Mumbai, MAHARASHTRA / Dubai, U.A.E :

Residents Zahra Khumri and her husband Mufaddal have created a template of success for little people. And much of it entails looking within

Photos: Shihab

Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. As is the notion of the ‘normal’. At 127cm and 138cm respectively, Dubai residents Zahra and Mufaddal Khumri may not fit into what is deemed normal by society. Not until you start speaking to them and peel off layers of what has been an extraordinary life. Zahra says she was born into a “normal” family (“My mother is 6ft tall,” she says).

And yet, it was in her childhood that she was diagnosed with dwarfism. Mufaddal, on the other hand, had induced dwarfism, which means his limbs were not proportionate to his body. It’s a diagnosis that tends to snatch hope away from people’s lives. But Mufaddal and Zahra have been, in every way, an embodiment of what human determination can achieve.

Growing up in Mumbai, neither Zahra nor Mufaddal had ever imagined companionship for themselves because we do not create templates of hope for those who are different than us. As Mufaddal says, “The world has been structured and ergonomically, it is meant for people of a certain height. I don’t blame the world for it. When you travel in a plane or train, you need to carry a foot rest so that your legs are comfortable and you don’t get pain in your thighs or lower part of your limbs,” says Mufaddal.

Zahra has had her own share of struggles. “Travelling in public places, particularly overcrowded spaces, has been a nightmare because there are no separate facilities and when we stand, we are at the height of a normal person’s buttock area, which is not very pleasant,” she says.

When everyday living is more challenging than others, how do you make room for hope? The daily jibes and amused stares are enough to break your spirit every day, every moment.

Take, for instance, the time when Zahra and Mufaddal were in their respective colleges. It’s not that they never liked others who are “normal” but the fear of rejection was enough to suppress any desire they ever had. “I began to channelise my pent-up frustration in books and music. I felt if I spouted poetry or recited ghazals, girls would get attracted to me. And none of them got attracted because for them, even a poet had to be a tall, dark and handsome man, right?” says Mufaddal. “And then there is the possibility of the offspring being short that often frightens people.” Zahra agrees that when the love part leaves a void, you tend to make up for it by excelling in education because there are fewer substitutes to knowledge.

Or take, for instance, the time when Mufaddal was told of Zahra by a cousin and they decided to meet on a date in Bandra, Mumbai. What was otherwise a memorable evening at a Chinese restaurant was also marred by curious onlookers staring at the couple. And then came their nikaah (wedding) ceremony. “The crowd was like, ‘Please go and have a look at this couple’. They were amused to see us,” recalls Zahra.

And the time when the couple thought of having a family. As Zahra decided to go for genetic counselling, the doctors advised that there was 50 per cent chance that her daughter would inherit the condition. “We were prepared,” says Zahra. “We told the doctor that we had led our whole lives as little persons, so we were really okay if our child had it.” Mufaddal and Zahra’s daughter Zoya did get bullied a lot as a result of which she had to change three schools.

“My daughter asks us to not accompany her to the mall because then people tend to laugh at us. When she is with her friends, she is calmer,” says Zahra. Mufaddal adds that Zoya feels the need to outshine others in order to get noticed. “But why does a person of short stature have to outshine beyond his or her capacity to get noticed? And once noticed, s/he again has to continue to do the outshining in order to be accepted. How is that fair?”

If everyday life is challenging for us all, imagine how challenging it is for those with short stature. What makes Zahra and Mufaddal’s story inspiring is how they have found their own happiness and fought their way to success instead of letting their condition define who they are. Today, Mufaddal is the CEO of Maldives Islamic Bank while Zahra works with people of determination in the UAE. Zahra is highly indebted to Gulshan Kavarana, the founder of SFS who also gave her an opportunity to work with famous Emirati artist Abdulla Lutfi.

“How many times have you seen CEOs of companies being short? Within organisations, you need to be heard louder than the rest and perform better than the rest. There is always going to be a prejudice that can come in many forms when it comes to increments and opportunities. When I shifted to my last job as the CEO of Maldives Islamic Bank, I thanked the board for taking a ‘short man’ as the CEO. I could not get that in some of my earlier banks, I could not rise to a level that I thought I would achieve,” says Mufaddal.

