It's Been A While

No internet. No blogging. That is all.

Ladies and Gentlemen, The Moslems Are Coming.

Very kicked to be on 'The Moslems Are Coming' blog tour, and in keeping with Optimum Blog Etiquette, I'm belting out a short, one-glance summary of my thoughts on Azad Essa's new book.

'Indian soldiers repeatedly mistook my good looks for that of a local Kashmiri.' Haha.

Angry Essa. Such an angry young man. The whole collection of essays in The Moslems reads in a vein of hello-there-irreverent-cynical-almost-rage. As a young Muslim woman, completely wrapped in the cocoon of ideal, romanticised, perfect Islam, and whining about how, 'No, no, this is not what Islam really is,' this read has been a refreshing smack in the jowls.

Sure there's a lot I disagree with [tone mostly: "My God, how can he say that?!!"], but really, one needed to step out of the easily-outraged mold one has been cast into. Enough of placing everything on a pedestal; let's talk smack at a lot of things, throw it open to criticism and mockery, as it were.

Once I got that into my system, it was smooth reading.

The Moslems is a collection of several of Azad's previously published and unpublished works, off his blog and umm, other places [yes, I've researched this really well], and is the Indian edition of his previously published Zuma's Bastards. It covers Azad's experiences with racism, Islamophobia, classism, hypocrisy and other relatively current affairs across the globe [the World Cup in SA, the Arab Spring. As a South African of Indian ethnicity, it was very interesting for me to read his take on Indians in South Africa and the social dynamics within that community, SA Indian Muslims and the diaspora there.

All the chapters in the book are not Moslems-Are-Coming!-related, don't worry. That's just a clever trick to get you to buy the book in the first place. [Aside: Love the cover.]

There's substantial bits on Africa-specific issues, its politics, its untold or severely under-reported horror, and about South Africa in particular, which I was previously clueless about. But, without getting too heavy to read/understand, Azad takes you on a lite-skim ride of his opinions on all these topics. I was lost amidst all the unfamilar names and places, but no so lost that I had to stop reading. [It was also slightly embarrassing that I had no clue about a very significant part of the world. NO CLUE.] 

What I enjoyed especially were Azad's scathing satire pieces, 'Shape without drape: Muslim fashion du jour' [on the burqa ban in France] and 'The brown woman's burden' [on the social dynamics among Indian men and women and the hypocritical racism towards black Africans over and above everything else]. Written in a deadpan tone of reportage, a lot of people actually think Azad's being serious whereas of course, if you have an iota of common sense, you can see what he's doing. [Refer: 'satire'.]

The first section of the book jumps right into the Islamophobia theme, and I found myself cringing, nodding my head and sighing along to various passages. In the burqa-ban satire piece, Azad's dislike of the burqa is made clear. Then again, that's not the point. Like he says: 'I don't like the burqa. Europe doesn't like the burqa. But so what?'

I liked the close to the section as well:

'In spite of being Muslim, and therefore naturally biased in any non-Muslim's eyes, I should be entitled to scream Islamophobia from the rooftops when I encounter it, and I should be able to talk about it in an open forum without sounding like an evil, brainwashed caricature from a bad movie throwing a jihadist tantrum.' 

Saheeh, bro. Just so.

And now we jump to my favourite section of the book, that pertaining to Kashmir. Remember, Azad is NOT Kashmiri. He is Indian by ethnicity, but really he's just South African. 

'I have no allegiance with a teenager made permanently blind from birdshot in Baramullah any more than I have with the ordinary office worker who gets blown up by a bunch of rabid jihadists while commuting in a packed train in Bombay. Likewise, I don't care for an illiterate father left humiliated in front of his sons as he awaits help to fill up an immigration form on a border crossing with any less intensity than for a half-widow in Anantnag, who must go on living in limbo, unsure if her husband would come back dead or alive, if ever.'

'India, Pakistan or Azadi?' is really the crux of the Kashmir 'issue' is it not? ~ No, it isn't because in Kashmir there will never be straightforward answers and I can give you three different replies to the same question on three different days. Well, sort of.

So, anyway. Azad has, as opposed to a lot of non-Kashmiris writing loud, very certain pieces about Kashmir, actually visited the place and written about some of his first-hand experiences there, and the opinions he has built therefrom. Now, any fella broadcasting the relatively unpalatable truths about Kashmir, so well-brushed-under the Indian mainstream media's rendering of the Kashmir narrative, is a friend of mine. I pat Azad on the back. I thank him. As a Kashmiri, this section of the book reads like the obvious truth all of us living here know, but for some strange, infuriating reason, no one in the outside world cares too much.

Azad writes about the questions of Kashmiri identity, how it was growing up there during the 'bad years', state high-handedness, well-documented reports of gross human rights violations, enforced disappearances, legal impunity, and the new generation of Kashmiris that are slowly gearing up to use new media as a tool to open the world's eyes to what Kashmir is all about. He touches upon the Bollywood Kashmir depiction, which all of us [Kashmiris] roll our eyes at. The chapter on cricket bats and Kashmiri willows is interesting, especially seeing as how politics plays a part there as well. Am pretty certain the chapter on Kashmiri Pandits will not go down well with most Indian readers. Okay, the WHOLE section will not go down well in that corner. 

