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More problems ahead

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We who grew up as Independence approached, midnight’s witnesses, though it is axiomatic that India would quickly rise as a great power — the country’s size, strategic situation, great civilsational strengths, the talents of our people, all making us stable and prosperous at home, respected and influential abroad, a major force in the shaping of a new, equitable world order. Whatever our achievements, that hasn’t happened. Completing 90, my uppermost thoughts are: Why?
Is the answer in another question: Why did we lose our independence in the first place? No superior force invaded us that time, a few adventurers from oceans away outwitted us — even in intrigue. Instead of blaming conquerors for conquering us, should we not examine where we went wrong? It’s a very different world now — not least, because nobody wants to conquer us. But other threats to national integrity keep increasing, while we lapse as of old. The most decisive weakness remains most ignored: We refused to change with the times, did not learn from new learning and refused to use improved ways to improve ours. We fell to better organisation, better technology and techniques, to sheer professionalism. We keep resisting, if not rejecting, them.
Innately gifted to excel in all these ways, we seemed initially to have learned. Our colonial exploiters brought us the greatest legacy of the Enlightenment — the primacy of reason. They were not more honest, hard-working, decent, or otherwise virtuous or able. They just contrived an aura of impartial, objective and dutiful efficiency; justified or not, that established norms of performance, which appeared to remain. Our subsequent failures, errors, deficiencies are too obvious and numerous to recount, but all stem from discarding those norms. We reverted to nature: Personal is everything, nothing, nobody else matters —or even exists. Personal faults, from sloppiness to greed, have become norms.
It all started on day one. Each leader attracted servitors. We got the court of Sardar Patel, of Maulana Azad, BabusRajendra Prasad or Jagjivan Ram, and of course, the great court of Panditji; not that they necessarily sought such personal agencies, it was just our way. So too was the circumvention/abandonment of rules. For example, officials had to rotate between Delhi and their states. But no, transferred even to a prize post, as chief secretary of a major state, this gentleman refused to leave Delhi — and succeeded. Little things, but we end up having people’s representatives with no respect for people, behaving like lords while supposed public servants behave like personal servants, more-or-less willingly. Not one institution functions as it should, not one instrument of state. Standards in the private sector are hardly better. Everyone know this, but so what?
It’s not just us: Norms are undermined everywhere as electorates change, destructive and ugly forces grow stronger and particular groups seek total dominance for their ideas and ambitions. The “world’s oldest democracy” manifests the most appalling trends; Europe’s once best exemplars barely fend off comparable pressures. All governments find themselves unable to cope with the complexity of peoples’ problems and aspirations. Democracies suffer the added problem that the system itself — the processes and ideals of democracy —are losing both effectiveness and appeal. Where democracy is fragile, needing careful tending, such trends are more worrying.
Democracy depends on reason, debates between opinions based on reflection, mutual civility. But more and more people now despise reasoned argument — they demonstrate in legislatures or outside them, take violently to the streets. The only “solution” commonly urged is for “strong” government, despite the inevitable risk of its corruption into mindless tyranny, even worse than today’s inane shouting matches. Yeats ( paraphrased) looms : “ When nations are empty up there at the top/When order is weakened and faction is strong/What when there’s nothing left there at the top?/Where be the Captains to govern mankind?”
“To govern is to choose,” said the then French premier, Pierre Mendes-France, in 1953. It is also to deliver. When it comes to us, the whole apparatus of governance — the policy-making and implementation machinery — is simply unable to function seriously. The considerations that go into the decision-making, that shapes people’s lives, no longer address the issues involved. It’s all about what’s in it for me clothed in what’s in it for us — our particular caste, religious or regional group. Such inappropriate purposes are accompanied by inappropriate thinking. We talk about strategic autonomy. How is that conceivable if you can’t produce your basic weapons? The world’s largest arms importer denies its forces vital equipment because nobody decides on that matter, or decides wrongly, or because prejudice, or exclusive advantage, prevails over a rational balancing of objective pros and cons. Worst of all, this is due to sheer ignorance — the inability to understand what really matters.
Nothing illustrates what holds us back more tellingly than what we have done to Delhi. People are supposed to take pride in their nation’s capital and work to make it more vibrant, attractive, exemplary. Has one street come up which is a pleasure to walk? How many buildings are worth looking at? If aesthetics are too “elitist” a criterion, consider our telephone connectivity, potholed roads and the law-and-order conditions that make us the “rape capital”. All this is where the entire government resides. Our traffic is a nightmare because we people are ultimately to blame: Spreading six-abreast on two lanes, sneaking ahead in left- lane to turn right, blithely occupying no-parking zones, street vendors block already-narrow arteries and religious institutions encroach over pavements (though official-political wrongdoing is more deplorable). These are all correctible offences, but then those who could correct them prefer other considerations to public good.
The section in society I am from has failed to produce ideas or programmes that find resonance with today’s electorate. We are irrelevant but that way of thinking is nevertheless essential. No society ever developed without the leadership of elites. Obsessed with egalitarianism (though failing to practise it), we confuse elitism, which is self-serving and unacceptable, with elites or the leadership element in society that competes to set national agendas and norms. People at the top of every heap don’t constitute a national elite. Couple that deficiency with a historic inability to use state power for state (as distinct from personal) purposes, and welcome to the Third World.
“Old men regret.” This may sound like a pointless lament, while my not undistinguished ancestry, quality education and classy profession would today doubtless dump me among the despised elite. But is anyone, elitist or populist, addressing today’s real needs? India faces more dangerous challenges than it is even aware of. I fear it ignores even more dangerously its greatest problem — neither the concepts nor the mechanisms for serving our needs are capable of doing so. Above all, we need to think differently. Mohammed Iqbal’s warning applies: “Na samjhogetho mitt jaoge, Hindustan walo, tumharidaastanbhinarahegidaastaonmein” ( roughly translated: If you fail to understand, Indians, you will be erased, even your history will not remain part of history). Having served in the country’s three most demanding international assignments, Pakistan (twice), China and the US, and most instructively for four years in Sikkim, leading to its merger, I venture to claim I know something of what I am talking about. I wish I knew what to do about it. I can only say, damn it, surely it can still be done. Will somebody say how?
(Indian Express)


