Tag Archives: Shakeel Rasheed

Role of North Indian Muslims in Partition; Ather Farouqui picks holes in that largely held belief

INDIA :

Urdu periodicals, with their dwindling readership, often showcase uninspiring articles, predictable poetry, and pedestrian fiction.

Amidst mediocrity all around, there exists a pressing need for thoroughly researched and academically rigorous articles that challenge erroneous, yet widely accepted notions about the world around us.

Some literary journals, including Bunyad (Lahore), Urdu Adab (Delhi), Isbaat (Mumbai), and Istefsaar (Jaipur), go beyond what common sense dictates. The latest issue of Urdu Adab, a quarterly publication of Anjuman Tarraqi Hind, bears testimony to this, as its content stimulates the intellect of its readers with a sense of exuberance.

The astutely edited journal by Ather Farooqui features three equally incisive and thoroughly researched articles on the much-maligned role of North Indian Muslims during the Partition, Madrassa students and understanding literature, and Namwar Singh’s tirade against Urdu. Unlike other run-of-the-mill literary journals in Urdu, the journal focuses on the dynamics and politics of language, which refers to the social and political implications of language use and the power dynamics inherent in cultural discourse. Also, it explores consequential questions related to culture and social consciousness. The influence of language on identity and the power dynamics inherent in cultural discourse also come under scrutiny in enriching academic discourse.

The overwhelming support of Muslims in the United Province for the Muslim League in the 1946 assembly elections, which was a sort of referendum on the partition issue, is often regarded as a truism; however, it does not sit well with veteran journalist and author Anil Maheshwari. Urdu Adab presents an article by him, “Support of Muslims for the Formation of Pakistan: A Distorted History: in light of the results of the decisive assembly elections in UP in 1946. Anil’s article, based on archival research, challenges the commonly held belief that the 1946 elections were a clear mandate for the Muslim League. He marshals many pieces of credible evidence that deflates the myth and suggests a more valid interpretation of the results.

Joining Ayesha Jallal (1994) and Christopher Jafferlot (2015), as well as a plethora of celebrated historians, Anil points out that Muslims in the United Province Assembly elections of 1946 did not vote overwhelmingly for the Muslim League. Voters comprising only 5% of the Muslim population cast their votes for the Muslim League, according to the official report of the 1946 elections. Placing the 1946 elections in the context of the universal adult franchise, he points out that only 3% of Indians could vote for the central assembly, while in the provincial assemblies, only 13% were allowed to vote. The article appeared in a reputed periodical, Economic and Political Weekly, laced with incisive interpretation, cogently concludes, “Had the partition of 1947 not occurred, Muslims would have constituted approximately one third of the population of an undivided Indian subcontinent. This demographic would have secured a majority in three to four states, providing them with a substantial and equitable stake in the political framework.”

A promising historian, Muhammad Sajjad, in his perceptive book on Muslim politics in Bihar, also connotes the same conclusion.

With an occasional rhetorical flourish, Anil inveighs against left historians for perpetuating this sort of falsehood.

Irfan Habib, Mazharul Hasan, and Bipan Chandra, too, did not place the onus entirely on Muslims, and HM Serwai’s book, Partition of India: Legend and Reality, provides an alternative understanding.

The article is supplemented with a stimulating critique by Sadaf Fatima, who holds the view that our reputed historians have glossed over the facts, thereby fostering anti-Muslim discourse. One tends to agree with the opinion that Indian Muslims got closely associated with Pakistan. The author seems too harsh when she accuses left historians of holding Jinnah mainly responsible for the partition, as they took Nehru’s side for personal interests.

It is a rare occurrence in Urdu periodicals for an article to spark such a polemical debate as Sadaf Fatima’s piece on madrassa graduates and the teaching of Urdu at universities. There is no denying the fact that most of the Urdu faculty at various universities are the product of oriental syllabi, who lack even rudimentary literary and aesthetic indoctrination. Curiously, the Madrassa’s students get admitted to a postgraduate course in Urdu literature. Sadaf Fatima makes this point pertinently and asserts, “It is incontestable that students are well short of foundational awareness about literature who join university as a postgraduate student of Urdu or opt for Urdu as an optional subject at the graduate level after graduating from a madrasa. Urdu literature does not appear in the syllabi of the madrassas. Urdu literature draws its sustenance from a literary culture that is composed of several local cultures and linguistic practices, reflecting centuries of shared heritage.

