Category Archives: Books (incl.Biographies – w.e.f.01 jan 2018 )

Shahryar — A Life in Poetry review: Dream merchant

Aonia,Bareilly / Aligarh – UTTAR PRADESH :

ShahryarMPOs14oct2018

Why a flag-bearer of modern Urdu poetry chose to be moderate

In 1936, Munshi Premchand made a seminal speech, Sahitya ka Uddeshya(‘The Aim of Literature’), to the Progressive Writers’ Association. While asserting that literature is meant to critique society, the novelist said it can never regress into propaganda. The point applies to the work of Shahryar, who was born, reportedly, in the same year. For, while being a self-avowed Marxist, he refused to be bracketed into the categories of ‘modernism’ or ‘progressivism’. Finding his voice in the post-Nehruvian period of disillusionment in the 1960s, he turned his gaze inward, into the inner struggles of an individual, while not remaining oblivious of the external environment.

Rakhshanda Jalil stresses in Shahryar: A Life in Poetry that his tone was one of moderation. The poet, who was among the flag-bearers of the jadeed (modern) shayari, did not declaim, he whispered into the reader’s ears his thoughts on social issues. One example is Ek Siyasi Nazm (A Political Poem), where he gently chides a neighbour who has passed on his communal hatred to his children.

Some of the leitmotifs that occupied the poet’s imagination were sleep, dreams and night. His most famous collection, Khwab ke Dar Band Hain (The Doorway to Dreams is Closed), paid tribute to his favourite theme, khwab (dream). In its title nazm, he presents the night as freeing the eyes of the protagonist not only of all ‘sins’ but also of dreams, an act that he calls a punishment.

The poet, among the four Urdu writers to have been given the Jnanpith, is remembered outside Urdu literary circles, and especially among cinephiles, for his association with filmmaker Muzaffar Ali. The partnership resulted in Gaman, Umrao Jaan, Anjuman and the incomplete Daman and Zooni. It is when Jalil delves into this side of Shahryar that her arguments become a bit problematic, especially when she says that there exists a dichotomy between film lyrics and poetry.

Here, Sahir Ludhianvi’s write-up to his fellow poets is instructive. While Ludhianvi acknowledged that a nagma nigar (lyricist) doesn’t have the freedom of an adabi shayar (poet), as he is constrained by the film’s screenplay and characters, he added that his own attempt was to elevate film lyrics to the status of high art. It is when a film’s lyrics rise above its mere narrative that they take the form of art. What Jalil ignores is that a poetry lover would use such lyrics as a trigger to delve deeper into a poet’s corpus. An appreciation of Seene Mein Jalan won’t stop at listening to the song; it would progress to a reading of Ism-e-Azam, the collection from where the ghazal was taken.

Shahryar: A Life in Poetry; Rakhshanda Jalil, HarperCollins, ₹599.

source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Books> Reviews / by Hari Narayan / October 13th, 2018

The palace of delights

Mandu (Dhar District), MADHYA PRADESH :

ManduMPOs13oct2018

No rainy day can be better spent than roaming around Mandu’s Jahaz Mahal, with Jahangir’s words as guide

“What words of mine can describe the beauty of the grass and green flowers? They clothe each hill and dale, each slope and plain. I know of no place so pleasant in climate and so pretty in scenery as Mandu in the rainy season,” wrote Jahangir in his memoirs.

On a misty morning in July, we entered the hilly kingdom of Mandu with these words echoing in my mind.

In 1401, Dilawar Khan, the governor of Malwa who was appointed by the Delhi Sultans, took advantage of the chaos resulting from Mongol attacks and declared his independence. He shifted the capital from Dhar to Mandu (Mandav) and renamed it Shadiabad, or City of Joy. When Ghiyasuddin Shah (1469-1500 AD) came to the throne, he decided that his father, Mahmud Shah I, had expanded the kingdom enough. All he wanted to do was enjoy life. Handing over the affairs of the kingdom to his son and heir, Nasir Shah, Ghiyasuddin Shah gave himself up to a life of delights. He was a connoisseur of food, and his recipes are sealed in an illustrated book, Nimatnama, that is with the British Library and has been translated into English by Norah M. Tiley as The Sultan’s Book of Delights.

A life of pleasure

Ghiyasuddin Shah wasn’t joking when he declared that he wanted to devote himself to a life of pleasure. He filled his harem with women who were trained in various disciplines for which they had an aptitude. While some were singers, dancers, painters and chefs, others were trained to be his guards and personal soldiers. He established a madarsa and educated the women to be proficient in religious as well as secular subjects. There were Qazis, schoolmistresses, hunters, scholars, embroiderers, and accountants among them.

We drove straight to Jahaz Mahal, a stunning building, named as such because its shape, when it fell on the water tanks surrounding it, looked like a ship.

All the guides and stories will tell you that Ghiyasuddin Shah built it to house his harem. A probably exaggerated figure of his harem was given by Jahangir, who wrote it as 15,000. That figure is gleefully quoted by local guides, with perhaps a hint of envy on their faces.

After Dilawar Khan established the Malwa dynasty he got architects and craftsmen from Delhi. The early buildings bear a stamp of the Tughlaq and Khilji architecture of Delhi.

The Jahaz Mahal, however, is a flight of imagination and takes yours along with it. I could see girls dancing and singing in the rain on the rooftop and in the courtyards, their shadows reflecting on the Munj Talao and Kaphur Taloo surrounding it.

