Clocks, cameras, and cards: The story of Taher Suratwala and Calcutta’s Memon community

What began as a discovery of sentimental keepsakes quickly turned into a deep dive into history. These artifacts became powerful windows into the past, illuminating the life of a man shaped by migration, memory, and meticulous preservation. Inspired, Hamid began the painstaking process of cataloguing the collection, eventually contributing parts of it to the Partition Museum.

But this is not only the story of Taher Suratwala — traveller, collector, and beloved grandfather — it’s also the story of the Memon community, and its quiet yet significant role in shaping post-Independence Kolkata.

Roots in Gujarat

According to Hamid, his ancestors migrated from Saudi Arabia to the Indian subcontinent centuries ago. Taher Suratwala was born in 1932 in Sidhpur, a quiet village in Gujarat’s Mehsana district. There, amidst dusty schoolyards and a slow-paced rural life, Suratwala built his world — he studied, married, and raised two daughters — all while nurturing a vision far ahead of his time.

“He wasn’t just more educated than most in Sidhpur, he was progressive; a partner and a father who wanted both his daughters to study, to dream,” says Hamid. While his life in Gujarat offered some stability, Suratwala’s spirit was restless. He began to travel extensively — partly in search of better work, and partly to satisfy an insatiable hunger for the world beyond.

Suratwala’s passports (Source: Ammar Hamid)

As Hamid began travelling himself, his grandfather became his unofficial guide to the globe. “Sip on coconut water in Sri Lanka,” he’d advise. “Buy gold in Iraq. And if you’re in Karachi, don’t miss the Nihari,” he’d add with a knowing smile. But it wasn’t until after Suratwala’s death — and the discovery of a meticulously preserved stack of passports — that Hamid realised just how vast his Nanaji’s journeys had been.

Bombay and Ethiopia

Just two years after India gained independence, Suratwala set out on a journey that would reshape the course of his life. In 1949, still in his late teens, Suratwala arrived in Bombay and joined his half-brother in managing a modest departmental store — a venture that, according to Hamid, would quietly grow into a small fortune.

But business acumen wasn’t Suratwala’s only talent. “He had charm,” Hamid laughs. He recalls stories his grandfather would tell — stories of being impeccably dressed in the Bombay of the 1950s, posing for “sepia-toned” photographs, and earning the attention of British women who remained in the city after colonial rule had ended. “He always laughed when he told those stories, but you could tell he was proud.”

With wealth in hand, Suratwala wasn’t one to stay still. In 1954, at the age of 23, he took another bold leap — this time to Ethiopia, in search of new opportunities. “It was the same time Dhirubhai Ambani was in Ethiopia,” notes Hamid, “I can’t confirm if they ever met — but just imagining that my grandfather was part of that moment in history, it makes me wonder.”

Suratwala spent three years building a life in Africa, immersing himself in a new culture and deepening his understanding of what it meant to be a businessman. But the pull of his family and home was too strong. “He loved his family, immensely.”

In 1957, he returned to Bombay, and by the following year, he had relocated to Calcutta.

Zakaria Street: A new beginning

The move to Calcutta marked a new chapter in Suratwala’s life — this time with his entire family by his side. They settled into a rented apartment on Zakaria Street, a bustling enclave of the Memon community — Muslims of mercantile heritage from Gujarat and Sindh (now in Pakistan). Most residents traced their roots to towns like Sidhpur or Surat in Gujarat, creating a strong sense of shared origin. The Suratwala family’s home was in the Noorbhoy Building, a striking colonial-era structure of red and yellow brickwork that still stands today, and now features prominently in Hamid’s Zakaria Street heritage walks.

Noorbhoy Building (Source: Ammar Hamid)

Suratwala earned his livelihood trading spare machinery parts. His modest shop on Strand Road supported the family for decades, until his retirement in 2005. “It wasn’t glamorous,” Hamid says, “but it was honest, stable work.”

As Hamid began to piece together his grandfather’s legacy, Zakaria Street emerged not merely as a setting, but as a character in its own right — a microcosm of a vibrant, tight-knit diaspora. “If I knew where my Nanaji lived, it was because our entire community was there. Khojas, Sunnis, Memons — they all gravitated toward Zakaria. It became a bastion of our people in Calcutta,” Hamid says.

Through archival research and oral histories, Hamid uncovered a broader story that extended beyond his family and into the collective spirit of the Memon community. “They weren’t just surviving,” he explains. “They were sourcing capital from America, trading in coins and shellac. The Memons in Calcutta were building something remarkable.”

One symbol of this legacy is the Nakhoda Masjid in Chitpur in central Kolkata, which was built in 1925 by a Memon family. The mosque took its name from the Persian word Nakhoda, meaning mariner — a reference to the Malina, or shipmen, a maritime community from Kutch, Gujarat. “These men came by sea, bringing with them a heritage of trade and navigation,” Hamid says. “They weren’t just migrants, they were global traders long before globalisation was a term.”

At the time, Calcutta was a vital node in global trade networks, with tea, opium, and coffee flowing eastward to China. Within this thriving commercial corridor, the Memons found their niche. “It all made sense,” Hamid notes. “With their business acumen and international connections, the Memons laid deep roots here.”

Today, that story continues through Hamid’s efforts — guided heritage walks, personal archives, and carefully curated memories.

The Hajj Pilgrim Pass and life after

Among the many artifacts that captivated Hamid, one stood out: his Nanaji’s Hajj Pilgrim Pass, issued by the Government of India in 1966 for his pilgrimage to Hejaz the following year. Tucked beside it were photographs of Mr and Mrs Suratwala, their names carefully handwritten on the back along with the dates of the journey. The couple had departed from the port of Bombay, embarking on a 40-day voyage by ship — a stark contrast to today’s swift flights to Saudi Arabia.

Hajj Pilgrim Pass (Source: Ammar Hamid)

“That one pass held so much, not just about my grandfather, but about the time he lived in,” Hamid reflects. It listed everything: the documents required, vaccination details, the small amount of money allowed for travel — “just a few dollars, I think,” he recalls, and even the ship berth number.

Printed in English, Urdu, and possibly Bengali — “I’ll have to confirm that,” he says with a smile — it offered a glimpse into a deeply personal journey.

Another story Hamid uncovered speaks to Suratwala’s quiet courage. During the anti-Sikh violence following the assassination of Indira Gandhi in 1984, Suratwala was living in Chandni Chowk, in a diverse neighbourhood of Parsis, Sikhs, and Muslims. As tensions erupted, he offered refuge to Sikh neighbours, providing food and shelter until it was safe for them to leave. “These are the kinds of stories I’m still discovering,” Hamid says. “Pieces of a life that meant so much to so many.”

Suratwala’s Wehrle clock (Source: Ammar Hamid)

After his retirement in 2005, Suratwala lived a peaceful life devoted to his family and engaged with the Muslim community in Calcutta. When he passed away in 2018, he did so quietly, lying on his bed as the morning light filtered in. And in a poetic coincidence, the moment he drew his last breath, his cherished German Wehrle clock struck eight for the last time. Named after Emilian Wehrle, the famed Black Forest clockmaker, the timepiece remains a mystery in itself. “It makes you wonder,” Hamid says, “where he might have found something so rare.”

“While time stopped that morning,” Hamid adds, “I’m trying to wind it back — through heritage walks, Instagram posts, and contributions to the Partition Museum. It’s all a way of telling Nanaji’s story — of keeping his legacy alive.”