When Gujarati Muslims Dominated Bombay Politics

'They wanted the city to be a great business hub. They didn't like the fact that taxes collected in Bombay would go outside the city.'

It is not everyday that you have a reporter who is also a PhD. Danish Khan is just that. A doctorate from Oxford University, this 44 year old started out as a reporter in Mumbai for the Mid-Day and Mumbai Mirror newspapers and continues to report from London on India-related news, specially Indian fugitive business magnates (on some of whom he and wife Ruhi Khan have written the book Escaped: True Stories of Indian Fugitives in London).

Currently visiting Mumbai, Danish was interviewed last fortnight by historian Murali Ranganathan on his doctoral research topic: The three Gujarati Muslim trading communities of Mumbai who were major players in the political economy of the city under British times. Rarely has the Durbar Hall of the Asiatic Library been as overflowing as it was for this conversation, with people sitting on the floor.

It was an eye-opener to learn that Muslims from these communities: Bohras, Khojas and Memons, were among the first to adopt modernity. Consider this:

• Tyab Ali Bhoymeeah, a Sulaimani Bohra, was the first Muslim to send both his sons Camruddin and Badruddin abroad to study law in the mid-19th century; with Badruddin Tyabji becoming the first Indian barrister in the Bombay high court, and a co-founder and first Muslim president of the Indian National Congress. His son Mohsin was the first Muslim ICS officer.
• The Chinoy brothers, Sir Sultan and Sir Rahimtulla, Khojas, brought the beam wireless to India, with a patent from Marconi.
• The Bohra Peerbhoy family led by its patriarch, Sir Adamjee Peerbhoy, established the Matheran Railway.
• Sir Ibrahim Rahimtulla, a Khoja, was only a matriculate, but he became the first Indian to be appointed president of the Fiscal Commission in 1921. He worked with the Tatas, and advocated free universal primary education.

Some of these pioneers were close to Gandhi such as the Memons Umar and Usman Sobhani, 'cotton kings' who owned Elphinstone Mill. The mill was the site of the first bonfire of foreign cloth in Mumbai.

Traders and merchants they were, of course, but the leading lights of these communities were also owners of mills, ships, tanneries... The political representation of Muslims revolved around these three communities because they had the wealth needed in those days to vote.

Jyoti Punwani spoke to Danish about his research and what inspired it.

What made you choose this topic for your thesis?

As a reporter, moving across the city, I knew about the legacy of these communities. I noticed the dispensaries and maternity homes, the libraries and schools funded by them. I knew there was a history there. But at the general scholarship level, when anyone imagined the Muslim in South Asia, what came to mind were Deoband, AMU, Urdu, Aligarh, Jamia Milia... These three communities would be studied more as Indians who were in external trade.

However, I found that Muslim political representation in colonial times revolved around them. That lens was missing. For instance, why was the Khilafat movement headquartered in Bombay? Only because these communities were financing it.

I also knew that these communities were looked upon as 'lesser Muslims'; I found that problematic. No one has the authority to decide who is a 'lesser Muslim'.

That view still persists; but at least two of these communities, the Khojas and the Bohras, themselves take pains to dissociate themselves from the rest of the Muslims whom they call 'Miyabhais.
Why were they looked upon as 'lesser'? Because they shared certain customs with Hindus?

They spoke Gujarati, not Urdu. The Khojas don't perform the Haj. And in one trial in the British era, a judge remarked that a Khoja is a Muslim while alive, but becomes a Hindu when he dies.

Did these communities intermingle socially?

Yes, they would meet at official functions, at receptions held by the governor, even attend weddings of those in the other community. It was like the business and political elite fraternising.

But they also had excellent relations with their Hindu counterparts. They would all ally with each other to safeguard their interests as a class.

You spoke about their politics being different from the larger Muslim politics at that time.

These communities who dominated the politics of Bombay wanted the city to be a great business hub. They didn't like the fact that taxes collected in Bombay would go outside the city. They were conscious of being in business; they were not for intransigent demands.

Unlike the Muslims leaders of North India, who fought for opportunities in government jobs and for Urdu, these leaders fought for Bombay to dominate the economy.

