Tuesday, November 16, 2010

such a long journey...


posting a translation of my recent article in maharashtra times on the issue of "such a long journey" being dropped from university syllabus.

I didn't want to add to the recent debate about the way in which Rohinton Mistry's Such A Long Journey was taken off the University of Mumbai's BA (English Literature) syllabus. It's an extremely important issue and I'm not an expert. But I am a student of literature, and as such, I feel compelled to write. I started feeling the pinch of this ban as I remembered how my course books opened up a whole new world for me.

I completed my graduation in English literature from St.Xavier’s college and those were some of the best years of my student life – where knowledge, thought processes, emotions, opinions were adequately tested. I read whatever I could. Liked some, understood some, agreed with a few and forgot a lot of it as well.

Thousands of students study this course every year. Depending on their nature, personality, and preferences, they accept or plainly discard opinions of writers, political leaders, parents and friends. What I cannot fathom is what one hopes to achieve by prohibiting the students from reading any critical or satirical or disapproving fiction/non-fiction about a political party? (What the book says about the Shiv Sena and the Congress is a matter of another debate altogether. Let’s not go that way!)

Literature, poetry, books are an experience. Each book will takes you to a different world. Be it post-war literature, Wilfred Owen’s “pity of war”, Shakepeare’s magic, George Orwell’s 1984, R K Narayan’s Guide, Vikram Seth’s The Golden Gate, or Amitav Ghosh’s Shadow Lines. At the same time there is Dalit Literature, Vijay Tendulkar, Jaywant Dalvi, G A Kulkarni, Pu La Deshpande, Meghna Pethe, poetry by Grace – and that’s just to name a few.

When I first met Franz Kafka, Samuel Beckett, Albert Camus, I could not sleep. I got nightmares about T S Eliot’s The Wasteland. In the hostel, we used to discuss a particular character, poem, historical and the sociological context of books for hours. These books gently transported me to a world where I did not come from, made me familiar with human emotions and conditions I wasn’t acquainted with.

These writers expressed their views – through journalistic writing, fiction, poetry. They criticised and took sides. They held a mirror to a very beautiful as well as miserable side of human life. I started to get involved because it was part of the university syllabus.

If my well-educated and cultured parents gave me the freedom to read whatever the hell I wanted as an adolescent – which is when I discovered powerful and controversial Dalvi, G A and Tendulkar – why won’t 18, 19 year olds not get/understand the meaning, implications and experience of Such a Long Journey? If these students can elect a government, get married, then won’t they understand what a certain book is trying to say? Why won’t they?

When I read Such A Long Journey, what I felt mostly vividly was the Bombay or Mumbai of 1971 – which I had never known, and I met in this book.When I read how Gustad stays up all night because of mosquitoes I (have mosquitoes ever tortured you all night?), I could not help laughing. The book deals with human nature, relationships through Sohrab’s restlessness, Dilnawaz’s love for children, understanding – it brings alive the Parsi way of life, the common man’s struggles and sorrows so vividly that the book becomes an experience. Not just a beautiful one but an essential one, I’d say. And please allow me to decide what I should take away from this book.

I don’t think that the Sena will gain or lose any members or supporters by banning this book. However, many students who would have read it only because it was on the syllabus will miss out.

To form political opinions, to believe in an ideology, one must read and read a lot. Not just about the ideology you incline towards but also every dissenting voice. The University syllabus only emphasises gaining maximum knowledge. How one uses it and applies it and is up to the individual. And the repercussions too are for him/her to deal with.

As it is, it has become hard for students to read – television, internet, mobile, games, ipad, ipod, career, future, entrance exams, summer internships and much more conspire against it. Should one encourage students to read with all these distractions or push them to drop a book after a controversy? This is worsening an already messy situation.

Eliot said that the human being’s first 20 years are the most important. The rest of your life takes its course depending on the experiences of those first 20 years. Implying the impact of bitter-sweet memories and experiences of childhood and adolescence are pretty much permanent, at least long-lasting. If that’s true, shouldn’t we all live our lives to the fullest? In that case why are we giving the students a pungent memory instead of a fulfilling one?

I have seen people traverse the trajectory of Sena, BJP, Congress, Communists, anyone who does repairs the roads, or the other way round. So how many books will you ban? Anyway, the issue is not about politics but about education. We, the lesser mortals, can confusingly oscillate between two truths - knowledge is power and ignorance is bliss. But not The University of Mumbai!

