CULTURAL EVAPORATION OF TEA IN THE US

                                              

                    ( Coffee Machine in  Kitchen)

 The Cultural Evaporation of Tea and the Rise of Coffee in Public Life In the US 

Walk through New York, Jersey City, Chicago, Washington, Boston, or any major American city at 8am, 2pm, or 10pm, and the pattern is identical: a paper cup, a cardboard sleeve, a plastic lid. Tea has, for most public purposes, evaporated. In its place stands coffee: mocha, cappuccino, cold brew, oat flat white, consumed while walking, with a mobile phone in one hand, a bag on the back, and coffee in the other.  

The streets are lined with huge, spacious coffee shops that function as offices, meeting rooms, and transit lounges. This is not merely a change in taste. It is a change in tempo, in political economy, and in civic ritual. To understand it, we must link three histories: the origin of coffee as a global stimulant, the American rejection of tea after the Boston Tea Party of 1773, and the corporate expansion of US coffee chains from the 1970s onwards. Together they explain why coffee, not tea, became the beverage of mobility and public life.

 The Origin of Coffee: From Ethiopian Highlands to Global Commodity

Coffee originates in the highlands of Ethiopia, likely in the region of Kaffa, around the 9th century. Oral tradition tells of a goatherd named Kaldi who noticed his goats became more energetic after eating red berries. By the 15th century, coffee cultivation had moved to Yemen, where Sufi monasteries in the port of Mocha used a boiled infusion to stay awake for night prayers. From Yemen it spread through the Ottoman Empire to Cairo, Damascus and Istanbul.  

In these cities, the  Qahvehane, or coffee house, emerged as a central institution. It was a place for politics, poetry, chess and news. Unlike the tavern, it did not serve alcohol. It served a bitter, stimulating drink that encouraged talk rather than intoxication.

European traders brought coffee to Venice in the early 1600s. By 1650 London had its first coffee houses, soon nicknamed “penny universities” because for the price of a penny one could sit for hours, read pamphlets and join debate. Paris, Amsterdam and Vienna followed. Thus coffee entered the West not as a domestic drink, but as a public, civic stimulant tied to commerce and discourse.  When coffee arrived in the American colonies, it already carried this DNA. It was the drink of merchants, printers and revolutionaries. Tea, by contrast, arrived as a taxable commodity of empire, shipped by the East India Company. That distinction would prove decisive.

 The Boston Tea Party and the Politicisation of Beverage

On 16 December 1773, American freedom fighters in Boston boarded three ships and dumped 342 chests of tea into the harbour. The protest was aimed at the Tea Act and the principle of “taxation without representation”. But its cultural consequence was larger: tea became associated with monarchy, mercantilism and British ritual.  In the decades after independence, American leaders consciously promoted coffee. The Continental Congress served it. Revolutionary pamphlets were drafted in coffee houses in Philadelphia and New York. To drink coffee was to perform citizenship. To drink tea was, by implication, to perform loyalty to the old empire.  The result was a durable binary. Coffee became public, masculine, Northern and associated with work. Tea became domestic, feminine, Southern and associated with leisure, eventually iced and sweetened in the South. The Boston Tea Party did not eliminate tea, but it marked it. That marking set up a 250-year asymmetry that still structures American beverage culture.

 Why Tea “Evaporated” and Coffee Scaled: Time, Infrastructure and Branding

  

Three structural forces completed the shift in the 20th and 21st centuries. First, time and labour. Tea culture, whether British, Chinese or Indian, is durational. It requires a pot, a steep, a pause. Coffee, especially after the invention of the espresso machine, was engineered for speed: extraction in 25 seconds, served in a to-go cup. In an economy that monetises every minute, coffee aligns with acceleration. Tea does not. Second, infrastructure and the rise of national chains. Unlike tea, coffee developed a retail infrastructure built by a handful of US corporations:

1 Starbucks 

Founded in Seattle in 1971 as a bean retailer, it was transformed by Howard Schultz after a 1983 trip to Milan. Schultz imported the Italian espresso bar and rebranded it as the “third place”, neither home nor work. By 2025, Starbucks operated over 16,000 stores in the US, with a menu of latte, cappuccino, mocha and cold brew that became a national vocabulary.  