Inclusivity, he says, is not about gender alone, it is about giving people of “different abilities” the opportunity. Something that did not come easily to Zahra in her prime years. Zahra, who had studied engineering, was passionate about animation. But after her marriage to Mufaddal, she never got a chance to re-establish that career. It was years later that she began working closely with people of determination.

“The reality of becoming financially independent hit very late in life. Now I feel it’s important to be so. That’s what we keep telling our daughter. She wants to be a veterinarian. Thankfully, there is a precedent for that with one little person being a veterinarian.” The duo admits that living in the UAE has shaped their present and future and both are grateful for the facilities the country provides to people of determination.

Today, the couple is in a long distance marriage with Mufaddal’s work keeping him in the Maldives and Zahra’s keeping her in Dubai. Their daughter Zoya is 16, and the couple maintains that all they have taught her is to be confident “to look into the mirror and love each part of her body”. “I tell her that do not at any point feel that you are entitled to anything because you are a person of short stature. The moment you have that feeling of entitlement, you invite pity. You have to create a name for yourself. Let people see value in you,” says Mufaddal. “Even if you are discriminated against, the fire in you will burn much more.”

anamika@khaleejtimes.com

source: http://www.khaleejtimes.com / Khaleej Times / Home> Lifestyle / by Anamika Chatterjee / July 04th, 2025

INDIA :

An enjoyable history of Delhi and the Mughal dynasty that negotiates the end of an old world and the creeping advent of a new, unfriendly one.

The trading post established by the British East India Company at Surat, India, c.1680. From British Merchant Adventurers, published 1942. | Photo Credit: Universal History Archive/Universal Images Group via Getty Images

When the Bishop of Calcutta came to Delhi in 1824, he had a meeting with Akbar II, the penultimate Mughal emperor. It was a tragic affair. The royal audience hall was “full of lumber of all descriptions, broken palanquins and empty boxes”. The throne, meanwhile, was covered in pigeon’s dung. The king of kings, descended from another Akbar of legendary fame, himself lived in “pitiable” conditions, at the mercy of the East India Company. “I heartily hope,” the Bishop wrote, “that [the British] Government will reverence the ruins of fallen greatness, and that, at least, no fresh degradation” would be inflicted on this “poor old man”.

The Broken Script: Delhi Under the East India Company and the Fall of the Mughal Dynasty

Swapna Liddle / Speaking Tiger / Pages: 432 + 24-page photo insert / Price: Rs. 899

Delhi in the age of this old man and his heir—specifically from 1803 until the Great Rebellion of 1857—is the focus of Swapna Liddle’s The Broken Script: Delhi Under the East India Company and the Fall of the Mughal Dynasty. Though the book, especially its second half, contains a good deal about literary culture, education, general life, and institutions under Company rule, its soul and principal substance lies in the tale of the imperial dynasty and their negotiation of decline. In theory, the Mughals remained sovereigns of India. In practice, however, these years witnessed the British chipping away at their claims, subjecting the emperor precisely to the “degradation” the Bishop feared.

It is surprising how many people think that the Mughals vanished somewhere in the 18th century; The Broken Script sketches skilfully the dynasty’s battle for survival in the period that followed, when, as Akbar II’s successor would lament, “nothing was left but the bare name instead of wealth, power and country”. Liddle’s research in resurrecting this time is solid: she utilises palace records, Company documents, files concerning the “mutiny” in 1857, (its chaos marking the end of the book), newspapers, and a host of private accounts. Every second page offers a detail, episode, or anecdote of the variety that makes researchers scribble notes. The writing itself flows with ease, making the text accessible (and enjoyable) to the lay reader.

Politics and control

At one level, Liddle’s book is a study of politics and control. When the British took Delhi from the Marathas in 1803, the Mughal emperor was already weak. Yet, he was still the fount of political legitimacy in the Indian subcontinent. As I discovered in my own research, as far south as Travancore, in present-day Kerala, rulers sought the emperor’s endorsement for their titles and position. Lord Wellesley, the imperialist Governor-General, was fully conscious that custody of the emperor was a political asset. And if the British didn’t take charge of him, a hostile power might exploit the Mughals’ symbolic appeal to unite anti-Company factions. The padshah had no teeth, that is, but even his shadow could be transformed into something potent.

