The challenge of translating a historical era into a cinematic endeavour is daunting, especially when it concerns historically contested subjects such as the fabled love between 16th century Mughal Emperor Akbar and Jodha Bai, the legendary princess from Rajputana who later ruled India as Empress and symbolised the Hindu-Muslim accord of the times. However, it is not historical accuracy, or lack thereof, which defines the rather exasperating cinematic narrative of an otherwise glorious period of the subcontinent’s history. It is the facile treatment of history, its interpretative variants and its actors that makes the Bollywood film Jodhaa-Akbar a disappointment.

Akbar’s reign symbolised the zenith of the Mughal Empire and also some of its unique attributes. Whether it was the secular, tolerant governance based on the Sulah-i-Kul (peace with all) policy, opening up the frontiers of theological discussion, effective administrative systems or promotion of Indo-Mughal art forms, Akbar was a pioneer in most respects.

Jodhaa-Akbar attempts to capture the essence of that particular moment: the Indianisaton of the Mughal court and most importantly, the royal household. Whether it is to do with the grafting of a temple within the Agra fort or the introduction of vegetarian meals, these were significant markers for centuries to come, enabling a tiny Muslim minority to rule the non-Muslim majority. But the film fails to handle this momentous phase of history appropriately and instead churns out a masala mix that, despite the massive budget, results in mediocre film-making.

This is not to say that the film is without merit. It is visually stunning in places and A R Rehman’s music is outstanding. The two stars – Ashwariya Rai and Hrithik Roshan – provide glamour and unreal beauty. The settings are competently improvised and yes, the feel of the whole cinematic experience does convey the clichéd Mughal aura of splendour, excess and a hybrid aesthetic. Rai and Roshan exude that enigmatic chemistry which makes them an attractive pair on screen.

But it is the treatment of the subject, characters and nuances that disappoints, especially when one remembers director/producer Ashutosh Gowariker’s earthy and under-your-skin rendition in Swades . In the pursuit of commercial success, Ashutosh relies on soft plagiarism. The battle scenes remind one of the Hollywood blockbuster Troy; the inanimate army contingents resemble those in Gladiator; and the sword fighting sequences re-enact the visual tricks of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon . But these are all still pardonable. (more…)

Finally, I wrote a piece on Delhi ……

Delhi’s present day chaos cannot belittle its grand past, which created a civilisation and shaped the contours of Indo-Muslim identity

When travels come, they come in battalions. Such has been the trajectory of my recent sojourns to Delhi. Travel to India can be, at best, random and left to a game of chance, given how the officialdom on both sides of the border ensures that people don’t cross real and imagined boundaries. Coincidence, or as my less rational side would say, the calling of the Delhi and Ajmer Saints, enabled me to land in Delhi twice in less than three months.

My most recent visit is in some measure courtesy of TFT. My obituary on Urdu’s towering writer Qurratulain Hyder in TFT last August was read by the immensely talented Rakshanda Jalil, media coordinator at Jamia Millia Islamia. A few months later she sent me an invitation to talk and present a paper at a seminar on the legacy of Qurratulain Hyder. There was no way that I could have refused this invite. Ms Hyder is my all time favourite writer; Delhi, an incomparable city to visit; and above all the opportunity to explore Jamia, a historical seat of learning associated with luminaries such as Maulana Azad and Dr Zakir Hussain could not be missed.

Delhi is not an ordinary South Asian metropolis. Its present day chaos cannot belittle its grand past, which created a civilisation and shaped the contours of Indo-Muslim identity, nourished the Urdu language, produced the finest verse in Hindustani and Urdu and fashioned a fabulous architectural legacy. This is why Delhi fascinates me endlessly. Each time I visit, I find a mohallah of the old dilli that concerns an important event or personality. Even better, another hitherto unknown monument is introduced to me; it is like a newly discovered continuation of an enjoyable book. One has only to casually drive around the city to find that it is dotted with monuments. I cannot complain that they are neglected in India; considering that Pakistan’s mighty administrators erect Shaminaas on Mughal monuments for personal parties, how can one grumble about the infidel neighbours! (more…)

Decades of imperialism have left Afghanistan and its people devastated. But the fall of the Taliban, and the much touted “liberation” of Afghanistan, has produced a new spate of novels, films and other artistic media dealing with the “Afghan victim.”

