Muslim Writers and Food in North India, 1850-1920

International Journal of South Asian Studies, Vol. 11 (2021)

©2021 The Japanese Association for South Asian Studies 18

Muslim Writers and Food in North India, 1850-1920: Nostalgia and Uneasiness

So Yamane*

Osaka University

Abstract This paper focuses primarily on food imagery in nineteenth century printed Urdu literary works, and how it shows the uneasiness towards or accommodation of modern culture. A diverse selection of sources is examined, including memoirs of the Persianate Mughal Court and durbar in Lucknow, letters by Urdu poet Ghālib (1797-1869), religious opinions issued by the Deobandi school, and a novel by Nadhīr Aḥmad (1836-1912). These writings concerning courtly food culture give the impression of a strong nostalgia for a refined past and discomfiture regarding modernization. Although the sophisticated food culture described was only for nobles, it serves as a symbol of Indo-Muslim culture, allowing readers of the memoirs to share in the nostalgia. However, the literature also reveals a friction between the ‘traditional’ Muslim society and the new society brought by the British, as portrayed by the protagonist in Aḥmad’s novel. Crucially, matters of faith are shown as a source of uneasiness in these food writings, leading us to connect such checkered feelings with the development of religious consciousness among Indo-Muslims.

Keyword: Indo-Muslims, British India, Food Culture, Urdu writings

* Graduate School of Language and Culture, Osaka University. This work was supported by JSPS KAKENHI Grant Numbers, JP23310174 and JP21K00456, and the JSPS-ICSSR Grant for a Bilateral Joint Research Project (April 2016-March 2018). This article is a modified translation of the paper published in Japanese in 2019 and based on the papers entitled ‘A Study of the Sophisticated Terms in the Urdu Writings on Cuisine Culture under the British Raj’ presented at Anglo-American Conference of History, in July, 2013 London and ‘The Taste of Colonization―A Dilemma between Tradition and Modernity among Indo-Muslims under the British Raj in Nadhir Ahmad’s Ibn al-Waqt’ presented at the International Conference ‘Cookbooks and Culinary Practices Food, Body and Identity in India from Medieval to Contemporary Times’, in December, 2016, London. I would like to appreciate the publisher, Shunpu-Sha, to give the permission of this English translation. Also, I am grateful to Saumya Gupta and Riho Isaka for their constructive suggestions on earlier draft to clarify the arguments and to Naoko Oshima and Jessica Robinson for their help with English translation and editing.

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1. Introduction: Reminiscing about Mughal Food Culture in the Late Nineteenth Century

Every aspect of human society can be traced through food culture. Ingredients and seasonings reflect diversity of climate and environment, while cooking methods and utensils, tableware, and table manners mirror specificities of regionality, history, and culture. As food culture develops alongside traditions and customs it takes a form peculiar to its community. Among the elements that govern the peculiarity of food culture and create exclusive culinary communities is religion. Religion regulates what one should or should not eat, the times at which one should not eat (e.g. fasting) and explains these rules with concepts such as purity/defilement and legitimacy/taboo. Such daily religious practices remind people that they follow a particular faith.

Religiosity is strongly present in the food culture of South Asia. Needless to say, various ethnic groups and religions coexist in South Asia. Although many rituals share common elements across religions, when it comes to food culture, religious differences are often apparent in the variation of permissible ingredients between religions. A typical example is the division between meat and vegetarian diets. However, such variations are found not only between religions; they occur within religions and at an individual level too.

From a historical point of view, as religious communities became more apparent in nineteenth-century South Asia, a sense of belonging to a particular community could be increased through food culture. An illustration of this is the cow protection movement, which originated in the late nineteenth century over division between Hindus and Muslims concerning beef consumption (Kotani 1993; Jalal 2001). Jalal has discussed how the two religious communities, but particularly the Muslim individual and community of Islam, became more defined with reference to the contestation of colonial definitions of sovereignty and modernity in South Asian normative thought and political practice (Jalal 2001: xiii). One example is the revolt against the British East India Company in 1857, usually referred to as the Indian Mutiny. The uprising was started by Indians working as mercenary soldiers (sepoys) under the British purportedly on the basis of a rumour that the fat applied to their rifle cartridges, which they opened with their mouths, was from cows (prohibited for Hindus) and pigs (forbidden for Muslims). Thus, food culture has evidently been a significant element in developing the consciousness of religious communities.

This article attempts to examine the food culture described nostalgically in South Asia in the nineteenth century, especially among Muslims in north India. We shall explore how the food culture of the Mughal Court, which emerged as a part of Persianate world and was destroyed by the British, was portrayed in literary works as elegant and urbane; how nineteenth-century Indo-Muslims struggled upon encountering the newly introduced Western culture; and how they sought a religiously justified answer to their discomfort. The encounter between colonialism and Islam in South Asia has previously been discussed using Urdu sources by Metcalf (1982) and Pernau (2006). These studies centered on Indo-Muslims’ educational and religious activities at institutions such as Farangi Mahal, Delhi College, and Deoband seminary. Some revisionist historiographical works have tried to revisit and rethink the dynamics of religious identity in the colonial period. Roy (2011) considers Islamic revivalism and reform movements in colonial Bengal from this revisionist perspective. Jalal (2001) utilizes Urdu poetry as a tool to outline the atmosphere of contemporary society with all-encompassing analysis.

