It is disturbing that there is no writ of the government in Swat - otherwise a stunningly beautiful valley. Considering that the army is engaged in a battle with the militants in these areas, the Buddhist relics would be least of government’s priorities.

Yet, they are not unimportant. In fact, it is imperative that the government should protect them as a symbol of our rich past and to send a message to the lunatics who pretend that the cause of [their] Islam would be served. Nonsense - in this day and age and in an overwhelmingly Muslim majority area. What threat they pose and whose ‘eemaan’ is endangered?

It is painful to see how a bunch of extremists are pushing us towards that.

A dynamic and enlightened friend suggests that we should write here, here and UNESCO to register our protest. Notwithstanding the limited chances of any action or corrective measures, at least we would have made the effort!

Please also see my earlier plea[s]:

Death of Pakistani Culture, Our endangered heritage, Saving heritage, Architectural neglect  

Khalid Hasan writes on the great Pakistani master, Sadequain, in the current issue of the Friday Times:

“It is 20 years this year since Sadequain’s death. He would have been 77. When he died at the age of 57 (of what can only be called too much living), it was not his death that was surprising but how he had lived so long, given the white hot intensity with which he lived and painted, wrote and loved. He burned his candle at both ends, and had there been a third end, he would have burned it from that end too.”

And this great anecdote -

“…There are hundreds of Sadequain stories, but the one recounted by journalist Nasrullah Khan Aziz is characteristic. One day in Karachi, a man came up to Sadequain and said that he had a family to feed but nothing to feed it with. The only thing he knew was how to drive a rickshaw. Sadequain gave him 15 thousand rupees to buy a rickshaw, as long as he agreed to take him wherever he wanted to go. That arrangement lasted for some time, but one day, Sadequain said to him, “You are free. You don’t have to drive me around anymore.”

Read the full article here

I have been invited by Vidya Rao to attend a concert tomorrow as she will sing at the Thames Festival in London on Sunday, 16th September, 2007.

 The venue is Green Man Stage, Potters field Park and the time is 12.30 in the afternoon.

There are no tickets– its open to all.

Those in London, please attend and experience the magic of her voice.

India’s eminent singer Vidya Rao has contributed this piece for Jahane Rumi. In this personal account she writes about her recent visit to Vrindavan, near Mathura, which is a major place of pilgrimage for Hindus. It is said that this area had the woods where Krishna frolicked with the gopis and tenderly wooed Radha.

Vrindavan is always a moment of pure magic. This time too.
 
This time, after the morning darshan, Acharya Shrivatsa Goswami took  those who stayed and had the time to smell the flowers, about 10 people— to the site of the old temple where Radha Raman ji had manifested–in a basket of shaligrams– in 1542. He was lovingly brought by Gopal Bhatt to a tiny temple where He lived for several years–in fact till 1861.In that year, He moved to the present larger temple built for him by Kundan Lal and Phundan Lal, courtiers and sons of Shah Bihari Lal, lately of the court of the deposed nawab of Avadh,Wajid Ali Shah, and now seeking shelter in Vrindavan in– as Shrivatsa ji put it– the court of the greatest king. What is interesting and moving about the tiny old temple is the small room (actually the largest space in that temple) that is the kitchen,  which houses the eternal fire. This fire was lit in 1542 to cook the deity’s first meal after He moved here, and the same fire burns today too. It has never been extinguished. When Shrivatsa ji said this, when I looked at the glowing embers of that ancient fire, I thought of the arani sticks. Going in search of these eternal fire sticks, Yudhishthira met and answered the riddles posed to him  by Dharma (his father, lord of justice and of death) in the guise of a yaksha.  What is the riddle that I must answer as I stand here in search of this unextinguished fire? What is this fire? The fire of nurture? Of passion? Of creation? Of destruction? Of transformation ? Of the energy that keeps the universe spinning? All of these? None of these?

The kitchen is still in use in 2007 and it is here that, even today, Radha Raman ji’s meals (8 in all– for each seva) are lovingly cooked by the priests (Shrivatsa ji and his sons and nephews). Surely this cooking is the manifestation of vatsalya bhava– the emotional universe of the mother and her love for her child. The meals are cooked in huge gleaming kansa vessels that are coated with a  thick layer of clay to slow down the process of cooking, to retain heat, to impart flavour– and perhaps to remind us that all is contained in the womb of muddy matter.These meals of course are the juthan, the prasad, that is shared with hundreds of pilgims every day. (Yummy, I might add.) Lightly cooked, steamed vegetables, dal fragrant with the most delicate spices, perfect fluffy phulkas and steaming hot pearls of rice. Dahi, of course and kheer  too, fresh ghee and butter, straight from His mouth. Now we who eat the prasad are experiencing vatsalya bhava– which mother had not picked up her child’s half-eaten plate of food and made a meal of those leavings?

