Tag Archives: Dr Tarana Husain Khan

Raffat Begum: How a begum’s emergence from the harem changed the lives of Rampur’s women

Rampur, UTTAR PRADESH :

Raffat Begum was a gifted poet and wrote with the pen name ‘Asmat’ and took advice from Azhar Inayati, a renowned poet of Rampur. She also wrote several barsaati folk songs celebrating monsoons as did Nawab Raza.

The names of brides have vanished from wedding cards in Rampur. So, we are cordially invited to the wedding of ‘Arif Khan, S/o Samiullah Khan to the daughter (no name) of Wahidullah Khan’. Even the names of women are concealed from vocalization by disrespectful male lips. The nameless miasma enveloping our girls is a recent trend in Muslim etiquette of this erstwhile princely state. It negates the ninety year journey the women of the city have traversed–all the tiny and large steps of emerging out of the zenanas, educating themselves and finding a voice. Maybe the unnamed daughter getting married was educated at one of the local women’s colleges established by the erstwhile Nawabs and has ambitions that involve a becoming.

The emancipative journey of Rampur women began with the decision of a queen – Raffat Zamani Begum, wife of Nawab Raza Ali Khan– to leave the confines of the harem and become something more than a name. Nawab Raza (1930-1947), an enlightened ruler fully supported his wife in her decision and was possibly influenced by her in his very western and ‘modern’ outlook.  As the princesses and female members of the royal family followed Begum Raffat, there was a filtered down liberation among the women and girls of upper classes, and over the years a snowball effect that touched the lives of the of all classes of Rampur women.

Raffat Begum was the daughter of Sir Abdus Samad Khan, Prime Minister of Rampur under the colonial rule, an impeccable gentleman who traced his antecedents from the Najibabad royal family.  She was married to the crown prince, Raza Ali Khan, when she was five and he was six years old. The little bride sat on her grandmother’s lap, her heavy nath supported by her grandmother’s palm as the nikah ceremony was performed. The young daughter in law was granted all the paraphernalia of the future queen while still living with her father and had to attend court on special occasions. At a time when brides were given a new name and a title, her name was changed from Askari Begum to Raffat Zamani Begum.

When Raffat was thirteen, her father in law, Nawab Hamid Ali Khan (1894-1930) demanded that the rukhsati (going away ceremony) be performed. Raffat’s father insisted that they wait at least till the groom had completed his education. Raffat Begum wrote, and is quoted in her sister Jahanara Begum’s memoir, that the relations between the two gentlemen became strained. Finally, Nawab Hamid walked on foot from his Khas Bagh palace to the bride’s house, ‘Rosaville’, and the ceremony which usually took days was performed in a few hours; Raffat Begum left her paternal home amidst  songs extolling the valiant Rohilla Nawabs and martyrs of ancient battles.

The teenage couple began their married life often separated by the political intricacies and rules of the harem. Oral history says that they were not allowed to live together for seven years and Raffat Begum was declared infertile after her first son was born. Raza was forced to take a second wife by his father and stepmother. The women of Raffat Begum’s family did not practice strict purda. Her mother was the daughter of the regent of Rampur, General Azamuddin Khan (1888-1891) who had earned the ire of the maulvis of the time for his ‘kristaan’ viewpoint and his championing of female education. Some say he was murdered because of his radical outlook. It is therefore unsurprising that the educated Raffat Begum rejected the claustrophobic harem life she had endured for the first ten years of her married life as soon as Nawab Raza came to power. The couple showed a proclivity towards the ‘modern’ and western lifestyle in all areas and Raffat Begum became a major mover in the drastic transformation of the Rampur durbar, the zenana and Rampur culture. Though not documented in written histories, the influence of Raffat Begum on the dress, cuisine and court etiquettes finds testimony in oral history.

We get a vivid description of the Begum in her stepdaughter , Mehrunnisa Begum’s memoir, ‘An Extraordinary Life.’

