Music composer AH Kaashif chats about his upcoming film Kaatrin Mozhi
Music has always been part of AH Kaashif, who says he was forced to learn the art form at the age of four. What initially started as entertainment later developed into passion. “I was seriously into music during Class IX. I decided that music would be my career. I completed a course in sound engineering, after which, I started interning with my uncle,” says AH Kaashif.
Not many know that Kaashif is related to AR Rahman. “It wasn’t brand ‘Rahman’ that landed me an opportunity in films. If I’m here today, it’s because of my work,” he says rather proudly. Kaashif took a detour from music to enjoy school life. But even in school, he participated in most cultural programmes. Kaashif dropped out of college since he felt it wasn’t the “right place” for him. “That’s when I began to do mainstream work for my uncle. I started working on background scores,” he says.
Kaashif worked as a music producer for AR Rahman and has contributed to the background score and songs in films like Mersal and Beyond the Clouds. His most recent work, apart from Kaatrin Mozhi, is the Vijay-starrer Sarkar.
Despite the Rahman factor, Kaashif quickly admits that he’s a big admirer of music composer Yuvan Shankar Raja. “Obviously, Rahman is my mentor, guru and everything. But in Tamil, one composer who really inspired me a lot during childhood is Yuvan Shankar Raja. He was the one who redefined electronic music. Of course, my uncle brought it in here, but Yuvan based his entire career on electronic music. Everybody knows I’m a big Yuvan fan.”
Kaashif has been releasing independent albums through social media. It was the song ‘Kadhal’ that fetched him an offer to compose for the Jyotika-starrer Kaatrin Mozhi, which is a remake of the Hindi film Tumhari Sulu.
“The producer was very impressed with my work. I met Radha Mohan later and he asked me to compose a few sample tunes. The whole process took about three months,” he says. He hasn’t watched the original version yet.
Kaashif believes there’s good scope for independent music in Tamil. However, he clarifies that it’s all about channelising and packaging stuff. “The scope of independent music is always there. For instance, Sony did an independent thing, which worked big time. When you have a brand representing you to promote your stuff, then it’ll definitely work out. But in my case, there wasn’t any brand backing me. When I put out my music, people got to know about this. In a way, everything happened in a very organic manner,” he explains, “Having a brand might ease the process. But at the end of the day, it’s about content.”
The songs ‘Kelambitale Vijayalakshmi’ and ‘Dirty Pondati’ seem to have become a rage on the Internet. Kaashif says that the former is the central theme of Kaatrin Mozhi that resonates with Jyotika’s on and off-screen persona. The composer is relatively young to process a situation like say, the romance between husband and wife. How does he manage to convert this little piece of briefing into a soulful number like the song ‘Po Urave’? “I really don’t know. In fact, it was the easiest song for me. Once the director explains the situation, I keep running it in my head. And then, I sit for composition and the tune begins to flow,” he adds.
Kaashif has signed the forthcoming Malayalam film Pathinettam Padi, directed by Shankar Ramakrishnan. He has been getting a couple of offers in Tamil as well.
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Entertainment> Music / by Srivatsan S / November 08th, 2018
Abdul Gafur Khatri at work at his residence in Nirona village, Kutch | Photo Credit: Vijay Soneji
The Khatris have practised the art for eight generations now
Sitting on the floor, Abdul Hamid carefully twists a thick spool of yellow paint around a metal pin. Stretched out before him is a piece of red cloth, pinned on either side to the legs of his trousers. He dabs the paint on the heel of his left palm — it’s a gummy mass and has to be worked into something more malleable. Hamid then brings the tip of the pin a few inches above the cloth, and as it hovers, an elastic strand of colour streams on to the surface. And the magic begins: an intricate pattern grows beneath the swirling pin that never touches the cloth. The floral design looks like needlework.
Hamid then folds the cloth and, just like that, a flawless mirror-image of the pattern appears and an exquisite piece of Rogan art is born.
“We have practised Rogan for eight generations now,” says Hamid. “The first six generations did not get their due for preserving the art, but now, finally it is widely recognised and we couldn’t be happier.”
‘Rogan’ in Persian means oil: the paint is made with castor oil. Rogan art is believed to have originated in Persia some 300 years ago and was traditionally used to embellish bridal trousseaus. As it crossed borders, it began fading from the collective memory of its creators. But nine members of the Khatri family in Nirona, a small village in Gujarat’s Kutch district, are the last surviving custodians of the art form.
The Khatri community once did Rogan work on the clothes of local animal herders and farming communities. But as machine-made textiles became a more affordable alternative and Khatri youth lost interest in learning the art, Rogan began to disappear. “But our family revived it in 1985,” says Hamid. In fact it is Hamid’s elder cousin, Abdul Gafur Khatri, a national award winner, who is credited with resurgence of Rogan art.
P.M.’s pick
The ‘Tree of Life’, an intricately patterned tree with hundreds of dots and dashes, is their signature painting and most in demand. A 14×17” painting can take 12 days to complete— Prime Minister Narendra Modi chose one to gift to the then U.S. President Barack Obama during his U.S. visit.
“Rogan art is 100% an artist’s imagination on a piece of cloth,” Gafur bhai, as he is better known, explains. “There is no tracing, no drawings to refer to.”
But preparing the base from castor oil is a laborious process and can take two days. The oil is heated and cooled in a (special) vessel and continuously stirred so it doesn’t burn. After two days, the residue left behind is mixed with cold water and it thickens into a sticky paste called rogan. Natural colour pigments are then added to the oil base. “Yellow, for instance, comes from a particular stone that is ground,” says Hamid. The pigments are added to the castor oil base and stored in earthen pots.
Wall pieces made by Abdul Gafur Khatri in Nirona village, Kutch | Photo Credit: Vijay Soneji
The nine artists have six national awards and six State awards between them. They proudly show me photographs of celebrities — politicians, film stars, sports stars — who have either bought their art work or felicitated them at awards functions.
Men last longer
It strikes me as odd that all nine members of the family working on the art form are men. This could perhaps do with the belief that women, once they get married, would pass on their knowledge to their husband’s families, threatening the art with dilution. But as Rogan faces extinction, Gafur bhai, has taken upon himself the task of teaching the technique to 200 girls from his village. And this has breathed fresh life into the dying art.
“We taught most of these girls for free. They can now create at least the basic designs,” Gafur bhai says, adding that 25 girls also help the family with their work. In another effort to popularise Rogan, the family conducts live demonstrations for every visitor at their doorstep. During the 30-minute demonstration, artists patiently answer questions and explain the techniques they use. On an average, the family gets 150 visitors a day. And between November and February, during the Rann Utsav — the Kutch desert festival — the numbers shoot up to 250 or 300.