Bombay was unique in that sense; unlike in Calcutta and Madras, industry here was in the hands of local communities. There was even a term called 'Bombay Business'.

It is revealing that while leaders of all three communities contributed to setting up the Anjuman e Islam, maths and geography were initially taught there in Gujarati, not Urdu. That reflected the clout of these communities.

What changed? For decades now, North Indian Urdu-speaking Muslims have dominated politics in Mumbai.

Universal adult franchise after Independence was the main cause. There was an influx of North Indians into Mumbai. These three communities were outnumbered.

Also, these were all international communities. Bombay was their base but, unlike the Parsis and Marwaris, who also dominated industry, these communities also had an important presence in Africa, Singapore, Burma and Japan.

They themselves also moved away from politics. The Tyabjis went into law, the Padamsees who had a glass business, into art.

Finally, I would imagine that after Partition, because they were Muslim, they couldn't come close to power.

You spoke about how these communities were pioneers in education, in introducing modern technology. Yet, the common perception of Muslims in Mumbai is that of a backward ghettoised community.

I was amazed to know that there's an Arabic serial set in Kuwait called Mohammed Ali Road. It's about Kuwaiti families of the 1930s and 1940s who have one leg in Mumbai and one in Kuwait.

The serial shows that owning a house on Mohamed Ali Road was then a status symbol. The Arab women in the serial talk about Mohamed Ali Road as a hub of fashion. It was known as a place where successful businessmen had a footprint, a far cry from what it is known as today: A ghetto whose residents find it difficult to get credit cards.

The Mohamed Ali Flyover has killed it further. It has whitewashed a sub-culture which was at the heart of Bombay's growth.

To answer your question -- the dominant perception of the Muslim in Mumbai is again dependent on who makes up the majority of the community. Ironically, it's not as if the pioneers in these three communities lived away from their community mohallas; they were rooted in Khoja Mohalla, Bora Bazar. The world-famous Habib Bank had its origin on Mohamed Ali Road.

Tell us something about yourself. You are a "Bombay boy"?

Yes, I was born and brought up here, worked here. I went to Elphinstone College where I would sit in the library and the State Archives (housed in the college premises) for hours. I remember reading about the life of Subhas Chandra Bose and reading his wonderful letters written from jail about the conditions there.

How did you get interested in journalism?

As a victim of the 1992-1993 riots, I saw the kind of coverage the press had given it. I was only 11 when the riots took place; our colony in the Diamond Jubilee ompound on Charni Road was attacked. My uncle Haroon Rashid's house was burnt. Luckily, we could shift to my father's friend's home at Cuffe Parade.

When I grew up, I saw these events being written about in the press. It felt good that your suffering was featuring in the newspapers. I felt this was a good medium to reach out to people, write about their problems.

My family was against it. My father worked for the Tatas, and though my uncle Haroon Rashid was editor of Urdu Blitz, no one in our family had worked for the English press. But I was hell bent on becoming a journalist.

I submitted four articles to my college magazine. Of course, only one was published. I would write letters to the editor, and my first article was published in Westside Plus, the supplement of the Times of India, while I was still in college.

I met everyone, from M J Akbar (then editor of the Asian Age newspaper), to Busybee (Behram Contractor, the columnist and editor of the Afternoon Despatch And Courier newspaper). They all felt I was too young. I did a diploma in journalism from K C College, where famous journalists such as M V Kamath and V Gangadhar taught us.

You witnessed closely the violence of 1992-1993. Also, you were a reporter on the crime beat at a time when Muslims were being arrested indiscriminately for bomb blasts. Did these factors impact your interactions with the police and with your colleagues?

No. I saw the police doing their jobs under a lot of pressure, financial pressure, pressure from their seniors. The constables would give me fantastic stories. I could also build up a rapport with North Indian policemen because of my own background. I never saw their ugly side. My name didn't put me at a disadvantage.

Sometimes my colleagues would make comments about Muslims, but then immediately turn around and tell me: "It's not about you, you're different." I didn't like that.

Feature Presentation: Aslam Hunani/Rediff