At first, as Liddle shows, the British were courteous: honours were paid, and the Company took a ceremonially subservient pose with the imperial family. But no sooner was control established than the hacking away began. Before long, Company men wanted to assert superiority—one Governor-General in 1815 refused to visit Delhi, for the idea of having to stand in the emperor’s presence was grating. Akbar II possessed de jure sovereignty, but the British were, de facto, his masters. Slowly, the Company took control of the Red Fort, citing security. They meddled in the allocation of stipends to junior princes, exiled those of the royal house who were seen as dangerous, and introduced themselves even into the emperor’s domestic life. These were all political acts, oriented towards ejecting the Mughals from public consciousness. The Red Fort was a living reminder of their erstwhile greatness; so, Company officers began to urge the imperial family to move out and vacate their ancestors’ seat. Similarly, many were the painful negotiations over the dynasty’s pension. Though much was put down on paper, t The padshah was often reduced to pleading, at one time even seeking legal representation in London. The Company conceded certain claims, but only after extracting an advantage or benefit for themselves—it did not matter that he was in the right; they had the power to defy every treaty. Additionally, the British cut off the emperor’s ceremonial links with other Indian courts—the Company, not he, were hereon positioned as India’s supreme authority.

Highlights

• Delhi from 1803 until the Great Rebellion of 1857 is the focus of Swapna Liddle’s The Broken Script.
• Liddle’s research in resurrecting this time is solid.
• She utilises palace records, Company documents, files concerning the “mutiny” in 1857, (its chaos marking the end of the book), newspapers, and a host of private accounts.

Interesting dynamics

Delhi itself, meanwhile, saw interesting transformations. The fall of its Muslim ruling elite, more and more on the margins under Company rule, saw also the corresponding rise of Hindu and Jain mercantile classes; this at times sparked religious animosities. The city was home to heaps of newspapers that reported enthusiastically on palace dynamics, bazaar gossip, speculated on British policy, and more. A degree of anglicisation was also in the air.: elites might serve oyster pate to Western guests, while shops obtained signboards in English. But equally, there were furious debates on whether English or “Oriental” learning should be patronised, and to what extent. To the more conservative, the city’s culture too seemed to be under siege.

Liddle’s study is illuminating, and reflective of how complex even a relatively narrow historical canvas and geographical space can prove. She reminds us that colonialism and empire were not merely about territory and battles, but also more intricate matters of ritual, protocol, and meanings. The book has a rich cast of figures—Anglo-Indian families related to the Mughals by marriage; corrupt British officers who might be manipulated by “natives”; professors and poets—some of whom deserve their own detailed studies. It is a gratifying read, about a dynasty and a city navigating the end of an old world, and the creeping advent of a new, unfriendly one.

Manu S. Pillai is a historian and writer.

source: http://www.frontline.thehindu.com / Frontline / Home> Books> Book Review / by Manu S Pillai / June 02nd, 2023

INDIA :

Nazarana Gold Mohur of Bahadur Shah Zafar

The last Mughal Emperor, Bahadur Shah II, might have been completely forgotten by his country and his people, but the interest in everything associated with him among numismatists and history enthusiasts around the world is soaring high. On August 28 numismatists and historians gaped in amazement when a Nazarana Gold Mohur of Bahadur Shah Zafar from the year 1839 was sold for an astounding sum of £571,500. This amount comes to around Rs 6.8 crore. The auction was conducted by Spink Auction, one of the most credible auction houses with a history of more than 350 years.

Not many are surprised at the interest shown in the nazrana mohur of the last Mughal emperor as everything associated with the doomed emperor is still very attractive to historians and numismatists. Bahadur Shah Zafar, or Bahadur Shah II (24 October 1775 – 7 November 1862) the last Mughal emperor of India was not just a vestige of past, he was a very popular leader, poet, sufi and a great freedom fighter who rose with his people against the tyrannical and brutal rule of the British East India Company. While the mutiny was defeated in a matter of months, Bahadur Shah Zafar lost badly, sacrificing his sons who were butchered by a British officer, faced sham trial where there was no hope of justice and the judge was doing all to punish the King and then faced the worst humiliation possible for any human to endure, let alone the king.