No tough competition
Unlike other forms of textile art such as Ajrakh that face are under threat by factory-made products, Rogan faces no such competition, but meeting market demand has been a challenge.
“You will not find Rogan art the way you find other arts in the markets. It’s not because we don’t want it to go out to the people, it’s because we have limited resources,” says Gafur bhai. We go to five or six exhibitions around the country in a year, and rest of the time we are at home, working.”
It has been a long journey for the Khatri family: from reviving the art to creating public interest to recovering from the Bhuj earthquake setback. But today, they are only seeing a huge resurgence of interest.
The writer is an independent journalist based in Gujarat. When not researching her stories, she is busy spinning tales for her toddler.
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Society – Rubric / by Azera Parveen Rehman / January 20th, 2018
An intense curiosity led me to research on the life of the dynasty after the British took over Delhi on September 14, 1857.
We read and commemorate the heroes who gave their lives in the first war of Indian Independence, every year on their death anniversaries. But spare a thought for those who lived and lived a life worse than death.
Ahmed Ali in his book Twilight in Delhi describes the Delhi Darbar held in 1911 to celebrate the coronation of King George V a few months earlier.
The British Emperor and his wife Queen Mary left the Red Fort, as the Qila-e-Mubarak, was called by the British in a state procession. Almost every prince and ruler and notable attended it and presented tribute to King George V.
In the background as this princely convoy is moving a beggar known as Bahadur Shah is dragging himself on useless legs, begging on the streets of Shahjahanabad.
Who was this beggar? Why was he named Bahadur Shah?
An intense curiosity led me to research on the life of the Mughals after the fall of Delhi into the hands of the British on September 14, 1857.
Though hardly any English book bar Ahmed Ali’s describes the remaining Mughals, Urdu books of late 19th and early 20th century are full of it.
Ghalib himself describes it in two of his works, Dastanbu and the other is Roznamcha-e-Ghadar. Even though Ghalib was not critical of the British and hoped for their patronage and a pension, he still portrays the desolation of Shahjahanabad.
The major description of the plight of the innocents is found in Khwaja Hasan Nizami’s Begmaat ke Aansu, Zahir Dehalvi’s Dastan-e-Ghadar, Mirza Ahmad Akhtar’s Sawaneh Dehli, Syed Wazir Hasan Dehlvi’s Dilli ka Aakhiri Deedar and from Fughan-e-Dehli or the dirges written by many Urdu poets on the condition of royals left in Delhi.
The prince found begging on the streets of Delhi in 1911 finds mention in Khwaja Hasan Nizami’s (1873 – July 31, 1955) Begmaat ke Aansoo. His name was Mirza Nasir-ul Mulk and after escaping the British wrath in the immediate aftermath of the Uprising he had taken up employment along with his sister in a merchant’s house in Shahjahanabad.
The last Mughal emperor, Bahadur Shah Zafar. (Photo credit: Google)
Later when the British government fixed a pension of Rs5/pm for the Mughal prince and princesses he had stopped working. Soon the pension was squandered away and he was in debt.
After a few years later a peer baba, who looked as if he was from the Timurid-Chengezi lineage used to drag himself around Chitli Qabr and Kamra Bangash area. His legs had been struck by paralysis. He had a bag tied around his neck and he would look at passersby mutely to ask for help. Those who knew who he was would throw in a few coins in his bag.
Someone asked who he was and was told that his name is Mirza Nasir-ul-Mulk and he is the grandson of Bahadur Shah.
Another prince, son of Bahadur Shah Zafar’s daughter Quraishia Begum was also begging on the streets of Shahjahanabad.
Known once as Sahib-e-Alam Mirza Qamar Sultan Bahadur, after the British took control of Delhi he was reduced to begging.
He would come out only at nights as he felt ashamed and embarrassed to be begging on the roads where people bent low to salute him when he rode in the streets.
Mirza Qamar Sultan asked for alms with an aristocratic air. He doesn’t address anyone just cried out, “Ya Allah please get me enough that I can buy provisions for myself.”
Khwaja Hasan Nizami wrote innumerable books on the events of 1857, all based on eyewitness accounts of survivors. One story which I found particularly moving was the story of the daughters of Mirza Kavaish who had been appointed the Heir Apparent of Bahadur Shah Zafar by the British overturning the claims of Mirza Jawan Bakht, the son of Bahadur Shah Zafar’s favourite wife Begum Zeenat Mahal.
In Begmaat ke Aansoo, Khwaja Hasan Nizami has described the story, which he heard from the princess herself.
Her name was Sultan Bano and she was the daughter of Mirza Kavaish Bahadur. When she met Khwaja Hasan Nizami she was 66-years-old but still remembered everything vividly. He recorded it in Begmaat ke Aansoo as Shahzadi ki Bipta.
She tells her story to Khwaja Hasan Nizami:
Although the ghadar took place 50 years ago I still remember it as clearly as if it was yesterday. I was 16-years-old then. I was two years younger than my brother Mirza Yavar Shah and six years older than my sister Naaz Bano, who died.
My name is Sultan Bano. My father Mirza Kavaish Bahadur (he was appointed the Crown Prince by the British in 1856, over the claims of Zeenat Mahal’s son Mirza Jawan Bakht). He was a favorite and able son of Hazrat Bahadur Shah.
We sisters were very fond of our brother Yawar Shah and it was reciprocated fully.
Aqa Bhai had a whole range of tutors who taught him every range of subject and various arts. He had expert calligraphers, Arabic and Persian scholars and ace archers teaching him.
We learnt embroidery, stitching and other household arts from Mughlanis.
The children that Huzur-e-Wala was very fond of would partake breakfast with him every morning. Zill-e-Subhani was very fond of me and I was always called for breakfast with him.
We didn’t observe purdah then or now. Strangers would come and go from the zenana mahal without a problem. But I was shy and I always kept my head covered and didn’t like coming in front of strange men. But I had to obey the orders of the Huzur, even though various male cousins also came there.
The saving grace for me was that because they were in the presence of the Emperor they all kept their gaze lowered. No one could look up or speak out of turn.
As per custom, Huzur-e-Moalla would offer a morsel from some special dish to a few of his children, that person whether young or old, male or female, would get up from their seat and go close to him and present three salams by bending from the waist.