[Aside: As a true blue Kashmiri, I was lapping up all experiences from his essays on the Arab Spring, and applying to the situation in Kashmir. * REVOLUTION! PEOPLE POWER!* Because we do shit like that. Everything can be made Kashmir-specific.]

I really enjoyed The Moslems Are Coming as a pacy read covering a range of topics that interested me, and that I could relate to: Islam[ophobia], racism, hypocrisy, power politics, Kashmir, India, Palestine-Israel, Bollywood, cricket, the World Cup.

Azad's angry, rambling, acerbic style takes getting used to [which, when done by Page 4, makes the rest of the reading easier.] Once I had pinpointed the tone of the book, it was on to enjoying the pieces for their individual merit.

This is not a feel-good book, for rainy afternoons, a quilt and coffee and marshmallows for accompaniment. It makes you uncomfortable, it addresses issues you've all probably thought about more than once, and it certainly makes no bones about highlighting certain things and people and situations as they are. 'Warts and all' is what you'll get. 

I took into account Azad's hyperbole and OTT-isms because there's some of that as well. And at times my hands would rush to my blushing cheeks, thinking: "Mein Gott. He uses the f-word! He said 'whore'. And 'penis'. And 'other things! AAAIIEEE!" [Okay, not really. I don't blush while reading.] 

PS: This post was really not as short as it was meant to be.
PPS: Azad, when are you signing my book?

Hum ko ma'aloom hai jannat ki haqeeqat lekin

Dil ke khush rakhne ko Ghalib khayaal achha hai.

Mehfil E Moseeqi - Koshur Style

Videos from the night, up on livestream: HERE. About 2+ hours in all.

The Maamu, and the Tulri

Had stunning overnight musical mehfil at our place yesterday. My Maamu has artistic friends. ZOMG FRIENDS LIKE NASEEM UL HAQ 'RAJU' BATT [singer-composer from Doda] and GULAB SAIFI SAHAB [poet from Kishtwar]. Whom he requested to please come on over to Jammu to perform in front of our enthusiastic music-poetry-loving family.



Now, these two gentlemen are really outstanding flagbearers of contemporary Kashmiri culture.

Naseem Ul Haq 'Raju' Batt

Raju has a beautiful, clean, soft voice - very suited to slow ballads [which basically means most all popular Kashmiri songs]. 

Gulab Saifi, poet, works the brooding look 

And Gulab Saifi really impresses with his non-mainstream poetry. He has a unique, #WINNING style of writing, using new words and thoughts in his shaairi. And they have the khanak of spoken Koshur/Kashmiri. 


Both young artists, still not as popular [possibly because they are Pahari, not Valley based?] as some of the other names we hear in Kashmiri music... but their time has come. In music and shaairi circles, these gents are well-known and respected in their fields. The common Kashmiri hasn't heard of them yet. WE MUST CHANGE THIS! Inquilaab!

Oh, you know. Just the family. 

And so. Minimal planning and prepping, headlined by the famous Maamu Malik. It was agreed that all the family [mashaAllah, there are a lot of us when you put together immediate aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins, kids] would gather at our place post-dinner on Feb 1 where we'd set up the basics required for best enjoyment of poetry and music. That is: carpets, cushions, blankets and lots of noonchai and kehwa.

Ext. left [black jacket] - Gulab Saifi; ext. right [grey jacket] - Raju

This done, circa 11pm, with local sound guys and accompanying musicians in tow [one tablachi, one percussion board guy], Raju Sahab and Gulab Sahab turned on the brilliance. Maamu added much chutzpah to the night's entertainment. Crowd favourite ka khitaab! 


I decided to try livestreaming the whole performance and what do you know, it worked. Minor glitches here and there but overall, managed to get a live video of the whole Kashmiri music night deal up live. 

Much fun was had with people online from all over, not just Kashmir. We had America, India, Pakistan and I'm not sure where else. Would like to make a special mention of the Twitter gang that put in attendance that night: Shehla, Shahnaz, Rahul, Abhi, Nish, JuneyM, Junaid, Baavri, Mehmal, Yusra, BB,Obaid, Faysal, Sheikh. Nonsense chatting fun. Some trolls of course.


Please click here to view recordings from the Mehfil E Moseeqi at Chez Haji. Three videos lined up under the main screen. The magic started around 11pm and the last song wound up at 0445hrs. Live broadcast went more or less okay. Unfortunately less than half got recorded online. Will scrounge around from various phones and other cameras for missing segments.

Ma [center], flanked by Khaala [r] and Maami

Raju performed a lot of new songs, recently written by Gulab Saifi, and then we had a few classics like that fantastic Jaanbaaz composition: 'Zamaanai Pokh Na Humdum'. A couple of Punjabi and Urdu songs as well.

You will hear me typing, you will see Maamu enthrall the audience and you will hear embarrassing exchanges in between songs that we as a family, collectively, thought were funny then, but now - not so much. If you understand Kashmiri, forgive us our lameness.

Highlights of the night:

Maamu: KYA BAAT HAI! BOHUT ACCHE!

1. MAAMU - Everyone loves him: Raju, Gulab, the family, the online viewers. Too much masti and enjoyment. The life of the mehfil.

Raju/Maamu make a funny at Gulab Sb.

2. Excellent ribbing between the protagonists, i.e. Raju Sb, Gulab Sb and the Maamu. Much laughter and joking to and fro as evidence of their camaraderie.


