Windmills of My Mind

The Quest (Dis)Continues

2012-01-22T13:16:00.001+05:00

Picture at the T2F Qavvaali by Sadaf Zubairi

The DAWN magazine today featured a piece on Qavvaali (or Qawali) held as part of PeaceNiche's new Qavvaali Project. This will be a project that will save, for posterity, loads of bandishes that we may be 'losing', with fewer qavvaals performing them these days.

The singers will be the top qavvaals, like Fareed Ayaz and others, who will sing at T2F this year. Children of famous qavvaals like Manzoor Niazi Sahab, Bahauddin Sahab and the young members of Fareed/Abu group and others will also be performing on separate occasions.

There were some things in the article that a few of us did not necessarily like (but that's just my friends and I - great qavvaali lovers - I guess). One specific part was really terrible:

Ayaz’s father, Ustad Ahmed Khan, knotted skull caps when he had migrated from India. Ayaz was born in 1949 in Pakistan, where he grew up fending for his family and learning music. He was less known as a qawal until Coke Studio invited Fareed Ayaz and Abu Muhammad with their group for an in-studio recording that reflected ‘the depth of musical diversity’ in Pakistan.

Though the group has been performing abroad, especially in Tehran, they lately hit headlines in India and Pakistan when they performed for a peace initiative in Ajmer at the shrine of Khawaja Moinuddin Chishti.

Fareed Ayaz's father was Ustad Raziuddin Ahmed Khan (known as Munshi Ji by almost everyone, because he was a Munshi Fazil). He performed for many years in Hyderabad Deccan. Munshi Ji was an excellent Qavvaal and a classical singer, as well as a great ustaad. One of his students (a son-in-law and nephew) is Ustad Nasiruddin Shami - a brilliant singer himself, who was also seen in Coke Studio.

In 1956 Munshi Ji led the vocals in the Manzoor Niazi group along with Manzoor Sahab, Bahauddin Sahab, and Iftekhar Sahab. (Farid, according to the article, was then 7 …)

Their recordings were sold by EMI (think of the wonderful pieces you can hear in their Amir Khusrau's death anniversary records). They performed internationally. Fareed was heard on Sitar at that time, before he began his qavvaali singing. Nasiruddin was heard in the qavvaali, something he occasionally does in a few houses now, with his sons. Abu joined much later and has become a tremendous singer.

My collection of Munshi Ji and his son's recordings goes way back to 1960s - and we have had them in performances at home and abroad. Manzoor Niazi and Bahauddin have been great singers with their own sons. These other groups were formed once the parties became too big to stay in as one large group. Many of them sing the same pieces in their own way and add many new pieces that suit their styles better.

To say that Fareed & Abu were less known as a qawwaal before Coke Studio is obviously the idea of a person who may never have really heard them before. As for not being well known, all of these qawwal bachas have performed all over the world - a little search on YouTube will show many old and new recordings. They have performed several times in India, USA, UK, and in other places. Perhaps talking to their thousands of fans here (and abroad) will also convince the writer that he has been completely misled by what he found out and wrote. Maybe what he meant was about their being well-known among the Coke Studio audience, although their three performances at Indus Valley School were crowded by young listeners.

The fact that all Qavvaal Bacchaas sing Persian, Purbi, Arabic, Hindi, Punjabi, Seraiki, Sindhi and other languages is remarkable. As qawwaals Munshi Raziuddin and his cousins were among the greatest exponents, along with Sabri Brothers and Nusrat's father and uncle (Mubarak Ali & Fateh Ali) who used to sing way before Nusrat hit the world with his marvellous pieces.

I attended the burial of Munshi Ji in 2003 and I miss him like crazy at all the sessions of Fareed and Abu. I hope the next generation will see Moiz and Hamza and others take this gharaana much further.

The wonderful Qavvaali collection by Citibank, which featured Munshi Ji, Manzoor Sahab, and Bahauddin Sahab, never really got launched properly — although bootleg versions are now available everywhere (but, sadly, without the lovely book that was in the original and beautifully boxed set).

Maybe a little research - even in Wikipedia - would be of help for the author in Dawn to understand what this group is like: Here's a piece from there:

Munshi Raziuddin Ahmed Khan (1912 - 2003) was a renowned Pakistani Qawwal and classical musician in India and Pakistan and a researcher of music. He belongs to the best-known gharana of Qawwali, Qawwal Bachchon Ka Gharana of Delhi. Initially, he performed in the court of the Nizam of Hyderabad. However, after the fall of Hyderabad, he moved to Pakistan.

In 1956, he formed Munshi Raziuddin, Manzoor Niazi & Brothers, along with his cousins, Bahauddin Qawwal and Manzoor Niazi. This ensemble lasted until 1966. After 1966, Munshi Raziuddin turned to solo work, forming his own Qawwali party, and was successful until his death. Munshi Raziuddin was succeeded by his sons, Fareed Ayaz and Abu Muhammad, who perform as Fareed Ayaz Qawwal.

My recordings of Munshi Ji singing with his sons at a session a few weeks before his death - made especially for my company (b.i.t.s.) and its team that adored him - are impeccable and are available at T2F.

Many people who love Munshi Ji, his cousins, his sons, and the entire qavvaalee idiom can be found at this place on Facebook. Lovely qavvaalees from old qavvaals are available there.

Darkened to oppose SOPA

2012-01-18T23:49:00.002+05:00

Here's the best New Year Card I received —

2011-12-31T11:14:00.001+05:00

Does wishing

“A Happy New Year”,

make any difference to our New Year,

other than renewing social bondages?

Why not replace our wishes with some concrete steps

to make this world a better place?

A little action may be better

than thousands of wishes.

Let each of us make a New Year Pledge to contribute

towards elimination of

Religious bigotry,

Senseless superstitions,

Irrational believe,

Hatred of other societies,

Greed,

Poverty,

Hunger,

Malnutrition,

Illiteracy,

Ill health

and
Discrimination

on the basis of

religion,
race,
nationality,
caste,
colour
or
gender.

On the 1^st day of January 2012,

I will complete 81 years of my life

and at the beginning of my 82^nd year,

I pledge that:

My age will not deter me from hard work

towards achieving my mission.

Now that I have relatively less time

and more unfinished work,

I will work harder.

I will follow in the footsteps of

Nelson Mandela, Gandhi and Faiz

to strive for peace and harmony.

I will endeavour to eliminate the rote system

by encouraging inquisitive and analytical minds.

I will propagate information and knowledge

for a well informed mind to make better decisions.

I will donate all my savings and future earnings

for the service of humanity.

[My cadaver has already been donated

for transplant of organs
and for any other medical purpose,

without going through any so called ‘last rites’.]

Rashid Latif Ansari

•

(Thank you Rashid Bhai!)

They are here …

2011-12-20T11:06:00.002+05:00

This was the Revox A77 Tape Recorder

that was used for most of my recordings!

Here's a new label that you will love!

We will be releasing several CDs (and an occasional DVD). Most of the pieces will be recordings done by me at my home or at public places where I was allowed to record. Others will be recordings of things I managed to get from close friends and preserved them, as well as an occasional lecture or old recordings that have no copyrights any more. Some of these are from 78s and have not been converted by the companies so far.

Musicians will include Ustad Asad Ali Khan of Agra Gharana, Ustad Munawwar Ali Khan (son of Ustad Ba∂ay Ghulam Ali Khan) of Patiala Gharana, Munshi Raziuddin and his sons (Fareed & Abu).

There will also be a host of Shaaérs that I have recorded at home and on my ships in mushaaeraas held in Chittagong. Apart from those there will be some great old poets that many have missed.

On a few occasions we have taped Ismat Chughtai and others reading from their works or talking about life in general. Then there's Nasir Jahan, reciting some lovely kalaam and talking about his encounters with Arzu Lakhnavi and Josh Malihabadi.

The first four sets of CDs were issued this week and are available at T2F:
• Remembering Munshi Raziuddin — A collection of his rare recordings.
• The BITS Sessions (2 CDs) — The almost last concert by Munshi Ji which he did for his lovers.
• Fareed Ayaz & Abu Mohammad — A rare selection of pieces.
• Qamar Jalalvi & Iram Lakhnavi (2 CDs) — Pakistan's finest ghazal writers read their kalaam.

The CDs/DVDs will have the prices marked and we certainly hope that all of you will support this rather difficult job of digitizing from my old tape recordings by buying these and giving them as gifts to people coming from outside Pakistan. Friends outside Pakistan — and there are several who love this stuff in India, USA, UK and more — can ask local people to buy them and send them, too.

Please — if possible — do not copy them. Buy more. Let's have some income with which we can get more people to help in the digitizing and conversions.This is not a business venture and we need to have enough money to keep it going. There's tons of stuff that I want you all to be able to hear. Thanks.

Christopher Hitchens 1949-2011

2011-12-16T11:26:00.002+05:00

"Christopher Hitchens — the incomparable critic, masterful rhetorician, fiery wit, and fearless bon vivant — died today at the age of 62." — Vanity Fair: 15.12.2011

RIP

Read his interesting essay on
Pakistan at the death of Osama bin Laden

Dear "Books & Authors" …

2011-12-11T11:49:00.001+05:00

It's nice to have a magazine like yours (a lot of your stuff is awful but there are some good pieces in it, too!) that 'caters' to a reading public. The size of the public can be assessed by the size of your mag … so it is truly a tribute to DAWN that it hasn't pulled the magazine off.

One expects, however, that the Editor of Books & Authors will ensure that the Urdu often printed in it is ok. Today's Kaatibs know little of that language. Typing the right keys on the keyboard isn't enough. Also, like most of our current teachers in schools, they know poor Urdu and even less of Poetry.

My daughter, Ragni, was told by her KGS Urdu teacher when she and her classmates didn't want to borrow badly printed Urdu books from the library - specially when they were reading interesting and well-designed work in the English books - that they would "need to know Urdu - because how else will you talk to your servants".

Neither do our book publishers! Take a look at the popular Urdu series by OUP here, now used in several schools, and you'll see how bad - even awful - the Poetry section is. Some of it is even put in by the teacher who couldn't find good poems from anywhere — and she can't write poetry to save her life. Other publishers are much worse.

In today's edition of your magazine (Print Version, of course, because the Net Version doesn't show the Urdu parts), Intizar Husain, in his Literary Notes' Poets of their times (what a terrible title … but that's what newspapers do!) wrote about Urdu Poetry.

It is imperative that you should have looked at the quotes and made sure that they were correct. The shayr I am referring to is Mir's (not Mayyar's).

The second misra' has been ruined beyond belief by the kaatib. Imagine those who are new to poetry reading this and using this second misra' in their conversations.

Please, Editor saheb[a], do pay attention in the future. Or let someone who understands Urdu do it for you. It's very important. It's our National Language, just in case you've forgotten.

Some memories

2011-12-07T00:53:00.001+05:00

My mother and I shifted out of our house on Nazareth Road soon after Abi (my father) died. We were forced to vacate the house by the owner - a nephew of the Nizam of Hyderabad - who felt, on the day that Abi died, that the contract was not valid anymore since it was between him and my father.

Ammi Jan (my maternal aunt) and Abbu Jan (Asad Ali, an All India Hockey player of great note, who was also my dada’s youngest brother) were staying with us and moved with us to a house in PECHS for several months. Later on we shifted into the Iqbal Town house which was built with Abbu Jan's pension and provident fund - the way it was in the old days when you retired. My Khala and Khalu were like second parents for me.

Abbu Jan & Ammi Jan

(I always told friends that the Iqbal Town area was named after Iqbal Bano :D … being a little wary of Allama Iqbal and the number of things named after him everywhere.)

Ammi Jan passed away in 1967 while I was on the "M.V. Shams" and heard of it as soon as my ship arrived in the dock. It was awful to see a lovely person go. Her asthma had been a big problem all her life and this time she could not beat its attack.

•

I got married at the Iqbal Town house in 1970 and had Nuzhat sail with me for almost 10+ years in the Merchant Navy. She is an avid speaker and a lovely actor in a few plays. Of late she has put up a good website for women in trouble.

Wedding

•

Abbu Jan came with us to my DHA house (my first real home that was built with loans and borrowed money). Ragni, our only child, was born in 1984 and part of all this is written for her to read. Abbu Jan expired in 1987. Ummi lived here until 1989, when she passed away in January.

•

The Iqbal Town house, however, was among the best periods of my life in Karachi. Despite being far away from all our friends' houses, we had Iqbal Ismail, Salman Kureshi, Muzaffar Ghaffar, Noel Colaco, Joe D’Cruz, Humayun Gohar, Umra Charlie and many others visit us there each time I was on leave or my ship was at home port. Closer to the house were Lala Mufti, Captain Anees Jaetapkar … and the author, Ibné Insha, who lived nearly a block away. Meeting him was always wonderful and hilarious. Maybe I will write a post about him some day.

•

Suroor Barabankvi

Suroor Barabankvi (a wonderful poet and a 'wonderfuller' person), whom I had met in Chittagong during a Mushaerah I held on my ship, knocked at my house gate one day and I was thrilled. He said he had arrived the night before and was going to be here for a week. We called him the next day and had him recite some poetry for us and four of my father's cousins who were his fans: Kamal Mahmood (Jan Ammu. He was Talat Mahmood's elder brother), his wife (Amna Phupi), her brothers Ayub Chacha and Sulaiman Chacha. The last three were the grandchildren of Ustad Amir Minai.

I recorded many of Suroor Bhai's poems on that day — and more in the years to come. Here is a nazm you’ll like in his lovely voice. By the way, Suroor Bhai's younger brother married Jan Ammu's youngest sister (Khalida - my Phupi Jania) later on.

•

Sulaiman Chacha asked me to meet his friend, Syed Nasir Jahan, when I came back to Karachi and settled down, in 1984, from the Merchant Navy. I decided to 'duck' the issue, thinking that Nasir Jahan — a regular radio broadcaster with a lovely voice — was unlikely to be great fun for me to meet. His interests, apart from Urdu Poetry, were not likely to coincide with mine (or so I thought). His Naats were, of course, delightful to listen to on Radio Pakistan and his Nohas and Syed Aalé Raza's Salaam at every Muharram were always something I watched when I could. I had always thought that was what he was about … until I met him later.

•

My friendship with the Chittagong poets had developed fairly over the years. Most of them were regular visitors to the ships and were always included in our regular Mushaerahs that I held there on my ships. You will hear some of their verses in future blogposts and on a website. A few examples are in this post, too.