Shahjahanabad, Old Delhi. (Photo credit: Wikimedia Commons)
One day I was called and Huzur gave me a portion of a special Irani dish that had been mde that day. He said, “Sultana, you only peck at your food. It’s good to be respectful but you should not go to the extent that you get up hungry from the dastarkhwan.”
I presented three salams to him but only I know how I went there and came back. I was quaking and tripping over my feet.
Alas! Where did those happy days go? What happened to that era?
We would be roaming about in our palaces without a concern. Zill-e-Subhani’s shadow was on our head and we were addressed as Malika-e-Alam. Such are the ups and downs of life.
I remember the day clearly when Huzur-e-Moalla was arrested in Humayun’s maqbara and a gora shot my Chachajaan Mirza Abu Bakr Bahadur then Mirza Sohrab ran towards him with a naked sword. But he was shot by another gora and he fell down with an aah on chahchajaan’s corpse and died. I was standing there, still as a statue watching it mutely.
A khwaja Sara came and said, “Begum why are you standing here? Your Abbajaan is calling you.”
In a state of stupor I followed him.
Near the river gate, my father, Mirza Kavaish Bahadur was seated on a horse, bare headed and anxious. Abbajan’s hair was covered in dust and straw. He started crying when he saw me and said, “Farewell Sultana, I too am leaving. The light of my life, my young son, who I wanted to see with a sehra of pearls and flowers hiding his face in his wedding, was killed in front of my eyes by a Sikh soldier. ” I screamed loudly and started calling out, “O my brother Yawar.”
He dismounted and pacified naaz Bano and me and said, “Beti, now the goras are looking for me. I don’t know how much longer I can escape them or how much longer I have before my life is snuffed out. You are Masha Allah young and sensible pacify your younger sister and place your trust in God and be patient.
“I don’t know what will happen to either of us. I don’t want to leave you both alone but one day or the other you will be orphaned. Naaz Bano is a child, look after her and live a righteous life.
“Naaz Bano you are no longer a princess don’t throw tantrums or make demands. Just give thanks to Allah and eat whatever you can get. If someone is eating, don’t look at them or people will say Princesses are very greedy.”
He put us in charge of the Khwaja Sara and said, “Take them to where the other members of our family have gone.”
He embraced us and spurred his horse into the jungle. That was the last we saw of him and have no idea what happened to him after that. The Khwaja Sara was an old servant of our family and he set of with us. Naaz Bano walked for a little while but she had never walked in her pampered and protected life and soon her legs gave way.
She started crying. I had never walked much myself but somehow I managed and pulling Bano along stumbled my way through the streets where we once rode elephants in state processions.
A thorn pricked Naaz Bano’s foot and she fell down crying. I picked her up and tried to remove the thorn. The accursed Khwaja Sara kept watching, making no effort to help. He started pushing us to hurry up.
Naaz said, “Apajan I can’t walk anymore. Please ask the steward to send a palanquin for us.”
I started pacifying her through my tears. My heart felt as if it would burst with sorrow.
The Khwaja Sara said rudely, “That’s enough. Make a move now.”
Naaz Bano was high-spirited and was used to obeisance from servants and would always keep them in their place. She scolded the Khwaja Sara. The accursed man flew into a rage and slapped the poor orphaned princess.
Bano trembled with shock. No one had ever laid a hand on her. Even I started crying along with her. The Khwaja Sara walked off leaving the two of us crying there.
Somehow the two of us stumbled our way to the dargah of Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya rahmatallah alaihe.
Thousands of people from Delhi and our family had taken refuge here. Each was caught up in their own troubles and fears. No one was talking to the other or enquiring after them.
A wave of epidemic diseases, which spread in the wake of the ghadar, claimed my sister’s life.
I was now all-alone.
Though peace returned to Delhi, there was no peace for me.
The British govt fixed a pension of Rs 5/pm for all of us and I still get that.
source: http://www.dailyo.in / DailyO.in / Home> Art & Culture / by Rana Safvi / November 18th, 2016
Bashir said in the next 15 years, Sub-Saharan Africa is poised for major education growth with the governments’ policy to form two million classrooms with two million teachers.
Thiruvananthapuram :
Africa is going to witness a major boom in primary and secondary education in the years to come, Sajitha Bashir, practice manager for education at the World Bank, told Express.
Bashir said in the next 15 years, Sub-Saharan Africa is poised for major education growth with the governments’ policy to form two million classrooms with two million teachers. Sajitha, vice-chairperson of the Vakkom Moulavi Foundation and closely related to the visionary, said she has been travelling across Africa and studying the progress achieved by countries in the Sub-Saharan regions in education as a senior World Bank official.
The World Bank team is into the design of the projects, monitoring, accountability, impact and financial implications. Bashir, an alumnus of the London School Of Economics, said there is a lot of improvement in the 48 African countries she is looking after, including Ethiopia, Sudan, Kenya, Rwanda and Tanzania. She said after the intervention of the World Bank, children have entered the system in Africa and this is a major development.
However, she said while children in South Africa, Zimbabwe, Kenya, Mauritius, Ghana and Botswana perform extremely well, children of countries like Nigeria, Ethiopia, Republic of Congo and Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) are very poor in learning.
She also said the performance of children in international-level tests is bad and most children in several African countries are not even able to read a paragraph properly. The World Bank official also said the bank is even financing the production and distribution of school textbooks in African countries. Interestingly Dr Bashir said, “The high population rate is another factor creating a hindrance to the educational progress in these African countries and the fertility rate is 4 to 5 per cent which means a woman bears 4 or 5 children and this is a big challenge.”
source: http://www.newindianexpress.com / The New Indian Express / Home> Cities> Thiruvananthapuram / by Arun Lakshman / Express News Service / November 05th, 2018
Begum Hamida Habibullah (1916-2018): Leader and enabler of women’s education in an eventful age
Born in 1916, she led a life and played a role that were not only unusual but also a testament to the times that made it possible.
Begum Hamida Habibullah
Begum Hamida Habibullah, who would have been 102 years old next November, died in Lucknow Tuesday. A woman with an unusual profile in an eventful period, she was a leading political figure and an enabler of education for women. Born in 1916, she led a life and played a role that were not only unusual but also a testament to the times that made it possible.
The daughter of Nawab Nazir Yar Jung Bahadur, once acting Chief Justice of Hyderabad High Court, Begum Hamida spent her childhood and early years in Hyderabad. A gold medallist from Osmania University, she also did a two-year teachers’ training course from Whitelands College (Putney), London.
Her marriage and work took her to Uttar Pradesh where she was among the founders of the Self Employed Women’s Association (SEWA); she worked hard to get it through the early years, long before it became a well-established brand.
