“I do not mix writing with my life,” novelist B.M. Suhara said at the fourth ‘My Writing, My Life’ programme organised by the Calicut Public Library to facilitate interaction of the public with Malayalam writers here on Wednesday.
“Life is enclosed by physical spaces, family and human relationships but writing is my door to an outside world,” she said.
Born in a conservative Muslim household at Thikkodi in Kozhikode district, Suhara’s family was a bit too restrictive but she read a lot and grew up adoring writers.
“It was my dream to do something with my life, but when the dream took the form of words, my mother was scared,” said Suhara.
Marriage to literary critic M.M. Basheer while pursuing her graduation took her to Thiruvananthapuram and out of her rural confines but the trepidation of stepping into the public sphere, ensured she would not take up a job. Motherhood followed, and the next years of her life was occupied in raising her children.
“My husband had a good collection of books and I read world classics and novels translated from other Indian languages,” Suhara said. “When my children grew up and went pursuing their dreams, a vacuum crept in and I could no more ignore the urge to write.”
Suhara began work on her first novel, Kinavu, but the process took five years. “I constantly wrote, rewrote and reworded to give final shape to the novel.” But a crisis of confidence emerged until her husband convinced her that the work could not be left unpublished.
Like several writers, the transition from the first to second novel was difficult for Suhara too and she decided her store of writing ideas had run dry. Dr. Basheer stepped in again and to provoke or inspire her said, “anybody can write one novel,” Vanitha had then approached her to write a serialized novel and thus Mozhi was born.
Suhara’s most noted work, Aaakashabhoomikalude Thakkol was her critique of polygamy in the Muslim community. The novel dealt with the lives of three Muslim women from different economic classes in society, married to the same man.
Nizhal, her fourth novel was an attempt to step outside the realm of familiar surroundings. The story was set in Thiruvananthapuram, with the characters speaking in the colloquial Trivandrum dialect.
Delving into the writing effort Suhara said, “I write in the daytime after my household chores are done. I get sick if I shun sleep and write at night.”
“Nowadays I feel that without writing, I cannot have a life ahead. The belief that I have more works to offer, fuels my journey ahead.”
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> National> Kerala / by Jiby Kattakayam / October 02nd, 2009
Kaser Kalan (Bulandshahr District) , UTTAR PRADESH :
Retired postman Faizul Hassan Qadri walks out out the monument he is building for his late wife, Tajammuli, in the town Kaser Kalan in India’s Uttar Pradesh on Nov. 27, 2014. (AP Photo/Bernat Armangue)
With 80 years of wrinkles and a beard that has long turned white, Faizul Hassan Qadri has been working away his golden days on what he calls a labor of love — a grave for his wife, his “begum.”
For years, the retired postmaster has been building a monument reminiscent of India’s ancient shrines outside his home in Kaser Kalan, a village in India’s Uttar Pradesh, pausing from time to time when he runs out of money for materials. He has sold farmland and his wife’s finest jewelry to get enough rupees to finish the job, according to the Hindustan Times . But it’s a promise he made to his wife, Tajammuli, who died from throat cancer in 2011.
Tajammuli had asked him who would remember her when she died.
“I will build a tomb that everybody will remember,” he replied.
The tomb has become known as a “mini Taj Mahal” and Qadri as a common man’s Shah Jahan, the Mughal emperor who built the original at Agra during the 17th century for his Persian empress, Mumtaz Mahal.
Visitors from all over have traveled to see Qadri’s mausoleum that sits on 5,000 square feet of ground in his garden, Press TV reported. “I traveled almost [15 miles] with my friends just to get a glimpse of this structure,” Pahasu resident Zakir Ali told Hindustan Times . “The efforts put in by him is really commendable.”
Qadri and Tajammuli married as teens in 1953, according to the newspaper.
“We were just a normal couple,” he told the Associated Press last year.
Since Tajammuli’s death, Qadri has dedicated himself to preserving her memory. He said he designed her tomb on his own but got help with the construction from a local mason who “prepared the dome and constructed the four ‘minars’ around the central building, which is a little more than 27-feet in height,” he recently told the Hindustan Times. “The structure is built on my own land and I have also tried to plant some trees around it and have a small water body at the back side of the building.”
But construction has been touch-and-go, coming to a halt last year.
“Initially, I sold a piece of land for Rs 6 lakh [about 600,000 rupees or $9,000] and my wife’s gold and silver jewelry for Rs 1.5 lakh and got the ‘makbara’ [mausoleum] constructed with the help of a local mason named Asgar,” he recently told the Hindustan Times. “A total of Rs 11 lakh was spent, but now I have to get marble studded on the monument and also to build a lush green park around it, both of which is likely to cost me another Rs 6-7 lakh.”
Many, including the state’s chief minister, have offered him help but he won’t accept.
“The chief minister wants to meet Qadri to appreciate his efforts and to offer some financial help so that he can complete his unfinished building,” additional district magistrate Vishal Singh told the Hindustan Times.
“It is a proof of love,” Qadri told the Associated Press last year. “I have to do it on my own.”
He wants to finish the tomb before he dies, he said, and then he wants to be buried in it too.
“I have told my brother to bury me here by the side of my wife,” he told the Hindustan Times . “Everything that comes has to go away some day. My wife is dead. I will also die some day. The monument too might not stand forever. I just wish to see it complete before I die.”
source: http://www.washingtonpost.com / The Washington Post / Home> Sections> Modern Mix / by Lindsey Bever / August 21st, 2015
Music composer AH Kaashif chats about his upcoming film Kaatrin Mozhi
Music has always been part of AH Kaashif, who says he was forced to learn the art form at the age of four. What initially started as entertainment later developed into passion. “I was seriously into music during Class IX. I decided that music would be my career. I completed a course in sound engineering, after which, I started interning with my uncle,” says AH Kaashif.