Muslim Writers and Food in North India, 1850-1920


Alam (2013) uses many Persian sources to explore Mughal India, reaching the conclusion that there was a contrast between the decline of the Mughal dynasty and the increase in the power of local landowners.1 A recent study addressing the preceding period of the eighteenth century has also used contemporary poetry to portray and interpret the socio-cultural landscape of the period (Kaicker 2020).

The current article is concerned with printed Urdu literary works referring to the courtly centers of Delhi and Lucknow, although it is certainly true that as the Mughal courtly culture travelled out of the capital and interacted with local cultures and literature, it spawned multiple Persianate cultures in the regions from the eighteenth century. This paper addresses the question of the construction of an Indo-Muslim identity in the late nineteenth century during the ascendency of the British Raj, examining this issue through the lens of food descriptions in the printed Urdu writings by the contemporary Muslim literati. Late nineteenth century Muslim literati reminisced about the culture developed during the heyday of the Mughal dynasty as their own culture. As these Urdu writings on food have not been studied as a source for Indo-Muslim identity before, and food is deeply related to religious identity, this paper attempts to reveal a new perspective to understand religious identity using such writings. The image of a highly urbane, polished and cosmopolitan elite Muslim culinary culture was in some way a nostalgic construction by Urdu writers and polemists of the nineteenth century, as they grappled with loss of political power and social prestige. Their acceptance of or unease with colonial modernity and its dietary novelties is well-documented here through the figure of Ghālib and presented thorough the story of Iban al-Waqt. The use of Urdu works is key; during the period of the British Raj, they were shared among Indo-Muslims more widely than Persian works.2

During the colonial period in the second half of the nineteenth century, new cultural influences, including those concerning food, were introduced from Britain to India. To Muslims in India, this influx of non-Muslim culture from a distant region possessed the potential to shake their religious values. The resulting ‘emotional uneasiness’ towards this new culture is described in the literary works of the time. The psychology of the Indo-Muslims encountering British culture, especially food culture, will be examined in the second half of this paper.

1 Alam examines the Urdu poetry of shahr āshob (‘lamentation of a city’) of the eighteenth century to reconsider the ordinary people’s role in the ‘declining’ period (Alam 2013: xxi-xxiii). For a further study on shahr āshob, see Yamane (2000a). 2 Persian was mainly used for Islamic education in the eighteenth century (Robinson 2001). Then, Urdu rapidly took its place in north Indian literary circles as Persian speaking nobles lost their status and the British began to learn the vernacular language of Urdu for conversational purposes (Yamane 2009). By the second half of the nineteenth century, Urdu had become the most common language for Islamic education among Indo-Muslims in north India (Pernau 2006). For example, it was used at the Deobandi school for Islamic education, and Bihishtḥ Zewar, a handbook on Islamic faith and morals for Indian Muslim ladies at the beginning of the twentieth century, was written in a colloquial Urdu (Metcalf 1992). Magazines, newspapers and literary works were published in the language, even Arya Samaj books from Lahore such as Prashād’s Gā’o Bilāp (Prashād n.d.) were in Urdu.

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2. Food and Religion in South Asia: Images of Mughal Courtly Cuisine - Illusion as Vicarious Experience

The Mughal court and its culture were frequently remembered and described in detail in Urdu writings by the Muslim literati in the late nineteenth century, illustrating how they were regarded as symbols of the prosperity of the bygone Mughal Dynasty.

From the second half of the nineteenth to the mid-twentieth century, memoirs reminiscing about the bygone Mughal Dynasty were written, especially by Muslims, in cities like Delhi and Lucknow in north India. Authors in north India, particularly in urban areas, believed that the light of the Mughal Dynasty with its Muslim emperors was ‘dying’ as the Mughal Empire ended and Western education and customs were introduced under the direct rule of the British government. During the Mughal period, Islamic architecture had developed and mausoleums of the Muslim royal family and Muslim saints became symbols of Indo-Muslim culture. In the field of literature, the Urdu language, which includes pronunciations and vocabulary from Arabic, Persian, and Turkish, blossomed. As Western culture increasingly spread, Muslims in India began to preserve the faded court culture in written form as records of their own culture. For example, Saiyid Aḥmad Khān (1817-1898), who led the modernization and enlightenment movement of Indo-Muslims called the ‘Aligarh Movement’, wrote a book named Āthār al-Ṣanādīd (The Remnants of Ancient Heroes, first published in 1847), which documented all the remaining buildings from the Muslim dynasty period in Delhi.