She was married to Major General Enaith Habibullah, who fought in World War II, including in the battle of El Alamein in North Africa, and was also the founder commandant of the National Defence Academy, Khadakwasla.
Begum Hamida’s active political career began after her husband retired in 1965, when she was elected as an MLA from Haidergarh (Barabanki). She was minister for social and Harijan welfare, national integration and civil defence during 1971-73, and tourism minister during 1971-74.
These were times when the Uttar Pradesh Congress was among the most powerful committees in the country, and Begum Hamida served as a member, executive committee, of the UPCC until 1980. She was also elected to the All India Congress Committee from 1969. She headed the Mahila Congress in UP during 1972-76. Later, she went on to become a Rajya Sabha member from 1976 until 1982.
Furthering women’s education in the region is what is recognised as her true calling. She was the president of the Avadh Girls’ Degree College (AGDC), Lucknow’s first English degree college for girls, from 1975. She was also president, from 1975, of Talimgah-E-Niswan College, an institution of 3,500 catering to the education of Muslim girls and founded by her mother- in- law, the late Begum Inam Habibullah.
Her grand-nephew, writer Omair Ahmed, recalls how she represented an era when the Indian subcontinent was in the throes of the anti-colonial struggle but one could drive from “the military base in Rawalpindi to Srinagar”, where her husband was posted.
Omair Ahmed remembers how Begum Hamida casually mentioned the “beautiful drives” from Rawalpindi to Srinagar that she and “Bubbles” went on. “The ‘Bubbles’ she was referring to was her husband, Major General Enaith Habibullah. He was given the nickname because Habibullah sounds a bit like ‘hubble bubble’, the British slang for a hookah.”
Begum Hamida’s son, Wajahat Habibullah, is a former bureaucrat who served in Rajiv Gandhi’s PMO and retired as India’s Chief Information Commissioner.
source: http://www.indianexpress.com / The Indian Express / Home> India / by Seema Chisti, New Delhi / March 14th, 2018
She was the first girl of this border village to finish school when other girls did not even get schooling; and she became the first woman to get a government job here
Rahima Begum was a young bride and new mother when she awoke one morning in December 1971 to find her dreams shattered and her new family divided. India had captured her village of Turtuk and three neighbouring villages of Chalunka, Thang and Tyakshi on the India-Pakistan border. Overnight, the LoC had shifted. For India it meant a tactical victory, and new vantage points for the forces. For the villagers, it meant separation, heartbreak and hardship.
Turtuk, with its lush fields and blue skies, is an oasis amid the stark, stony peaks of the Pamir and Hindukush mountains. The sprawling flowering buckwheat fields are dotted with the orange-canopied and entangled trunks of apricot trees. Water from the glacier gurgles along Turtuk’s cobbled paths, and in summer, laughter echoes across the fields as children splash about in a natural pool in the village centre.
This is where Rahima grew up in the 1960s. She was a bright, free-spirited child, full of dreams. Her parents had ambitions for their young daughter. Her great-grandfather was a famous Balti poet. Rahima attended the local schooland, at 14, became the first girl to graduate from it.
A Balti woman harvesting apricots | Photo Credit: Kartiki Selena Gonsalves
She recalls how in summer the children jumped into the pond to bathe. They did so with their school uniforms on, so they got washed too. They would then stand under the sun, arms outstretched, and dry out.
As was the custom, as soon as Rahima finished Class VI, her family found her a husband. He happened to be her cousin, Sher Ali and was known as the most handsome man in the area, and in fact in all of Pakistan. Rahima considered herself fortunate. Ali worked in the Pakistan army and marriage promised travel and a steady income.
Daily chores
As a married woman, Rahima took on household and farm work. She woke early, prayed, and made breakfast of kisir (buckwheat pancake) and grangthur (curd with local herbs). She would then set out to work in the fields or orchards. On some days she returned by afternoon, on others she toiled till sunset. At home, there were donkeys and chickens to feed and other domestic chores. Then, in November 1971, Rahima’s daughter Aisha Sudiqa was born.
Traditional Balti attire and jewellery | Photo Credit: Kartiki Selena Gonsalves
In December, when India captured the area, Chalunka’s residents gathered all the possessions they could and fled across the new border into Pakistan-occupied Kashmir. The three other villages decided to stay in India.
For some time, Rahima’s life remained unchanged; she was immersed in her baby daughter. But Sher Ali was not permitted to cross the border and come to India and Turtuk. Aisha was growing up; she began to accompany her mother to the apricot orchards and splash in the pond. But Rahima missed Sher Ali very much. She had not foreseen that she would be raising her daughter on her own. She waited hopefully for news of his return. Three years passed.
Then, in 1974, Rahima finally received a letter. It was from Sher Ali. Her hands trembled as she opened it. He wrote to say that he missed her very much, he asked about Aisha. He said he hoped to be reunited with them soon, and asked her to take care of herself and their daughter.
After reading the letter, Rahima became even more determined to live with him, even if it meant crossing the border into Pakistan. The very same day she packed some clothes and documents and set out with Aisha on the long journey to the Wagah border. Miles of barren, unforgiving terrain later, she gazed out of the tempo window to find men in khaki and green, and army trucks trundling by every few minutes. The vehicle slammed brakes, and she was ordered to get down with everyone else. She walked to the border control. She was afraid, but knew she had to be strong.
The officials inspected her documents, and checked records from a big book to make sure she had no history of attempted border-crossing. An officer then walked towards her, and said she could not cross. She pleaded with him, but it was of no use. Heartbroken, Rahima and Aisha returned to Turtuk. She wondered if she would ever see Sher Ali again.
Boys drying themselves after a swim. | Photo Credit: Kartiki Selena Gonsalves
Bolt from beyond
Two more years passed. Then, when Aisha was six, in 1976, Rahima received a letter. It said “As-salaam-alaikum. I hope you and Aisha are well. I am upset to bring to you the news that I don’t think we have hope of ever meeting again. I tried many times to cross the border and was rejected. I think it is time to say goodbye. I need to marry another woman. Khuda Hāfiz.” For Rahima, life went on.
Six years later, Sher Ali wrote again. It had now been 12 years since their village had been brought into India. This time, the letter asked for a divorce. Rahima’s eyes welled up with tears, her hands shook as she read the letter. “Take care of Aisha,” the letter said. “I wish you luck in life. Khuda Hāfiz.”