Home tutored in English, Persian and Urdu, Raffat Begum entertained distinguished guests at royal banquets and sat for official pictures­­––the first pictures of women from the royal family. She wore latest western dresses, make up and was a chain smoker –– a ‘modern’ thing to do. In fact, she encouraged her children to smoke as it was considered fashionable. However, some women continued to live in the royal zenana ––more out of lack of choice and under confidence–– but there was no constraint on their movement. Given that Nawab Raza’s predecessor, Nawab Hamid confined his women to a sequestered life behind the laal purda, this was the beginning of a drastic change in the thought process and lifestyle of elite Rampur women.

The young princesses were sent to a boarding school after being brought up by British nannies in a strictly regimented nursery. Emulating the new trend, the elite landowning families and those associated with the court started educating their sons and daughters at boarding schools. So, my mother and her siblings were sent to La Martinere in the 1950s. The 1960’s saw Rampur’s first female doctors, teachers, writers and lawyers ––aspirational models for young girls studying in government colleges now housed in the old palaces and zenanas of yore. Nawab Raza gave a lot of emphasis to education particularly female education and the girls from ordinary families were now sent to girls’ schools in the city after initial misgivings. Covered rickshaws and thelas (carts) transported the burqa clad young ladies to schools. My mother became a doctor in 1967 and the women of my family practiced a flexi-veil where they would cover their heads, sit in curtained cars in Rampur and don sarees and bellbottoms outside of Rampur.

Raffat Begum was a gifted poet and wrote with the pen name ‘Asmat’ and took advice from Azhar Inayati, a renowned poet of Rampur. She also wrote several barsaati folk songs celebrating monsoons as did Nawab Raza. Some of her poetry was published.

Begum Noor Bano, her daughter in law and ex-Member of Parliament, recalls the after-dinner dastan sessions with the children and grandchildren gathered around their beloved ‘Mummy’.  The dastans were later written down by a scribe.

Mapara Begum, a court singer, says she would give importance to the lowliest person and welcome everyone with warmth. Which is why she was fondly called Raaj Maata, the queen mother of Rampur.

A few years after Nawab Raza’s death in 1966, Raffat Begum moved back to her father’s place, Rosaville, with her retinue of servants. It was an empty house. Her parents had passed away and her brothers and sisters had left in pursuit of their lives and careers. Life had come a full circle. She passed away at Rosaville in 1986 – an elegant begum, spirited and dignified till the end. Her plaintive lines are still echo on the lips of old timers:

“Aisey beemaar ki dava kya hai,jo batata nahi hua kya hai;

Kaun suntan hai is zamaney mein, kis se kahiye iltija kya hai.”

How can a person who cannot describe her ailment find a cure?

Even if I could find words for my pleas, would my entreaties find listeners.

Receiving yet another invite to the marriage of an anonymous daughter, I tried to remember the names of the wives of acquaintances and distant relatives. I came up with Naeem mamu ki biwi, Munney sahib ki ammi etc. etc. We are all guilty of using the blanket term bhabhi or khala to address the married women of various ages; we are introduced as wives, mothers and granddaughters. I used to laugh at the old style of explaining connections––‘Munney mian ki beti Shaddan Khan ke ghar mein hai’, indicating that Munney mian’s nameless daughter is married to Shaddan Khan. We have accepted an anonymous existence here and it is only logical that our girls get shrouded in namelessness on their wedding day.

Tarana Husain Khan is a writer and researcher based in Rampur. Her historical fiction ‘The Begum and the Dastan’ has been recently published by Tranquebar. The views expressed are the author’s own.

source: http://www.shethepeople.com / SheThePeople / Home> Books / by Tarana Husain Khan / March 02nd, 2021

Dr. Tarana’s book on forgotten Rampur foods released

Rampur, UTTAR PRADESH :

New Delhi :

Away from the hustle and bustle of the national capital Delhi, the food lovers gathered in Delhi’s India International Center to discuss the food – delicacies, genres and history – all day. It was for the release of Dr. Tarana Hasan Khan’s book ‘Deg to Dastarkhwan: Stories and Recipes from Rampur.