There is something so incredible happening here. The recieving of food from ‘the mouths of babes’(!), so food as Truth? The world made ’streemay’, feminised, by these burly (and burly they are) priests as they take on the womanly tasks of cooking for, and feeding the child-God, and for the child-God manifest as the world and every person in it. The priests also clean the kitchen, wash the cooking vessels, again feminine tasks, tasks that bring to my mind a beautiful poem in the tamilpillai poetic tradition, where the all-too-human baby girl-child, rocking to and fro on her mother’s lap, is addressed as Meenakshi, Queen and Mother of the universe, lovely bride of the beautiful bridegroom (Kalyana Sundaram is Shiva’s name in Madurai) who is here just a little girl playing house- house with the universe.

The poem says (and I translate badly) Little girl, playing  house-house — you take Mount Meru and make it the pillar of your toy house, spread over it the canopy of the sky. You pin to that canopy the twinkling lamps of sun and moon and stars. You wash the soiled vesels of the worlds in the crashing flood-waters of the pralay-deluge, and you neatly stack them, lovingly, in your home. Then that madman, your husband, comes dancing into your courtyard and overturns your work, messes it all up. You don’t say a word– only smile and pick up the pieces and begin all over again. 

 Are the priests, washing the vessels of the worlds, sweeping the kitchen of creation, mirroring Meenakshi? Who is human here– who is divine? Who is man/woman/child?

Shrivatsa ji spoke of the daily seva for this child-lover god. He is a rasik, Shrivatsa ji said, a lover of all things beautiful, so we dress him in beautiful clothes and jewellery and we sing for him, we please him. Those who are his lovers sing for him.

I remember what musicians say– ‘Raga, rasoi, pagri, kabhi kabhi bante hain” (Perfect music, that special taste to one’s cooking, the perfectly tied turban– these happen but sometimes). Raga, rasoi, pagri– these echo the nitya seva of raga, bhog, shringar (music, food and ornamentation/clothes/also love, devotion, bhakti) that is offered every day, eight times a day to the Beloved.

And I understand too why the word for kitchen (and by extension, for cooking) in Hindi is rasoi– this is the place of rasa, taste, yes, but also enjoyment, immersion in the essence of all aesthetic delight.

What a strange and powerful experience that was to be there before that 500-year old fire, with those muscular, feminised men, to know the temple as the kitchen of the universe  (and so to also know the kitchen as the temple of the self) from where (as my dear friend Ramu Gandhi had put it in  when speaking of Sita ki rasoi– “Sita’s Kitchen”) every creature in the universe receives nourishment– “sab ko khurak milta hai”.

And that this ‘khurak’ is only apparently bread– the same bread of which Jesus had said “man does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God”. In Radha Raman’s old temple-kitchen I realise again, powerfully, that  Life, Truth IS bread, khurak,  that nourishes us so deeply– physically and spiritually; and that bread, my humble sookhi roti IS– none other– every word that proceeds from that baby mouth, every kiss of that Dark Beloved’s lips.

Mealtimes will never be the same again!

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.

Interesting developments in Pakistani cinema: first the release and accolades that a newly released Khuda Ke Liye (In the name of God) received and now the screening of a Mahesh Bhatt film in Pakistan defying conventional wisdom and using innovative ways of selling it to officialdom. Himal magazine has published a report entitled Filmi cooperation. Here is an excerpt:

The release on 13 July of Indian director Mahesh Bhatt’s film Awarapan (roughly translated as ‘Wanderlust’) in 22 cities in Pakistan was no ordinary event. There had been little hope that the Censor Board of Pakistan would issue a certificate to the film’s co-producer, Sohail Khan, to allow the film’s public screening. Even once that certificate was obtained, religious fundamentalist forces and associations of local film directors and producers issued multiple warnings against Awarapan’s Pakistan release.

Shahzada Irfan Ahmad says that the issue is more of economy rather than ideology.

Read the full entry here.

I had seen the movie a month ago. Awarapan as a film has its weaknesses - the plot in part is stereotypical, there is unnecessary violence, the “secular” cliche of Hindu boy falling for a Muslim girl is re-invoked; and it is a wee bit long. But it deals with the issue of human trafficking, portrays Islam and Muslims in a sensitive manner (unlike the hysteria on terror and terror-plots) and develops the protagonist’s character rather well. Our hero Imran Hashmi was better known for his intimate encounters on the cinema than his acting skills. He is a protege of the Bhatts and this time they have made an actor out of him.

Not a bad effort, on balance!

