Can't Stay Mum

Everyone is talking. Yes. Everyone. On facebook. On twitter. On TV news channels. On other mediums I do not care to surf. Something so repugnant has happened in city that our collective conscience has been shaken and invoked. There are cries of 'hang them' echoing across from some sectors. There is the customary government bashing which has begun. There are 'statements' from political leaders which are being circulated with a mock grin. There are silences which are being criticized. The world around me has plunged into rage and fury so deep that it has begun to asphyxiate me. Till a moment ago, I wanted to stay mum, and cut myself off, and hide from all this brouhaha. But how is that even possible when a woman my age, with bright possibilities, is battling for her life after suffering a deplorable and painful incident, one which is likely to alter the way she lives her entire life? I am pained, but what is my pain in comparison to that woman's, whose life is now the matter of public debate, of national shame?

A fresh chill of fear runs down my spine each time I think of the incident. Only a few days back I was thinking of rebelling against the evening curfews imposed on me, so that I could fall in love with the night-life of my city - one which I dearly love and pride upon. However, even my logical arguments now will have just one answer - I would be condescendingly reminded of the Munirka victim, and there closes my case, my attempt to be liberated from one among numerous restrictions. Honestly, I am not even sure if I want that bit of freedom now. What if its me the next time? What if its my sister, my friend? That's how we understand the magnitude of an event - by placing ourselves in it. The shudder comes again. And lasts a little longer.

Rape is an act of a diseased mind. It has little to do with sexual appetite, and is more of an expression of a violent streak, of a male ego needing that sick satiety of domination. That girl is a medical intern, who found just some time for entertainment. Medical students have a hectic life; a life they willingly devote to the cause of others. Little did she know that a hospital is what she would be immediately rushed back to, only now in a different role. And oh, not immediately. After suffering 45 minutes of excruciating pain, humiliation and violence. 45 long minutes. Her boyfriend, who came to her aid was brutally beaten and discarded along with her, reminding me of how hard is it in our society to stand up for something right. Shushed, maimed or murdered - people who dare to right a wrong meet similar fates. In that moving bus was being played the theatre of a severely rotten, barbaric psyche, while the city around continued to put up its façade of civilization.

Its immaterial what the CM of Delhi, or the Chairperson of NCW say on this incident. It is not their daughter who has suffered this humiliation. I, on my part, have no interest in determining the merits of capital punishment contextualized to such cases. I am more interested in knowing what is the psychology which makes man a predator on fellow human being. The humiliation of the Guwahati victim is fresh in my mind; and I cannot even begin to imagine the agony of that girl who had been repeatedly raped for several days by students of Jamia Law faculty. These are one-off examples. Unfortunately, there are an infinite number of cases which never even surface, which go unreported. It has been testified in many researches that many women have their first tryst with sexual violence at home. In most cases of molestation, the perpetrators are known to the victim, are her kins. This unleashing of sexual prowess has even come to be accepted as a matter of fact. Yes, ours is a patriarchal society, ascribing to the worst definition of the concept. The male world conveniently ignores the identity of the female world. Till there, albeit is should not be, it may be acceptable, but this male world also feeds off and preys upon its females - now draw lines somewhere, will you?

There are many parents with bright daughters who will sit down with them, tell them to be back home early, to be safe, to keep themselves, covered, to not travel alone, and who will also perhaps buy them a pepper spray. However, I do not know if there are any parents out there who will also sit down with their sons, and talk about this incident, about consensual sex, about respecting their female counterparts. How much can the authorities do when out entire value system is corrupt and ridden with worst kind of sexual politics? In this very world, coexisting with us are fathers who abuse their daughters (sons too), brothers who abuse their sisters and mothers who helplessly watch. The role played by women in this sexual politics is abhorrent as well - for it is them who meekly accept their status as the inferior, second sex, who do not fight for respect. In my little journey of life, I have been reminded of my weaker stature in the society more often by women I came across than men.