3. Chai-kehwa-girday!

4. Packed house. And pretty laydiesss, as required by any concert.

Tabalchi Bhai, tak dhin dhin tak

5. Much appreciated tabalchi. Bohut aa'la. We all loved you, O Unknown Soldier.


I mean to work on song videos from the night, with translations and subtitles, and put them up on YouTube some time in the near future. Should be fun. Can do with help on the subbing. Let me know which of you want to do a song or two.


OKBAIII.

From Breswana to Bangalore - for Metallica

My blog post in Mint Lounge a couple of days after the Metallica concert.

Basically, it was fantastic, and Shro and I were doing silly shit like this before we headed out for the gig that day:

The complete, unedited, much longer version follows:

It is only fitting that months of planning, excitement, long-distance travels and pre-show jitters came to fruition with a very satisfactory attendance of the Metallica concert followed by temporary deafness in the left ear. Yes. Metallica. I was there.

The magic of attending any live gig lies mostly in the tremendous buildup to it. What goes down at the concert is only the culmination of everything up to that point – scrambling to get initial information, shrieky high-five behaviour with other fanbois and fangirls, huddling with friends to plan attendance and logistics, procuring tickets, travelling to concert city, rendezvous, make-up, costume, emotions, excitement, and… BAM! …final body frisk as one walks into the venue.

Anyway. Here is a full personal account of travels on my noble Metallicause [apologies in advance, this sort of word play will be rampant throughout the piece].

A few days ago, in my village in the mountains of Doda, Jammu and Kashmir, a full day’s travel away from the nearest city, I sheepishly told the parents I had to head down to Bangalore.

‘Why? It’s very far away.’

‘I know. Music concert.’

‘Whose?’

‘Metallica.’ [*awkward silence followed by quick exit stage right*]

Early next morning, I was packed and ready to leave for the city from the village. Downhill walk for a couple of hours, then on horseback for some time till we got to a motorable road, and finally the highway whence I traveled to Jammu at day’s end. Final packing, more shrieky behaviour and expensive last-minute ticket-booking later, I was ready to begin the final leg of the journey. Overnight on a near-empty train to Delhi – it was Diwali - with phosphoric celebrations in the night sky outside through the lands of Jammu, Punjab and finally, the capital. And the last easy bit - plane hop to Bangalore and its naturally-chilled climes. Two full days of travel concluded, I was here.

Preparations for this had begun back in April 2011, when the first vague rumblings of a possible Metallica gig in India were doing the rounds. As soon as a confirmation came in that Metallica [oh, my God, METALLICA!] was playing in India, one knew one would attend somehow, come what may. By the time tickets were up online in July 2011, with dual options of Gurgaon or Bangalore, I had decided on attending the latter gig [fortuitous?].

Forget about everything else; Bangalore has rock concert vintage. We have had the best of the best here over the years [and we have also had the other sort]. When jokes are made about ‘Bangalore’s knowledgeable crowd,’ it’s not all jokes, let me tell you. More than anything else, Bangalore is known for its rock. From school and college level up, you get a good schooling in indigenous and international rock music. The underground rock scene is booming. Teenagers and their coolth infest garages and makeshift studios across the city. High quality Bangalore bands like Thermal and a Quarter, Galeej Gurus, Kryptos, Synaps have made it big across the country. Let us look proudly on Bangalore’s modern concert history, in no particular order: Mr Big, the Scorpions, Elton John, The Rolling Stones, Aerosmith, Sting, Deep Purple, Uriah Heep, Jethro Tull, Mark Knopfler, Roger Waters, Megadeath, Lamb of God, and IRON MAIDEN for the love of God [phraseology to be noted] – they have all played here. It thusly followed that Metallica would too, and that I would witness the event in my home away from home in ‘Luru. And so, on a hot July afternoon in Jammu, this writer purchased concert tickets for October 30, 2011 at the Palace Grounds, Bangalore.

Cometh the hour, cometh the band. With great trepidation one watched news of the Gurgaon fiasco and Metallica’s cancellation there. Bangalore was on the edge of its seat. We waited. And waited. The gig was still on! Celebrations! By the morning of the 30^th, the interwebs resounded with many variations of: ‘In Bangalore, Metallican.’ Ha. Ha ha. Precious.

One knows that good people from all over India [and maybe abroad?] had descended on Bangalore to see the band perform. The most obvious travelling fans were identifiable across the city by their unique appearance – in their grungy tees, dirty jeans, long, greasy hair and a certain look - thronging M G Road, loafing in malls, being sullen in pubs. Complete strangers would glance at one another, exchange a slight nod, or alternatively, show the finger affectionately in a spirit of oneness with Metallica. It was almost spiritual.

The morning of the 30^th. Comfortable shoes had been purchased just for the event. Attire selected carefully. Rain predictions in [it would rain], we were prepared. Metallica merchandise and jeans for them as had it, and mostly black for the rest. By noon, we were ready to leave. We had decided we’d watch India’s first F1 race after lunching somewhere and then head to the venue. We zeroed in on The Biere Club, renowned for its, well, beeru, and as for my teetotalling sort, I recommend their fresh lime soda [sweet and salt] also. Heady mixture. The flat screen TVs served our F1-viewing motives and it was a most pleasant interlude. The Biere Club was packed to the rafters with other Metallicans, and smug, knowing looks were being thrown around like it was someone’s coming-out party. It was all quite silly, and quite beautiful.