Not many know that Kaashif is related to AR Rahman. “It wasn’t brand ‘Rahman’ that landed me an opportunity in films. If I’m here today, it’s because of my work,” he says rather proudly. Kaashif took a detour from music to enjoy school life. But even in school, he participated in most cultural programmes. Kaashif dropped out of college since he felt it wasn’t the “right place” for him. “That’s when I began to do mainstream work for my uncle. I started working on background scores,” he says.
Kaashif worked as a music producer for AR Rahman and has contributed to the background score and songs in films like Mersal and Beyond the Clouds. His most recent work, apart from Kaatrin Mozhi, is the Vijay-starrer Sarkar.
Despite the Rahman factor, Kaashif quickly admits that he’s a big admirer of music composer Yuvan Shankar Raja. “Obviously, Rahman is my mentor, guru and everything. But in Tamil, one composer who really inspired me a lot during childhood is Yuvan Shankar Raja. He was the one who redefined electronic music. Of course, my uncle brought it in here, but Yuvan based his entire career on electronic music. Everybody knows I’m a big Yuvan fan.”
Kaashif has been releasing independent albums through social media. It was the song ‘Kadhal’ that fetched him an offer to compose for the Jyotika-starrer Kaatrin Mozhi, which is a remake of the Hindi film Tumhari Sulu.
“The producer was very impressed with my work. I met Radha Mohan later and he asked me to compose a few sample tunes. The whole process took about three months,” he says. He hasn’t watched the original version yet.
Kaashif believes there’s good scope for independent music in Tamil. However, he clarifies that it’s all about channelising and packaging stuff. “The scope of independent music is always there. For instance, Sony did an independent thing, which worked big time. When you have a brand representing you to promote your stuff, then it’ll definitely work out. But in my case, there wasn’t any brand backing me. When I put out my music, people got to know about this. In a way, everything happened in a very organic manner,” he explains, “Having a brand might ease the process. But at the end of the day, it’s about content.”
The songs ‘Kelambitale Vijayalakshmi’ and ‘Dirty Pondati’ seem to have become a rage on the Internet. Kaashif says that the former is the central theme of Kaatrin Mozhi that resonates with Jyotika’s on and off-screen persona. The composer is relatively young to process a situation like say, the romance between husband and wife. How does he manage to convert this little piece of briefing into a soulful number like the song ‘Po Urave’? “I really don’t know. In fact, it was the easiest song for me. Once the director explains the situation, I keep running it in my head. And then, I sit for composition and the tune begins to flow,” he adds.
Kaashif has signed the forthcoming Malayalam film Pathinettam Padi, directed by Shankar Ramakrishnan. He has been getting a couple of offers in Tamil as well.
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Entertainment> Music / by Srivatsan S / November 08th, 2018
Abdul Gafur Khatri at work at his residence in Nirona village, Kutch | Photo Credit: Vijay Soneji
The Khatris have practised the art for eight generations now
Sitting on the floor, Abdul Hamid carefully twists a thick spool of yellow paint around a metal pin. Stretched out before him is a piece of red cloth, pinned on either side to the legs of his trousers. He dabs the paint on the heel of his left palm — it’s a gummy mass and has to be worked into something more malleable. Hamid then brings the tip of the pin a few inches above the cloth, and as it hovers, an elastic strand of colour streams on to the surface. And the magic begins: an intricate pattern grows beneath the swirling pin that never touches the cloth. The floral design looks like needlework.
Hamid then folds the cloth and, just like that, a flawless mirror-image of the pattern appears and an exquisite piece of Rogan art is born.
“We have practised Rogan for eight generations now,” says Hamid. “The first six generations did not get their due for preserving the art, but now, finally it is widely recognised and we couldn’t be happier.”
‘Rogan’ in Persian means oil: the paint is made with castor oil. Rogan art is believed to have originated in Persia some 300 years ago and was traditionally used to embellish bridal trousseaus. As it crossed borders, it began fading from the collective memory of its creators. But nine members of the Khatri family in Nirona, a small village in Gujarat’s Kutch district, are the last surviving custodians of the art form.
The Khatri community once did Rogan work on the clothes of local animal herders and farming communities. But as machine-made textiles became a more affordable alternative and Khatri youth lost interest in learning the art, Rogan began to disappear. “But our family revived it in 1985,” says Hamid. In fact it is Hamid’s elder cousin, Abdul Gafur Khatri, a national award winner, who is credited with resurgence of Rogan art.
P.M.’s pick
The ‘Tree of Life’, an intricately patterned tree with hundreds of dots and dashes, is their signature painting and most in demand. A 14×17” painting can take 12 days to complete— Prime Minister Narendra Modi chose one to gift to the then U.S. President Barack Obama during his U.S. visit.
“Rogan art is 100% an artist’s imagination on a piece of cloth,” Gafur bhai, as he is better known, explains. “There is no tracing, no drawings to refer to.”
But preparing the base from castor oil is a laborious process and can take two days. The oil is heated and cooled in a (special) vessel and continuously stirred so it doesn’t burn. After two days, the residue left behind is mixed with cold water and it thickens into a sticky paste called rogan. Natural colour pigments are then added to the oil base. “Yellow, for instance, comes from a particular stone that is ground,” says Hamid. The pigments are added to the castor oil base and stored in earthen pots.