It is important to respect the student. It is every student’s right to gain maximum knowledge and quality education, become a better person through studies. And it is the duty and responsibility of our education system. So the decision and choice must rest with teachers and students.

http://maharashtratimes.indiatimes.com/articleshow/6800555.cms

Bol bol ki lab aazaad hai.n tere

Faiz Ahmed Faiz

bol ki lab aazaad hai.n tere

bol zabaa.N ab tak terii hai

teraa sutawaa.N jism hai teraa

bol ki jaa.N ab tak terii hai

dekh ke aaha.ngar kii dukaa.N me.n

tu.nd hai.n shole surKh hai aahan

khulane lage quffalo.n ke dahaane

phailaa har ek zanjiir kaa daaman

bol ye tho.Daa waqt bahot hai

jism-o-zabaa.N kii maut se pahale

bol ki sach zi.ndaa hai ab tak

bol jo kuchh kahane hai kah le
[sutawaa.N=well built; aaha.ngar=blacksmith; tu.nd=sharp (here it means bright);] [aahan=iron; quffalo.n ke dahaane=keyhole]

Saturday, June 19, 2010

baarish hu_ii to phuulo.n ke tan chaak ho gaye


this time of the year gets a sure shot happy post from me. it rains and once again it is the answer to most of my varied questions - deep (what is inspiration, love, life, happiness, sorrow...), shallow (why is it so hot, why is everyone cranky?), tough-to-figure (where is life headed), easy-to-crack (whether to get wet or not, to go to marine drive or not)...

while returning (rather rushing - fears of being stranded as tracks submerge are something only people who have lived beyond thane understand) from dombivli as it poured mindlessly, i guarded my documents but didn't mind one bit that i was drenched. my train zipped nicely, the landscape looked lovely at 7 pm between dombivli and thane, and as i walked on the skywalk (oh, am all for skywalks after yesterday!) in bandra, listening to phone-music, watching wet roads in orange-yellow street lights, it felt just right. and it wasn't only me. as i smiled to myself, i caught many others doing the same. the season of rejuvenation and chaotic happiness is back - huge waves, squeaky green green trees and souls, upturned umbrellas and randomly answered life-questions, conversations with strangers, nights spent listening to downpour, birds fluttering in the most beautifully vulnerable way, all this and more... the rains are back...

baarish hu_ii to phuulo.n ke tan chaak ho gaye

parveen shakir

baarish hu_ii to phuulo.n ke tan chaak ho gaye
mausam ke haath bhiig ke saffaak ho gaye
[chaak = torn; saffaak = cruel]
baadal ko kyaa Khabar ki baarish kii chaah me.n
kitane buland-o-baalaa shajar Khaak ho gaye
[buland-o-baalaa = high and low; shajar = tree]
juganuu ko din ke vaqt paka.Dane kii zid kare.n
bachche hamaare ahad ke chaalaak ho gaye
[ahad = times]
laharaa rahii hai barf kii chaadar haTaa ke ghaas
suuraj kii shah pe tinake bhii bebaak ho gaye
suuraj dimaaG log bhii iblaaG-e-fikr me.n
zulf-e-shab-e-firaaq ke pechaak ho gaye
jab bhii Gariib-e-shahar se kuchh guftaguu hu_ii
lahaje havaa-e-shaam ke nam_naak ho gaye
saahil pe jitane aab_guziidaa the sab ke sab
dariyaa ke ruKh badalate hii tairaak ho gaye
[aab_guziidaa = scared of water; tairaak = swimmers]

Saturday, May 15, 2010

motherhood and the back up plan

saw this movie called the back up plan. had gone to see it with super excitement coz very very recently i had discussed a similar Plan-B idea with my close friends! the movie is a huge disappointment. disappointing enough for me rant and rave on this blog.

it either could have been a serious film about how 30 something single women (still waiting for mr. right) deal with a very real hope and wish to raise a kid or a real funny movie with what happens when you meet your mr.right after getting pregnant with a donor sperm.

this was neither. i can't write funny so i will skip suggesting humour options.

all i was wondering was, when does one make the transition from memories of childhood and "my mommy stories" to actually wanting to become a mommy? from "i-can't-handle-even-other-people's-cute-kids" to "if-i don't-find-guy-i-will adopt" - those are two different places altogether. and there are many like me, who have been to both these.

here is to motherhood. single, double, adopted, inseminated, planned, unplanned, traditional, modern, ultra-modern - for our fabulous moms and the mommy that you are or will be.