2 Dunkin’

 Founded in Quincy, Massachusetts in 1950. With more than 9,000 US locations, it positioned coffee as fast, affordable and working-class: “America Runs on Dunkin’”. Its drive-thru model matched suburban commuting.  

3.  Peet’s, Caribou, Dutch Bros, and independents.

 Peet’s Coffee, founded in Berkeley in 1966, trained early Starbucks buyers and popularised dark roast. Dutch Bros, founded in Oregon in 1992, scaled the drive-thru energy-drink model. Thousands of independents copied the Starbucks template: large seating, Wi-Fi, and a barista behind an espresso machine. This system created a uniform object, the 12oz to 20oz cup that could be consumed in any city, at any hour. Starbucks sold customisation and “third place”. Dunkin’ sold speed and routine. Tea had no equivalent national narrative for the street. It remained a grocery item, not a service.

The “huge spacious coffee shops everywhere” are the direct descendants of the 17th-century coffee house, but scaled for the platform economy.  They provide three things.  

(a) Real estate: A $6 cappuccino or mocha buys three hours of heat, light and Wi-Fi in a city where office rent is prohibitive. Students write essays, freelancers meet clients, remote workers take Zoom calls. The coffee shop has become a privatised public utility.  

(b)  Mobility: The design of the cup, lid and sleeve assumes movement. This produces the image you describe: person walking, mobile in one hand, backpack on, coffee in the other. This is the embodied posture of the 21st-century worker: multitasking, in transit, always on. Tea, which sloshes and cools, is poorly suited to this.  

(c) Menu as cultural capital: To order a “venti oat milk flat white” is to display fluency in a global code. The Italianate taxonomy, espresso, macchiato, cappuccino, popularised by Starbucks after 1985, is legible from Boston to Bangalore. Tea menus remain regional: chai, Earl Grey, matcha and thus less universal in a cosmopolitan setting. Crucially, these chains also colonised space. A single block in Manhattan can contain three Starbucks and two Dunkin’. They standardise furniture, lighting, and music. This creates a familiar environment that reduces the friction of work. Tea rooms, by contrast, never scaled in this way. They remained boutique, slow, and locally specific.

(d) Class, Health and the Moral Economy of Coffee: There is also a class dimension. Coffee, especially black coffee or Americano, is coded as ascetic and productive. It signals: “I am working.” Expensive milk-based drinks like mocha and caramel macchiato signal creative-class status. Tea, particularly herbal or fruit tea, is coded as wellness, femininity, or convalescence.  Health discourse reinforced this. From the 1990s onwards, coffee was marketed with studies on alertness, metabolism and antioxidants. Tea was marketed for calm and detox. In a culture that prizes output over rest, the stimulant won. The pandemic accelerated this further: takeaway coffee was deemed “essential” while tea rooms closed.  Thus coffee became not only faster, but morally superior in the logic of neoliberal work: it keeps you going.

(e)  Coffee as the Drink of Media, Mobility and Acceleration: The dominance of coffee also reflects a change in consciousness. Coffee is a stimulant that matches the logic of the smartphone: short bursts, constant refresh, no waiting. Tea asks you to pause. Coffee asks you to go.  Sociologist Hartmut Rosa calls this “social acceleration”.⁸ Our institutions, technologies and bodies are all being sped up. Coffee is the pharmacological and cultural technology that makes that acceleration feel normal. The Boston Tea Party rejected a beverage of empire and slowness. We have, in effect, institutionalised that rejection.  The drinks themselves reveal this. Few Americans drink coffee as 18th-century merchants did: black and bitter. They drink mocha, cappuccino, caramel macchiato, milk-heavy, sweetened, and designed for palatability and customisation. This is coffee as a platform, not as a tradition. Tea, by contrast, remains marked by its origins. “Assam”, “Sencha”, “Earl Grey” all recall a geography. “Grande” recalls only a size.