She, and I am glad her name is not being juggled around by the media, I am sure, was a girl with bright possibilities. earnestly hope and pray she recuperates well and soon, and comes out a winner a in life. Yes, I know it is too much to expect, but I still hope she turns those possibilities into opportunities and becomes a daughter whom her parents are proud of. The word 'daughter' reminds me of a small incident. A friend's mother was ecstatic when she delivered her, when she was blessed with her first daughter. Beaming, she went to share this news with the principal of the school where she worked. Matter-of-factly, the Principal responded - "Koi baat nahi, agli baari ladka ho jayega." Where in the world are we going wrong?!

To hell with all of you. Women are grand. Daughters are glorious.

A portrait by - Priyanka Tampi

And Innocence Cried

“Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them.” -  Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

            There are subjectivities in life. Subjectivities are not distortions, but beauties which the Creator has lent to this world so that we may enjoy it in myriad ways, with no scope of monotony. Our great misfortune, however, lies in the fact that we standardize life. We think our way of thinking supreme. And once convinced, we seek to impose our way on the rest of the world. One category which always emerges at the receiving end of this order is that of minors. Their innocence breaks our heart, but more often than not, we come across cases where the same innocence, or lack of worldly knowledge and etiquettes, becomes a reason for them being subjected to rigorous and cruel castigation. Corporal punishment, of which we have gotten used to reading in papers, is perhaps the worst way employed to shape a child’s psyche or to do the so called good deed of disciplining him.

            In a leading national daily, I recently read a horrifying account of what the cane-approach to disciplining a child can do. It can lead to his death. Yes. And the death of a child is an enormously saddening loss of potential and possibilities. A stray incident of callousness enraged a hapless child’s father so much that he dealt a quick blow at the back of the child’s tender head. The father, of course, by being a stickler and allowing no room for inconsistencies, was in his way, ‘disciplining’ his child. The only loophole which emerged in the whole exercise was that the child died. At this is the kind of incident which does not gain media mileage like instances of corporal punishment inflicted on students in large public schools do. Mass memory is short lived, yes, but can we really forget those many cases in which a teacher’s short temper led him to physically abuse a child and in the process severely dent his psychological well-being as well?

            Our educational set up follows the dogma of in loco parentis, whereby the school authorities have the same rights over a child as their parents. In a bid to mentor and shape future of children with similar zeal, teachers have been known to use infliction of pain as a tool to make them follow rules absolutely. A slap on the cheek and cane-blows on fists are thought to be miraculous devices which can, with minimum effort, reform a minor and make him a good student all of a sudden. These physical assaults are many a times reflexes of a teacher who prides himself for his no-nonsense attitude. At other times, public shaming is also employed as a pre-meditated and rationalized method to set right what could have in actuality been simple acts of naughtiness. The effects of ignominy are not entirely unknown to school or parental authorities. Rather than reform, they cause a child to withdraw, to be distrustful and to lose faith in himself. Incomplete homework, talking while lecture, inability to answer in class, low scores or committing mischief – any of these can invite severe retributions, disproportionately higher than the supposed ‘crime’. Yes, plain naughtiness or intrinsic incapabilities are crime for today’s students who are expected to ace the break-neck competition with their peers. Besides inflicting obvious punishments, I personally feel it is a great folly on the part of teachers when they establish gradations in their batch of students. Yes, it is good to set examples from within students, but not to the extent that it fosters disharmony and ill-will. There is some talent inherently present in each student; a teacher (and even parents) are responsible for helping their pupil realize and nurture it.

            I was lucky to have studied in one of the best public schools in Delhi, which honored tradition as much as it endeavored to keep pace with the racing times. I, personally, have not witnessed any incident where my teachers resorted to corporal punishment of any sort to ensure compliance. In fact, my school was the kind where talents were given a fecund climate to prosper and each child identified for his merit. However, I have known friends whose teachers have left no stone unturned to make them feel like they are a liability on this planet. I also know parents for whom red chilli paste is the formula for ensuring highest grades. At other places, in the name of tradition, students/minors are not allowed to embrace changing weather of the day. They are curbed, controlled, shamed and two firm deductions which I can draw from all the above is –

1.       Using reprimands, coercion, imposition, control, etc as devices to curb students from treading down the road deemed harmful for them is almost like making sure they go there. Nascent brains are supple and obdurate at the same time. Yes, they can be and should be molded, but putting them under sudden pressure just makes them go on the defensive, eventually closing them to any contradictory (and right) opinions.

