Opium Trade and the Making of Bombay

VT/CST Station Bombay/Mumbai

Bombay’s impressive 19th Century public buildings: Read on for their connection with the Opium Trade. Click here for photo source.

I found a really eye-opening article on the connection between Bombay and the British Opium Trade with China (a most sordid chapter in the history of Empire) by Mahmood Farooqui recently on the SARAI listserv. I am pasting it below in its entirety. You can also read it here. It is a review of a book published by the Three Essays Collective. The books name is “Opium City: The Making of Early Vistorian Bombay” by Amar Farooqui.

MUMBAI’S OPIUM PAST
by Mahmood Farooqui
December 23, 2005

“This opium trade is a sin on England’s head and a curse on India for her share in being the instrument.”Dada Bhai Naoroji-1880.

It sometimes appears, from the nature of current historical debates, as if the British Empire in India was purely an Orientalising mission whose discourses generated a politics of identity but that it was little more than an ideological apparatus that hegemonised us. It is difficult therefore to connect back to the earliest Nationalists who decried the drain of wealth from India, who lamented India’s deindustrialization and the economic exploitation of our people by foreign occupiers. It is easy, in the miasma of post-colonialisms emanating from American Universities, to forget that the Empire came into being and remained in force as an economic entity, that it was instituted by traders, that there was also something called economic Imperialism.

Amar Farooqui’s “Opium City-The Making of Colonial Bombay,” is welcome first of all because it reorients us to the fundamentals of how and why we were colonized by the East India Company. It is a new title by the Three Essays Press, a Delhi based outfit, which has been publishing tracts in the form, as its name implies, of three essays in slim volumes by renowned and radical academics in a style and on subjects that are of general interest. Opium City, like everything else published by it-ranging from Hindi film music to the search for an Indian Enlightenment-breaks new ground at the same time as reorienting the debate into a radical yet suitably indigenous direction.

In our school histories we have read about the opium triangle, the unholy trade nexus established by the East India Company wherein it forced Indian peasants to grow opium, under its own monopoly and control, smuggled it to China and sold it in return for Chinese tea and repatriated profits back home. They made entire generations of Chinese addicted to opium because it was the only way to solve the balance of payments problem. This opium trade, once the commonest polemic against Empire, has today virtually passed into oblivion.

Amar Farooqui’s book returns it centre stage at the same time as showing us how important the opium trade was for the businessmen of Western India, particularly Bombay and how significant a role it played in generating the capital that later on built Bombay. The peculiar nature of British, piecemeal, conquest of India meant that they could control the monopoly of opium growth, sales and import far better in Bengal and Bihar than in western India.

Since large chunks of territory in western India was not directly under British rule until the 1850s-Portugese Daman to the North of Bombay and Goa to the South, numerous indigenously ruled states in western India, Sind- it was therefore possible for merchants to access opium grown in Malwa and smuggle it via Pali in Rajasthan, to Jaisalmer then to Karachi and from Karachi by sea to Daman.

By the 1820s a large number of Parsis, Marwaris, Gujarati Banias and Konkani Muslims had moved into the opium trade at Bombay. Of the 42 foreign firms operating in China at the end of the 1830s, 20 were fully owned by Parsis. Indigenous shipping and opium trade too were closely interlinked. For two decades the figure who dominated the opium trade at Bombay was Jamsetjee Jejeebhoy (1783-1859). He was the first Indian to be knighted (1842), the first to win a baronetcy (1857) who partnered Jardine and Matheson, the largest opium trading network in China. Apart from owning ships, agents and commercial clearing houses, he was also one of the six directors of the Bank of Bombay.

It was the capital accumulation of these years that allowed these same people to later on lay the foundation of the industrial Bombay as well as the grand public buildings that survive in South Bombay. From being an obscure port which could not even generate its own revenues Bombay’s transformation into one of the leading cities of the Empire occurred fairly rapidly within the space of about half a century, between the 1790s and 1840s. The share of Bombay in 1820-40 for bullion inflow, especially for opium, was much larger than Calcutta. During this period, the Malwa opium was worth Rs 15-20 million annually to India and unlike Bengali opium which directly benefited the colonial state, earnings from Malwa opium largely represented private, mainly indigenous profits, giving it a great multiplier effect.

This effect was evident in the geographical make up of the city. It was the Parsis, many of them beneficiaries of opium’s huge profits, who developed South Bombay. The bungalows of Malabar and Cumbala Hills, of Breach Candy and Walkeshwar were mostly Parsi-owned and unexceptionally lent out to Europeans. But in the 1830s and 40s they also owned and developed many of Bombay’s quintessential suburbs. Cursetji Manockji owned Anik, Dhakji Dadaji owned Varasavy (present day Versova), Framji Cowasji (Poway estate), Jamestji Bomanji (Vila Parla, Jhu); Cursetji Cowasji (Goregaum); Ratanji Edulji (Gatkopar); Krushnarao Raghunath (Borvday); and Laxman Hurrichanderji (Chincholi).

Opium City, a distillation of the same writer’s bigger treatise “Smuggling as Subversion-Colonialism, Indian Merchants and the Politics of Opium,” (Lexington, 2005) also shows how this opium trade caused no pangs of conscience among community leaders in Bombay who engaged in numerous moral crusades on other issues while simultaneously shipping the drug to china. We know that the Indian nationalists too in the last quarter of the 19th c showed no inclination to oppose the opium trade, actually extending tacit support to it. These businessmen, remembered as great public figures by us, would not countenance paying taxes to improve the city’s water supply (in 1850s) while ratifying stringent provisions, like some of our present day politicos, for sending aliens off the island-particularly those who live ‘idle without work.’ The biggest merit of the book, however, is to show us how it was “the poppy fields of Bihar that built Bombay.” Biharis and Karachiites, therefore, have more than a natural right to live in Bombay.