Wall pieces made by Abdul Gafur Khatri in Nirona village, Kutch | Photo Credit: Vijay Soneji
The nine artists have six national awards and six State awards between them. They proudly show me photographs of celebrities — politicians, film stars, sports stars — who have either bought their art work or felicitated them at awards functions.
Men last longer
It strikes me as odd that all nine members of the family working on the art form are men. This could perhaps do with the belief that women, once they get married, would pass on their knowledge to their husband’s families, threatening the art with dilution. But as Rogan faces extinction, Gafur bhai, has taken upon himself the task of teaching the technique to 200 girls from his village. And this has breathed fresh life into the dying art.
“We taught most of these girls for free. They can now create at least the basic designs,” Gafur bhai says, adding that 25 girls also help the family with their work. In another effort to popularise Rogan, the family conducts live demonstrations for every visitor at their doorstep. During the 30-minute demonstration, artists patiently answer questions and explain the techniques they use. On an average, the family gets 150 visitors a day. And between November and February, during the Rann Utsav — the Kutch desert festival — the numbers shoot up to 250 or 300.
No tough competition
Unlike other forms of textile art such as Ajrakh that face are under threat by factory-made products, Rogan faces no such competition, but meeting market demand has been a challenge.
“You will not find Rogan art the way you find other arts in the markets. It’s not because we don’t want it to go out to the people, it’s because we have limited resources,” says Gafur bhai. We go to five or six exhibitions around the country in a year, and rest of the time we are at home, working.”
It has been a long journey for the Khatri family: from reviving the art to creating public interest to recovering from the Bhuj earthquake setback. But today, they are only seeing a huge resurgence of interest.
The writer is an independent journalist based in Gujarat. When not researching her stories, she is busy spinning tales for her toddler.
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Society – Rubric / by Azera Parveen Rehman / January 20th, 2018
An intense curiosity led me to research on the life of the dynasty after the British took over Delhi on September 14, 1857.
We read and commemorate the heroes who gave their lives in the first war of Indian Independence, every year on their death anniversaries. But spare a thought for those who lived and lived a life worse than death.
Ahmed Ali in his book Twilight in Delhi describes the Delhi Darbar held in 1911 to celebrate the coronation of King George V a few months earlier.
The British Emperor and his wife Queen Mary left the Red Fort, as the Qila-e-Mubarak, was called by the British in a state procession. Almost every prince and ruler and notable attended it and presented tribute to King George V.
In the background as this princely convoy is moving a beggar known as Bahadur Shah is dragging himself on useless legs, begging on the streets of Shahjahanabad.
Who was this beggar? Why was he named Bahadur Shah?
An intense curiosity led me to research on the life of the Mughals after the fall of Delhi into the hands of the British on September 14, 1857.
Though hardly any English book bar Ahmed Ali’s describes the remaining Mughals, Urdu books of late 19th and early 20th century are full of it.
Ghalib himself describes it in two of his works, Dastanbu and the other is Roznamcha-e-Ghadar. Even though Ghalib was not critical of the British and hoped for their patronage and a pension, he still portrays the desolation of Shahjahanabad.
The major description of the plight of the innocents is found in Khwaja Hasan Nizami’s Begmaat ke Aansu, Zahir Dehalvi’s Dastan-e-Ghadar, Mirza Ahmad Akhtar’s Sawaneh Dehli, Syed Wazir Hasan Dehlvi’s Dilli ka Aakhiri Deedar and from Fughan-e-Dehli or the dirges written by many Urdu poets on the condition of royals left in Delhi.
The prince found begging on the streets of Delhi in 1911 finds mention in Khwaja Hasan Nizami’s (1873 – July 31, 1955) Begmaat ke Aansoo. His name was Mirza Nasir-ul Mulk and after escaping the British wrath in the immediate aftermath of the Uprising he had taken up employment along with his sister in a merchant’s house in Shahjahanabad.
The last Mughal emperor, Bahadur Shah Zafar. (Photo credit: Google)
Later when the British government fixed a pension of Rs5/pm for the Mughal prince and princesses he had stopped working. Soon the pension was squandered away and he was in debt.
After a few years later a peer baba, who looked as if he was from the Timurid-Chengezi lineage used to drag himself around Chitli Qabr and Kamra Bangash area. His legs had been struck by paralysis. He had a bag tied around his neck and he would look at passersby mutely to ask for help. Those who knew who he was would throw in a few coins in his bag.
Someone asked who he was and was told that his name is Mirza Nasir-ul-Mulk and he is the grandson of Bahadur Shah.
Another prince, son of Bahadur Shah Zafar’s daughter Quraishia Begum was also begging on the streets of Shahjahanabad.
Known once as Sahib-e-Alam Mirza Qamar Sultan Bahadur, after the British took control of Delhi he was reduced to begging.
He would come out only at nights as he felt ashamed and embarrassed to be begging on the roads where people bent low to salute him when he rode in the streets.
Mirza Qamar Sultan asked for alms with an aristocratic air. He doesn’t address anyone just cried out, “Ya Allah please get me enough that I can buy provisions for myself.”
Khwaja Hasan Nizami wrote innumerable books on the events of 1857, all based on eyewitness accounts of survivors. One story which I found particularly moving was the story of the daughters of Mirza Kavaish who had been appointed the Heir Apparent of Bahadur Shah Zafar by the British overturning the claims of Mirza Jawan Bakht, the son of Bahadur Shah Zafar’s favourite wife Begum Zeenat Mahal.
In Begmaat ke Aansoo, Khwaja Hasan Nizami has described the story, which he heard from the princess herself.
Her name was Sultan Bano and she was the daughter of Mirza Kavaish Bahadur. When she met Khwaja Hasan Nizami she was 66-years-old but still remembered everything vividly. He recorded it in Begmaat ke Aansoo as Shahzadi ki Bipta.