A student joining a madrassa at the age of 7 or so has no inkling of the cultural ethos of Urdu, which exists in his milieu.” Her cognate observation sparked controversy, and a smear campaign was launched against her and the editor, Ather Farooqui. Some well-meaning authors and journalists, including Ashar Najmi, Shakeel Rasheed, and Masoom Moradabadi, saw reason in her arguments. It is perplexing to see many vituperative postings on social media.

The author, while expressing deep concern for madrassa-educated students occupying positions in Urdu departments, made it clear that the solution does not lie in prohibiting their direct admission to courses in Urdu literature. There is an urgent need to equip students with literary and aesthetic sensibilities when they join the courses.

An exclusive section is devoted to the politics of the Urdu language, featuring two articles: “Three Language Formula” by Ahter Farooqui and a translation of “Basi Bhaat mein Kuda ka Sanjaha” by the prominent Hindi critic Namwar Singh. An avant-garde Hindi journal, Hans, published Namwar’s highly unreasoned and zealous article in 1987, and Athar Farooqui produced its Hindi text with the translation. In the introductory note, the editor points out that it unfailingly lays bare deep-seated venom against Urdu. Despite being committed to a shared linguistic and cultural legacy, Namwar Singh was bent upon declaring modern Hindi a separate language and restricting Urdu to Muslims only. It is the first instance when a cardholder Marxist critic launched a tirade against Urdu. The editor picked up many holes in the article; this aside, it has the traces of Namwar Singh’s speculative intelligence.

Ather Farooqui spelt out the contours of the three-language formula without taking recourse to official jargon and statutory regulations. An accomplished translator, Arjumand Ara produced an excellent translation of Ralph Russel’s insightful and detailed article on the Problems of Urdu and Urdu Organisations after the partition. Feedback on Russell’s article is also included.

Ather Farroqui deserves accolades for bringing out such an intellectually stimulating function.

source: http://www.siasat.com / The Siasat Daily / Home> Opinion / by Shafey Kidwai / June 21st, 2025

How the pandemic is depriving lovers of Urdu literature of their environment for enjoyment

INDIA:

Discussions and debates, critiques and readings, held at haunts of Urdu books and writing around the country have been interrupted rudely.

(From left) Shadab Rashid, Urdu drama writer Aslam Parvez, and Shakeel Rasheed at Kitabdaar | Mahtab Alam

In Malegaon

On the first Saturday of every month, the textile city of Malegaon in northern Maharashtra used to become home for lovers of Urdu literature, who meet to discuss, debate and critique new writings in the language, mostly by local writers. Organised under the aegis of Anjuman Muhibban e Adab (Association of Literature Lovers), the gathering began at around 9 pm, and went on till midnight.

Between 30 and 50 people – both writers and readers – would come together, a number that would at times go up to as many as 100 or even 150. Asif Iqbal Mirza, the secretary of the Anjuman, said the practice began 25 years ago on the suggestion of local journalist and editor Samiullah Ansari, who published new Urdu fiction in his weekly, Hashmi Awaz.

Over the years, the publication had emerged as a popular local magazine for young and budding writers to publish their works. The weekly, now in its 35th year of publication, had a considerable fan following and readership at the time. Ansari then suggested that admirers of the magazine form a group comprising readers as well as writers.

The group was initially named Anjuman Muhibban e Hashmi Awaz (Association of Admirers of Hashmi Awaz), but within a few years, its following grew to encompass more than just the readers of the magazine, and in 1998 it was rechristened Anjuman Muhibban e Adab, Malegaon. “Ansari sahib formed the Anjuman so that writers could get their new works critiqued by readers before getting them published in the weekly,” Mirza ssid.