Conclusion: The Afterlife of 1773

The origin of coffee in Ethiopian monasteries and Yemeni ports gave it a history as a drink of wakefulness. The Boston Tea Party gave it an American political meaning as the drink of the republic. The rise of Starbucks, Dunkin’ and the franchise model gave it a national infrastructure of space and speed.  

Tea has not disappeared. It has moved to the kettle, to bubble-tea shops, and to the home. But in public space, from morning through evening, coffee won because it matched the city we built: mobile, networked and productive.  

To bring tea back to the street would require more than new cafés. It would require a rethinking of time, a willingness to steep, to sit, to not be in motion. Until then, the legacy of 1773 continues in every to-go cup: a nation that chose coffee, and with it, a particular way of living in public.

( Avtar Mota )

CHINAR SHADE by Autarmota is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License.

Based on a work at http:\\autarmota.blogspot.com\.

WHY COFFEE REPLACED TEA IN MUCH OF EUROPE

                                          

   ( Coffee Machines are essential item in every European kitchen)

       

Why Coffee Replaced Tea in Much of Europe

Coffee is more than a stimulating beverage. It is a cultural institution that has shaped European habits of work, conversation, leisure and intellectual exchange. Its aroma became inseparable from the café, the newspaper, the business meeting and the prolonged discussion among writers and artists. Prepared in several forms, from strong espresso to filtered coffee and milk-based varieties, it proved adaptable to changing patterns of urban life. Coffee could be consumed quickly by a worker beginning the day or slowly by friends gathered around a table. Its rise in Europe therefore marked not only a transformation in taste, but also a movement from the ceremonious domestic ritual of the teapot towards a faster, more individualised and increasingly public culture of drinking.

Coffee did not uniformly replace tea throughout Europe. Britain, Ireland and Russia remained strongly attached to tea. Across much of continental Europe, however, coffee gradually became the more characteristic public and everyday beverage. Its ascendancy resulted not merely from changing taste, but from commerce, urbanisation, sociability, labour habits and colonial expansion.

Coffee and tea entered European markets during the seventeenth century as expensive imported novelties. Both were initially valued partly for their supposed medicinal properties. Tea arrived principally through maritime trade with China, while coffee reached Europe through Ottoman and Mediterranean commercial networks. Coffee soon acquired an important advantage because it developed a distinctive public institution, the coffee house. In Paris, Vienna, Venice, Amsterdam and other European cities, cafés became meeting places for merchants, writers, artists, politicians and intellectuals.

The café encouraged conversation, debate and the circulation of news. Newspapers were read, business agreements were discussed, and political opinions were exchanged over cups of coffee. Coffee consequently became associated with the expanding urban public sphere. Tea, by contrast, was more closely connected with the domestic interior, polite hospitality and the family table.

Coffee also suited the emerging work culture of modern Europe. Unlike wine or beer, it encouraged alertness without intoxication. Merchants, clerks, journalists, officials and students could drink it while continuing to work. Its stimulating quality made it particularly attractive in societies increasingly organised around punctuality, commerce and intellectual production.

Colonial expansion further strengthened coffee’s position. European powers developed large coffee plantations in the Caribbean, Latin America, Java and parts of Africa. The exploitation of enslaved and coercively controlled labour increased production and reduced prices. Coffee thereby became available to a much wider public. National preferences nevertheless remained important. Britain’s commercial interests, taxation policies and imperial cultivation of tea in India and Ceylon helped tea retain its commanding position there.