By midday on the 30th, well before the gates opened at three, an ocean of black T-shirts, jeans and otherwise comfortable attire was slowly making its way across to the Palace Grounds. ‘No drinks at the venue’ was the weird rule for this heavy metal gig, so enterprising concert-goers planned an early start to the day and tanked up at various watering holes across the city before staggering in to Palace Grounds. All the contraband that need be smuggled in *wink*nudge* was arranged for also, with bags and pouches concealed artfully in hair, inner garments and footwear.

At five in the evening we pushed out towards the Palace Grounds. Nodding and grinning at all fellow concert goers in other vehicles headed the same way. In a pre-planned maneuver, we parked the car at a friend’s house, quite a ways from the entry at Gayatri Vihar. Hopped an auto and oh-my-God, crazy traffic as we neared the grounds. What a sight. Thousands of black tee shirts inching their way along roads and in vehicles, and streaming in through the gates. We were borderline manic happy. A crush at the beginning where tickets were being checked, and then the final walk towards the stage grounds.

The high-level security at the entrance has to be mentioned specially, and appreciated, and giggled over. We had the faintest of pat downs, and the lady checking one would ask apologetically, ‘Cigarette toh nahin hai?’ [You’re not carrying in cigarettes, right?’] ‘Maachis?’ [‘Matches?’] All one had to do was shake head in the negative, and they would take our word for it and we’d be politely passed on without so much as a ‘But-wait-let-me-check-properly-anyway’. I suppose the men had it easy as well. Let me tell you, a LOT of stuff got in. *grin*

There we were. After decades of fandom and adoration, we were going to watch Metallica [oh, my God, Metallica!] live, in front of our eyes. Right there. Ah, but we could have peed our collective pants. Everyone was smiling. Everyone was ready, all tens of thousands of us.

And so into the crush of bodies, in the rain, trying to home in on the most suitable location to settle down into for the rest of the concert. A few moves and attempts later we found our sweet spot. By this time the opening acts had kicked in. We walked in on Biffy Clyro, a Scottish rock band, warming the crowd up. Apparently two other acts, Guillotine and Inner Sanctum had gone up before, but we missed that lot. It was past 6 now, lightly raining and everything was most enjoyable, even the minor scuffles and shoving that is natural in huge crowds of very drunk, quite stoned people. Biffy Clyro were tight, impressive and did not get booed off stage. That is saying a lot when you’re opening for Metallica.

Then. A lull. Tense moments in between as organizers asked the crowd near the stage to move back a little. ‘We need you to move back so the security can move in.’ ‘Come on, guys, cooperate.’ ‘Safety first.’ What, after the opening acts they realized this needed to be done? I can tell you we were pretty nervous about things turning fugly again. Obviously it took a while, but the knowledgeable Bangalore crowd worked it out in time, much to the chagrin of many people who were hoping for a second cancellation. Ha to you! Ha!

For almost an hour there was nothing except music playing on the speakers. And amusing incidents with cops chasing down people from the scaffolding and sound towers. We waited.

The Black Album or 'Metallica'

And just past eight, the lights went out, the crowd roared, drums and a familiar riff screamed through the air… AND METALLICA TOOK THE STAGE! Starting their set with Creeping Death and right through the two plus hours they played, IT-WAS-ON. Hetfield, Ulrich, Hammet and Trujillo [My heroes! My heroes!] blazed through a mix of their best songs from all albums – Fuel, Ride the Lightning, Sanitarium, Sad But True, One, Master of Puppets, The Memory Remains, Cyanide, Nothing Else Matters and the performance of the evening – Enter Sandman – pyrotechnics and all. The encore closed with Battery and Seek and Destroy. The older music definitely took it, especially songs from The Black Album, because people of a certain vintage [like me] know that music better. So the kids enjoyed the newer numbers more, but the classics were for everyone. The opening riff of Enter Sandman caused a near-frenzy, and the crowd sang as one. Roaring, head banging, smoking, drinking – it was a true-blue concert. Great sound on the speakers [though we lost audio on one set for a couple of numbers in the beginning – fixed soon] and enough big screen projectors for those who couldn’t see the stage that well. From just past eight till about ten thirty, Metallica gave us heavy. For me, Hetfield’s clear vocals, Ulrich’s crazy drumming and Hammett’s guitars-from-the-gut always win it. The gig of the year wound up with the band thanking us, us thanking them, them throwing souvenirs into the crowd, emotions running high and overall awesomeness.

As the band disappeared, we hung around on the grounds taking it all in. Thousands of happy fans – Bangaloreans and guests of Bangalore - with our once-in-a-lifetime experience. Metallica’s first ever gig in India. With the promise of more as they left. All of us were mud-stained, tired and happy. Feet killing us. Many smiles. The throng moved out slowly. There was the long trudge out to the gates, and then the horror of exiting the car park. By the time we worked our way out it was well past midnight.

As always after a late night, Bangalore headed to the very few restaurant chains it knew would still be open – the most popular being Empire. We headed to the Infantry Road joint and one hears that all the Empires were hit alike. So also those comfortable eats in the heart of Shivajinagar that know how to care for the nocturnals. It was like a spillover from the concert. Hundreds of hungry rock fans laid siege to the restaurant, some eating outside on the street, some seated, some waiting. Everyone was served, the entire black sea of concert goers - it was slightly surreal.