The divorce came through. In October 1983, Rahima’s and Sher Ali’s parents persuaded her to marry Sher Ali’s younger brother, Abdul Kareem. Aisha was delighted to have a father, and the next year, the couple had a baby girl they named Farida Khanum. Ten years went by. Rahima, now a mother of six, was determined to make something of her life. She decided she wanted to improve the lives of Turtuk’s residents. With her education, she was able to take up a government post in Turtuk as an Urdu teacher.
Rahima sent all her children, boys and girls, to school, and encouraged others to educate their children too. She led by example: she was after all the first girl of her village to finish school when other girls did not even get schooling, and she also became the first village woman to get a government job.
School topper
Rahima’s daughter Aisha also excelled in school, and became the first girl to leave Turtuk village and enrol in high school in Hunder. She then went to Srinagar’s Maulana Azad National Urdu University for a B.Sc. degree, and then an MBBS as well.
Nobody from Turtuk had ever gone outside Ladakh to study before. Aisha was excited and proud. After her training, she returned to Turtuk, the first woman doctor in the village.
Aisha, like her mother before her, became a role model for Turtuk’s girls. She visited her neighbours, friends and relatives, and even the schools in Turtuk and neighbouring villages. She spoke to the young girls there, ignited in them dreams and hopes, spoke about careers, income, knowledge and education of women. Today, everyone in Turtuk wants their girls to be like Aisha, to go to school, to work, discover the world outside. It has been a major leap.
One evening during Ramzan, in 1995, Aisha returned home to break her fast, but feeling fatigued and disoriented, she went to bed, and passed away in the early hours of the morning. She had been suffering from anaemia and the strain of travel and fasting had proved too much.
Rahima mourned her first-born, and the village the loss of their strong, independent and educated daughter.
But Turtuk vowed to keep her memory alive by educating girls and improving their lives. Thanks to the mother and daughter, life in Turtuk has changed a lot. Now, all girls attend school. Many continue their education in Kashmir or Delhi in big universities.
To the average tourist, Turtuk may look like it’s stuck in a time-warp. But its residents know that their lives have changed dramatically. And that a big part of this revolution owes to two of Turtuk’s daughters, Rahima and Aisha.
The Mumbai-based writer is a Sony Artisan, photojournalist and cinematographer.
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Society / by Kartiki Gonsalves / November 03rd, 2018
Even today, the custodians of the centuries-old Dilli Gharana of music, known for its Khayal gayaki, live and practice their art in the old, romantically named Mausiqi Manzil in the Walled City. But with changing times and commercialisation, they are experimenting with their craft to stay relevant
It will be too much to expect Aalif Iqbal Khan to understand the significance of being the youngest descendant of the Dilli gharana. He is five years old – too young to know the history of the family or the legacy he will have to uphold in the years to come. But the family elders seem to have already decided for him. They enjoy seeing Aalif spend time with his grandfather, Ustad Iqbal Ahmed Khan, 64, the head or khalifa of the clan, in the living room of Mausiqi Manzil, their more-than-200-year-old house in Delhi’s Walled City. They film the child when he exerts his vocal chords while sitting cross-legged on his grandfather’s chest. “Look how beautifully he sings. There is no match to his talent,” says Aalif’s mother, Vusat Iqbal Khan, 32, with pride.
Musical families across the country have seen far-reaching changes over the decades because of the evolving tastes of audiences, the death of royal patronage, the impact of technology and plethora of alternative leisure activities. Having felt the ripple effects of this transformation, the family representing the Dilli Gharana of music (gharana refers to a style of presentation) is trying to remain relevant to the times without compromising on its rich history.
The family is one of the oldest in the country to propagate the city’s Khayal gayaki – a style of singing popularised by 13th century Sufi poet Amir Khusrau. Over time, members of the clan preserved and promoted more than two dozen sub-genres of singing such as sawela, tirvat, dhamar and sawan geet. Some members of the gharana have mastered musical instruments too, such as the tabla, sitar and violin.
“It is hard to find another family which is such a rich a repository of Khusrau’s compositions. They also know the journey of the compositions and the many influences on each composition over the course of centuries,” says Vivek Prajapati, 30, Iqbal’s disciple and a PhD scholar at the faculty of music and fine arts, Delhi University.
According to Hindustani classical singer and writer Vidya Rao, the Dilli gharana strongly suggests that one of the influences on the development of Khayal gayaki could be Sufi tradition and music. “Also, it is perhaps the only Khayal gharana where the ghazal is an integral part of the gharana’s repertoire,” she says.
According to Dr Sunanda Pathak, scholar, performing artiste and author of Origin and Evolution of Raag in Hindustani Classical Music, the Dilli gharana’s style of presentation offers tremendous scope for developing ragas. “The style is taan pradhan or variation in notes is the primary ornamentation tool,” she says.
According to Delhi historian and chronicler RV Smith, “Before Khusrau, there was only bhakti sangeet in India. Khusrau combined the temple music with the music of the Arab peninsula to develop multiple genres of singing, among which, Khayal was the one mostly practiced by the founders of Dilli gharana.”
In the old days, classical artists like Siddheshwari Devi, Malika Pukhraj, musicians and composers like KL Saigal, Roshan Lal Roshan, and Mumtaz Jahan Dehlvi (much before she arrived in Hindi cinema as actor Madhubala), were regulars at Mausiqi Manzil. “In 1938, there was a conference near Jubilee cinema in Chandni Chowk, where she sang. Back then she was just Baby Mumtaz,” says Iqbal.
The narrow lane leading to Mausiqi Manzil has shrunk even further over the decades due to haphazard construction. The bylanes resemble tunnels within a tunnel. The windows of one house open into the bedroom of the facing house. Sunlight is a luxury. Goats are parked along with two wheelers, cycle rickshaws and carts. A web of electricity wires sags above passersby.
Iqbal lives with his wife Zohra, son (Saad, 22) and youngest daughter (Sadiya, 23) on the first floor. Pictures of Khan’s great grandfather Ustad Mamman Khan, grandfather and teacher Ustad Chand Khan and his brother Jahan Khan hang on the wall, silently watching the proceedings in the living room. Iqbal’s books and awards are stacked in a wooden showcase. He takes out a briefcase from a trunk. It contains Chand Khan’s manuscripts in Urdu, Arabic and Persian, and all his medals. An old, dark green pouch contains a few of his belongings, including one of his pens and even a tooth! “Babu miyan had asked me to throw it. But I kept it safely,” says Iqbal, recalling his mentor.
FILMI SONGS
Times are tough. Iqbal’s descendants perform on a freelance basis, take up teaching assignments and perform with him in regional and international concerts.