She tells her story to Khwaja Hasan Nizami:
Although the ghadar took place 50 years ago I still remember it as clearly as if it was yesterday. I was 16-years-old then. I was two years younger than my brother Mirza Yavar Shah and six years older than my sister Naaz Bano, who died.
My name is Sultan Bano. My father Mirza Kavaish Bahadur (he was appointed the Crown Prince by the British in 1856, over the claims of Zeenat Mahal’s son Mirza Jawan Bakht). He was a favorite and able son of Hazrat Bahadur Shah.
We sisters were very fond of our brother Yawar Shah and it was reciprocated fully.
Aqa Bhai had a whole range of tutors who taught him every range of subject and various arts. He had expert calligraphers, Arabic and Persian scholars and ace archers teaching him.
We learnt embroidery, stitching and other household arts from Mughlanis.
The children that Huzur-e-Wala was very fond of would partake breakfast with him every morning. Zill-e-Subhani was very fond of me and I was always called for breakfast with him.
We didn’t observe purdah then or now. Strangers would come and go from the zenana mahal without a problem. But I was shy and I always kept my head covered and didn’t like coming in front of strange men. But I had to obey the orders of the Huzur, even though various male cousins also came there.
The saving grace for me was that because they were in the presence of the Emperor they all kept their gaze lowered. No one could look up or speak out of turn.
As per custom, Huzur-e-Moalla would offer a morsel from some special dish to a few of his children, that person whether young or old, male or female, would get up from their seat and go close to him and present three salams by bending from the waist.
Shahjahanabad, Old Delhi. (Photo credit: Wikimedia Commons)
One day I was called and Huzur gave me a portion of a special Irani dish that had been mde that day. He said, “Sultana, you only peck at your food. It’s good to be respectful but you should not go to the extent that you get up hungry from the dastarkhwan.”
I presented three salams to him but only I know how I went there and came back. I was quaking and tripping over my feet.
Alas! Where did those happy days go? What happened to that era?
We would be roaming about in our palaces without a concern. Zill-e-Subhani’s shadow was on our head and we were addressed as Malika-e-Alam. Such are the ups and downs of life.
I remember the day clearly when Huzur-e-Moalla was arrested in Humayun’s maqbara and a gora shot my Chachajaan Mirza Abu Bakr Bahadur then Mirza Sohrab ran towards him with a naked sword. But he was shot by another gora and he fell down with an aah on chahchajaan’s corpse and died. I was standing there, still as a statue watching it mutely.
A khwaja Sara came and said, “Begum why are you standing here? Your Abbajaan is calling you.”
In a state of stupor I followed him.
Near the river gate, my father, Mirza Kavaish Bahadur was seated on a horse, bare headed and anxious. Abbajan’s hair was covered in dust and straw. He started crying when he saw me and said, “Farewell Sultana, I too am leaving. The light of my life, my young son, who I wanted to see with a sehra of pearls and flowers hiding his face in his wedding, was killed in front of my eyes by a Sikh soldier. ” I screamed loudly and started calling out, “O my brother Yawar.”
He dismounted and pacified naaz Bano and me and said, “Beti, now the goras are looking for me. I don’t know how much longer I can escape them or how much longer I have before my life is snuffed out. You are Masha Allah young and sensible pacify your younger sister and place your trust in God and be patient.
“I don’t know what will happen to either of us. I don’t want to leave you both alone but one day or the other you will be orphaned. Naaz Bano is a child, look after her and live a righteous life.
“Naaz Bano you are no longer a princess don’t throw tantrums or make demands. Just give thanks to Allah and eat whatever you can get. If someone is eating, don’t look at them or people will say Princesses are very greedy.”
He put us in charge of the Khwaja Sara and said, “Take them to where the other members of our family have gone.”
He embraced us and spurred his horse into the jungle. That was the last we saw of him and have no idea what happened to him after that. The Khwaja Sara was an old servant of our family and he set of with us. Naaz Bano walked for a little while but she had never walked in her pampered and protected life and soon her legs gave way.
She started crying. I had never walked much myself but somehow I managed and pulling Bano along stumbled my way through the streets where we once rode elephants in state processions.
A thorn pricked Naaz Bano’s foot and she fell down crying. I picked her up and tried to remove the thorn. The accursed Khwaja Sara kept watching, making no effort to help. He started pushing us to hurry up.
Naaz said, “Apajan I can’t walk anymore. Please ask the steward to send a palanquin for us.”
I started pacifying her through my tears. My heart felt as if it would burst with sorrow.
The Khwaja Sara said rudely, “That’s enough. Make a move now.”
Naaz Bano was high-spirited and was used to obeisance from servants and would always keep them in their place. She scolded the Khwaja Sara. The accursed man flew into a rage and slapped the poor orphaned princess.
Bano trembled with shock. No one had ever laid a hand on her. Even I started crying along with her. The Khwaja Sara walked off leaving the two of us crying there.
Somehow the two of us stumbled our way to the dargah of Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya rahmatallah alaihe.
Thousands of people from Delhi and our family had taken refuge here. Each was caught up in their own troubles and fears. No one was talking to the other or enquiring after them.
A wave of epidemic diseases, which spread in the wake of the ghadar, claimed my sister’s life.
I was now all-alone.
Though peace returned to Delhi, there was no peace for me.
The British govt fixed a pension of Rs 5/pm for all of us and I still get that.
source: http://www.dailyo.in / DailyO.in / Home> Art & Culture / by Rana Safvi / November 18th, 2016
Bashir said in the next 15 years, Sub-Saharan Africa is poised for major education growth with the governments’ policy to form two million classrooms with two million teachers.