The Lesser Known Ghalib(2): In praise of commoness

Continuing the series on Ghalib. I just rediscovered one of my favorite “anti- intellectual” verses by Ghalib. Ghalib is commonly acknowledged to be a “difficult poet” and revels in abstruse imagery and metaphors. And with his knowledge of Urdu, Persian and Arabic as well as poetics, can certainly be considered an intellectual, in the modern sense of the term. So its interesting to find such a direct comment on the ways of the intellectuals.

ہیں اہل خرد کس روش خاص پہ نازاں

پا بستگی رسم و راہ عام بہت ہے


haiñ ahl-e khirad kis ravish-e khās pah nāzāñ
pā-bastagī-e rasm-o-rah-e ʿām bahut hai

Loose, literal translation #1:
Of what special method are the intellectuals so proud?
The hold of common practice is strong enough in them
Loose, literal translation #2
Of what special method are the intellectual so proud?
Adherence to common custom is good enough for us.

Click here for the commentaries available for this verse on Frances Pritchett’s site.

Most commentators seem to have preferred reading #1 for this verse and this was also the reading that was most obvious to me on the first pass. In this reading, Ghalib is lampooning the intellectuals (ahl-e-khirad) for being vainly proud of their special methods/customs (ravish-e-khaas), when in fact they are as grounded/caught (paa-bastagi, lit. foot-fixedness) in everyday mores and custom (rasm-o-rah-e-aam) as the rest of us common people. At one level, the verse immediately appealed to me because of the number of times I have witnessed intellectuals display the all too common (common in both senses of the term, frequent and vulgar) traits of petty behavior, jealousy etc. At a more philosophical/methodological level, the verse can be interpreted as saying that the claims made on behalf of special methods (“scientific method” comes to mind, though Ghalib might not have had that in mind) are suspect because the individuals who espouse these methods are very caught up in mundane, everyday prejudices and limitations to really produce any objective or special knowledge. Am I reading too much into the verse?

Reading #2 is suggested by Pritchett as a possible secondary reading. Here, Ghalib is asking what is so special about these methods on the intellectuals? Being grounded in good old common sense is good enough for us. Here, “bahut hai” is interpreted not as “there is a lot” but as “is enough”, both interpretations are perfectly valid. The only problem, as Pritchett point out, is that “paa-bastagi” has the negative connotation of “being caught” rather than a more neutral or positive connotation of “being rooted” or “being grounded.”

Once again Ghalib shows how much can be done by simply exploiting the ambiguities or multivalence inherent in Urdu/Hindi.

The Lesser Known Ghalib(1): Veil of openness

I thought of doing this series of blog entries on lesser known verses of Ghalib. As lovers of Ghalib know, some of his ghazals, and in particular some of the verses in those ghazals have been made really popular in recent times, mainly because they have been sung by popular artists such as Jagjit and Chitra Singh, Begum Akhtar, Sudhir Narain, and go a bit further back, K.L.Saigal (yes Saigal has excellent renditions of some of Ghalib’s greatest, in his own inimitable style).

But Ghalib’s Urdu divaan, though small by Mir’s standards, is still much larger than the popular ghazal set. So I though I would more or less randomly select verses that appeal to me, either verses from lesser known ghazals or lesser known verses from famous ghazals. Here is the first of the lot, from a relatively lesser known ghazal (Ghazal #198, verse 2):

در پردہ انھیں غیر سے ہے ربط نہانی

ظاہر کا یہ پردہ ہے کہ پردہ نہیں کرتے

dar pardah unhe;N ;Gair se hai rab:t-e nihaanii
:zaahir kaa yih pardah hai kih pardaa nahii;N karte

dar pardah = behind the veil, rabt-e-nihaani = relationship of hiddenness (a hidden connection), zaahir kaa pardah = veil of openness
I have taken the Urdu and the Roman from Frances Pritchett’s site. As usual, Prof. Pritchett collects the available commentaries on this verse and adds her own interpretation. I don’t have a whole lot to add to the excellent interpretations, but my own two cents follow.

In the first line Ghalib informs us of the behavior of (who else?), the beloved. We are told she carries on a secret relationship with “the Other” behind the purdah. So far it is not too remarkable though a bit puzzling (see below), we might think, except for the usual Ghalibian tautness of phrasing. But then the second line delivers the basic paradox, the veil of openness. We are informed that her not keeping purdah (purdah nahi karte) is itself a type of purdah, a type of veil, a way of hiding something. Her affair with the Other is there, only it is hidden in plain view so to speak. By not keeping purdah from the Other, the Beloved seems to announce to the world, “Look there is nothing between us, he is ‘like a brother’ to me. If there were something going on then would I not keep purdah, to convey the appearance of normalcy and to allay any suspicion?” But our lover is smart. He has seen through the deception. He tells us, “Don’t be fooled by this lack of purdah, it is merely the zaahir kaa purdah, the veil of openness in the guise of which all kinds of nefarious activities are going on.”

Try reciting this verse as it might be recited in a mushairah. It is brilliant. Repeating the first line several times, builds up the tension, we are led to expect something fishy afoot. We think to ourselves, “How can some hidden relationship (rabt-e-nihaani) exist within the veil (dar purdah)? Something could be going on between two people (two strangers, remember we are talking about a relationship with “the Other”), if the Beloved meets him like she does everyone else, i.e. by keeping purdah from him. But if she is meeting him inside the purdah, he must be above suspicion (an older male relative, a brother etc).” And the second line does not disappoint. It tells us, “Aha! But thats exactly it. Zaahir ka yeh purdah hai…ke purdah nahi karte!”

Brilliant!