And when I say “Afghan victim,” I mean a nauseating overdose of burqa-oppression, Taliban brutality and other “Oriental” tragedies. Not only are these subjects sexy – they tie into the global imperatives of terror and Islamism – but they also artfully exonerate the “aggressor,” whether it is the Soviets, US imperialism or NATO. As such, the bulk of this new subgenre of fiction addresses the Western, English-speaking world; writing about reluctant and not-so-reluctant fundamentalists sells “Over There.” Meanwhile, literature is turning into a grand extravaganza of marketing, prizes, commoditization and short-lived shelf lives.

Feryal Ali Gauhar’s second novel, No Space for Further Burials, attempts to break free of many of these stereotypes. A trained economist, filmmaker and former UN Goodwill Ambassador, Gauhar opts to publish her book in India , not a Western outlet. More importantly, No Space inverts the oft-hackneyed themes of displacement, war, America and the suffering Afghans, ultimately treating these grim motifs by focusing on the sanity – and insanity – implicit within personal narrative. (more…)

The common stories about Islam or Muslims have to do with the chopping of arms and killing of infidels. We are told that Muslims had a great empire, after many conquests and subjugation of the “infidels.” And what have we learned in the textbooks: Ali (AS) was a brave general with a legendary sword? Have we heard this:

Do not close your eyes from glaring malpractice of officers, miscarriage of justice and misuse of rights, because you will be held responsible for the wrong thus done to others. In the near future, your wrong practices and maladministration will be exposed, and you will be held responsible and punished for the wrong done to the helpless and oppressed people. (more…)

End of an era: Ainee Apa 1927 - 2007

Why do we all find ourselves present in this particular context, in this particular place? How have these pictures assembled here in this jigsaw puzzle? Soon, something will happen, pieces will scatter and become part of a newer pattern? This time will pass? (From My Temples, Too)

The death of Qurratulain Hyder marks the end of an era of the finest writing in Urdu. Hyder, also known as Ainee Apa, dominated the world of Urdu literature for over six decades. She started writing as a child and published her first novel, Meray Bhi Sanam Khanay (later trans-created as My Temples, Too), when she was 22 years old. The novel set a new trend in Urdu literature: a voice of modernity, yet one rooted in the traditions of the Indo-Muslim ethos as it struggled to narrate the tragic tale of the birth of two new nations. Even her worst critics, the doyens of the Progressive Writer’s Movement, acknowledged her innate gift for writing. Within three years, her second novel was published and she had unwittingly kick-started the revival of the Urdu novel from the point where Munshi Prem Chand had left it in the early twentieth century.

Her genius found a panoramic range of expression in Aag Ka Darya, which for its canvas, historical consciousness and characterisation, surpasses most novels written in any language. This novel deals with the plight of the human condition in the Indo-Pakistani setting from the fourth century BC to the 1950s. Starting with a translation of a TS Eliot poem, it traces multiple eras, with characters disappearing and reappearing in different guises, pitted against the broad strokes of history and time.

It was an epoch-making event in Urdu literature, but ran into trouble in Pakistan, as the novel highlighted the thousand year old composite Indo-Muslim culture of pre-Partition India, something which was not in line with the official version of history being constructed in Pakistan. Ideologically driven right-wing critics considered it a threat to their nationalism. (more…)

Khaled Ahmed is the endangered variety of writers. A true man of letters proficient in world languages, histories and cultures, he is a journalist who does not refrain from confronting the truth. There are very few individuals like him who advance the traditions of seeking knowledge and pontificating in a classical sense. I have been an admirer of his writings since my teens when I would read the Frontier Post (yes it was a thoughtful publication and a refreshing alternative to semi-controlled media in Zia days).

In his recent article published in the The Friday Times (that he also edits), he argues that “because of the death of Pakistani culture, normalisation with India has become more crucial than most of us realise”.

