirlooms can still be seen at weddings and other ceremonies. The great Sethias of 19th Calcutta made their millions by shipping opium to China. V. Balsara was the man who had composed the music of innumerable Bengali hit songs. He played the univox, which had a distinct sound of its own. And the silent movie man was Jamshedji Framji Madan, who had established a vast movie empire that covered Burma and Ceylon, which were part of British India.

The Parsi fire temple on Metcalfe Street

The fire burns on

Going by the translation of some articles in Gujarati written by Jaloo Navel Kanga that appeared in Navroj (it used to be published from Calcutta), the first Parsis came to the city about 200 years ago. A British officer, John Cartier, who was posted from Surat to Calcutta and later became governor of Bengal (1769-1772), was responsible for the arrival of the Parsis to this city, the first of whom was Sheth Dadabhai Behramji Banaji. He established the clan of this name known for its fabulous wealth. They had a thriving trade with China, Burma, Siam and other countries in opium and silk.

Seth Rustomji Cowasji Banaji was a pioneering shipbuilder of Bengal and was a close friend of Dwarkanath Tagore. His stately bungalow stood on APC Road and to this day the area is known as Parsi Bagan.

He is the one who had established the city’s first fire temple on Ezra Street. It was consecrated in 1839, but it has fallen into disuse and the land surrounding it has been turned into an electrical goods market.

Jaloo Navel Kanga’s articles include an exhaustive account of the Parsi merchant princes of the past. But that is history.

The Zoroastrian fire temple at the Bowbazar end of Metcalfe Street is being repaired after a long gap of eight years. The temple, just two years short of a century, is the only one where Parsis congregate for worship, feasts and funerals.

Usually inaccessible to those not of the faith, its doors have been thrown open for a limited period, and one can walk up the stately staircase to the sprawling hall on the first floor where the holy fire --- Atash Adran --- is worshipped. The holy fire has been brought down to the ground floor. Their faith is the adhesive that holds this microscopic community together.