The strains of Megh Malhar were flooding my senses, and in my mind’s eye I could see the arcades being lit up by the lanterns and lamps that were floating on the water, glimmering and dipping along with the wind, glowing like fireflies.

I could smell the heavily laden kadhais (woks), with samosas and baras being fried. As the illustrations of the Nimatnama show, the Sultan took a keen interest in, and was perhaps supervising, the correct temperature of the oil, the salt in the filling. How golden was the result?

Who knows? All I know is that I was transported back to the 15th century as soon as I entered the long, double-storied Jahaz Mahal through its main arched, marble entrance. At the back, every arch of the continuous arcaded 360-feet building opens on to Munj Talao. I don’t know how close it was originally to Kaphur (Camphor), now called Kapoor Talao, but now this is quite a distance from it. There are manicured lawns between it.

Initially it was decorated with glazed tiles and colourful friezes. Now we have the unfortunate graffiti that people are wont to inscribe on monuments. The cool corridors and pillared compartments were made for dancing and singing.

Nur Jahan accompanied Jahangir to Mandu in 1617 and the palace complex of Mandu enchanted the royal couple.

A magical bubble

Jahangir sent Abdul Karim in an advance party to repair the buildings. He was so pleased with the result that he rewarded him with the title of Ma’mur Khan (architect Khan). Mandu is a treasure house of water harvesting. There are also bathing tanks. There are two in this palace, on both the floors, shaped like a tortoise with steps going in. Now devoid of water, one can imagine women going to the toilet there, with roses and lotus flowers floating in the perfumed waters.

The roof has a few open pavilions and kiosks on its four corners. While I was there on the wet, open terrace, the mist came and blotted out everything around. We were trapped in our very own magical bubble.

source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Opinion – Where Stones Speak / by Rana Safvi / September 03rd, 2017

Victoria’s secret: Karim’s great grandson lives in Bengaluru!

Bengaluru, KARNATAKA :

The family had moved to England at the Queen’s behest, bringing great solace to an increasingly homesick Karim, said Mahmood.

 Javed Mahmood, Abdul Karim’s great grandson
Javed Mahmood, Abdul Karim’s great grandson

It was an April morning in Bengaluru and Javed Mahmood, as was his custom, sat down to flip through the newspapers. The year was 2010, nearly two decades since he had moved to the city to live a quiet retired life. His relatives were scattered between Bengaluru and Karachi, as they had been since Independence. Very little remained of the family’s rich history, much of what they had left was lost in the traumas of Partition and mostly forgotten. That summer morning in 2010, however, everything changed. Mahmood found, to his astonishment, that Indian author Shrabani Basu’s Victoria and Abdul: The True Story of the Queen’s Closest Confidant had uncovered the truth behind his great grandfather Abdul Karim telling a tale of friendship and loyalty. Mahmood talks to Darshana  Ramdev about a family that has been steeped in history since, with his father, Anwar being a founding member of Bata in 1933.

“I rushed at once to the British Council and asked them to help me contact her,” said Mahmood, whose grandfather, Abdul Rashid, was Karim’s adopted son. “We didn’t actually know he was adopted until Karim’s death in 1909 and the inheritance had to be dealt with.” The family had moved to England at the Queen’s behest, bringing great solace to an increasingly homesick Karim. “The Queen made them feel very much at home my grandfather received the same education that Edward VII and the rest of her children had earlier received.” The Queen, who was aware of the couple’s inability to have children, sent her personal physician, Dr. John Reid, to examine (much to his horror) Karim’s wife.

Abdul Karim with his adopted son, Abdul Rashid in England
Abdul Karim with his adopted son, Abdul Rashid in England

“Abdul Karim had been greatly maligned by historians the Queen’s family may have wanted to destroy all trace of his presence in the court. Ms Basu had gained access to hidden archives, however. Our family still had a few documents – the diary being one of them, so Shrabani and I hopped on a plane to Karachi at once!” Karim’s descendants there were understandably wary, but Mahmood succeeded in coaxing them to part with the diary. Like most people of the time, Karim maintained meticulous written records into his life, which helped set the record straight on the stream of allegations that had been made against his character. “The diary proved beyond doubt that their relationship was marked by great affection, but had remained platonic always,” said Mahmood.

Javed Mahmood’s father, Anwar Mahmood, was one of the founding members of Bata in 1933. He started the Trot Shoe Company in 1963, setting up a second factory in Whitefield in 1970.
Javed Mahmood’s father, Anwar Mahmood, was one of the founding members of Bata in 1933. He started the Trot Shoe Company in 1963, setting up a second factory in Whitefield in 1970.

It contained valuable insights into Queen Victoria’s much loved Munshi, or teacher, the prepossessing young man who won the affections of a foreboding monarch with a reputation for a heart of stone. He was presented as an orderly to the Queen, which he didn’t like it was not a fitting position for the son of a landed ‘doctor’.  He soon found himself promoted to Munshi, leading the now ailing Empress to a discovery of India. The Queen’s love for her young munshi drew jealousy, hatred and racial prejudice in a society known for its repressive puritanical leanings. Neither cared, however, with the Queen sticking her neck out on numerous instances to defend her young friend. “She was always caring and appreciative of our customs every Eid, she would walk across the grounds to Karim Cottage (on the Osborne House estate) to visit the family.” They were, in turn, invited up to the palace for tea during Christmas “The Queen would even have the windows covered with silk curtains so Karim’s family could keep the purdah. He was also a wonderful cook  he would cook for her on occasion, as an act of love.”