That was a special day. A good day. Completely worth the long pilgrimage here from my mountains. As the deafness in my left ear wanes, let me end the narrative with a suitable smarmy something I read online: ‘If you like Metallica, raise your hand. If you don’t, raise your standards.’ Such Metallicads we be. And well done, Bangalore, you do us proud again and again.

Kashmiri Muzaks

Confession: Kashmiri songs used to bore me growing up, because I couldn't understand what them mellow singers were singing. Also, the tunes, lyrics and instruments were very, umm, let's say not exactly world-changing. 
Happily my hearing has improved, and my understanding of the language as well. Also have started listening to some fine new talent recently, thanks to an uncle and his musical pals.
There's Naseem Ul Haq of Doda, also known as 'Raju', a young singer with a sweet voice and good compositions. I love that the lyrics are so non-typical. Very Gulzar in a Kashmiri setting. [No, really.]


Mamujaan has just been introduced to Windows MovieMaker, so he's putting up videos of Kashmiri songs- with subtitles. I find subs help.
Here's one of my favourites - 'Azti Gae' / 'Even Today'.

Let me work on a translation for this beautiful song. Will post soon.


In the meanwhile, recommend you subscribe to zamalik5811 on YouTube. He means to upload truckloads of these. Joy!

Ugh.

Edit: Someone implied to me that maybe Pawan Durani is not the writer of 'that' post. I don't know. How ridiculous all this cloak-and-dagger business is. In any case I am replacing his name, just in case.


 If there's anything I find trying, it's a complete misreading of something I've written by people I don't really care to invest time in. But the misinformation is so annoying, it must be set right.

Last September I wrote an opinion piece in the Hindustan Times 'Are We Ready To Let Kashmir Be?' which was followed by the usual noise and backlash from trolls or other readers who saw much in the piece that I did not even imply. As happens always, the noise faded after a while, and I even had a few civilised though very opposing responses such as this one by Primary Red. One does not have a problem with a different point of view. One even welcomes it provided it is done with a certain amount of reason, sense, civility, absence of silly assumptions, and an impersonal-ness. [I made that last word up.]

Anyway. I was linked to a Tweet about my article [but no mention or tag given to me, hmm.]  This post happened yesterday, and it's coming on to almost a year since I wrote the column in 2010, so I was a little surprised at the timing. Soon after, surprise turned to irritation turned to amusement.

Just to quickly get back to certain observations made by AnonWriter Ji, the writer of the piece ['Ji' implies a lot of respect as I gathered from his blogpost where he has addressed me as Sabah Ji every single time ~ yay! thank you!]. 

I'm going to keep it short and simple. Here we go. AnonWriter Ji's quotes in blue:

1. 'Sabah Haji starts with why does it justify to be called a Kashmiri for those living in the state of Jammu & Kashmir. How can a person from say Ladakh , who may not even be able to say “hello” in Kashmiri call himself a Kashmiri ?  How can a Dogra from Udhampur , Jammu , Kathu , Samba call himself a Kashmiri when he hardly knows the language or doesn’t even live in . How can a a Gujjar Muslim from Poonch or a Shia from Kargil call himself a Kashmiri , when they speak a different language  ?

Errr. Yes, thank you. I never said a Ladakhi or a Dogra should call himself/herself Kashmiri. I was speaking for people like me who live in the Jammu belt but speak the same language. Instead of repeatedly implying that this is a Kashmir Valley-specific movement, please know that there are substantial portions of the Jammu pahari belt that identify with the sentiment. Within Kashmir, I can call myself Pahari. Outside, I take the generic Kashmiri to apply to me. To quote myself [since it was an opinion piece coming from me about what I feel]: 'We speak Kashmiri. So that's our identity.'

2. I would be delighted to know how does a 5 or a 6 year old child know what different nations are ?  What “Azaadi” means ? Why  India should be hated ?  Does this not get picked up while watching how the elders behave or act .  This is purely a behavior a child from any community in Kashmir or elsewhere is likely to pick up from the parents or elders he/she witnesses each day .

I would love to delight you, but am at a loss as to how. I tried to do this in simple English in the original post but it seems to have escaped your notice.

If you pick up my line immediately after the one you've quoted: 'Somewhere between infancy and childhood, I had picked up unwittingly on what most of my family and people felt.'

Now, when I say my parents or any of my cousins'/friends' parents or any adult that I know of, did not feed us kids revolutionary mantras or hold daily sessions to tutor us in the art of 'knowing something is wrong', it is quite possible that that is exactly what I meant, and can you believe it, that I was actually stating the truth! You can, of course, imagine that we are some sort of sick 'others' where parents don't even know how to bring up their children without introducing politics and prejudices in their heads, but that's your call. And has nothing to do with what I've written. What you're saying quite simply then is that I'm lying. Errr. Oh-kay... *shrug* Whatevs.

3. Sabah Ji has very intelligently tried to balance and clear the issue of exodus and atrocities upon Kashmiri Pandits. Now isn’t that interesting , nowhere a courage to call spade a spade ! Instead she goes to extent of even blaming , yes you have read it right , she has ‘blamed’ some Kashmiri pandits of ‘communalising’ the ‘movement’ as well.

Ah. My favourite bit. Where you play the famous Muslim versus Pandit card, implying that because I am a Muslim I don't think what happened with the Pandits at the time of their departure was wrong.

And slightly hyperbolic outrage that I was blaming some, yes you read it right! blaming some Kashmiri Pandits for events around  the time.