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Opinion

INDESCRIBABLE JOHN ELI

The Kashmir Monitor

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By Shabbir Aariz

This indeed is proverbially a herculean task to describe or define John Elia in any particular frame. Whosoever while mentioning him, is either trapped in contradictions of one’s own opinion or is able to confine to a few verses of John Elia to judge him. But the more one tries to understand John, the more confused one is and I believe that you need another John Elia to explain him. He is a phenomenon, a thing like a live fish to hold in your hand or an elephant amongst blinds to be described. Wusatullah Khan, a noted broadcaster, holds that knowing John is as good as dating with a liberated lady. And it is quite obvious that a man who in him is a philosopher, a scholar, a biographer, a linguist with command over Urdu, Arabic, English, Persian, Sanskrit and Hebrew and needless to say that the Ismaili sect of the subcontinent could not find anyone other than John to translate Ismaili treatises from Hebrew, it becomes a tedious affair to be conclusive about John. Common perception though with an element of truth is that John is a progressive Marxist, an unconventional poet and always in denial of everything including himself while himself saying in three line verse,

“KISKO FUSAT K MUJSAY BAHAS KARAY…..

 

OOR SABIT KARAY K MERA WAJOOD….

ZINDZGI K LIYAY ZARORI HAY

(Anyone prepared to argue and prove that my existence is imperative for life). His poetry is admittedly very close to life and his verses in the words of a legendry poet, Majrooh Sultanpuri, are like a dialogue which no other poet has the distinction to be capable of. John has an extra-ordinary craft of connecting with his audience that has created an unprecedented fan following which no other contemporary poet can claim to have. So magical is his poetry and its rendition that it has created a cult of his admirers with such an obsession and longing for the life of melancholy lead by John Elia himself. It is no secret that he was never a happy man with defiance and protest against everything and anything around. Loudly a nonconformist when he says
“unjaman main mayri khamooshi…..

burdabari nahin hay wehshat hay”.