Back then, Mirza himself wrote for a local children’s newspaper called Khair Andesh. But his association with the Anjuman helped him grow into a prolific Afsana Nigar, a short story writer. He was 17 when the group was formed; in the past 25 years, he has written and published more than 200 short stories in different publications.

Apart from Anjuman Muhibban e Adab, there are two more literary groups in Malegaon that held regular meetings until the lockdown was declared in March. No such meetings have been held since then. “Unlike earlier, we now have enough time to read and write. But the irony is we don’t have the opportunity to discuss and publish them,” said Mirza, who also runs a printing business. Several local publications had to halt their issues, including Hashmi Awaz, owing to the lockdown.

According to Mirza, although social media outlets such as WhatsApp and Facebook have, to some extent, helped to keep in touch with fellow writers and readers, the literary life of Malegaon has come to a standstill, since a large number of local writers and readers came from the working class and worked in local looms. “The year 2020 is the silver jubilee of my literary career. I had plans to publish a collection of my short stories, but thanks to the pandemic, that will not happen this year,” Mirza said with a great sense of despair.

In Mumbai

Both readers and writers have felt a deep loss during the pandemic. His love of books took Shakeel Rasheed, editor of the Urdu daily Mumbai Urdu News, to various bookshops in and around the Mohammad Ali Road area of Bombay. “Visiting bookshops was a part and parcel of my life. I feel a deep loss when I don’t visit them,” he said. For him, bookstores are not just spaces to buy books, but they also served as addas for readers and writers. As soon as some relaxations were in place, he rushed to the stores. “Par ab pahle wali baat nahi rahi,” said Rasheed. “Things are not as they were before.” The pandemic has made it more difficult to meet new people.

Shadab Rashid’s Kitabdaar publications and bookstore in Temkar Street of Nagpada was one such adda for Urdu writers in Mumbai, as was Maktaba Jamia on Sandhurst Road West. Today, Kitabdaar and a few other bookshops have opened their stores for a few hours every few days, while Maktaba Jamia remains closed. “Due to lack of public transport and fear of the pandemic, people cannot come to Kitabdaar,” Shadab said. He also edits the quarterly literary magazine Naya Waraq, founded by his late father and noted journalist and writer Sajid Rasheed.

Shadab Rashid said the lockdown brought significant hardships and losses to Urdu publishers and distributors. “It is not that people don’t want to read Urdu books anymore – the problem is they cannot buy them,” he said. “I have received lots of online orders, but I cannot fulfill them because I rely on postal services as they are the cheapest means of delivery, but the services are not fully functional yet.” His online Urdu bookshop kitabdaar.com is one of the few digital distribution platforms for Urdu books exclusively in India. Another such platform, urdubazaar.in, was recently launched from Delhi.

Owing to the discontinuation of physical interactions between readers and writers, people have lost touch with each other, since not all Urdu writers are active on social media, Shakeel Rasheed told me. “We have lost many good writers during this period and found out about their demise several days later,” he added. “Moreover, we could not participate in their last journeys.”

In Hyderabad

Another writer recounted similar thoughts after the death of noted Urdu satirist Mujtaba Hussain in Hyderabad on May 27. Hussain was awarded the Padma Shri in 2007 for his contributions to Urdu literature, but in December 2019, he announced he was returning the award to protest the enactment of the contentious Citizenship Amendment Act. “[T]he democracy for which I fought is under attack now and the government is doing that,” he had said, “that’s why I don’t want to associate the government with me.”

In Hyderabad, another centre of Urdu writing, literary activities have come to a similar halt due to the pandemic. Publications like Shagoofa, a monthly magazine of satirical writing, have been temporarily discontinued since the lockdown.

