The first time Parsiana published a pictorial calendar was for the year 1974. Our freelance photographer Farrokh Reporter had shot, on his Hasselblad camera, 120 mm black and white photographs of 12 prominent Parsi statues in Bombay. Our designer Mini Boatwala suggested that our illustrator Manjula Padmanabhan draw sketches from the pictures as the photographs may not reproduce well or be interesting while the sketches would have shades of grey and black. Zinc blocks were made at either Commercial Art Engravers at Prabhadevi or Ahura Blocks at Hamam Street. The calendar, printed at G. Claridge & Co, was a hit and sold at Rs 3 apiece. In contrast, a copy of Parsiana retailed at Rs 2. The statues were of Sir Hormusjee Cowasjee Adenwalla, Sorabjee Shapoorjee Bangallee, Manockjee Cursetjee, Sir Cowasjee Jehangir, Sir Jamsetjee Jejeebhoy, Sir Pherozeshah Mehta, Sir Dinshaw Mulla, Dr Dadabhai Naoroji, Khan Bahadur Kavasji Petigara, Nusserwanji Maneckji Petit, Jamsetji Tata and Sir Dinshaw Wacha, (all men).
Dinshaw Petit, who prepared gratis the sale agreement for Parsiana from Dr Peshotan Warden to us, noted that we should have carried an image of the first baronet Sir Dinshaw Petit’s statue sequestered in a garden at Bori Bunder close to Victoria Terminus. (We were not aware the statue was there and apologized for the omission.) When we proudly showed the calendar to industrialist Neville Wadia, during an interview that he had reluctantly agreed to, he dismissed the product saying it did not do justice to the subject. But as journalists we took the criticism in our stride, letting neither praise nor indifference go to our heads or our hearts. We accepted that people view things differently and that we could learn from their perspectives. The interview with Wadia went well and he warmed to us eventually.
Over the years, before the advent of social media, we found that many Parsis all over the world had to rely on their relatives or friends to procure for them calendars bearing the Parsi roz dates. So we decided to print in the magazine a calendar with the Shahenshahi, Kadmi and Fasli mahs and rozs.
All subscribers would receive a copy without any additional cost. Also, the 12 pages, one for each month, helped to fill out an issue. We were required to bring out 12 issues a year if we wished to avail of the special postage rates the post office offered to publications registered with the registrar of newspapers (these concessional rates sadly no longer apply to overseas postage). Hence the calendar served a dual purpose and was a win-win solution. Plus, we managed to rope in kindhearted sponsors for the calendar so some of our costs were covered.
This November we decided that as we enter our 61st year we should hark back to 1974 and have a pictorial calendar. We considered carrying photographs from our archives but finally chose to use covers from earlier issues. We matched the images to the month; hence, for January 2025, covers from prior January issues were selected, and so on. One of our favorite and most iconic covers was from August 1973, the first issue published under our management. We had done a story on Parsi divorces whose occurrence we found to be on the high side (from seven to 12% between 1961 and 1971). Our method of calculating the percentage was crude: totaling the number of divorces in a year and dividing the figure by the total number of marriages in that same year and multiplying the figure by 100. We then brazenly issued a press release stating that Parsis had the highest divorce rate in the country. In the days before the internet, and even today, it would be difficult to gauge the divorce rates in communities that are large and geographically distributed. It was an educated guess because divorces were rare in those days and divorcees frowned upon (they are even today often spoken of disparagingly). But divorce is a civilized and legal way out of a bad relationship and we titled the article, "The cultural alternative.” How could we design a cover to indicate broken relationships? Our designer Boatwala took two playing cards depicting a king and a queen of hearts, tore them in half, pasted them and had Padmanabhan sketch the image. At that time we could only afford two-color printing on uncoated paper. Even so, the contrast between the red and the black was striking (see the cover on pg 38).
Is a Parsi marriage a contract or a sacrament? In the article, "The presiding priests,” (see pg 48) Parsiana focuses on the pivotal role priests play in navjotes and weddings. With all the glamor, floral decorations, bridal outfits and sumptuous menus, the role of priests in the ceremonies is often marginalized. But whether the marriage is a contract or sacrament, if the union sours "the trip to the lawyers transforms husband and wife into plaintiff and defendant and involves them in a process almost as lengthy, tiresome and expensive as the wedding itself,” our 1973 article noted.
Over the years, priests, religious ceremonies and fire temples have featured prominently on our covers. Despite all the criticism that Parsiana is radical and reformist, during the past 60 years we have given the religion and traditions their due. It is only because of our harping on basic human rights, gender equality and opposition to casteism that we have been labeled dissenters and nonconformists. We look forward to the day when these decent, compassionate and timely reforms officially become part of our culture and religious traditions as they have in North America and other more progressive centers.
But, despite our differences, our relationship with the clergy has been cordial. Over the years we have sought their guidance regarding our calendar, religious customs, practices and traditions and our Book of Iranian Names. In this issue, the nearly 90-year-young-old Dastur (Dr) Firoze Kotwal has shared his views on priestly participation in weddings and navjotes. It is not easy for someone steeped in tradition to deviate from age-old customs. Perhaps it is in the tug between what we once took for granted and current mores that we may, tagu magu or dagu magu (dodderingly), move forward.