His style made him famous and popular. He appears to be disgusted even with creation when he says … “HASILE KUN HAY YEH JAHANE KHARAAB….

YAHI MUMKIN THA AYSI UJLAT MAIN”.

His admirers strangely wish to pass through the same pain and despair that is hallmark of John’s poetry besides satire and the disdain for the system which contributed to his sadness in life. He has so glorified and romanticized the pain and sadness that it leaves his audience in frenzied ecstasy.

John Elia was born in the year 1931 and died in 2002. He originally belonged to Amroha in the state of Uttar Pradesh, younger brother of Rayees Amrohi, a known journalist and writer. John migrated to Pakistan in the year 1957 and settled in Karachi where he is buried now. But Amroha never left his heart and mind. He never felt comfortable after leaving Amroha partly because his stay in Karachi brought him in conflict with the system too. Many other things have also contributed to his sadness in life. He was married to a well-known writer of Pakistan, Zahida Hina but in mid-80’s , the relation between the two became bumpy and ended up in divorce which left John devastated and for ten long years thereafter went in depression without writing a word.

As is true about many in the history of literature, John earned his name and fame more after his death than in his life time while he was not received well and felt a strange type of suffocation when he says,

“AAP APNAY SAY HUMSUKHAN REHNA…..

HUMNISHEEN SAANS PHOOL JATI HAY”.

Thanks to the electronic boom and You Tube that brought him to the lime light and enabled audience to reach him and his works. As if this was not enough that his first poetic collection only came to be published when he reached the age of 60. It is worthwhile mention that he has as many as seven poetic collections to his credit namely SHAYAD, YANI, LEKIN, GUMAAN, GOYA, FARMOD and RAMOOZ. Except one, all other are published posthumously. This is besides his scholarly works in prose which may require greater insight to go into.

John all his life remained honest, direct and straightforward in expressing his views on matters of public interest. He also never demonstrated any pretentions or reservations while expressing the truth of his personal life. He never made any secret of his fantasies, love affairs or drinking habits. Yet he was never at peace either with the times or with himself. John Elia, in my humble opinion lived ahead of times and even the desire of dying young without being bed ridden was not granted to him except that he strangely enough wanted to die of tuberculosis and which he did.

(The author, a senior lawyers, is a well known poet and writer. Feedback at: [email protected])

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Manto: Why I wanted to read a ‘lewd’ writer

The Kashmir Monitor

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By Naveed Hussain

I first read Saadat Hasan Manto as a teenager and the spirit of what I’m writing now was etched on my memory in those years.

I was too young to understand the intricacies of his stories but I enjoyed what I read and craved for more. Back then, Manto wasn’t available in the small town of Haripur where I lived. A friend introduced me to a schoolteacher, a bibliophile who had a modest collection of Manto in his personal library.

 

“Why do you want to read Manto, he’s a ribald, lewd writer,” he quipped. “This is exactly why I want to read him,” I replied, almost impulsively. He smiled and agreed to lend me Manto’s books. Thus began my journey to explore Manto. The more I read, the deeper my love for him became.

Manto was a nonconformist, an unorthodox and ruthlessly bold writer. He didn’t believe in the so-called literary norms of ‘decency’ and ‘civility’ set by didactic writers of his time. For him, truth is truth. No matter how bitter and despicable the reality, Manto never dilutes the truth. Like a muckraker, he pokes his nose into the muck, rakes it, and then holds it up to the reader – in all its profound ugliness and twisted beauty. “If you don’t know your society, read my stories. If you find a defect, it’s the defect of your society, not my stories,” he says.

Manto wrote on socially taboo topics like sex, incest and prostitution, which earned him the wrath of contemporary traditionalists, conservatives and even progressives. For some of his ‘lewd’ and ‘obscene’ stories he had to face lawsuits – among them were great stories such as Thanda Gosht, Bu, Khol Do, Dhuan and Kali Shalwar.