Little was known of his life after the Queen’s death in 1901: Karim and his family were unceremoniously deported, almost at once, by a jealous Edward VII, who been aroused to such fits of rage that he had even attempted to force his mother to abdicate from office, on grounds of insanity. “Soon after the Queen’s death, King Edward arrived at Karim Cottage in Osborne House and ordered Rashid, who was a teenager at the time, to scour the house for any heirlooms or documents that contained the royal insignia. The little they could salvage, including Karim’s diary, returned with him to Agra in 1901, where he died eight years later. “He died at the age of 48 and the family was given his inheritance,” said Mahmood.

These remained with the family for some decades, until talk of Partition began to do the rounds. “We were a fairly prominent family and were advised at the time to shift temporarily to Bhopal, until the trouble blew over,” said Mahmood. This they did, greatly underestimating the scope of the problem and packing only the essentials. When the Partition took place, the family was evacuated to Mumbai, but many of the treasures were lost in transit. “The diary was with my grandfather, who was the custodian of Karim’s things.” The family moved to Karachi, save for Mahmood’s mother, Begum Qamar Jahan and two sisters. The diary went to Pakistan with them. “One of the sisters eventually shifted to Pakistan too,” he explained.

Meanwhile, in 1933, Bata, which was a burgeoning Czech company, found itself in hot water after the nation was declared Communist. The company decided to set up a factory near Calcutta, where leather was widely available. The large Muslim population in the area was another perk, providing the tannery services they so badly needed. “My father, Anwar Mahmood, was one of the founding members of the company,” he said. He joined the company at the age of 16 and worked there for nearly 30 years before he started his own business, the Trot Shoe Company. The first factory was set up in Kolkata in 1963 and the second in Whitefield, in 1970. “The organised shoe industry didn’t exist in South India and the Karnataka government had offered businesses a number of benefits, which led us here,” said Mahmood. Natural rubber, an important raw material and was grown abundantly in Kerala, making it easily accessible.  “My elder brother managed the factory here, I handled the one in Kolkata and my parents shuttled between the two cities. When my younger brother was ready to start work, we established a third branch in Hosur.” Javed Mahmood and his younger brother still call Bengaluru home.

Mahmood tells his story from San Francisco, where calls have been pouring in from across the world since the release of the film, Victoria and Abdul. “The film is doing very well, it’s being shown at local theatres here as well and friends have been getting in touch to tell me how much they enjoyed it,” he smiles.

“My great grandfather’s relationship with the Queen had been presented as scandalous and sleazy he was falsely accused of every imaginable sin. Ms Basu read Karim’s diary cover-to-cover and brought those insights into the second edition of her book.” And that’s how Abdul Karim’s story received its long overdue re-telling, well over a 100 years after his death in 1909. “Queen Victoria was a woman far ahead of her times, rising well above the prejudices that so plagued her society, to defend the young Indian man she called a friend. I think there’s a lesson in it for all of us even today.”

source: http://www.deccanchronicle.com / Deccan Chronicle / Home> Nation – In Other News / by Darshana Ramdev, Deccan Chronicle / October 14th, 2017

Mosques in Dravidian-Islamic style: About the Islamic architecture in Tamil Nadu

TAMIL NADU :

The 17th Century Kilakarai Jumma Mosque
The 17th Century Kilakarai Jumma Mosque

The kallupallis are reminders of the region’s cultural and architectural traditions

Among the many inscriptions at the Vaishnavite shrine of Adhi Jagannatha Swamy at Thirupullani, about 10 km from Ramanathapuram in southern Tamil Nadu, there is one about a grant for a mosque. This particular inscription of the late 13th Century by the Pandya King Thirubuvana Chakravarthy Koneri Mei Kondan, describes the grant made to the Muslim Sonagar, to build a mosque at Pavithramanikka Pattinam. While no one today has a clue as to the exact location of Pavithramanikka Pattinam, the region has many ancient mosques like the rest of Tamil Nadu. What is unique about these mosques is that they were all built of stone, in the Dravidian architectural style with Islamic sensibilities.

Unlike north India, Islam came to the south through maritime spice trade even as it was spreading across Arabia in the 7th Century. The Muslims who were traders enriched the country with precious foreign exchange, and hence were accorded a special place by the Tamil rulers of the day, and often received grants to build mosques, like the one at the Adhi Jagannatha Swamy temple.

As mosques are called Palli Vaasal in Tamil, and they were built of kal, the Tamil word for stone, they came to be locally known as kallupallis. These kallupalliswere essentially built more like mandapams, better suited to Islamic requirement for the congregation to assemble and stand together in prayer.

Engraving of Tamil calendar for prayer found inside the mosque
Engraving of Tamil calendar for prayer found inside the mosque

With guidelines for the construction of mosques being simple – such as prayer facing Mecca, no idol worship and clean surroundings, the masons who worked on these mosques under the supervision of religious heads restricted themselves to carving floral and geometrical motifs instead of human figures as in a temple. “While the raised ‘Adisthana’ of the Hindu temple was retained, there were no ‘Garbha Grahas’ and no figurines carved on any of the pillars” says Dr.Raja Mohammad, author of Islamic Architecture in Tamil Nadu.

For more than a millennium, hundreds of such mosques built in the Dravidian Islamic architectural style came up across Tamil Nadu, often with the help of grants from the rulers of the day, ranging from the Cheras, the Pandyas, the Venad kings and the Nayaks to the Sethupathis of Ramanathapuram. Across Tamil Nadu, wherever Tamil Muslims lived in large numbers, from Pulicat near Chennai to Kilakarai, Kayalpatnam, Kadayanallur, Kottar, Tiruvithancode, Madurai, etc., one finds these beautiful kallupallis.