Thiruvananthapuram :
Africa is going to witness a major boom in primary and secondary education in the years to come, Sajitha Bashir, practice manager for education at the World Bank, told Express.
Bashir said in the next 15 years, Sub-Saharan Africa is poised for major education growth with the governments’ policy to form two million classrooms with two million teachers. Sajitha, vice-chairperson of the Vakkom Moulavi Foundation and closely related to the visionary, said she has been travelling across Africa and studying the progress achieved by countries in the Sub-Saharan regions in education as a senior World Bank official.
The World Bank team is into the design of the projects, monitoring, accountability, impact and financial implications. Bashir, an alumnus of the London School Of Economics, said there is a lot of improvement in the 48 African countries she is looking after, including Ethiopia, Sudan, Kenya, Rwanda and Tanzania. She said after the intervention of the World Bank, children have entered the system in Africa and this is a major development.
However, she said while children in South Africa, Zimbabwe, Kenya, Mauritius, Ghana and Botswana perform extremely well, children of countries like Nigeria, Ethiopia, Republic of Congo and Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) are very poor in learning.
She also said the performance of children in international-level tests is bad and most children in several African countries are not even able to read a paragraph properly. The World Bank official also said the bank is even financing the production and distribution of school textbooks in African countries. Interestingly Dr Bashir said, “The high population rate is another factor creating a hindrance to the educational progress in these African countries and the fertility rate is 4 to 5 per cent which means a woman bears 4 or 5 children and this is a big challenge.”
source: http://www.newindianexpress.com / The New Indian Express / Home> Cities> Thiruvananthapuram / by Arun Lakshman / Express News Service / November 05th, 2018
Begum Hamida Habibullah (1916-2018): Leader and enabler of women’s education in an eventful age
Born in 1916, she led a life and played a role that were not only unusual but also a testament to the times that made it possible.
Begum Hamida Habibullah
Begum Hamida Habibullah, who would have been 102 years old next November, died in Lucknow Tuesday. A woman with an unusual profile in an eventful period, she was a leading political figure and an enabler of education for women. Born in 1916, she led a life and played a role that were not only unusual but also a testament to the times that made it possible.
The daughter of Nawab Nazir Yar Jung Bahadur, once acting Chief Justice of Hyderabad High Court, Begum Hamida spent her childhood and early years in Hyderabad. A gold medallist from Osmania University, she also did a two-year teachers’ training course from Whitelands College (Putney), London.
Her marriage and work took her to Uttar Pradesh where she was among the founders of the Self Employed Women’s Association (SEWA); she worked hard to get it through the early years, long before it became a well-established brand.
She was married to Major General Enaith Habibullah, who fought in World War II, including in the battle of El Alamein in North Africa, and was also the founder commandant of the National Defence Academy, Khadakwasla.
Begum Hamida’s active political career began after her husband retired in 1965, when she was elected as an MLA from Haidergarh (Barabanki). She was minister for social and Harijan welfare, national integration and civil defence during 1971-73, and tourism minister during 1971-74.
These were times when the Uttar Pradesh Congress was among the most powerful committees in the country, and Begum Hamida served as a member, executive committee, of the UPCC until 1980. She was also elected to the All India Congress Committee from 1969. She headed the Mahila Congress in UP during 1972-76. Later, she went on to become a Rajya Sabha member from 1976 until 1982.
Furthering women’s education in the region is what is recognised as her true calling. She was the president of the Avadh Girls’ Degree College (AGDC), Lucknow’s first English degree college for girls, from 1975. She was also president, from 1975, of Talimgah-E-Niswan College, an institution of 3,500 catering to the education of Muslim girls and founded by her mother- in- law, the late Begum Inam Habibullah.
Her grand-nephew, writer Omair Ahmed, recalls how she represented an era when the Indian subcontinent was in the throes of the anti-colonial struggle but one could drive from “the military base in Rawalpindi to Srinagar”, where her husband was posted.
Omair Ahmed remembers how Begum Hamida casually mentioned the “beautiful drives” from Rawalpindi to Srinagar that she and “Bubbles” went on. “The ‘Bubbles’ she was referring to was her husband, Major General Enaith Habibullah. He was given the nickname because Habibullah sounds a bit like ‘hubble bubble’, the British slang for a hookah.”
Begum Hamida’s son, Wajahat Habibullah, is a former bureaucrat who served in Rajiv Gandhi’s PMO and retired as India’s Chief Information Commissioner.
source: http://www.indianexpress.com / The Indian Express / Home> India / by Seema Chisti, New Delhi / March 14th, 2018
She was the first girl of this border village to finish school when other girls did not even get schooling; and she became the first woman to get a government job here
Rahima Begum was a young bride and new mother when she awoke one morning in December 1971 to find her dreams shattered and her new family divided. India had captured her village of Turtuk and three neighbouring villages of Chalunka, Thang and Tyakshi on the India-Pakistan border. Overnight, the LoC had shifted. For India it meant a tactical victory, and new vantage points for the forces. For the villagers, it meant separation, heartbreak and hardship.
Turtuk, with its lush fields and blue skies, is an oasis amid the stark, stony peaks of the Pamir and Hindukush mountains. The sprawling flowering buckwheat fields are dotted with the orange-canopied and entangled trunks of apricot trees. Water from the glacier gurgles along Turtuk’s cobbled paths, and in summer, laughter echoes across the fields as children splash about in a natural pool in the village centre.
This is where Rahima grew up in the 1960s. She was a bright, free-spirited child, full of dreams. Her parents had ambitions for their young daughter. Her great-grandfather was a famous Balti poet. Rahima attended the local schooland, at 14, became the first girl to graduate from it.