In Delhi

In Delhi, too, the pandemic has left an adverse impact on Urdu writing. Khan Rizwan, a poet and a known “addebaaz” from Delhi, loved participating in and organizing adabi addas (literary gatherings). He misses visiting the Nai Kitab book store, located in one of the many bylanes of Jamia Nagar, which is one of the famous addas for Urdu lovers in the city. Run by veteran writer and publisher Shahid Ali Khan, Nai Kitab is a haven for young and old writers alike, Rizwan said, as Shahid sahib treated them alike. “It is not just a bookshop but an institution where one got to meet noted writers and lovers of Urdu literature,” he said.

Rizwan would visit the shop at least twice a week, and meet a new literature enthusiast or writer, or find out about a new book or risala /parcha (journal/magazine). “I miss the black tea and chips that Shahid sahib served us with love and affection,” he recalled. “He is a storehouse of information, and several veteran writers were his friends, so he would tell us stories all the time.”

I couldn’t agree more with Rizwan. I have been visiting Nai Kitab once every few months for more than a decade now, and on each of my visits, after asking khabar-khairyat, Shahid sahib would say, “Achcha aap bahut dino baad aayen hain, ye nayi kitaabein aayi hai dekh lein (Since you’ve come after a long time, here are some new books).” Last year, when I visited the bookshop around this time, he directed me towards dozens of books written by noted Urdu satirist Fikr Taunsvi and Shaukat Thanvi. I immediately bought all of them, as they were usually out of print and seldom available.

As the person in charge of the Maktaba Jamia, the publication division of Jamia Millia Islamia in Bombay, Shahid Sahib befriended writers and poets like Jan Nisar Akhtar, Meena Kumari, Sahir Ludhianvi and Jagan Nath Azad. Some of them were regular visitors to the Maktaba Jamia. Though he moved to Delhi after serving the Maktaba for several decades, he did not stop hosting literature lovers. He then founded Nai Kitab publishers and a quarterly journal by the same name.

It was in 2007 at his bookshop that I first chanced upon Shamsur Rahman Faruqi’s celebrated novel Kai Chand The Sare Aasman, later translated into English as The Mirror of Beauty by the author himself. The novel went on to become a major critical and commercial success.

Faruqi was also associated with the Nai Kitab journal as chairperson of its advisory council and would visit the shop once in a while. The journal eventually stopped publication owing to Shahid sahib’s failing health, but he continued with the bookstore as it was like “oxygen for him”, he had once told me.

Waiting for freedom

Some writers have managed to turn the lockdown into a creatively productive period. “Personally, the pandemic has proved as a blessing in disguise as I read books I wanted to for years and finish other important work, such as recording videos of Urdu literature lectures,” says Khalid Mubashir, a poet and assistant professor of Urdu literature at Jamia. He quickly added, however, this was not common, as most writers and poets were stuck at home, either because of their age or in fear of the pandemic. “Moreover, not all writers have access to technology and books like I do. I am fortunate enough to have friends who helped me with technology to do something substantial during this period.”

Mubashir’s videos, as many as 60 of them, are each about 30 minutes long, and cover the history, evolution and development of Urdu and its literature in the subcontinent. Though the lectures are prepared keeping in mind the need and syllabus of Urdu literature students, ordinary Urdu lovers can also benefit from them. All lectures are available on the YouTube channel Safeer e Adab.

Similarly, although younger poets like Mohammed Anas Faizi from old Delhi have been trying to keep Urdu literature gatherings going by using social media, online addas do not have the feel and impact of offline and in-person gatherings. “Technology and social media can only help to a certain extent. Online gatherings, mushairas and addas cannot substitute for the real ones, no matter how well they are done,” he said.

With apologies to Faiz Ahmad Faiz, what the Urdu writers, poets and addebaaz seem to be telling the pandemic is:

Gulon Mein Rang Bhare Baad e Nau Bahar Chale
Chale Bhi Jao Ki Gulshan Ka Karobar Chale

Mahtab Alam is a multilingual journalist and until recently was the executive editor of The Wire Urdu. His Twitter handle is @MahtabNama.

This series of articles on the impact of the coronavirus pandemic on publishing is curated by Kanishka Gupta.

source: http://www.scroll.in / Scroll.in / Home> Publishing and the Pandemic / by Mahtab Alam / July 14th, 2020