Amongst these kallupallis, though not the oldest, the most beautiful mosque is to be found at Kilakarai, near Ramanathapuram. A medieval port town with a predominant Tamil Muslim population, Kilakarai has many mosques built during different eras spanning many centuries. The one built towards the end of 17th Century is the most beautiful of them all. It is believed to have been built by the great merchant and philanthropist Periathambi Marakkayar, also known as Seethakkathi, whom the Dutch records speak of as a great trader having considerable influence with the Sethupathis, the then rulers of Ramanathapuram.

The mosque built in the Dravidian architectural style of the late Vijayanagara period, has elements that are specific to native traditions. Like many other kallupallis, this mosque too has Podhigai, the floral bud detailing on the pillar corbels, which represent positivity and auspiciousness, an essential part of the cultural beliefs of the land. An interesting engraving found in this mosque is the Tamil calendar for prayer.

What is unusual about this calendar is that, timings for prayers in the various Tamil months are marked in Tamil numerals, a rarity, found in just a few other mosques in southern Tamil Nadu.

These mosques, deeply embedded in the Tamil culture, were also places where Tamil flowered. Further down south, at the Kottar mosque in Nagercoil, an early Tamil Islamic literary work, Mikuraasu Malai, was presented to the assembled congregation by Aali Pulavar in the late 16th Century.

Mikuraasu Malai, a palm leaf work
Mikuraasu Malai, a palm leaf work

Mikuraasu is a Tamilised form of Mihraj, and narrates a significant event in the life of Prophet Muhammad (Pbuh), his ascension to the heaven. Even after 400 odd years, the tradition of singing Mikurasu Malai on the eve of Mihraj continues to this day at the Kottar mosque. Other literary works such as Seera Puranam, a Tamil epic on the history of the Prophet, are also recited across mosques in Tamil Nadu.

The Kallupallis in Tamil Nadu stand as proud reminders of not just an architectural tradition but also of cultural traditions, where Islam effortlessly adapted itself to the native customs.

source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Society> History & Culture – Anwar’s Trail / by Kombai S. Anwar / November 23rd, 2017

Second Lucknow ‘fixed’ in sepia

WEST BENGAL :

Liveried servants of the Nawab of Oudh wait with a palanquin in one of the rare photographs of Metiabruz, during Wajid Ali Shah’s time. The royal insignia is embroidered on the back of one of them. Copied from the original by Rashbehari Das
Liveried servants of the Nawab of Oudh wait with a palanquin in one of the rare photographs of Metiabruz, during Wajid Ali Shah’s time. The royal insignia is embroidered on the back of one of them. Copied from the original by Rashbehari Das

A portfolio of fast-fading photographs that provides possibly the only pictorial document of the second Lucknow that Wajid Ali Shah had created in Metiabruz, after he was exiled there, is urgently in need of preservation. The photographs are, moreover, some of the earliest examples of the art as practised the world over.

Amjad Ali Mirza of Garden Reach Road, in his 60s, who is a great-great-grandson of the ruler of Oudh, possesses the photographs. But he doesn’t know how to preserve these friable prints whose sepia has, in some cases, turned a ghostly shadow of its former self. Says Mirza: “I have no doubt about the authenticity of the photographs. The portfolio is ancestral property. It was handed down to me by my uncle, Yaqub Ali Mirza, who died in 1973.” Some of the photographs are captioned in Urdu. But the identity of the photographer shall always remain a mystery. Oscar Mallitte, a French commercial photographer, we know, had captured a view of the village at Garden Reach, circa 1864, but there is no evidence he did this assignment.

Abdul Halim Sharar (1860-1926) tells the story of Oudh in his book Lucknow: The Last Phase of an Oriental Culture. In it, he has also documented the last days of Wajid Ali Shah in Metiabruz, where he set up a city whose splendour surpassed Lucknow’s glory in the pre-Mutiny days. The palaces, pleasure gardens and zoo that the Nawab had created on the banks of the Hooghly come alive in these photographs, not much larger than postcards. It is as if chemicals and light had “fixed” the scenes that Sharar’s readers conjure up in their mind’s eye.

Soon after the Mutiny had fizzled out, the Nawab was released from confinement in Fort William and he returned to Metiabruz. There, while turning abstemious, he developed a passion for animals and for building beautiful houses. Before the Zoological Gardens was established in Alipore in 1876, the Nawab had already acquired a large menagerie that included rare birds, deer, horses and an open-air snake-pit that left visitors awestruck. But after Wajid Ali Shah’s death in 1887, Metiabruz became a hell-hole almost overnight.

The photographs prove that Sharar, when he described Metiabruz, never deviated from reality. Unlike the Lucknow architecture, with its embarrassment of stucco ornaments, the buildings of Metiabruz are constructed on the lines of European bungalows. The lines are simple but no less grand than the palaces of Lucknow.