Muslim writers depicted nostalgia for fallen cities in the form of Urdu mourning odes with some exaggeration, such as Fughān-e Dilhī (The Lamentations of Delhi, 1863) (Yamane 2000b). While this article deals with documentary evidence concerning food culture, it is apparent that description of cities, especially Delhi and Lucknow, cannot speak for the lives of all Muslims across vast India. Moreover, most of the descriptions relate to the life of the court and the aristocracy and not to the meals of common people. However, the nostalgia amplified by such works aroused the sympathy of Muslims who had never experienced the traditional court and later, led them to integrate their own culture under the umbrella term ‘Indo-Muslim culture’. These works led to increased solidarity among Muslims and even to the mobilization of social movements. They provide an important clue for understanding the mentality of Indo-Muslims.

2.1. Nostalgia and pride for a dying culture

2.1.1. Nostalgia in The Last Banquet In India during the colonial period, reform and revivalist movements of various religious communities developed and strove for more concentrated versions of their religions. There were also movements to follow or cooperate with Western culture, movements to maintain Muslim awareness while introducing new publishing techniques and modern Western education, and movements to refuse or oppose Western culture. These campaigns became increasingly political and produced conflict between Hindus and Muslims as a result, eventually leading to the separation and independence of India and Pakistan.

With the politicization of religious communities, Urdu writers become actively involved in contemporary political and social movements. Some, however, chose to look back at past incarnations of Mughal culture rather than focus on the rapid changes in the society. Bazm-e Ākhir (The Last



Banquet, 1890) written by Munshī Faiẓ al-Dīn Dihlavī covers the lives of the royal family of the Mughal Dynasty (Dihlavī, 1965). The description of their dietary habits includes 25 kinds of nān (a flat bread) and 25 kinds of pulā’o (a rice dish), and the list of the names of dishes extends to 118, including meat dishes. The cooking methods and the contents of some dishes in the list are unknown and it cannot be denied that they may not have actually existed. However, the names of dishes were not written to enable their reproduction. Instead, they were intended to allow readers to meaningfully experience the lost courtly sophistication, seen as representing the essence of their culture, by envisioning the dishes and imagining the atmosphere from the exotic names of the recipes. Names which suggest the colors of dishes, such as ‘flower garden pulā’o’, ‘golden pulā’o’, ‘silver pulā’o’, ‘light palace pulā’o’, ‘pearl pulā’o’, ‘emerald pulā’o’, and ‘saffron pulā’o’, are used so that one can visualize the elegance of Mughal food culture. The descriptions of the royal family’s meals are also imbued with nostalgia:

These dishes are thoroughly displayed as a large dish (qāb), a small dish (tashtar), a flat dish (rikābī), a bowl (piyālah), and a small bowl (piyārī). In the center is placed a dish for discarding shells (sufaldān). Above, a netting (ni‘mat khānah) surrounds the meal so that flies do not approach the table. The air is sweetened with animal musk, saffron, and the aroma of screw pine. The silver foil, on which the meal is served, sparkles. On one side, there are washbowls (cilmacī āftābah), basins (besandān, a receptacle for chickpea flour used for washing hands), jasmine rinse water (cambelī kī khalī), and sandalwood boxes for soap (takī) on the carpet for a water pipe. On the other side, servants for preparing towels stand, holding towels in their hands. There are hookah cloths (zer andāz), facecloths, lap robes (zāno posh), hand-towels (dast pāk), and handkerchiefs (bīnī pāk) (Dihlavī 1965: 17).

After the scene described above has been set, the regent calls the Emperor and the Emperor takes his seat. The Empress and other ladies also take seats and the imperial princes and princesses take seats as well. A ‘servant for preparing towels’ places the hand towel in front of the Emperor. And then, at last, ‘His Majesty’s meal’ is served.

The Emperor takes his position in front of a seat of a cotton cushion. On his right hand are the Empress and the ladies, and on his left sit the imperial princes and princesses. The servants for preparing towels place the lap towels on their laps and the hand towels in front of them. The head chef (dāroghah)3 removes the special food mark and begins to serve His Majesty’s meal. Then, the Emperor eats his meal while he sits cross-legged. The Queen, the princes, and the princesses take their meals, sitting in a very rigid attitude with eyes lowered. As the Emperor ‘distributes’ his uneaten portion by his own hand, everyone sits upright with a straight back, like cypress trees, and bows. Then, the Emperor has taken enough of his meal and offers up a prayer, washes his hands first with the chickpea flour, then with jasmine, and finally with sandalwood soap, and has the dishes cleared off (Dihlavī 1965: 17-8).

The elegant dining scene is laid out by Dihlavī as if he had actually seen it, like a movie set. Crucially, each item of tableware and furniture is described using the elegant Persian vocabulary of

3 The word dāroghah is usually used for the superintendent of jail (Tāj 2012: 118), police, or artillery, but also means ‘head’, therefore ‘bāwarcī kā dāroghah’ means head chef (Kagaya 2005: 646).