Bahadur Shah II was the 20th and the last Mughal emperor. Born Mirza Abu Zafar Sirajuddin Muhammad he succeeded his father, Akbar II, upon his death on 28 September 1837. His rule ended on 21 September 1857 when the mutineers lost the battle and the Emperor was arrested in Delhi, near Humayun’s Tomb by Major William Hodson. Bahadur Shah II was a titular emperor, or a namesake king as the Mughal Empire existed in name when he ascended to the throne as the authority of the empire had shrunk only to the walled city of Old Delhi or Shahjahanbad.

The country or the community haven’t done justice to the poet king, whose sacrifices for the nation and his opposition to the colonial rule have completely been ignored. Several of his sons and even grandsons were mercilessly massacred by the rampaging colonial officiers in the wake of Bahadur Shah Zafar’s defeat and his eventual arrests. He was also packed off to a faraway Rangoon, Burma where the last Mughal emperor spent his life in extreme penury and helplessness. Merely four years into his crushing and degrading imprisonment in the year 1862, at the age of 87, the last Mughal emperor developed some illness. Due to utter lack of healthcare facilities for the octogenarian emperor and his family, his condition deteriorated and became serious. There was only a farce treatment given to Bahadur Shah Zafar, but he couldn’t survive the humiliation heaped upon him over the last four years by brutal and wicked colonial rulers. The Emperor breathed his last on Friday, 7 November 1862 at 5 am. Instead of allowing the family to mourn the death of the emperor the Raj was more intent to force the king perpetual obscurity by keeping his grave away from the eyes of the world. He was buried at 4 pm and only two male members with a moulwi were allowed to offer truncated funeral prayer.

It should be noted that Nazarana coins struck in the name of last Mughal emperor Bahadur Shah II and minted at Shahjahanabad are extremely rare. For long, British used their coins for transactions in Delhi and other parts of India under their control, though the minting of nazrana coins in small quantities occurred sometimes under the direct supervision of the British officials.

source: http://www.muslimmirror.com / Muslim Mirror / Home> Art & Culture> Indian Muslim / by Muslim Mirror Special Correspondent / September 07th, 2025

Mahmudabad (Sitapur District), UTTAR PRADESH :

The Rani of Bilehra was an unlikely champion of emancipation

Illustration by Atri

White light fills the room  as I open my eyes and stare groggily at the unfamiliar surroundings—a huge room with lime-washed walls, high ceilings with ornate arches and my bed, which sags a bit in the middle because it is a palang—with cloth strips stretched across and wound tightly at the edges. And then I remember: I am inside the mahalsara, the women’s palace, in the heart of the Qila of Mahmudabad, a living fort in the Sitapur district of Uttar Pradesh.

My family and I are guests of Raja Mohammad Amir Mohammad Khan. We will be spending two days here, participating in the mourning rituals of Muharram, one of the most prominent, and sacred, cultural observances by Mahmudabad’s royal family.

The palace is divided into two distinct sections—the zenana, the women’s section, and the mardana, the men’s area. In pre- and newly independent India, the women of the Raja’s family were confined within the zenana, where no men except close family members were allowed. The wings still remain distinct—my six-year-old son, Hasan, and I have been given a room inside the zenana, while my husband is in the mardana. Women walk freely in and out of the zenana, but men, other than the family, still cannot enter.

I get ready, leave my room and walk past the huge courtyard of the mahalsara, flanked by large imambaras. On one end of the courtyard are the chambers of the erstwhile Rani of Mahmudabad, the present Raja’s mother.

***

Rani Kaniz Abid was the queen of the estate of Bilehra, a royal in her own right. A strong, self-possessed woman, the Rani had depth of character and a sharp intellect. She had named the zenana, the usaara, which means ‘prison’. This is the place where humans are kept as prisoners, she would say. Once, someone brought a few colourful caged birds as pets for the young crown prince. But the Rani would not hear of it. She walked up to the cage and opened the gate, setting the birds free. This was her silent protest against the invisible cages of the world that women lived in.