Bangladesh's war brought Asghar (Gorakhpuri) Bhai to Karachi - after having been left for dead under various corpses by the Mukti Bahini. His escape tales were worth listening to - as were most tales told by him. He was really a fascinating story-teller. Asghar Bhai was someone I always loved. Along with him, from Chittagong, came Nasir Zaidi (Shohrat) and his friend Kazim 'Nudrat' (Kajjoo) Abidi, two young poets.

Every now and then, we'd have Asghar Bhai read out a few of his verses. One of my favourite pieces, recorded soon after Bhutto's death, was his Tanha Farishtay Ka Noha.

•

On some occasions we'd have another friend from Chittagong join us: Kavish Umar, who never became popular here. He was a superb poet and wrote often. At one Mushaerah in Chittagong, with Comodore Asif Alvi presiding, the first few poets did not turn up. Each name was called and there was no one to answer. (The reason was a little political problem. We have those in Mushaerahs just as we have them in our Cricket teams being selected.) The crowd was seemingly getting angry.

Asif (Alvi) Mamooñ - a second cousin of my mother - decided to call Kavish to the microphone in the hope that he would be able to keep the crowd quiet. Kavish was upset to have been called to the Mushaaerah at the beginning - but Asif Mamooñ was his boss! Kavish came up to the microphone and said, “I have just a qit’a that I wrote a few minutes ago. Here it is.”

Karayñ to kis say karayñ jabré bandigi ka gilah,

Sünay to kaun sünay shikvaé dilé naashaad,

Saré niyaaz jhükaaéñ kahaañ kahaañ, Kavish,

Falak peh ayk khüdaa haé, zameeñ peh laa-taadaad.

He then left the stage amidst tons of people clapping and wanting him to come back … and left the place to go home. True Kavish!

Kavish was a strong Muslim but had very Leftist tendencies. Yet, he was very anti-Faiz and often wrote verses that were against Faiz's philosophy. Here is one nazm that he recited on “M.V. Bagh-e-Dacca” in the last Mushaerah we held there in 1970, just before the Bangladesh war began.

•

The day that Asghar Bhai arrived in Karachi, he came to see me. He had a close friendship with Nasir Jahan — and that meant that we were all soon meeting (specially with Shohrat & Kajjoo) at our place.

My first meeting with Nasir Bhai stole my heart. Here was a man who was a wonderful conversationalist, adored classical music, totally in love of Urdu prose and poetry, recited beautiful verses, specially poems and anecdotes of Arzoo Lakhnavi and Josh Malihabadi. He loved many of my English books that I very rarely found other people reading. His wit and sarcasm were superb. And he loved the food at our house!

Nasir Jahan

During my days in the Merchant Navy I was posted to Hong Kong for a while, relieving an officer in Gokal’s GESL. When Eed-e-Meelaad-un-Nabi was a month away I was asked by NBP’s Mushtaque Sahab to help him get someone from Karachi to come and be part of the Pakistani celebrations. Nasir Bhai's name cropped up in my mind and Mushtaque Sahab was thrilled.

I phoned Nasir Bhai, asking him to come over to Hong Kong. It took a lot of convincing, since he hated flying. "I have been scared of it all the time", he told me. Finally, three phone calls later, I got him to agree to come over and he was part of the Meelaad celebrations. We also managed to convince him to recite various verses (including a Manqibat to Hazrat Ali - from Ghalib) at a local club, with me reciting a couple of mine in between his readings, too. Here is one of mine.

•

A few years later Nasir Bhai, Asghar Bhai, and myself had a radio broadcast (called Baat-say-Baat) which was the only piece from the series that Nasir Bhai did that was played twice again by public demand! A part of it is what I managed to get from a friend who taped the last bit of it. I think the first 10 minutes or so are missing, but this is what I have.

•

There are so many things I recall about Nasir Bhai, Asghar Bhai, Shohrat and Kajjoo. Our wonderful days together. The craziest nights out that lasted until the early hours of the morning. Tons of poetry. Many stories. Asghar Bhai & Nasir Bhai had remarkable memories of the old poets, their writings, their lives … and we were always thrilled to hear not just their verses but also the anecdotes that both told. There was one about Arzoo Lakhnavi that Nasir Bhai told us and then repeated it at a friend’s house. I have the recordings of both times but decided to share the friend's version here to give you an idea of the kind of audiences we used to have.

•

Muzaffar Warsi (before his beard)

We'd all go to meet visiting poets at public gatherings and bundle them into our car to bring them home for the night. One was Muzaffar Warsi. I had met him when he carried a bunch of Currency Notes on the "M.V. Shams" to Chittagong. I was walking past the open door of his cabin when I heard sounds of a lovely recitation. I walked in and told him that it was great and he told me that he was a ٹھیك ٹھاك poet.

The first qit'a that he then recited for me was something I always remember:

Zindagi kee qabaa ka har tük∂aa زندگی كی قبا كا ھر ٹكڑا
Vaqt kay paérahan meñ taankaa haé وقت كے پیرہن میں ٹانكا ھئے
Aé zaamaanah, hamayñ düaaéñ day اے زمانہ ہمیں دعايں دے
Tayree üryaanioñ ko dhaanka haé تیری عریانیوں كو ڈھانكا ھئے

Muzaffar Bhai always came to meet me whenever he arrived in Karachi. I miss his voice. Among my favourite pieces from him was his Ya Rahmat-ul Lil Aalameeñ.

•

Among others who came often to the Iqbal Town house were people whose poems I also recorded there: Himayat Ali Shaér, Mohsin Ehsan, Naseer Turabi, Havi (from Quetta), Mohsin Bhopali, Athar Nafees, and Peerzada Qasim. I will put some of their verses on a new website. (Soon — I promise!)

===============

Suroor Barabankvi left this world in 1980. We all miss him an awful lot. He reminds me most of all of his shayr that said:

Jin se mil kar zindagi say ishq ho jaae, voh log

Aap nay shaayad nah daykhay hoñ, magar aésay bhi haeñ!

•

I was in a hospital in London, going through a surgery. During a heavily-dosed period on the first day I saw Asghar Bhai walking in and saying he was there to see me. I asked Nuzhat when I woke up if Asghar Bhai had come and she said I was obviously dreaming. I said I'll be going back to Karachi in 2 weeks and will ask Asghar Bhai to come every day and keep me company while I am recuperating in bed.

When I arrived in Karachi, my cousin Naz (who was staying at our house) asked me if there are two Asghar Gorakhpuris. I said, "Of course not!" — and she brought out a Jang Newspaper that said Asghar Gorakhpuri was dead! I was dumbfounded. I rang up his Brother-in-Law, a fellow Master in the Merchant Navy, and he said Asghar Bhai had died with a heart attack when Shohrat and Kajjoo were visiting him at home. Nuzhat took the car out and I, lying in the back with great difficulty, went to his house.

Asghar Bhai had died within minutes of the time that I remember seeing him in hospital! Even stranger, he gave some of his writings to Nasir and said to give it to me and told him to write ‘Zaheer’ in the corner "with a ز" because he thought Nasir would write it with a ظ like most people. He took a sip of water after that remark — and was no more!

•

Kavish Umar, for reasons best known to him, disappeared from our lives. He used to live in Orangi Town. I have no idea where he went. Neither did Shohrat or Kajjoo know. (If any of you know where he is, please do tell me!)

•

Nasir Bhai phoned me from Islamabad and said he was coming to Karachi and that I should ask Nuzhat to make his favourite Kabaabs and Kheer and he will come with Shohrat. When Nuzhat came back from the office the next day, she asked if I knew about Nasir Bhai. I said he'll be here for dinner tonight and you have to make some food for him. She said she'd just heard on the radio in the car that he was dead and the body would be coming by the flight he was to come by.

Shohrat and I reached the graveyard and waited for his body that was coming from the airport. We buried him and I cried an awful lot. A lot more than I had for anyone in years.

•

Shohrat died 2 years ago, just a few weeks after I had gone to see his child's wedding.

•

Kajjoo had been ill for a while. He was bedridden often. One day he phoned me to say he was feeling a lot better and would come to see me soon. "Do you have some old Chittagong Mushaerahs that we could play?" he asked. I said I did have a few. Three days later his daughter phoned me to say that Kajjoo had passed away.

===============

These recitations that I have on tape are my only connect with a beautiful past.

===============

Jehan Ara, daughter of Mushtaque Sahab, became a mooñh-boli bahen for me soon after our first two meetings. Much after we both left GESL, I also worked with her in the Media Publishing Agency she ran and I did a small computer consultancy in HK for a while. Much later, she came back with her family to Karachi and joined me at Solutions Unlimited (SU) & Enabling Techmologies (ET) in 1994. She wanted to start a media agency here, but Pakistan did not seem to be the right place.

Eventually Jehan also helped me increase Enabling Technologies and was a 'partner' in it (although it stayed as my company on the records - something neither of us thought of legally changing with all the hassles that involved). We worked together for a while until I decided to join the Kasuris (of Beaconhouse) and set up BITS.

Jehan decided to continue with Enabling Technologies, which is not working at the moment because she is P@SHA's President and doing extremely well (as is P@SHA). Her blog, specially if you are interested in technology and women, is worth a read.

BITS became mine after the Kasuris decided to stay out of IT … and I gave 50% of it to Sabeen Mahmud, who had, more or less, started working with me when she was 15! She is brilliant and was responsible for loads of our work: from Jehan's Interactive floppy-disk version of her biodata that we passed everywhere (it won a prize at an exhibition here!) to the wonderful Faiz CD and more.

Sabeen now runs PeaceNiche - an NGO. Its first 'product' — T2F, a place that you must visit if you are in Karachi — is respected in most cities in Pakistan.

BITS (Beyond Information Technology Limited, to give it its full name) is now a consultancy and works entirely off the Internet.

A story we all need to see …

2011-11-20T11:52:00.001+05:00

On YouTube there are several moments that many of us get moved by. This was one that has moved me tremendously.

Here's a boy. Homeless, orphan, sold gums and sweets on the street. He loved to sing and this is why he applied … and was picked up to come to the Korean Talent Show. No relationships, sifaarish, bribes. Nothing.

Watch this:

We have a million kids like this on our streets. But with no feeling of music or art or anything, how do we train them to live and become the giants that some of them can become.

The Kirana Gharaana: Jhinjhoti Thumri

2011-11-16T09:36:00.001+05:00

Ustad Faiyaz Khan (of the Agra Gharaana) called Ustad Abdul Karim Khan "the greatest singer of his time". Everyone loved his voice, taans, and his amazingly raseelay taraanaas.

Arguably the finest classical singer in India, Ustad sahib made several recordings that have been released on 78s and transferred on to LPs. You can buy them now on CDs, if you have missed out on them. They are a treat!

Of all the delightful recordings that he made, the gorgeous Thumri in Jhinjhoti was his finest piece and here it is for you.

It has, since, been sung by numerous singers, but I thought I'd just add 3 more pieces of that Thumri that are rarer than the ususal materials available - generally - on records.

K L Saigal (though not a Kirana Gharaana singer) sang a small piece of it in the original Devdas. It was never released on a 78 because of its short length … but you can hear it here.

Pandit Bhimsen Joshi, in his role as a playback singer and music director, decided to make a recording (now available in the Saregama Series) with Lakshmi Shanker. His taraana is so evocative of what Karim Khan sahib did.

Finally, it is Roshanara Begum - the Kirana singer who came to Pakistan. Her long version of this Thumri is great and pays a wonderful tribute to Karim Khan sahib, her teacher.

Enjoy!

Oaf Tobark …

2011-10-28T16:24:00.000+05:00

Can hardly put this down!

[Get it from Liberty Books]

Bertrand Russell

2011-10-23T13:37:00.000+05:00

(Written for Ragni)

•••

Here is a picture of Bertrand Russell, taken by Dame Lotte Meitner-Graf. It hangs in the Captain's Dayroom (although many people call it a 'library') in our house.

Lotte was a lovely old photographer. She took several portraits of Russell on his birthdays and other days. She also told me how she had a lot of difficulty in photographing 'a young Princess Elizabeth, who was very sober and not a bit like her sister'.

There is a print of this picture as a frontispiece in Bertrand Russell's autobiography. I always thought it would look great on the cover instead of the picture she had used. I went to see her in London, having once been told by my father that she was a wonderful photographer — and, soon, I was heralded in by a beautiful little deaf girl who'd been with Lotte for years.

Lotte started discussing London's weather (it was raining like crazy) and then moved on to loads of other things, including the fact that my father had met her in London. She remembered "... that Indian doctor. He had a lovely sense of humour ...". She spoke of Pandit Nehru, whom she had taken many pictures of and found him to be a wonderful talker.

I had a great time and had a piece of fresh fluffy chocolate cake her girl had made. I then said to her, showing the book that I was carrying, that this was a lovely picture and I'd like it framed as a large one. About 1.5'x2' was what she thought would be OK and the print would cost me £150 - something that I did not have. But I said go ahead. I'll get the picture the next trip. She said that I should reconsider taking the other picture that was on the cover. "It is so much better", she insisted. I said: No - this was what I wanted! She told me that it wasn't quite as good, but she'd do it.

Two days later I went back to her and gave her £10 in advance. She smiled at me and said I should look out of the window in the next room as Bertie was coming to her house for a set of pictures. I could not meet him at her house since he wanted to come privately, always. I looked outside and, eventually, saw Bertrand Russell - the greatest philosopher of our time - walking down the road, with an ice-cream cone in one hand and another one in the other hand. I believe he was often seen that way. That was really wonderful. (I did see Russell earlier, in a garden near his house, when he walked past in the mornings to read. I also saw him at one of his last meetings in London.)

Next trip, when I reached London, I had no money with me, though I did have about £100 in a bank … but I wasn't sure if I should borrow the money from someone and get the picture or not. Maybe I'll phone her the following trip, I thought.

The next day we heard that Russell had died.

I just had to get the picture. I told Nuzhat, borrowed the money from someone, and phoned Lotte. She said I should come over. When I got there, she said the picture was much "brillianter, if I can use a word children use these days. Much more than I thought it would be". She was really thrilled to see it and said to me that she'd let me have it for just £50, because I was right in choosing a good picture.

(Ragni: The picture hangs in the room where I spend most of my time. Under it is a collection of his books. You can have both when I am no longer here, but I certainly hope you'll have to wait a bit … I promised you that I'd try and be around until I am at least 80 years old!)

