Keeping watch on another time

BENGALURU: Sometime, back in 2013, Bengalurean Kiran Natarajan was chatting with a colleague who, knowing Natarajan’s interest in such matters, showed him pictures of some of the curios available for sale at a shop in Mumbai’s Bhendi Bazar. “Among them was a photo of a pocket watch, with the name ‘Marlam and Company’ inscribed on the face,” says Natarajan.

Natarajan is an enthusiast on Bengaluru’s history, but even most enthusiasts on Bengaluru’s history in a city full of them are unlikely to have heard of Marlam and Company. “I remembered it because about 10 years ago, I met an old soldier – a British soldier who had been posted in India – when I visited the UK. We started chatting, and he talked about Bangalore – and he mentioned that Marlam and Company sold watches. So I decided to visit the shop in Bhendi Bazar and see if the watch was still available on sale,” he says.

There’s very little information on Marlam and Company available. There’s an old advertisement, from the 1917 YMCA Soldiers’ Guide to Bangalore, showcasing the firm’s ‘Watch, Eye-glass and Jewellery Repairs’ at ‘Prices to Suit the Soldier’. There’s a small entry on page 44 of the September 10, 1920 edition of The Pioneer Mail and Indian Weekly News, announcing that, “A very successful boxing tournament, organised by Mr Charles Harding with the help of Captain Knight, R. E., was held in the New Theatre, last night, in aid of St. Dunstan’s Home for blind soldiers. ....In distributing the cups, presented by Wrenn Bennett and Company, Spencer and Company, Marlam and Company… Colonel Radcliffe, Commanding the Dorsets, advised every man to learn how to use his fists. He also presented the cups to Privates Badger Price as the best scientific boxer and to Gunner Collis as the best loser”. There’s another advertisement in Thacker’s Indian Directory – the essential almanac to late 19th and early 20th century India – listing Marlam as, “Watch and Clock Makers, Jewellers and Silversmiths, Electroplaters and Gilders, Opticians and Engravers”.

But what is clear is this – they catered to the soldiers who lived in the

Cantonment

, and they did quality work.

Natarajan’s watch is about 2.5 to 3 inches in diameter – and the fine crosshatching on the back testifies to the watchmakers’ skill as silversmiths. “It’s quite heavy – it’s silver and porcelain. The shopkeeper initially planned to sell it for around USD 300 – about Rs 19,000 at the time – but I was able to bargain and get the watch for about Rs 13,000,” says Natarajan. “Most importantly, it still works,” he adds.

It’s impossible to look at the watch and not wonder about its history, to want a Sherlock Holmes on hand to decipher its mysteries. When was it made? Who made it? Was it an Indian workman? Was it an Englishman? Who bought it? Was it a soldier? Was it a grunt’s extravagance or an officer’s utility? Or was it a rich Indian? How many watches did the owner examine before deciding on this one? Or was it sold in a closing of business sale? How did it make its way to the shop in Bhendi Bazar? Was it sold by a soldier before his final departure to Blighty. Was it pawned to raise money for another drink? Was it stolen? Unfortunately, there are no answers.

The Bangalore of Marlam and Company is long gone. This was the city where you went in to smoke cigars and have a drink with friends at the Billiard Room of Hill’s News Agency and Music Depot, bought silks and carpets at A Lavender and Co, bought medicines at The Royal Dispensary and your wines at B Sreeramulu Chetty and Sons on Commercial Street. And maybe they deserved to go – time, technology, politics – all take their turn. But some part of it remains – in the personal collections of people like Natarajan. “We’re hoping we can collect enough material to start a museum showcasing

old Bangalore

,” he says. And maybe, there, all those Bangalores can still exist in Bengaluru, still ticking after all these years.