The literati in India and Pakistan are grappling with the larger question of Qurratulain Hyder’s stature in Urdu, and some would say, World literature.  The Daily Times, Pakistan has published an appropriately titled editorial, Quratulain Hyder, Urdu’s greatest novelist. This paragraph struck me:

…her view of culture was intensely pluralistic, explaining Muslim culture too in a “transmigratory” technique in her big novel Aag Ka Darya. The Pakistani public paid her a back-handed compliment by making her books bestsellers in Pakistan; but most of them were pirated, meaning that someone other than her got rich selling them. She was always a chronicler, a kind of Tolstoy in Urdu that our critics have ignored. When someone asked her in Bombay to write about the Iran-Iraq war she naturally began with the Arab conquest at Qadissiya.

Outlook India had to say this:

Only a few days back, to mark the 60 years of Independence, when we asked an eminent jury to pick out 60 Great Indians in 60 years of our Republic, the name of Qurratulain Hyder was introduced prominently as Urdu’s Marquez.”Through her novels and short stories, this prolific writer gave Urdu fiction a brave and endlessly inventive new voice,” we wrote, and quoted the London Times: “Her magnum opus, Aag Ka Darya (River of Fire), is to Urdu fiction what A Hundred Years of Solitude is to Hispanic literature 

In C M Naim’s piece, published in the Outlook:

What counts, for her, is the human spirit and the relationships it generates and nurtures. That is where the linearity of time seems to curve into a spiral, urging us to recognize a past that never quite disappears…..What, then, is our choice as individuals? Here it may be worthwhile to recall the characteristically modest, even self-mocking, remarks that Hyder made in 1991 in her acceptance speech at the Jnanpith Award function: “My concern for civililzational values about which I continue writing may sound naive, wooly-headed and simplistic. But then, perhaps, I am like that little bird which foolishly puts up its claws, hoping that it will stop the sky from falling.“

and he concludes with this superb analysis:

…what Hyder tacitly offers us is nothing but that wise Candidean response: even in the best of all possible worlds, it is best not to neglect to tend our garden. Certainly, through the several thousand pages of her writings, she has shown herself to be an eloquent witness to that truth.

(photo left- Gauri Gill 2005)  The Indian Prime Minister Manmohan Singh also expressed the sense of loss: “..In her unfortunate passing away the country especially Urdu literature has lost a towering literary figure. She will be truly missed in literary circles in the country.’

Read Jawed Naqvi’s piece in the DAWN; and reactions of various writers in the daily NEWS . Rediff has published an article entitled, She was one of a Kind.  Javed Akhtar, the eminent Indian lyricist has paid this grand tribute and held that she was a true genius and rightly said that he felt sorry for those people who read fiction but had not read Hyder:

“When I say that it is a great loss, it’s not only to Urdu literature, not only to Indian literature, but to the word literature. I am not exaggerating at all.. the years to come, Haider’s novels will reach everywhere.”

“The kind of work she has done… its only because she was born in a third world country and wrote in a language that is not of the imperialistic powers, her novels have not reached everywhere. I am sure the time will come when they will reach..”. 

The blogosphere is also remembering Ainee Apa with great respect. Desicritics published An Enigmatic Icon, Adnan wrote a lovely piece on Ainee Apa and her books entitled A legend passes away and 3 Quarks Daily also remembered her. Urdu India has a brilliant post here and another tribute can be found here. Pakistaniat carried my post - click here to see the comments. And the best was from Delhi Walla, who went to the Jamia graveyard and took some great photos.

This will continue given the sad traditions of our literature - the literary and civilizational merits of authors and poets have often been discovered after they left this world. Having said that Ainee had established herself given her powerful voice and unique style of writing. But her real stature as Javed Akhtar says is yet to be discovered.

About the photo (top left): Gauri Gill in the Outlook writes: 

Qurratulain Hyder was first photographed by Prashant Panjiar in what was a coup of sorts, everyone talked of how elusive and difficult she could be. When I met her last week to persuade her, she said, ‘Tell the magazine I’m a difficult woman.’ I told her that was her reputation anyway. For the first time that afternoon she cracked a grin. She seemed flattered.

During my recent visit to Lahore, I met the Lahore artist, Iqbal Hussain. We had a nice, engaging chat, saw his recent works some displayed and some eating dust in the splendid Cooco’s Cafe located next to the Badshahi Mosque.

Iqbal’s matter-of-fact portraits have introduced the multiple nuances and shades of Lahore’s red-light area to the world. The women subjects are mostly from the area and he paints them with stark candour and brings out the depths of expressions and emotions in his lines and brush-strokes.

Perhaps the greatest contribution of Iqbal is the establishment of Cooco’s Cafe that has turned into a cultural landmark and has also catalysed urban renewal in the neighbourhood.

Among his recent paintings is the portrait of actor-writer Feryal Ali Gauhar with her dog. This is an uncommon subject but the result is fabulous. I was quick to take a photo (see the image below).

Iqbal is a down-to-earth artist with no pretensions. The directness and simplicity of his work is a reflection of his personality. He braved the mainstream opposition to his paintings with a stoic attitude and has invested his time and soul into the growth of cooco’s as a fine place that offers much more than the old city delicacies and cuisine. I can’t wait to meet him again and see his new work.