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the court.4 Such features can be seen again in the description of the scene after the Emperor retires to his bed chamber.

The Emperor retires to his bedroom, sits down on his bed, and takes a hookah (bhinḍā). After almost an hour, he requests ‘eternal water (āb-e ḥayāt)’. The superintendent of the department of water places a urn of water from the Ganges River on ice, quickly selects a water bag pitcher, closes it with a seal, wraps it in a small towel, and hands it over to a eunuch. The eunuch breaks the seal in front of the Emperor and serves it, pouring the water into a silver cup. Then, everyone stands while the Emperor is served. When the Emperor drains his glass, everyone hails, ‘Long Life (mazīd ḥayāt)’. At noon, the Emperor lies down. The bedroom drape is drawn and masters of massage provide massage. After this, it gets very quiet. No one is allowed to speak (Dihlavī 1965: 18).

This text conjures up the life of the royal family for the reader and illustrates the refined nature of the culture of the past as symbolized by the court. It is these literary visualizations that have led to the current image of Mughal cuisine.

Walī Ashraf Ṣubūḥī, the editor of The Last Banquet, wrote that ‘[t]he publication of this book motivated writers after the First War of Independence (1857) to portray the appearances of Delhi at the time’, noting that 15 similar books were published after this book (Ṣubūḥī in Dihlavī 1965: 9).5 For example, Mirzā Farḥat Allāh Beg (1883-1947), a writer of the same period, gave a vivid picture of the inside of the royal palace and the lives and the personalities of poets of the time in his historical fantasy novel Dilhī kā Ākhrī Cirāgh (The Last Lamp of Delhi: Delhi’s Poetry Gathering of 1261 Hijri, 1928). In this novel, the poets of the time assemble for one last poetry meeting in the presence of Bahadur Shah II, the last Emperor of the Mughal Dynasty. The title of the book, The Last Lamp of Delhi, indicates that the light of Muslim Dynasty was about to be extinguished (Beg 1986).

Why did the writers use Urdu to describe urban culture? Although there is no definite answer, it is reasonable to assume that they desired to tell future generations about the beautiful Indo-Muslims’ culture they had seen or heard about. In the context of the increasingly confrontational relationship with Hindus, while Hindus moved forward to revive Hindu culture and promoted the use of Devanagari script, there was a growing movement to protect Urdu language and its literature as a symbol of Indo-Muslims’ culture (Yamane 2015). While it is possible that similar books were written because The Last Banquet enjoyed such popularity, it is also plausible that writers competed to demonstrate their knowledge of court culture in these memoirs. Half a century after the fall of the Mughal Dynasty, authors praised this way of life by retracing what they had seen and heard and recording it in stylish writing.

4 The technical terms for household items such as tableware, vehicles, furniture and the like can be found in Z̤afar (1977). 5 For example, Tīmurī (1986) described life in Delhi palace at the end of the Mughal Dynasty and Ḥasan (1986) and Dihlavī (1987) both portrayed the situation in the city of Delhi during the same period. Memoirs, such as those from Beg (1986), Khān (1987) and Firāq (n.d.) were published around this time. It is important that many of the works concerning Mughal culture have titles including the word ‘last’. The fact that most of these works were published by an Indian governmental organization called the ‘Urdu Academy’ in the mid-1980s during Rajiv Gandhi’s administration needs to be examined in the context of the protective policy for Islamic culture in India.



Another reason that these records were written in Urdu is that the audience spoke the language. It may also be possible that Urdu writers were unable to harness the same colorful vocabulary in English in order to do justice to the complex etiquette of the royal family. Cultural accounts were of course written in other languages; in the mid-eighteenth century, Nawwāb Dargāh Qulī Khān gave an account of customs in Delhi in Persian. The writer described famous people of the time and a lively scene of fresh dates and qahwah (green tea) being served in ‘Arab Sarā’ī (inn) located several kilometers away from the royal palace (Khān 1988). In the 1820s, a record of the buildings in Delhi was written in Persian in response to a request by Charles Metcalfe (1785–1846), the Governor General of India, and William Fraser (1784–1835), resident and agent to the Governor General at Delhi (Beg 1982). In the nineteenth century, concurrent with the writing of the geographical surveys compiled by the British, local writers too wrote numerous geographical surveys and ethnic histories in the English language. Most of these geographical surveys were written in English for a British audience. In contrast to these English records, the documents written in Urdu such as The Last Banquet were written for the authors’ own community (Muslims) and the self-conscious promotion of an ‘Indo-Muslim’ identity can be recognized in such works. Here, the court cuisine, which most writers and readers had not actually experienced, is incorporated as part of their religious culture, namely, Indo-Muslim culture.