2.       Even when he indulges in a wrongful deed, for once trying to understand why a child did it, using forgiveness in place of rebukes opens up an opportunity for an elder to mentor him for better actions in the future. When he sees concern and not anger, a young adult would feel secure, and then not just listen to your advice, but may be seek it too.

            This is not to say that elders are always right, but as far as I go, I feel they have an exclusive responsibility towards understanding the psyche of the generation they are nurturing towards maturity. A child can do wrong. He will do wrong. He has to do wrong – otherwise, how will he learn, grow and mature? 

Are you all aware of a helpline (1098) dedicated to protecting children against abuse, which includes harassment by his teacher? And here I was thinking that it is school is supposed to be that protective environment in which a child may explore his infinite possibilities. Ironical, isn’t it?

A child has often been likened to clay. He is like putty which bears and impression of everything it comes in touch with. He sees and observes and derives conclusions for himself. He trusts easily; but when chastised without explanation he can be confused and disoriented and can end up hating the very forces which are in a position to shape his future. The impressions a child’s mind forms in his early years of life are carried on throughout life. They go on to shape the person he eventually becomes. The responsibility on the shoulders of parents, thus, is superlative. This responsibility is not to control – which is what it is mostly misconstrued as – but to allow blossoming of a child’s potential. Given the present scenario, I do not think it is a child, but his mentors who need to be set right. 

(Originally written for Scroll360.in )

Divinity In Motion

“Maati ke tum deeware, jo suno hamaari baat,

 Aaj milawara piya ka, ve main jagiyoon saari raat.”

Have you ever had the good fortune of listening to voices steeped in divine fervour, belting out melody after melody, addressed to the Creator? Have you ever felt a part of the stupor which overtakes a throng which sits around the tomb of some saint as love-filled songs reverberate through the surroundings? Have you ever heard the music, the mere aura of which leads you to the Divine?

If any of the above sentences can be answered in a ‘yes’, you, in my opinion, have tasted music at its sublime best. As a generic statement, it can be surmised about music, that Great Music is such which makes you transcend your immediate environment, and elevates you to a level where you feel one with the Divine. It may also be stated specifically, that there is a kind of music which exists for the purpose of calling out to the Creator, and establishing an irrevocable bond of pious love with him. That music is what is known as Sufi music to all of us.

Delhi, labelled alternately as the city of romance, food, heritage and much else, is also the city which played home to many a sufi peers. It was Khwaja Qutbuddin Bakhtiar Kaki, a scholar of the Chishti Silsila (order), who brought Sufism to Delhi. However, it was Hazrat Nizam-ud-din Auliya and his disciple, Hazrat Amir Khusrau, who lent that shape to Sufi tradition in Delhi which we recognize today. Who among as has remained untouched by the magical spirit behind the song ‘Kun Faya Kun’, sung unto celestial perfection by the new age sensation – Mohit Chauhan and Javed Ali? That song, was, obviously, a rendition to the venerable peer, Sultan-ul-Mashaikh Nizam-ud-din Auliya. If that is one song which has left you touched and inspired, you will find celestial magic in the live qawwalis which echo in the precincts of Auliya’s dargah.

Kun Faya Kun is not Bollywood’s first experimentation with the sufi genre. It was Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan’s qawwaalis, iconic when played in the background of a couple’s courtship, which elevated a mundane love narration to something above the ordinary. The very forgettable debut of Aishwarya Rai in Aur Pyaar Ho Gaya was made memorable only because of the genius of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, who lent his voice and compositions to make soul-touching music. Qawwali is one of the most popular forms of sufi music, argued to have its origins in Persia. It was the 13th century saint, Hazrat Amir Khusrau Dehlevi, who is believed to have introduced this form of music to India. Khusrau, of course, is the genius also credited with significant contributions in Hindustani classical (vocal and instrumental) music. The orthodox Islam sees music, as other means of entertainment, with contempt. However, in Sufi tradition, which lays down the path of ecstatic union with God, music, as well as dancing, is an intrinsic part of treading on that path. Remember the Dancing Dervishes, anyone?