Overlooking the river or surrounded by expanses of water, they are connected by bridges. Flags flutter on their tiled roofs. There is hardly any Islamic influence in their architecture, save a low-rise with triple minarets. Ostriches, deer, sheep and horses were the showpieces of the Metiabruz parkland. The snake-pit resembles a giant termite hill. One can almost hear the harsh calls of the clumsy pelicans and cranes strutting around the aviary. The liveried servants wait outside the palace gate with a palanquin. The piscine insignia of the royal family of Oudh is stitched on to the back of one man’s coat. There are two significant photographs. In one, the gang of smiling labourers carry construction material on their heads as they create the new Metiabruz. Another shows the buildings of Metiabruz being demolished. An exquisite way of life being wiped away forever.

source: http://www.telegraphindia.com / The Telegraph / Home> West Bengal / by Soumitra Das in Mirza / July 14th, 2003

A Place for Us a ‘quintessentially American’ tale? Fatima Farheen Mirza answers

Hyderabad, INDIA / California, U.S.A :

Writing about an immigrant Muslim family in America, A Place for Us author Fatima Farheen Mirza says she wanted to place their lives and concerns at the centre of the narrative.

Visiting India for the first time five years ago, author Fatima Farheen Mirza visited the masjid (mosque) where her parents had her nikkah (wedding), in the city of Hyderabad. Fatima was then the same age that her mother was the same number of years ago.

“A man was sitting outside in the courtyard, threading flowers that would decorate one of the shrines. I asked if I could have one flower, because I wanted a souvenir of the place, and he denied me. I remember telling him, ‘But my mother got married here’. And he looked at me, asked me to wait for a minute, and then threaded an elaborate string of flowers that I could tie to wear in my hair. I’ll never forget it.”

This is how Fatima describes that moment. It is almost as if this passage has filtered out of the consciousness of one of the characters of her famous debut, A Place for Us. As a family gathers for the nikkah of their eldest child, the obedient, precocious doctor Hadia, their youngest, the delinquent, the errant Amar, cannot be found for the family photograph. This is a family, but the discord is unbelievable, and the silhouette of the elephant in the room grows darker and darker.

“I wanted to do my best [for] this family. I wanted to do justice to their lives, I wanted to understand their experience with as much complexity and care as I possibly could. I loved them, and it was a privilege to be able to write about them,” says Fatima about the book’s keenly felt impulses, its ability to pick up life’s mundane moments lying unnoticed in our midst and light them up with meaning. A Place for Us was recently chosen by Sarah Jessica Parker — Carrie Bradshaw of the hit American sitcom Sex and the City — for her publishing debut with her imprint for Hogarth Press. And while Parker has called it a “book about a quintessentially American family”, Pulitzer Prize-winner novelist Paul Harding has exalted it as “a work of extraordinary and enthralling beauty”.

Born and raised in California, it is natural to assume that Fatima not only spoke and wrote English for the majority of her life, but wrote about characters that belonged to a certain place, a certain way of life. How did the book come about? “Writing has always been a part of my life. Recently, I was surprised to find a story from when I was maybe seven or eight, because it was written in both Urdu and English—an impulse that returned when I was working on the novel. But throughout high school, I wrote about characters with names like Corrie, and now I wonder if my imagination had internalized the belief that stories belonged only to the kind of characters I’d grown up consuming. I remember pausing when I first wrote the name Hadia, how I not sure if I could proceed, but once I started writing about this family, I was committed,” says Fatima.

But conceptualising Hadia — which means the ‘guided one’, and is the ideal daughter, freethinking but also committed and devoted, and thinking for her — surely must have come somewhere from inside Fatima, who was once pursuing medicine, and has similar beliefs about religion and autonomy?

“Once seeds from one’s own life are planted into the novel, they are altered by the personality of the characters, and begin to take on their own significance. I might relate to the pressure Hadia feels to pursue a medical career path in order to make her parents proud, or Amar, keeping journals and looking to lines of poetry as a way to make sense of his own life — but the way these pursuits and pressures manifest in Hadia and Amar’s life is theirs alone,” Fatima shares.

At a moment in the novel, Hadia, soon to turn nine, contemplates intensely on the looming prospect of wearing the hijab, which her faith requires of her. With religious symbols coming under a lot of fire lately throughout the world, how does choosing or rejecting the hijab empower Hadia or her mother Layla? “Each character is aware of what the world wants from them. They have to navigate what their community, family, and faith want from them. It can be difficult, in the face of all of this, to know what they want for themselves. Figuring out their desires and attempting to make choices is what each of the characters contends with,” she says.

“[So], they are empowered when they make a choice that is aligned with their inner voice. This also applies to religious practices — Layla is empowered when she wears the hijab, and Hadia, when she decides not to.” And indeed, when not touching your deepest impulses about life and relationships, A Place for Us is a work about the significance of choices: An otherwise patriarchal father passes on a watch meant for a son, to his daughter. A deeply conservative mother gathers the courage to roll up her shalwar to meet her little son in the river. A young couple in love chooses to continue to meet in private, risking everything at stake for their families.

In this book about a quintessentially American family, white characters make short appearances as the immigrant minority dominates the focus, and their customs and sensibility — Sunday school, the significance of prayer, community gatherings — comes to the forefront of an American consciousness. Can one interpret this novel, then, as an attempt to envision a new America?

“This is rather [my way] of presenting the experience of living in America that is true to these characters. I wanted to place their lives, their concerns, at the centre of the narrative. If what results is a version of America that seems new, then what that speaks to is the lack of adequate representation in literature — because these lives are here, they have been here, and they have stories to tell,” Fatima says.

Modest though she may be — Fatima has undeniably mastered the art of sticking to describing life through memory. From the first scene, the narrative shifts into a series of flashbacks, in no particular sequence, from the collective consciousness of this family. From the parents’ wedding in India, their relocation to the US, the birth of their kids, the little moments as they grow up — the childhood stories, picnics, crushes, school, their rivalries and revelries — the narrative reveals itself both all at once and in parts.