Where coffee displaced tea, it also altered domestic material culture. The elaborate tea set, once a visible symbol of refinement and hospitality, gradually lost some of its everyday importance. Teapots, matching cups and saucers, milk jugs, sugar bowls, tea strainers, tea trays, tea cosies and tea coasters were used less frequently in households that adopted coffee as their habitual drink. Some of these objects became largely ceremonial and were brought out for formal visitors rather than employed daily.

The tea cosy, designed to keep a large teapot warm during prolonged conversation, became increasingly unnecessary when coffee was prepared rapidly and served in individual cups. Similarly, the traditional tea set, once proudly displayed in drawing rooms and dining cabinets, often became an ornamental remnant of an earlier domestic culture. Tea coasters, trays and strainers were sometimes stored away or retained chiefly as family heirlooms.

Coffee introduced its own equipment and rituals. Coffee pots, grinders, filters, espresso machines and smaller cups entered European kitchens and cafés. The replacement of one beverage by another therefore involved more than a change in consumption. It transformed kitchens, dining tables, social customs and decorative traditions.

Coffee’s European triumph was neither complete nor universal. It prevailed mainly where café culture, urban employment and colonial supply encouraged it. Tea continued to dominate where domestic custom and imperial commerce supported it. The history of the two beverages thus reflects Europe’s regional diversity, while also showing how changing tastes can make an entire range of familiar household objects increasingly unnecessary.

( Avtar Mota )

CHINAR SHADE by Autarmota is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License.
Based on a work at http:\\autarmota.blogspot.com\.

MY NEW POEM ," UPROOTED GODS"

                                            

(Uprooted Gods)

My ancestors were trees,  

torn from the peaceful forest,  

and planted in the city habitation.  

They survived.  

That was the first wound.

Mother;  

A chinar.  

She carried her shade along with  

Mountain trunk.  

Sky-wide branches.  

Green leaves.

And a chinar doesn't ask  

the faith of tired travellers  

who sit under its shade.  

Mother proved it right.

Men came with hunger,  

They cut her branches,  

Swept away even her fallen leaves  

And fed them to hand-held braziers  

to warm their bodies  

while her own heart went cold.

She never complained.  

She smiled.  

A Chinar tree she was,  

Shelter for birds.  

Comfort for her own people.  

And comfort for strangers too.

Inside: a secret fire.  

A fire of compassion.  

A blaze of simplicity.  

Embers of nishkama — selflessness,  

burning where no one could see.  

And she hollowed.

Truth, simplicity, compassion burn  

like quiet fire within the chest.  

Stripping away the weight we carry,  

And leaving the heart both clear and open.

Those who hold these virtues,  

do not bend.  

They rise,  

upright,  

steady,  

and tall.  

Yet at their core  

they turn to hollow,  

An empty space that holds  

no pride.

It is not absence,  

But a clearing.  

No boast,  

No swelling of the self,  

Only room to take another’s burden  

And stand unshaken in the wind.

We too felt that heat.  

Look at me.  

A scar of simplicity.  

Of empathy.  

Of truth.

My father  

A bamboo.  

Tall.  

He was already hollow inside,  

to make room for new ideas,  

to hold the weight of others without asking.

Elasticity made him unbreakable  

Even under pressure.  

He swayed with adversity,  

then stood straight again.

Hollow within, he stood tall,  

And became a flute for the stormy winds,  

What soothing music  

he created for others.  

Impervious to distraction,  

He grew towards light, not noise.

He had node structure.  

Clear principles not easily compromised.  

Knots on his spine like vows.

They used him too:  

For furniture,  

For mats.  

For staircases to go up  

and dump him on ground,  

A tool in every hand.  

A back for every burden.  

Chanakya said,  

"Straight trees are cut first."  

So they cut him.  

He made no sound.

Now;

The city needs no Chinar.  

The city needs no bamboo.  

So they went home.  

Back to the forest.  

To breathe air that asks nothing.  

To be held by cloud and wind.  

To be washed by night rain.  

To face the first sun.  

To run with birds, with animals, with life.

I am the son of a Chinar tree.  

