How Humayun convinced the love of his life to marry him

Valentine's Day

Hamida Bano grew up to be a feisty queen and loyal wife, but when she first met her husband, she was just an angry teen.



Rana Safvi  Feb 14, 2017

Hamida Bano was a 14-year-old when Humayun Badshah, 33, met her in Pat, a town in Sehewan in the kingdom of Thatta, in 1541. Having been defeated by Sher Shah Suri in the battle of Kannauj, Humayun was on the run – he had lost the kingdom his father Babur had established in India and along with his half brother Hindal, he took refuge with Shah Hussain, the Sultan of Thatta in Sind.

After many days spent travelling through perilous and desolate deserts, they had finally found some peace. Humayun’s stepmother Dildar Bano, who was Hindal’s mother, gave a banquet in his honour and among the guests she invited, was the beautiful Hamida.

Hamida’s father Sheikh Ali Akbar, a Persian sufi more popularly known as Mir Baba Dost, was Hindal’s spiritual instructor, and there was a close bond between him and the family. As soon as Humayun saw Hamida Bano, he asked his stepmother Dildar, “Who is this?” He was mesmerised by the beauty and liveliness of the teenager and asked if she was already betrothed. On hearing that she was not, he expressed the desire to marry her.

Mirza Hindal was affronted. Not because, as some stories and texts say, he was in love with her – but because he was concerned about the family name.

“I look on this girl as a sister and child of my own,” he is believed to have said. “Your Majesty is a king – heaven forbid there should not be a proper meher, and so a cause of annoyance should rise.” Meher is a mandatory payment in the form of money or possessions paid or promised by the groom, or the groom’s father, to the bride at the time of marriage, which legally becomes her property. Hindal was concerned that an emperor on the run may not have enough resources for this endowment to his bride at the time of nikah, or their wedding.

Emperor Humayun. Credit: Wikimedia Commons

Hindal Mirza, the younger half brother of the second Mughal emperor Humayun. Credit: Wikimedia Commons 

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In highlighting India’s cultural diversity, an artist hopes to find her own identity

Internet Culture

Agrima Kaji’s illustration series ‘Beauty in Diversity’ spotlights cultural identifiers of Indian states through portraits of women in traditional attire.

Agrima Kaji

Damini Kulkarni

In an illustration by artist Agrima Kaji, a young woman can be seen holding her head high. Her pose, deftly detailed by the artist, radiates confidence and ease. She has wind in her hair and intricate tattoos on her body.

The illustration is among the 31 Kaji drew for her Beauty in Diversity project. Each features the profile of a woman dressed in traditional attire and depicts specific cultural identifiers associated with different Indian states. The images, shared on Kaji’s Instagram, are evocative and endearing celebrations of India’s cultural and ethnic diversity. But they also hint at the complexity of social and cultural mechanisms, which define collective identity.

Beauty in Diversity began with Kaji’s questions about her own identity. “My grandfather is from Himachal Pradesh, my mother is from Uttarakhand and my grandmother from Punjab,” said Kaji, who lives in Hyderabad. “And I am married into a Gujarati family. I have very diverse roots and I have always wondered what identity I should put forth as my own.”

Any attempt by Kaji “to define” herself became more difficult every time she moved cities. “I went from being a Delhiite to a Bangalorean and then a Hyderabadi,” said the 28-year-old, who is an alumna of the Delhi School of Art and National Institute of Design. Beauty in Diversity, then, was a means for Kaji “to find my own identity”.

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As Pondicherry’s Creole food fades from restaurants, a Kannadiga home chef has become its evangelist

Food

In Motchamary Pushpam’s kitchen, it’s easy to see the diverse influences – French, Tamil, Portuguese, Dutch and Mughal – that shaped the region’s cusine.

Motchamary Pushpam | Priyadarshini Chatterjee

Priyadarshini Chatterjee

Sixty-eight-year-old Motchamary Pushpam, Pushpa to most, adjusted her apron and kept a pan on the flame. “Let’s fry the fish in the meantime,” she said in Tamil. On the adjacent flame, thinly sliced onions, garlic cloves, fresh curry leaves and a single bay leaf sizzled in another pan, releasing delightful aromas that wafted through her sunlit house.

Pushpa was busy making the quintessentially Pondicherrian Fish Assad Curry, a coconut-milk-laden curry, flavoured with anise and curry leaves and finished with a squeeze of lime. She would serve the dish at her table d’hôte lunch, later in the afternoon. “They have cut the fish a little too thin,” she complained, while grinding poppy seeds in an electric grinder. The poppy seed paste is an essential ingredient for the Assad Curry.

Anita de Canaga, Pushpa’s daughter, effortlessly repeated her mother’s words in French to the two French women, who had their attention and mobile cameras trained on Pushpa’s every move as she smoothly manoeuvred her way around her airy, uncluttered kitchen – chopping, blending and stirring, while the fish sizzled and crackled in the background. “My mother can speak some English and French, but she feels shy,” de Canaga explained. The conversation soon shifted to where to shop for white poppy seeds in Paris.

Pushpa’s reservation-only table d’hôte meals, which she hosts at her tastefully done home in a quiet, lush neighbourhood near the backwaters of Puducherry, are carefully curated to showcase the region’s own brand of Creole cuisine, which is fast disappearing from the city’s restaurants. The food is served on banana leaves and eating with hands is encouraged. Pushpa also offers cooking demonstrations, on request, at an additional charge.


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