And she explains the systematic revelation and withholding of information that take place through such a technique. “The [flashbacks] appear the way memories rise in a mind trying to understand something about one’s past — seemingly at random, skirting around a conflict, until enough context is understood that the centre of the conflict can be tunneled towards.”

Most of A Place for Us is poetry, and poetry is what moves its author. “I loved and returned to The Lover by Marguirite Duras and The Great Fire by Shirley Hazzard. I listened endlessly to Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings, trying to pay attention to the mood and movement in it, and how that could translate into the way I thought about the structure for the sections within the novel. I wrote and rewrote quotes by Muhammad Ali into my journal to stay focused,” says Fatima, who is learning boxing these days.

Interact with the author @Prannay13

source: http://www.hindustantimes.com / Hindustan Times / Home> Books / by Prannay, Hindustan Times / September 19th, 2018

Get the taste of a culinary story

KERALA :

UmmiAbdullaMPOs01oct2018

A Kitchen Full of Stories, a coffee table book on Mappila cuisine, released

Every ingredient has a story to tell, and the dishes are like a great story, as chef Regi Mathew described cooking in a nutshell.

Similar is A Kitchen Full of Stories, a coffee table book released on Saturday. The book, in a mix of stories and recipes of traditional Mappila cuisine, documents the culinary journey of its writer, Ummi Abdulla.

Alongside are anecdotes from her growing years and tips from her own kitchen. The book that has evolved over seven years was conceptualised by her grand-daughter, Nazaneen Jalaludheen.

Releasing the book, N. Ram, chairman, The Hindu Publishing Group, said, “It goes without saying that this book is indispensable to anyone interested in Mappila cuisine. At one level, it is a cookbook — a practical guide to and celebration of Mappila kitchen treasures. But it is more than that. It introduces us to the culture and tradition of a community.”

“In a wider sense, it is a celebration of the idea of India, the rich diversity and plurality and the secular spirit of its historical civilisation that has come under stress and challenge today. It is the celebration of the greatness of our historical civilisation, which has welcomed influences from anywhere in the world,” he said.

Nandini Rao, chairman and managing director, Orient Blackswan, said coconut, coconut oil and rice formed the foundation of all food from Kerala.

“But Arab influences in Mappila cuisine are clearly evident and provide an element of surprise. A Kitchen Full of Stories evokes not just the food of the community but also the customs and traditions of the community that has contributed to the richness and diversity of India,” she said.

Ms. Jalaludheen said being a self-published book, they used crowdfunding as a way for people to book in advance. S. Muthiah, historian, Geeta Doctor, author and S.R. Madhu, writer-editor were present.

source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> News> Cities> Chennai / by Staff Reporter / Chennai – September 29th, 2018

Rahman Abbas: ‘English writers enjoy more freedom than us’

Mumbai, MAHARASHTRA :

Urdu writer Rahman Abbas on the challenges of being defiant

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A few paragraphs were all it took for the trouble to start. Thirteen years ago, Urdu writer Rahman Abbas was booked for obscenity for his debut novel Nakhlistan ki Talash, a love story set in Bombay following the 1992-93 riots. The offending two or three paragraphs dealt with love and sex.

It’s been more than 10 years since that particular combination of words got him arrested and two since the case of obscenity was closed. But aside from polishing the rawness of a first novel, he probably wouldn’t change the words.

“I may [take] care about a few words; I will use those words but will try to use them more creatively,” he says, when asked what he would have done in hindsight. “But I don’t think there is any word we should hide. I, for one, cannot.” He continues, “As Manto said, you say ‘breast’ for ‘breast’, you can’t use another word. Or for a ‘chair’ you have to say ‘chair’, you cannot say ‘donkey’.”

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A medium-height man with a soul patch and a disarming frankness, Abbas, 46, is currently translating Nakhlistan into English, and expects it to be published next year. He has just come back from a tour of Germany with the German translation of his fourth and latest novel Rohzin—the first time any of his novels has been translated. Next month, Rohzin’s English translation, by Sabika Abbas Naqvi, is slated for release. Set in Mumbai, the love story opens with the flood of July 2005 and won a state Sahitya Akademi award in 2017.

But to a general audience Abbas, a former teacher, is still perhaps best known as the writer who found himself in the crosshairs of an outdated legal provision: Section 292 of the Indian Penal Code that punishes obscenity in writing and art.

“I don’t regret what happened,” he says. “These are the challenges you have to face as a writer or creative person. If your society is orthodox, it is your duty to challenge the orthodoxy.”

And that is precisely what he plans to do. Since the police case that changed his life, Abbas has left the teaching profession, won and returned a Sahitya Akademi award, won and retained a Sahitya Akademi award, and is in the incipient stages of launching a broader campaign against Section 292. That section, among others, has for years been a part of the restrictive free speech architecture that bedevils Indian writers and artists.

“There is freedom for people to protest against a book, to dislike a book. I respect that freedom. If I have the freedom to write, people have the freedom to criticise,” says Abbas, who won his first state Sahitya Akademi award for his third novel, Ek Mamnua Mohabbat ki Kahani . “But a [legal] provision that gives people an opportunity to send a writer to jail, that should be stopped.” He adds, “For a democracy, this is crucial.”

The first step, Abbas believes, is to galvanise public opinion through writing and advocacy against Section 292 in particular. A public interest litigation (PIL) opposing the use of this provision against writers and artists is already in the works.