Mustafa Zaidi

2011-10-17T00:06:00.000+05:00

He was born 81 years ago in Allahabad. He wrote poetry (first as Tegh Allahabadi and, later, as Mustafa Zaidi) and several of his books of poems were published. We now even have a proper Kulliaat, so those of you who have not read most of his work should go out and get it. Now!

(This is unlike the various forms of Kulliaat of Faraz published, with incremental verses, while he was alive … and, recently, Fahmida Riaz's Kulliaat, although I hope to see her writing many more verses).

My first reaction to seeing his work was of utter amazement. Published in 1949, I read Zanjeerayñ about 3 years later - when I was just 12 - and could not stop. Since then I bought every book he published: Roshni; Shehré Azar; Mauj Meri Sadaf Sadaf; Garaybaan; Qabaaé Saaz — and, of course, his posthumously published Kohé Nida.

Through all my love of Urdu poetry, something that had happened almost as far as I can think back — with regular mushaeraas in our own house and among relatives and Abi's friends — I did read a lot of poems. In spite of being a great Josh Maleehabaadi fan, a Sahir Ludhianvi devotee, and a lover of Faiz, Mustafa Zaidi's works were always my favourites. This man's works were remarkably different. I still read his collected works after a few days. His poetry had truth, beauty, love, and honesty.

Mustafa Zaidi was a great follower of Josh

and the old poet looked upon him like a son.

Mustafa's poems contain some of his finest ghazals, too, but his nazms were even better. His response to Faiz and Sibté Hasan for refusing to print his work (because of the government's ideas!) had him write a lovely poem. It became the talk of the town. Even the poem that didn't get published became a household kalaam and everyone of us recited it. His poem about a possible war with India is remarkable. Whether it's his small poem on Vietnam or a major work, like his amazing travel tale, they are works that I find impossible to see in any collection of other poets. (Why do I not name the poems? I want you to go out and get his collected works and find them!)

Sadly, Mustafa was murdered in 1970 (just 4 days before his 40th birthday). Part of the blame fell on his 'girlfriend' of the time, Shahnaz Gul. She was caught and tried, but the police — for reasons the intimate parties know well but won't tell — cleared her and decided that Mustafa had committed suicide. Shahnaz probably was in the know of what really happened, though she did not actually kill him. She went back to her husband, who had actually found Mustafa's body (and Shahnaz Gul, in a stupor, lying next to him). Yes, she was an absolutely amazing woman and had loads of strange and madly-in-love 'friends'. None, I imagine, could have loved her as much as Mustafa Zaidi. His last five poems about her will tell you the kind of love he had for her. Here is one beautiful shayr he wrote for her:

اترا تھا جس پہ باب حیا کا ورق ورق

بستر کی ایک ایک شکن کی شریک تھی

The government (I really wouldn't know who else to blame!) went to to town on him. The entire period after the trial we had nothing in the papers other than a 'second murder' of Mustafa by the press. Jang, the paper with the highest readership in Pakistan — and something that went into millions of homes — carried images, stories, discussions, even interviews with prostitutes, about how 'evil' Mustafa was. The public 'swallowed' all of this, decided that the murder of such a man was something that needed no tears, moved his books either out of the house or locked them up. Children were not to read about him. Youngsters were never to be given his writings. Soon, we lost his works and his popularity — and, for many younger people, Mustafa did not exist.

It is fortunate that Mustafa is now 'back' and many young people are beginning to read him again today.

There are many things to read about him, including Lauren Steele's beautiful English work (which includes some of his poems, translated by her, and an elegy by Salaam Machli-Shahri). There is remarkable piece by Raza Rumi on his blog. I was a bit perturbed at the piece's early statement (has it now been slightly modified?) that Mustafa had committed suicide. I knew that was not the truth and many people also felt that way. But that's what the government and the police had people believe — and Raza is much younger than I am so I won't begrudge him writing that way. He writes well, and the piece is beautiful.

However, Saba Zaidi (a niece of Mustafa) wrote two lovely remarks on Raza's piece so do read those, too. It'll help you, perhaps, change your mind a bit.

I would have liked to write a lot more about Mustafa Zaidi ... but I decided that this should be enough. I'll hold a session at T2F soon and you'll be able to come and hear his voice reading his poems and also hear other people who knew him better talk about him.

In the meanwhile, here is a piece by him that should keep you thrilled. It contains a shayr by Mustafa Zaidi — and one that I know still holds good:

ہر ایک شخص طلبگار تھا کہ شام و سحر

اسی کا نام لیا جاۓ اور اذاں کی طرح

Apostasy in Islam

2011-10-14T13:25:00.007+05:00

Apostasy (ارتداد, irtidād) is commonly defined in Islam as the rejection — in word or deed — of one's former religion by a person who was previously a follower of Islam.

The Qur'an itself does not prescribe any punishment for apostasy (to be given by Muslims).

Islamic scholarship differs on its punishment: It can range from Execution - on an interpretation of certain ahaadees— to no punishment at all as long as Atheists do not work against the Muslim society or nation.

While Maududi and Al-Qaradawi assert that Execution is the standard answer, they do not take into account the differences of an Apostate & a Treasonous Act — as can be seen in their writings. Treason does have Execution in many parts of the world, Islamic or not.

Apostasy has no such answer in any part of the world … except in a 'super-Religious' Muslim world.

Dr. Irfan Khan, a scholar and Qur'anic exegete, says: "Freedom of faith and religion is meaningless without the freedom to change one's faith." In fact there are hundreds of writers, from old to new, who have argued against Execution as the Islamic response to Apostasy.

Dr. Ahmed Shafaat, a regular writer on this and other religious subjects, has the folowing to say:

It is a significant fact that the Book of God does not prescribe any punishment for apostasy. Many Muslims would immediately say, The Qur`an does not tell us everything. We need to go to the Hadith to find guidance on matters not touched by the Qur`an. But while this is true of matters of detail, this is not true of fundamental issues. God knew that while the Qur`an would be preserved faithfully, the authenticity of ahadith will remain subject to doubts in most cases. Therefore, he would make sure that all the basic teachings would be included in the Qur`an while leaving some details to ahadith so that the size of the Qur`anic text remains manageable for memorization. Looked in this way the absence in the Qur`an of any punishment for apostasy becomes very significant.The punishment for apostasy is not a detail that we can expect God to leave for ahadith, especially if that punishment is death, since taking the life of a person, if done without a just cause, is regarded by the Qur`an as tantamount to killing all human beings (5:32). Even lesser penalties for theft (cutting of hands, 5:38), illicit sexual intercourse (100 lashes, 24:2), and unsubstantiated accusation of adultery (80 lashes, 24.4) were not considered by God as matters of details to be left to the ahadith. Therefore there is no reason why God would consider the more serious penalty of death for a more serious sin of apostasy as a matter of detail to be left to ahadith.It is also significant that the Qur`an refers to apostasy several times (2:217, 3:86-90, 4:137, 9:66, 9:74, 16:106-109, 4:88-91, 47:25-27) and yet does not prescribe any punishment for it. Had the Qur`an not mentioned apostasy at all, we could have perhaps argued that there was no occasion for the Qur`anic revelation to deal with this subject and it was therefore left for the Holy Prophet to deal with.

Dr. Javed Ghamidi, a scholar of Islam (but considered unorthodox by many in Pakistan — he now lives outside the country, having been threatened by death), says " … punishment for apostasy was part of Divine punishment for only those who denied the truth even after clarification in its ultimate form by Muhammad …". He considers it a time-bound command and no longer punishable.

In his book, Punishment of Apostasy in Islam, S. A. Rahman - once the Chief Justice in Pakistan - declares the verse [Quran 2:256] which contains the explicit language, "Let there be no compulsion in religion ...", to be "one of the most important verses of the Qur'an, containing a charter of freedom of conscience unparalleled in the religious annals of mankind …". He argues that there is "no indication of the death penalty for apostasy in the Qur'an".

Give such a spate of evidence among the Muslims, we still have a large number of Muslim 'scholars' — including the JI that opposed Pakistan as a state and has now become a group that claims it made Pakistan — that would like to see Execution as Pakistan's legal response.

Of course, in an insanely religious world, today, things have gotten much worse outside the Muslim countries (as far as Muslims are concerned). Apostates have been threatened with death by family and friends … and some of the threateners are outsiders who don't even know the person who has decided to change his religion from Islam to another religion (or non-religious ways).

Many of these threatening behaviours even gather support from religious leaders, despite the fact that it is illegal to kill anyone and the killers would have life imprisonment or worse.

A series of bus ads that asked Apostates from Islam to call them up — so that they could provide safe places for them to stay — was 'banned' after a couple of weeks because it could 'hurt Islam or Muslims' in the USA. This ban was made possible by a call from a group that had ads on buses that showed that the real way of life of all prophets (some were named) was what Muslims believed in. That ad, of course, was not bannable — though it may have hurt Jews and Christians. It stayed on the buses.Take a look at the first few minutes of this video: http://tinyurl.com/3hzbpol

Feb. 24, 1955 — Oct. 5, 2011

2011-10-05T05:30:00.002+05:00

A man way ahead of his time!

2011-09-21T00:42:00.000+05:00

LUCRETIUS

had

this

to say

4000

years ago!

19.09.2011

2011-09-19T15:49:00.000+05:00

48 Years

Azhar Kidvai

You Don't Know Jack : Jacob "Jack" Kevorkian

2011-09-18T08:50:00.007+05:00

“Dying is not a crime.”

(May 26, 1928 – June 3, 2011 )

An American pathologist, euthanasia activist, painter, composer and instrumentalist, Kevorkian marketed limited quantities of his visual and musical artwork to the public.

“All the big powers they've silenced me.

So much for free speech and choice

on this fundamental human right.”

Jack Kevorkian started writing about euthanasia in the late 1980s. He wrote, first, in a German journal ‘Medicine and Law’, outlining his proposed system of planned deaths in suicide clinics. Later, he started writing for journals and papers in the USA.

His first 'suicide' was the 1990 death of Jane Adkins, 54. She suffered from Alzheimer's disease and died in his Volkswagen van near Holly, Michigan. Her death was assisted by a 'suicide machine’, built by Jack Kevorkian “using $30 worth of scrap parts from garage sales” and hardware stores at his kitchen table.

Jack Kevorkian and his “suicide machine”

He opened a 'suicide clinic' in 1995, in an office in Michigan, but was thrown out by the owner a few days after his first client died.

“When your conscience says law is immoral,
don't follow it.”

On November 22, 1998, viewers of the CBS television program, 60 Minutes, watched in horror as Dr. Jack Kevorkian killed fifty-two-year-old Thomas Youk who was suffering from Lou Gehrig's disease. Youk had asked Kevorkian to end his life, and Kevorkian complied by injecting him with poison to stop his heart.

Youk was not the first person Kevorkian had helped to die, but he was (probably) the last. In 1999, the seventy-year-old Kevorkian was convicted of second-degree murder and sentenced to jail for ten to twenty-five years. What Kevorkian had done was deliberately hasten another person's death, an act of active ‘euthanasia’. He had assisted in the deaths of 130 persons.

Kevorkian said, “You're basing your laws and your whole outlook on natural life on mythology. It won't work. That's why you have all these problems in the world. Name them: India, Pakistan, Ireland. Name them - all these problems. They're all religious problems.”

Although acquitted of the charge of assisting suicide by three juries in the 1990s, Kevorkian finally crossed the line in 1998 by not only administering the lethal injection but also videotaping Youk's death and defying prosecutors to charge him. His goal in life was to overturn America's laws prohibiting both active euthanasia and assisted suicide.

“Am I a criminal? The world knows I'm not a criminal. What are they trying to put me in jail for? You've lost common sense in this society because of religious fanaticism and dogma.”

•••

WORTH YOUR WHILE

For those who missed seeing Kevorkian or his programs, You Don’t Know Jack is a brilliant HBO film (I saw it again, last night!) about his life, with Al Pacino playing the Doctor. Pacino won an Emmy for this role and so did the story writer Adam Mazer.

Jack Kevorkian : CD

Kevorkian Suite: Very Still Life

Jack Kevorkian : glimmerIQs

Paintings, Poems, Cartoons, Riddles, Writings
from his prison days

Jonathan D. Moreno : Arguing Euthanasia

•••

“When history looks back,
it will prove what I'll die knowing.”

Jack Kevorkian
RIP

Forty years ago

2011-09-08T11:09:00.025+05:00

1971: Mazhar - a distant cousin - had been living at my house, shifting away from his parent's house, pretty soon after the time he'd come from India almost 2 years ago.

Totally uninterested in studies of any sort, he said hilarious things that drove us laughing or made us think of the way we are:

1. Coming from Lucknow, a place with a famous Imam Baa∂a, he asked us one day: "I know who Hasan and Husain are, but who was the third brother called Imam?"
2. He once tried to open a bottle that Nuzhat couldn't open and said: "Aap nay mayree nisvaaniat ko lalkaara haé …"
3. During a car accident we had in August, for which Nuzhat and I had to go to court, Mazhar was always with us. He just could not understand why people were lying against us in court about being at the site when they were not there at the time. I told him they'd been bribed. "Laykin yeh to court haé. Yahaañ to yeh naheeñ kar saktay."

During the days we were appearing in court, the holiday of 6th September arrived. The night before, Mazhar said he'd like to spend the night at his parent's house. Of course, I learnt the next day that he chose that option because he felt that I would have asked him not to go to the picnic he'd decided to go to with some friends. But that's too late to think of, now.

On the evening of the 6th I got a call from his sister saying Mazhar had drowned at Hawke's Bay. We rushed over to his house and were informed that people had phoned their place up and said they'd seen him drown. His eldest brother and I went off to the place and came back, much later, having found nothing except two witnesses who saw him jumping into the water to save a child ... and he couldn't make it back to the shore in the rough tide.

A whole day of crying and sadness in that house - and at ours - went on. The next day we were told by a friend of his that he had tried very hard to swim back but couldn't. The navy boat people who were there had also seen this happen.

"The Navy boat? What Navy boat?"
"The people who are there as coast guards, I think", said the boy.
"There are no coast guards there, " said I, "in fact we don't have such people."
"Ohh, they were there," said the boy. "But they only save the person if he's from the Navy."

I couldn't believe this — and, in fact, I suspected that there was something wrong or was being misrepresented here.

On the morning of the 8th we were told that Mazhar's body had washed up ashore and could we go over to identify him. His brother and I went off to Hawke's Bay and saw his naked body lying there. Mazhar's arms had cracked near the shoulders. Another body had already been taken away yesterday, we were told.

I took off my shirt and covered him as best as I could. I told his brother to go and inform the police and get things started so we could take him home. He left.