I am not into the blame-game you and other easily side-lined Kashmiris are so fond of on the Twitters. That Pandits were made to leave is indisputable fact, as is the reason why. That there were Kashmiris - Muslims and Pandits - who worsened the situation, is also indisputable. I am not blaming the entire community for having to leave. I am not stupid, but thank you for attempting to imply that. It amuses me even today.

4. Can Sabah Ji pls let us know if Subhas Chander had killed innocents and raped women ? Did Bhagat Singh go out and plunder places of worship of others?

Hmm. Let me see... NO! These two heroes of the Indian Independence Movement never did rape women or plunder places of worship that I know of. You really should read your history textbooks closely. It's all mentioned in there. 

Now, Bhagat Singh Saheb was in fact hanged for shooting a police officer - I am unable to comment on whether that qualifies as killing an innocent or not. [Also, according to Rang De Basanti, random people were shot by the revolutionaries. Okay, okay, I won't take facts from a movie. But awesome film it was! Have you watched?] 

Anyway. What these two gentlemen did advocate, which is what I was referencing, d....uh!, was violent resistance. The same ideology that was the armed resistance in J&K in the '90s. I don't support it, but I find it laughable that people throw this in our face all the time as if India's Movement was something wholly sacrosanct and its leaders never had to resort to violent means to get their point across.

Another beauty by you of course is the implication that ALL the militants of the time were into killing innocents, raping women, and plundering places of worship. Nicely done! But, mehhh, lame. Not so. Certainly outrages were committed, there were horrible crimes done, and again, this is indisputable fact. I'm not going to ask you to look at the outrages done on the other side because apparently they don't matter.  

Am also not into comparing wrongs or pitting numbers against each other. We know how that works.

What's next, what's next?

5. As for someone asking “Aap Hindustan se hai ” to people in Kashmir , all I can say is that the argument is a bit to stretched by Sabah Ji . Unlike her, I am from the valley while she is from Doda district .

Tsk tsk. AnonWriter Ji, there you go calling me a liar again. And also all my friends and their families who have told me that their tour guides have asked them this question. Erm... What does my being from Doda district have to do with the simple fact I stated that tourists from India ARE considered as coming from Hindustan, and therefore not Kashmiris? I'm not saying it happens to each and every tourist. I'm saying it happens, and has happened often enough. My point was one of Kashmiri identity. I'm sure the very intelligent and quick-witted tour guides even KNEW the tourists were from Hindustan and therefore asked them. You see? 

Oh, forget it.

This was fun. *insert smiley*

The Convert - NOT a book review, just a response

Deborah Baker’s latest biography ‘The Convert - A Tale of Exile and Extremism’ chronicles the astounding story of Maryam Jameelah - a ‘prominent female voice for conservative Islam’ [Wikipedia] and a well-published author - her conversion to Islam, her sudden move to Pakistan and her life and work there.

The ‘tale’, spanning a period from Jameelah’s childhood in the ‘50s to her ‘hijrah’ or ‘escape’ to Pakistan in 1962, and thereafter her life and work till even as far as 2009, is ‘astounding’ in its very essence. Jameelah was born Margaret Marcus in a Jewish family in post-WWII New York and ‘The Convert’ traces the story of how she gradually came to reject America [and all that the West symbolised] and embraced Islam as her chosen way of life. It is even more fascinating as we see Jameelah’s story intertwined with that of her mentor and guardian in Pakistan, Maulana Abul A’la Al Maududi. [Maududi was the founder of the Islamic evangelist group and political party Jamaat-E-Islami, but is more famously known as the intellectual founding father of militant Islam.] It is on Maududsi’s invitation that Jameelah eventually moves to Pakistan and renounces her life in the America she grew up in.

Not knowing anything about either Baker or Maryam Jameelah, and only very little of Maulana Maududi except his renown as an Islamic scholar, I approached the book with no preconceived notions at all. My first impression was based on the cover of course. A fully-veiled Muslim woman, the by-line to the title ‘A Tale of Exile and Extremism’, and a typically dramatic blurb by Fatima Bhutto on the face of the book did not recommend themselves to me and already I was rolling my eyes. Happily, judging the book by its well-marketed cover proved to be premature. Because Baker’s careful biography turns out to be a very interesting, balanced read on a decidedly difficult and intriguing subject spanning many years.

‘The Convert’ was an easy read, start to finish; pacy in portions and lagging sometimes. It is told to us through a series of letters/correspondence between Jameelah, her family and Maulana Maududi, interspersed with Baker’s thoughts at the time of reading and her narration. The correspondence is not always arranged chronologically. My reactions to Maryam Jameelah’s story, with a female Muslim point of view at my core, were as follows.

First and foremost, I do not ‘get’ Maryam Jameelah. In that, despite a detailed observation of her childhood and thoughts growing up [through her correspondence], it is still pretty unbelievable to understand how she [or anyone] could suddenly opt for a complete change of life, religion, culture, geography and situation – with the mere support of an as yet unknown but generous stranger halfway across the world [Maulana Maududi]. It boggles the mind and is unsettling till the very end. This and various other clues and ‘reveals’ throughout the book [tantrums, nervous breakdowns, schizophrenia, stints at various mental institutions], point to a Maryam Jameelah who is not entirely the most reliable narrator of events.