I am the son of a bamboo tree.  

I have no friends in the city now  

No well-wisher.  

Unknown,  

Strangers,  

I confront everywhere now,  

I carry the baggage of truth,  

The baggage of empathy,  

The baggage of simplicity  

Inherited from my parents.  

In this city,  

They call it a scar on the soul.  

And scarred souls have no place to rest.  

Who will wash this scar clean?

(Avtar Mota)

PS

Critique of the poem by an English teacher from the US 

Avtar Mota’s “The Uprooted Gods” is an ecopoetic elegy that figures the parents as archetypal Kashmiri trees ; the Mother as a Chinar, embodying hospitality and unconditional shade, and the Father as Bamboo, embodying ethical resilience, hollowness as capacity, and nodal integrity. Structurally a diptych in free verse, the poem sets the organic “forest” against the extractive “habitation,” tracing diasporic uprooting as the first wound: survival through self-erasure. Allusions to Chanakya and the Bhagavad Gita politicise and spiritualise this sacrifice, while anaphora and stark, declarative lines create a liturgical rhythm of mourning. The poem culminates in the speaker’s inheritance , “Scars of simplicity. Of empathy. Of truth” , and an unanswerable question that transforms private grief into a broader lament for cultures that give shade until they are consumed, then are deemed no longer needed.

CHINAR S

HADE by Autarmota is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License.
Based on a work at http:\\autarmota.blogspot.com\.

MY NEW POEM ," IN THE FIELD"

                             

(In the Field)

In a world that neither acknowledges  

nor encourages,  

we still draw the line and stand.  

What if the chariot is empty today?  

What if no Murlidhara answers,  

and the sky returns only silence?  

What if the Kurus multiply their fronts  

just to exhaust us, to break us?  

Still ,  act we must.  

Action is our revolt against indifference.  

Action is our karma when nothing is owed to us.  

We do not wait for meaning to be given.  

We carve it into the world with our hands.  

The field demands one thing:  

That we do not kneel.  

That we fight, 

even unseen.  

That we become the reason

the field remembers

we were here.

( Avtar Mota )

PS

Critique of the poem "In the Field" by a friend who teaches English in the US :

“In the Field” is a poem of secular karma. Mota takes the framework of the Bhagavad Gita in absence of the divine interlocutor, leaving us with action without sanction and duty without witness. The empty chariot and the silent sky are not just images of abandonment, but a statement of metaphysical fact , meaning is no longer given, it must be made. In this void, Mota redefines revolt not as protest, but as persistence: “Action is our karma when nothing is owed to us.” It is an existential ethic, close to Camus, yet grounded in dharma or duty .

Stylistically, the poem is admirable for its austerity. The short, declarative lines, the anaphora of “What if” and “That we”, and the unadorned diction create a tone that is both prophetic and soldierly. Mota writes with moral clarity and restraint. He does not lament; he commands. In doing so, he emerges as a poet of ethical endurance ; one who turns exile, indifference, and silence into the very ground on which the self chooses to stand.

CHINAR SHADE by Autarmota is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License.
Based on a work at http:\\autarmota.blogspot.com\.

BOOK REVIEW : HENZEY VANVUN

                                                                               

Book Review

HENZEY VANVUN

Compiler: Kanwal Peshin
Editor: Smt. Janak Rani Peshin

(Sponsored by KOA, USA )
Publisher: BFC Publications Pvt. Ltd., Lucknow
Edition: Trilingual (Hindi, Roman Transliteration and Nastaliq Kashmiri in one Volume)

ebook at: https://books.google.co.in/books?id=UGfzEQAAQBAJ&newbks=0&hl=en&source=newbks_fb&redir_esc=y

 

The preservation of oral traditions is among the noblest responsibilities of cultural scholarship in the twenty-first century. Unlike written literature, oral traditions survive not in manuscripts but in living memory, transmitted across generations through voice, performance and ritual participation. Their very vitality renders them vulnerable. Once the chain of transmission is broken, entire worlds of language, music, symbolism, ritual practice and collective memory risk disappearing forever. It is against this larger civilisational backdrop that Henzey Vanvun, compiled by Kanwal Peshin and edited by Smt. Janak Rani Peshin, assumes extraordinary importance. More than a compilation of ceremonial songs, this beautifully produced bilingual volume is a monumental act of cultural preservation, rescuing one of the oldest surviving ritual traditions of the Kashmiri Pandit community from the uncertainties of oral transmission and securing it for posterity.