While I sat next to Mazhar's body, a young Petty Officer marched up to me and said "Iss ko yahaañ say üthaa layñ. Saahab aur bachay tahelnay aatay haéñ idhar. Yeh jagah saaf hona chaahiyay." ("Please take this body from here. The chief and his family will be walking this way in a while. The place must be cleaned.")

I went to town on him. Totally and as angry as I could get. Perhaps seeing that I was sitting without a shirt he wasn't expecting me to speak in English. When I told him that I was a Merchant Navy Master, he started to say Sorry to me. I then asked him that someone has said there were people from the Navy here. Could they not have helped? He said, "Sir - they are only allowed to help Navy people! It's not their fault, sir." — I could say nothing. I just told him to get his Saahab to go the other way but I would be sitting here until people arrived. He went back, running, to prevent a Navy man see a dead body.

An hour or so, later, the brother arrived with a few policemen and others. "The body is to be taken to the Mortuary at Civil & Military Hospital. You'll have to take it from there." The body was loaded and taken.

We followed. Other friends arrived. We met the family of the other young boy who had also lost his life in the same place. He had gone with Mazhar's friends, too. We were all told to come back the next day because the doctor wasn't at the place and would be there the next day. We shouted at everyone and finally got the phone number of the doctor who should have been there but was at a friend's house. Playing Bridge! He finally agreed to come as soon as he could. We also got some help from the other boy's family who phoned up a couple of people, as did we.

While waiting for the body I walked around and came upon an old man, perhaps 75-ish, crying near there. He was holding an old topi and asking people to donate some money to him. I asked him what the problem was. He said his only son had died by falling off the top of the house and the body had been here for two days. He wanted to bury his son. The people at the mortuary had told him that unless he paid up Rs 500 he could not take the body and that it would be used for medical research by students. He had Rs 430 now and could I give him the rest. I gave him the money. But I said he will not have to pay the amount as I would speak to the doctor. He should keep the money for his son's ghüsl and other things.

The doctor arrived an hour later and insisted that we must allow for a post-mortem. We used everything we could and finally got Mazhar, the other boy, and the old man's son out of there. It took an hour or more, but all we could do we did …

I knew then, as I do now, that we were in a really bad space. Nothing would ever change, except for the worse.

Missing you …

2011-09-07T08:00:00.000+05:00

The Valley of Masks

2011-08-25T18:53:00.004+05:00

"This book is one that has to be read again and again and each time you read it, you will discover new things about yourself. So ten years later, it will be a new book altogether. This book has the essence of a classic …" — Suresh Menon

His first book — The Alchemy of Desire — was what I fell totally in love with. Part of it, I admit, had to do with knowing him, his family, and many of his views. But the book was superbly delightful, too. If you haven't read it yet, go and get it!

The second book — The Story of My Assassins — knocked my socks off. It was better than anything I'd read by a prose writer from the sub-continent in years — Manto & Ismat aside. It rattled my brain. I have promised to read it again next year, if I am around.

Now his third book has arrived: The Valley of Masks.

(The cover came as a surprise. It was "Insomnia" by a lovely photographer, Evan, whose

work I follow and whose photography leads me to do some of my work.)

•••

Tarun told me earlier this year that this book was among the deepest things he could think of. I've just got the book (Thank you, Geetan and Ritu!) and started reading it. The first few sentences have me glued to it, but I thought I'd share them with you all before I get into it and complete the book ASAP.

•••

This is my story. And the story of my people. It is not a long story. Some men would tell it in the time it takes to drink a glass of bittersweet Ferment. And then there are those who would tell it in such detail that barrels would be drained dry and they would not arrive at its end. I am in between — too confused to be too short or too long. I was not always so. Once I was a man of opinion and will and purpose. Men turned to me for fixity when their hearts and minds wavered. Once. Today my crisis is time.

•••

Knowing Tarun Tejpal is a very special favour

that one would like to thank Someone for …

•••

"I had plunged into a pool of memory I had carefully skirted every day of my life. I could smell the hair, the skin, the warm breath that was sweet when she fell to sleep and miraculously sweet when she woke. In my hands swelled plum breasts and I was held by strong limbs I never wanted to leave. My heart was beating in a way it had never before and would never again ..."

What a book! [31.08.2011]

August 24th, 2011

2011-08-25T08:55:00.000+05:00

It is incredibly hard for me to write right now. To me, like many of you, it is an incredibly emotional moment. I cannot look at Twitter, and through the mist in my eyes, I am having a tough time focusing on the screen of this computer. I cannot hear the sounds of the street or the ring of my phone. The second hand on my watch moves slowly, ever so slowly. I want to wake up and find it was all a nightmare. - Om Malik

Deo Band?

2011-07-15T10:56:00.000+05:00

Zehra Apa recites her poem

that makes me think of Saleem Shahzad

and hundreds of others.

Karachi …

2011-07-09T13:17:00.000+05:00

Har küchh din baad Obaidullah Aleem yaad aatay haéñ

Students learn with Electronic Microscope

2011-07-03T15:22:00.004+05:00

This isn't difficult to do in our schools here - at least the Private ones. We could ask to begin with small steps and move further up as time goes by. The Met Department? The Medical Schools? Engineering Colleges? Science: How about Pervez Hoodbhoy looking at this and coming up with some ideas? All we need is a Skype call that the school attends and the class follows the lecture and asks questions.

How about a bit of data that the kids collect?

Interested? Write your name (and comments, too) on the blogpost and we'll get in touch with you when I come back to Karachi in August? How about some big companies helping, too? Know any?

Two Loves — Faiz's Letters from Jail

2011-06-20T17:27:00.005+05:00

“… for having once married a wonderful woman is a far greater distinction than having once edited a good newspaper. And, of course, producing no newspaper can compare with productions like Cheemie and Meezie. So every time you come I feel prouder of all of you than before.” — Faiz Ahmad Faiz - Letter from Jail to Alys

From Salima Hashmi’s Introduction: “Very recently sifting through many papers of documents being shifted to Faizghar (the small Faiz Museum in Lahore) I came across a plastic bag containing some scraps of paper. On a closer look, they appeared to be some of the jail letters; in poor shape but still readable … under her [Dr. Asma Ibrahim] careful supervision the process was carried out and twenty-five letters werte conserved. The decision to publish them to coincide with the Faiz Centennial seemed to be a fitting tribute to Faiz.”

What a lovely tribute this book is to one of our greatest poets. His period in jail was amazing in that it brought about loads of poems. But very few people could understand how he did all this in prison. Here, though there are only a small amount of letters from the collection he sent out, Faiz’s writing tells you of the way he and his friends lived. Those who have been through Faiz’s letters translated into Urdu (Saleebayñ Meray Dareechay Mayñ), would be glad to see some of the original letters in English.

A lot of work went into the putting up Two Loves, specially making sure that the original work is scanned and reproduced here (though the ‘Photoshop’ or equivalent effect has gone overboard, at times) along with the typescript text. Kyla Pasha needs to be thanked for making sure that she got almost all the stuff right. It was a labour of real love that put this 10” x 14” hardcover volume together.

Among other textual inputs in the book we have Freedom Unbound: Faiz’s Prison Call, a tribute by Ayesha Jalal. Lots of people, today, would enjoy reading this to understand what happened in that case. In addition, three translations of prose pieces — by Syed Sajjad Zaheer, Major Ishaq, and Faiz — by Salma Mahmud, as well as an introduction to the transcription by Kyla, are wonderful to read.

In addition to the 25 letters, of course, there are some photocopies and photographs. The first include letters by Salima (Cheemie) and Moneeza (Meezie) that I enjoyed a lot. The photographs of the jail, some taken recently, are a treat for many who may never have seen the way Faiz was forced to live. The family pictures are beautiful. Two Loves is a book that is really worth getting!

Faiz writes a lot about his life in jail, but never seemed to state (in life) how great a writer he was. In one letter, too, he says: “For the first time after many years I have some justification because I am writing. Not writing enough it is true but still something is better than nothing and it is difficult to write poetry at will. Moreover even a few lines take a long time to mature and meanwhile your mind is excluded from other useful activity. This only happens to second rate writers like me whose productions tools are rather feeble and inadequate but there it is.”

Of course, he knows - as one can ‘see’ in this line - that he is going to be a great poet: “In the morning I awoke with a strange happiness in my heart and I wrote what I enclose with this letter [a poem he attached]. I was astounded to find that it took me hardly anytime at all and I had practically finished when we went down to breakfast. I am still feeling rather intoxicated with it and am beginning to fear that perhaps some day I might end up as a poet after all.”

But, finally, Faiz does accept his situation: “Sorry to have kept you waiting ‑ explanation is enclosed. For the last few days I have been completely wrapped up, writing or trying to write … I feel particularly pleased with this one because 'I don't mind telling you' (to borrow Majid's pet phrase) that nobody else can write like this today and for a long time nobody will. This is not because of vanity regarding talent — mine is very limited and so many others possess more talent than I — it is merely a question of the capacity of taking pains, particularly in descriptive writing where the temptation to follow the line of least resistance and accept any cliché and any approximation to the image in your mind and have done with it. The reader, of course, can never tell how much effort has gone into each word, the final word that emerges after innumerable mental rejections. I am sure that you are laughing now because I am preening myself so much but I must do it some time.”

There is a mention of a book that we all waited for, but never got. Faiz says: “I am at the moment busy compiling an anthology of Urdu verse from the beginning to the present day ‑ one of my age‑old ambitions. I work at it regularly for 2 or 3 hours every day and although it is a long job and will take many months when it gets done it will be something worth talking about. I can't hope to complete it here but if I can get the duller part done here I hope the momentum will carry it through later.” I wonder if any more ‘scraps’ that Salima finds will reveal some of its possible contents.

Despite being in Jail, Faiz is always thinking of the people of his country. At one point he says he wants people to celebrate life: “It may sound funny to talk of festivals when people have little to eat but that is all the more reason why they should have some colour in their lives. There is, of course, the question of who will bell the cat which I cannot answer.”

But his greatest love, apart from his country, were his family: “Your presence and the laughter of the little ones still lingers here and I feel the happier for it. Only now that you are gone innumerable things come to mind that were left unsaid because it is so difficult to talk within a time limit. The mind is so preoccupied with the ending of the allotted time that one cannot make full use even of the little time that there is. It cannot be helped. Some day the barriers will come down and the long lost freedom of mind and body will return. Meanwhile there is nothing for it but to wait and to take comfort in the thought that we are sound and whole and that the life beating in our veins will some day triumph over the wilderness of its chains, which, however strong and irksome, are still lifeless and dead.”

For Salima, he has this to say: “What a lovely picture it is (the one with the servant girl 'unity of the proletariat and the intelligentsia' as Bunne calls it) and as I sit down on my table I contemplate it often, trying to read her future from her face. I think I have begun to see a good deal of it now. In her face there is not a streak, not a line of meanness, dishonesty or bad temper. It is open like a book. So I know what she will grow up into ‑ a frank, open, trusting, jolly, affectionate person but albeit silly like her father with no understanding whatsoever of the world's wiles. This means that she will hurt herself often and will be frequently imposed upon but she will retain her happy smile all the same and will never be really unhappy.”

I am happy to have this book with me, despite its small problems that could have been avoided with a little effort. In a book of under 300 pages, there were over 35 typos. Many of these would have been ‘caught’ by a simple spell-checking routine, specially the ones that were related to double-spacing and similar things. However, the ones that were mistakes in reading or re-writing could easily have been found after the first reading of the scripts. I saw then on many pages and found them without looking for them. The last page of the book even had ‘Salima Hahsmi’ … in her bio. Is this Sang-e-Meel … or the Editors? I suspect they both should have taken a look at it and changed it where they could. (A personal thought was that perhaps an empty page or a photograph - after Kyla’s Introduction - just before the letters begin, would have been nice.)

But, once again, I must repeat what I’ve said earlier: Get this book! It’s a treasure trove of good writing, family matters, life in jail, and much much more.

Today is the 80th Birthday of John Shelby Spong

2011-06-16T09:00:00.004+05:00

J. S. Spong is a retired American bishop of the Episcopal Church Diocese of Newark, New Jersey, USA. Many churches have called him Atheist (when he was a Bishop) and many more have called him much worse things, including saying that they’d like to see him die and rot in hell.

Having talked to some Muslims who felt that Spong is a Sufi (or wants to be one!), I have met many others who think he is nuts and should not be allowed to say such things. I even met one who thought he should be tried for Blasphemy.

John Shelby Spong was regarded a fearless advocate for church reform, a heretic to some and a hero for others. The first to ordain an openly gay priest, he asked Christians to leave behind "premodern" religion in favor of liberal faith.

He has degrees from the University of North Carolina and the Protestant Episcopal Theolgical Seminary. Saint Paul's College conferred an honorary Doctor of Divinity degree on Spong and he has served as a visiting lecturer at many institutions, including Harvard Divinity School. He has published several books that I have loved.

I just thought I’d honor him by writing his ‘Prologue’ from his book, ‘Jesus for the Non-Religious’, in my blog today so that many of you could read what he says.

And think!

THE LAMENT OF A BELIEVER IN EXILE

Ah, Jesus!
Where have you gone?
   When did we lose you?
Was it when we became so certain that we possessed you
  That we persecuted Jews,
   Excommunicated doubters,
   Burned heretics,
   And used violence and war to achieve conversion?
Was it when our first-century images
Collided with expanding knowledge?
Or when biblical scholars informed us that the Bible does
Not really support what we once believed?
Was it when we watched your followers distorting people
With guilt,
  Fear,
   Bigotry,
   Intolerance,
   And anger?
Was it when we noticed that many who called you Lord
And who read their Bibles regularly
  Also practiced slavery,
   Defended segregation,
   Approved lynching,
   Abused children,
   Diminished women,
   And hated homosexuals?
Was it when we finally realized
That the Jesus who promised abundant life
  Could not be the source of self-hatred,
   Or one who encourages us to grovel
   In life-destroying penitence?
Was it when it dawned on us that serving you would require
The surrender of those security-building prejudices
  That masquerade as our sweet sicknesses?

We still yearn for you, Jesus, but we no longer know where
To seek your presence.
Do we look for you in those churches that practice certainty?
Or are you hiding in those churches
That so fear controversy that they make “unity” a god,
  And stand for so little that they die of boredom?
Can you ever be found in those churches that have
Rejected the powerless and the marginalized,
  The lepers and the Samaritans of our day,
   Those you called our brothers and sisters?
Or must we now look for you outside ecclesiastical settings,
Where love and kindness expect no reward,
   Where questions are viewed as the deepest
   Expressions of trust?