They are open to trying different formats and styles as long it is in sync with the family’s tradition. Iqbal’s first cousin and student Imran Khan, 38, was in his early 20s when he was approached for a television reality show. “Ab tum filmi gaaney gaaogey?” his mentor said. But Imran says if he got the offer now, he would accept it. “I don’t think playback singing is a bad thing. I sing for bands. In a mehfil, I sing Sufi songs, ghazals, and film songs,” he says. “Hmmm…maybe things would have been different had I participated in that reality show.”
Iqbal faced a similar situation in his youth. “Filmmaker Rajinder Singh Bedi offered me a film. I said I would be comfortable if the composition was similar to what Bade Ghulam Ali Khan sahib sang in Mughal-e-Azam. Otherwise, I was not interested. It didn’t work out,” he says.
More women in Iqbal’s clan have been to college than men. Iqbal, a graduate from Delhi’s Dayal Singh College, and his younger brother, the late Dr Anis Ahmed Khan, a music scholar, were exceptions. “I am all for education. But it cannot replace talent. And then, look at the sheer number of educated unemployed youth,” says Iqbal. After a moment, he adds. “Riyaz consumes lot of time. It does not leave any time for school and college.”
Iqbal’s family is learning to make the art form commercially viable without degenerating the guru-shishya tradition. In 2012, Iqbal’s daughter Vusat quit her job as a communications consultant with the union ministry of information & technology to help her father and add to the family’s body of work. Apart from overseeing the management of two family enterprises – the Amir Khusrau Institute of Music and the Sursagar Society – Vusat conceptualised and performed storytelling for two productions (Rudad-e-Shireen and Ghalib, Umrao Ki Nazar Se). “I realised that my family members were not getting the exposure they deserved. Also, they have a classical music mindset. It is a good thing. But these days, you have to contemporise to become commercially viable. It is the need of the hour,” she says.
The experiments didn’t come about without disagreements. Sometime in 2015, she was designing a performance of Indian classical vocal and instrumental fusion. Her father did not want to compromise on certain elements. His apprehension was that adding instruments might lead to confusion. “He belongs to the era when the world was straightforward and transparent. But we have to look at the commercial aspect as well. It is very difficult to convince abba ji. But eventually we manage,” she says.
Iqbal says he does have a sense of changing times. “In the beginning, our forefathers had the patronage of royal families. Then came the Nawabs. Now, mass media takes us places.”
US AND THEM
The family members continue to face prejudice in varied degrees in their neighbourhood. Their customs often leave people bewildered. Touching the feet of elders, especially gurus is the norm; there is no fuss about singing Sai bhajans at private gatherings; Iqbal and his students celebrate Holi, Basant Panchmi and Guru Purnima at the institute. They don’t perform during the first 10 days of the month of Muharram because they mourn the martyrdom of Prophet Muhammad’s grandson Imam Hussain – a practice that makes them appear close to Shia Muslims. “Singing and music have no religion,” says the khalifa.
Sitar player Adnan Khan, 25, is Iqbal’s nephew. After learning the sitar from his father, Ustad Saeed Khan, Adnan was at the ITC Sangeet Research Academy, Kolkata, for five years to polish his craft. He remembers the caste slurs hurled at him in the neighbourhood in his early teens. “We were told to ignore remarks such as meerasi, pandit, and we did. But there were occasions when it led to arguments. The situation is very different now. Many of my friends are from non-musical backgrounds,” Adnan says.
FINDING SOUL SISTERS
Miyan Samti, Amir Khusrau’ contemporary and grandson of vocalist Hasan Sawant finds mention in the shijra or family tree of the Dilli gharana. Samti’s descendant Miyan Achpal Khan, the khalifa of the tradition in the early 19th century, was the court musician during the reign of the last Mughal king, Bahadur Shah Zafar. Later, Iqbal’s grandfather Ustad Chand Khan became the khalifa.
Chand Khan didn’t have a son. He raised Iqbal like his son since he was three months old. His formal training began at the age of four with soz khwani or songs of lament. In later years, his day would begin at dawn with warm-up exercises which comprised of squats. Then he would practice sapat (straight) taan on prayer beads “It had 500 beads. We had to finish six strings every morning,” recalls Iqbal.
During his training, he met Krishna Bisht and Bharti Chakravarti, two disciples of Chand Khan, who became Iqbal’s guru behenein (sisters). Bisht, former dean at faculty of music and fine arts, Delhi University, is the senior most living disciple of Chand Khan.
After Chand Khan’s death, Iqbal was declared the khalifa or the representative of the Gharana in February 1981.
Iqbal avoids performing at gatherings where art is considered as entertainment. “We perform for people who know our history,” he says.
Back at Mausiqi Manzil, the new generation is preparing to take on the mantle. Vusat’s youngest sister, Sadiya, a post graduate in political science, may soon become the first woman of the family to sing on stage. “Somehow, women could not get to sing on stage. I doubt if they tried. Sadiya is not a trained singer but she has got a very good voice. Men in the family were particularly surprised when I said she should perform. Battles within the family are more difficult than the ones outside,” says Vusat.
source: http://www.hindustantimes.com / Hindustan Times / Home> Art & Culture / by Danish Raza , Hindustan Times / October 27th, 2018
Mudhasir trapped Chetan Bist, Tajinder Singh Dhillon, Rahul Chahar, and Tanvir Mashart Ul-Haq to become the only the second player to take wickets in four successive balls in Ranji Trophy history.
History was created on the second day of the ongoing Ranji Trophy season as Jammu and Kashmir bowler fast bowler Mohammed Mudhasir took the first hat-trick of the season against Rajasthan in Jaipur.
Mudhasir trapped Chetan Bist, Tajinder Singh Dhillon, Rahul Chahar, and Tanvir Mashart Ul-Haq to become the only the second player to take wickets in four successive balls in Ranji Trophy history.
He also became the first bowler in professional cricket to get rid of 4 batsmen by trapping them in front.
From 329 for 3 Rajasthan collapsed spectacularly to 330 for 8. They were eventually dismissed for 379 as Mudhasir finished with 5 for 90 in his 29 overs. Chetan Bist starred with the bat as he scored 159 runs and Ashok Menaria gave him good support with a bright 59.
However, Jammu and Kashmir could not drive home the momentum as the batting collapsed and they were tottering at 186 for seven at stumps. Mudhasir was unbeaten on 15 and he will be the key man with the bat on day 2.