Sample the following lines sung at the beginning of a popular qawwali, Allah Hoo, by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan –

“Tere hi naam se har ibtida hai

Tere hi naam tak har intiha hai

Teri Hamd-o-sana, alham do lillah,

Ke tu mere Muhammad ka Khuda hai”

The above lines are what is known as a ‘hamd’. A hamd is type of qawwali which is sung in praise of Allah. A Naat is one which sings praises of Prophet Muhammad (SAW). There are other types as well, primarily categorised on the basis of the object of devotion and the basic essence carried in the lyrics. However, you need not know any of these technicalities in order to enjoy the radiance of sufi music. The traditions date back some 700 years, and the Indian subcontinent is rich with variegated varieties of sufi music. The Sabri brothers and the Wadali brothers are my personal favorites, especially when they use their rustic voice to give a melody to Bulleh Shah’s lyrics. Bulleh Shah, along with Amir Khusrau, is arguably India’s most popular sufi poet. However, had it not been for the singers and composers, a large chunk of their poetry would have never come in contact with the ordinary populace.

Sufism is described as that mystic part of Islam, which emphasises on love, tolerance and harmony, and in which, the sole objective of existence is to come closer and closer to the Lord, such that you feel Him in you, and yourself in Him. A simple trip to any dargah, that of Moinuddin Chishti, Haji Ali, Salim Chishti, or Auliya himself, would make you realize, however, that the devotees which throng them are nothing but a picture of secularism. The ideals of peace and devotion preached in Sufism transcend all communal barriers and are hence, as appealing to Hindus as to their Muslim brethrens. When we understand this basic definition of Sufism, we realise that Meera Bai, the most ardent and famous devotee of Lord Krishna, herself trod on the sufi path. She sought nothing but an image of Sri Krishna to forever envelope her heart; she too sought union with her Lord, one whom she considered herself married to. That famous saint has left behind her foot prints in some wonderful melodies. One which instantly comes to mind is “Sanware rang raachi..”, in which Meera Bai proudly sings about the colors of her Lord which are smeared all over her existence.

With Wafia, at Dargah Nizamudding Auliya
(Photo Credits - Aaqib Raza Khan)

When it comes to divine music, India has a tradition which can take a lifetime to discover. One sufi tradition, however, which I wish was as intrinsic to India as the qawwali culture, is the Mevlevi dance of dervishes, whose origin is attributed to Persian Sufi Poet, Jalalladin Rumi. Lost in a trance created by sufi music, the dervishes are elevated above all else when they start swirling with their head raised marginally in the direction of the Almighty. Modern day sufism has an over-simplified definition. We, the younger generation, associate Rahat Fateh Ali Khan’s love lorn compositions with sufi spirit, which is not totally wrong since one of his earliest song, Mann Ki Lagan, did have notions of sufi poetry attached to it. However, a true experience of sufi music, the kind which gives wings to your heart, can only be found amid the qawwals singing like mendicants at dargahs of sufi peers with their eyes not leaving once the sight of their beloved, their object of devotion, their God.

“Khusrau baazi prem ki, main kheloon pi ke sang,

Jeet gaye toh piya more, haari pi ke sang.”

(This article had originally been written for Scroll360.in)

Banquet On The Dead by Sharath Komarraju - A Review

My tryst with mysteries continues.

Sharath Komarraju is an author who knows his craft. I can say this, because Banquet On The Dead is his second book which has left me impressed. His first book - Murder In Amaravati - was a treat to read. Easy, laidback mystery, which makes you turn pages rapidly, but without making you feel edgy. Yes, I agree mysteries/thrillers are books which should make one jittery, accelerate palpitations and occupy the mind and heart of a reader, but Murder In Amaravati proved to be a delightful read precisely for not belonging to that racy-edgy category of books. Banquet On The Dead is a murder mystery which follows the same, calm, easy narrative style, and just about manages to satiate the reader in you.