But it is to miss the point to simply say that Manto wrote about sex. He wrote about the sexual debauchery of men and the sexual exploitation of women; about our patriarchal society where women are often treated as a ‘sex toy’, not a human being. Unlike many, I don’t compare Manto with DH Lawrence, because Manto is not lustful, even though he explicitly writes about the female anatomy. He’s more like Guy de Maupassant, who sees the throbbing heart, not the sensuous body, of the prostitute.

Manto blames the ‘diseased mind’ for reading ‘ribaldry’ into his stories. If a sex maniac derives morbid gratification from Venus De Milo, should we blame Alexandros of Antioch for chiselling such a ‘graphic’ sculpture? No, certainly not.

For contemporary literary pundits, Manto was also unacceptable because he wrote ‘indecent’ language. “They [the critics] criticise me when my characters verbally abuse one another – but why don’t they criticise their society instead where hundreds of thousands of profanities are hurled on the streets, every day,” he wonders.

I also love Manto because he was honest. He was an unflinchingly true writer who believed in calling a spade a spade. Sketch-writing was introduced as a genre in Urdu literature much earlier, but Manto created his own peculiar tell-all style. He didn’t write only the good qualities of his characters. “In my bathroom, everyone is naked. I don’t clothe them because it’s the tailor’s job,” he writes.

Manto’s sketches, which he initially wrote for the Lahore-based Daily Afaq newspaper, were later collected and published as Ganjay Farishtay. Manto wasn’t a hypocrite. He minced no words while writing about his dead friends. “I curse a thousand times a so-called civilised society where a man’s character is cleansed of all its ills and tagged as ‘May-God-Bless Him’,” Manto wrote in Ganjay Farishtay. Manto wrote sketches of filmstars Ashok Kumar, Shyam, Noor Jahan, literary figures such as Meera Ji, Agha Hashar and Ismat Chughtai and some politicians. “I have no camera that could have washed smallpox marks off the face of Agha Hashar or change obscenities uttered by him in his flowery style.”

Before embarking on his literary career, Manto had read Russian, French and English masters like Chekhov, Gorky, Victor Hugo, de Maupassant and Oscar Wilde and translated some of their works into Urdu. Surprisingly enough, despite his love for revolutionaries, Manto was not a Marxist ideologue. He was a humanist who was pained to see social injustices, economic disparities and exploitation of the underprivileged. He hated the obscurantist clergy and parasitic elites alike.

Although Manto had migrated to Pakistan after 1947, he couldn’t understand the rationale of partitioning a land along religious lines. His stories of bloodshed and cross-border migration, such as Teetwaal Ka Kutta and Toba Tek Singh, made him unpopular with ‘patriotic’ Pakistanis. To this day he remains a shadowy figure on the official literary lists of Pakistan: our school curricula, our national awards, our drawing room conversations.

Manto was acknowledged as a creative genius even by his detractors. And he knew this, which is perhaps why he wanted these words to mark his grave: “Here lies Saadat Hasan Manto and with him lie all the secrets and mysteries of the art of short story writing. Under tons of earth he lies, still wondering who among the two is the greater short story writer: he or God.”

Manto’s family feared his self-written epitaph would attract the unwanted attention of the ignorantly religious, so on his grave one finds a Ghalib couplet. He faced censorship all his life and even now has chunks of his stories taken out by the authorities. But as we mark his centenary year, I can say this with the instant certainty I felt as a young man in Haripur: the words and stories of Saadat Hasan Manto will outlive us all.

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Gauhar Raza: Giving Poetry the Power to Protest

The Kashmir Monitor

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By Asheesh Mamgain

If things were different his poems would have been different, or maybe he would not have been a poet at all. But things are what they are. And that is why Gauhar Raza, the poet is writing, and it is why he writes his poetry of protest.