Vanvun occupies a unique position in the cultural history of Kashmir. It is one of the oldest living ritual song traditions of the Valley, preserving echoes of an ancient liturgical heritage that many scholars discern as bearing remarkable affinities with the melodic recitation of the Sāma Veda. While the tradition has naturally evolved through centuries of historical and social change, its sacred cadence, communal performance and ceremonial function continue to reflect a civilisation deeply rooted in Vedic culture. The remarkable continuity of Vanvun is itself evidence of Kashmir's enduring spiritual and cultural resilience.

Kashmiri  Vanvun is not just a poetic form; it is ritualised memory. Traditionally sung by women during rites of passage in Kashmir, such as birth, marriage, and seasonal change. It works as a living archive, carrying history, myth, and collective emotion through rhythm and repetition. This makes it a powerful bridge between cosmic myth and human experience. In the Sāma Veda, especially in expansive chants such as Bṛhat-Sāma, sound is not composed for pleasure or artistic display. It is elongated, vowel-dominant, ritualised, and effective. The chant functions to align the human, cosmic, and divine orders through Nāda. Meaning is secondary to resonance; grammar dissolves into vibration. Time is ritual time, not chronological time. A strikingly similar sound logic governs Kashmiri Vāṇvun. Though situated in domestic and communal life rather than in yajña ritual, Vāṇvun is likewise non-entertainment sound. It is obligatory, performative, and efficacious. Sound does not describe auspiciousness; it produces it. Like Sāma chanting, Vāṇvun prioritises vowel elongation, cyclical unfolding, collective voicing, and suspension of ordinary temporal awareness.

Kanwal Peshin deserves the highest commendation for recognising that Vanvun has always been fundamentally an oral tradition. For centuries these sacred songs were preserved not by institutions or manuscripts but by memory itself, particularly through the devoted voices of Kashmiri women who sang them during weddings, Mekhla (Yajnopavita) ceremonies, festivals and other domestic rituals. In every generation, mothers became the principal custodians of this precious inheritance, transmitting melody, rhythm and meaning to their children with extraordinary fidelity. Long before folklore became an academic discipline, these women functioned as living archives of Kashmiri civilisation. Their contribution to preserving cultural memory deserves far greater recognition than it has generally received.

The publication of this volume is especially significant in the aftermath of the displacement of the Kashmiri Pandit community, which inevitably disrupted the natural transmission of ritual knowledge. Oral traditions survive only within living communities. Once communities become fragmented, memory itself begins to fade. By transforming a living oral tradition into a carefully documented text, Kanwal Peshin has ensured that future generations will inherit not scattered recollections but an authentic and coherent corpus of ceremonial literature. His work is, therefore, an enduring gift to posterity.

The scholarly character of the volume is evident from the opening pages. Rather than presenting the songs in isolation, the compiler provides thoughtful introductory essays explaining their historical, religious and cultural context. These essays demonstrate that Vanvun is far more than a body of folk songs; it is an integral expression of the spiritual, social and domestic life of the Kashmiri Pandit community. Religion, aesthetics, family life and everyday existence have historically formed an inseparable whole in Kashmiri civilisation, and this volume successfully restores the songs to that wider cultural framework.