maa.N
Nida Fazli

besan kii so.ndhii roTii par
khaTTii chaTanii jaisii maa.N
yaad aatii hai chaukaa-baasan
chimaTaa phukanii jaisii maa.N

baa.Ns kii khurrii khaaT
ke uupar har aahaT par
kaan dhare aadhii so_ii aadhii jaagii
thakii dopaharii jaisii maa.N

chi.Diyo.n ke chahakaar me.n gu.Nje
raadhaa-mohan alii-alii
murGe kii aavaaz se khulatii
ghar kii ku.nDii jaisii maa.N

bivii, beTii, bahan, pa.Dosan
tho.Dii tho.Dii sii sab me.n
din bhar ik rassii ke uupar
chalatii naTanii jaisii maa.N

baa.NT ke apanaa cheharaa, maathaa,
aa.Nkhe.n jaane kahaa.N ga_ii
phaTe puuraane ik alabam me.n
cha.nchal la.Dakii jaisii maa.N

Thursday, May 06, 2010

kaun kahataa hai ke maut aa_ii to mar jaa_uu.Ngaa

26/11 – not 24/7 anymore

Something which started with reports of gangwar on 26th November 2008 has finally gotten over today. For now.

I remember reaching st. george hospital to see a pile of bodies at about 530 am on November 27th. Next few days are a blur with some sharp memories.

… Dead bodies, relatives of victims trying to get into hospitals, fumes and smoke at the Tajmahal palace hotel, broken glass window at the Oberoi…

… relief and shock on faces of rescued people, funeral of Hemant Karkare, constables crying in his memory, rumours of gunmen roaming in the city,

… fishermen cursing themselves for not stopping these 10 gunmen, bullet marks at Leopold, endless waiting sessions at the crime branch for getting information on Qasab…

… goof ups by politicians – union home minister, chief minister, deputy chief minister, all resigned. Yes!

… peace march with millions of citizens actually stepping out spontaneously and Elections with not so many stepping out that spontaneously.

As usual after any major tragedy, media shifts its attention to investigation. All of a sudden it was about sim cards, jackets, boats, GPS, AK-47, grenades, CCTV footage this conspiracy and that mastermind.

There were questions about his nationality, Pakistan not owning him, and so on. A news report came from his native village in Faridkot in Pakistan. “We told you so” was what all of us felt in India.

Then came Qasab’s confession, and the video recording of it. Everyone got to know the “real story” – of Pakistan training, sea travel, college ids, guns, grenades, bombs etc.

Next was media’s first brush with Qasab during his custody extension on video conferencing. Then came lawyers, violent protests, statements, protests, starting of the trial?

We made our prized possessions – security id cards with tons of police verification et al, so that we could enter the high security court on Arthur road jail premises. There were stories about how it is bullet proof, special tunnel that connects court and Qasab’s solitary confinement barrack, special ITBP force was protecting it round the clock.

Finally it started exactly a year ago, with Qasab pleading not guilty. He had retracted his confession already.

All of us had covered 1993 serial blasts trial in the same court. Memories of the trial that went on for fourteen years came to rattle us for a while, for a short while.

Soon we got engrossed with riveting and evocative eye witness accounts, soon we got used to people pointing out to Qasab as “butka” and his accomplice’s photo as “lambu.” Qasab too seemed to enjoy it at best, and not mind it at worst.

In July came his confession – again. He asked the judge to hang him. He narrated the same sequence of events – all the way from him leaving his house till he was caught.

I could never decide whether this 21-year-old catch we had, was mischievous, misguided, military-trained, mad, naïve, innocent, repentant, cruel, anti-India, poverty-stricken, and on a road of no return. Or just a pawn in a much larger scheme of things of international politics, violence of several decades and a sticky Kashmir problem that is far from a solution.

Some of this or all of it? And some more?

Wherever I went people asked me two questions, “Did you actually see Qasab?” and “why has he not been hanged yet?”

When I used to say he is as short as I was (which is very short) and looked like just another boy, we all agreed to be astonished about his capacity to kill people the way he did. “How could he? See what he did and how? These people I tell you, they deserve no mercy!” Fair trial, anyone?

Some 296 witnesses were examined in record time, everyone worked to their optimum. Any resistance to speedy process was taken as “non-cooperation” – Qasab’s lawyer was removed.

In the meanwhile, two Indians were arrested and faced the same trial, and have been acquitted. One of the lawyers, Shahid Azmi, was shot dead two months back. He was known to be really spunky and brave. We probably should have probed his death beyond police versions but we were busy tracking Qasab and everything about him. Everything about these two remained in the “in-the-meanwhile” compartment –just like now.