“Maybe I would have written about love, the beauty of nature and science. But as things stand my poetry is predominantly about resistance and protest,” said Raza, who is faithful to the tradition of resistance poetry to the extent that he has throttled, without much difficulty, the romantic and the scientist in him. “The need to write poetry always arose when something happened around me which affected me, to the core. I have never written and will never write poetry just for the sake of it.”

 

“The murder of Safdar Hashmi, the breaking up of the Soviet Union, the demolition of the Babri Masjid, the killing of an activist in Afghanistan, the death of Rohith Vemula are some of those things,” he said.

Raza’s second published collection of ghazals and nazms (71 in all) came out in November 2017 and is titled Khamoshi, or Silence.

Is there a lot of anger in his poems? Yes, there is definitely a lot of anger. But then there is also hope. That is where Raza becomes special.

“For me, a poem that merely complains or rants about the injustice, violence and persecution happening all around is not enough. A poet has to go beyond this; he has to give a vision. The vision of an alternative world, of a better world. Only then will his poetry be successful and meaningful. A poet has to show the consciousness he wants to bring into society.”

So how does he define good poetry? “Well, a good poem should be able to raise the level of the reader at least one notch higher, and also give him a fresh perspective about the aspect being dealt in the poem. Something new to dwell upon,” said Raza.

The influences that shaped his poetic thought came pretty early, at home and at the Aligarh Muslim University where he studied. Raza’s father, Wizarat Hussain, worked in the education department there and was a second-generation Leftist.

“The question about the existence of God came up very early in my life and soon I became an atheist for life,” said Raza. Literature was read with passion at home and by the time he was 15 he had read all the Urdu literature available at the AMU library as well as a solid portion of Russian literature.

“During my growing years, Leftist thought had a major presence in the university. On the other hand, the fundamental forces were also steadily getting stronger. I was smitten by the leftist idea. I was part of a literary study circle, we served tea at the secret meetings of leftist groups and listened to discussions at home between my father and other intellectuals such as Irfan Habib and Iqtidar Alam Khan.”

There was a lot of churning in his mind and soon he started pouring the remnants of all that into his poems. When it comes to poetry some of Raza’s major influences have been Ghalib, Faiz Ahmad Faiz and Sahir Ludhianvi. He is often seen reciting their work at length during his various lectures, with Sahir Ludhianvi’s long poem ‘Parchhaiyan’ or Shadows one of his favourites.

“Writing the kind of poetry I do is not easy. Each time a write a poem I must relive all the pain and emotion I went through when the particular incident happened that forced me to write. All those disturbing images come rushing back to me. It is a difficult thing to undergo.”

Nor is poetry Raza’s only means of reaching the people. He recently retired as chief scientist from the Council of Scientific and Industrial Research. He is also into documentary filmmaking, his documentaries on Bhagat Singh and the 2002 Gujarat genocide being very well known.

Where does poetry stand today, as a means of communication with the reader? According to Raza, “for one, social media has helped. It has helped poets reach a wider audience. Also, the tradition of musharias and kavi sammelans (poetry meets) is still very strong in India. So even if a poet is competing with the multimedia world, it is easy to reach one’s audience with one’s poetry, provided you have something pertinent to say.”

More broadly speaking, however, “I have to say that things have progressed in a disturbing direction. A poem I wrote 20 years ago, I could rededicate it to Rohith Vemula and then to Gauri Lankesh. This disturbing trend is seen all over the world. I believe that the fall of the USSR has been a major turning point in the way our World has evolved.”

A few lines from one of his poems brings out his concern and struggle.

Mein phool khilata hoon jab bhi,
Woh baad e khizan le aate hain,
Mein geet sunata hoon jab bhi,
Yeh aag se ji bahlate hain.

Whenever I make a flower blossom
They bring the autumn wind
Whenever I sing a song
They give the soul succour with flame.

But Raza is still hopeful. “There has been a resurgence of resistance poetry in Urdu in the recent past. The trend of religious poetry in Urdu has also reduced in recent times. The youth today has become more involved in this attempt to bring a positive change. I have seen young people reading protest poetry and reacting to it. Once again universities have become a place of resistance and struggle for change.”

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