Tanvir Mashart Ul-Haq and Rahul Chahar were the pick of the bowlers for Rajasthan with three wickets each. Irfan Pathan, who now plays for Jammu and Kashmir, could not shine with either the bat or ball.
source: http://www.hindustantimes.com / Hindustan Times / Home> Cricket / by HT Correspondent, HindustanTimes,New Delhi / November 02nd, 2018
Princess Durru Shehvar ushered modernity into Nizam’s household
The name of Durru Shehvar, the elder daughter-in-law of the Nizam of Hyderabad , Mir Osman Ali Khan, is remembered for the social and philanthropic work she so zealously engaged in Hyderabad. Born in Turkey, brought up in France but married to the son of the world’s richest man, the Nizam of Hyderabad, Princess Durru Shehvar chose to spend her last years in London. She brought modernity to the Nizam’s household and worked for the upliftment of women in Hyderabad.
Her marriage with prince Azam Jah Bahadur, the elder son of the seventh Nizam, Mir Osman Ali Khan, resulted in the union of two illustrious Muslim families, the Turkish Caliphate and the Asaf Jahis of Hyderabad. Durru Shehvar, the only daughter of Abdul Majjid II, the Caliph of Turkey was born in 1914 and brought up with modern education, training in martial arts and was intended to succeed her father.
Nizam and the exiled Caliph
In March 1924 after Turkey became a Republic, the Caliphate was abolished and the royal family expelled. Abdul Majjid and his family settled in Nice, a southern French Mediterranean port city. The British Red Cresent Society , friendly with the deposed ruler appealed to Muslim rulers around the world to come to the aid of the impoverished Caliph. Persuaded by Maulana Shaukath Ali and his brother, Maulana Mohammad Ali, Nizam Mir Osman Ali Khan decided to send a life-time monthly pension of 300 pounds to the deposed Caliph, and allowances to several individuals in the family.
When Durru Shehvar, came of age, she was sought in marriage by several Muslim Royals including the Shah of Persia and the King of Egypt for their heirs. Shaukat Ali prevailed on the Nizam to send a proposal to the Caliph asking for Darru Shever’s hand for his elder son, Prince Azam Jah. The deposed Caliph could hardly reject the offer from his benefactor.
But it was not that easy; the Mehr (the bride money) of 50,000 pounds that the Caliph demanded for his daughter was “too big”, the Nizam felt. But with the intervention of Shaukath Ali, the Caliph proposed to offer for the same Mehr, the hand of his brother’s daughterNiloufer, for the Nizam’s younger son, Prince Mauzam Jah. The Nizam readily agreed and sent his two sons to France.
The marriage of Princess Durru Shehvar with Prince Azam Jah, along with that of Prince Mauzam and Niloufer took place in Nice, in France, on 12 November, 1931, in a simple ceremony attended by only a simple affair with only the members of Sultan’s family at Nice, a few Turkish nobles and friends as well as representatives of the Nizam — Sir Akbar Hydari and Nawab Mehdi Yar Jung, who happened to be in Europe at that time to attend the Round Table Conference. The Khalifa himself performed the ceremonies. All the offices and educational institutions in the Nizam’s dominions were given a holiday on the day.
A photograph of the princess and her family
Meeting the Mahatma
After a month of festivities in Nice, the Princes with their concerts set sail from Venice to India on December 12, 1931. The ship they were travelling in also contained a star co-passenger, Mahatma Gandhi, who was returning after attending the Second Round Table conference in London. Shaukat Ali, who was accompanying him, having known Gandhi’s sympathy for the exiled Caliph for whose restoration, he pleaded during his non-cooperation struggle, arranged a meeting of the young Hyderabadi Royals with Gandhi on the board of the ship.
However, there was a hitch Gandhi who was traveling in III class would not step into Ist. class where the young couples stayed; nor would the Hyderabad Princes be willing to go to III class where Gandhi stayed. Shoukath Ali, worked out a compromise and the meeting of Gandhi and the newly weds took place in a lounge in the II class.
Active in Hyderabad
In Hyderabad, Durru Shehvar soon identified herself with the people . With a great passion for providing health care and education for common people, she set up a general and children’s hospital in Purani Haveli, which still runs in her name. A Junior College for girls in Yakutpura, Bagh-e-Jahanara, is also run on the funds she provided. She inaugurated the Ajmal Khan Tibbiya College Hospital in Aligarh Muslim University (AMU) . The Nizam called her his precious Jewel (Nagina) and encouraged her to participate actively in Hyderabad’s social life. The proud father -in -lawloved to point out how Durru Shehvar was taller than his son. In the company of her friend Rani Kumudini Devi, she rode horses, drove cars and played Tennis. With her beauty and charm, etiquette and dress sense, she transformed Hyderabad’s social circuit.
Durru Shehvar also laid the foundation stone of the Begumpet Airport building in 1936. Until then a small strip at Hakimpet served as the airport for Hyderabad. She ensured her sons, Prince Mukarram Jah and Prince Muffakam Jah, received the best possible western education in Europe and married Turkish brides, as she desired. Mukarram studied in Eton, where India’s first prime minister, Jawaharlal Nehru had earlier studied. Years later, Mukarram, declared heir to Hyderabad throne, at the suggestion of his grandfather, Mir Osman Ali Khan, served as Honorary Aid De Camp (ADC) to Prime MinisterNehru!
Durru Shehvar was fluent in French, English, Turkish and Urdu and even contributed articles to French magazines. She believed that women should earn their own living and worked hard to remove the practice of purdah. However, there was a great gulf between the Princess and the Prince, Azam Jah and their marriage fell apart within few years. It is an irony that when she was born, her father, the Caliph was the head of all the Muslims in the world; but was overthrown and sent away in exile. After her marriage, Hyderabad state was abolished and integrated with the Indian Union in 1948. She faced fame and power as well as adversary, displacement and agony, all with equanimity, and won the hearts of the people in Hyderabad, where she spent most of her adult life.
Princess Durru Shehvar, after shifting permanently to London, frequented the city. Her last visit to the city was in 2004, two years before she passed away in London at the age of 92. With her death, ended a glorious chapter of Hyderabad.
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Society> History & Culture – Nizam Matters / by KSS Seshan / October 30th, 2018
A translation of one of the many stories collected by Khwaja Hasan Nizami about the survivors of the Mughal emperor’s family.
Khwaja Hasan Nizami wrote numerous books on the events that unfolded in 1857, all based on eyewitness accounts of the survivors. Begamat ke Aansu: Tears of the Begums are stories collected by Khwaja Hasan Nizami from the survivors of the Mughal family after the fall of Delhi in September 1857, when they had to flee from the Red Fort. Begamat ke Aansu was originally published in 1922 and has been reprinted many times since. This story is one of the accounts from Begamat ke Aansu. It describes Kulsum Zamani Begum’s escape from the Red Fort.