One of the greatest strengths of the work lies in its editorial discipline. Oral literature invariably presents formidable challenges because no two performances are identical. Variations arise naturally across families, regions and generations. Kanwal Peshin has approached this task with exemplary scholarly restraint, preserving the authenticity of the songs while arranging them in a systematic and accessible manner. The trilingual presentation is particularly commendable. By providing the original text in Hindi, Roman transliteration and a text in  Nastaliq Kashmiri within the same volume, the compiler has made this priceless heritage accessible to the entire  Kashmiri diaspora. It is now accessible to the readers from the younger generation as well  who are unfamiliar with the Nastaliq script, as also to the community of  scholars across the world. This thoughtful editorial decision considerably broadens the readership without compromising authenticity. The editorial contribution of Smt. Janak Rani Peshin also deserves special appreciation. Her careful editing lends coherence and refinement to the compilation while preserving the natural rhythm and sanctity of the oral tradition. The volume thus reflects a harmonious collaboration between compiler and editor in the service of preserving an endangered cultural legacy.

Particularly touching is the compiler's acknowledgement of his mother, from whom he first learnt these Vanvun. This acknowledgement symbolises the indispensable role played by Kashmiri mothers in preserving ritual knowledge across centuries. Through their voices, generations inherited not merely songs but an entire philosophy of family, devotion and sacred duty.

The compiler convincingly demonstrates that Vanvun constitutes a complete ceremonial repertoire rather than a miscellaneous collection of songs. The opening invocation immediately establishes an atmosphere of sacred auspiciousness:

Zyun chatnas zangi kus oyo,
Mangala Devi te Nandkishwar.

(In whose auspicious presence were the logs cut

 for the festivities?

Surely in the presence of Goddess Mangala and Lord Nandkishwar.)

These simple yet profound lines reveal that every auspicious undertaking in Kashmiri life begins with divine invocation. Likewise, the Vanvun accompanying the Mekhla ceremony beautifully express the sacred purpose of education:

Shoklam karith hyot vanvuni,
Shob phal dyutui Maji Bhawanie.

(May this sacred chant bear auspicious fruit

 through the blessings of Mother Bhawani.)

Knowledge here is understood not merely as intellectual achievement but as a sacred trust nurtured through divine grace. Equally evocative are the songs associated with ‘Krool Khaarun’ or decorating the main entrance colourfully, ‘Dapun’ (starting  invitation to close relations), ‘Muss-Mutchrun’ or hairdressing of the bride, ‘Maeznraat’ or Mehndiraat, ‘Shraan’ (bath with milk and curd), ‘Devgun’ (invitation to  Vedic gods), ‘Varidan’ (gifts to the relatives), ‘Dastaar Gandun’ or covering bridegrooms head with a decorated  Pagri, ‘Yonya  Traavun’ (sacred thread wearing), ‘Taranga Gandun’ or covering the bride’s head with a decorated headgear, ‘Lagan’, ‘Posha Pooza’ or showering flower petals over the bride and bridegroom, ‘Veegis –Natchun’ or dancing by women over the marriage Rangoli and  ‘Maharaaza Nernas’ or departure of the bridegroom. Kashmiri Pandits would also sing Vanvun songs for  ‘Navis Palvas Ang Deuun’ or putting on new clothes, ‘Navis  Gharas  Atchun’ or entering a newly built house, ‘Vidhya Aarambh’ or the start of education by the child, ‘Shraan ta Sondhar’ (postpartum bath of the woman with herbs) ‘Zara Kaasaai’ (first haircut of the baby),  and many more  rituals. These verses transform ordinary domestic labour into communal celebration. Work becomes music; music becomes devotion; and devotion becomes collective memory.

 

 

An outstanding feature of the book is its rich collection of photographs. These illustrations are far more than decorative additions. They visually correlate the Vanvun with almost every important ritual associated with Kashmiri Pandit weddings and the Mekhla ceremony, enabling readers to understand precisely where and how these songs are performed. The photographs considerably enhance the ethnographic value of the work, transforming it into a visual as well as textual archive of Kashmiri ritual culture.