Abbas is also busy working on a fresh piece of Urdu fiction, his first literary effort since the case against him was closed in 2016, liberating him in several ways. “For my next novel, I will try to explore the things I couldn’t explore in my previous three novels,” he says. “Since the case has ended, I feel I am free to write.”

Abbas denies the impact that fame— or infamy—can have on the reception of a work. “I think if you aren’t a good writer, it will not help,” he says. “Nothing can help.” He names Sadat Hasan Manto and Ismat Chughtai as illustrious Urdu predecessors who were prosecuted (though ultimately unsuccessfully) under the same law he was. Then he chuckles: “There is no single example of bad writers having any problem.”

Good or bad, Indian filmmakers and artists have consistently faced oppressive free speech laws, whether through criminal prosecution, government bans or threats from conservative factions.

In 2016, various groups protested against Tamil writer Perumal Murugan’s One Part Woman and sought a ban on it. In 2015, Jharkhand-based writer Hansda Sowvendra Shekhar’s The Adivasi Will Not Dance was banned by the state government on allegations of having violated Section 292, among others. Earlier this month, the Supreme Court dismissed a plea seeking a ban on the Malayalam novel Meesha. To Abbas, this is part of a wider pattern. “English writers enjoy more freedom than us. I don’t know why. Alice Walker’s novel was in our syllabus and used those same words that I did and went to jail for,” he says. “On the one hand, the Government makes you read a book; on the other hand, if you use the same word in your text, you are a criminal.”

Though he was let off without a trial—the complainant told the court she had misunderstood the offending passages and the case was closed—Abbas spent one night under arrest in Arthur Road jail until his lawyer was able to complete the bail formalities. “It was quite a humiliating process,” he says, its memory still fresh more than a decade later. “When you go to jail, you feel your whole freedom is gone, that you will never get out of there.”

The experience was both debilitating and transformative. “I remembered Manto and wrote about how I felt the pain of Manto,” says Abbas, a touch dramatically. “If you are a writer or journalist and you experience jail, you understand the importance of freedom. I had it when I was writing; when it is stopped, you realise the importance of maintaining it. It’s not only your struggle, but a struggle of humanity.”

Though he lost his job, was pilloried at the time by the Urdu media, and still faces the censure of conservative Muslims, he now has more enthusiastic readers, he believes. “Now my writing has been accepted in a big way. Urdu readers are not that narrow minded,” he says. “They are openly reading and I am happy when young people appreciate the work which the previous generation had condemned.”

Abbas taught at a Muslim institution for several years and was also the principal of one. He later decided to leave academia and joined a think-tank fulltime in 2012. “If you are liberal Hindu, you won’t work in an RSS shakha,” he says of leaving that minority institution. “It is very conservative. Through education, they want to promote their religious ideas. I believe education should be 100 per cent secular; there shouldn’t be any discussion on religion. But now both communities are insisting on preaching religion and morality, and that is antieducation, anti-scientific temper.”

In 2015, Abbas joined the awards return protests initiated by authors disturbed by the silence of institutions and the apathy of the Government to violence against free thinkers. Like many writers and intellectuals, he too is concerned about what he perceives as the shrinking space for dissent in the country and the rise of divisive politics. “The right-wing is gaining. And only because it is doing the same ugly, dirty propaganda and dividing people in the name of religion,” he says. “There is a feeling that Dalits, Muslims, Christians, Adivasis can be targeted. Yes, there is a fear. And people should speak up.”

source: http://www.openthemagazine.com / Open / Home> Salon > Web Exclusive: Books / by Bhavya Dore / September 21st, 2018

The Ghazi of Peace

Bahraich, UTTAR PRADESH :

Shahid Amin, one of India’s most creative and learned historians, explores Indian syncretism through the legend of an 11th century warrior-saint.

Dargahs such as the one in Ajmer (above) and Bahraich symbolise India’s syncretic heritage. Vishal Srivastav
Dargahs such as the one in Ajmer (above) and Bahraich symbolise India’s syncretic heritage. Vishal Srivastav

Book- Conquest and Community: The Afterlife of Warrior Saint Ghazi Miyan

Author: Shahid Amin

Publication: Orient BlackSwan

Pages: 348

Price: Rs 850

Three decades ago, the historian Shahid Amin wrote a brilliant piece, ‘Gandhi as Mahatma’, which is in many respects the locus classicus of what became the subaltern school of Indian history. What he offered was far more than what is ordinarily called “history from below”, showing that the masses made of Gandhi what they could, stepping outside the role habitually assigned to them by nationalist historiography. The Mahatma, Amin suggested, had been metamorphosed into a floating signifier.

In the present work, Conquest and Community, which cements Amin’s reputation as one of India’s most creative and learned historians, he extends this mode of analysis and turns his attention to Salar Masud or Ghazi Miyan as he is more popularly known, a warrior saint whose cult appears to have been well established by the 14th century.

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The story of Ghazi Miyan begins, we may say, with Sultan Mahmud of Ghazni, whose name is calculated to turn the middle-class Hindu into a figure of rage: this early 11th century warrior made repeated incursions into India, “utterly ruined the prosperity of the country” and desecrated the shrine of Somnath. Folklore would inscribe a place for Salar Masud as Mahmud’s nephew, though contemporary records make no mention of such kinship, and representations of him as a warrior taking up arms on behalf of his uncle until he was felled in battle in 1034 against a confederation of Hindu kings began to proliferate.