Banquet On The Dead is an investigative journey into Kauveramma's murder. This old woman, owner of a huge estate, was found dead in the well in her compound. However, it was common knowledge that she was petrified of water, so much so, that she dreaded taking showers. Her death, then becomes more complex and intriguing a phenomenon than it was a at first understood to be. Kauveramma has a large family - full with sons, daughter, grandchildren - and almost all of them stand to gain some pecuniary advantage from her death. Who was it then, among all those, who made Kauveramma meet her end in such a grotesque manner - floating in the well, hair fanned out, limbs outspread?  The answer is discovered by an unlikely pair of detectives  - Inspector Valmiki Narayan, and a 'charming' rogue, Hamid Pasha.

Having mentioned Hamid Pasha's name in the last sentence, I must confess that he was perhaps the best takeaway from this book. Hamid Pasha's character has been fashioned very well, and if I may say, stylishly so. Among a deluge of characters, he is the one who becomes instantly recognizable and is the lynchpin for staying abreast with the storyline. And amusing too. He has his peculiarities and convictions as a detective, and his mind probes alleys of doubts which even his veteran police partner fails to conceive. More than anything else, it is the all-knowing, limping figure of Hamid Pasha, which stays with you once you close the book after a satisfied reading.

Besides brilliant characterization in terms of Hamid Pasha's, this book has many other upsides which keep you hooked onto it till the last page. Among its few negatives I would count, for starters, certain amount of tiring repetition. Too many characters in the book implies too many recounted stories, all similar except that one crucial aspect hidden as a tiny detail. The second issue I had while reading this book was the multitude of characters, who could sometimes leave you befuddled. It takes time to start differentiating one from the other, and if you, like me, are not good with names, the task only becomes more difficult. The language is simple and narrative lucid, and as reader you are aware that in the hands of a good writer, you are being securely led ahead on an interesting investigative trail. There is some local flavour interspersed in the script and the occasional linguistic transgressions make the reading a little more fun.

The climax of the story was rather creative, but it hits you in your face out of nowhere. It was entertaining and thrilling, for sure, but it the sub-plot which leads to it builds up rather late in the story. Few tiny sub-plots are also left unattended. Convincing, yes. But it does leave you asking for more. Just a little more. It is a good read for those of you who like the mystery genre. 2.5 stars on 5 is my verdict, and that is perhaps influenced by my attempt to establish a relative merit between Sharath's earlier book and this one. Between them, Murder In Amaravati would definitely be my pick! Oh, and Banquet On The Dead deserves a pat for the brilliant cover design as well.

(Reviewed on request by the author)

Book Details - 
Title - Banquet On The Dead
Author - Sharath Komarraju
Publisher - Westland
Published - 2012
Price - ₹ 250
Pages - 265
Genre - Mystery/Thriller

Quote Quintet - November

Aah yes. I am late by about a week. I have a decent excuse though - exams! They do not have a reputation of ever having spared anybody. The only concession I had this time was that I was writing papers in a subject I understood and enjoyed. This is not a privilege I have happened to carry with me for most of my life. If anything, its novel.

I am romancing the world of literature these days in Jamia Millia Islamia. Quite surprisingly, this new world encapsulates in itself vistas that from a distance I could not even have imagined. Being a literature student is fun and challenging at the same time. One needs not just the power of language but analysis as well, to develop discourses on themes which could be anachronistic, contemporary or even futuristic. However, these ramblings deserve a separate post of their own.

For now, the quintet. November was  a month full of mad-scurrying for notes, last minute completion of syllabus, confused/harried faces and other general attributes of exam times. November was also a month of bonhomie - pleasant classroom banter, close friends getting closer. For this month, I will not share some random lines drawn from newspapers (I had not been reading much of them anyway). I will share here excerpts from five best pieces of poetry which were taught to us by our wonderful professors at Jamia - Dr. Anisur Rahman and Dr. Ameena Kazi Ansari.