We saw the CCTV footage of hotels, CST station, pictures taken by photographers, heard the phone conversations between gunmen from different attacks sites to their handlers in Pakistan.

All of this was new, the kind of evidence, the speed, Qasab’s reactions ranging from funny, silly, annoying to solemn, quiet, bored, sleepy.

We also “celebrated” 26/11 anniversary. We went to meet victims, fishermen, hotel management, police officers, everyone. New memorials were installed, new police force was created, new marine security, new this new that. Media went beserk – to say the least.

I am not sure if victims feel good about this – yes they get a chance to express their grievances but don’t we do more than just that? Like why should some 8-year-old kid know and say that she wants Qasab to die? What are we even getting at?

Back to Arthur road jail court again. For me it was only - Every now and then. Soon it was time for final arguments, Nikam’s “fervent and humble” submissions.

Qasab’s somersault again. He claimed he was arrested 20 days before the attacks on Juhu chowpatty. We said he was back again with his “antics.” Then he grew quieter and quieter. Was he bored, tired, ill, fed up?

Should we care? Isn’t that what happens to millions of murderers who are caught anyway? Isn’t he only paying the price for his actions?

As the trial drew to a close, media’s voice got louder and stronger. Qasab’s trial is still much better than what we have covered before, simply because it ended before we gave up.

May be that’s why all this enthusiasm for death penalty. Everyone wanted death penalty for Qasab.

Among us we rarely debate about whether death penalty should exist. There is a general consensus that it should. I don’t believe in it but there is time and place for arguments and opinions – this trial is neither that place nor that time.

Some reporters were glad that the Indians were acquitted – more because it showed glaring flaws in careless police investigations. However, I also heard a reporter on radio saying “she” was personally disappointed because Faheem and Saba were acquitted. May be they were really innocent? But that’s still in-the-meanwhile.

One journalist felt sentencing him to life imprisonment is a worse punishment. So he should be given that. Some said we have spent enough money on his upkeep. So he should be hanged asap. All these thoughts are exchanged on the road outside court where we hang around endlessly/aimlessly before and during lunch breaks.

However, just after the conviction or sentencing was announced – when nearly 50 journalists ran, raced against each other and time – stumbling, tumbling over each other, shouting out guilty guilty guilty and making noose gesture before they could break the news to millions of viewers who were watching (I hope so) – there was no space for any conflicting complex thoughts. It was time for celebration.

Everyone was happy, even the ones who lost their loved ones are happy that Qasab is going to die. Or are they?

I know it is a good thing that the trial is over, conviction and sentence handed over to the culprit. I hope all trials are conducted this efficiently, this soon - whether it is acquittal or conviction.

Will it help us improving our relations with Pakistan, US, will it make India safer - I sincerely hope so.

As for Qasab – I am not sure what’s a worse punishment…For the life that he has had – as a poor confused child, misguided adolescent, aggressive indoctrinated militant, trained fidayeen, naively devout, arrested and kept in solitary confinement since his arrest, been called a dog, horse, wolf, snake, demon, devil’s agent, a killing machine. What’s worse - Continuing this kind of life or the end of it?

kaun kahataa hai ke maut aa_ii to mar jaa_uu.Ngaa

kaun kahataa hai ke maut aa_ii to mar jaa_uu.Ngaa
mai.n to dariyaa huu.N samandar me.n utar jaa_uu.Ngaa
teraa dar chho.D ke mai.n aur kidhar jaa_uu.Ngaa
ghar me.n ghir jaa_uu.Ngaa saharaa me.n bikhar jaa_uu.Ngaa
tere pahaluu se jo uThuu.Ngaa to mushkil ye hai
sirf ik shaKhs ko paa_uu.Ngaa jidhar jaa_uu.Ngaa
ab tere shahar me.n aa_uu.Ngaa musaafir kii tarah
saayaa-e-abr kii maanind guzar jaa_uu.Ngaa
teraa paimaan-e-vafaa raah kii diivaar banaa
varnaa sochaa thaa ke jab chaahuu.Ngaa mar jaa_uu.N gaa
chaaraasaazo.n se alag hai meraa mayaar ke mai.n
zaKhm khaa_uu.Ngaa to kuchh aur sa.Nvar jaa_uu.N gaa
ab to Khurshiid ko Duube hue sadiyaa.N guzarii.n
ab use Dhuu.NDhane mai.n taa-ba-sahar jaa_uu.Ngaa
zindagii shammaa kii maanind jalaataa huu.N 'Nadeem'
bujh to jaa_uu.Ngaa magar subah to kar jaa_uu.Ngaa