After 60 years Pakistan is helplessly witnessing the destruction of its culture by elements arising from within its society. The mission of purifying society to make it a fit vehicle for Islam has passed from the state. This process has been incremental, but after Talibanisation, the culture-destroying process has accelerated. The state seems to be getting cold feet over something it did earnestly since 1947 in the name of its ‘purifying’ ideology. Now worried about its global image, it is face to face with religious anarchy and wants society to become ‘tolerant’ and ‘moderate’, which is the function of culture. 

Read the full article here.

The concluding paragraph is pretty grim -

Before 1947, Muslims offended with the fahashi (obscenity) of Saadat Hasan Manto took him repeatedly to court, only to hear the Muslim judges under British Raj say that what Manto wrote was high culture, not obscenity. After 1947, every time he was dragged before the court for obscenity, he was convicted! The judge in Karachi gave him tea in the evening and told him he was the country’s greatest short story writer, but convicted him for obscenity in the morning. Now the state wants to stop killing culture, but it is too late.

 Malaysia has entered the fifty first year of its existence. This has been a half-century of determination, progress and keeping a fine balance between the diverse communities, races and cultures in the country. But Malaysia achieved successes against all odds.

True that it confronts issues of ethnic and religious tension and the side effects of controlled politics. However, prosperity assures that most of the citizens find a stake in national unity and the country’s future!

I am a little allergic to the magnified tales of tensions in the country especially by a media that we know is neither fair nor benign. Which country of the world is free of internal schisms and struggles? Fifty years is too early to assess that. Or is it the case that this rapid success without reliance on the Western prescriptions and defying the post-colonial clientelism is at play. Inverse racism of sorts. Hope I am wrong…

Or is it that there is a Muslim majority which by definition (in the global propaganda) raises alarm bells? Maybe the images of women with scarves participating in the economic and political life of the country upsets all the stereotypes about women’s “subjugation” by Islam. Many things irk the masters of stereotyping and branding agents of a new imperialism.

It is also a country that welcomes its tourists and makes sure that they enjoy their stay, Islamism notwithstanding. It also challenges the highlights of a recently independent ‘developing’ country: poverty, low levels of education, crumbling infrastructure, crime and dependence?

Unfortunately it is true that tensions in the society and calls for an “Islamic” society dilute its attempts to maintain ethnic harmony and channelise national resources to sustain gains already made. But like many Malaysians, I share the optimism and wish the country and its people the best.

Happy Independence Day - I love Malaysia (truly Asia!).

Postscript:  My optimism on Malaysia in an older piece.

Lush green vistas and the eclectic Javanese culture, the breathtaking Bali coastline and the curiously composite Islamic identity of the country made up my vague visions of Indonesia. With all these jumbled up figments of consciousness, I was given a bit of a reality check when on my first trip there an airport immigration officer asked me to leave the queue of semi-tanned Westerners and move to another room. The reason for taking me there was completely unknown.

As I waited for the local immigration honcho to arrive, I could not help but notice a letter from the Interior Ministry pasted on the wall directing airport authorities that nationals of illustrious countries such as Afghanistan, Sudan, Somalia, and Pakistan need security clearance before the issuance of visas.

Good Lord, what a rude shock it was to my cultivated notions of Islamic brotherhood and all those lovey-dovey tales in school textbooks about Pakistani and Indonesian friendship. The official explained in a roundabout way my potential security threat. Momentarily terrified, I thought about the implications for my work; more significantly I was irked that this was happening to me at the Jakarta airport, not JFK or Heathrow. I resisted emotion and an inner fight for patience ensued. Within minutes I was out of the airport in a Blue Bird Taxi. Reminders of Islamic fraternity, my calm critique of the stereotyping that occurs at the hands of Western media bloodhounds, and indeed the work-status cards, worked. (more…)

Khalid Hasan writing for the Friday Times:

“Amrita Sher-Gil is one with the earth of Lahore. Is there no one in this city that she chose as home to build a memorial to her, or at least put a plaque at 23 Sir Ganga Ram Mansion in remembrance of a painter who has left her mark on the world in which she was not destined to live very long?”