At the far edge, to the right of the mahalsara, stands a lush green garden that has at its centre a large rectangular, glimmering pool flaunting a curved bridge over it. Known as the phulwari, this space was once the garden of the royal ladies. Within this very garden was a small menagerie that the late Raja built for his son. This zoo housed a myriad birds and animals for the amusement of the young prince, but it made the Rani uncomfortable. She would, one day, request her husband that as much as she would like her son to look at them and be happy, these creatures should be set free. You cannot cage living beings, was the lesson she instilled in her son.

Rani Kaniz Abid’s longing for freedom also stemmed, perhaps, from traumas of her early childhood, when she faced confinement at the hands of the British. Her brother, who was the heir-apparent, passed away at a very young age, and her father, heartbroken and overcome by grief, followed just three months later. Eight months on, her mother too passed on, leaving her and her three sisters orphaned. As the eldest, Kaniz Abid was to become the next Rani according to the rules of primogeniture, but she was still a Rani-in-waiting until she came of age. During this time she and her sisters were confined to a house where a British collector supervised every aspect of their lives. For her, that was the beginning of life in the usaara. A life of virtual imprisonment. That was also the beginning of her realization of what it meant to long for freedom, which she never lost even as the Rani of Bilehra.

***

Reminiscing, the Raja speaks of his mother’s deep religious convictions. But her spirituality was not in conflict with her championing of freedom. As a Rani who commanded power and respect, her life, she felt, remained cloistered in the usaara by patriarchy. And yet, she voluntarily chose never to reveal her face in public. The Raja recalls that for most of her life, his mother would insist on remaining purdah nashin [A woman who remains veiled in public in accordance with the practice of purdah]. In fact, her first passport had no photograph for identification, only a note saying purdah nashin! It was only much later that she agreed, when her daughter-in-law, with whom she was very close, “persuaded her and took her to England”.

Rani Kaniz Abid’s daughter-in-law Vijaya Khan, the present Rani of Mahmudabad, hails from a renowned family of Udaipur—the daughter of former foreign secretary Jagat Singh Mehta. Interestingly, in spite of the difference in religion, the cultural context of both places was surprisingly similar. Rama Mehta, the present Rani’s mother, in her book Inside The Haveli, has described vividly the separate zenana and mardana sections, and the various regulations within her marital home in Udaipur. Although the book is a fictionalized account based on her own life, it depicts real places and the real culture of the times.

Restrictions upon women existed uniformly across religions and geographies. And it was considered a way of ‘honouring’ the women of the nobility, by not letting a commoner have the privilege of setting eyes upon them. In practice, however, it became oppressive. But Rani Kaniz Abid, the queen who couldn’t stand cages, subtly and gently unlocked the gates of the usaara as well. She never asked her daughter-in-law to observe the restrictions of segregation, reflecting her firm belief that, in time, even the most entrenched systems would slowly but surely transform. 

 ***

Back in the zenana, I am now in front of the Bara Imambara, participating in one of the processions that begin inside the mahalsara. This procession is accompanied by a horse that is decked up in ceremonial regalia to represent the steed of Imam Husain, the Prophet’s grandson, martyred in the battle of Karbala. The horse is a Mewari stallion, gifted to the Mahmudabad family by the royals of Udaipur. A caretaker leads the handsome animal into the zenana, and as they walk by, I take full notice of the man, and suddenly find myself struggling to suppress a wave of laughter in the middle of this sombre mourning procession.

The caretaker is wearing a ghoonghat, a chequered cloth drawn over his head. This veil will prevent him from resting his eyes upon the women inside the zenana. I mull over, with some amusement, this far superior solution for men who complain of being ‘lured’ by the mere sight of women.

He holds the reigns of the horse, while the ladies chant elegies, led by a distinguished woman—the Raja’s first cousin. Gazing at her as she recites, I wonder if the erstwhile Rani resembled her—silver hair, pale skin, almond eyes and a look of utter serenity. I am suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of solidarity and admiration for Rani Kaniz Abid, who may have accepted purdah, but dreamt of freedom, both for herself and for others in her care. Who valued the need for mobility and opportunity, and believed in setting free all living creatures from all sorts of cages—the visible and the invisible.

source: http://www.readersdigest.in / Readers Digest / Home> Features / by Zehra Naqvi / July 16th, 2019