A Balti woman harvesting apricots | Photo Credit: Kartiki Selena Gonsalves
She recalls how in summer the children jumped into the pond to bathe. They did so with their school uniforms on, so they got washed too. They would then stand under the sun, arms outstretched, and dry out.
As was the custom, as soon as Rahima finished Class VI, her family found her a husband. He happened to be her cousin, Sher Ali and was known as the most handsome man in the area, and in fact in all of Pakistan. Rahima considered herself fortunate. Ali worked in the Pakistan army and marriage promised travel and a steady income.
Daily chores
As a married woman, Rahima took on household and farm work. She woke early, prayed, and made breakfast of kisir (buckwheat pancake) and grangthur (curd with local herbs). She would then set out to work in the fields or orchards. On some days she returned by afternoon, on others she toiled till sunset. At home, there were donkeys and chickens to feed and other domestic chores. Then, in November 1971, Rahima’s daughter Aisha Sudiqa was born.
Traditional Balti attire and jewellery | Photo Credit: Kartiki Selena Gonsalves
In December, when India captured the area, Chalunka’s residents gathered all the possessions they could and fled across the new border into Pakistan-occupied Kashmir. The three other villages decided to stay in India.
For some time, Rahima’s life remained unchanged; she was immersed in her baby daughter. But Sher Ali was not permitted to cross the border and come to India and Turtuk. Aisha was growing up; she began to accompany her mother to the apricot orchards and splash in the pond. But Rahima missed Sher Ali very much. She had not foreseen that she would be raising her daughter on her own. She waited hopefully for news of his return. Three years passed.
Then, in 1974, Rahima finally received a letter. It was from Sher Ali. Her hands trembled as she opened it. He wrote to say that he missed her very much, he asked about Aisha. He said he hoped to be reunited with them soon, and asked her to take care of herself and their daughter.
After reading the letter, Rahima became even more determined to live with him, even if it meant crossing the border into Pakistan. The very same day she packed some clothes and documents and set out with Aisha on the long journey to the Wagah border. Miles of barren, unforgiving terrain later, she gazed out of the tempo window to find men in khaki and green, and army trucks trundling by every few minutes. The vehicle slammed brakes, and she was ordered to get down with everyone else. She walked to the border control. She was afraid, but knew she had to be strong.
The officials inspected her documents, and checked records from a big book to make sure she had no history of attempted border-crossing. An officer then walked towards her, and said she could not cross. She pleaded with him, but it was of no use. Heartbroken, Rahima and Aisha returned to Turtuk. She wondered if she would ever see Sher Ali again.
Boys drying themselves after a swim. | Photo Credit: Kartiki Selena Gonsalves
Bolt from beyond
Two more years passed. Then, when Aisha was six, in 1976, Rahima received a letter. It said “As-salaam-alaikum. I hope you and Aisha are well. I am upset to bring to you the news that I don’t think we have hope of ever meeting again. I tried many times to cross the border and was rejected. I think it is time to say goodbye. I need to marry another woman. Khuda Hāfiz.” For Rahima, life went on.
Six years later, Sher Ali wrote again. It had now been 12 years since their village had been brought into India. This time, the letter asked for a divorce. Rahima’s eyes welled up with tears, her hands shook as she read the letter. “Take care of Aisha,” the letter said. “I wish you luck in life. Khuda Hāfiz.”
The divorce came through. In October 1983, Rahima’s and Sher Ali’s parents persuaded her to marry Sher Ali’s younger brother, Abdul Kareem. Aisha was delighted to have a father, and the next year, the couple had a baby girl they named Farida Khanum. Ten years went by. Rahima, now a mother of six, was determined to make something of her life. She decided she wanted to improve the lives of Turtuk’s residents. With her education, she was able to take up a government post in Turtuk as an Urdu teacher.
Rahima sent all her children, boys and girls, to school, and encouraged others to educate their children too. She led by example: she was after all the first girl of her village to finish school when other girls did not even get schooling, and she also became the first village woman to get a government job.
School topper
Rahima’s daughter Aisha also excelled in school, and became the first girl to leave Turtuk village and enrol in high school in Hunder. She then went to Srinagar’s Maulana Azad National Urdu University for a B.Sc. degree, and then an MBBS as well.
Nobody from Turtuk had ever gone outside Ladakh to study before. Aisha was excited and proud. After her training, she returned to Turtuk, the first woman doctor in the village.
Aisha, like her mother before her, became a role model for Turtuk’s girls. She visited her neighbours, friends and relatives, and even the schools in Turtuk and neighbouring villages. She spoke to the young girls there, ignited in them dreams and hopes, spoke about careers, income, knowledge and education of women. Today, everyone in Turtuk wants their girls to be like Aisha, to go to school, to work, discover the world outside. It has been a major leap.
One evening during Ramzan, in 1995, Aisha returned home to break her fast, but feeling fatigued and disoriented, she went to bed, and passed away in the early hours of the morning. She had been suffering from anaemia and the strain of travel and fasting had proved too much.
Rahima mourned her first-born, and the village the loss of their strong, independent and educated daughter.
But Turtuk vowed to keep her memory alive by educating girls and improving their lives. Thanks to the mother and daughter, life in Turtuk has changed a lot. Now, all girls attend school. Many continue their education in Kashmir or Delhi in big universities.
To the average tourist, Turtuk may look like it’s stuck in a time-warp. But its residents know that their lives have changed dramatically. And that a big part of this revolution owes to two of Turtuk’s daughters, Rahima and Aisha.