In this era of pizza, burger, and fast foods, we seems to be forgetting traditions of the Shahi, Mughlai and old delicious food.

Dr. Tarana Hasan Khan is one of the few to write on Dastarkhwan – the Indian cusine. She is also cultural historian.

Dr. Tarana Hasan Khan and her book

Her other book is: The Begum and the Dastan.

Dr. Tarana says It took her three years to cover the forgotten recipes of Rampur for the book. There is a chapter on rice and spices in this book.

Famous food writer Pushpant Pant also participated in the book launch ceremony. The program started with welcome address by Swati Pal, Principal of Janki Devi Memorial College.

She also discussed the problems faced in writing the book on the ‘forgotten foods of Rampur’ were mentioned. Yusuf Saeed and Naseema Naqvi had a long conversation on this subject. This was followed by a discussion on the history of the foods between Dr. Tarana and Pushpant Pant.

Dr. Tarana specially thanked Pushpesh Pant for attending the program and joining the discussion on delicious food. He has written about Pushpent Pant by posting on Twitter:

This book has been published by Penguin.

source: http://www.awazthevoice.in / Awaz, The Voice / Home / by Aasha Khosa / October 31st, 2022

‘The Begum and the Dastan’: A novel that shows how to write history without condoning it

Rampur, UTTAR PRADESH :

Tarana Husain Khan doesn’t write women only as damsels in distress, she writes them as women who challenge.

Tarana Husain Khan.

I don’t remember when my mother first told me, “Boys will be boys.” as an explanation. But I trusted it. The 20-year-old I am now knows it’s an eraser. A cleaning towel that wipes away the grim men produce. Over our words. Over our careers. Over our bodies. It’s an explanation that deletes a lived history with a swift and casual swipe. Tarana Husain Khan’s The Begum and the Dastan resists this erasure.

Khan’s character, Ameera’s grandmother, whom she calls Dadi, tells her the dastan about Feroza Begum, Ameera’s great-grandmother. Feroza Begum attended sawani celebrations at Nawab Shams Ali Khan’s Benazir Palace, defying her family, only to be kidnapped by the Nawab. Although the premise sounds simple, Khan crafts the dastan carefully, preserving the dynamics in Sherpur, a princely state, like one would sour pickle in a jar. Her writing serves as a citation for the overused “Show, don’t tell” technique, arranging the elements of time, location and character through a nuanced understanding of history.

She weaves together the stories of three women, Lalarukh, Feroza and Ameera, with the help of three dastangos, about Kallan Mirza, Ameera’s Dadi, and herself. Each story, within another story, surrenders as a cautionary tale. Sometimes, as a spoiler, that hands you the reins to ride through the rest of the story.

Blame slithers across each story, hissing at every woman who defies and exercises her need for independence. During the forced marriage to the Nawab, women around the bride were “tut-tutting over Feroza’s heartlessness”, believing she aborted her pregnancy from her previous marriage. The blame congeals on Feroza, a victim of forced abortion by the Nawab. In the rumours, the Nawab is a man she loves, not her abuser. The cruelty of these women steps outside the realm of gossip, nipping at Feroza’s right to refuse consent to her nikah.

“‘Feroza Begum, daughter of Altaf Khan urf Miya Jan Khan, your wedding has been arranged to Nawab Shams Ali Khan Bahadur, son of Nawab Murad Ali Khan Bahadur for a sum of two lakh rupees as meher. Do you agree?’

What if she just didn’t say anything?

‘She says “yes”!’ A middle-aged woman dressed in her bridal dress, suddenly shouted towards the curtains. Feroza turned towards the woman. The old lady in charge of her elbowed her ribs.

‘Uh?’ she turned sharply towards the offending lady.

‘I heard it too. She said “yes”!’ said the old lady, then another woman joined in bearing witness to her acquiesce and then another.”