Read the full article here that discusses her life and times in Lahore and also the little known relationship with Nehru.

How poor are they who have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees.
-William Shakespeare

I grew up in the post-East Pakistan era, and my only exposure to Bangladesh was initially through textbooks that were at best sheepish about the events surrounding its liberation. History was suspended by the school narratives. As a young adult, I was exposed to the injustices once meted out to Pakistan’s largest wing by an outspoken history teacher. Later, when I blurted out those acquired facts in characteristic drawing room discussions, I sensed an unease; silence was advised by a discerning elder.

Such silence, unfortunately, haunted the post-1971 social and cultural milieu of Pakistan. Later in life when I met real Bangladeshis, as opposed to the fictional characters that existed in my mental landscape, I felt a strange affinity despite the fact that we came from contested histories and realities. At college in London I remember long discussions with Bangladeshi friends where we disagreed yet agreed that we had a common future.

Therefore, the recent visit to Dhaka, the very first non fleeting sojourn, was an overpowering experience. Dhaka airport is just another airport. Like home, there are long queues broken by the protocol brigades and immigration officers struggling with the advent of technology. In Dhaka, the warmth of the people overwhelms you.

While there I could not help but think of Faiz’s only poem written in 1974, Ham ke thehre ajnabi, about how close relations become estranged. (more…)

“Indeed, the current drama, uncertainty and confusion seem to be extraordinary. But is it that unusual? History, if anything, has prepared us for the bizarre and the peculiar… “

Article here >>

The warmth of people and the magic of old Dhaka overwhelms you. Having said that, Dhaka is bursting on the seams with a gushing sea of humanity, unregulated construction and traffic jams defining the urban ethos. Read article here >>

Each time one visits Karachi the sprawling metropolis seems more run down. Crumbling infrastructure, notwithstanding the recent improvements, and a sense of neglect are apparent to any visitor.

Full entry here >>

This piece was first published in The Friday Times 

Conversations with novelist, filmmaker, feline aficionado, and femme fatale, Feryal Ali Gauhar, as she prepares to launch her second novel

Who doesn’t know Feryal Ali Gauhar? A novel at the top of The New York Times international bestseller list, years of television appearances and a highly publicised marriage to Jamal Shah that became fodder for countless gab sessions, have caricatured and made famous her persona. Had I not known her personally, I too may have fallen for the half-imagined tales littering the drawing rooms of socialites in this land of the pure. But I have had the pleasure of Feryal’s acquaintance for years, and not a moment of our friendship has resembled the images painted by petty gossip and lazy misinformation.

Read full article here >>

 Lady of the age

First published by The Friday Times

Mughal history ignores women of the empire, including Emperor Aurangzeb’s daughter Zeb-un-Nissa: patron of the arts, poet, and a keeper of several lovers – according to rumours. The eldest daughter, she was Aurangzeb’s close companion for several years. She was born in 1638 to Dilras Bano of the Persian Safavid dynasty. Loved by Aurangzeb, she was named carefully to reflect his station.

A favourite, she was exposed to the affairs of the Mughal court. With a sound education in the arts, languages, astronomy and sciences of the day, Zeb-un-Nissa turned into an aware and sensitive princess. She never married and kept herself occupied by poetry and a spiritual Sufi quest.

This is the irony – Aurangzeb’s daughter was an antithesis of her father’s persona and politics. Zeb-un-Nissa was both a Sufi and a gifted poet. The Divan-i-Makhfi – a major divan – is credited to her name. Given her father’s dislike for poetry, she could only be makhfi – the invisible.

Read full article >>

A lesser known character from the Mughal Empire is princess Zebunnisa, the eldest daughter of Emperor Aurangzeb. Unlike her puritanical father, Zebunnisa was a Sufi poet and did not share her father’s orthodoxy. Here is a translated version of her beautiful verses:

`Things of Love’

Though I am Laila of Persian romance,
my heart loves like ferocious Majnun.
I want to go to the desert
but modesty is chains on my feet.
A nightingale came to the flower garden
because she was my pupil.
I am an expert in things of love.
Even the moth is my disciple!
By Zebunnisa Makhfi (translated by Willis Barnstone).