My favorite lines might mostly be the romantic ones. So, feel the love and read on!

#1

A cordiform map projection

My face in thine eyes, thine in mine appears,
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;
Where can we find two better hemispheres
Without sharp north, without declining west?
- John Donne, The Good Morrow
John Donne is one of the great metaphysical poets whose poems speak a language of their own. His most prolific achievement, however, is that he is my friend, Mishail Sharma's favourite poet, and owing to her incessant and excited monologues, I have developed a mini-expertise on him as well. These lines are remembered fondly by me because of the way they philosophise on love, because of the way they make you see two lovers. As two hemispheres, the north of which is not too cold and the west of which is not declined towards darkness, these lovers complete a whole - they complete a world for their existence - beyond which nothing is desired. Donne goes on to say that such love is eternal. If it died, that love was not which could find a balance.

#2

The handsomest among poets

There is not a joy the world can give like that it takes away
When the glow of early thought declines in feelings' dull decay
- Lord Byron, Youth and Age
Despite not preparing this poem for my examination, I remember vividly its first line. How very true, or as my teacher put it, very 'axiomatic'. We have heard of the cliché about the value of things becoming apparent only upon losing them. Byron has restated that very ideal, perhaps in a more provoking way. True it is - the most precious happiness is that which has been snatched from us. This poem is about what the title says it is - youth and the journey towards old age - and it reflects on that path and the things we lose on our way to the end of life. Byron is graceful in his acceptance of the ageing process, though a tinge of longing for the transience of youth is palpable in his tone. That sense of longing is what makes this poem remarkable for me.

#3
When hearts have once mingled,
Love first leaves the well-built nest;

http://arb.hubpages.com/hub/The-Journey-chapter-1

The weak one is singled 
To endure what it once possessed.
- Percy Bysshe Shelley, When The Lamp Is Shattered
It is another of those poems which deal with the concept of transience, thought Shelley succeeds in taking forward the concept of impermanence to the concept of death, which eventually leads to regeneration. In these particular lines, however, what catches my attention is the sensitivity which the poet displays towards relationship of lovers which is ephemeral like everything else. It is the weak one, the more attached one who is always left to suffer the pangs of longing for what once was his. I find these lines echoing in me because I can see their manifestation in many instances around me. My age, after all, is the age of heartaches and heartbreaks.

#4
Know then thyself, presume not God to scan
The proper study of Mankind is Man.
- Alexander Pope, An Essay On Man, Epistle II
I will admit - Pope is not one of those poets I have understood well, yet, I remember the way our Professor delivered these lines in class and they instantly became a hit with me. I quote them frequently and ask my friends what they think of it. In this section of his extremely lengthy poem, Pope has urged mankind to stay away from prying into the affairs of God, and to seek answers for their own powers and limits, strengths and frailties, reason and impulse, within the ambit of worldly existence. To know his affairs, Man must study himself. However, I always feel a greater meaning lurks behind those lines. Does something pop up in your mind when you read these?

#5

Purple flower by the moss

She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!
- William Wordsworth, She Dwelt Among Untrodden Ways
Wordsworth is among my favorite poets, for the simple reason that he talks in a language I understand and he conveys ideas which touch my heart. In a set of five poems, together called the Lucy Poems, Wordsworth has concocted an iconic romantic character in the form of Lucy - one who can be romanced and loved, but never be achieved. No one knows the identity of Lucy for sure; not even if she was real or a figment of his imagination. But Lucy poems, taken together, are pregnant with a sense of an impending loss - of love, of Lucy. Of all the five, these lines reverberate often in my mind. His object of love, pristine and virginal and untouched - she lived hidden from the prying eyes of the world. But now, she is no more, and while the world might carry on at its pace, it makes a difference, a huge difference to him.

I should've perhaps undertaken this exercise before the exams. However, as they say, 'better late than never!' Hope you had a good time reading this one.