Is it even possible, Jesus, that we Christians are the villains
Who killed you?
   Smothering you underneath literal Bibles,
   Dated creeds,
   Irrelevant doctrines,
   And dying structures?
If these things are the source of your disappearance, Jesus,
Will you then reemerge if these things are removed?
   Will that bring resurrection?

Or were you, as some now suggest, never more
Than an illusion?
By burying and distorting you were we
Simply protecting ourselves
  From having to face that realization?

I still seek to possess what I believe you are, Jesus:
Access to and embodiment of
  The Source of Life,
   The Source of Love,
   The Ground of Being,
   A doorway into the mystery of holiness.

It is through that doorway that I desire to walk.
Will you meet me there?
  Will you challenge me,
   Guide me,
   Confront me,
   Reveal your truth to me and in me?

Finally, at the end of this journey, Jesus,
Will you embrace me
  Inside the ultimate reality
   That I call God
   In whom I live
   And move
   And have my being?

For that, Jesus, is my goal in this book.

•••••

Lots of admiration and love!

Villagitis

2011-06-11T09:36:00.001+05:00

Freezing in Lahore?

O, who can hold a fire in his hand
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?
•
Shakespeare - Richard II

Dilli ... and books to read.

2011-05-22T17:34:00.002+05:00

I've been to Dilli often ... but this time around things were different. I applied for a confrence visa once and it got cancelled. I applied for a visit visa once and it got cancelled. I applied for a Faiz Anniversary Concert visa again ... and waited and waited. Nothing. Finally I asked Sabeen to call the people up and ask for our passsports back on the 20th April ... and she called up Salima who had had had our passports deposited at the Indian High Commission. Moments later she got called back to say the passports were being sent and the visas had been granted. Fourteen days, starting right away.

It isn't easy to get yourself out of whatever you are doing and plan a trip — but this was Dilli. Things would have to be switched around. So we decided to take the 25th April flight out and be back for the 5th May. It fitted the fact that Tarun and Geetan would be there, so any 'workmanship' could be arranged during those days.

So, off we went …

Geetan Batra is a tremendous host — the kind I love! —

… and Tarun Tejpal is a true marvel.

One of the finest journalists — and a great novelist, judging by his 2 currently available books — he is an amazing friend and really good company. He was away for a few days, completing the proofs of his 3rd novel (he thinks this will be his last book, but we'll haunt him for more, soon!) at their guesthouse in Gethia. But all the time I spent with him (before and after Gethia) was really something I adored. Conversations carried us in all directions and there are few people that I could relate to as I do with him.

Geetan was with us on most days, taking us to our favourite spots, specially Dilli Haat and Sabeen's great love for going to the Nizamuddin Aulia mazaar to listen to a qavvaali. The trip to the mazaar was fun - the qavvaali wasn't great at all, but gave us a feeling of how the loved ones react when even small time qavvals perform at the mazaar. It was the audience's love of Nizamuddin Aulia that kept it jhoomo-ing and in total awe of whatever was being sung. Khwaja Amir Khusrau's tomb is also in this place … and Mirza Ghalib's qabr is just before you get into the main mazaar area. You can see pics of some of these here (and also the other photos of the Dilli trip here).

Shubha Mudgal

Added to all the fun we had in Dilli was also meeting other friends, including Shubha — with whom we are planning to do something worthwhile at T2F soon. Sadly we missed Aneesh Pradhan, who'd gone off to Australia for some presentations and a course he will teach there.

Dilli has changed an awful lot in the time that I've been away. It seemed a lot cleaner because of the Asian Games that took place there, though I was told that other parts are still crowded and bad. The thrill I found was the Metro (a picture from another website is reproduced here).

Wonderful, clean, well organized, the Metro is getting bigger as it connects new stations and becomes even better. It is crowded - but so is Dilli. The ride was simple. The fare from our house to Connaught Place was Rs 200 by cab … and the Metro took us there for Rs 14. Not bad at all. (Telephone/Laptop charging facilities are in the train, too.)

The Shopping Malls were a surprise. Large!!! Full of everything that you can imagine, from a Volkswagen showroom to zillions of shopping places. Food stalls. Dining Halls. Name it and its there. I bought a pair of reasonably priced shoes - made in India - at Marks & Spencers. Things were not overly expensive, except in overly expensive shops!

I didn't go to Gurgaon (No visa!) but am told that the shopping malls there are even bigger! That's what happens when you change your laws and allow everything into the country, after having your own country set up in making great things. Great stuff, India!

•••••

Soon it was time to leave Dilli and, on the day before, Tarun asked Sabeen and me to join him at a bookstall where he'd buy us a book to take. Reluctantly we agreed and then waited for him at the bookstall. We selected a book each (and a few magazines for T2F) when T came in and said. "What's this? I want you to buy more books. Twelve of of them, each!" - Some arguments, including the fact that we were overweight, were tried and we failed. He said that was not his problem and we had to take these books back. Here is what he (and I) bought for me:

As an avid reader I'd always love books. The internet, iPad, iMac, and the iPhone, has added to my love of books and magazines and to read them on these devices (or to listen to Audio-Books) has been great. But the love of reading the printed material is another matter. After my heart attack I had a problem. Try as I might, I could not focus for too long on the printed word, though audio-books were OK. I couldn't figure out what was causing this. I tried to make sure I'd read more — but always had to end up soon. I wanted to get this 'problem' over with and, thanks to a friend's love, this is what happened. I started to read and am still reading long passages, just as I always did. So this was a great gift, Tarun!

There were 3 graphic novels, so it seemed a great place to start my journey. "Indian by Choice" was my first choice, writte by Amit Dasgupta. Wonderfully drawn — a mix of sofware manipulated images, sections from email, and photographs, this was a great book for NRI, specially young friends coming to India for the first time. It was made up of genuine comments about the difficulties in India and its environments by 'Mandy' — and a fair response to the fact that despite all this India was getting ahead and is respected worldwide. Soon those 'bad things' will go away, too. A good book for you to read if you are going to Dilli for the first time, since it shows a lot of pictures of places that you might find interesting to see.

The second book was Joe Sacco's "Notes From A Defeatist". Having been a Sacco fan for his brilliant political graphic works ('Palestine', 'Footnotes in Gaza', 'A Story From Sarajevo'), it was wonderful to see his works of an entirely other set of ideas, a way to see how his comics art developed. I would certainly wish people interested in this genre take a good look at how Sacco moves within his cartoons and comics to look at society in numerous ways. Political events do take place, too. Here's one image that shows his work:

And, finally, I moved to 'Bhimayana'!!!

What a great book. It is the story of Dr. Ambedkar who was a tremendous figure in India. He was posthumously awarded the Bharat Ratna, India's highest civilian award. A man who was a strong opponent of Gandhi Ji in the matter of Dalits (a group that respects him even more than other Indians) — his statues are more numerous than Gandhi Ji's, in India — he was also the Chairman of the Drafting Committee of the Indian Constitution. (Anyone listening here?)

Pardhan Gond artists, Durgabai and Subash Vyam, are a wonderful couple who did this book together, illustrating a story written by Natarajan and Anand. I assure you that you'll love the page after page of Ambedkar's growing up and becoming the man he was, drawn in the wonderful style that the artists have chosen to do for him. During the making of the book Durgabai had said that it was like Ramayana — and Subash said "This is Bhimayana!" — which is now its title.

I have read the book twice - and go back to it often to enjoy the illustrations. They are remarkable!

•••••

At the first step of reading the non-graphic works, I picked up The Immortal life of Henrietta Lacks (by Rebecca Skloot) and discovered, really discovered, that my 'problem' of not reading large texts had disappeared. Yayyy! I just could not put the book down. It was an amazing text about a woman, her contribution to all of us in so many ways, racism and the problems that the 'blacks' faced in her time, and an adventure that makes you live every part of their lives.

•••••

Now I am starting on V S Ramachandran's The Tell-Tale Brain - something that'll keep me occupied for weeks, while the Best of Tehelka V4 & V5 will be in the loo to read every time I go there.

Just a thought …

2011-05-14T00:03:00.000+05:00

Queer Sunil Gupta

2011-05-10T19:50:00.000+05:00

Max Mueller Bhavan is Dilli's Goethe-Institut. I was here on the 2nd of May, 2011, to be at the launch of Queer Sunil Gupta, a book of photographs that has been put together by Vadehra Art Gallery (VAG) & Prestel.

Goethe Institut

The leaflet given at the exhibition says that "VAG's position as an artistic interlocutor with the public is especially vital in contemporary India because of the lack of vibrant art museum culture". Coming from Pakistan and looking at the exhibitions and books on photography and art - as well as numerous photography and art magazines - it seemed so strange to hear this.

By the way, VAG has printed several books in its 25 years of history, ranging from monographs and picture books to an art directory.

Sunil Gupta

A regular writer on gay culture and its history, Sunil Gupta, the author of Queer Sunil Gupta, is a brilliant photographer and curator. Amazon calls him "Arguably India's best-known working photographer". He has spent several years living in Canada, UK, and USA and his photographs have appeared in group and solo exhibitions in USA, UK, and Australia.

For many years Gupta has looked at the narratives of gay life in India and other parts of the world. He has written about and tackled the issues of gender and sexuality. Importantly, he has written about his own experiences while living with AIDS.

Gupta's work is personal and political and has been instrumental in raising the awareness of homosexual living in the world.
"I have moved out of my comfort zone with my camera to get a full picture of the capital's LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender) communities in the fringe areas of east and west Delhi - the kind of place where your domestic helps would live. I am shooting a series of portraits of men and women who find themselves queer among the various social networks," Gupta told IANS recently.
Pramada Menon

Gautam Bhan

Pramada Menon & Gautam Bhan opened the event with humourous conversations and the audience loved their work. They were followed by Sunil Gupta who also invited Saleem Kidwai to join him. Saleem used to teach medieval Indian history at Delhi University and is now researching homo-eroticism in Urdu Poetry.

Saleem Kidwai

The session ended, after several questions from the audience that Sunil and Saleem responded to, with Radhika Singh speaking about Gupta's work.

Radhika Singh

Queer Sunil Gupta is an excellent 140-page hardcover edition with 80 colour pictures. It includes Gupta's remarkable range of photographs, from fictional essays to narrative images. There are heart-rending images of children in an HIV centre, plus the wonderful portraits of men, women, and transgenders living in India while they struggle against homophobic culture and laws.
Sunil recounting his younger days

Sunil and Saleem have been long friends from their days in Canada. I found their lovely conversation in Queer Sunil Gupta remarkably interesting to read. Keith Wallace, Director/Curator of the Contemporary Art Gallery in Vancouver, also has an essay in the book.
•••••

By the way, Saleem Kidwai co-authored, with Ruth Vanita, the brilliant Same Sex Love in India (Palgrave), a book that you must get to read.

Of course, you'll have to ask someone coming from overseas to get these books for you as they are unlikely to be seen in our bookshops.

11th April 2011

2011-04-11T23:50:00.003+05:00

This would have been Abi's 111th birthday.

He died on September 19th, 1963

(just a few days before my 23rd birthday.)

All that I do well today has to do with him.

(All the bad points are my own.)

A congressman in India, he came to Pakistan hoping to go back soon.

We never did!

His arguments were generally difficult to beat,

except as he got more and more religious from 1953 onwards

(based on his failed ideology and constantly failing health.)

He was a Doctor, a music lover, a prose-writer, a poet.

Prior to coming to Pakistan he was

Secretary of the Aligarh Muslim University Old Boys Association

and

Secretary of Anjumané Taraqqié Urdu.

He was taken into the British Army's Medical Mission

during World War II

and resigned in 1947 after coming to Pakistan (as Major).

His written collection of essays, short stories, and a playlet

appeared as 'Naee Paud' in 1939 —

and parts of it (and some of his poetry) will come out this year.

Here is a ghazal of his

(sent in by my cousin Ali Minai.)

He had a sense of humour that I adored.

In Shafiqur Rahman Chacha's 'Lahrayñ'

you can see a piece that mentions him and some of his verses.

You can also read a bit about him in Iqbal Ismail's

'Footprints in the Sand'.

Sidney Lumet — died at 86 today

2011-04-09T23:20:00.006+05:00

What a director!

He was one of the finest directors in the USA. He gave us 40 feature films (and more programs for TV, too).

I started with his his absolutely brilliant and wonderful first film,12 Angry Men — and then he kept me on my toes in Dog Day Afternoon, Serpico, Stage Struck, and Network — each of which I have seen several times.

Lumet also made the powerful Fail-Safe, the cleverly directed Murder on the Orient Express, and - recently - Before the Devil Knows You Are Dead.

You can see his filmography here.

RIP

One of my favourite graphic novelists …

2011-03-06T16:00:00.010+05:00

Will Eisner would have been 94 today.

'Graphic Novel' was a category that he popularised (which is why many thought he invented the term). This was when he published A Contract With God. A truly wonderful book in every way - and one that I have read again and again. The illustrations are super-brilliant and the stories are marvelous.

He is now considered to be the father of the modern graphic novel.Will Eisner's Comics and Sequential Art as well as his Graphic Story Telling and Visual Narrative are essential for anyone who wishes to really understand comics.

Among the several books that Will Eisner wrote, one that I enjoyed a lot was The Plot: The Secret Story of The Protocols of the Elders of Zion — a book that tells us of how theElders of Zion book became what it became ... and we still see anti-Jews referring to it as if it were fact.

My favourite possession, of course, is a limited edition of a book (Invisible People) that I have, signed by him. Here's the first page:

Apart from being one of the most wonderful artistes of his genre, Will also gave us people that comics fans love: Jack Kirby, Jules Feiffer, and Scott McCloud.

Of course, one must follow Will's books with the three of Scott McCloud's amazing masterpieces. They are, in my opinion, the most comprehensive sources that anyone who loves comics will enjoy, even if s/he is not interested in drawing comics.

In 1988, The Eisner Awards were established in his name. Presented each year at Comic-Con International in San Diego, they have become the 'Oscars' of the comic book industry.

A conversation between him and Frank Miller (author and co-Director of Sin City) is available again as Eisner/Miller. Parts of his Spirit, a comic book that has been the favourite of many and it is re-selling in thousands again, are now beginning to be available on films, too, and Frank Miller has directed the first one.

The Eisner/Miller book is worth buying if you are 'Will crazy', like I am. But do get it with his Shop Talk - a book where he discusses with many artists (including Harvey Kurtzman and Neal Adams) the importance, direction and wonderful stories about comics.