The Mumbai-based writer is a Sony Artisan, photojournalist and cinematographer.
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Society / by Kartiki Gonsalves / November 03rd, 2018
Even today, the custodians of the centuries-old Dilli Gharana of music, known for its Khayal gayaki, live and practice their art in the old, romantically named Mausiqi Manzil in the Walled City. But with changing times and commercialisation, they are experimenting with their craft to stay relevant
It will be too much to expect Aalif Iqbal Khan to understand the significance of being the youngest descendant of the Dilli gharana. He is five years old – too young to know the history of the family or the legacy he will have to uphold in the years to come. But the family elders seem to have already decided for him. They enjoy seeing Aalif spend time with his grandfather, Ustad Iqbal Ahmed Khan, 64, the head or khalifa of the clan, in the living room of Mausiqi Manzil, their more-than-200-year-old house in Delhi’s Walled City. They film the child when he exerts his vocal chords while sitting cross-legged on his grandfather’s chest. “Look how beautifully he sings. There is no match to his talent,” says Aalif’s mother, Vusat Iqbal Khan, 32, with pride.
Musical families across the country have seen far-reaching changes over the decades because of the evolving tastes of audiences, the death of royal patronage, the impact of technology and plethora of alternative leisure activities. Having felt the ripple effects of this transformation, the family representing the Dilli Gharana of music (gharana refers to a style of presentation) is trying to remain relevant to the times without compromising on its rich history.
The family is one of the oldest in the country to propagate the city’s Khayal gayaki – a style of singing popularised by 13th century Sufi poet Amir Khusrau. Over time, members of the clan preserved and promoted more than two dozen sub-genres of singing such as sawela, tirvat, dhamar and sawan geet. Some members of the gharana have mastered musical instruments too, such as the tabla, sitar and violin.
“It is hard to find another family which is such a rich a repository of Khusrau’s compositions. They also know the journey of the compositions and the many influences on each composition over the course of centuries,” says Vivek Prajapati, 30, Iqbal’s disciple and a PhD scholar at the faculty of music and fine arts, Delhi University.
According to Hindustani classical singer and writer Vidya Rao, the Dilli gharana strongly suggests that one of the influences on the development of Khayal gayaki could be Sufi tradition and music. “Also, it is perhaps the only Khayal gharana where the ghazal is an integral part of the gharana’s repertoire,” she says.
According to Dr Sunanda Pathak, scholar, performing artiste and author of Origin and Evolution of Raag in Hindustani Classical Music, the Dilli gharana’s style of presentation offers tremendous scope for developing ragas. “The style is taan pradhan or variation in notes is the primary ornamentation tool,” she says.
According to Delhi historian and chronicler RV Smith, “Before Khusrau, there was only bhakti sangeet in India. Khusrau combined the temple music with the music of the Arab peninsula to develop multiple genres of singing, among which, Khayal was the one mostly practiced by the founders of Dilli gharana.”
In the old days, classical artists like Siddheshwari Devi, Malika Pukhraj, musicians and composers like KL Saigal, Roshan Lal Roshan, and Mumtaz Jahan Dehlvi (much before she arrived in Hindi cinema as actor Madhubala), were regulars at Mausiqi Manzil. “In 1938, there was a conference near Jubilee cinema in Chandni Chowk, where she sang. Back then she was just Baby Mumtaz,” says Iqbal.
The narrow lane leading to Mausiqi Manzil has shrunk even further over the decades due to haphazard construction. The bylanes resemble tunnels within a tunnel. The windows of one house open into the bedroom of the facing house. Sunlight is a luxury. Goats are parked along with two wheelers, cycle rickshaws and carts. A web of electricity wires sags above passersby.
Iqbal lives with his wife Zohra, son (Saad, 22) and youngest daughter (Sadiya, 23) on the first floor. Pictures of Khan’s great grandfather Ustad Mamman Khan, grandfather and teacher Ustad Chand Khan and his brother Jahan Khan hang on the wall, silently watching the proceedings in the living room. Iqbal’s books and awards are stacked in a wooden showcase. He takes out a briefcase from a trunk. It contains Chand Khan’s manuscripts in Urdu, Arabic and Persian, and all his medals. An old, dark green pouch contains a few of his belongings, including one of his pens and even a tooth! “Babu miyan had asked me to throw it. But I kept it safely,” says Iqbal, recalling his mentor.
FILMI SONGS
Times are tough. Iqbal’s descendants perform on a freelance basis, take up teaching assignments and perform with him in regional and international concerts.
They are open to trying different formats and styles as long it is in sync with the family’s tradition. Iqbal’s first cousin and student Imran Khan, 38, was in his early 20s when he was approached for a television reality show. “Ab tum filmi gaaney gaaogey?” his mentor said. But Imran says if he got the offer now, he would accept it. “I don’t think playback singing is a bad thing. I sing for bands. In a mehfil, I sing Sufi songs, ghazals, and film songs,” he says. “Hmmm…maybe things would have been different had I participated in that reality show.”
Iqbal faced a similar situation in his youth. “Filmmaker Rajinder Singh Bedi offered me a film. I said I would be comfortable if the composition was similar to what Bade Ghulam Ali Khan sahib sang in Mughal-e-Azam. Otherwise, I was not interested. It didn’t work out,” he says.
More women in Iqbal’s clan have been to college than men. Iqbal, a graduate from Delhi’s Dayal Singh College, and his younger brother, the late Dr Anis Ahmed Khan, a music scholar, were exceptions. “I am all for education. But it cannot replace talent. And then, look at the sheer number of educated unemployed youth,” says Iqbal. After a moment, he adds. “Riyaz consumes lot of time. It does not leave any time for school and college.”