It is an interesting coincidence that the new Bollywood film, Gandhi - My Father has been released days before the subcontinent celebrates sixty years of independence. This well made film revisits Gandhi’s personal life and his troubled relationship with his son Harilal who died the same year as his father.

I saw the film yesterday and it was deeply tragic and moving at the same time. The conflict between parenting and leading a nation was delicately handled by the director, Feroze Abbas Khan. Gandhi could transform India and was a Bapu for the world but Harilal suffered in this larger scheme of fate, history and politics.

Akshaye Khanna has proven his mettle with the right director and a larger than life role - he portrays the various moods and phases of his tragic life with an amazing ease. He is truly gifted. Darshan who plays the Mahatama is also excellent and the two wives are also the sensitive characters, who while secondary to this major relationship bring much depths to the drama.

Bollywood has finally broken several barriers; and it is refreshing to see that our neighbours are recognizing that their leaders were after all humans. And this humanity adds to their stature.

Hope we also learn from this trend and stop treating our founding fathers as deities. Amazing that Gandhi and Jinnah both had to compromise their personal lives over national interests. Jinnah’s daughter did not move to Pakistan; and their relationship also became most tragic once the Quaid was close to realising the dream of Pakistan.

Interestingly, the movie reiterates Gandhi’sfamous quote where he confessed that there were two people whom he could not convince - his ‘Muslim friend’, Mohammad Ali Jinnah and his own son Harilal.

The film has its weak moments - it becomes slow paced at times and loses focus as the demands of commercial cinema make the script meander. Another irritating issue is the constant effort of the film-makers to maintain Gandhi’s stature as Mahatama. The constraints can be appreciated given Gandhi’s legendary status in India. There are times when Gandhi does appear to be a bit insensitive to his son. However, his adherence to the national cause and keeping his personal and family interests subordinate to those of India and her people is highlighted throughout the narrative.

The backdrop is the Indian struggle for Independence and this by itself makes a great viewing. Of course, the historical narrative is straight from the Indian nationalist discourse and views the demands of Muslims from that perspective. This is understandable given the subject but it does irk one a little. Why can’t a more nuanced understanding emerge? After all, Mr Jinnah had agreed on a united India during the talks on Cabinet Mission. It is a sad fact of history that the Congress rejected the Cabinet Mission Plan and not the Muslim League. The film sounds a little simplistic when the narrator states that a pained Gandhi accepted partition to avoid further bloodshed! That may be true as well. History is not that linear as claimed but then this was not the theme of the film.

Overall, it is a touching film that should not be missed by those interested in quality cinema and history.

Mehrgarh excavations continue despite all odds; and there is much more hidden under the rugged, topograhic layers of Baluchistan. Saw this figurine (on the right) and found it most fascinating. JB, my friend who introduced me to this new discovery suggested that I should use it in a painting (noting my new interest in the medium).

Full entry here >>

 Guest Article by Vidya Rao - Click here >>

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.

I wrote about M F Husain’s persecution at the hands of extremists here. Parvaiz Alvi sent me images of his works that were most representative of his early style. Ethereal lines and hues transform the canvas.

View the images here

Just read today that Sotheby will showcase some of his works (among other Indian artists). Loved this quote :

“I am a creative person and feel that there is no end to creativity. Only 10 per cent of what is inside me has found an expression. Even 10 lives will not be enough for me..”

What a shame that a living genius is suffering at the hands of bigots and the aesthetically challenged!

There is more to the Indus valley civilization than we think.

“The discovery of rare objects during an excavation expedition in Cholistan desert by local and foreign archaeologists have raised hopes of presence of ruins identical to that of Mohenjodaro and Harappa.

A rare seal of copper, a terracotta block, three wedge-shaped bricks, pottery with distinct potter marks and four unicorns (a mythical animal) were dug out from the dried-out channel of the Hakra river by a team of archaeologists …” 

Read full entry here

M.F. Husain, India’s best known painter is under threat from the guardians of public and national morality. This eccentric, 91 year old painter should be left in peace with his fantasies and creative outbursts.

Rightwing groups have called for the arrest of Husain, whose flowing white locks and beard, and habit of walking barefoot, have become iconic in Indian art circles.

Read the story here.

This reminded me yet again of Fahmida Riaz’s poem - Tum bilkul hum jaisey nikley.

Some 35,000 petroglyphs located in Pakistan’s Indus River area will soon be flooded by a giant dam. An archeologist from Heidelberg is trying to save as much as he can before encroaching modernity destroys the remote area’s cultural history.  Read article >>

A moving tale of a young boy and his family trapped in the circumstances of rural Bangladesh and the turmoil of late 1960s. Read article here >>