From the beginning we see a maladjusted, intellectually precocious, socially misfit Margaret with contrarian views and a fixed opinion on everything. There are periods of prolific writing and correspondence, and then periods of total silence. We are also told that there is much that Maryam Jameelah does not reveal about herself, and that a significant portion of her correspondence is written much later than the dates shown in them. Which means Maryam wrote the letters retrospectively. Why? We find out towards the end of the book that Maryam continued to show behavioral problems in Pakistan.  There are so many oddities like this which leave one with a feeling of skepticism about Maryam Jameelah. She comes across as very eccentric, particularly in the all-too-brief meeting Baker has with her in Pakistan. Baker tells us in her ‘Note on Methodology’ at the end of the book that Maryam’s letters do not appear as she wrote them in the original and are mostly edited, rewritten and condensed by the author. There is no reason to believe the real meaning of the letters was changed, but this fact casts a slight shadow over the reading. Just a bit. Was it the author’s intention to cast a doubt over Maryam’s credibility at the end of the day? Because it certainly comes across as such, though Baker never at any point makes a statement one way or the other. Being the subject of the book, I was expecting complete clarity and a better understanding and appraisal of Maryam’s personality and thought process. Unfortunately I am left disappointed.

As to her writing and work as a scholar, there can be no doubt that Maryam Jameelah was lucid, trenchant and very on the ball in this regard. She was scathing in her criticism of the West and all that it signified. She believed that ‘Western civilsation and Islamic civilsation were implacably opposed’. This coming from an American Jew who had completely rejected her life there was a major attraction in the Islamic world, and the Jamaat naturally encouraged and patronised her. Maryam’s writings have ‘bristling and grandiose titles’ and open denunciations of the West, which appealed to many Muslims. As they still do. Together with Maududi, Maryam rendered the gap between a superior and just Islam and the unjust, overbearing, morally deficient western world as unbridgeable. This goes down very well with a huge population particularly in developing and poor Muslim countries. Again, I cannot understand where the ferocity of her convictions and her distaste for the West spring from, and this is another aspect that makes Maryam’s story so unique.

In her personal capacity, Maryam believed in a very severe form of Islamic living. To her it was an ‘all or nothing’ practical life choice. I may not agree to such a rigorous interpretation [full purdah, complete segregation, women not leaving the house], but I can neither begrudge her those choices nor stand in superior judgment on her. If that is the choice she made for herself, I can disagree on an ideological and intellectual level, but that’s about it. This part of Maryam’s life – her purdah, her being a second wife - is what will irk most people, women especially. I don’t see why.

The book is as much a story about Maulana Maududi as it is of Maryam Jameelah. At the same time as Maryam was discovering herself and Islam, on the other side of the World in Pakistan, Maulana Abul A’ala Al Maududi was already at the helm of a powerful political-Islamic organization called the Jamaat-E-Islami, which aimed at the establishment of an Islamic state as the ideal.

For me, I got a clearer picture of Maududi’s mind and the Jamaat-E-Islami’s history than Jameelah herself through the reading of this book. There were many interesting things I picked up, like excerpts of his writing, and personal details of his home and family which we find out through Maryam’s correspondence with him. Instead of a raving, blood-thirsty fanatic, we see a very reserved, serious, no-nonsense, scholarly, and powerful man, completely dedicated to his cause and beliefs. That he was very set in his convictions, that he thought an Islamic state was the best form of governance for leading a true Muslim life and propagated it is indisputable. I am not familiar with any of his treatises on ‘jihad’ and hence unqualified to comment on whether or not he is truly the ‘father of militant Islam’ and the cause of its more virulent strain that we see rampant today.

As a female Muslim reader, there was certainly a lot of food for thought in this book. Because it is presented matter-of-factly and without condescension or that patronizing tone I have come to expect in the context of ‘women in Islam’ and ‘Islamic extremism’, I found it an enjoyable read. It is interesting to note Jameelah’s and Maulana Maududi’s school of thinking. I have the slightest misgiving about the title of the book, ‘A Tale of Exile and Extremism,’ which gives quite a different idea of what to expect in the book and what I find there. 

On the whole, Baker’s narration of Jameelah’s life, her relationship with Maududi, her life in Pakistan and her views on Islam are objective and non-judgmental. However, and to me this is the greatest failing of the book, Jameelah comes across as quite unconvincing and non-credible as a person. At the end of reading a biography on her, I wish it wasn’t so.  

There is no compulsion in religion.

Here's an edit of my reflections on reading 'The Convert' and 'The Good Muslim' as published in Tehelka Mag.


And below is my original, lengthier piece.

What is it about burqa-clad/veiled Muslim women that gets so many people’s goats? Such condescension, such disdain! Especially from women, and surprisingly to me, from Muslim women who choose not to wear the veil. Note: None of condescending/disdainful/disapproving women’s voices come from ladies who actually choose to wear the hijab/burqa. Like myself. Or so many other fantastic Muslimahs [female Muslims] I have interacted with in real life and online. Like regular girls, we like our share of laughs, our silly (oftentimes risqué) jokes, our music, our sports, our books and what have you. The only difference is we have chosen to wear the hijab, others haven’t. I don’t hold it against you that you don’t want to wear something, why must you hold it against us if we do? Or rather, and this is what I’m getting at, what gives anyone the right?

