This beauty came my way a couple of days back. 1948, First Edition, Printed in Great Britain.
Pelican Books, a non-fiction imprint of Penguin Books, was founded by Allen Lane and V. K. Krishna Menon. Does the second name ring bells! Yes, the very same Krishna Menon who was an important figure in the Indian independence struggle and who was the first Union Home Minister of Independent India. Krishna Menon served as the founding editor of Pelican between 1936 to 1938 . To begin with Pelican published inexpensive paperbacks of academic nature intended to reach a wider audience of ‘intellectuals’. The imprint stopped publication in 1984 and was relaunched in April 2014.Since its discontinuation in 1984, Pelican original books have continued to be collected worldwide and prized for their iconic bright blue covers (three bands) and the Pelican bird colophon.Until the introduction of the ISBN, the series used an “A” prefix on the spines and on the front cover under the title of the book (see this cover with the number A 178). In the Pelican Main Series 500 books were published between 1937 and 1984. These were numbered A1 to A500. The first title in the Pelican A series was The Intelligent Woman’s Guide to Socialism and Capitalism by Bernard Shaw which was followed by The Intelligent Woman’s Guide to Socialism, Capitalism, Sovietism and Fascism, Volume 1 and 2 with the author’s name as George Bernard Shaw. From 1938 to 1940, a few books were published in the series Penguin Specials (thus given numbers starting with ‘S’). These were given blue covers and labelled as Pelican Specials. The first was Arnold Haskell, Ballet (S5, July 1938; in 1945 reissued as a Pelican, A122). Some of the Pelican First Editions are listed under the category of ‘Rare Books’. In its prime an edition of 50,000 (fifty thousand) was the norm for Pelican paperbacks and would often go for a reprint of the same quantity in less than six months (marketing executives and publicists of 21st century please read this again). In 1940 a book on town planning sold 2,50,000 copies (a quarter-of-a-million copies). Originally this copy was priced at 8d (80 cents), it was sold in India for 6 Annas, as stamped on the cover. Other than the partially taped cover its overall condition is good.
He loved bicycles. From Perrymason to Imperial to Atlas he had them all during his working life. He would buy a new bike every year or year-and-a-half, exchanging the old one in Karol Bagh market. He kept and maintained the cycle like a sacred object handling it gently, caressing its handle & the seat, and, looking at it the way one looks at a beloved.
The bicycle was his favourite mode of transport. He enjoyed pedaling and found it way better than boarding a crowded bus. He looked at cars and scooters with envy but knew he couldn’t afford either. With his job and the hard times there was never enough money. And, for any reason if he couldn’t take his cycle he preferred to walk – walk even long distances. Once in a while he took a tonga ride – all by himself – with no other passenger in the tonga. I remember they had a term for it – ‘Saalem Tanga’ they called it. This was one privilege he didn’t deny himself, sitting on the rear seat, bouncing sideways with each trot of the horse and puffing on a cigarette he would look around inspecting the roadside as if it was his estate. On such occasions he would wear his stetson and shades.
My childhood, especially Sundays, holidays and summer or winter vacations revolved around his bicycle. Planning, calculating and scheming each day how to surreptitiously get its key, unlock it without making a sound and go galavanting around the locality. I wanted to feel like him, in control, independent. I learnt to ride a bike on bicycles borrowed from friends whose fathers or older brothers were liberal with sharing their machines and not worried two hoots if we fell off, hurt ourselves or damaged the cycle. At home we lived under this constant paranoia of getting killed in a road accident if we ever took to riding.
On the road with the handlebar of his cycle in his control he felt free, not dependent and in command. Each day testing his legs and knees pushing up the inclines and covering the bumpy ditches of Delhi roads. Rolling down a descent or a hillock around Sarai Rohilla and Anand Parbat he would take his feet off the paddles, spread his legs in the air and shout to the skies as if teasing them for all the fun he was having. While on a bicycle he tied the ends of his pants with steel clips clamped around his shin. One can’t find those shiny spring-steel ones any more. These days you get the ugly ones with velcro or elastic band like contraptions. Riding close to the walking millions he would feel empowered by the machine which helped him cover long distances easily. He would race with other riders, hand carts, rickshaws and horse drawn tongas almost always riding past them.
Our neigbhours and his co-workers admired his bicycle. The gleaming black frame, the shining chrome handlebars and wheel rims, grey saddle with fine leather trims which was covered by an embroidered or a crocheted cover done by Ma. Effortless wheel and chain movement without any cranking noise; smooth brakes, a musical bell and the dynamo-fed front and back lights added to the glory. The cane basket in front was woven with coloufully strands of jute which securely held his lunch box and a small towel. He even had a license and a badge with some number for his cycle.