2.1.2. Food and pride in urban culture: ‘Bygone Lucknow’

In north India during the late Mughal Period, Islamic culture developed in Lucknow, the capital of the Awadh princely state in the north central region, and in Delhi. In Lucknow, Sa‘ādat ‘Alī Khān (r. 1772-1739), the Nawab of Awadh had achieved de facto independence in 1722 and art and culture blossomed under the patronage of successive nawabs. In the field of literature, following the devastation of Delhi in invasions from Iran and Afghanistan in the mid-eighteenth century, writers and craftsmen fled to Lucknow and received the protection of the nawabs. The Urdu poetry that blossomed then is referred to as the ‘Lucknow school of poetry’ and is known for its use of rich vocabulary in contrast to the poetry of Delhi which utilized a plain and simple style. In the city of Lucknow today, buildings of the time still remain and the sound of people hammering silver foil can be heard in the old part of the city.

‘Abd al-Ḥalīm Sharar (1860-1926) was the son of an Islamic scholar in Lucknow. He acquired a classical education at home and lived in Britain between 1893 and 1896. While Sharar wrote novels about Islamic history, he is also known to have published the literary magazine Pathos and written a series of essays, Guzashtah Lakhna’ū (Bygone Lucknow－The Last Phase of Oriental Culture in India), from 1914 to 1916. He later published a book titled Bygone Lucknow based on these essays. Bygone Lucknow is a record of the glamorous aspects of Lucknow society, documenting the animals kept, the arts and sciences undertaken, and its music, literature, dance, games, and courtesans. The descriptions of food culture show the almost decadent life of the aristocracy. Shujā‘ al-Daulah (r. 1754-1775), a nawab of Awadh, always took meals with his wife in the palace and these were delivered from six kitchens each day. It was said that 2,000 rupees were spent in just one of these kitchens, called ‘Nawab’s kitchen’, on a daily basis (Sharar 2006: 207). Furthermore, nawabs amused themselves with ‘deceiving dishes’:

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According to a reliable source, a Prince Mirzā Āsmān Qadar, the son of Mirzā Khurram Bakht of Delhi, who came to Lucknow and became a Shia, had stayed here for a few days before he proceeded to Banāras and lived there. During his stay in Lucknow, the prince was invited to dine by Wājid ‘Alī Shāh. Murabbah, a conserve was put on the dastarkhwān (table cloth) and this looked very delicate, fine and delicious. When Āsmān Qadar tasted it, he became intrigued because it was not a conserve at all but a qormah, a salty meat ball curry, which the chef had prepared to look exactly like a conserve. He felt embarrassed while Wājid ‘Alī Shāh was extremely pleased at having been able to trick a familiar prince from Delhi (Sharar 2006: 209).

However, the game did not end there. A few days later, Mirzā Asmān Qadar invited Wājid ‘Alī Shāh (r. 1847-1856) to his residence. Wājid ‘Alī Shāh naturally anticipated that a trap would be laid for him and was prepared, but this did not save him from being taken in. Āsmān Qadar’s cook, Shaikh Ḥusain‘Alī, had covered the tablecloth with hundreds of delicacies and many varieties of comestibles.

There were pulā’o, zardah (pulā’o colored with saffron), qormah, kababs, biryānī, chapaties, chutneys, achārs, parāṭhas, shīrmāls… in fact every kind of food. However, when tasted they were all found to be made of sugar. The curry was sugar, the rice was sugar, the pickles were sugar, and the bread was sugar. It was said that even the plates, the tablecloth, the finger bowls and cups were made of sugar. Wājid ‘Alī Shāh timidly tried everything and became more and more embarrassed (Sharar 2006: 209-10).

This contest of deception between Wājid ‘Alī Shāh, Nawab of Awadh known for his love for art and his colorful love life, and a prince from Delhi ended with the defeat of Wājid ‘Alī Shāh. The deceiving dishes in Lucknow were recorded as a fashionable diversion at the Muslim court. Sharar also described urban dishes in detail. He compared pulā’o, a rice dish that was popular in Lucknow at that time with biryānī, the favoured rice dish of Delhi and stated that while biryānī flavored with many spices may look brilliant at first glance, people in Lucknow who had a taste for elegance and refinement preferred the delicate pulā’o to biryānī, which looked like a jumbled mess (Sharar 2006: 210-1).

The descriptions of gorgeous dishes which cost superfluous amounts of money and time elicit themes of nostalgia and pride. To end this section, I would like to introduce an episode which clearly shows the pride of the cooks behind these creations. One day, a new cook came before Āṣaf al-Daulah, the Nawab of Awadh (r. 1775-1797) famed for his generosity. As the cook was asked what he could make, he answered that he only cooked lentil dāl (a soup-like dish made from pulses). Still, he requested five hundred rupees as his monthly wage. The Nawab was probably intrigued and agreed to employ him. The cook further proposed certain ‘conditions’ to take on service. The conditions were such that when the Nawab wished to eat his dāl, he must order it the day before and that ‘when I tell your Excellency that the dish is ready, you must eat it right away’. The nawab agreed to these conditions.