“Why wouldn’t a divorced woman who aborted her child marry the Nawab?” is the rhetoric that these women echo. It’s a form of enabling, but Khan exerts dialogue, channelling prose to amplify Feroza’s reaction, forgotten amidst placeholder approval. She choreographs the myth “she asked for it” by excluding the chorus of the maulvi asking for consent thrice, as is tradition, to exacerbate the rumours that enable, and more terrifyingly, erase. Another dialogue chimes in to note this eager “consent” by Feroza. In these instances, Khan’s narrator, Dadi, is not just a storyteller; but an advocate for forgotten history.

But Khan doesn’t write women only as damsels in distress; she writes them as women who challenge. Feroza wears what she wants, despite the word that the patriarchy will impose on her: nautch. Khan examines how the question of her attire serves as a justification for the harassment. When Bibi, Feroza’s maid, asks her to “let it be”, as she was “wearing that dress”, Feroza doesn’t surrender to the blame. Instead, Feroza asks these questions: what if she was one of the common women? What if she was a nautch?

Khan tackles clothing not only as a form of rebellion but as an identifier of communion and the dismissal of “the other”. When Feroza sights a British woman wearing a “strange gown”, she argues that she should’ve worn “our dress” because she’s in “our country”. Other times, this divide is a form of empowerment.

“Strangely, guys don’t pester scarf-wearing girls with ‘I want to be your friend’ proposals. So us scarfed girls choose to talk to guys we like and make boyfriends on our own. It’s pretty cool that way, though I long to throw away the scarf and open up my hair like I used to at St Mary’s.”

Ameera’s perception of the scarf rewrites the reputation of the vilified veil, untying the folds that make it an oppressive tool while recognising how being “the other” means a kind of protection. A woman’s scarf, her dress, and her jewellery make an argument in this novel. But the expectations that pin a scarf around Ameera’s head, and a nath on Feroza’s nose, encourage a misplaced trust in the men in their lives.

Across the three stories in the novel, protagonists expect men to protect, not because they victimise themselves, but because that’s what’s taught to women: dependence is a desired trait. Khan acknowledges how patriarchy dribbles on the men, drawing out how Lalarukh, Feroza and Ameera feel betrayed by the men in their lives for not protecting them. The cadence of this betrayal morphs across the stories as Khan manipulates language like a glassblower does glass.

“I do believe that in this day and age nobody should bully you into selling your property – these are not the Nawab’s times; but if it was Jugnu’s fees and his exams, Abba would sell off the shops and chuck the case in a heartbeat. We females always depend on our fathers or males to rescue us – our default response to a crisis. Imagine, poor Feroza Begum’s father dumped her in the harem and ran away!”

Khan wields the tone of each story, carefully grafting the premise of a woman wronged in different periods and spaces. She uses the first-person perspective to narrate Ameera’s life, crumbling with her family’s negligence towards her, using a voice akin to a teenager simmering with anger. But for Lalarukh and Feroza, Khan, or rather Dadi and Kallan Mirza, uses the third-person perspective, a voice that is omniscient and viscous, dripping of superiority.

They narrate the violence of Nawab and Tareef Khan, Lalarukh’s kidnapper, without embellishments. The abusers are not kings or sorcerers in the chapters that harrow. They are written as, to no surprise, violators. Khan’s treatment of the dynamic between the Nawab and Feroza contradicts this claim sporadically. But when Feroza reciprocates the Nawab’s ‘love’ for her, he continues to dredge her in the limitations of his harem, remaining free himself, further testifying the degree of his abuse. Feroza is a flawed character, but she is not a flawed victim, and Khan asserts that.

Like Khan, both Dadi and Kallan Mirza are biased narrators, intervening to train their listener(s) to root for the protagonist. They collectively fuel a question: How does tradition, along with law, permit the violation of women? Unfortunately, the stories, or rather the lived experiences that ask this question, are muzzled. But the dastangos, both the real and the fictitious, bite through the labour that accompanies such storytelling. The story prompts the question: How can one write history without condoning it? In The Begum and the Dastan, history is an inspiration, a tool, and an anchor, but it is not a justification.

pix: amazon.in

source: http://www.scroll.in / Scroll.in / Home> Book Review / by Isa Ayidh / (book cover image edited in, amazon.in) /June 27th, 2021