Finally, a film that we should soon see at T2F as soon as my copy arrives!

Thanks, Will.

Sabeen Mahmud launches her new book :D

2011-03-02T16:21:00.000+05:00

The Centenary

2011-02-13T14:30:00.002+05:00

Va Yabqaa Vajho Rabbika

(The Face Of Thy Lord)

Ham daykhayñ gay

Laazim hae keh ham bhee daykhayñ gay

Voh din keh jis kaa vaadah haé

Jo lauhé azal mayñ likkhaa haé

Jab zülm-o-sitam kay kohé garaañ

Rooee ki tarah ü∂ jaaeñ gay

Ham mahkoomoñ kay paaooñ talay

Jab dharti dha∂ dha∂ dha∂kay gee

Aur ahlé hikam kay sar oopar

Jab bijli ka∂ ka∂ ka∂kay gee

Jab arzé khüdaa kay kaabay say

Sab büt üthva-ay jaaéñ gay

Ham ahlé safa, mardoodé haram

Masnad peh bitha-ay jaaéñ gay

Sab taaj uchhaalay jaaéñ gay

Sab takht gira-ay jaaéñ gay

Bas naam rahay ga allah ka

Jo ghaaéb bhee haé, haazir bhee,

Jo manzar bhee haé, naazir bhee,

Ütthay ga "Anal Haq" kaa naarah,

Jo maéñ bhee hooñ aur tüm bhee ho,

Aur raaj karay gee khalqé khudaa

Jo maéñ bhee hooñ aur tüm bhee ho!

(America — January 1979)

Faiz Ahmad Faiz

The poem was removed from Nuskha Haaé Vafaa during Zia's regime!
"Ütthay ga Anal Haq kaa naarah"
was removed from Nüskha Haaé Vafaa when it was published again.
Meray Dil Meray Musaafir has the whole poem!

Pandit Bhimsen Gururaj Joshi

2011-01-24T13:28:00.000+05:00

Born February 4th, 1922

Passed Away January 24th, 2011

A few more days and I'd have called him to wish him my usual birthday greeting. Have done that for the last who-knows-how-many years. It was something that I always enjoyed, thanking him for each year that we got to listen to him.

I admired him in ways that are so difficult to describe on paper. And I am in no mood to write anything at all. The music I am listening to, right now, is his Malkauñs (You can listen to part of it here) —It is a piece that I have always loved. The taans are heavenly …

“Hope”: An epic poem By Finn Boughner

2011-01-23T10:37:00.000+05:00

Finn Boughner is a 'grand-nephew' of mine. He doesn't know me, but his grandfather, Tony Afzal, and I have been friends for a very, very long time.

Tony sent me a poem by him and said, "He sat down and wrote this in 45 minutes flat, with NO prompting from his mother, other than the occasional punctuation corrections. He is 11 years old, going on 40, and an extraordinarily gifted child." Here's his 1st Prize winning poem:

HOPE

(an Epic Poem by Finn Boughner)

The world is now in need.

As if power and control will help.

In this world of ours help comes in one place.

Hope.

Hope, is when a starving Afghani child thinks,

“Maybe tomorrow will be better.”

Hope.

Hope is when in the Chinese Sweatshops,

A worker says “I think I’ll win that lawsuit.”

Hope.

Hope is in Pakistan where the farmer who has his

Crops destroyed knows next year crops will be

Ten-fold, and surplus, enough to feed his family.

Hope.

Hope is when an American, Cancer diagnosed child says,

“They’ll find a cure and I’ll run with the other children.”

Hope.

Together we can make a change with UNICEF and WHO

And UNPO, with kindness and tolerance and all around

Hospitality.

With the world in the hands of our children, we should

Make it better before they take over.

I, as a child, some say shouldn’t have these beliefs.

Dark and depressing as our blackened and saturated

World is,

Hiding it from the community of children and Young adults

Is a grave and perilous mistake.

To let your child believe together we can make a change

Is the right choice of one or of the other.

Hope.

Hope is when we find a cure to HIV/AIDS.

Hope.

Hope is when relief aid will come to all in need, regardless

Of religion, culture, or the color of your skin.

Hope.

Hope is when it’s okay to be

Muslim in America,

Christian in North Korea,

or Jewish in the Middle East.

Hope.

When all world is at peace, when there is no poverty, no

Crime, no judgment, no terrorist assaults, and no Nuclear War threat.

Listen to my words so that one day the world will be in a perfect world …

Together We Can.

Reflections: Literature

Theme: Together We Can

Grade 6, Room 16, Mrs. Lee

Golden Hill Elementary

Veena Malik

2011-01-22T20:50:00.001+05:00

On Express 24/7 TV our thoroughly amazing Kamran C. Shahid has told us all what crap our TV journalism really is.

Veena Malik was brought on to a show that started with some scenes which don't usually inhabit our TV screens … except, of course, in 'foreign movies' and in some 'Indian movies'. No offense, of course, since that's what most of our people watch the TV for when not playing DVDs.

The host started - and continued - the program with very little to say other than really stupid things about Veena. Why did she not represent Pakistan? Why did she not represent Islam? Why, in India, was she not even more Pakistani and more Muslim than in any other country - because our image demands that?

Haaah!

Regardless of his own idiocy, he also had a mulla[h] on the program - a chappie who can run you into the ground by pronouncing a fatva. Poor mulla[h]. He did say several times that she had been gifted by you-know-who for her beauty. But he wasn't expecting to be beaten to shit by Veena.

Despite the mad statements that Kamran made, and the marvelously amusing lecture the mulla[h] gave - without ever having seen Veena, he confessed - Veena went into her own arguments and gave all the viewers tons of things to think of: Rapes by mulla[h]s of the children they teach; Corruption; Murder; Bombings. You name it, it was there.

Veena went on to talk about all the good things she had done, too - and the lack of the media's responses to those. She said she was an entertainer and went there as one. She did nothing that was bad in her view.

Maybe it does not strike you as being right - but that's you. This was her.

Yesterday's interview put my heart at rest:
— Yes. Kamran is really a load of BS.
— Yes. Mulla[h]s are useless when they start taking other people's words and then issue edicts.

Thanks a lot, Veena. You were delightful!

A R Nagori (1938-2011)

2011-01-14T19:43:00.001+05:00

One of our country's most talented artist

died at 5.30 PM today after a heart attack.

This has become a really sad year for so many of us! Abdul Rahim Nagori's artwork never failed to stir a controversy. An artist who painted with the fire of indignation, Nagori was known for his strong stance against the way things were run here and his work always caused a strong set of problems with the 'establishment'.

Would You Permit Me?

2011-01-10T14:25:00.001+05:00

In a country where thinkers are assassinated, and writers are considered infidels and books are burnt, in societies that refuse the other, and force silence on mouths and thoughts forbidden, and to question is a sin, I must beg your pardon, would you permit me?

Would you permit me to bring up my children as I want, and not to dictate on me your whims and orders.

Would you permit me to teach my children that the religion is first to God, and not for religious leaders or scholars or people?

Would you permit me to teach my little one that religion is about good manners, good behavior, good conduct, honesty and truthfulness, before I teach her with which foot to enter the bathroom or with which hand she should eat?

Would you permit me to teach my daughter that God is about love, and she can dialogue with Him and ask Him anything she wants, far away from the teachings of anyone?

Would you permit me not to mention the torture of the grave to my children, who do not know about death yet?

Would you permit me to teach my daughter the tenets of the religion and its culture and manners, before I force on her the 'Hijab' (the veil)?

Would you permit me to tell my young son that hurting people and degrading them because of their nationality, color or religion, is considered a big sin by God?

Would you permit me to tell my daughter that revising her homework and paying attention to her learning is considered by God as more useful and important than learning by heart Ayats from the Quran without knowing their meaning?

Would you permit me to teach my son that following the footsteps of the Honorable Prophet begins with his honesty, loyalty and truthfulness, before his beard or how short his robe (long shirt/dress) is?

Would you permit me to tell my daughter that her Christian friend is not an infidel, and ask her not to cry fearing her friend will go to Hell?

Would you permit me to argue, that God did not authorize anyone on earth after the Prophet to speak in his name nor did he vest any powers in anyone to issue 'deeds of forgiveness' to people?

Would you permit me to say, that God has forbidden killing the human spirit, and who kills wrongly a human being is as if he killed all human kind, and no Moslem has the right to frighten another Moslem?

Would you permit me to teach my children that God is greater, more just, and more merciful than all the (religious) scholars on earth combined? And that his standards are different from the standards of those trading the religion, and that his accountability is kinder and more merciful?

Would you permit me?

Nizar Kabbani
A Syrian Poet, Diplomat, Writer & Publisher
1923-1998

1. The Arabic Original - with English Translation - is here in RTF (sent by Frederick Nazareth)

2. The Urdu Translation by Harris Khalique is here in PDF (sent by Hasan Zaidi)

Maudoodi : Jinnah kay baaray mayñ

2011-01-10T11:38:00.001+05:00

Click to see a bigger picture

WHAT AN 'AMAZING' PAKISTANI!

Salmaan Taseer

2011-01-04T18:30:00.004+05:00

Shot and killed

by an Elite Force Guard

at Kohsar Market, Islamabad, today!

Loved by many.

RIP

Ustad Zafar Ali Khan

2011-01-03T13:41:00.003+05:00

Giving us a small lecture demo at my house

One of my favourite singers, Ustad Zafar Ali Khan died last night after a heart attack. A great voice and a wonderful teacher, he gave many young performers years of his experience and loved every minute of it. Among his many students were my daughter Ragni and her friend Zohra. Also, there was Sabina Ansari and Rubeena Kidwai.

I remember hearing him singing, years ago, with his father - and his voice caught my ears. It was rich and wonderful. Much later, as I followed him singing and composing I saw him get better by the minute.

Pity that we will not hear him sing again or see his laughing, singing face, his taunts, his humour. RIP, Zafar.

You can see his T2F video here posted by Sabeen Mahmud.

RIP Bajia Jaan

2011-01-02T11:00:00.004+05:00

Dearest Tazeen Baji - We'll all miss you.

New Year's Resolution

2010-12-31T19:52:00.000+05:00

For Ghalib's Birthday

2010-12-27T12:01:00.001+05:00

Rape …

2010-12-21T22:49:00.002+05:00

This morning we had a piece by Saba Imtiaz in The Express Tribune and we are told that Laalchand has been arrested. The public anger is, however, directed at Sharmila Farooqui: She named the victim, discussed things about her, talked of her being at a party and coming late, almost offering "the girl is responsible" by calling her 'rude' and other names. This was an amazingly stupid and disgusting method of harassing the girl and making it all the more difficult for women to report such incidences.

The media followed the crime and reported in it with the same amazement and amusement that they use for such cases, implying things and saying everything other than "the girl was guilty".

Away from all of this, I went to see a 'comedy' show at T2F. The artist was Ayesha Rokadia. Well, she was the artist but was to have friends joining her. The fact that everything starts on time at T2F (and she was told this) ... made no difference as she appeared ("because of traffic") around 25 minutes late. Actually 55 minutes, if we were to take the fact that she said she'd be there at 6.30 when I last saw her.

She's a regular writer for comedy shows in the USA — but as a comedian she was not great at all. Of course that happens at times to the best of comedians, so one can forgive it. The problem was that she decided to open the show with a 'rape joke' (and said, after the show, that she had many more jokes on rape that she would do 'the next time'). Why? Why would a girl want to do a 'rape joke'? Everyone who had any sense of humour and intelligence was upset.

After a whole day of talking about the Clifton rape — and screaming their heads off at the Media and Sharmila — Tweeples wrote about the show in disgust.

Ayesha's friends were Sami Shah, Ishma Alvi, Haroon Saad, and OBA. It could have gotten much worse without them. Fortunately the friends did bring some humour into the show. Specially Sami Shah and OBA. But Ishma and Haroon, good in telling their stories, stayed slightly away from getting a good punchline.

Jeezus! Just as I was about to end this I saw another item.

Oh, well …

Christmas is round the corner …

2010-12-21T11:55:00.000+05:00

– and you are bound to enjoy the wonderful Dylan Thomas reading out his "A Child's Christmas in Wales" piece ... one of my favourites from this wonderful poet, prose & play writer and a delightful conversationalist.

Available in Caedmon's lovely box commemorating his 50th death anniversary, the CD-Set has amazing poetry by him (yes … all the ones you missed are there, too!) and includes his readings of some other great poets. The set also has lots of his prose, pieces of plays, and his hilarious-heady conversations. There are lovely introductions by Billy Collins, plus comments by Edith Sitwell and others.

Get it!

Yeh jo takta haé aasmaan ko tü / Koee rahtaa haé aasmaan meñ kyaa?

2010-12-13T12:24:00.008+05:00

Is shayr say müjhay hamesha voh shakhs yaad aata haé jis ka naam Jaun Elia (جون ایلیا) thaa or jo aésaa mazaydaar shaaér thaa keh küchh kahna hee baykaar lagtaa haé.

His style of Urdu poetry writing had a unique quality … and, despite being a brilliant Urdu poet, he was also a scholar in Arabic, English, Persian, Sanskrit, and Hebrew! Plus, he was an amazing philosopher.

Jaun is remembered for being 'an unabashed open anarchist and nihilist in a conservative and religious society.'

It is his birthday tomorrow, December 14th, and I thought I'd share some of his poetry and prose with you.

To begin with, there's this marvellous qat'aa followed by this gorgeous ghazal. His views on everything were wonderful and were always fun to listen to … so have fun with this conversation.

Here is his final Mushaaerah reading.

Despite this …

2010-12-12T23:08:00.004+05:00

Amazing, that's how God rolls

Billions of people, drowning in woes

Crazy, it's much too late

To speak of God's love

When you've brought on His hate

Cryin' 'bout your feelings

For your sin, no shame

You're going straight to hell on a crazy train

Let's go!

You've listened to preachers

Your leaders are fools

Your raping false prophets

Who make their own rules

The Beast is ascending

To rule and control

The media sells it

And you pay the toll

This nation God's deceiving

He'll torment you in flames

You're going straight to hell on a crazy train

We've told you your destruction's imminent

You will not listen to our words

Heirs of God's fury

That's what's left to come

Through filthy rebellion

God has made you numb

Crazy, the pride that you wear

God's wrath will be brutal

He will say what is fair

God has not been sleeping

He's gonna bring the pain

It's time for your final ride on this crazy train

Your final stop is hell on this crazy train.

