Streets of Bahadurgunj

Chak Bahadurgunj is planted in middle of old town. Jawaharlal Nehru was born very near from Bahadurgunj, at Meer Gunj, a crowded bustling wholesale market now. Near Bahadurgunj lies Zero Road, where Harivansh Rai Bachan too lived his early teen years.

62, Basu Road, Bahadurgunj, was the address of the ancestral house where I was born. Joint families, uncles, cousins living on different floors. The House was known as "Plot", elders forgot to name the house and everyone would call it "Plot". It was a big house with 30 odd rooms. My father had built a collection of encyclopedias, literature, renaissance art, fiction. A small library and Reader's Digest was regularly subscribed. I would spend little time along with siblings reading or just looking at color pictures. Huge go downs on the ground floor were used as short term tobacco and "Tendu" leaf storage, additional underground storages. Garage for cars, with Willys and Mahindras. All belonged to the firm, "Swadeshi Bidi Works Pvt. Ltd. ", of which my father was one of three partners.. Surrounded by cousins and being bullied at times was not always fun. Rashid bhai a self proclaimed "sarkar", was handsomely built, tall man, with short temper. I would always hear him shouting or beating someone. Since very beginning I learned to avoid him.

Just across the house was the small "Shivaji Park", where boys played cricket. Crossing the park you will reach the main road, covered by small shops both ways, paan, chai stalls, Munnu Babu pharmacy, Gopal's "churiya baraf", Shyam Mohan's mini mart, Hingu chacha's paper wholesale, Hafiz ji's hair saloon, Radha Raman Girls School. My friend Vijay's father too ran a chai stall.

At the left portion of the street near public water tap you would find the mouth watering "puri kachori from Badri, carts of "Chaat", Baba's chai shop.

On the left of our house was the big "haatha" owned by Pandit Chacha, which he rented out to many families who migrated from near by villages and now ran small shops or worked as plumbers, electricians etc. At the back of house another enclosed huge patch of green land, which also housed the Graves of mythical "shaheed baba". Just across our balcony resided the family of "kite flying", tom boy girl. Very beautiful and always in man's clothing.

As kids the streets were "off limits" to us, but later little freedom was rewarded, part of growing up I believe. I made friends with Pappu, small soft spoken man, Nazim, Babu.

In '92, Ammi, bhai and I moved out from the ancestral house to a more quieter place, earlier my father, Late Akhlaq Sahib had surrendered his soul to Allah, it was March 1984. The new house was built by Sarosh Bhai.

"Daira", in Bahadurgunj was ruled by the powerful "bahubali", "Rais Raja", tall handsome man with weakness for fine clothing. Raja was a gangster who controlled Bahadurgunj area of town, collections or "wasooli", being the main source of income to feed off his small army of ambitious fighters. Raja gave personal protection to small time traders and business men from other thugs. 'Chand' and 'Popat' were two gang members I knew. Later Chand died in shoot out and Popat got his hand blown from a country bomb. Raja too was shot dead at close range by the rival gang.

Raja's death came as surprise, few months before his death, I had taken my Tamilyan friend " Vijay Anand Christopher", to give a tour of old town. Raja was in Daira and asked us to join him for tea. He looked anything but a criminal, his good manners were quite overwhelming. The only reminder of Raja's power were his hench men surrounding him. Hard looking men, some I knew as a kid and some new faces. Christopher who was a B'tech student in Agriculture Institute did managed few words with Raja in english and to my surprise Raja replied patiently in broken english.


Though I never liked nor shared the belief, principles of criminals or anti socials, but here I write more on the observation of human nature, irrespective of the occupation, beliefs or ideology.

Bahadurgunj being the center of old town had its own problems, low literacy rate, unemployment among youth, lack of direction or the "Will". People struggled so much for the day that the thought of future never inspired them. Education was taken as an obstacle from starting work earlier. Not many students would reach university, though mostly were High Schools passed. The late 40's and early 60's took many fine families out of Bahadurgunj. Leaving it spiritually empty from within.

Dusshera, Holi, Muharram and other festivities were celebrated with zeal in Bahadurgunj, during Dusshera, the "chowkis", beautifully decorated with Ram, Laxman, Sita, Hanuman, Ravan. With heavy and huge music speakers playing scratched tapes in full blast, mostly song from 80's. And young boys dancing, matching the lyrics with pelvic thrusts.
Guys in baggy pants, with many pleats, thin belts, white shoes, Jackets, Jeans, Kurta. Celebrations meant dressing up, and everyone competed for attention.


In Moharram the horse "Duldul", would be out, streets buzzing both with hindus and muslims, sword welding boys. And rows after rows of mourners, cutting themselves with sharp objects, daggers, blades. Me n walking with buckets of rose water splashing wounds to soothe pain, girls would throw water from balconies to passing mourners, attempting to wash off the blood. Some mourners I knew would join local gym few months in advance to built muscle, hoping to look good bare chest ed during Muharram, dreaming to impress girls.

Reminding themselves the pain suffered by the family and followers of Imam Hussain. Beating blood drenched chests, their movement so aligned as if drums being beaten under open sky. I and cousin Raza did joined the procession once.

During "Shaberat", muslims found an alternative of Diwali, by burning crackers and deadly "batashia", which is like a crazy flying machine and follows no fix pattern and might end up entering and burning your basic essentials. I used to help Ahmed Bhai stuffing "batashia's", with the mixture he prepared. And in return he would give me few. Now firing batashia is an art, carefully developed, if a novice tried it without proper guidance, there were chances of getting severe burns.

During Holi, the guys kept a huge barrel filled with cocktail of colors and would oblige any one with a dip, even a way farer. Color filled water balloon would become the missile, inspired by the Ramayana TV series. Some would really come up with novel ideas like connecting water force with an electric pump for more power and re connecting with a color barrel. Enough supply to paint houses.

Our house had the advantage of grand view and during celebration many people would come and stay all night on balcony. Chairs, stools and more chairs to accommodate the guests, rounds of "chai", which I believe is still the best past time in town. If the festivities took place in winter then by morning you will find sack of nut shells, "momphali", the guys just loved munching.

I would often join Pappu, Babu and Nazim for the "allahabad famous kebab paratha", in "Gari Serai", the strong hold of once legendary "Chand Baba", who was killed some years before, but his stories and associations always found way to the chai stalls. Once a friend said me, "the best way to get stomach infection is to eat kebab paratha for a week". I did but nothing happened.

There were some great characters in Bahadurgunj, these people always fill up the gaps of a neighborhood. Drunkards, junkies, street romeos, wanna be's, school bunking kids, orphans, obsolete politicians, each turn and corner had a different story. How I wish one day to write the color full details of most.

I have great friend on the streets of Bahadurgunj, some I have not met since a decade, but I do carry fond memories in my heart. How can I ever forget those faces, simple innocent smiles and at times merciless fights. Heartful laughs, and the many streets and alleys of Bahadurgunj.