Some months later, the cook was ordered to prepare his dāl. The cook did so and informed the Nawab when the dish was ready. The Nawab ordered the dining table to be set as he was coming soon. Although the table was ready, the Nawab engaged in conversation. The cook came again and reminded him that his Excellency’s dish was ready but the Nawab tarried. The Nawab still did not appear even after the third reminder. Then the cook took the pot of dāl, emptied it on the roots of a withered tree, expressed his intention to resign, and departed. The Nawab regretted this and instituted a search but no trace of the cook was found. Some days later it was seen that the root of the tree under which the lentils had been thrown was now full of green (Sharar 2006: 211).

The author wrote, ‘this episode shows how highly cooks were esteemed at the court and how they tried to hold back an expert chef’ (Sharar 2006: 211). Sharar’s description strongly shows his pride as a citizen who had witnessed the prosperity of the city. Through such nostalgia and pride, a tiny part of the much broader culture of Muslim society in India became generalized and later promoted as ‘Indo-Muslim culture’.

3. Muslim Discomfort with Modernization

3.1. New and old dishes: writers, religious scholars, and enlightenment movement activists

The relationship between food culture and religious rules and customs in north India was affected by the influx of new ingredients and new table manners during the British colonial period. This section will explore how contemporary Muslims such as writers, religious scholars and modern reformers responded to the new food culture.

Mirzā Asad Allāh Khān Ghālib (1797-1869), a classical poet who wrote in both Urdu and Persian, and who corrected Urdu poems written by Bahādur Shāh II (r. 1837-1857), the last emperor of the Mughal Dynasty, sent many letters in Urdu to his friends and pupils in poem form. In these letters, he made a detailed explanation of the changes in Delhi following the uprising of 1857, including the destruction of buildings in the urban area by the British and the construction of railways (Gupta 1986:27-31, 42-43; Yamane 2002). At the same time, he highly praised the foreign liquor that had appeared on the market, stating in letters from July 1859 and September 1866, respectively:

You don’t know the meaning of the word liquor (likyūr). This is English alcohol (Angrezī sharāb). The constituent of this single malt whiskey (qiwam) is extremely delicate, the color is marvelously beautiful, the flavor also has the unparalleled sweetness of the thin syrup (qiwam putlā) of rock candy (qand). The meaning of this word would not be found in any dictionary (farhang) (Ghālib 1985: 511).

The meal there was only 6 māshas (about six grams) (bread from) bran flour. What was I supposed to eat? It is said that there is good English alcohol (here meaning foreign liquors) in Bombay and Surat. If I could go there, I would have attended the party and drunk such alcohol (Ghālib 1985: 568).

Ghālib had the opportunity to taste foreign liquor so early because he was a prominent writer of the time. While he grieved that Delhi’s streetscapes had changed drastically due to the British replanning of streets, the arrival of delicious foreign liquors in western port towns such as Bombay and Surat was a welcome aspect of the new culture for Ghālib, who loved to drink.

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While Ghālib welcomed foreign liquors, the spread of British culture forced Indian people, especially religious leaders, to issue religious decrees concerning their acceptance of this modernity. The Islam revivalist movement in Indo-Muslim society at the time was promoted by a school based around an educational institution established in 1867 in the town of Deoband, north India. The Deobandi school was founded by reform-minded ‘ulamā (scholars) of the Hanafi faction of the Sunni Islamic school. Music, dance, and the worship of saints was prohibited by them. Some members from the educational institution later devoted themselves to the world of politics and social movements. Some even led the anti-British movement.

The Deobandi school is known for issuing numerous fatāwā (opinion papers) about Muslim life. While this compiled collection of fatāwā includes tolerant opinions to recommend co-existence with Hindus (‘Uthmānī 1985: 187-240), there is no fatāwā about British meals and cooking. Presumably, conduct such as breaking ḥalāl, drinking alcohol, and eating pork was considered to be out of the question. Ashraf ʻAlī Thānavī (1863–1943), who graduated from the Deobandi school, wrote Bihishtī Zewar (Heavenly Ornaments), a famous handbook for Indian-Muslim women at the beginning of the twentieth century. This book too makes no mention of British meals and instructions about food are limited to issues such as breast milk for babies, children’s meals, cooking methods, and especially the necessity of a clean environment (Thānavī n.d.: 630).