No, no. This isn't my favourite poem at all. For me, this brings back the thought of Westboro Baptist Church (WBC). An independent church known for its extreme stance against homosexuality, which includes picketing funerals and desecrating the American flag, the church is widely described as a hate group and is monitored as such by the Anti-Defamation League and others.

Headed by Fred Phelps - and consisting mostly of members of his large family - it has about 100 members. The group claims that it is in love with Jesus Christ and has placed anti-Gay ads on buses, sign-posts, and ads. In order to further its stance it goes to schools, churches, funerals, and more - shouting obscenities and hateful slogans against the people.

The group bases its work around the belief expressed by its best known slogan and the address of its primary Web site, "God Hates Fags", asserting that every tragedy in the world is linked to homosexuality — specifically society's increasing tolerance and acceptance of the so-called homosexual agenda.

The group maintains that God hates gays above all other kinds of "sinners" and that homosexuality should be a capital crime.

Students kissing in front of protesters from Westboro Baptist Church

The WBC maintains a God Hates India website (now part of the site called www.godhatesthe world.com) where they state that "80% of India's population claim to practice Hinduism. A country full of idolatry inevitably results in a nation full of fags and fag-enablers, because that's what happens when you depart from the 'Living God'!

The group came into the national spotlight in 1998, when they were featured on CNN for picketing the funeral of Matthew Shepard, a young man beaten to death by two men because of his homosexuality.

WBC members, led by Fred Phelps, picketed the funeral (as well as the trial of Matthew's assailants), displaying signs with slogans such as "Matt Shepard rots in Hell" and "AIDS Kills Fags Dead”. (A docu-drama movie on the Matthew case will be shown at T2F soon.)

The Westboro Baptist Church has protested at the funerals of people ranging from Fred Rogers and Coretta Scott King to Jerry Falwell.

On hearing that copies of Qur'an were flushed down the toilet in Guantanamo, Phelps said, "So what if our guys flushed copies of the Qur'an down the toilet? We hope they did." ... and, this year they threatened to burn copies of the Qur'an and even got volunteers. They were stopped from following their act by calls from the USA government and others — for all the wrong reasons: Afghan, Iraq, Pakistan, and other places - and the problems the USA troops could face!

Here's a small list of items posted on its site.

Go there to see more.

Christian Churches

Goddard UMC in Goddard, KS

December 12, 2010 8:30 AM - 9:00 AM

WBC will picket the Goddard UMC because the

so-called Christian churches of this nation have,

of one accord, turned their backs on God's clear standard.

The Methodists have joined hand in hand with

all the churches across this land to spread the soul-damning lies.

Jews

Wexner Jewish Student Center in Columbus, OH

December 16, 2010 3:00 PM - 3:30 PM

WBC will picket the Ohio State Hillel at OSU

where the youth of this nation are taught to

substitute the traditions of the filthy Jews

for the commandments of God.

The Jews alone received God's blessings,

but despised them and rejected and killed their Messiah.

They refuse to repent for that great crime

and sin against God, and continue to harden their hearts

like their forefathers.

Jesus’s ministry of three-and-a-half years was

to the lost house of Israel.

But they would not obey, and they crucified him.

When they did so, they screamed,

“His blood be on us, and on our children,”

Matthew 27:25

God hates Israel. Her destruction is coming from God.

You rebellious sinful Jews will NOT get a pass

because Jesus was a Jew. The Jews killed Jesus.

Schools
Marion High School in Marion, KS
December 14, 2010 7:50 AM - 8:20 AM
WBC to travel to MHS to show the children
of this city some truth for probably the only time
in their lives. They have been taught a steady diet of lies
their whole lives with a side of pride and rebellion.
You raise these demon-possessed brats
to have no knowledge of the Bible,
much less a true understanding of their God.
The parents, preachers, teachers, and leaders
- all the way up to Antichrist Obama -
are to blame. Your destruction is imminent!

& … Funerals

On March 10, 2006, WBC picketed the funeral of MLC Matthew Snyder. Matthew's father said, "They turned this funeral into a media circus and they wanted to hurt my family. They wanted their message heard and they didn't care who they stepped over. My son should have been buried with dignity, not with a bunch of clowns outside."

Recently they have announced the picketing of Elizabeth Edward's funeral and put up this ad in many places.

•••

I look at all this and still know that the USA isn't doomed at all. This is just a loony collection of nutcases in a remarkable country that has lovely laws and wonderfully amazing people.

I am a lunatic Skeptoid maniac … and want you to be one, too

2010-12-06T02:37:00.003+05:00

Finding that his good, scientific theories - on several internet platforms on which he challenged the believers - were always made fun of, Brian Dunning decided to start the Skeptoid podcast service.

"If rationally examining pseudoscientific claims makes me an evil skeptoid

debunkatron, so be it. I'll even help out by so identifying myself up front."

Words on their website state, 'each weekly episode focuses on a single phenomenon that you've heard of … and that you probably believe in'. There are topics from Aliens & UFOs, Religion, Urban Legends, Logic & Persuasion, Health, and a lot more.

Always a treat to listen to, I subscribe to it on iTunes but you can have your own way of getting it by going here.

To start you off, here's an example that a lot of you may be interested in:

Why don't airline companies let us use Cell Phones on the airplane?

Surprised?

Tarteeb — The start of a new trend here

2010-11-14T23:55:00.002+05:00

Yousuf Kerai was introduced to Indian classical music at the age of eight and learned to sing and play the harmonium under the tutelage of the late Master Babu Khan. His interest in the tabla grew into an obsession and when he was sixteen, he was accepted as a student of the tabla maestro, Ustad Khurshid Hussain of Karachi. Yousuf graduated from Bennington College with a B.A. in Mathematics in 2005 followed by a Masters degree in teaching mathematics in 2006. While at Bennington, he was a regular rhythm accompanist for the dance classes held at the college, performed annually in music festivals, composed and performed music for plays, performed for dance workshops, and worked with music faculty and conducted sessions for some of their courses. In Northern Virginia, where he taught high school for three years, Yousuf performed at various private and public venues such as the Gandhi Memorial Center, University of Virginia, and James Madison University where he had the privilege of performing before Archbishop Desmond Tutu. (PeaceNiche)

The venue was packed on all the days. From little children to teenagers to young people to middle agers and old men. Tarteeb was a wonderful experience of our classical music, composed to be played by an orchestra or multi-player performance by Yousuf. The audience cheered with joy at each piece and at lovely solos and taans.

The group that played with Yousuf's exquisite tabla had Ustaad Khurshid Hussain and his son Zoeb Hussain, a remarkable young tabla player. Also there was Sajid Hussain (a brilliant sitar player) with his son, Shahroze Hussain — a good sitar player (and a vocalist, too). Gul Hussein, a sarangi player who is one of the few left in Karachi, accompanied them. BTW, for foreigners, the surname — Hussain —does not tie them all together as a family. It's just a common surname name here.

The last day's event was better than the first two, which were brilliant in their own ways. The pieces they played had an opening piece. Then there was Mand ('Kesariya' - with vocal refrain by Shahroze), Hans Dhun (or Hansdhwani, as some call it), exquisitely well-played Aiman, colossal tabla performances with Khurshid playing with both the tabla players and, also, alone. Sajid was out of this world, as usual.

Yousuf's compositions were lovely as was his tabla performance. (He also teaches tabla at PeaceNiche.) Zoeb did an amazing job. Shahzore thrilled us with exquisite meends and sürs.

On the last night, after the main performance was over, the team played Amir Khusrau's Chaap Tilak Sab Chheeni Ray, as a bonus. It rocked the boat for the audience with remarkable playing by Sajid and the rest.

We hope to see them do a lot more in the next year and get many young people joining them. A great deal of music needs to be instilled back into our youngsters and the time is right.

[Here's where you can see some of the pictures]

Norman Morrison by Adrian Mitchell

2010-11-02T13:00:00.001+05:00

Light My Fire

Rain by Henry Graham

2010-11-01T11:00:00.003+05:00

Rain Dance

The Long War by Laurie Lee

2010-10-31T12:00:00.002+05:00

Karachi Days

It's been a year …

2010-10-24T21:34:00.002+05:00

It's a sad day: Dr. Shamim's sister passed away in the evening and Nayyara Jamil's mother passed away later on. Both were people we knew for a long while. Funerals tomorrow at the same time. Guess Nuz and I have to 'split' and go to different ones.

=====================================

A year ago it was I who nearly passed away, too. But, as things turned out, I am up and about.

A pic taken shortly after the operation paraphernalia was removed.

Yes. A year has passed since I had my heart attack.

For most part - specially for those who see me less often - I seem to have recovered entirely. Others, like Nuzhat, Sabeen, Jehan - and even Ragni who sees me frequently on Skype - there are quite a few things that have not gone away. Not totally.

Forgetting proper nouns or using the wrong name for something has lessened a lot but it does happen sometimes. An occasional 'blueness' takes over on certain days, though the frequency has decreased considerably. The doctor says that each patient has a number of ways in which recovery takes place and a year-and-a-half would be a better time to consider in my case.

As someone who has had a borderline Diabetes II issue — no Insulin ... just walking and a diet, mainly, with a tablet of Glucobay* at some meals — has been my way of life for years. Glucobay was a strange medication that Dr. Shamim prescribed me. It's not like other diabetic medicines. It just makes the body believe that I've had my fill of sugar and it distills the sugary parts of whatever I am eating straight into the faeces. A little trick of the trade.

There have been days when I do have chocolates and cakes (specially at birthdays), but mainly have lived with sugar-free ice-creams, drinks (the sugar-free Ginger Beer is fantastic!), chocolates and toffees, and desserts from many places in Karachi — specially great stuff from Sohni and Rahmaté Shireen — plus the indescribably lovely Rab∂ee from Burns Road. Although Nirala has disappeared (why???) from here, I still get friends to bring its Laddoos, Barfis and Gülab Jaamüns from Lahore whenever they come. The Gulab Jaamüns are to die for!

The problem with Diabetes is that many of us don't feel any pain or numbness or other symptoms that other people do when getting heart attacks. I had no such feelings, though I always realized, somehow, that I would have the attack some day (probably because my father was Diabetic and had a heart problem). I always hoped I'd have some way to find out before it was too late.

I did! Not because of pain … but the feeling I had at the time of the attack. It was one of several attacks, I am sure, over the years … coz I had damages to all my arteries, some for quite a while as the doc said. But this was a massive one and I felt a bit of a strangish feeling. Luckily all went well ... and here I am. Alive. And getting better.

BTW, here's something I've got to tell everyone, Diabetic or not: Sugar — even tons of it — does not cause Diabetes. It's generally a generic disease but, sometimes, it could be caused by other problems with your Insulin producing glands. Sugar is not the issue!!!

Of course, once you have Diabetes, you cannot take sugar because your body cannot provide the Insulin needed to counter it. And you are off to a diet, walking, medications, and even Insulin injections, depending upon your level of Diabetes.

There is no 'cure' (yet!) for the disease, either. They'll cure it soon in generic ways, of course. Oh, and please forget about the wonderful medicines, duaas, taaveezes, whatever you see in the Press or TV. Yes, you may even know someone who knew someone who got 'cured' ... but what it was was not Diabetes but a Glucose related problem. Some often have symptoms that look a lot like Diabetes and some medicines do cure it. At other times it just cures itself.

=====================================

*Glucobay (from Bayer) is something that you can use … but ONLY after your Doctor thinks it's OK and recommends the amount that you should take. Do not use it on your own.

A good brochure for Diabetes II patients is available in PDF here.

Nihal Abbas Hashmi (Ragni's Chacha)

2010-10-14T00:12:00.003+05:00

Nihal Bhai was part of my life from the time I was 9 … and he died at our house in 2001. I wanted to write a tribute to him, but this piece, written by my daughter, Ragni, when she was nearly 19, seemed so much better to remember that wonderful person.

=======

CHACHA

by Ragni Marea Kidvai

I watched intently as they lowered his body into the freshly dug grave. Concentrating hard on his face, I wanted the impression of every line, every bump, to remain clear in my mind. I took a deep breath, and the strong smell of incense combined with ammonia tickled my nose, and at once I was made aware of the tears streaming down my face. He’d left our lives just as abruptly as he’d stepped in.

Thinking back about all the memories we had shared as a family, I tried not laugh out loud amidst the many solemn faces. As I replayed incidents and conversations in my head, I remembered the first time I met him. He had laughed at how I put extra emphasis on the ‘ch’ in the middle of ‘Chacha’. And even though I later found out the word was pronounced differently, I continued calling him that for the 15 years that would follow that first encounter. Even at the age of three I seemed to be acutely aware of how much this seemingly content man pined for affection, and I often took it upon myself to play with him, hug him, climb on chairs to give him kisses – just so that void would get filled. Chacha, meaning father’s brother in my native tongue, soon became part of the family, and only two weeks after our first meeting I convinced my parents to allow him to stay with us.

It all seems a little odd now, but at that time, I wouldn’t have had it any other way. My parents had known his family for a long time, and when his wife ran off with his car, money, and more importantly his record collection, it just seemed like the perfect opportunity to give him a place to stay. I found out about his wife and the various escapades that involved her only when I got much older, and would often ask my father to entertain us at the dining table with stories about how he followed her and her boyfriend around India with a camera – taking pictures of them at the Taj Mahal, Fatehpur Sikri and Red Fort as evidence for the court case he would later initiate against her.

And then there were the dining table conversations. Not a day went by without there being drama at our house – all of which involved him. His sporadic acts of extreme affection, like decorating our house with gaudy streamers the night before my birthday, were balanced by his anger about the way we lived our lives. Every conversation led to heated debates about how my mother was too much of a feminist, how she did a terrible job of keeping the household accounts, or how she constantly threw away pieces of junk that had latent value. It was this last point that was of particular concern to him, and somehow most of the things my mother threw out, miraculously found their way back into his room. Cane chairs with colorful string to fix the weave; tables with new legs that looked nothing like the original ones; useless electrical appliances with fresh, new-fangled parts; and so on. I don’t think we realized just how much junk there was until we cleaned up his room after he died – something he would have never let us do ordinarily, and often caused huge conflicts with the various maids that kept coming and going.

A lot of the drama in our house revolved around the maids. It was almost as if he felt they were competition, or were out to get him. In the event that he actually got along with one of them, he stood by her tooth and nail – no matter how much she lied or stole from us. I remember one incident where I asked our sweeper to help me cut potatoes for lunch, and how he got extremely angry with me for letting a Christian woman near our food. “What kind of Muslim are you!” he yelled. “Haven’t your parents taught you anything about Islam?” I wasn’t about to let him get away with his baseless comments, and yelled back a clichéd response about how the Quran talks about the equality of all people. He responded flatly with, “but it doesn’t say anything about her specifically.”