I recall the hue and cry from not so long ago regarding France’s ban on the full face veil. The intense debates online, especially on the worst forum for having any debate: the 140-characters-a-time-restricted Twitter. What a waste. To me, the debate was not about man’s gross injustices upon womankind over the ages, nor forcing women to cover up, nor was it about culture-over-religion, nor about a misreading of religious texts [‘It doesn’t say hijab anywhere in the Qur’an!’]. These were beside the point, which was: a matter of choice. Anyway, what happens in France can stay in France. The good thing is it opens up a very interesting subject for discussion.

One of the most endearing lines of the Qur’an to me, is the beginning of verse 2:256: ‘Let there be no compulsion in religion.’ I read it in the broader sense of ‘I cannot impose my religious will/practices/dictates on you, and you will kindly return the favour to me.’ Please note, it works both ways. This verse tells hardliners not to enforce their strict, often unreasonable rules, on others. It also demands that the other extreme not judge and rail against those who choose a certain way of life, dress and conduct. A more conservative way of life, if you will. No compulsion either which way.

I read two newly published books recently, both with their focus on female Muslim characters and Islam, both primarily set in the Indian [or South Asian] subcontinent. One was a biography by Deborah Baker, The Convert, and the other, a work of fiction by Tahmima Anam, titled The Good Muslim. I am not going to discuss the literary or factual merits of either work. I’ll pick up certain points that struck me in their reading, as a young Muslimah with a decent grasp of my religion.

Both works convey a slight puzzlement at conservative Islam. Maryam Jameelah in ‘The Convert’ and Maya’s brother Sohail in ‘The Good Muslim’ are individuals who go the whole hog in terms of Islamic convention. In the former, Maryam opts for complete seclusion, full burqa, no physical contact with the outside world etc. In the novel, Sohail undergoes a transformation beginning with a change to ‘the garb of the faithful’, and eventually he moves to the strictest Islamic lifestyle [or his interpretation of it], and a severance with even his family and friends. In both cases, the author/narrator’s reaction is perplexed. Why this change? HOW can anyone think and choose this voluntarily? This here then is my grouse. While I may not agree with many points of someone else’s religious practices, I must always understand that it is after all their personal choice and I cannot compel them otherwise. Non-religious, liberal voices have a particularly self-righteous way of holding up the faithful to scrutiny. Why? In your minds, are you better than us for the choices we make inside our hijabs and burqas and with our long beards and short trousers? Is it my clothes that bother you, my overt display of my religion? Or does it peg me in your mind as someone that thinks a certain ‘dhakyanoosi’ way? [I am sorry I cannot come up with a proper English translation for that word – unfashionable, outmoded, backward?]

Again, this works both ways. I might let the extremely conservative be, but will he/she kindly stop asking me to become a better Muslim by covering up, not going out, not doing this, that and the other? To stop haranguing against the ‘kuffaar’ and spreading negativity? Is my mullah going to answer for me on the Day of Judgment? *insert sound of the Last Trumpet* I think not. So, to the religious conservative, kindly pass on your words of wisdom and guidance to me, and then let me do my thing. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work this way in real life.

What is visible in both stories are the kernels of an unsavoury truth that we see all around us – that religion is hijacked by the narrow, often baseless interpretations of a few ‘scholars’ - those ‘deemed’ religious people, who eventually gain huge popularity as stalwarts of Islam versus the evil, decadent West. It is always a case of one-upmanship with these voices – our religion is superior, yours is inferior because of so and so. Unfortunately, this formula seems to be very popular with most. It is also responsible for most of the religious diatribe which taints what is essentially pure.

What is also visible is this other judgmental voice I speak of. The aghast-at-religious-conservatism section which really irritates me. Maya’s character in ‘The Good Muslim’ is clearly outraged at the ‘Islamisation’ of her brother. She despises any show of religiousness [for example a spat she has with a vegetable vendor who replies ‘Allah Hafiz’ instead of ‘Khuda Hafiz’]. In the novel, we see a possible justification for her feeling this way [the horrors of the Bangladesh war for independence are telling], but even so it irks. Other characters are also depicted realistically, always ready to mock religion. This is very common, we see it every day. I see this attitude online in well-read, well-educated people.

Religious judgement works both ways. The flag-bearers of ‘complete freedom and no rules’ versus the flag-bearers of closeted, narrow religious notions – neither are in the right.  At the end of the day, ‘Let there be no compulsion in religion.’ Please.

Cousin Riaz debuts in Tehelka Mag

What joy! What kicks! 
On the last evening of my last trip to the village, Breswana as you all should know by now, I scribbled some information after quickly interviewing young Riaz on the Government's new BPL classification policy.  Riaz is one of five brothers, all of whom are the hardest-working, most decent lot of kids I know from the current generation. Like all the rest of my village, he is a sort of cousin to me.

Spot the Riaz: Correct! Sweet fellow on extreme right.

To my utter delightful delight. Riaz's piece was picked up for a Tehelka report compiled by lovely Nisha Susan, who BTW is a brilliance. I do love her. 
Anyway, moving on. I proudly present 'The New Fortune List' in Tehelka mag, featuring the first lad from our area in any publication. 
*rabble rousing cheers*
Instructions to find Riaz:
1. Look at the page.
2. Appreciate the two columns of faces, and their info.
4. Click on 4th thumbnail in right column. Yes, the one that clearly says 'Riaz Ahmed Batt. 22'
5. Enjoy reading about his take on things.


Goodbye.