Another school well-known in India is the Sunni Islamic Barelvī school established in the north Indian town of Bareilly in the 1880s. Unlike its Deobandi counterpart, the Barelvī school allows the worship of saints. Its Question-and-Answer handbook does refer to new table manners, however it does not give opinion on what to eat. For example, the school’s opinion concerning the appropriateness of taking a meal with shoes on proceeds as follows:

Question: Is it allowed to take a meal with the shoes on? Answer: There is a statement of a prophet that it is more relaxing and therefore better to take off one’s shoes in the case that one takes a meal in a sitting position. Islamic law also states that one should take off the shoes while taking a meal. If the excuse of taking a meal with one’s shoes on is that one cannot sit on the ground and there is no rug, then it means to cease recommended behavior. Therefore, it is desirable to take off the shoes. To take a meal at a table sitting on a chair with the shoes on is a manner characteristic of Christians and it is better to be avoided. And one should remember the words of the prophet Muhammad (Barelvī 1988: 47-48).

These religious judgements show that Islamic scholars considered that the selection of ingredients and drinking alcohol were quite uncontroversial issues so much so that there was no need even to devote space on paper to such issues. On the other hand, it was probably necessary to provide a religious guideline about table manners because people were confronted with Western manners for the first time and were unsure whether such introductions were lawful in Islamic law or not. This judgement concerning eating at a table was only a recommendation and not a prohibition, however; there appears to have been flexibility in the face of this new lifestyle.



3.2. ‘Uneasiness’ among Muslims

Interaction with the British was a new experience for Indo-Muslims in the nineteenth century. The works of Nadhīr Aḥmad (1836-1912), who was influenced by the Aligarh Movement of Saiyid Aḥmad Khān and attained success as the first Urdu full-length novel writer, betrays the mental uneasiness of Indo-Muslims at the time. In his representative work Ibn al-Waqt (Son of the Moment, 1888), the titular main character rescues an English man named Mr. Noble who is injured at the time of the mutiny of 1857 and shelters him at home. There is a scene in which a Muslim friend asks Ibn al-Waqt about meals with the Englishman in detail (Aḥmad 1961: 47):

Friend: ‘What arrangements had you made for his (Mr. Noble’s) food?’ Ibn al-Waqt: ‘What arrangements? He took with us whatever we prepared except that we saw to it that no chilies were put in his food. Table salt and pepper were served separately along with his meals. Of the Indian dishes, he liked pulā’o, kabab, samosa, firnī (rice pudding), and other light sweet dishes.’ Friend: ‘You must have kept separate utensils for him?’ Ibn al-Waqt: ‘Well, to tell you the truth, we did not do that. The food was ours, the utensils were ours, and we were the cooks. So, what was the need of keeping separate utensils?’ Friend: ‘But, he is an Englishman.’ Ibn al-Waqt: ‘Of course, he is an Englishman. So what? We did not serve any forbidden food.’

The visitor realized that his words were unpleasant to Ibn al-Waqt and the conversation ended there. But after this event, people started to avoid sharing huqqa with Ibn al-Waqt. That is to say, he began to be looked upon critically by those around him because he ate with an Englishmen. However, Ibn al-Waqt, who had long been interested in British people, kept on seeing Mr. Noble although he was aware of the disapproval it evoked. One day, he was invited to the house of Mr. Noble. When Mr. Noble asked Ibn al-Waqt to have lunch with him, Ibn al-Waqt at once declined saying he was not hungry. Mr. Noble pointed out that there is no problem with eating together and that the problem lies with the attitude of Indian people who avoid eating together (Aḥmad 1961: 53-4).

Mr. Noble: (with a smile, taking Ibn al-Waqt along to the dining room) ‘Why, do you hesitate to eat with me? You and I took meals together for several months. I was a Christian at that time just as I had been at the time of the Great Rebellion. I am still a Christian and, by God’s will, I shall remain one till my last breath.’ Ibn al-Waqt: ‘No, personally I have no objection or hesitation concerning your personality. But people think [such behavior is] bad.’ Mr. Noble: ‘Still, you feel guilty about it, don’t you? It is exactly this weakness which has ruined India. As God created their character and made them servants, individuals have remained servants. Unless they overcome this weakness, they will remain servants forever.’

Being persuaded by Mr. Noble, Ibn al-Waqt sat at the table with Mr. Noble. However, he then experienced the unknown table manners of eating not with a hand but with a knife and folk (Aḥmad 1961: 55).

So Yamane


The most ill-mannered thing he (Ibn al-Waqt) did was that he took the fork in the right hand and the knife in the left. When Mr. Noble told him to hold the cutlery the other way round, he held the fork in the left hand but rubbed the knife so vigorously on the fork that the knife became blunt. One of the servants gave him another knife from the table. As he tried to eat a potato, it fell on the tablecloth. Every time he tried to put anything into his mouth with the help of the fork, he failed hopelessly. At the end, although he smeared his nose, chin, and cheeks, in fact, his whole face with repeated challenges, he could not put anything at all in his mouth. Those who saw his face that day after the meal insinuated him by saying ‘Is it a face? Or is it a lantern (with many holes) at the Diwali festival (of Hindus)?’