More surprising still is the fact that the Ghazi was transformed into a Sufi saint, the extent of whose following and reputation might be gauged by the presence at his dargah of Mohammad bin Tughlaq, the Sultan of Delhi. Abdur Rahman Chishti’s 17th century hagiography, Mirat-i-Masudi, would displace Mahmud with Miyan Ghazi. To this day, the cult of the 11th century Indo-Turkic warrior saint thrives in north India, and Hindus and Muslims continue to be drawn in large numbers to his dargah at Bahraich.

Just how is it that the popular assent to the cult of Ghazi Miyan was garnered across the religious divide, and that too with respect to a figure associated in educated Hindu minds with the image of the rapacious Muslim invader? Amin says rather modestly that his “book eschews definitive explanations” and that he is not interested in asking why a 17th century Sufi wrote the text “at the time that he did,” or why “Hindu castes felt no compunction in installing a Muslim warrior on their domestic altar”.

He sets out, rather, to explore those aspects of the Ghazi Miyan narrative which took hold firmly in Gangetic popular culture. This leads him knee deep into some extraordinary anomalies. The commonplace view of Muslims in India renders them as beef eaters, but the Ghazi Miyan of folklore is a protector of cows, the saviour of oppressed cowherds, and a determined foe of the landlords who claimed as their prerogative the right to impregnate the virgin daughters of the Ahirs. In a similar vein, the ballads celebrate the story of the married Brahmin woman, Sati Amina, at whose home the sandalwood tree has dried up.

The family priest avers that the tree will regenerate upon the Ghazi’s arrival — and so it does. In gratitude, Amina washes the feet of the Ghazi and his followers, the Panchon Pir, and then serves them a lavish meal. What could be more violative of the social order than for a Brahmin woman to cook for a Muslim man? Yet, as the very name Sati Amina signifies — Amina is the Prophet’s mother — this is a story about in-between spaces and the risks (and pleasures) of transgressive and forbidden acts.

By the 19th century, as Amin shows, the cult of the Ghazi had become a source of acute anxiety to British, Muslim, and Hindu elites alike. Colonial ethnographers and officials had set out to clearly differentiate “Hindu” and “Muslim” communities, and the presence of a large number of Hindu worshippers at the sites associated with the Ghazi was immensely bewildering to them. On the specious ground that Bahraich was a “cosmopolitan” site and therefore not deserving to be characterized as a special religious endowment of the Muslims, the British sought to bring the dargah under their control and pocket the considerable donations left by devotees.

To the Ashraf or Muslim elites, their low-class and illiterate brethren who consorted with Hindu devotees were little better than idolaters, and the Muslim clergy had no difficulty in attributing the ignorance of Muslim devotees to their frequent social intercourse with Hindus. The zealots of the Arya Samaj and Hindu revivalists expressed alarm that “their” women were willing to surrender their dignity before a Muslim warrior saint, all too often in the hope of gaining male progeny. Such had been the consummate nature of Muslim dominance that, in Amin’s marvelously elegant and provocative rendering of the revivalist view, Hindus “partaking of holy unction” at “the altars of Muslim saints” were “virtually ingesting the leftovers from their Muslim neighbours’ kitchen.”

Few questions have animated Indian historiography, and discussions in the public sphere, as much as the relations between Hindus and Muslims. Amin’s study is a signal contribution to this literature, and he is particularly enlightening in his suggestion that while we cannot be dismissive of those who have posited a syncretic Indian past, it behooves us to view syncretism not only as a narrative of pluralism and accommodation but also in equal parts as a story of agonism, conflict and clash. His masterful study argues that while our narrative understanding of the Ghazi Miyan saga cannot stop at viewing him as “just a conqueror”, it must also contend with the fabrications and the verisimilitude engendered by local histories, ballads and folklore.

In what Amin calls “the quotidian culture of north India” reside perhaps our best hopes for neutralising those who would seek to homogenise the Indian past in the vain and dangerous quest to create the patriotic and “new Indian national”.

The writer is professor of history, University of California

source: http://www.indianexpress.com / The Indian Express / Home> Lifestyle / by Vinay Lal / October 10th, 2015

Book on role of Muslims in freedom movement

Trichy, TAMIL NADU :

To commemorate 150th year of `Sepoy Mutiny’

Tiruchi  :

To commemorate the celebrations of 150th year of the `Sepoy Mutiny’ described by historians as the first war of Independence in India, the Institute of Objective Studies, New Delhi, will bring out next year, a book on the `Role of Muslims in Freedom Struggle’ focussing on the participation of freedom fighters belonging to the Muslim community in various struggles and their contribution in making our country free from the clutches of the British rule.

Divided into six chapters, the book will narrate the sacrifice of Muslims all over the country. Each chapter pertains to a cluster of the then Presidencies comprising a few states.

A team of professors and research assistants, led by one author, has been working on the book, identifying the descendants of Muslims who had participated in the freedom struggle.

The sixth chapter comprises three States, Tamil Nadu, Kerala and Karnataka. Details about contribution to the cause of freedom movement by Muslim freedom fighters hailing from these States are now being compiled by J. Raja Mohammed, former Assistant Director of Government Museums.

“I adopt a four-pronged strategy for compiling the data and details about the freedom fighters. Interviewing the family members, collection of details from the Madras Achieves, verification of fortnightly reports sent to the British Collectors between 1857 and 1947, and above all press clippings from newspapers including The Hindu , The Mail and Swadesamitran and a few Muslim journals, to present an authentic chapter in the book,” Dr. Raja Mohamed told The Hindu here on Wednesday

source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> News> National> Tamil Nadu / by M. Balaganessin / March 23rd, 2006