I had learnt the word “deep-cleaning” long before the world knew it. The job of cleaning the bike was assigned to me albeit without any remuneration. To the world he was a labour leader managing unionised workmen, at home he exploited his son. My job started with dusting and wiping the bike with a brushed-cotton cloth. Ah, I still remember the feel of that cloth. The second round was to be done with a wet sponge followed by wiping with another fine cotton cloth – Malmal they called it – which is not to be found anywhere now. The last round included oiling the brakes, the front and rear wheel hubs, applying grease to the chain and the sprocket and lastly with a large screwdriver tightening any loose levers especially that of the brakes.
I was allowed the liberty to sit on the carrier, paddle as fast as I could and then hold the tip of a cloth close to the speeding rim so it would shine. I or for that matter my siblings were not allowed to ride the bike or take it on a furlough. It was strictly prohibited and when found to be contravening his orders we were punished with a cane. From Ramesh Nagar to Karol Bagh to Asaf Ali Road and back, he would cover more than 34 kilometers each day without ever grudging it. In between he took me for rides between our house to our buas or Nani’s place. I would sit on the top tube of the triangle with my long legs bending forward and the feet touching the down tube. My mom didn’t like riding the bike with her mortal fear of falling off the carrier or him leaving her behind.
During years of biking he had mastered the art of ‘slow cycling’. It was a practice by which you could nearly freeze the cycle upright with your feet still on the paddles and push it just enough, by a centimeter or so, so as to keep it balanced and not let the cycle fall or let your feet touch the ground. It was a game that I also mastered later in my life together with playing cycle ball. In cycle ball two teams have to chase a ball, just like football, hit the ball with the front or rear wheel and carry it to a post to pot a goal, just like in football. It is great fun but needs a lot of bike balance and control.
And then one day while riding back home passing through an unlit dark patch on Old Rohtak Road he was hit by a small tempo-truck. Fortunately, the vehicle only brushed past him, he fell and hurt his knees and elbows. The tempo driver helped him get up and carted him and the bike home. That was the end of his cycling days. Ma put her foot down and simply overruled his arguments. That was a sad day in his life and ours.
I never saw another bicycle at home after that. I was in Class 9 and needed the bike all the more to go to school, to help Ma carry the flour from the mill in our market, to have fun and race with friends in the neighbourhood, but no – that accident came as an end to our vehicular sojourn. Oh, how much I miss him and his bicycle.
Dad, had you been around I would have bought us the best bike available. You get these fancy one these days with gears and bent down handles of the racing kind. We would have gone riding together Dad. Miss you and the bicycle.
– picture for representational purpose, not his bike. (18 June 2023)
Yesterday evening, 17 June, friends of Zamir got together to remember and paid homage to their dear friend, philosopher and guide Mr Zamir Ansari. The event was held at the Jor Bagh residence of Om Arora of Variety Book Store. True to the spirit of Zamir and what he would have loved, it was a celebratory event with about thirty odd women and men recalling pleasant times spent with the gem of a man. Those gathered had been Zamir saheb’s colleagues and friends over the last 40 years. Authors, publishers, distributors, booksellers and even book lovers were present. You will be glad to know that we raised a toast to Zamir Ansari and each one of us signed a book remembering him. I am sure he would be at peace wherever he is. ‘Mr Zamir Ansari was my hero’, I said.
Some of those present included, Hemali Sodhi, Ananth Padmanabhan, Varun Choudhary, Indu Chandrashekhar, Bikram Grewal, Vikran Seth, Om Arora, Anuj Bahri, Urvashi Butalia, Sukumar, Vinod, Reema Zaheer, Ravi Singh, Manas Saikia, Ravi, Kartikey, Asha (from Paragon) besides other well-wishers.
Who can forget “The Scent of a Woman” and “The Godfather”! Almost the real Godfather, our darling Sunny – Al Pacino, 83, is a proud dad once again for the 4th time (officially). Congratulations Poppsy, wish me luck.
Working on the stage since 1977 Pacino is one of the greatest and most influential actors of the 20th century, having received numerous accolades, including the Academy Award. Born 25 April 1940 (my birthday) in East Harlem, Pacino is the only child of his Sicilian Italian-American parents.
PTI reports; Hollywood veteran Al Pacino and his producer girlfriend Noor Alfallah have become parents to a baby boy. The 83-year-old actor’s representative confirmed the news to People magazine, revealing that the couple have named their son Roman Pacino.
It was in May when the news came that 29-year-old Alfallah, a film producer, was eight months pregnant. Alfallah has been linked to Pacino since April 2022. They first sparked romance rumours after they were photographed grabbing dinner together.
Pacino shares daughter Julie Marie, 33 with his former girlfriend, acting coach Jan Tarrant. He also is a father to 22-year-old twins Anton and Olivia with ex Beverly D’Angelo, whom he dated from 1997 to 2003.
Pacino’s “The Godfather” and “Heat” co-star Robert de Niro welcomed his seventh child last month at the age of 79 with girlfriend Tiffany Chen.
Wishing you many more offspring dear Sunny. May you live healthy and happy.
Ankahi. Unsaid. 
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