From the perspectives of anthropology, folklore, linguistics and religious studies, this compilation is invaluable. Political histories generally narrate the deeds of kings and states, whereas oral traditions preserve the emotional history of ordinary people. These Vanvun illuminate family relationships, ritual practices, gender roles, social values and religious beliefs with remarkable intimacy. They also preserve archaic vocabulary, idiomatic expressions and linguistic forms that might otherwise disappear from the Kashmiri language. The volume will undoubtedly become an indispensable reference for historians, folklorists, anthropologists, ethnomusicologists and students of Kashmir Studies.

In conclusion, Henzey Vanvun stands among the most significant recent contributions to the preservation of Kashmir's intangible cultural heritage. It is simultaneously a work of folklore, ethnography, linguistics, cultural history and religious scholarship. By rescuing these sacred songs from the uncertainties of memory, Kanwal Peshin has rendered an enduring service not only to the Kashmiri Pandit community but also to the cultural history of India. His achievement transcends that of a compiler; he emerges as a custodian of memory, a guardian of tradition and a cultural archivist of the highest order. Beautifully produced by BFC Publications Pvt. Ltd., Lucknow, this trilingual edition deserves a place in every library devoted to Indian culture, folklore, ethnography and Kashmir Studies.

 

( Avtar Mota )

 

CHINAR SHADE by Autarmota is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License.
Based on a work at http:\\autarmota.blogspot.com\.

CONVERGENCE OF GRIEF : UNIVERSALITY OF HUMAN EMOTION IN COMMEMORATIVE PRACTICE

                                       

                                          

The Convergence of Grief: Universality of Human Emotion in Commemorative Practice

We visited Funtown beach on Sunday, just yesterday. My son drove us from Jersey City, and in about 100 minutes we reached 

Funtown Beach on the New Jersey shores of the Atlantic Ocean is a wide, orderly stretch of sun, sand and sea that feels lively yet spacious even on a busy Sunday. It is well equipped for visitors, with clean washrooms, deckchairs, sun shades, and a range of cafés and restaurants along the promenade. Music drifting from the shore, people bathing in the waves, impromptu dancing on the sand, and good food are what draw the crowds here. The sand is firm and clean, perfect for walking by the water, and lifeguards ensure the area is well maintained. Above the sea, motorboats tow large advertising banners and light aircraft glide overhead trailing messages, adding to the festive atmosphere. I was told the beach town is almost deserted in the snowy winters, as the summer residents pack up and shift to warmer places. In all, Funtown Beach blends vibrant coastal recreation with the quiet that returns when the season ends.

Funtown Beach is a popular destination located in Seaside Park, New Jersey, known for its vibrant atmosphere and family-friendly environment. Visitors appreciate the well-maintained beach, friendly staff, and the variety of activities available, including cabana rentals and live music on weekends. With clean facilities and a range of snack options nearby, it offers an enjoyable day out for families and friends alike.

The boardwalk offers great food and fun, making it a favorite for many ; just arrive early to snag parking and your perfect spot in the beach .

And yet, what stayed with me were the quiet benches. Lined along the tiled path to the shore, each one carried an inscription of remembrance. Names, dates, a few words of love. In the middle of all the activity, these small memorials asked us to pause.That sight made me think of how, across the world, people deal with loss in such different ways, and yet with the same heart.

In India, we often remember through service. A water purifier, a cooler, ceiling fans, marble tiles in a temple, or trees planted in someone’s name. Grief is turned into something useful, so the person who is gone continues to give.In the West, remembrance tends to be more contemplative. The benches at Funtime Beach are not for utility. They are places to sit, to remember, to let a name be spoken by strangers walking by. 

Different forms, but the same longing: to keep someone present, to say that love does not end with death. Cultural expression may change with place, but human feeling remains the same.

( Avtar Mota )

CHINAR SHADE by Autarmota is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License.
Based on a work at http:\\autarmota.blogspot.com\.