In the novel, Nadhīr Aḥmad stated that the behavior of Ibn al-Waqt infers his wish to receive a ‘baptism’ into ‘Anglicism’ rather than Christianity (Aḥmad 1961: 54) and criticized the imitation of British food culture as subordination under colonial rule. However, people around Ibn al-Waqt in the narrative regard his conduct as a religious problem and condemn him for it. On one occasion in the book, a rumour runs among the people praying at a mosque that Ibn al-Waqt had been converted to Christianity. Someone who happened to be there asserted, ‘Eating with an Englishman means that he is a Christian. He is an eternal Christian and seventy generations of his will also become a Christian’. People at the mosque asked the Maulavī about this issue (Aḥmad 1961: 94-95):

Maulavī answered, ‘One does not become a Christian only because one takes a meal with an Englishman. However, one needs to be aware of the following (Arabic) phrase: one who goes along with a group is among the group. Muslims should be prudent concerning this matter. On the other hand, (there is a precept in Arabic that means) there is both truth and falsehood in a rumor. How could one believe a rumor? Even if the rumor is true, (there is an Arabic expression that means) a burden of an individual cannot be laid on another person. An action of one person cannot infect his descendants.’

At that time, there was a controversy among the worshippers. In the meantime, the rumor spread quickly through the city.

After the above events, people begin to openly give Ibn al-Waqt the cold shoulder. He becomes frustrated and justifies his position to his aunt.

Aunt, I’m sure you have also read the translation of the Qur’ān. Look at the beginning of the chapter ‘The Table Spread with Food’ (of the Quran). It says, ‘The food of those who were given the Scripture is lawful for you and your food is lawful for them’.6 What does this mean? Now, is there anything irreligious in me other than taking meals with an Englishman? I worship properly. Surely you remember that Mr. Noble came to my house during the month of Ramadan (fasting). I properly fasted during the day. Thanks to God, I never failed to fast. At night, I did eat with Mr. Noble. I always recite Quran in the morning and I have never skipped that. What else does one need to do to be a Muslim?

What is religion? Everything about an individual lies with God. There is no need for anyone to interfere in other people’s faith. Even if one actually wishes to become a Christian, who could ever stop that? I know what. One could get out of the group of the poor and join the group of the rich. From the ruled servant side to the ruling side. From the foolish to the wise. From the depreciated side to the respected side. But all such things come to religion. Religion is what affects desire and fear of this world (Aḥmad 1961: 96-7).

6 Quoted from the Sūrat al-Māidah (The Table Spread with Food) [Q5:5].



‘The poor’ mentioned in Ibn al-Waqt’s monologue are the numerous people under British rule, the Indian people. ‘The rich’ are the ruling British and the Indian people who gain wealth by flattering the British. The ruled Indians are ‘servants’, ‘the foolish’, and ‘the depreciated side’. Ibn al-Waqt is struggling to change from a servant to ‘a wise man on the ruling side’. However, at the end of the story, he realizes that he is an Indian after all. Aḥmad’s novel richly conveys the ambivalence present in Indo-Muslims’ feelings concerning whether they should accept Western culture or not.

4. Conclusion

In India during the colonial period, Muslims were forced to deal with the rapid spread of British culture while remembering the recent prosperity of the bygone Mughal court culture. As mentioned above, the elegant court and urban cultures of the Mughal era were something that most Muslims in India had scarcely experienced. However, this purportedly refined way of life was recorded alongside a strong sense of nostalgia. As a result, this holistic image of Mughal Dynasty and its cultural extravagance helped to encourage a consciousness of Muslim identity. However, accepting the new culture brought by the British was a means to survive in a new world, leading Indo-Muslims to experience mixed feelings within this ambiguous situation. While some Muslims like Ghālib welcomed foreign liquor, others such as religious leaders of the Deobandi school and the Barelvī school showed a neutral position in which most of them, except some radical anti-British ‘ulamā, maintained silence on new eating habits while referring to the preservation of the Muslim principles. On the other hand, some like Saiyid Aḥmad Khān portrayed the ability of individual Muslims to embrace eating with the British while remaining faithful to their own religious practice. The examples featured in this paper show both the acceptance of coexistence with Western culture and the propensity of ‘ordinary’ Muslims, like those described in Ibn al-Waqt to reject eating with foreigners. There was clearly much uneasiness and confusion in the Indo-Muslim society of the colonial period. This was expressed at an intellectual level in the radical movements to reject Western culture, which in turn made Muslims more conscious of their identity and issues of purity. As a result, the religious confrontation between Hindus and Muslims sharpened at the end of the nineteenth century. The mentality of those who refused to eat with the British, as described in Ibn al-Waqt, could be regarded as the root of the support given to later movements toward religious purification. By the beginning of the twentieth century, religious identity and the preoccupation with the purity of Indo-Muslim culture had become a political issue. This too can be traced in descriptions and discussions of food culture.

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Documents

Muslim Writers and Food in North India, 1850-1920