To reason with his twisted logic was a waste of time, as we had all come to realize over the years, and I let it go like everything else we argued about. It was this arguing that led him to believe I had been brought up all wrong. And it was his frustration with my ‘oh-so-modern’ lifestyle that made me realize that he lived in another era altogether. His obsession with people’s family histories and names, his disenchantment with my lack of spirituality, his distaste for the way my father spent his money all made sense now, and I learned to love this man unconditionally.

Loving him was easy, simply because not a day went by in those 15 years without him showing his love for me. When I was younger he’d iron my school uniform for me, and when I got older, he continued to do so sneakily because my parents didn’t approve of my inability to carry out simple tasks on my own. During his travels he’d scrape together his remaining money and buy me ridiculous plastic trumpets and dolls even when I was too old for them – making them invaluable gifts. On my birthdays he’d pull out dollar bills from his little treasure chest, and inform me of their rarity and high value in Pakistan. And almost every time, without fail, he’d intervene when my parents got angry with me – drastically changing the direction of the conversation, or taking the blame so I wouldn’t get into trouble.

Changing the direction of a conversation was undeniably what he was best at. Chacha absolutely loved to talk – about almost anything. He claimed to know everyone in our city of 11 million, and was the first person to give us news about their respective love lives, personal tragedies as well as neighborhood crime – however, getting directly to the point was definitely not his forte. He would often walk into a room and randomly quote the day’s statistics. I recall coming back from a wedding one night, and him yelling “73” the second I walked in. “73, what?” I asked, wondering whether he meant Degrees? People? Runs… only to find, (after endless verbal prodding), that it was the number of cars stolen that week. And that was exactly how we found out about the happenings within Karachi and around the world. He would read 5 different newspapers, watch 3 different news stations, and then bombard us with useless information in the most round about manner possible. I would be lying if I said we didn’t enjoy this little game and his endless peculiarities.

His room, much like a curiosity shop, was filled with random treasures. If I needed a watch, he’d hand me a working Mickey Mouse watch I threw away years before. If my parents couldn’t find their marriage certificates, he’d pull out a copy he’d made just for this kind of emergency. No matter what the problem, he had a solution. His endless supplies of shoe polish, glue, plugs, rope, doorknobs, tacks, bandages, ointment, were probably what kept our house running. Funnily enough, even when my father’s office needed historical stamps or newspaper articles for their various projects, staff members would call him first – knowing they didn’t need to check with other sources because Chacha would have just what they needed.

Like his age, what Chacha did for a living was a question we always asked ourselves, but never dared to ask him. He left the house early in the morning, dressed in his perfectly ironed safari suit, purse in hand, and came back by teatime with a bag of rusks. Where he went, we never knew, but people would often tell us they saw him walking in some part of the old colonial city, or another. Despite his inadequate income he made sure he dropped by everyone’s house on special occasions with a box of sweets. He was every grandchild’s delight because unlike most adults he valued seemingly insignificant occasions like doll’s weddings. And although his immediate family abandoned him, he went out of his way to be there for all his nieces and nephews.

Where Chacha came from was just as much of a mystery as where he went everyday. I would often try to piece together bits of information from overheard conversations and old photographs. While I never managed to figure out much about his family background, I did find out a number of very intriguing details. For one, he went to one of the most prestigious colleges in India, (Aligarh University), a fact I found myself doubting every time I encountered his broken English or lack of knowledge about anything remotely academic.

More exciting than that however, was his short stint in our films as a lead hero named Premi. An enlarged black and white picture, worn away at the edges was my proof, and I never failed to tease him about it when the time was right.

In retrospect, I realize that photograph, around thirty years old, probably managed to capture Chacha in his prime. His tall well-built frame, seemingly sturdy legs, died jet-black hair and perfect white dentures had fooled me for so long. And since he never really complained about anything beyond intestinal trouble, to me he looked exactly as he had when he first stepped through our front door.

When I think back about him, I see a man with more integrity than any other. Chacha’s honesty, and caring nature made him a favorite of friends and family alike. And even though he had an abundance of friends in high places, he never took advantage of them or gave up his appreciation for the little things in life. I remember the time he ran up a hill, after a couple of thieves, and came back extremely proud of his accomplishment. He was able to retrieve everything the thieves had stolen from us – a watering can, a bottle of strawberry jam and a can of paint – the value of which only he understood. Also when one of the richest and most powerful feudal landlords in Pakistan, a childhood friend of his, offered him land, a home and a monthly pension, Chacha refused to take anything. He seemed to be totally content with all he had.

Chacha died at 6:00 A.M, on the 11th of July. Sadly, his big and pure heart – tired of giving – was the part of his body that failed him first. As I sat there, at that funeral, I couldn’t bring myself to believe that someone so instrumental in making me who I am today would leave me like he did. I remember being angry at how his family, one that had never visited him in the 15 years he’d lived with us, suddenly felt the need to intervene, to have the funeral at their house, to bury him in their family graveyard. I was jealous of all those little nieces and nephews who had his ancestral blood to prove they were related, while the memories we had shared suddenly didn’t matter to anyone but myself. But most of all, as they continued to lower him into that raw grave, I was numb, overwhelmed with emotion.

Maybe it was the rain that washed away my anger. Maybe it was the snow-like shroud he was wrapped in. Or maybe it was just the knowledge that he was smiling as he lay there…

69->70->25

2010-10-04T15:08:00.003+05:00

69 ... a minute before the birthday

70 ... a minute after the birthday

25 ... the year ahead

(All Photos by Maleeha Azeem)

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For Birthday Photos by Jamal Ashiqain and me check out here

Feels good!

2010-09-23T23:29:00.000+05:00

Chhotay Naana

2010-08-30T12:45:00.001+05:00

"I will live till I am 120", he'd said, laughing, on the day we had all 'decided' was his 60th year. He was a distant relative of my Naana and his parents decided to share my Naana's name with him (Iftikhar Husain). He had always been very close to our family. We saw him visiting every family member, close and distant, at every opportunity he got.

Chhotay Naana - (or Chhotay Miañ, as my parents and uncles called him) - was someone I wish my daughter, Ragni, would have met. What a 'hero' he was for all of us children. Well, sort of Hero Number Zero, actually, if you really want to know.

My first meeting with him that I can recall was at Calcutta, when my Ummi and I (a 5-year old) were with my Khaala and Khaalu. "My father-in-law is a Bütraél and he brings tons of good food into the house", he said, giving me a Mars bar. "What's a Bütraél?", I asked. He said, "It is a ship's captain, in Bengali." — It wasn't until 13 years later that I discovered, when I joined the Merchant Navy, that a Bütraél (lots of our Bengali Khalaasis called him that) was really the 'Butler' on the ship.

Chhotay Naana had tons of things to say to everyone in the house. All his relatives mocked him, teased him, laughed at him — but he was always great. He laughed and argued, but never in anger. Never saw him lose his temper, until once, a few days before his death, when a kid told him that he was never "the same level" as his family. Chhotay Naana lost his mind and rattled off misdeeds after misdeeds that the girls uncles and aunts had done. That was the only time I ever heard him shout.

We laughed away at his sentences ("When Mustafa Kamal came to charge against the mullas he had his right hand on the reins of the horse and he carried a pistol and sword in both his hands!") and were amazed at his wonderfully true stories, some of which I will recall in this piece, too.

Chhotay Naana was never educated. In fact, when my Naana died, he said to Ümmi the next day that there really was no point in studying at all: "Look at your father. He studied. Became a Judge. So what? After all he died, na?"

He insisted that everyone say 'Shoe Designer Iftikhar Sahab' when talking of him to someone. He sometimes made the shoes by hand for you. His designs were fabulous. Really! Amazing drawing skills. Wonderful ideas. Everyone in the family and friends wanted shoes made by him and often paid him advances for them. Some he delivered. Others? Hmmmm ... Well, if he suddenly thought there was enough money, he'd go to the train station and say "Give me a ticket with this money and I will travel and when I reach there I will earn money and come back." Which is how he saw a lot of UP, CP, Hyderabad, Bombay, Calcutta. And much of Pakistan, too.

"So how did you ever do anything for food or stuff?", my cousin and I asked him in Karachi, fascinated. "Ohh, there were places where one could eat freely for a couple of days. And then I found some people who wanted shoes so I made them and made some money. And saved some for the train ticket and came back", he said. "Really? You made enough?", we asked. "Of course. And the last one was from someone I took an advance from but used it for my fare. I'll send him shoes, soon." — We were pretty sure he never did. "Didn't you go to a mosque", asked Farida Baji, "They give free food there." He said "Vüzoo naheeñ thaa" ... and laughed.

He came to Calcutta after my Chacha got him a job in the Bata Shoe Company - which he worked at for a while, but left because he said, "They are doing crazy things, like everyone having the same type of shoe. People want to be different. Why the same kind of shoes, bhai?"

In Calcutta he had married for the second time (his first wife was a cousin he married early and had a son and a daughter by her) and was madly in love with her. She refused to come to Pakistan and Chhotay Naana always wanted to go see her.

In Karachi, while a cousin and I were together and we were playing with a Globe that Abi had given me, he appeared and asked us what it was. "It's a map of the world", my cousin said. "Round? Why?", said he. "Because the world is round?", said my cousin. "Really? Then what is this?", he said, drawing out a map of the world from his big thaéla that he carried. "That's just a map that's been made on paper. This is the real shape of the world", said my cousin. He was 12. I was 8. And we were both surprised that Chhotay Naana didn't know about the world. "Aah," he said. "Does that mean that we are all inside the circle?" ... "No," said my cousin, "we are outside" — and put his hand on the Globe. "Ohh … so people on the bottom don't fall off? Hahaha! Who teaches you these things? Priests!"

My cousin took hours to explain the Earth, the Planets, the Solar System, the Gravity, the Rotation … and Chhotay Naana listened and understood. Almost. He then said, "So if I jump up a bit and wait until the world has turned and jump down again will I land in Calcutta with my wife?" — "Well, you can't jump that high," said my cousin. He thought and then said: "Hmmm, if the airplane people 'knew' of this why don't they send planes right up and wait and come down when Calcutta comes under them. They'd save petrol. And I'd see my wife. Without much money."

Ümmi told us about a time when Chhotay Naana was young and had arrived at her house with some latha for making a pyjama. "It's way too big for a pyjama but not enough for two," said Ümmi. "Oh, no. I got the extra amount cheap and you can make a long kamarband which I will tie around. Each time I need a new one for a naya pyjama, I can cut it off from here. And if before that I feel thirsty I will be able to tie it with a bucket and bring up water from a well." — Long term thinking :)

Everything was important and had to be commented on. One day he came back upset at Ayub Khan (then the President of Pakistan) and said, "Ayub is very strongly against us for migrating here and wants us to have fewer children so that we don't become the major part of Pakistan". "How do you know that?", asked Abi. "Oh, there are signs in the city his goverment has put up, in Urdu for us, that say have only 2 children — so that's what that means." I said "Chhotay Naana the signs are in Urdu here because people read Urdu, but in Peshawar they'll be in Pushto ..." — "Oh, c'mon. You haven't seen any signs there and are just arguing. Anyway, even if they were in Pushto, do you think Pathans ever follow what they read?"

He walked into our house with a Jang in his arms: "Look at this," he said. "What a stupid idea." He was referring to a story on the first page that said US had launched another ARTIFICIAL Satellite. "Just a few days ago Russia did the same. Why can't they put their money together and launch a REAL one!"

His thaéla had all sorts of things in it. Among them were pictures of his Calcutta wife, his daughter and son, a picture of me as a kid, and one of my niece, Rana, - cut from a US magazine - of her hair being described as amazingly beautiful. There were little articles on shoes. A scrapbook of sorts. Plus the picture that I took (and have placed at the beginning of this article).

In the last year of his life he had suddenly become very ill with age and asthma and would be painstakingly bent down as he sat and breathed very heavily. "I don't think I can make it to 120 any more. Pakistan mayñ müshkil haé lambaa rahnaa."

Three days later he was dead.

Hitchens - The Man I Love & Hate

2010-08-14T10:43:00.003+05:00

Mary E. Williams, a writer with Salon magazine, had this to say about him: "He remains a big, fat jerk. And a goddamn genius."

This is the way that many view him and his writings. His Atheism, and most of the arguments for it, are wonderful. His NewCon-ism and political approaches to Iraq and many other issues are often ridiculous. But it's always worth reading him.

There is no 'prayer' one can offer for Christopher - although he does accept the ones that are offered for his cure as people show their wishes through them - but I do have a hope that he will be around for a long while, with much less painful manifestations of his Esophageal Cancer.

May he continue writing his articles (maybe, even a book) and keep us entertained for as long as he can through TV shows.

Cori's family sends this message ...

2010-08-10T00:13:00.000+05:00

Our loving and talented daughter/sister Karen Su Ying (Cori) Woo has been tragically taken from us. She was due to be married on her return to the UK.

Her motivation was purely humanitarian. She was a Humanist and had no religious or political agenda.

She wanted the world to know there was more than a war going on in Afghanistan, that people were not getting their basic needs met. She wanted the ordinary people of Afghanistan, especially the women and children, to be be able to receive healthcare. She undertook this trek as a medical doctor, accompanying medical supplies and to provide treatment to people who lived in an extremely remote region who had little to no healthcare available.

Her commitment was to make whatever difference she could. She was a true hero, whilst scared she never let that prevent her from doing things she had to do.

She would not want this tragedy to overshadow the ongoing plight of those still in the greatest of need.

Karen you were an inspiration to everyone you met. You combined brains and beauty, intelligence, drive and kookiness in equal measure. You led an intensely packed and rich life: dancer, model, stunt plane walker, doctor and aid worker. Whatever you set your mind on you did so with passion.

You were the embodiment of seizing the moment. You went through life always believing the best of everyone despite everything you’ve seen.

We are so proud of the work you were doing and all that you have achieved.

You made a difference in people’s lives and for that you will not be forgotten. You will be sorely missed by us, your family and friends, here in the UK, around the world and in Afghanistan.

I hope that the legacy you leave is to inspire others to give love and aid rather than perpetuate hate and violence.

Things have changed ....

2010-08-02T20:24:00.001+05:00

(but that was 50 years ago.)

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