Iqbal’s family is learning to make the art form commercially viable without degenerating the guru-shishya tradition. In 2012, Iqbal’s daughter Vusat quit her job as a communications consultant with the union ministry of information & technology to help her father and add to the family’s body of work. Apart from overseeing the management of two family enterprises – the Amir Khusrau Institute of Music and the Sursagar Society – Vusat conceptualised and performed storytelling for two productions (Rudad-e-Shireen and Ghalib, Umrao Ki Nazar Se). “I realised that my family members were not getting the exposure they deserved. Also, they have a classical music mindset. It is a good thing. But these days, you have to contemporise to become commercially viable. It is the need of the hour,” she says.
The experiments didn’t come about without disagreements. Sometime in 2015, she was designing a performance of Indian classical vocal and instrumental fusion. Her father did not want to compromise on certain elements. His apprehension was that adding instruments might lead to confusion. “He belongs to the era when the world was straightforward and transparent. But we have to look at the commercial aspect as well. It is very difficult to convince abba ji. But eventually we manage,” she says.
Iqbal says he does have a sense of changing times. “In the beginning, our forefathers had the patronage of royal families. Then came the Nawabs. Now, mass media takes us places.”
US AND THEM
The family members continue to face prejudice in varied degrees in their neighbourhood. Their customs often leave people bewildered. Touching the feet of elders, especially gurus is the norm; there is no fuss about singing Sai bhajans at private gatherings; Iqbal and his students celebrate Holi, Basant Panchmi and Guru Purnima at the institute. They don’t perform during the first 10 days of the month of Muharram because they mourn the martyrdom of Prophet Muhammad’s grandson Imam Hussain – a practice that makes them appear close to Shia Muslims. “Singing and music have no religion,” says the khalifa.
Sitar player Adnan Khan, 25, is Iqbal’s nephew. After learning the sitar from his father, Ustad Saeed Khan, Adnan was at the ITC Sangeet Research Academy, Kolkata, for five years to polish his craft. He remembers the caste slurs hurled at him in the neighbourhood in his early teens. “We were told to ignore remarks such as meerasi, pandit, and we did. But there were occasions when it led to arguments. The situation is very different now. Many of my friends are from non-musical backgrounds,” Adnan says.
FINDING SOUL SISTERS
Miyan Samti, Amir Khusrau’ contemporary and grandson of vocalist Hasan Sawant finds mention in the shijra or family tree of the Dilli gharana. Samti’s descendant Miyan Achpal Khan, the khalifa of the tradition in the early 19th century, was the court musician during the reign of the last Mughal king, Bahadur Shah Zafar. Later, Iqbal’s grandfather Ustad Chand Khan became the khalifa.
Chand Khan didn’t have a son. He raised Iqbal like his son since he was three months old. His formal training began at the age of four with soz khwani or songs of lament. In later years, his day would begin at dawn with warm-up exercises which comprised of squats. Then he would practice sapat (straight) taan on prayer beads “It had 500 beads. We had to finish six strings every morning,” recalls Iqbal.
During his training, he met Krishna Bisht and Bharti Chakravarti, two disciples of Chand Khan, who became Iqbal’s guru behenein (sisters). Bisht, former dean at faculty of music and fine arts, Delhi University, is the senior most living disciple of Chand Khan.
After Chand Khan’s death, Iqbal was declared the khalifa or the representative of the Gharana in February 1981.
Iqbal avoids performing at gatherings where art is considered as entertainment. “We perform for people who know our history,” he says.
Back at Mausiqi Manzil, the new generation is preparing to take on the mantle. Vusat’s youngest sister, Sadiya, a post graduate in political science, may soon become the first woman of the family to sing on stage. “Somehow, women could not get to sing on stage. I doubt if they tried. Sadiya is not a trained singer but she has got a very good voice. Men in the family were particularly surprised when I said she should perform. Battles within the family are more difficult than the ones outside,” says Vusat.
source: http://www.hindustantimes.com / Hindustan Times / Home> Art & Culture / by Danish Raza , Hindustan Times / October 27th, 2018
Mudhasir trapped Chetan Bist, Tajinder Singh Dhillon, Rahul Chahar, and Tanvir Mashart Ul-Haq to become the only the second player to take wickets in four successive balls in Ranji Trophy history.
History was created on the second day of the ongoing Ranji Trophy season as Jammu and Kashmir bowler fast bowler Mohammed Mudhasir took the first hat-trick of the season against Rajasthan in Jaipur.
Mudhasir trapped Chetan Bist, Tajinder Singh Dhillon, Rahul Chahar, and Tanvir Mashart Ul-Haq to become the only the second player to take wickets in four successive balls in Ranji Trophy history.
He also became the first bowler in professional cricket to get rid of 4 batsmen by trapping them in front.
From 329 for 3 Rajasthan collapsed spectacularly to 330 for 8. They were eventually dismissed for 379 as Mudhasir finished with 5 for 90 in his 29 overs. Chetan Bist starred with the bat as he scored 159 runs and Ashok Menaria gave him good support with a bright 59.
However, Jammu and Kashmir could not drive home the momentum as the batting collapsed and they were tottering at 186 for seven at stumps. Mudhasir was unbeaten on 15 and he will be the key man with the bat on day 2.
Tanvir Mashart Ul-Haq and Rahul Chahar were the pick of the bowlers for Rajasthan with three wickets each. Irfan Pathan, who now plays for Jammu and Kashmir, could not shine with either the bat or ball.
source: http://www.hindustantimes.com / Hindustan Times / Home> Cricket / by HT Correspondent, HindustanTimes,New Delhi / November 02nd, 2018