This is the true story of a female dervish who suffered through the travails of life. Her name was Kulsum Zamani Begum, and she was the pampered daughter of Delhi’s last emperor, Abu Zafar Bahadur Shah. Although she died a few years ago, I have heard her story from her own mouth many times. She was a sincere devotee of Mehboob-e-Ilahi Khwaja Nizamuddin Auliya and was so attached to his dargah that she would often come there. I would talk to her there and listen to her tragic tale. Whatever I have written down has been told to me either by her or her daughter, Zainab Zamani Begum, who is still alive and lives in Pandit ka Kucha.
Her story is narrated below in her own words:
“The night my Babajan lost his empire and the end was near, there was a tumult in Lal Qila. The very walls seemed to be weeping.
“The pearly white marble palaces had been blackened by soot from the gunfire and cannon shots in the past four months. No one had eaten for a day and a half. Zainab, my daughter, was a year-and-a-half old and crying for milk. Neither I nor any of the foster mothers were lactating because of the hunger and trouble all around us. We sat disconsolately when Hazrat Zill-e-Subhani’s special khwaja sara came to call us. It was midnight and the pin-drop silence was broken by intermittent cannon shots. We were terrified, but since Zill-e-Subhani had called us, we immediately left our palace and presented ourselves before him.
“Huzur sat on his prayer mat with a rosary in his hands. I stood before him and presented three salutations. Huzur called me close to him with great affection and said, ‘Kulsum, I entrust you to the care of Khuda. If fate permits, we will meet again. Go away immediately with your husband. I am also leaving. I don’t want to separate myself from my beloved children at this stage, but I don’t want to embroil you in my problems. If you are with me, destruction is certain. Maybe if you are alone, God will open a path of escape for you.’
“He raised his shaking hands in prayer and cried out to Allah, ‘Dear god, I entrust this orphan girl into your care. Brought up in magnificent palaces, they now venture into the wilderness and desolate jungles. They have no friends or protectors. Please protect the honour of these princesses of the Timurid dynasty. Preserve their honour. The entire Hindu and Muslim population of Hindustan are my children and trouble surrounds them all. Don’t let them suffer because of my actions. Give them relief from all troubles.’ With that, he patted my head, embraced Zainab, gave a few jewels to my husband Mirza Ziauddin, and sent us off along with Nur Mahal Saheba, who was Huzur’s begum.
“We left the Qila before dawn. My husband, Mirza Ziauddin, and the Badshah’s brother-in-law, Mirza Umar Sultan, accompanied the three women: myself and two other ladies, Nawab Nur Mahal and Hafiza Sultan, whose daughter was married to one of the emperor’s sons.
“When we climbed into our bullock cart, it was dawn. Only the morning star still twinkled in the sky, and all the other stars had vanished. We cast a last glance at the royal palace. We wept and yearned for what had once been our happy abode. Nawab Nur Mahal’s lashes were laden with tears and the morning star was reflected in them.
“We left the Lal Qila forever and reached Kurali village, where we rested for a while in the house of our cart driver. We were given bajra roti and some buttermilk. We were so hungry that the food tasted better than biryani and mutanjan.
“That night was spent peacefully, but the next day jats and gujjars from nearby areas came to loot Kurali. They were accompanied by hundreds of women who encircled us like witches. They took away all our jewellery and clothes. While these coarse women snatched the jewellery off our necks, we got a whiff of their breath which smelt so foul that we felt nauseous. After this, we didn’t even have enough money to buy ourselves our next meal. We didn’t know what was in store for us now.
“Zainab began to howl with hunger. A zamindar was passing by and I cried out, ‘Bhai, please give some water to this baby.’ The blessed man brought some water in an earthen cup and said, ‘From today, you are my sister and I’m your brother.’
“He was a well-to-do person from Kurali, and his name was Basti. He brought his cart and said he would take us wherever we wanted to go. We asked him to take us to Ijara, where Mir Faiz Ali, who was the shahi hakim and a long association with our family, lived. But when we reached Ijara, Mir Faiz Ali was extremely discourteous and refused to shelter us. ‘I am not going to destroy my house by giving you shelter,’ he told us.
“We were heartbroken and didn’t know what to do. Penniless and homeless, we were scared of the British forces chasing after us. Those who were eager to follow every glance of our eyes and obey even our slightest gestures had now turned away from us.
“And then there was Basti, who didn’t leave our side and fulfilled his covenant of calling me his sister. We left Ijara and set our destination as Hyderabad.”
Kulsum Zamani Begum eventually reached Hyderabad with her family and lived there for some time. For some time her husband made a living by making and selling calligraphic pieces and teaching the Quran but as the British influence spread to Hyderabad and they lived in fear of being arrested they were more or less housebound. Whatever jewellery had escaped loot on the way to Hyderabad had been sold off.
The son of Bahadur Shah Zafar’s spiritual master Kale Miyan Saheb Chisti Nizami Fakhri, heard of their plight and arranged finances for them. They left for Mecca to make the Hajj pilgrimage. Basti, who had stood by them like a rock, was sent home from Bombay with whatever reward they afford for his invaluable services.
“Aboard the ship, whoever heard that we were the Shah-e-Hind’s family was eager to meet us. We were all dressed in the clothes of dervishes. One Hindu, who owned a shop in Aden and had no idea who we were, asked us which sect of fakirs we belonged to. The question inflamed our wounded hearts. I replied, ‘We are the disciples of the Mazloom Shah Guru. He was our father and our guru. Sinners have snatched away his crown and separated us from him and exiled us into the wilderness. Now he longs for us, while we are restless and yearn for a glimpse of his face. That is the truth of our faqeeri.’
“The Hindu began to cry when he heard our story and said to us, ‘Bahadur Shah was our father and guru but what could we do? It was Lord Ram’s will, and an innocent man was destroyed.’”
They lived in Mecca for several years before returning to Delhi.
“When we came back, the British government took pity on us and fixed a sum of ten rupees per month for us. I laughed at this pension. They had taken away my father’s empire and offered us ten rupees as compensation.
“But then I remembered, this land belongs to god and he gives it to whoever he wants and takes it as he pleases. Man can do nothing about that.”
Excerpted with permission from City Of My Heart: Accounts Of Love, Loss And Betrayal In Nineteenth-Century Delhi, Selected and Translated by Rana Safvi, Hachette India.
source: http://www.scroll.in / Scroll.in / Home> Book Excerpt / by Khwaja Hasan Nizami & Rana Safvi / November 01st, 2018