She held a separate court, patronized arts and letters and was a major poet of her times. Her verses were later compiled and published as Diwan-i-Makhfi. Here Makhfi – the hidden or invisible one – is a metaphor for her invisibility at the main Court and at the cosmic level the invisibility of God.
Two poems I found here , illuminate what is “hidden” ..

The nightingale would forget his song to the rose,
If he saw me walking in the garden.
If the Brahmin saw My face,
He would forget his idol.
Whoever would find Me,
Must look in My words;
For I am hidden in My words,
As the perfume in the petals of the flowers.

II

If the beloved face thou canst not see
   Within thy heart still cherish thy desire;
And if her love she will not grant to thee,
   In thy love never tire.

Although her face be hidden from thy sight,
   Within the sanctuary of thy heart
Still keep her image for thine own delight,
   Hidden apart.

And if the Keeper of the Garden close
   Before your face the inexorable gate,
O linger yet! The perfume of the rose
   Will float to you, and find you as you wait
   Not all disconsolate.

Zebunnisa was later imprisoned by Aurangzeb and she died incarcerated in a Delhi fortress. A recently published book“Captive Princess: Zebunnisa, Daughter of Emperor Aurangzeb” attempts to examine the causes of her imprisonment, her worldview and reconstructs her life.

No moth am I that in impetuous fashion
Fly to the flame and perish. Rather say
I am a candle that with inward passion
Slowly and silently consume away.

Translations of her poetry by the Wisdom of the East series can be found here.

Happy Independence day to the Indian friends and readers!

Today’s post comprises a few poems that may capture several moods and facets of the profound historical event - independence for India and the end of British imperialism. This momentous day was preceded by unprecedented violence, modern world’s largest migration and a boundary -etched with blood -that still divides India and Pakistan.

I 

Ustad Daaman, the legendary Punjabi poet in an Indo-Pak mushaira recited this impromptu poem. I was delighted to find an English translation by Mubashir Hasan:

The original had these immortal lines:

Lali Akhiaa’n Dee Pay-ee Dus-di Aye
Roo-aye Tusee Wi O, Roo-aye us-ee Wi Aaa’n.

Daaman on Freedom and Partition …..
None of us may utter
but you know and so do we
a great deal have you lost
and so have we;
who was to foresee this struggle for freedom
would tear things apart, destroy so heavily
much pain much suffering have you borne
and so have we;
Yet there is hope
regeneration and new life awaits us
though many a death you died
and so did we;
Those who were awake and alert
robbed, exploited, emasculated us
while for centuries you slept in stupor
and so did we:
These bloodshot eyes bear testimony
many a tear
you did shed
and so did we.

Given the fragile peace process I am also keen to repeat what Ali Sardar Jafri (photo below) said many many years ago:

II 

Kaun Dushman Hai

Tum aao gulshan-e-Lahore se chaman bardosh,
Hum aayen subh-e-Banaras ki roshnee le kar
Himalay ki havaaon ki taazgee le kar
Aur iske baad yeh poochein ki kaun dushman hai?

You come from the garden of of Lahore laden with flowers,
We will come bearing the light of a Benares morning
With fresh breezes from Himalayan heights
And then, together we can ask, who is the enemy?

(Translated from the Urdu by Khushwant Singh)

III 

And finally on a promising note, a song by Tagore - the first Nobel Laureate from the subcontinent. The serenity on his face reflects the inner peace that he sang through his poems…

Where The Mind is Without Fear 

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake

IV 

And I conclude this post with a few lines from a poem “Hum Jang Na Hone Denge..” of the former Indian PM, Atal B Vajpayee.  I found this Poem source/translation here

We shall not allow war

Russian bombs or American
The blood spilt is the same.
We have suffered, we will spare our children this fate
Never again will the sky rain fire
Never again will Nagasaki burn
We shall not allow war!

(Vajpayee recited this poem in Lahore (at the Lahore Fort if I correctly recall) during his visit to Pakistan - much has happened since then…yet we don’t where we are headed?)